The Prayer of the Night Shepherd

build a business around the dubious legend of Conan Doyle and the Hound of Hergest. And they were quite gratified with the terms he was offering — and the idea, if I may say so, of a weekend of your renowned cooking.’

Amber put the earthenware jug back on the French stove. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I had a long discussion with Neil Kennedy during the murder-mystery weekend. I told him Ben Foley believed he had conclusive proof that Doyle had been here, which he believed would finally discredit the Cabell legend, in Devon, as the source of the Hound. I said I understood Mr Foley, as a former television producer, hoped to use The Baker Street League to help him front a large-scale media campaign, particularly in America. And I told him… other things. Dr Kennedy was not terribly amused. As I’m sure you found out.’

Amber turned down the heat under the chocolate. ‘You’d better sit down.’

‘Thank you.’ Beth Pollen took a wooden stool next to the island unit, and Amber dragged over two more, and put on the halogen lights. Jane stared into Mrs Pollen’s weathered, guileless face.

‘You deliberately screwed it up for Ben?’

‘Yes.’

Amber said, ‘I don’t understand. Both Kennedy and you already knew there was proof that Doyle had been at Stanner. The document you mentioned… in the files of The Baker Street League?’

‘That doesn’t exist, Mrs Foley. I invented it. No article was written, as far as I know, for Cox’s Quarterly or any other defunct magazine. There is no proof, to my knowledge, that Conan Doyle ever stayed at Stanner or came to this area. He may have — all the indications are there, the coincidence of names — but we’ll probably never know. And if you remember, I said the other night that if anyone asked Kennedy about a handwritten document, he would deny all knowledge of it. Quite legitimately, as it happens.’

Jane felt like her head was filling up with a grey fog. She let Amber ask the question.

‘Why? Why did you want to do this to us?’

Beth Pollen sighed. ‘Because if Stanner had become, as Mr Foley had planned, a regular conference venue for The Baker Street League, the White Company would never have been allowed to set foot in the building. What I didn’t lie about was the enmity between the two organizations, which, as a member of both, I’ve been able to observe, over the years, in all its incredible peevishness. I realize the League is far more prestigious, prosperous and influential, and I’m sorry, but I wanted us in here. I wanted Alistair Hardy here. He has a remarkable ability.’

‘We don’t understand,’ Jane said.

Mrs Pollen sighed, her face coloured mauve by the halogen lights. ‘We had to mislead the White Company as well. Doubt I’d have been able to persuade them if I hadn’t been able to show there was evidence that Conan Doyle had been here at the critical moment. Alistair Hardy’s fees are… sizeable. He’s doing this for nothing because of the TV coverage.’

Jane felt herself exploding. ‘Get me out of here! Everybody who sets foot in this place just lies.’

Amber said, ‘Mrs Pollen, you said “we”?’

‘Yes,’ Beth Pollen said. ‘The other person.’

The other person. The phrase seemed to bounce off the stones in the wall.

Natalie. It all added up, didn’t it? When Ben had lost The Baker Street League conference, it was Nat who came up with an instant replacement and rescued the whole situation. OK, just a bunch of loony spiritualists, but better than nothing. The way Beth Pollen had turned up at the church, at just the right moment to impress Antony Largo. A set-up.

‘I was going to get round to that,’ Mrs Pollen said.

‘Brigid?’ Jane said.

‘So you do know,’ Mrs Pollen said.

Dexter had taken off his expensive biker’s jacket, uncovering a grey denim shirt with epaulettes and a badge on the breast pocket with twin exhaust pipes on it. He stood in the middle of the floor, his hands half-curled, like ring-spanners.

‘So you en’t took nothin’.’

It was likely he’d recognized Lol now as the guy he’d seen through the scullery window. But he wouldn’t know whether Lol had seen him, so he wasn’t letting on. Hence the catching-a-burglar routine.

It gave Lol some leeway. He told Dexter his story about the vicar getting worried when Alice had twice failed to answer the phone. Lol walking over here to see if everything was all right, finding all the lights on in the empty bungalow, with the back door unlocked. No more than the truth.

‘Sorry I came in like this, but anything could’ve happened.’

‘Like what?’ Dexter said.

‘I mean… where is she?’

‘How should I know? I come back from closin’ up the chip shop, hour or so ago, she en’t yere. Telly on and everything, no Alice. I been out lookin’ for her. No sign. Dunno where she gone. Neighbour’s, mabbe.’

‘They all seem to be in bed.’

Dexter shrugged.

‘You called the police?’

‘Not yet. Her’d go through the bloody roof. ’Sides which, how’s the police gonner get through with all the bloody roads blocked for miles around? Nah, her’s likely wandered off. Her’ll be back.’

Lol considered. He’d been honest so far, no call to deviate from that.

‘She’s had a shock. The vicar told me.’

Discovering that he was playing the Christian aide, the clergy groupie, the little guy in glasses who fluttered vaguely around the vicarage, a moth lured by the incandescence of its incumbent.

‘Tole you what?’

‘About your cousin.’

‘Yeah. Tough.’

‘You weren’t that close?’

Dexter shook his head. ‘Waste of fuckin’ space, you want the truth. Never kept a job, always in trouble with the law. Brought the whole family into disrepute.’ He leaned towards Lol, a bubble of moisture like an ornamental stud in the cleft of his lower lip. ‘So what’s with you and the vicar?’

‘Friends. I’m staying the weekend with her. She was called out to talk to someone who attempted suicide.’

‘Local?’

‘Kington.’

‘En’t gonner get back from there in a hurry.’

‘So I’ve got to ring her back about Alice. She’s worried.’

Dexter stared at him blankly, like, What do you want me to do about it? He went to the chrome-fronted fridge/freezer. ‘You wanner lager?’

‘No, it’s… Yeah, OK. Thanks.’

Dexter got out two cans of Stella Artois, tossed one to Lol. ‘Wanner help me take a look around, is it?’

‘That’s a good idea.’

‘Right, then.’ Dexter put on a grim, knowing smile, snapping the ring-pull on his beer can. A smugness there, Lol thought, a satisfaction.

‘Which way do you think she might’ve gone?’

‘Put it this way, if you gets to Leominster, turn back.’ Dexter had a swig of lager, took his leather jacket from the back of a chair, pulling a pair of black driving gloves out of one of the pockets. ‘Never mind, boy, be a cold bed for you tonight, anyway, look.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t gimme that “friends” shite.’

Dexter clapped Lol on the back. It was as if he was on a roll and nothing could go wrong for him tonight.

Yes, Jane had heard of her. Although of course it had all happened long before she was born. She knew