The Magus of Hay(70)

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


TEN 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.