The Devil's Moon (31 page)

There had been an abrupt change in Cropper, as if a switch had been flipped. He stretched his hands out and pointed his fingers at Gilchrist.

‘When God brought me to town the Devil came with me.'

Gilchrist looked into his fierce eyes. To use a technical term, the guy was definitely a nut-job.

‘Let me guess,' she said. ‘You can't have one without the other.'

Cropper burned a look into the wall and tilted his head. ‘I'm not so sure. When I look in the mirror, I don't see God at all. All I see is the Devil.'

‘You believe you're the Devil?'

‘I believe the Devil is within me and works through me.'

‘Can't you cast him out of you as you cast him out of others?'

Cropper looked at her intently. ‘Why would I want to? Besides, those I cast out of others are the Devil's minions.'

‘Not the Big Man himself?' Donaldson said.

‘The Devil is no mere man, big or otherwise.'

‘Well,' said Donaldson, ‘except that, according to you, he's inhabiting your body and you're a mere man.'

Cropper rolled his shoulders.

‘How's he look?' Gilchrist said. ‘The Devil.'

Cropper grimaced. ‘Like me.'

‘No horns, yellow eyes, sulphur coming out of his nostrils – none of that stuff?'

‘Don't be absurd,' he said, and indicated his plastic hand restrainers. ‘If I wished to break these shackles, I could do so.'

‘That I'd like to see,' Donaldson said. ‘Even if I had to pay for the cost of replacement. Try it, why don't you? Demonstrate to us that you really are possessed by the Devil.'

Cropper gave a secretive smile.‘The Devil is above party games.'

‘How's he going to feel about being under arrest?' Donaldson said. ‘You and him both.'

Cropper laughed then, almost good-naturedly. ‘You amuse me. You think you have the Devil by the tail? If you had captured the Devil you would wish you had not done so.'

‘What about God?' Gilchrist said, though she wasn't sure why.

‘God?'

Cropper suddenly fisted one hand and hit himself, hard, against the side of his head, his other hand flapping. ‘God is the Alien. The Abyss. The Non-Existent.'

Gilchrist shuddered.

‘What does that make the Devil?' Donaldson said.

Cropper massaged his temple with meaty fingers. ‘Why, Rex Mundi, of course.'

‘The Ruler of the World,' Heap said.

Cropper's sleeve had rolled up above his bicep. Heap pointed at the patch on Cropper's arm. ‘Are you by any chance bipolar, Mr Cropper?'

N
icola Travis's garden was lit with white Christmas lights strung across the trees and leading round the side of the house. Watts parked behind the deux chevaux that had been there before. A clapped-out old thing, it seemed familiar but perhaps that was only because it was typical Lewes.

Carrying the ice box and purse, he followed the trail of lights. In the garden there were tall shrubs with hanging, trumpet-shaped flowers.

Nicola Travis was waiting for him at a metal table. She had changed into jeans and a T-shirt. There was a teapot and two mugs on the table. He put the ice box on the floor beside the table and handed her the purse. He gestured round the garden.

‘Exotic flowers.'

‘Angel trumpets mostly. Mixed with their cousins, the thorn apple.
Datura stramonium.
'

‘Lovely,' he said.

‘They are. My favourite plants and flowers only bloom cloaked in darkness.'

Watts didn't know what to say to that.

‘Datura is associated with Saturn and Venus. Saturn is of the night. Venus? I'm guessing because of these big, lush, flowers – like a woman's sex. Georgia O'Keefe painted the blossoms of the Sacred Datura, you know. But Venus has her darkness too. Like many beautiful things, all parts of these plants are poisonous.'

Travis was rooting in her bag.

‘I thought O'Keefe painted calla lilies,' Watts said.

‘She painted those too. Where's my phone?'

Watts smiled. ‘Sorry – put it in my pocket for safe-keeping.' He put his mug down on the table and felt in his jacket pockets.

‘I hope you haven't been peeking,' Travis said.

‘I wouldn't dream of it,' he said, switching to his inside pockets. He pulled out an iPhone and she reached for it. He pressed the indent to illuminate the screen. ‘No, that's mine,' he said. He rummaged through all his pockets whilst the smile slipped off her face.

‘Listen, I'm really sorry,' he said. ‘I took a tumble earlier and it must have fallen out of my pocket.'

‘My phone fell out of your pocket?'

‘At Five Dials.'

‘What was it doing in your pocket?'

‘I – I don't really know. When I found it I just dropped it in there for safe-keeping.'

‘Safe-keeping.' Travis's voice was chilly.

Watts remembered his daughter calling after him and waving. He'd assumed she was either cursing or forgiving him – those were the two options for Christians, weren't they? But now he wondered whether she had found the phone in the gutter and had been trying to bring him back.

‘It's OK,' he said. ‘I think my daughter might have it.'

‘Your daughter? Why on earth would she have it?' There was ice now in Travis's voice.

‘She was there when I took a tumble,' Watts said. ‘I'll text her.'

Under Travis's intense scrutiny he clumsily tapped out a message and sent it off.

‘Why don't you try phoning her too?' Travis said.

Watts dialled his daughter. It went straight to voicemail. He left a message then shrugged. ‘I'm sure your phone is safe.'

Watts could almost see the immense effort of will it took for Travis to smile and nod.

‘Well,' she said, expelling air. ‘Why don't we sit out here until she gets back to you?' She indicated the teapot. ‘I've made a kind of mulled wine.'

They sat, she poured and handed him one of the mugs. She chinked hers with his. He took a sip of a lukewarm, heavily spiced drink.

‘That tastes exotic.'

‘Just stuff from the garden.'

‘Not the toxic stuff, I hope,' he said.

She ignored his remark but she seemed to relax. Indeed, she recovered some of her earlier vivacity as she gabbled.

‘I like sitting out here after dark, watching my flowers come to life. Datura is so potent. The hawk moth feeds off it and takes its poison to keep it safe from predators. The plants are not often used for recreational drug use but sometimes – you can go deep, deep inside yourself, into a visionary state.'

‘Nicola – you sound as if you've tried it.'

She ignored him again, speeding up, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side.

‘Some people feel like an alien or that they are dissolving – the kind of oneness that Buddhists seek, I imagine. Other people suffer terrible anxiety because they are frightened they are going to lose control and that they will go insane – the very things the anxiety, rather than the datura, causes.

‘Waking dreams, hallucinations of objects and beings that aren't there. A common belief is that you have turned into a bird. Inexperienced users might believe they can fly from the highest rocks. They come down to earth pretty promptly, although they may die still believing they are flying. Even so, it used to be an ingredient in flying ointments – you know, witches on their broomsticks?'

Watts watched her face and her expressive, waving hands in fascination. He shifted in his seat, wondering if drug use was what made Nicola manic, hoping his daughter would text soon.

Cropper was taken to a holding cell and Gilchrist led Donaldson and Heap back into the crime room. She stifled a yawn as she said to Heap: ‘What's with the bipolar question?'

‘I discovered new medical uses for scopolamine. Most relevant: it's used for colon and intestinal problems.'

‘Like cancer?' Gilchrist murmured.

‘For those who don't believe in conventional medicine,' Heap said. ‘Formerly it was used to control heroin and cocaine withdrawal symptoms and to combat depression. And it's still used on patches to control bipolar disorders.'

‘Bipolar – we're back to two things not one – there is a word for that, isn't there?'

‘Duality, ma'am.'

‘Always to be relied on, Bellamy.'

‘Didn't you say you had important information for us, Heap?' Donaldson said tetchily.

‘Yes, sir. Two things.'

‘Take your time,' Donaldson said.

‘Sir – do you know the full name of the Knights Templar?'

‘That would be a no, Heap. I live in the modern world.'

‘Sir. It's the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon. A conspiracy theory type would have a field day. Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon ran Saddlescombe, on the outskirts of Brighton, hundreds of years ago. A copy of the
Key of Solomon
– obviously linked to the Temple of Solomon – resides in and is stolen from the Jubilee Library in Brighton.'

‘What's your point, Constable?' Donaldson said. ‘Or are you auditioning for the History Channel?'

‘I took a call from someone called Allcock.'

‘From the Jubilee's rare books collection?' Gilchrist said. ‘What did he have to say?'

‘He said he was mistaken about the provenance of the
Key
that was stolen from the library.'

Donaldson sighed. ‘Provenance . . .'

Gilchrist was also impatient: ‘It wasn't centuries old? So what?'

‘Not that, ma'am. He said it wasn't part of the George Long collection. He checked. It was only donated in 1947.'

Gilchrist frowned. ‘I don't see . . .'

‘It had belonged to Aleister Crowley.'

Gilchrist thought for a moment. ‘Who died that year. Was he the donor?'

Heap shook his head.

‘Jesus, Heap,' Donaldson said impatiently.

‘The donor puzzled Allcock,' Heap said.

‘It wasn't Gluckstein, was it?' Gilchrist said.

Heap laughed. ‘That would have been good. I hadn't thought of that. But not her. It was Ian Fleming.'

‘The James Bond bloke?' Donaldson said.

Heap nodded.

‘Bloody hell,' Gilchrist said.

‘As you rightly say, ma'am.'

‘He was friends with Victor Tempest – the father of Bob Watts. We need to call him. I need to call him.'

‘With respect, ma'am, we have more immediate issues,' Donaldson said. ‘What was the second thing, Heap? Was it to do with what's happening now?'

‘I've traced Lesley Henderson.'

‘His present whereabouts?' Donaldson said.

‘His or her past.'

Donaldson sighed. ‘I asked for something immediately relevant.'

‘If we assume she's the person who went to see Andrew Callaghan she is our main suspect,' Gilchrist said. ‘So any information is immediately relevant. What did you get, Bellamy?'

‘Yes, come on, teacher's pet – spit it out,' Donaldson said.

Gilchrist gave Donaldson a hard look but said nothing. Heap flushed but ignored him.

‘He was registered as a male at birth. He has lived at Saddlescombe all his life, though for most of it in a cottage on the estate. His mother's name is Avril Henderson. Avril Henderson is the wife of Colin Pearson, the writer on the occult.'

Gilchrist jumped to her feet. ‘Let's get going.'

The phone on her desk rang. She snatched it up. ‘Desk sergeant here, ma'am. Young lady just come in with what she claims is evidence that she is willing to hand over only to you.'

‘OK – we're coming down – I want a car and driver waiting at the front door, please.'

‘Ma'am.'

They clattered down the stairs as the lifts in this building took forever to arrive. Gilchrist led the way into the foyer. A familiar blonde-haired girl was standing near the door, an intense-looking man with burning eyes sitting on the bench seat behind her.

‘You have something for me?' she said to the girl.

The man stood.

‘So,' the girl said. ‘You're the woman who broke my mother's heart.'

The Goat of Mendes returned at the edge of the night, alone on the rim of the world, to salute the rise of a Devil's Moon. The Goat stood in a circle of blazing candles on Newtimber Hill, looking out to the sea from which all came. The Goat of Mendes, shaggy head and curling horns above broad shoulders and naked human body, arms outstretched before it.

Ten yards away a crumpled form lay in a wheelbarrow between the legs of the Wicker Man. Kindling was stacked against those legs. Someone was crouched over the kindling. A smell of petrol was in the air.

‘A
nd you would be who?' Gilchrist said to the girl with the long blonde hair.

‘You mean
whom
,' the girl said. ‘And I would be Catherine Watts, the daughter of Chief Constable Watts, the man whose marriage you wrecked when you had your sordid affair with him.'

Gilchrist flushed and clenched her jaw but was momentarily speechless. Heap stepped halfway between Gilchrist and Catherine Watts.

‘I believe you have some information for us, miss,' he said.

Catherine glared at Gilchrist. ‘I haven't finished what I want to say,' she said.

‘I'm afraid that whatever you want to say will have to wait,' Heap said. ‘We're in the middle of a murder inquiry which you would be wise not to impede.'

Catherine flashed an angry look at him. ‘I'm hardly impeding it when I've brought in evidence,' she said sharply.

‘You are if you don't tell us what it is, Miss Watts,' Heap said.

Catherine looked back at Gilchrist then fixed her attention on Heap. ‘It's a mobile phone,' she said. ‘It has something horrible on it.'

‘Where did you get it?'