‘There was rain forecast,’ Berenice said, as they walked out into the sunny afternoon.
Chapter Six
Liam Phelps leaned back against the scruffy common-room armchair, crossed his legs awkwardly in front of him.
‘It’s just not the same,’ he said.
‘Without Murdo, you mean?’ Elizabeth set two mugs of coffee down in front of them.
He tapped on the edge of his packet of cigarettes. ‘It was his experiment. And now it’s all going weird, and I keep thinking, if he was here, he’d have an explanation. As it is, every time I look at the results I just feel…’ He pulled out a cigarette and looked at it.
‘You know you’re not allowed,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He put the cigarette back into the packet. ‘I mean, one would expect B-mesons – ’
‘They can’t be.’ She sipped at her mug of coffee. ‘Though, I don’t know what else they are.’
‘If it’s true, it means that we’ve – ‘
‘ – we’ve made anti-matter that survives for seconds. Minutes, even.’ She shook her head. ‘Except, we haven’t.’
‘No, of course we haven’t.’
‘And if this shows an axion pattern…’ she began.
‘That doesn’t make sense either.’
‘No,’ she agreed.’
They sat in silence.
‘It must be weird for you,’ he said.
She looked up at him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’
‘You’d only just come back…’
‘Not to him.’ Her voice seemed loud. ‘I’d come back to the lab. Not to him.’
Liam shifted his long legs. ‘It’s not for me to intrude…’ he began.
‘I mean even if there is a funeral…’ She seemed not to hear him. ‘What’s to stop her just excluding me? I don’t think I can bear it.’ She passed her hand across her eyes, shook her head.
The door opened and they both looked up.
‘Sorry, I’m…’ Iain Hendrickson was standing in the doorway. ‘I wasn’t sure if you…’
‘It’s fine - ’ Liam indicated the seat next to him.
Iain was in denim, as usual. Liam wondered whether he’d ever seen him in anything else. It gave him a boy-ish, student-y look, in spite of his seniority, the touch of grey in his hair. He looked weary, sleepless, he thought, though probably we all look dreadful…
‘These charges,’ Iain was saying. ‘The whole standard model turned on its bloody head. We ought to be delighted, I suppose.’ He spoke with a soft Scottish accent. ‘Ground-breaking results. Those boys in Geneva being kept on their toes…’ He sat down next to Liam. ‘But of course, what we want as scientists, is to add to knowledge. We don’t want to take the whole damn rug out from under everyone’s feet so we all have to start again. And have you seen this?’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘Another in the green ink correspondence, though not green. And ramped up, I’d say.’
He passed it to Liam.
Liam scanned the crumpled, lined paper. He looked up at Iain. ‘One down?’
‘It means Murdo. “That will show you all you bastards.”’ Iain took the letter back. ‘Our friend seems to think that Murdo’s death is our fault for interfering with the rules of nature.’
‘We should show the police.’ Elizabeth reached out for the letter.’
Iain passed it to her. ‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘What do you think?’
Liam got to his feet, knocking the table as he did so. ‘Sorry… Um…’
‘Don’t leave on our account,’ Iain said. ‘What shall we do about this?’ He pointed at the letter, which Elizabeth was holding between two red-polished finger-nails.
‘We’re supposed to be rational,’ Liam said. ‘Scientists. Not people who panic at the first sign of superstitious nonsense.’
‘Like the ghost, you mean?’ Elizabeth looked up at him.
He smiled. ‘Like the ghost. One minute trying to pin down the fundamental laws of the universe, the next claiming that a wounded soldier is walking the corridors like something from Dickens…’
‘Neil was convinced,’ Iain said.
‘Neil swore blind he saw him,’ Elizabeth said.
Liam shrugged.
‘It’s not like Neil to be superstitious,’ Iain said.
‘I think we have to tell the police.’ Elizabeth handed the letter to Liam. ‘Do you want to?’
‘OK.’ He put it in his pocket, headed for the door. ‘I’ll check with Moffatt first. I’ve got to sort out this Tobias situation with him as it is. It’s not fair on the lad, to keep him doing lab work. Particularly not now.’
Liam closed the door behind him. As he left, Elizabeth gave a weary sigh and rested her head on Iain’s shoulder.
‘One down.’ Clem Voake gave a hoarse laugh.
‘He’s really gone?’
‘You heard. Pushed off Hank’s Tower.’
‘Not the right one.’
‘Don’t care. If it puts the wind up them, it’s good enough for me.’
Lisa sat outside the caravan, her back pressed up against the damp wall. Next to her, Finn passed her a cigarette. Above them, the voices drifted out of the open window.
Finn produced a lighter, and she leaned into him, drew on her cigarette.
‘You get him up there first. Tell him you’ve got to have a little chat with him. Then, thwack, over the edge, death by drowning, all evidence gone.’
‘Seem to know a lot about it.’ The other voice was male, older, with a Kentish burr like Clem’s.
‘Yeah, well, I’ve thought about it, see.’
‘Only thought about it?’
Clem gave another harsh laugh. ‘Thinking. Doing. What’s the difference? Another of those?’
Outside Finn whispered to Lisa. ‘You telling me you’re going to stay here?’
‘Only home I’ve got,’ she whispered back.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a place at the Archway. They’ll let you in.’
‘They’ll send me back home. That’s even worse.’
‘It can’t be worse than a freezing car and him going on about all his enemies.’
‘He’s my dad.’
He looked up at her tone. ‘So?’
She pulled at a thread in her jeans.
‘You really telling me he cares about you?’
She met his eyes. ‘He says he does. And in any case, I ain’t going back to my Mum.’
The laughter from the window was louder now. ‘That would be the prize, Clem, my friend. Wouldn’t it. Then you could stop skulking out here in this dump.’
‘Suits me, this,’ Clem said. ‘People come, people go, no one to ask them where they’ve been, no one to ask them where they’re going.’
‘And the kid?’
‘Lisa? She’s OK. She’s a great kid. She’s come home to her Dad and she ain’t going nowhere else.’
‘Scared of you, is she, like everyone else?’
Clem’s voice was sharp. ‘Not her. I love that kid. You hear me? Wouldn’t hurt a hair of her fucking head.’
Under the window, Lisa blew rings of cigarette smoke.
There was a silence. Then Clem’s voice again. ‘It’ll all change now. I’ll give my little girl anything she wants. I’ll send her to that school on the other side of town, you know the one where they wear them hats with the orange…’
‘You sound very sure.’
‘I stood by that graveside yesterday, and I thought, we’re family we are.’
‘You hardly knew him.’
‘He was still family. A cousin. That’s family.’
‘I’d heard there weren’t nothing left to leave.’
‘You winding me up, Manny?’
‘Wish I was, son. Wish I was.’
‘You’re wrong, Manny boy, you’re wrong.’
The voices were loud and slurred. There was the sound of more cans being opened.
‘Last of that line. That’s what my M
um used to tell me, God rest her soul.’
There was a laugh. ‘You and God? That’s a good one.’
‘Yesterday, right, I stood by my cousin’s grave, and I looked up to Heaven, and I said to Mum, you kept your promise and now I’m going to keep mine.’
‘And if I didn’t know you better, Clem Voake, I’d bet there were tears in your eyes…’
‘There were, Manny, there were.’
‘I’m amazed they didn’t lock you up.’
There was laughter, then more words, louder, incoherent. Finn got to his feet, took Lisa by the arm. They moved away from the caravan into the trees, settled on a tree stump.
They smoked in silence.
‘Tobias was up Hank’s Tower again,’ Finn said.
Lisa shrugged. ‘He loves it up there.’
‘Doing his science, he calls it. He takes all those bottles of stuff up there, and he watches the tide, he says. Going in, going out.’ He turned to her. ‘He ain’t right, y’know.’
Lisa met his eyes. ‘He’s OK.’
‘No, I mean, he’s got things on his mind. Bad things.’
‘He has?’
‘Talks about death. Talks about how we’re all falling through space. Goes on about particles and colliding and gravity. And then he goes up Hank’s Tower with his little glass jars, and hangs them from their strings until the tide carries them away, and then he just stands there, staring.’
‘Listen, bruv…’ Lisa took a last drag from her cigarette. ‘You should start worrying more about your own life and less about everyone else’s. Like, you’ve got to stop trashing any chance that’s come your way.’
‘Yeah?’ He faced her.
‘Yeah. Like at ballet, sitting in the corner. That’s what you do, sitting in the corner of your life.’
He watched her as she ground her cigarette stub into the earth. ‘I just don’t think you should go back there,’ he said.
She got to her feet. ‘You tell me where else I can go, I mean like in real life, not in your head.’
He stood up, rubbing his legs. He could see the lights of the caravan through the trees.
‘See?’ she said. ‘There’s no way out.’
He followed her back to the caravan. At the steps she leaned towards him. ‘Give us another fag.’
He passed her his last cigarette. She patted his arm. ‘Laters, yeah?’
The stairs wobbled as she walked up them.
It was the end of the day. Finn’s feet were silent on the damp grass. The sky was dark blue, through the silhouetted trees.
Chapter Seven
Helen could hear her husband outside as he said goodbye to the departing guests, their murmured thanks and fading footsteps on the drive. Now he reappeared in the kitchen, switched on the lights.
She was standing by the fridge.
‘A whole Sunday lunch with only water to drink,’ she said. ‘There’s a half bottle of that rosé in here somewhere.’
‘That would be nice,’ he said.
There was the clink of the glasses as she placed them on the table, the gurgle of the wine as she poured. She handed him a glass. He watched the condensation, a mist against the pink.
She appeared to be waiting for him to speak.
‘I suppose…’ he began, but she was already speaking.
‘An explanation,’ she said. ‘That would be nice. How do you know her so well? How long have you known this whole story about the dead husband?’
‘Hardly any time at all,’ he said.
She didn’t reply.
‘You managed very well,’ he said.
‘I had no choice.’ She circled her glass on the kitchen table, along the floral swirls of the PVC tablecloth.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said, and he didn’t dare say that he was thinking that the table would look better without those abstract pink flowers, the plain wood underneath would be so much better, oak, he seemed to remember it was, unvarnished…
She was waiting, again.
He met her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say. If you want apologies, I can apologise. They’re just parishioners, you heard about it on the news, her husband, and now they’re saying he was killed – ’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s all she talked about. What I don’t get…’ she leaned back in her chair, her glass in her hand… ‘What I don’t understand is, why she cares. It’s quite clear from what she was saying at lunch that she never liked him, that they were living separate lives– ’
‘That’s not true.’ His voice sounded loud.
‘It isn’t?’ She took a sip of wine, watching him.
‘She told me she loved him very much. Until – ’
‘Until what?’
‘Something changed, she said. Six years ago.’
‘They had a son.’ Helen’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘She said at lunch. She mentioned him.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’ Helen’s voice was sharp.
He looked up at her. ‘Their son died. Drowned. Six years ago. He was eight.’
She was sitting straight-backed, waiting. Chad said nothing more. ‘Are you going to tell me the rest?’ she said. ‘Drowned sons, drowned husbands, some kind of foul play, this weird connection with the research lab…’
‘There’s really very little…’ he began.
‘ – or do you want me not to know? Do I just serve out lunch, the proper vicar’s wife, and sit quietly, and smile when appropriate, and look sympathetic and not ask any questions, even when it’s quite clear from the way she looks at you…’
Now it was his turn to sit upright, his gaze fierce. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s quite clear?’
Helen stood up. She went over to the sink, found a tea-towel, began to dry the glasses.
‘I don’t know how you can even begin to think that,’ he said.
‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she said.
‘She’s a very unfortunate woman.’ He picked up his empty glass, turned it in his hand.
‘Clearly.’ Helen reached over and took the glass from him, and immersed it in the soapy water in the sink. ‘And why did she give you that book?’
‘Book?’
‘That old book there, the one about atoms. Why you?’
He glanced towards the book where it sat on the edge of the table. ‘I’m not sure. I expressed interest and then she said I could have it.’
‘Your kind of thing, I suppose.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. He raised his eyes towards her, but she was washing up, taut and silent, her back to him. ‘It is my job,’ he said. ‘I’m their priest. Her husband’s been killed, thrown off a tower, after all their other troubles, she has to care for Tom as well…’
He waited for a response, but there was only the splash of her hands in the soapy water. ‘How was your work?’ he said.
‘Fine,’ she said.
‘Did Finn behave?’
Her hands ceased their movement. ‘Do you care?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course I care.’
‘Well…’ She turned, dried her hands. ‘Finn didn’t behave, no. Which is a shame, as he and Lisa are the two most talented dancers in the group. It’s all very well Anton saying I should tell him I don’t need him, but the problem is, I do.’ She perched on the edge of a chair.
‘Anton? When did you speak to him?’
‘After class.’
‘Ah.’
‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t speak to my old friends?’
‘None at all.’ He shifted on his chair. ‘None at all,’ he repeated. ‘How is he?’
‘Fine.’ Her eyes were still fixed on him. He waited, wondering what she was about to say. But then she stood up and left the room.
He stared at the door, noticing the chips in the turquoise paint. He wondered whether the parish would extend to redecorating. He wondered whether he should finish the washing up. He wondered how it was that the only woman he had ever loved was lost to him. How had it com
e to this, he thought, to see her turned away from him, as if there was glass between them and he could see her speaking but not hear?
He reached towards the old leather, turned the creamy pages between his fingers.
“… spiritum quondam infinitum,’ he read, “spatia omnia pervadere et mundum universum…”
There was a line scored through the Latin. Underneath, in the same ink handwriting, he saw the words, “A certain infinite spirit pervades all space and contains and vivifies the whole world.” Underneath that, and underlined, were the words, “Therefore that force by which the moon is kept in its orbit is the very one that we generally call gravity.” The last word was underlined three times.
Chad flicked through the pages. He wondered who he was, this Edwardian diarist who had gone to all the trouble to transcribe these words, at least some of which were Newton’s, he was sure of it, to translate them from the Latin, to annotate them. It seemed to be a labour of love, a reflection of the transcriber’s own views.
He turned to the inside cover, and saw in the same handwriting, the same brown ink, the name, ‘Johann Van Mielen’. He ran his finger under the name, turned the pages to the end of the book.
“…an empty space into which will see the seeping of evil, an evil kept at bay by our Lord. And the Lord knows how I pray to him to keep me safe, for my husband with his prism and his rays is risking all…”
Chad turned the page. The writing was different, he realised, the loops more rounded, the ink a different colour, more black than brown. He read some more.
“I fear for our souls, and for that of our dear child. My husband chases the missing force, the aether, that unites gravity with light, that allows the being of all matter, from the smallest particle to the greatest star. He sees neither me, nor our daughter any more…”
Chad turned the page. The rounded handwriting continued. “The death of my dear brother haunts us all. Last night I slept alone. My husband inhabits a world wherein I cannot join him. He sits at his bench long into the night, with his lenses and rays and beams. Last night I watched our dear child in her cradle, and I prayed to the Lord to keep us from this Heavyness, this Darkness. When I awoke this morning I ventured to my husband’s room and found him sleeping there, a makeshift mattress on the floor. He is like a shadow to me now, this man whom once I loved, and my heart does bleed. Where once was joy and laughter, now there are tears, and Silence.”
Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) Page 6