The Fabric of Sin mw-9

by Phil Rickman

  ‘I’ll be reasonable about it. Four grand in an envelope and a bit of honesty.’

  ‘I could …’ Hayter’s face might have darkened, or it could have been the sky. ‘I don’t think I need to spell out what damage I could do to your … what you laughably call a career.’

  ‘Well …’ Lol shook his head, sighing. ‘I mean that’s just the point, isn’t it? I don’t call it a career, and you already have spelled it out. Or your … employee, with whatever destructive implement he carries around with him. And the thing is—’

  ‘Whoever did that … might have gone further than instructed,’ Hayter said.

  ‘—Thing is, I’m really not anywhere near significant enough to be damaged by somebody with your level of connections. I mean, what are you going to do … like, sabotage the renewal of my six-album contract with the Sony Corporation?’

  ‘Maybe he concentrated on the wrong guitar.’

  Hayter turned away, shoulders hunched against the rain which had drained the colour out of the city below them, making the Cathedral spectral. Then he turned back.

  ‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me and …’ Hayter jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards The Centurion ‘… him.’

  ‘Mr Gwilym. Who you haven’t seen in thirty years.’

  ‘Actually, I hadn’t,’ Hayter said. ‘Not until today.’

  ‘So what … I mean, why the reunion? Can’t be the anniversary of the ritual abuse of Mary Roberts, surely?’

  Lol, the wet soaking through to his chest, suddenly felt this kind of transcendent exhilaration. Somehow, he had the bastard.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Hayter said.

  ‘So tell me what it was like.’

  ‘You want to come inside?’

  ‘Jimmy, do I look stupid?’

  ‘I’m getting wet.’

  ‘Rain’s healthy. Start with Mat Phobe. Move the letters around and it becomes Baphomet. That’s this head thing the Templars are supposed to have worshipped. And also what Crowley called himself, when he was doing sex magic with the OTO.’

  ‘Yeah, we did our share of that. Mat had this obscure book, with the rituals of the OTO. You needed women. Or men would do, in some cases, but we never went there, like I said. Unlike some of the Templars, apparently.’

  ‘What happened to Mary?’

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘I told you I went to London to meet my old man.’ Hayter’s eyes were half-screened by his heavy hair. ‘And Gwilym went home to his old man’s farm. And when we got back, she’d gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So when you and Gwilym had left the premises, who was left?’ Mickey what’s-his-name and … Mat Phobe?’

  ‘No.’ Hayter wiped the air with both hands. ‘That’s absolutely as far as I go, Robinson.’

  ‘You haven’t even explained why you’re here yet.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘What about the four grand? I could after all …’ Lol started to laugh, hair dripping, leaning back over the bonnet of Hayter’s Jag ‘… seriously damage you.’

  ‘It’ll be on the desk by tonight.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not going in there. Especially at night.’

  Hayter started to walk away, then turned. ‘HSBC. The bank?’

  ‘Centre of town?’

  ‘With your name on it. One hour. You’ll need some ID.’

  Hayter walked back to The Centurion, quickly, through the rain.

  54

  The Confines of the Triangle

  Merrily spotted the Animal, a serious presence in the Broad Street traffic, and ran out across the cathedral green as Lol pulled in on the yellow lines. Holding on to his left arm as she climbed in from the running board.

  ‘God, you’re soaked!’

  ‘Where’s Huw?’

  ‘Left ages ago.’ Merrily hauled the passenger door shut. ‘You OK?’ Checking him out, peering into his face as he waited for a gap in the traffic. ‘You saw him?’

  ‘Hayter? Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘He admits it was him?’

  ‘Not exactly, but … Where’re we going?’

  ‘Somewhere we can talk,’ Merrily said. ‘I’m trying to come to terms with something that … I don’t quite know what it means, but it’s disturbing.’

  ‘Hayter’s worried. He’s floundering.’

  ‘So he bloody should be.’

  ‘He offered me ten thousand for the damage to the Boswell.’

  ‘What, just now?’

  ‘He implied that the guy who did it overreacted. It must’ve happened very quickly. He was still thinking I was trying to blackmail him, told his guy to follow me. Guy rings him from Tanworth after I’ve left the truck to go into the churchyard. Hayter — some kind of knee-jerk thing — tells him what to do to show me what I’m taking on.’

  ‘How did he find out you’re on the level?’

  ‘I’m thinking two possibilities.’ Lol turned left into Bridge Street, traffic congealing around them. ‘Maybe he called Prof back, in a rage, and Prof explained the situation. Or he talked to Gwilym on the phone and Gwilym did some checks.’

  ‘What did you do … about the money?’

  ‘Told him to make it four grand and give me some honest answers. We reached the same point, where Mary disappears, then he clammed up. He says the money will be at HSBC in an hour. Unless he already has some arrangement with them, I don’t know how he’s going to do that, so maybe he was just lying, to get rid of me.’

  ‘But he and Gwilym are together?’

  ‘For the first time, he insists, since Garway. What does that suggest?’

  ‘I may just be able to tell you in a few minutes.’

  Lol drove down to the car park near the swimming pool. By the time he’d found a space big enough for the Animal, Merrily had the mobile out, was consulting its index of numbers.

  ‘I just want to try something, see what reaction I get.’

  She put the call through. The rain had stopped again but the sky was smoky over the hills.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Beverley Murray said professionally. ‘This is The Ridge.’

  ‘Beverley, it’s Merrily Watkins. Sorry to bother you. Don’t suppose Teddy’s around?’

  ‘Oh. Merrily … haven’t you seen him? He was supposed to be calling at your place with the bags you left behind.’

  ‘Oh, well, actually I’m not at home. Perhaps he’s left them somewhere.’ Unlikely that Mrs Morningwood would have answered the door, especially to someone from Garway. ‘It was very kind of him, but there was really no need, I’ll be back there, probably tomorrow. In fact …’

  She told Beverley she’d only just found out that the special service for the Templar anniversary was tomorrow, the twelfth, rather than Saturday, the thirteenth.

  ‘Oh … yes, that’s … There has been a change of plan, I think.’

  ‘Only, I know Teddy was feeling a bit apprehensive about it, and I was thinking there was nothing I could do because I’ve got this wedding on Saturday … but, of course, Friday’s not a problem.’

  ‘Oh … Well, I think …’

  ‘And obviously I’ve learned a lot about the Templars in the past few days. So, you know, I’d be happy to take it off his hands …’

  ‘Merrily, I—’

  ‘So, do you know what time it is? That’s all I wanted to know, really. I’ll come up and meet him an hour or so before and we’ll work it out.’

  A silence. Merrily watched rain clouds tangling in the rust-coloured sky over Dinedor Hill.

  Beverley said, ‘Can I call you back about this, Merrily?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Merrily clicked off, sank down in the seat.

  ‘I wasn’t getting the right messages. From Beverley.’

  ‘This is the wife of the guy who’s standi
ng in as vicar at Garway.’

  ‘Mmm, they’re waiting for a new team minister. Beverley was telling me how stressed out Teddy was and how it would be bad for him to get involved in any exorcism, and that he didn’t really want to do a service to commemorate the seven hundredth anniversary of the suppression of the Templars. Which, of course, led to all kinds of torture and burnings at the stake, for which the Roman Catholic Church is now being asked to issue a formal apology.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Some neo-Templar groups. The Vatican won’t authorize an apology, of course, because the Templars are still very iffy. The accusations may, at least in part, be true. No religious organization is totally clean.’

  ‘Certainly not one consisting largely of trained killers.’

  ‘There is that.’

  ‘You really want to do this service?’

  ‘No way. I was just seeing what reaction I got. The situation is that the C of E didn’t want to be involved, but Teddy said a lot of people had been pushing for something at Garway. What he didn’t say is that this was going to be a Masonic service.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘Reluctantly approved, possibly under pressure, by Bernie and conducted — something else Teddy didn’t say — by a Mason.’

  Merrily watched a trans-Euro container lorry coming off Greyfriars Bridge inside a grey haze, thinking maybe she knew this city no better than its driver.

  ‘Teddy Murray, it seems, has been on the square for many, many years. Which opens up so many scary possibilities that I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Suggests a special relatonship with Gwilym.’

  ‘Mmm. And it means he’s been extremely parsimonious with the truth in his various conversations with me. The guy’s always so vague and far-back. Butter wouldn’t melt. She said he’d actually been to the vicarage this afternoon.’

  ‘Your vicarage?’

  ‘Ostensibly to bring my bags back. Unlikely. It suggests he wants to talk about something. I’ll see if …’

  Merrily rang home. No answer. Jane must be back by now, so she left a message saying she could be late, was reachable on the mobile, if Jane could see her way to calling.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Lol said.

  ‘Pick up the money for the Boswell?’

  ‘It’s not going to be there, Merrily.’

  ‘Be interesting to see. Stourport clearly very much wants you off his back.’

  They parked at Tesco, walked round the corner by All Saints Church and Lol went into the bank on his own.

  Came back with a thick yellow envelope.

  ‘Let’s not get too excited, it might be a letter bomb. Or something.’

  Insisting on her getting into the truck while he opened it on his own in the car park, up against a perimeter wall.

  He slid back into the truck.

  ‘I’ve never had a fifty-pound note before. Let alone eighty of them.’

  ‘Well, well …’

  ‘And there’s also this.’

  He laid a plastic CD case on the dash. Merrily grimaced.

  ‘I do hope it’s not death metal.’

  ‘I seriously don’t like to put it on.’ Lol took out the CD, held it up to the light. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake …’

  ‘Now?’

  Lol switched on the engine, loaded the CD, turned up the volume.

  A background hum was relayed through six speakers. A lot of rustling, movement of objects. A female voice.

  ‘Is this what you wanted?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah … over there.’ Male voice. ‘Near the mirror. And don’t talk again, all right? Just keep quiet. Whatever happens, you keep quiet. This is important.’

  After about a minute of near-silence, the girl said:

  ‘Ooh, kinky.’

  And the man hissed:

  ‘’King shut it!’

  ‘That could be Hayter,’ Lol said, ‘but …’

  Merrily said, ‘The girl … did that sound like a Brummie accent to you?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Christ.’

  The atmosphere — a suggestion of burning, a hissing — was issuing like steam from speakers on either side, filling the cab. After some minutes, another male voice came in, up-and-down, liturgical.

  ‘I conjure thee by the name under which thou knowest thy God and by the name of the prince and king who rules over thee. I conjure thee to come at once and to fulfil my desires, by the powerful name of Him who is obeyed by all, by the name Tetragrammaton, Jehovah, the names which overcome everything, whether of this world or any other … Come, speak to me clearly, without duplicity. Come in the name of Adonai Sabaoth, come, linger not. Adonai Shadai, the king of all kings, commands thee!’

  Background noise, with swishing movements. An exclamation of distaste. ‘Sulphur! Jeez!’ A nervous giggle.

  After a while, another voice.

  ‘Told you it was boll— Sorry.’

  Then the whole incantation repeated. Twice.

  Near-silence this time. A thump, as if the tape had been unsubtly edited. Then two voices, one going, ‘Oh my—!’

  Cut off by the second, louder, triumphant.

  ‘Welcome. Thou wert invoked in the name of him who has created heaven and earth and hell. I hereby bind thee so that thou shalt remain here, within the confines of the triangle, while I still require thee and leave not without the licence to depart, and then not without answering the questions I shall put to thee.

  ‘That which was brought here on the instructions of the Grand Master and Grand Preceptor of all England, Jacques de Molay, to be hidden from those who would purloin it … if it be still here, I command you to inform me of its true location and if it be not here I command that you so inform me.’

  More invocation of the secret names of God. The question repeated. No clues as to what hidden item they were hoping to locate. It went on for another ten minutes, with edit bumps, until whatever had been welcomed was formally dismissed and the recording ended.

  ‘The problem with ceremonial magic,’ Merrily said, ‘is that it can be incredibly tedious. The language they use … stilted, pompous. Mock liturgy.’

  ‘Very defined, though,’ Lol said. ‘Very exact, focused on what they want and closing up all other avenues. I don’t know what to make of it. All smoke and mirrors, or what?’

  ‘Actually, it involves both smoke and mirrors. This ex-Catholic priest Eliphas Levi — huge admirer of the Templars — once claimed to have conjured up a spirit for a friend of Bulwer-Lytton, the writer. Admitting that he couldn’t really be sure what he’d got, but claiming to see the figure of a man. And he asks it the designated questions and gets the answers in his head.’

  ‘No big, sonorous voice echoing around the temple?’

  ‘Inside your head,’ Merrily said, ‘is usually as good as it gets. Apparently.’

  ‘So who were they trying to invoke here?’

  ‘Dunno. You go through the Key of Solomon and all these magical texts, you get a selection of spirits — funny names, Biblical-sounding roots — which perform certain functions to order. Finding hidden treasure — that’s a big favourite.’

  ‘It’s been quite heavily edited.’

  ‘Because this stuff takes for ever,’ Merrily said. ‘But, yeah, it also covers up essential facts. Like, we don’t find out exactly what they’re after or who they’re trying to talk to. Or what they get out of it … if anything. It’s just rich kids messing around, trying to scare themselves. Like, hey, we’ve done all the drugs, had all the weird sex, let’s do Other Spheres of Existence? Point is, why did Hayter want us to hear it?’

  ‘Sign of good faith? He said that if he found any of the tapes he’d let me know. I thought that was just to get my phone number. Which, of course, he put to good use a short time later.’

  ‘But why is he telling us anything? Went to a lot of trouble here. He must’ve either shot straight round to the bank with it, or
he’d taken it earlier, making provision for collection by someone else. He didn’t have to offer you any money — there was no way you could pin the Boswell on him.’

  Lol ejected the CD, slid it back into the plastic case.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t want us to drop it, does he? He’s just trying to steer us away from him. More or less editing himself out. Like, “something did happen, but it wasn’t down to me.” The girl … could that be Mary?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll play it to Mrs Morningwood. And of course, Sycharth’s not in there at all. Where’s his big Welsh-language scene?’

  ‘Yet Hayter told me about Gwilym. Without mentioning his name.’

  ‘But that, presumably, was before he spoke to him again,’ Merrily said. ‘Now it’s like they’re on the same side, both pointing at the guy who conducted the ritual.’

  ‘Saying this is the bad guy, Mat Phobe, and he’s dead? End of story?’

  Merrily’s mobile chimed.

  ‘I don’t know. It might be somebody they can’t— Hello?’

  ‘I think I should like to talk to you, Merrily,’ Beverley Murray said.

  55

  Monty and Jane

  ‘So where did it happen?’ Jane asked.

  The Volvo roared and surged because she’d put it back into second gear instead of up into fourth. Shit.

  ‘Was it at your home?’ Jane said. ‘Is that what this is all about?’

  Mrs Morningwood glanced at her.

  ‘It wasn’t far from home. It’s an established fact that most car accidents take place on roads that are well known to the victim. Familiarity breeding carelessness.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jane said. ‘Very good.’

  She wasn’t totally stupid. She was driving slowly but trying not to make it suspiciously slowly. She’d left a message on the table for Mum telling her the truth, that she was driving Mrs Morningwood home to collect some stuff, but not the entire truth, that she’d be driving back, almost certainly in the dark, unaccompanied by a qualified driver.

  She could do this. Country roads all the way, a wide arc around Hereford.

  ‘So what was it like growing up in Garway, under the shadow of the Templars?’