Blow Down

by JL Merrow

  “And you were on your own all the time?” Phil went on.

  Lance stared at him coolly. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Do you often work such a long day?”

  A faint frown appeared behind the sunglasses. “My plans for the evening were unexpectedly cancelled.”

  “Oh? What were they?”

  “Private,” Lance said snippily. “Really, I can’t imagine you seriously suspect me of being the strangler. I know full well you’ve verified my whereabouts on the day of the fayre.”

  This was news to me, but then I s’pose it must be one of the hazards of the job—witnesses blabbing after you’ve grilled ’em.

  Phil shrugged. “The police will have done exactly the same. Have you heard the latest development in the case?”

  “Alexander’s confession?” Lance hesitated, as if he wanted to make absolutely sure he chose the right words. “I find it very hard to believe that he would do such a thing.”

  Not, I noticed, complete denial of the possibility, like Vi. And hey, that news had travelled fast.

  “Of course, his daughter’s devastated,” Phil went on, shrugging as if he didn’t give a toss one way or another.

  Lance looked away. “Yes. A terrible thing.”

  “Still, maybe it’ll make her grow up a bit,” Phil added. “God knows she needs it.”

  I gave him a sharp look. Callous, much?

  Lance stood up so fast, his chair tottered and almost fell, only the counter behind it saving it. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have a client to deal with. But it was kind of you to come.” His smile was so fake he ought to have had Made in China stamped on his lips.

  “Not at all,” Phil said politely as we both stood. “We can see ourselves out.”

  Lance watched us anyway, right up until he could close the door behind us, which was annoying as I’d planned to have another go at the vibes on the way out. I was pretty sure that had been Phil’s plan too. I mean, he presumably hadn’t brought me along just for my stunning good looks.

  “That was weird,” I muttered as we walked back down the garden path. “Him getting the hump over Vi.”

  “Not really.” Phil smirked. “Getting any vibes off what’s under that tarpaulin?”

  I’d assumed it was just Lance being precious about whatever eco-friendly car he drove. I paused and listened—and found myself stumbling backwards.

  Phil caught me with a steadying arm. “Whoa,” I gasped.

  That thing wasn’t so much sending out vibes as it was setting up its own local fracking operation.

  Someone ought to tell it that really wasn’t a great idea in Hertfordshire, given all the recently discovered vast underground reserves of bugger all waiting to swallow up the unwary.

  “Thought so,” Phil said smugly, and lifted one end of the tarpaulin. Underneath was the unmistakeable bright purple of Vi’s Lexus. To avoid all possible doubt, the number plate was clearly visible: V10 LTM.

  Bloody hell. I was half-surprised I’d been able to walk past it earlier without getting a whiff of it—but then again, although the vibes had been strong, they hadn’t felt bad, if you know what I mean. Not like someone’s dirty little secret. And they’d gone completely now it was uncovered, so at least we could be sure there were no dead bodies hidden in the car, for example.

  Or live ones, for that matter. I mean, you’ve got to think of every eventuality.

  “Thought he didn’t like her?” I said, as Phil let the tarpaulin fall back.

  “Maybe he was protesting too much? Didn’t want anyone to know they were involved, in case it was seen as giving him a motive for the murder?”

  “So what’s it mean?” I asked, once we’d buckled up back into the Golf.

  “Not sure.” Phil took a deep breath, staring straight out the front. “If it’s what I think, I don’t like it.”

  “What?”

  “Lance Frith has a cast-iron alibi for the day of the fayre. Multiple witnesses—there was a problem with the electrics at the venue, so he had to be a bit more hands-on than usual sorting it all out.”

  Lance, dealing with electricals? Crystals and mystical energies seemed more his speed.

  “But,” Phil went on, “Vi’s got no one who can vouch for where she was in those vital minutes when her stepmum was killed. What if they’re in on it together? She calls you to the house, tells him it’s his turn to do the dirty work, and then, because it’s his first time and it’s dark, or you get a tingle from your spidey-senses, whatever, he botches it.”

  Shit. Suddenly I was even more glad I was here with Phil instead of sat on my arse at home while he put himself in danger. But— “Alex wouldn’t confess to save Lance.”

  “If Lance goes down, so does Vi. And maybe he doesn’t know Lance is involved.”

  Well, to be honest, neither did we, for sure. “Could’ve been Vi both times,” I said, though I didn’t want to believe it.

  Phil shook his head. “Just doesn’t ring true for me. Too risky—you said you’d told her I’d know where you were and who’d called you out—and if she’d wanted to kill you, why not do it earlier, while you were busy fixing her plumbing? She could have strangled you while you were distracted, then shifted the body outside.”

  I shuddered. “I’d have known it was her,” I reminded him.

  He looked grim. “Not for long, most likely. You hungry?”

  “Too right.” Actually, what I really wanted right now was a drink. Say, a nice warm mug of lemon tea with honey.

  Sod it.

  We found a pub in the village that did food and grabbed a table. Phil ordered (soup for me; fish and chips for him, the lucky bastard) and brought the drinks over. My iced water went down like nectar from the gods, and the soup, when it came, wasn’t bad either. I very nearly ended up wearing it, mind, having absentmindedly taken off my sunglasses and almost frightened the waitress to death.

  “It’s contact lenses, innit?” she said, her hand pressed to her ample chest after she’d got the food safely on the table. “For Halloween?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Ooh, you’ve even got the creepy voice. Oh, that’s great, that is. Enjoy your meals.”

  After all that, I was kind of surprised I did.

  “What’s next?” I asked as Phil finished up his chips. I’d nicked one or two, but they were a bit on the crunchy side to go down smoothly.

  “I’m taking you home. You need to rest.”

  “Bollocks. I’m fine.” Thanks to the soup, it actually came out sounding reasonably human.

  Phil gave me a half-convinced look. “Well . . . if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” Still fairly normal. I was on a roll.

  Heh. Soup and a roll.

  “Then how about we go looking for some spiritual guidance?”

  Toby’s house in the country, only a hop, skip, and a jump away from Lance’s place, was a bit disappointing, to be honest. I mean, bishops are supposed to live in palaces, right? Princes of the church and all that bollocks.

  On current evidence, Toby’s church must’ve gone republican.

  It was a nice enough house, don’t get me wrong: 1930s Georgian-style, with tall chimneys and a posh front door with a polished brass knocker. But it was just a house. He even had neighbours on either side. Granted, the high hedges meant old Tobes wouldn’t have to risk actually catching sight of them, but they were there, nonetheless. Most of the front garden had been converted into a wide gravel drive, with curving flowerbeds and shrubberies to stop it all looking too bare.

  We pulled up next to a stately dark-blue BMW with a fish badge on the back. I looked to see if he also had a sticker in the rear window proclaiming Bishops do it in purple, but sadly, no.

  “What are we asking Toby about?” I rasped as we unbuckled. The soup was wearing off.

  “That lunch, the day before the funeral. I’ve got a feeling about that lunch.”

  The doorbell was one of those electronic ones that are supposed to sou
nd like something out of Downton Abbey, and never do. A short while later, Toby opened the door to us, beatific smile firmly pasted on his mug and eyes all a-twinkle. “Welcome. Do come in.”

  “Thanks,” Phil said shortly, and stepped inside. “You’ve heard the news?”

  Toby tilted his head to one side. “About . . .?”

  “Alex Majors. He’s confessed to killing his wife.”

  The eyes lost their sparkle, and the smile turned suitably upside down. “Oh my goodness. A sad business. Very sad.”

  We both nodded. I was itching to ask if he believed old Alex had done it, but I thought I’d better let Phil handle this his own way.

  “Perhaps we could talk about it?” Phil suggested.

  “Oh, by all means. Yes. Do come through.” He seemed genuinely flustered by the news—then again, I’m sure Greg’s told me more than once that a lot of the church is theatre. Maybe Toby was just a good actor.

  As he led us through a spacious hallway and a cosy sitting room, out to a comfortably large conservatory out the back, I got a strong sense of déjà vu. Just like at Uncle Arlo’s, everything was white—but somehow, in this house, it worked. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why, but I reckoned it was something to do with how Arlo’s gaff was all straight lines and corners, whereas this place was mostly curves. Still, the similarities were too strong to ignore. Had Amelia somehow had a hand in decorating both places?

  Or was I reading too much into it? Maybe the local Homebase had just had a sale on white paint.

  The conservatory was set up as a dining room with a six-seater table in the middle, but with a comfy-looking bench all around the perimeter of the room—one of those ones where you can lift up the cushioned seats and there’s storage underneath. Excellent place to stash a body, I found myself thinking, and was glad when we sat down at the table.

  It was bright enough out here to keep my sunglasses on. I took them off anyway.

  Toby stared. “My goodness. You look positively demonic. How are you?” he added belatedly, like he’d only just remembered he was supposed to be caring.

  “’M okay,” I muttered. So much for him having taken a shine to me.

  All right, I’d never believed that. Interesting, though, that he didn’t look surprised. He’d clearly heard that bit of news.

  “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” Phil said politely. “We’ve just had lunch.”

  Seemed like he didn’t want to give Toby time to relax.

  “As you wish. May I ask how you know about Alex’s confession?”

  “We were there.”

  “He confessed to you?”

  Phil nodded. If you ask me, Toby looked a bit miffed at that. Maybe he’d expected Alex would’ve chosen someone more suitable to unburden himself to, like a man of the cloth.

  Specifically, purple cloth.

  “And I take it there is no doubt as to his veracity?” Toby added, sounding hopeful—although I wouldn’t have liked to say what exactly he was hoping for.

  “That’s in the hands of the police now.”

  “Dear me. I must arrange a visit to him.” Toby folded his hands as if in prayer, and even closed his eyes briefly. Wasn’t there a bit in the Bible about how you shouldn’t be really obvious about praying just so’s everyone would think you were dead holy? I couldn’t remember it exactly, probably because I hadn’t paid as much attention in Sunday school as I should have. Then again, it’d been over two decades ago.

  “In the meantime, I was wondering what you could tell us about the lunch you attended with Alex Majors the day before his wife’s funeral?”

  Toby blinked. “Really? I’m not sure what use that’s likely to be.”

  I cleared my throat. Ow. “Okay if I use your loo?” Might as well take a butcher’s around the place while we were here, right? And it wasn’t like I was going to be any more use out here.

  “Of course. By the front door, on the right as you go out.”

  “Cheers.” I went out through the sitting room into the hallway, closed the door behind me, and listened.

  Blimey. The Force was strong with this one, all right. The trail was blinding bright, with faint strands of guilt almost hidden under a blaze of religious fervour.

  I shuddered. Christ. Had it been Toby who’d tried to kill me? Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, Sodom and Gomorrah, and all that vicious Old Testament stuff? The trail led to a small room that was set up as a study. I glanced behind me nervously (and pointlessly: that door from the sitting room had a creaky hinge and I’d have heard it open) and slipped inside. There was a desk with a computer and wall-to-wall shelving full of files, but it was one of the desk drawers that was blazing bright like a heretic on Bonfire Night and calling out to me like a siren. I tried the handle.

  Locked.

  I looked in the desk tidy. There was a small key nestling in the paper-clip tray, and when I tried it in the lock, it turned. Toby, Toby, Toby. If I switched on his computer I’d lay odds I’d find his password was Password. Well, that or something like Jesus Christ.

  My heart thumping, I pulled open the drawer. What was it gonna be? Secret membership of that weirdo church in America that hates homosexuality? Details of pray-away-the-gay camps he was planning to set up in Britain? The first thing I saw was a year-old edition of Church Times. I shifted that aside impatiently—and hit pay dirt.

  A colourful booklet with a montage of happy, smiling priests and nuns on the cover, and at the bottom, the words: Converting to Roman Catholicism: A Guide for the Ordained. Underneath it, I found another, less glossy booklet—The Road to Rome—and, slipped neatly inside its front cover, letters between Tobes and Cardinal someone. Long letters, and lots of them, in spidery handwriting, because apparently this was something you didn’t dare trust to your hard drive.

  I didn’t have time to decipher a lot of the letters, but I caught several mentions of meetings to discuss the faith. The skirt he’d reputedly been chasing? Was bright crimson and came with a matching skullcap.

  I couldn’t help it. I snorted out a laugh. This was Toby’s deep, dark secret? He was defecting to the pope’s lot? Just to check, I listened again.

  Nothing. Not a blip. Which meant not even a porn stash. Apparently, for all his faults, Toby really was as holy as he was painted.

  I shoved everything back the way I’d found it, locked the drawer, and replaced the key. Then I trooped back into the conservatory. Toby looked up. “Ah, at last. I was becoming a little concerned about the state of your colon. I trust you’re feeling better now?”

  Yep. Holy, maybe, but still a git.

  Phil raised a questioning eyebrow. I shook my head minutely, and he stood up. “Well, we won’t keep you any longer. Thanks for your time, Bishop.”

  Tobes nodded graciously.

  “What did you find?” Phil asked as we buckled ourselves back into his Golf.

  I grinned. “You’re not gonna believe it. He’s turning Catholic.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  Phil drummed his fingers on the wheel. “And there was nothing else?”

  “Nope.”

  Phil sighed. “I think we need to talk to Violet Majors again. Tomorrow,” he added firmly, with a stern look in my direction.

  “Yes, Mum,” I said, and tried not to look too relieved.

  Honestly? I was cream crackered. Takes it out of you, this detecting business.

  Okay, so maybe it was really down to the getting-strangled bit.

  “You’re sure you’re up for this?” Phil asked for the umpteenth time the next morning.

  “Course I am.” My throat was feeling a lot better today, after an early night and a breakfast of eggs lovingly scrambled by my fiancé. I’d asked for fried, but he’d said he reckoned scrambled would be better for my throat, which I took to mean he was still finding the yolk thing a bit daunting.

  All right, he could have been telling the truth, but I know what my mon
ey was on.

  “Anyhow,” I went on, “I need to get the van back, don’t I?”

  Seeing as Vi had already seen me in all my bruised, red-eyed glory, we weren’t relying on the element of surprise today. Phil had called her and asked if it was okay to come round to the Majors’ farmhouse to see her.

  Apparently there had been a telling hesitation at that point, which suggested she’d spent the night at Lance’s place. Interesting. And depressing. I didn’t want it to be those two, but it was looking more and more likely.

  She’d agreed we could go round at eleven. I was totally fine about it until we actually got there, and then it hit me. I could have died here. Right over there, by that tub with a shrub in it that needed pruning. I took a deep breath.

  “Sure you’re okay?” Phil asked again.

  I flashed him a smile. “I’ll live.”

  Phil’s expression was grim. As if, say, he was brooding on how close that’d come to being a lie. “Come on then, let’s do this. But if Frith is in there too, we don’t turn our backs on anyone, you got that?”

  I nodded. No way on this earth would I have let him go in there on his tod.

  We knocked.

  Vi opened the door to us dressed in bright red, which seemed in poor taste. Then again, maybe she was trying to lift her spirits. She certainly looked like she needed cheering up. “Come in. This is all so horrible. Daddy’s still locked up like some kind of criminal, although they must know he couldn’t have done it.”

  She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. Then again, maybe she was just hoping nobody else would be convinced?

  “Is Lance here?” I asked bluntly as we wiped our feet and walked on in. The wooden floor in the hallway was looking a bit sad from its soaking a couple of days ago, and I could see the water marks stretched into the living room.

  She blushed. “No. Why would he be here?”