necessary to deal with this problem. I do not care who or what it is, it must be got rid of by whatever means are open to you.
I feel foolish writing a letter like this but Helen is all I have left in this world.
Yours sincerely,
D. H. Walford
‘Poor old Donald. His wife died three years ago. Daughter got divorced and moved in with him. He’s an entirely rational man, retired primary school head. But this … this is how it escalates.’
‘What was the first reported accident?’
‘Lorry. Came across the road, into the church wall, like I said. Still waiting for the insurance to get sorted.’
‘Did you talk to the driver?’
‘I was out at the time, but the guy told Mrs Aird, who does the flowers in the church. She was in there when it happened. He said he’d seen this white orb coming towards him down the middle of the road.’
‘So this was at night?’
‘Early morning. Police suggested the bloke had been driving too long. We tidied up the wall, thought no more about it.’
‘Until…’
‘Week or so later, Tim Loste, the choirmaster, hit a telegraph pole. Not injured, fortunately. And then there was a woman, lives up the hill, flattened her sports car on a tourist’s Winnebago.’
‘And they both saw this light?’
‘They both … saw a figure behind the light.’
He turned to the window. The summer sun had finally penetrated his flowerless garden, but it still looked as if it was clinging to winter. Syd Spicer too, Merrily thought, as he turned to face her.
‘And there might be another one, which is … a bit weird. Joyce Aird can tell you. They won’t talk to me about it. Joyce was waiting for me after the worship yesterday. We’d had some prayers for the victims of the night before, and Joyce said … She gave me a piece of paper with your phone number on it, which she’d obtained from the Diocese. Said it was time to seek help to remove the evil from our midst.’
‘So, essentially, you had me forced on you,’ Merrily said.
‘Me, I’ve been telling them, let’s get the council in … surveyors … examine the road camber. Let’s not get
‘What about the Land Rover driver, the chairman of the parish council. Did
‘I haven’t even asked him, Merrily.’
She sighed. ‘Would you mind if I had a cigarette?’
Spicer put his head on one side.
‘You disapprove?’
He shrugged. ‘I have one occasionally. When I want to. You go ahead, if you need one.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Merrily dropped the Silk Cut back into her shoulder bag. ‘You said there was something a bit weird.’
‘Oh, well, that … Joyce wouldn’t talk about it. Not to me. Said it was best discussed with a woman. I suppose I’m getting a bit…’
‘I can imagine.’ She lowered her bag to the floor. ‘How do you want me to go about this?’
‘Well, that’s up to you, Merrily. But the way some of them are reacting, I’m not sure that a simple blessing of the road would be quite enough. I suppose I’d like you to talk to them.’
‘Well, obviously I’d have to—’
‘No, I mean all of them.’
‘All of them?’
‘Everybody,’ Syd Spicer said.
4
A Very Public Ghost
‘All of them?’ Sophie said in the Cathedral gatehouse office. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing? At a public meeting?’
Merrily sighed.
‘It’s a very public ghost.’
‘Merrily…’ Sophie looked pained. ‘Has there ever
Merrily thought about this, elbows on the desk, chin cupped in her palms. She’d been thinking about it for many of the fifty gridlocked minutes she’d spent watching guys in cranes playing pass-the-girder on the site of another new superstore that Hereford didn’t need.
‘No,’ she said. ‘In the real sense, I suppose not.’
‘There you are, then,’ Sophie said. ‘Let the Rector have his public meeting and then you go along afterwards – quietly – and do what you think is necessary.’
Sophie Hill, crisp white blouse and pearls. Very posh, discreet as a ballot box. The Bishop’s lay secretary who, essentially, didn’t work for people or organizations. Who worked for The Cathedral.
Except on Mondays, when Sophie worked more or less full-time for Deliverance. For most parish priests, Monday was a well-defended day off; for Merrily, only a day off from the parish. Monday was when she and Sophie met in the gatehouse office at the Cathedral to deal with the mail and the Deliverance database, and to monitor outstanding cases.
‘I need to remind you that the Crown Prosecution Service have warned that you may still be called to give evidence in the Underhowle case when it finally comes to trial. And
‘In which case, I might need to go over. Could we stall him until next week? If he could just keep it locked, meantime … keep people out.’
‘Next week also, you’ve agreed to talk to that rather persistent Women’s Institute in the Golden Valley … unfair to postpone again.
‘OK.’
Problem here was that WIs always wanted lurid anecdotes, and this was a small county population-wise: one of the audience would always be able to fit names into whichever sensitive issue you were discussing. The policy was to avoid WIs, but occasionally one squeezed through the net. And, sure, there was a pile of parish stuff accumulating on the diary, including a christening tomorrow, and two weddings looming. Big months for weddings, June and July. So…
‘What you’re telling me, Sophie, is that I really don’t need Wychehill.’
Sophie said nothing.
‘What if I walk away now, and it happens again?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Merrily, what if it happens again
Which it sometimes did, hence the need for aftercare.
‘There are still two people dead, and while linking that to something paranormal is deep water, I’d feel safer going along. Even if it means opening the whole thing up at a public meeting. I mean, I can understand Spicer’s problem. He’s got a worried community which he says isn’treally a community at all. Houses are widely separated, people don’t know one another. He wants to make sure that everybody at least has a chance to find out what the score is.’
‘Merrily, deliverance is about discretion – how many times have you said that? You don’t like addressing WIs about past cases, but you’re perfectly happy to—’
