The Silent Pool

by Phil Kurthausen

  ‘Just stifling a sneeze, I've got a cold. Is it bad news?’ he asked.

  Mr Grey smiled. ‘Mmm, bleeding from the back passage. Always a chance it could be something. Well, let me see what your tests say.’

  He studied the papers in front of him.

  ‘Ah yes, I see.’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Well, we performed a full battery of tests, as you know: full bloods and a colonoscopy and I'm afraid there is some bad news. You've got two huge haemorrhoids. The cure, some Preparation H®, soft toilet paper and a cushion.’ Mr Grey smiled his clinical smile again. He could see that the Mayor wasn't convinced. ‘The good news is that you're going to live!’

  ‘Oh, thank God, Doctor, thank you, thank you.’ For a moment the Mayor thought he might cry.

  ‘They are often brought on by stress. You need to relax more. I will run a biopsy on the tissue samples we took but don't worry it's all going to be OK. Just try to relax, please.’

  ‘Yes, relax, sure I'll relax, maybe take up yoga.’

  The Mayor felt giddy with relief. He left the hospital with a newfound spring in his step. Now he knew that he wasn't dying any time soon the pain had almost vanished.

  Randle, his chauffeur, held open the rear door of the Mayoral Mercedes for him. He ducked inside and then settled into the plush seats. He might try and see his luck with Mrs Lynch tonight. Things were looking up.

  His mobile began to vibrate silently. His heart sank: as it was Bovind.

  ‘Hi Richard. It's Kirk. Hope it was good news.’

  How did he know that he had been to the hospital?

  ‘Hello Kirk,’ he said wearily.

  ‘You sound like you need a good night's sleep. Listen, I've got a march planned for next Saturday, biggest ever faith march in Britain, in support of your education plans. Third Wavers and Muslims coming together: it's going to be huge. We need to show support now that we have the naysayers and the atheists attacking the great work you're doing.’

  The Mayor had no idea what Bovind was talking about. ‘What naysayers?’

  ‘You need to put on the TV but don't worry about them. It's exactly how I planned it.’

  ‘I don't know about a march, shouldn't we just keep this low profile. The city is in good shape and anyway all marches go through the Chief Constable. I doubt he'll give permission at such short notice, they require overtime for the policing and weeks of notice.’

  ‘Chief Constable Mulholland is a Third Waver, he's fully onboard. Just wanted to give you the heads up. And don't worry, we're going make this town more famous than Fallujah! Oh, and Mayor, turn on the TV, I know you've got one in that nice Merc.’

  The line clicked dead.

  He turned on the TV in the headrest. It was already tuned to BBC News.

  There was a man being interviewed. Mayor Lynch recognised him immediately. It was Professor Cannon, the leading evolutionary geneticists working today and perhaps the most famous and celebrated atheist on the planet. The sound was muted but Mayor Lynch could tell from the contorted face of Professor Cannon that he was working himself up into a righteous fury. He turned the sound on.

  ‘ – Mayor Lynch has dragged a twenty-first-century British city back into the Bronze Age. Myth and superstition have replaced rationality and logic, the forces of barbarism have been let loose like a cultural tsunami and the children of that city are the victims and all because Mayor Lynch was prepared to sell the future of his children to some religious pied piper selling ignorance and stupidity. Mayor Lynch is to the enlightenment what the Black Death was to the population of Europe. That's why I am pleased to announce that the faculty members of Liverpool University have asked me to address their annual fundraising dinner at St Georges Hall next Saturday. I want that meeting to become a focal point for rationality and opposition to this medieval mayor. I look forward to seeing as many of Liverpool's rational citizens there as possible.’

  The Mayor turned off the TV. He felt a sharp pain in his right hand side and gasped.

  Randles's voice came through on the intercom. ‘Where to Mayor?’

  ‘Hell in a handcart,’ mumbled the Mayor.

  CHAPTER 21

  Pete had already been at the Grapes for some time when Erasmus arrived. He was sitting at his usual table, back to the wall with a bottle of red on the table and a battered paperback, The Third Policemen, in his hands.

  He gave Erasmus a lopsided grin. ‘I hear you've been given the boot. Something to do with harassing a member of the clergy, I hear. Very noble.’ He was bellowing as usual and some of the other regulars looked up and laughed when they saw Erasmus. He had a feeling Pete had taken some delight in telling the story of his friend, the lawyer, who had been barred from a church.

  Pete gave a hoarse laugh borne of too many roll ups.

  ‘Temporary suspension of our business relationship. The firm are going after the Bovind Foundation account. And wait until I tell you about my encounter with those nutcases.’

  Erasmus told Pete about the school and the Pastor.

  ‘I'm amazed you weren't arrested,’ said Pete when Erasmus had finished. ‘The Bovind Foundation has got this town sewn up tighter than my Great Aunt Mabel's pleasure purse. But tell me, you don't think he would have set the kid on fire, do you?’

  Erasmus shook his head. ‘I don't know. Maybe, and you know what if he had I think he would have got away with it. You should have seen how deferential the cops were to him.’

  ‘And who can blame them? The only flourishing industries in this city are drugs and religion. I feel a quote coming on.’

  ‘Marx, “the opium of the people”. Very sixth form,’ said Erasmus. He shifted in his chair. ‘Did you hear about the lawyer, the one who took a dive from twenty-three floors up?’

  ‘Yeah, Ford, nasty piece of work, he refused to pay me once for some work I carried out for him. I had to persuade him of the error of his ways. He came around,’ said Pete. ‘A mate of mine, ex-CID, drinks in the Vernon. He told me that the police are working on the theory that it may be connected to organised crime. Seems Mr Ford had quite a few gangster clients,’ continued Pete.

  ‘Listen, I think there may be a connection between Stephen Francis’ disappearance and Ford's death.’

  Pete leaned back in his chair. ‘Go on, I'm interested. I do like a good conspiracy theory.’

  Erasmus had made a copy of the photograph. He took it out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Back in the nineties Stephen Francis and Malcolm Ford both belonged to Father Michael's crypto-fascist do-gooders, “Faith in the Community”.’

  Pete said nothing.

  ‘Stephen Francis goes missing a few weeks after Father Michael pays off his gambling debts, and then a week later Malcolm Ford takes a high dive from the top of Beetham tower, killer unknown.’

  ‘I see the connection between Stephen and Malcolm,’ said Pete. ‘I don't see the connection between Stephen's disappearance and Malcolm's death?’

  Erasmus leaned back in his chair. ‘No, neither do I, but it's a rather large coincidence, isn't it? But there is something else too.’

  Erasmus told Pete about Rachel's conversation with Stephen.

  Pete sipped his wine and then poured Erasmus a glass from the half empty bottle.

  ‘It's a legend, this wine. It's a Nobile from a smallholding that sits below the south face of Montepulicano. I did a job once for a guy who is related to the owner of the vineyard. I recommended it to Keith and he got a box. Taste it, it won't last long.’

  Erasmus took a sip. It was heaven. He knew next to nothing about wine, but even he knew this was good.

  ‘If you close your eyes, Erasmus, you could be on a terrace in Tuscany, the last of the afternoon's sun licking your face and a beautiful woman by your side.’

  Despite himself Erasmus wanted to close his eyes. He conjured up an image of a poppy filled hayfield – golden and red – and a girl in white dress running through it. With a start, he realised he had placed J
enna in the middle of his fantasy.

  ‘You see, Erasmus. You can make yourself believe anything without trying very hard at all. Journalists tend to want to believe stories are bigger than they are. They are picturing their bylines before the story is even written.’

  ‘But it is a coincidence.’

  ‘Yes, but you don't think that our new saviour has anything to do with Stephen's disappearance, do you? Every other week his press guys deal with some alleged scandal or conspiracy. If he had a problem his lawyers would have been all over it.’

  ‘I don't know but I want you to find out who the boys are in this photograph. Can you do that?’

  Pete studied the photograph.

  ‘Find out the name of a bunch of kids? I am in the middle of a contract supplying a local security firm with non-lethal projectiles and it's a hard sell, those guys don't like the prefix. It will cost you, this one. Let's say a hundred quid per hour. What do you say?’

  ‘It's a deal,’ said Erasmus.

  Pete laughed uproariously. ‘You want a top up?’ This was Pete's way of sealing a deal.

  ‘I would love to stay and drink some more wine but I have to run. I promised to take to Abby to choir practice after school.’

  Pete raised his glass. ‘Choir practice and not drinking, the modern British Army should be ashamed! I'll call you once I have the names.’

  Erasmus said goodbye and made his way outside. At this time of the afternoon Lark Lane was relatively quiet, the students were either at lectures or in bed, and the last of the late lunch traffic had subsided. Erasmus had parked a couple of hundred yards away from the Grapes on the leafy road that ran around the circumference of Sefton Park. He walked along Lark Lane and then through the Victorian gates into the park.

  Before the lane opened out into the wider boulevard that ran around the park it fell into shadow. Oaks and a few surviving beeches stood either side of the narrowing lane and blocked the weak winter sunlight. On Erasmus’ left there was a set of crumbling steps leading off to the raised garden of one of the Park mansions, decaying and magnificent.

  In the shadow of the recessed steps Erasmus caught a glimpse of something moving. Too late, Erasmus realised that there was someone standing in the shadow. The baseball bat came down fast and Erasmus threw up his left arm to block it. The force of the blow caused him to stagger back, the pain from his arm was intense but he hadn't heard bone shatter. The man with the bat stepped out of the shadow, a black balaclava covered his face. He swung the bat in the direction of Erasmus’ head. Erasmus rocked back on his heels, the bat arcing through the space where his head had been.

  Erasmus noticed that his assailant was shaking as he brought the bat back up ready to swing again. Erasmus realised with grim satisfaction that he wasn't dealing with a professional otherwise he'd be unconscious at the very least right now.

  Erasmus had been carrying his car keys and he now gripped them allowing three keys to protrude from between his fingers, giving a cutting edge to his fist. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye: there was somebody else behind him. He had no time to think about that though as his assailant lunged at him again with the bat. This time Erasmus didn't jump backwards but ran towards the man on the inside of the bat's arc. Erasmus saw the man's eyes widen and then he punched him in the jaw as hard as he could. He felt the keys sink into the man's flesh and the man screamed and dropped the bat before staggering backwards holding onto his face.

  Erasmus followed up with a kick to the man's body that knocked him to the floor. The Army had taught Erasmus well and he was in no mood to let his attacker regain the initiative so he kicked him hard again with all his strength.

  The man had gone limp. Erasmus pulled off the man's balaclava. It was Mohammed, Purple Ahmed's henchman.

  ‘Police! Stop right now!’ a voice from behind him ordered.

  Erasmus turned around and came face to face with Officer Cooper.

  ‘I've been attacked, you must have seen the whole thing?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Looks like you're the one doing the attacking to me, Mr Jones, and it's not the first time, is it?’

  Behind him Erasmus heard Mohammed get to his feet. He turned round and saw him start to run away. He turned left into Linnet Lane rather than run through the park as Erasmus would have expected.

  ‘Are you just going to let him get away?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  He inclined his head to his shoulder-mounted mic.

  ‘This is Officer Cooper. Craig, are you there? I got a suspect/victim running into Sefton Park, he's been pretty badly beaten. Another suspect is in custody. Turn around, Mr Jones.’

  ‘He hasn't run into the park. You saw the whole thing, didn't you?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Resisting arrest, eh. Shame,’ said Officer Cooper as he pulled out his night stick.

  ‘I'm going to have to use some of that reasonable force,’ he said.

  Erasmus balled his fists ready to attack.

  ‘Officer, can I assist in anyway?’

  An old woman emerged from between two cars. She was pushing a tartan-covered trolley with a home-made banjo strapped to it.

  Cooper looked at her. ‘No, thank you, madam. There's nothing to see her. If you just be on your way I'll be fine.’

  ‘OK, Officer. You chaps do a fine job of protecting us from scum.’ She looked at Erasmus as she said this and then spat on his shoes before smiling sweetly at Cooper. She gingerly made her way past them and disappeared from sight around the corner.

  ‘That's the second assault on me you've witnessed, Cooper. I'm beginning to think you're a jinx.’

  Cooper stepped around Erasmus and then swung his baton hard into the back of Erasmus’ legs. Erasmus fell to his knees. Another blow landed on his back knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling face down on the pavement.

  Cooper was breathing hard. He picked up Erasmus’ head by its hair and brought his face close to Erasmus’. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. ‘It's people like you that have ruined this country but we going to get it back, you'll see.’

  Erasmus whispered quietly. ‘What was that?’

  Cooper moved closer to hear. ‘What?’

  As soon as he was in range, Erasmus swung his head back and then launched it forward smack into Cooper's nose. Erasmus heard bone break and Cooper staggered back onto the pavement, sitting down and holding his bloody nose.

  ‘You fugger, you've broken my nose. I am going to kill you.’

  Cooper reached for his TASER.

  Suddenly, they were illuminated by the blue and red flashing lights of a patrol car pulling alongside.

  The driver's window was down. The policeman looked at Cooper. ‘Need any help?’ he said.

  Erasmus put forward his wrists and held them together.

  ‘Just going quietly, Officer,’ said Erasmus with a smile.

  ‘Fugg,’ said Cooper.

  Cooper grimaced and placed a pair of plastic cuffs on Erasmus. As they bundled him into the back of the patrol car Erasmus asked the other policeman if he had any luck catching his assailant.

  ‘No, I drove into the park but saw nothing.’

  ‘Surprising, huh,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘You shut your face hole,’ said Cooper.

  Erasmus thought it probably good advice. He stayed silent throughout the journey until they reached Admiral Street Police Station and he was passed over to the duty sergeant. He asked for, and was granted, his phone call. He called Dan.

  Dan had been in the Mosquito Lounge chatting to a ‘couple of lovelies’ and was therefore not happy to be disturbed. In his cell Erasmus could hear the sound of Dan's fury as he hit Admiral Street Police Station like a tornado, bellowing about police abuse, wrongful arrest, lack of any contrary evidence to rebut his client's story, who was, he let it be known, an upstanding member of the legal profession and friends with some of the northern circuit's most senior judges. Erasmus wasn't surprised when the duty sergeant unloc
ked his cell and there was Dan grinning like a drunken Cheshire Cat.

  Outside the station Dan lit a cigarette and then offered the pack to Erasmus.

  Erasmus declined.

  Dan had, despite his intake, parked his BMW on yellow lines outside the police station.

  Erasmus shook his head.

  ‘What? Like they would breathalyse me now. Breach of my human rights probably.’

  ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘You do but you know I quite enjoyed that. For a moment I actually felt like a lawyer. So, what happened in the park and why do you keep on pissing off that policeman?’

  Erasmus caught a whiff of Dan's breath: whisky and stale cigarettes.

  ‘I was jumped and Cooper was there the whole time. I saw somebody behind me before I got whacked, I think it was Cooper. He was part of it.’

  Dan sucked on his Benson & Hedges filter tip. ‘And why would he do that, Erasmus? Just because you gave him some backchat in front of some teenagers?’

  ‘He's a Third Waver, Dan. I think he was told to do it. I think they meant to kill or injure me and make it look like a street mugging.’

  Dan pulled a face. ‘They?’

  ‘Father Michael, the Third Wavers.’

  ‘You've got to be kidding, right? You are saying that one of the most respected religious figures in the city has ordered a hit on you? And why does he want you killed? Why would he want to do that? Because you punched one of his cronies? Fuck, I thought I was losing the plot but you are seriously off the wall. Are you sure you don't have a piece of shrapnel lodged up there from the war?’ Dan tapped on Erasmus’ head.

  Erasmus didn't think, he reacted. He pulled Dan's hand down and around almost to breaking point. Dan screamed and just as quickly Erasmus let go

  ‘Fuck, you psycho, Erasmus! What are you doing? You fucking idiot, you seriously need to see a doctor. Fucking conspiracy theories! You need to lighten up, man. Are you mentally ill?’

  Erasmus stood with his hand by his side, head bowed. He felt nothing but shame. He had attacked one of his few friends, the only lawyer at the firm who had stood by him and the man who had bailed him out when he needed someone.