by Peter Laws
‘He asked me if I’d like my hair washed. He said your hair looks a little greasy, let me wash it for you. I remember that very vividly, because I thought it was the strangest thing for a man to ask another man.’ He gripped his arms to himself and shuddered. ‘Naturally, I said no and so he just turned off the tap and started chatting about buying some wood from Poplars Yard. He wanted to build Justine a love seat. He’d seen them in garden centres and thought it’d be a nice gesture. That it’d bring them back together. He suggested they’d finally try the marriage course at church, and I’d have been relieved to have heard that, but something wasn’t right. He was saying all these things − good, constructive things − but he had a smirk on his face when he did it. Do you understand? He was chatting about measurements and designs for the love seat and he was asking if carving a heart in the back panel would be too much … but simultaneously, that icy coldness was there in his eyes. I had a Bible in my pocket. A small New Testament, and I touched it. That’s all I did, I just touched it, because … well, because I was afraid of those eyes. I’m not ashamed to say it, gentleman, but I’m a religious man, and I needed to feel it in my hand. And here’s the thing … he wouldn’t have even known it was in my pocket, but as soon as my finger was on it, the very second I touched it, I saw his mouth start to twitch …’ Perry whispered the rest. ‘God … I can’t get his face out of my head. His eyes … they were sparkling down there. He was excited …’
Fenn sloshed water into his own glass and swigged.
‘I pulled out my Bible, and I held it in front of me. I told him the truth, that he’d become a victim of a demonic force.’
Matt resisted a groan. It wasn’t easy.
‘I started commanding whatever was in him to leave. I cast the demons out.’
‘Have you ever performed an exorcism before?’ Matt said.
‘No, but there was nobody I could call to do it,’ Perry shook his head. ‘You see the Catholics, the Anglicans … they’re better organised with such things. But I’m a Baptist. We’re hopelessly untrained for this stuff. They didn’t even cover it at my Bible college, but they ought to. By God. I’ll be telling the Baptist Union in no uncertain terms that they must.’
‘So you just …’ Matt opened his hands, ‘… gave it a go, then?’
For the first time, Perry’s sad eyes turned defensive. ‘Yes I did. Because if there’s one thing us Baptists do believe, it’s in the priesthood of all believers. Which means there was no reason at all why I couldn’t just do it myself. Or indeed, any Christian could do it. And besides, since I started to suspect this of Tom, I’d watched quite a few videos on it. There’s a lot on YouTube, which will really open your mind to—’
‘YouTube?’ Matt crossed his arms and leant back. ‘You learnt it from YouTube?’ His mind filled with visions of cutesy video tutorials, while smiley millennials cast out demons to a jolly, ukelele soundtrack.
‘Yes. So what?’ He sat up, more confident. ‘And who cares where I learnt it from, because it worked. I started calling evil spirits out from him, and there was an immediate reaction. He was swaying and scratching himself, and clawing his stomach, and I really mean clawing. Like this,’ Perry started dragging his bent fingers across his own belly. ‘So I did what the videos said. I called out the demons by name. First I cast out the demon of suspicion, and straight away he gasped out a breath. It was like something was coming out. Then I called out the demon of fear, and he gasped that out too. He’d stagger after each time, like I’d given him a physical blow. It was astonishing. And the demon of vulgarity and foul language and lack of faith, they all just left him. And sometimes it was a gasp, and sometimes it sounded like he was being sick, but they were leaving, praise God. And the more I did it, the more I could see flashes of Tom, still trapped in there.’ He caught a sudden breath. Tears were brimming in Perry’s eyes. ‘And bless him, he was so close to the surface. I could see him in there fighting to get out. So I called out the final spirit I could think of, which was blasphemy. But he didn’t gasp that time. He just fell to the floor and lay on his side in a heap. I sat there for ten minutes, praying. He kept looking at me the whole time, like a lost little boy, like little Leopold all those years ago. Then he shuddered, and he just sat up, and was talking again. Saying that he felt better than ever,’ Perry sniffed, and now the tear that was brimming finally ran over his cheek, lost in the red bristles of his well-clipped beard. ‘And he really did look better. His face, his voice, his eyes … he looked lighter. He hugged me, and he felt warm, but he was exhausted, and gosh, so was I. I said I’d come back and pray for him the night after, and he said that’d be a wonderful idea. He put two thumbs up at me, and I left that place brimming with hope and faith. It was amazing …’
‘Um …’ Matt drew a lazy circle on the table. ‘Then he brutally killed his wife.’
The room ticked with silence for a while.
‘Which rather suggests,’ Matt went on, ‘that this exorcism of yours didn’t—’
They all jumped when Perry smacked his palm on the desk. ‘Don’t you dare blame me. I was trying my very best, and I thought he was free.’
‘Oh really?’ Matt said. ‘You put a mentally ill guy through an ancient ritual you’d learnt on YouTube. And then you just moved on, right?’
‘I didn’t move on. I spent the next afternoon praying for him. You saw me at church, doing just that, today. I’d planned to visit him again tonight … but it’s obvious now that I simply missed something.’
‘And what was that?’ Matt said. ‘Calling the doctors?’
‘I told you. He tried those, and they failed.’
Fenn said, ‘What did you miss?’
‘I missed two demons. I called out the spirit of blasphemy, but he didn’t gasp, see? I thought it had left, but clearly it hadn’t.’
‘And the second demon?’ Fenn asked.
‘Well that’s rather obvious now, don’t you think? It was the spirit of murder. I never even thought to cast it out because I never imagined Tom could do such a thing …’ He shook his head. ‘In fact, I still don’t believe he could. Not unless something else made him … so there you are. There are dark forces at work here, I don’t know how else to put it. I tried to help. My biggest sin, perhaps, was tiredness. And before you dismiss this, Mr Hunter, as I can tell you will … perhaps you should consider these words … the irony of the enlightenment is that it has brought no light at all – on the contrary, it has paved the way for the most malevolent forces of darkness.’
‘That some sort of quote?’ Fenn asked.
‘Yes it is,’ Matt nodded. ‘It’s Bernie Kissell, isn’t it?’
Perry’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You know him?’
‘I know of him.’ Matt turned to a confused-looking Fenn. ‘Kissell’s a big deliverance minister in the US. He’s a freelance exorcist, basically. He gets paid big money to cast out demons. He does it on Skype sometimes.’
‘And in person too,’ Perry added. ‘Pastor Kissell travels the world setting people free. What could possibly be wrong with that?’
Matt leant forward. ‘What’s wrong, is making vulnerable people even more unstable and confused. Which is probably exactly what you did with—’
‘How dare you,’ Perry glared at Matt. ‘I told you I took Tom to the doc—’
‘Whoa there.’ Fenn raised both hands, calming two horses. ‘Wind the volume down. Both of you. Reverend Perry, thanks for being so candid. We’ll talk more, but for now,’ Fenn checked his watch, ‘I think you need a break.’
‘You mean I can go home? To my wife?’
‘Yes,’ Fenn said.
Matt looked up, confused. ‘Shouldn’t we keep going?’
‘That’ll do for now. Thanks for your help, Reverend.’ Fenn pushed his chair back and stood.
Perry shook Fenn’s hand then turned to Matt. ‘Mr Hunter? I was only trying to help.’
Before Matt could speak, Fenn patted Perry on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Reverend. I’ll walk you out.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fenn was missing for five whole minutes, so Matt just sat at the desk, thinking the conversation over. Walking back through every word and sentence. When the door eventually did swing back, Fenn flopped in with his phone pressed to his head.
‘Thanks for the confirmation.’ He set his phone on the desk. ‘Right, I’ve just had some preliminary comments from the autopsy. They’re still working on her, but they’ve confirmed that it’s Tom Riley’s DNA, skin fragments, prints. They’re all over her. Not exactly a shock, but it’s good to get confirmation.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Well this isn’t pleasant, but they reckon Justine was alive for quite a while. When he pulled out her hair, I mean. Something in the follicles means they can tell these things.’
In the silence that followed, Matt squeezed the bridge of his nose. Then eventually, he said, ‘What was the cause of death?’
‘Heart attack. Poor girl. Forty, fit, healthy and she has a bloody heart attack at the sheer terror of it all. At least they reckon he pulled the tongue out, after.’
‘That’s very considerate of him.’ Matt grabbed the water jug for a drink, but it was all gone. ‘Why did you let Perry go?’
‘Because he didn’t kill anybody. He had an alibi. His times match up with his wife. Justine was seen by multiple people at Brownies when he was at Tom’s. Then he went back to his wife all night, just like he said. Time of death’s been confirmed at a little after midnight, so Perry wasn’t present at all.’
‘Yeah but his influence … that was present. Isn’t that the point here? That all this demon talk flipped an already mentally disturbed man over the edge?’
‘Well, we’ll explore that. Course we will. But believing in the Devil isn’t a crime and the bottom line is, the real criminal is in custody, and he’s clearly psychotic. Though, it’s interesting, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘The two demons Perry said he didn’t cast out of Tom. Blasphemy and Murder. Didn’t you tell me this morning that’s exactly what this Baal-Berith is famous for? Isn’t blasphemy and murder his thing?’
Matt shrugged. ‘According to the whackos, yeah.’
‘I found that interesting … well listen.’ Fenn slapped his hands together and rubbed them. ‘I’ll be in touch, but thanks for all your help today. There’s no way we would’ve found out who Ernie actually was so quickly if it wasn’t for you. He really opened up when you walked in.’
‘Demons get super chatty with me. It’s a gift.’
Fenn smiled and put out a hand. ‘I’m not sure it’s a gift I’d want. But thanks all the same. You up to much tonight?’
‘It’s my daughter’s school play.’
He smiled at that. ‘Aw, I miss those.’
It was cold outside in the now windswept police station car park. Every tree, and every strand of Matt’s hair swayed as he snaked through the cars to find his own. When he did, he crawled inside and shut out the groaning air. He fired up the heater, and the stereo too. He needed some banal chat or wallpaper music for distraction.
It was only as he was pulling out of the car park that he saw Reverend Simon Perry again. That duffel coat of his was an easy spot. He was sitting on a bench by a lamp post, legs crossed, with his head clasped between both hands. Distraught with the events? Finally feeling some guilt or remorse? Hopefully. When he rolled his car past him, he saw that Perry wasn’t in despair at all. He just had a mobile phone clamped tightly to his right ear, while the other hand blocked out the wind to his left. He was so absorbed in his phone conversation that he was oblivious to Matt as he came past.
Matt considered calling out, but by then he couldn’t help but notice the fat sun was sinking behind a crop of spindly, leafless trees. It looked like a huge, glowing ball hovering over Perry, pulsing bright behind a wooded ribcage. Matt didn’t care for the look of it, and how it made him feel, and how the wind moaned through his own car, dragging him back to the whale-song of Justine’s cavernous throat.
She’d been alive for so much of it …
Horrible. Horrible.
‘Home time,’ Matt said out loud. He pumped the accelerator and rumbled out of the car park. He kept clicking up the heater but it was already full blast. He tapped it, wondering why it was taking so long to kick in.
He took one last glance at Perry on the bench. He was in the same position as before, head in his hands. Only now the leaves were spinning up around him in a tall funnel, and the light was starting to die.
So Matt shrugged, tapped the oddly faulty heater again and drove away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Oh my word. Wow,’ Matt said, as he pulled into the school car park. He couldn’t believe his luck. He found a parking space in the first, most favoured row of them all. Finding an empty slot in this car park, especially on a school play night like this, really was the miracle of all miracles. As he slid out of the car, he saw parents on the other side of the school gates. Unlike Matt, they hadn’t risked the school bays and they’d parked in the nearby streets instead. It meant they had to walk the long way around. When they saw him through the bars many paused mid-trudge, staring with either sneering jealousy or watery-eyed nods of astonished congratulation.
He winked at them, then hurried along the covered walkway to the school entrance. In a few minutes time, the crowds would fill up every inch of this floorspace.
He spotted them standing near the main doors. Lucy was on her phone, thumb moving so fast it was a creamy-pink blur. Wren, on the other hand, was leaning over a bush and running her hand across the cement walls of the school. She often did that around buildings. When they were shopping. On the way to the pub. She had this compulsion to touch stone, and prod concrete and slide her fingers across wooden beams. Homes, offices, supermarkets and car parks were giant kittens she just had to stroke.
Architects. They’re a little odd, sometimes.
‘Behold,’ he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Best parking space ever.’
Wren pushed both hands off the wall and span away from the bushes. Her mouth dropped when she saw the car. ‘You lucky swine.’ She leant in to kiss him. ‘This means we get the front row before … them.’
He followed where she was pointing to see hundreds of parents now flooding through the school gates, far off. A zombie horde, shuffling and stumbling over each other, ravenous for a seat with good photo lines of their kid.
Wren shoved Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Switch your phone off. Let’s go and see your sister.’
Lucy said, ‘Bet you weren’t this eager at my school play.’
‘I most certainly was. Now move.’ Wren nodded to Matt and they sprang off to the doors.
‘Please,’ Lucy winced at them both. ‘Don’t jog.’ She walked up after them, shaking her head. There was a smile in there somewhere, too.
They stepped into the bright entrance hall where the walls were filled with the pupils’ art attempts. They were evidently learning about a husky dog called Togo, and some of their work was surprisingly decent. But skill levels meant that most of the dogs were hideously deformed, with uneven eyes, and woefully out-of-perspective hind legs. These were the mutant canines, fresh from Outpost 31, but it was a good effort all the same.
Their shoes squeaked a path to the main hall, and when they flung the doors open Wren tutted loudly. They weren’t, in the end, the earliest, but then … they never were. There were always a few adults who took parental eagerness to creepy, knee-rubbing levels. The centre front row was already stocked with parents who must have turned up an hour early. The type who’d have gladly brought a sleeping bag and a camping stove here last night, if hanging around a school wasn’t classed as a crime.
Amelia would be backstage now. She’d advised them to sit on the far left of the stage. That’d be the best view of her character, she’d said. This was good, because there were still some seats on that far side, even at the front.
They squeezed adult backsides into
skinny, plastic chairs, and instantly his leg touched a stranger. There were little programmes on each chair. Just a single A5 sheet, in appropriately garish orange, announcing that tonight’s play about ‘The Great Fire of London’, was going to be ‘hot stuff’. Ha. Good old PTA.
The sound levels changed just then, because the hallway outside grew thick with the loud, muffled shuffles of the horde. Then the doors slapped open, bodies spewed in and filled the room. Like the blood from that lift in The Shining.
They sat for twenty minutes like that, about two hundred people hip to hip, and eventually the headteacher came out and did her usual welcome. When she shared the fire procedure, some guffawing, cockney bloke shouted ‘Fire procedure? Ya should’a said all this at Puddin’ Lane? Eh, love?’ His joke was followed by a gaunt, awkward silence because a room full of modern parents weren’t sure if it was okay to laugh at a man calling a woman ‘love’ these days. The quiet of the hall, and the pause from the headmistress, was so excruciating that Matt had to press a full palm across his mouth to keep his laugh in. Especially when the man shouted, ‘Eh, love? Eh?’, two further times, to no reply.
Then they were off.
The squeaky curtains screeched open and a bunch of kids came marching out dressed like typical Londoners of 1666. Which meant, ironically, a plethora of Victorian cloth caps. But who was he to complain at the historical accuracy of the headgear? Or the buildings. Or indeed when the fateful fire was depicted by a bunch of kids flashing torches on and off, while the rest sung Great Balls of Fire to a slack-mouthed crowd.
Then it was the big moment. The Amelia moment, when Matt, who’d filmed everything so far, made a bespoke zoom to the left-hand side of the curtain. She said she’d emerge from there, so he waited for his cue: the end of We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel. And on she walked, taking long strides, dressed as a bearded man and holding the lapels of a fur coat. It was so big it looked like she was wearing a werewolf’s pelt.
Matt caught Wren’s eye. They beamed simultaneously.