The Magus of Hay (18 page)

… was not the early light. The high window was black as the bottom of an old grill pan. Nothing out there, no birds stirring. The only light in the glass was reflected from the room, and it was razored and sporadic, like fork-lightning.

Fearfully, Robin let his head turn to the wall above the metal basin, where the shaving bar, the one he’d extinguished with a tug on its cord, was sputtering like a dud firework.

It terrified him.

He rolled over the side of the bath. Lay jackknifed on the boarded floor, all the ruined bones grinding in his back and hips and groin. Looking up to see the monkey eyes between the chips of purple from the shaving light, and the crackly old voice coming out of the static amidst the electric spittle in the air.

Thought you was, boy. Thought you was dead
.

31

Treats

T
EN MINUTES OUT
of Hay, Bliss’s fingers softly drumming on the dash, they were in Talgarth, shelved into the base of the Black Mountains like some Alpine resort, only without the wealth. Main roads meeting here, new junctions, a bypass, but the satnav woman had sent them into the town.

And then out again by a side road, the lights dwindling and Annie’s angular face withdrawing into shadow. Well, he knew she wasn’t happy about this and, yeh, he was feeling bad about involving her, she had a career, status, reputation. In her place, he’d be playing it entirely by the book. Hugging the frigging book.

But it was already too late. They were given sixty yards warning of a narrow sharp left, and then the satnav woman was signing off. Tall trees either side and high wrought-iron gates hanging open. Annie stopped between them, looked at Bliss.

‘Yeh, all right,’ he said, ‘I don’t like it either.’

Annie said nothing, drove slowly, on full headlights, between the gates into a steep dirt track that became a tarmac driveway, curving just too perfectly up a tamed hill. The beams found wellingtonia and monkey puzzle trees, and three storeys of muted lights.

‘Bugger me,’ Bliss said. ‘Who put this here?’

‘The Victorians, it looks like.’

Could’ve been a hotel, but it evidently wasn’t. Annie pulled into a forecourt under a pillared veranda as twin vaults of calm
light were directed over them from up in the ivied walls. She switched off the engine.

‘Not on the breadline, then, Claudia,’ Bliss said, as his phone rang. ‘
Gerry
. What kept you?’

‘Here’s the score, Francis. Tamsin Winterson hasn’t been in contact with Peterchurch since she was last on duty. Her best friend in the force, Emma Green, South Wye, hasn’t heard from her since last weekend. And it seems you’re the first to do a PNC check on that number. We’re still trying to track Tamsin’s phone.’

‘Listen, Gerry, I’m here now, Talgarth, so I’ll have a word with this woman. You wanna call Tamsin’s parents? Who’s in charge tonight?’

‘Inspector Ford’s here. I’ll put him in the picture.’

‘Tell him I’ll ring him when I’ve finished here.’ Bliss killed the call. ‘So what now? If Tamsin never followed up that number, what did she do? Did she go shooting up to Rector’s place? Did she confront this woman?’

‘Don’t go in hard,’ Annie said, ‘just to show you aren’t impressed by the conspicuous wealth.’

On the forecourt, Bliss saw a grey Land Rover and a low, red car with four smoky rings on its driver’s door: Audi Quattro.

This undoubtedly was the place, and she was in. He felt in his inside pocket for his wallet and his warrant card. Somewhere in the house, a dog barked gruffly.

‘
Oh for
—’

No wallet. Wrong jacket. Everything he did, or thought he’d done, now, it was all check, check, check. If he forgot to check, he screwed up.

‘Take mine.’ Annie Howe unclipped her bag. ‘Just make sure you cover up the picture when you flash it.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Annie.’

‘And if you’re not out in forty-five minutes…’

She put a hand on his arm. He couldn’t see her face, didn’t know if she was serious. When he tried for a smile, it felt like there were lead weights attached to the skin over his left eye.

*  *  *

The front door was up some steps, at the end of a porch the size of a small chapel, and the woman who opened it was younger than he’d expected.

‘Sorry to bother you so late. DI Bliss, West Mercia CID. Are you Claudia Cornwell?’

Maybe not. She had curly hair and an emerald nose-stud. Also a Dobermann standing beside her, silent and watchful.

‘Police? Is there a problem?’

Local accent.

‘There might very well be a problem,’ Bliss said. ‘Is Ms Cornwell in?’

‘If you wait there, I’ll see.’

‘Actually, she is.’

A wholly different woman’s voice coming from behind him. A low, but not exactly hesitant voice from Off. He turned slowly until he could see her in the floodlights at the bottom of the steps.

Both of her. Bliss hissed, bent his head until the images coalesced. She was wearing a light tweed jacket, black jeans pushed into the expensive boots. Brown hair was pulled back and held together by one of those big crocodile clips.

‘You did say police?’

‘Sorry to bother you this time of night,’ Bliss said, ‘but I do need to ask you some questions.’

‘No problem.’ She came lightly up the steps. ‘I’ve been out at a meeting. You’re on your own?’

‘My colleague’s in the car.’ Maybe the BMW helped. ‘Nothing too contentious. Won’t take long.’

‘All right.’ She glanced at Annie’s ID and then moved past him into the house. ‘This is Michelle, my nanny. Come through.’

Quite a big woman, though not fat. He followed her into an entrance hall less baroque than he’d feared, although the central staircase was impressive. Four pairs of wellies, adults and coloured ones for kids, were lined up behind the door.

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Bliss. Francis Bliss.’

‘Ah.’ She turned, gave him a small and quite pleasant smile. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Not just now, thanks.’

‘It’s all right, Michelle.’

The nanny nodded, moved away. The Dobermann stayed, still watching Bliss until she patted her thigh, said ‘Prospero… come, Pros,’ and the dog loped off behind her and didn’t look back.

The room Claudia Cornwell led him into was plain and used-looking. Off-white walls, a cream rug on bare boards, a brass standard lamp, a drinks cabinet and a big, patched teddy bear on a lumpy, chintzy sofa.

‘Do take a seat. A proper drink?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Alcohol does me head in this time of night.’

‘Ah… of course.’

Like she understood. People like her always had to have understood, Bliss thought. He sat down next to the teddy bear.

‘Plus, I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ he said. ‘The thing is… I believe you might’ve had dealings, tonight or this afternoon, with one of my colleagues.’

‘I doubt it.’ She looked amused. ‘Always drive terribly carefully, Inspector, especially at night.’

‘This is a young policewoman. Out of uniform.’

‘So how would I know she was in the police?’

‘Ms Cornwell…’

‘I’m sorry. Where was this?’

‘Cusop. Probably.’

‘Cusop?’

‘Near Hay-on-Wye. Close to the home of the late David Hambling. Or Peter Rector, as he was formerly known.’

Claudia Cornwell sat down, unbuttoned her tweed jacket,
looked steadily at Bliss from under eyebrows heavier and darker than her hair.

‘Tell me, are you fully recovered now, Mr Bliss?’

Bliss said nothing, kept himself still. At least the lamp wasn’t bright.

‘And – if you don’t mind my asking – what are you doing here? Are you allowed to operate in Dyfed-Powys territory?’

‘You’re not my Euro MP or something, are you?’ Bliss said.

Claudia Cornwell laughed. It was annoyingly musical. Bliss waited. Maybe it was as well Annie had stayed in the car. Annie hated being wrong-footed, even more than he did.

‘Sorry for that,’ Ms Cornwell said. ‘I’m a criminal barrister. We’ve never met – South Wales circuit, mainly – but I know quite a lot about you. Some of which I would have used with considerable relish were we to have faced one another at Worcester Crown court. As we surely would, had Victoria Buck-land not changed her plea to guilty.’

‘Jesus,’ Bliss said. ‘Vicky’s brief?’

‘Was to have been. I was quite looking forward to it. I so enjoy a challenge. Yes, the eleventh-hour change-of-plea was a very wise decision, but I’m sure we’d all have had a lovely time.’

‘Would’ve been great,’ Bliss said. ‘Long as you didn’t get her off on a techie.’

She looked into his left eye.

‘Victoria’s friends made quite a mess of you, didn’t they?’

‘I’m better than I look. And I’m guessing that’s given you enough thinking time, Ms Cornwell.’

Claudia Cornwell rose and went to the drinks cabinet, took down a half-empty bottle of Laphroaig.

‘Don’t mind if
I
have one, do you? Calm my nerves at being grilled by an expert. Sorry – not trying to patronize you. What’s the issue with your young policewoman?’

‘PC Winterson. Tamsin.’ Bliss watched her eyes. ‘Lives not far from Cusop.’

‘I doubt I’ve ever met her.’

‘She’s been assisting me, as a local girl, with an inquiry relating to Mr Rector’s death.’

Claudia Cornwell unscrewed the bottle, releasing peat musk. Poured an inch of the whisky into a crystal glass and sat down.

‘You want to keep this casual, I imagine?’

‘Meaning what?’

‘You’re not on duty, are you? Obviously got your girlfriend in the car.’

Bliss said nothing.

‘I promise you, you’ll get far more out of me if I don’t have to watch what I’m saying.’

‘You’re very savvy, Ms Cornwell.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’ve never met PC Winterson. I’m merely trying to help you in the best way I can, Francis.’

‘You haven’t spoken to her on the phone?’

‘No.’

‘Or been aware of her trying to contact you?’

‘No.’

‘Or anyone from the police, in the context of Mr Rector.’

‘No.’

‘Ms Cornwell…’

‘Call me Claudia, we’re not in court.’

‘Claudia, I’m here because Tamsin Winterson’s missing. She wasn’t on duty, and there might be quite an innocent explanation for this, but…’

‘But as she’s a serving police officer you’re obviously concerned. So what are you asking?’

‘I’m asking myself – and now you – if the absence of Tamsin Winterson could be in any way connected with the as-yet-unexplained death of Peter Rector. Of course, if Tamsin turns up at first light and says her car broke down miles from the nearest mobile signal, you may never hear from me again.’

‘Yes, but, Francis…’ A helpless smile ‘… why am I even being associated with the possible disappearance of your officer? I’m
very sorry to hear about it, and I hope you find her safe and well, and yes, I did
know
Peter Rector, but—’

‘Thing is, Claudia, you’ve been seen twice in the vicinity of Mr Rector’s home. PC Winterson had been told you were there today and she was on her way to ask you a few questions. On the basis that it’s possible you were the last person to see Mr Rector alive.’

‘When was this?’

‘When you appeared to be delivering certain… provisions?’

Claudia Cornwell sat back, cradling her whisky glass and then shaking her head wearily.

‘All right. Yes. That might, indeed, have been me. If I’d been to London, I’d bring Peter occasional treats from Fortnum and Mason. Items not so easy to obtain in this part of Wales. Or possibly any part of Wales. Or… his part of England. I was very fond of him.’

‘When you say treats… would they perhaps include items
not
available from Fortnum and Mason?’

‘You mean cannabis?’

That was bloody quick.

She said, ‘He wasn’t an habitual user, and it was entirely for personal use. It played a very occasional role in his work.’

‘With respect, Claudia, that’s what they all say.’

She met his gaze.

‘Oh, I don’t think they do.’

Bugger. You didn’t just say things fatuously, for effect, to a barrister.

‘You could well be right,’ Bliss said. ‘I’m not exactly an expert on his other activities. Not yet, anyway. How long have you known him?’

‘Years and years. I was brought up not far from here, and he was a friend of my parents.’

‘You don’t sound local.’

‘Went away to various schools and then Oxford. I can sound alarmingly local when I want to.’

‘Why were you standing on the castle mound at Cusop late this afternoon?’

‘It’s… Look, it’s somewhere we used to walk, Peter and I. I obviously couldn’t get into his house, so it’s where I went to say goodbye. I’ve what looks like a longish case coming off towards the latter part of next week, so may not be able to attend his funeral.’

Bliss nodded. He wondered what form her goodbye had taken.

‘Actually, I didn’t stay long,’ she said. ‘To be quite honest, it didn’t feel comfortable.’

‘In what way?’

Claudia sat up, easing her jacket off.

‘Do you really want to go into all this?’

She tossed the jacket on to the sofa between Bliss and the teddy. She was wearing a white silk shirt, two or three buttons undone, revealing a pendant, a gold disc with some kind of symbol on it. Might be something like a St Christopher medal. Or might not.

Bliss looked at his watch. He had half an hour before Annie might start getting restive.

‘You know what, Claudia?’ he said. ‘I think I need to.’

32

Plea of insanity

B
LISS CALLED
Robert Winterson from Annie’s car, parked on a double-yellow in the centre of Talgarth.

‘The police are here,’ Winterson said. ‘We’re going over it all again. Nothing you got to tell me?’

‘Afraid not, Robert. I’ve spoken to the woman Tamsin told Kelly she was looking for. Drew a blank. She didn’t do anything to check the car registration number she had from Kelly. I’m sorry. And listen, Robert, if they want to search the farmhouse and your house, don’t be offended. It’s a formality they’ve gorra observe.’

‘They done that already. They wanted to know everywhere she went. Well we din’t know – she used to go running on her days off, to keep fit, up in the hills, everywhere. To keep fit for her job.’

Something choked off in the background suggested Tamsin’s mother had clocked the expression on Robert’s face. Bliss bent his head, his right hand wrapped tightly in the unfastened seat belt. No worse side of the job than this.

‘And I’ll stay very much in touch,’ he said. ‘Anything you think of, please come back to me at any time.’

‘Mr Bliss, my mother would like a word.’

‘Well, I do need to… Of course.’

Bliss squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Inspector Bliss…’

‘Mrs Winterson, can I just assure you—’

Mrs Winterson said, ‘I just wanted… I just
need
to ask you if
you can tell me if she’s… do you
know
of any actual danger she might be in?’

‘No, I don’t. Not at all. And I… I know it’s daft to say this, but I don’t want you to worry, ’cos we’re gonna find her.’

‘She was very excited to be working with you,’ Mrs Winterson said.

Bliss’s head was hammering.

He said to Annie, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for gerrin’ you involved in this.’

‘You’ll need to go in and make a report.’

‘I know. But how much is gonna be
in
it?’

He pulled down the sun visor against the sodium street-lights and told her everything this time, all the details. It took about twenty minutes. Annie sat back, letting down the side window.

‘Not exactly what I wanted to hear,’ Annie said. ‘And there’s hardly time for a considered opinion. But my feeling is that if you went babbling on about an old woman from Hardwicke and… satanic neo-Nazis… well, I know how I’d react.’

‘Yeh. What I thought.’

‘Francis, I’m trying to
help
. People like Mrs Watkins get paid – albeit a pittance – to listen sympathetically to this kind of drivel. We get paid to lend half an ear on the occasions when someone’s trying to enter a plea of insanity.’

Bliss nodded. Annie started the engine.

‘My feeling is that it would only complicate the search for Winterson by diverting attention and manpower from where they need to be focused.’

‘I’m forced to agree.’

‘There’s no evidence that Winterson’s disappearance is in any way linked to the non-suspicious drowning of a man in his nineties. You should have walked away from that before you did, but I understand why you didn’t. And you obviously shouldn’t be back at work, but that’s a side issue. Right now, someone
needs to find Winterson’s car, her phone, her friends, boyfriends. Search her parents’ farm outside and in, and… well, you don’t need me to tell you.’

Bliss nodded. Rich Ford, the uniform inspector, rang.

‘Jesus, Francis, she’s a relation. Well… her dad’s the wife’s cousin, kind of. She couldn’t be hiding something from the family, I suppose? Personal problems?’

‘She
could
, but I don’t see it, Rich. She’d promised to babysit for her brother, and she struck me as a conscientious kid.’

‘All right,’ Rich said. ‘Let’s not bugger about. You can leave these situations too long. We need to put the troops in. I’m going to have to wake somebody up, talk to headquarters.’

‘I only wish I could think of something more expedient.’

‘This bloody drowning, Francis…’

Bliss took a breath.

‘What that comes down to is that when she was a kid, her and her mates used to make up stories about Rector. He was eccentric, he was known to have an interest in the occult and he knew about herbs and fixing dislocated bones. Tamsin thought the circumstances of his death might be worth a second look. It was her own backyard. Talk to Kelly James, she’ll tell you what she told me. She took down the registration of a car belonging to a woman Tamsin thought might be the last person to see Rector alive. Tamsin said she’d look into it, and that seems to be the last anybody heard from her. I’ve talked to the woman. The woman says she’s never seen her.’

‘And this is a barrister? Has she prosecuted for us?’

‘Works Wales, but she was gonna defend Buckland.’

‘Must be good. Or desperate.’

‘There you go.’

‘Looked at from another angle,’ Rich said, ‘what we have is a missing girl in the countryside. Day off, out of uniform, all kinds of bloody animals out there these days. And she’s a copper. She’ll know how we’re likely to react if she goes off the map, and how much that costs.’

‘Yeh.’

‘You’d better come in, Francis. We’re going to need some paperwork from you.’

Annie flicked him a glance.

‘Good. I wouldn’t risk embroidering it any further.’

She was driving back through Hay, all quiet lights, empty streets. Midnightish.

‘We think we know what’s going on out there,’ Bliss said. ‘Could be we don’t know the half of it. You ever think that?’

‘No, I don’t. Things we used to consider bizarre, not much of it gets concealed any more. There’s even some kind of grouping of pagan police, for heaven’s sake. No Witchcraft Act any more. Less contentious than being in the Freemasons.’

‘Like your dad?’

Charlie Howe, one-time head of Hereford CID. Disgraced. Annie didn’t even reply.

‘As it happens, Claudia said she could tell me the names of two senior police officers who were into it,’ Bliss said, ‘and at least four who’re witches. Though she talked about witches in slightly superior tones, like coppers talk about traffic wardens. Norra lorra mental training required, just turn up, light a fire and get your kit off.’

‘And she believes it actually
works
? A famously intelligent woman. QC-material?’

‘She said it works on its own terms, whatever that means. She says it’s a wonderful discipline. If you’re the type of person for whom the physical world is, as she puts it, insufficient for a rounded life.’

‘You could say that of the average churchgoer.’

Which Annie wasn’t. Calling her a sceptical agnostic would be coming down on the liberal side.

‘Difference is,’ Bliss said, ‘that your average churchgoer is told to put his faith in God and stay out of the boiler room. People like Peter Rector and Claudia… if there
are
other spiritual levels,
they want to know how it all works. The hidden mechanics. Where they can fit their spanners.’

He could still hear Claudia’s voice, very reasonable, explanatory, like she was addressing the jury as equals. Saying she was quite sure there were lots of things she didn’t know about Peter Rector but she could assure Bliss that all her dealings with him had shown him to be, essentially, a lovely man who’d
harm none
, as the witches said.

Annie drove past the big car park, down and over the bridge into England.

‘Strange,’ she said. ‘I’d taken against that woman from the first time I met her.’

‘Claudia? I thought—’

‘Mrs Watkins. Women priests – that whole thing made me angry. Women who wanted to be priests, I thought we were bigger than that crap. But the night when you were taken to hospital she was unexpectedly helpful, and I realized she was getting her head around aspects of human behaviour that were a complete mystery to me.’

‘Different side of the brain, Annie.’

He let his head fall back, under the engine hum. A long night with too many bright lights. They were right. He shouldn’t be back. Should’ve stayed at home with a bunch of dvds. If something had happened to Tamsin Winterson because of something he’d failed to process, how would he live with that when they put him out to grass at barely forty?

‘Coming to say goodbye to Rector,’ Annie said. ‘That doesn’t sound convincing to me. What was she
really
doing there?’

‘She wasn’t exactly being surreptitious about it. Driving openly to Cusop in a bright red car, putting herself very visibly on top of an earthmound.’

‘Do we know she was actually alone there? How many students did Rector have?’

‘Five or six she knows of.’

‘So he was running courses at Cusop for fee-paying acolytes. She provide you with a list?’

‘Didn’t ask for one. No real reason to. But, like she said, she only knew what Rector wanted her to know, so there could be more of them. Which would explain what Tamsin picked up about what locals were calling the coven. And also why there’s no temple. He wasn’t performing rituals, he was conducting tutorials.’

Annie turned right again, for the Golden Valley and Hereford.

‘Francis, I really can’t take a chance on being seen taking you into Gaol Street. We’ll have to go via Marden and you can pick up your car. Will you be all right with that?’

‘Sure. I just want Tamsin found and all this over with.’

‘Try and sleep,’ Annie said.

‘You’re going back to Malvern?’

‘I can stay at your place, if you like.’

‘You’re better going back to Malvern. Keep your head down. Sorry about the weekend.’

‘You’re not talking to Kirsty here, Francis.’

Bliss smiled, eyes closed, reminded of why, even if it was strongly discouraged, a relationship with another serving officer could work well. Whenever he’d buggered up a weekend for Kirsty she wouldn’t speak to him till the next one was looming.

Another twenty minutes to the house at Marden, to pick up his car. The BMW growled quietly.

The countryside around them was dark and loaded. Nobody phoned to say Tamsin Winterson was OK.