Pressure Head (25 page)

There was a heavy sigh. “Oh, she turned up, all right. Bit older than I was expecting, but we had a great evening—went out for a meal, talked for hours. I told her all about Jenny and the job and everything.”

“But?” because there was obviously a
but
.

“But, at the end of the evening, she says
Sorry, Dave, you’re a nice bloke, but you’re too hung-up on your ex-wife
. So that was that.”

“Her loss, Dave,” I said kindly. Then I hung up and got back to the serious business of sorting out Mrs. R.’s drain.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to remember a conversation you had the day before, word for word. I found myself making a right hash of it, although it probably didn’t help that every time I shifted on the hard chair in Dave’s police interview room, a twinge in my arse sent my mind skipping happily back to last night with Phil. I’d headed straight round to the police station after Mrs. R.’s, thinking if Dave was going to make such a song and dance about the whole thing, he could bloody well put up with me whiffing a bit, but I was starting to wish I’d nipped home for a shower and a change of clothes first. Apparently, the police force weren’t big on windows that opened. Funny, that.

“Right,” Dave said wearily. “So the Rev’s a bit limp-wristed. No surprise there. And he did a few things when he was younger he wouldn’t want the bishop finding out about.”

Of course, from what Darren had said, there was a good chance the Bish might have got up to some of the same tricks, but I wasn’t going to mention that to Dave.

“And,” Dave went on, “he had his knickers in a twist about the whole thing, but after he’d talked to you—you being, apparently, Hertfordshire’s new gay Agony Uncle—he’d decided what to do about it, and was feeling a bit better. Is that it?”

From the tone of his voice, I could feel a caution for Wasting Police Time coming on. “It…look, you had to be there, all right? He just seemed a bit, well, off.”

Dave massaged his temples. “Can you give me a for-instance?”

I screwed my face up so hard, thinking, I could feel a headache of my own coming on. “Sorry,” I said in the end. “I did try and tell you on the phone it was just a feeling.”

“Feelings. Gawd help us.” Dave sighed heavily and pushed back his chair. “Just leave the investigating to the professionals, all right?”

“Sir?” A uniformed constable hovered at the door, although from the look of him, he ought to have been in school studying for his GCSEs. I had a vague idea that probably meant I was getting old, if the policemen started looking younger—but sod it, the kid had
acne
. “You’re wanted. There’s been a development.”

Dave looked round sharply. “What kind of bleedin’ development?” The constable’s eyes flicked over to me. “Fine, fine, we’re done here anyway. Tom, you can go—come back and see me when the Reverend gives you his signed confession, all right?”

PC Puberty’s eyes went wide. “Um, sir, you might want to hear about this before you let the witness go.”

“Oh?” Dave’s voice went sharp. “Hear about what?”

He wasn’t looking at Constable Kid. He was looking straight at me.

“Er, well, there’s been another incident.”

“Another murder?” My voice cracked. Was this what Merry had meant about stuff he had to take care of? Oh, God.

“Well?” Dave demanded.

The kid swallowed. “They found the Reverend Lewis dead in the vicarage this morning.”

An ice-cold pain shot through my chest. “Merry’s dead?” I asked, my voice sounding like it was coming from another room. I wondered why they were looking at me strangely.

“How?” Dave barked.

“Hanged himself, it looks like, sir.”

“Suicide?” My voice was a croak. Oh, God. He’d killed himself after speaking to me. That meant it was my fault, didn’t it? “I thought he was feeling better… Oh, God.”

It shouldn’t have hit me so hard, I suppose. I hardly knew the bloke. I hadn’t even
liked
him.

But I’d felt sorry for him. He’d had such a crap life. The only time he’d managed to get a few kicks, he’d ended up regretting it for—fuck—the rest of his life. Bloody hell, from what Darren had said about that party, he hadn’t been in much of a state to even remember what he’d been so ashamed about. “He seemed so much happier,” I kept saying.
My fault, my fault
ran through my head on permanent loop, and I bit my tongue to keep from blurting it out.

Dave took pity on me and got the constable to fetch me a cup of tea. I found myself wondering if he’d got a grown-up to help him with the kettle, and almost gave a really inappropriate giggle at the thought. He’d put two sugars in it, and I drank half of it down before I even noticed.

We had to go over last night’s visit again, of course. And this time, make it official, with a signed statement. I might have been the last person to see the Rev alive.
My fault, my fault.

It helped, actually, going over the conversation again. Reminded me he’d already been in a right state when he’d got to my house. Maybe I hadn’t helped him like I’d meant to—but I’d done what I could. I began to breathe a bit more easily.

“Right,” Dave said at the end, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “So Lewis left you shortly before eleven, and you called me, then went straight to bed after that?”

“Um,” I said. “Sort of.”

Dave narrowed his eyes. “Want to expand on that?”

I took a deep breath. Best to get it over with. “I called Phil, and he came round and stayed the night, all right? Left just before eight.”

“Phil…Morrison.” Dave looked unhappy. “So you and him are…?”

“Um,” I said again.

“Well, are you or aren’t you? How bleedin’ hard is it to tell?”

“We slept together for the first time last night,” I said in a rush, trying to get it over with. I wasn’t feeling too happy myself about the way the conversation was going. Dave and me, we were friends—but there was a sort of unwritten rule I wouldn’t go shoving my homosexuality in his face. I’d always reckoned he was fine with me shagging blokes, just as long as he never, ever had to think about it. And I’d been okay with that. Like I said before, some things you’re better off not knowing, even about your mates.

I didn’t want to find out Dave was a bigot. I was ninety-nine-percent certain that any prejudices he had were a product of his upbringing, and he was struggling to overcome them. But if I ever found out for certain they existed, well, it’d change things between us. It’d have to.

Because there was always that one-percent chance he really meant them.

Dave was rubbing his face again. “Tom… Look, don’t take this the wrong way, all right?” He paused like he was waiting for me to cross my heart and hope to die. Just like poor old Merry. I’d got it all wrong last night. I’d reckoned he’d hoped to finally start living.

“What?” I asked a bit sharply. I wasn’t promising Dave anything.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be involved with Phil Morrison,” he said bluntly.

I stared at him. “Why?”

“You told me yourself he was a bully at school. That sort never change. Christ, Tom, he could flatten you as soon as look at you. And all right, it suits him to be nice to you right now, but sooner or later, that’s going to change.”

“What do you mean, it suits him to be nice?” And what did he mean,
now
?

“You know. Your little talent. The
finding
thing. Gift from the bloody gods to a PI, aren’t you? I bet he’s like a kid with a new toy right now. Just you wait, though. Sooner or later, he’s going to end up chucking you out of the pram.”

I wished I hadn’t drunk that sugary tea. I felt sick. “You think he’s sleeping with me just so I’ll find stuff for him?” That couldn’t be right, could it? We’d done all the finding stuff well before he’d made a move, hadn’t we?

“I just mean, it’s in his interests to keep you sweet at the moment, that’s all.” Dave rubbed his neck, looking more tired than ever. “The thing about you is, you only ever want to see the best in people. And that’s great, Tom. Makes you a good bloke to be around. Trouble is, though, you work in this job a few years, you get to realise most of humanity is a load of bleedin’ tossers you wouldn’t want to piss on if they were on fire.”

“You’re wrong,” I said, but my voice sounded funny. “It’s not your fault—like you said, it’s the job. But that’s not—he’s not—”

“Tom,” Dave said, leaning forward over the table. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now. But take care, all right? Don’t be too ready to trust him.” He pushed back his chair and stood. Guessing the interview was over, I did the same. Dave was halfway to the door when he turned and spoke to me again. “Oh, and Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“For God’s sake, take a shower and get some clean clothes on before you get pulled in as a public health hazard. You stink like a bloody sewer.”

By the time I finally got out of the police station, I was late for one customer and I’d missed another altogether. I made a few damage-limitation phone calls to the clients, then went home, threw my clothes in the washing machine and stepped wearily into the shower.

The hot water seemed to wash some of the fog out of my brain, and I realised what I should have done as soon as I got home. I should have called Phil and told him about poor old Merry. But after I’d towelled myself off and pulled on some clothes—even when I was standing in the living room, phone in hand—I couldn’t seem to make myself dial the number.

Was Dave right about Phil? Was he just using me?

No. That couldn’t be true. What about that hidden stash of photos and the bit cut out of the paper? I gave a twisted smile as I pictured myself telling Dave about, in Gary’s words,
my own personal stalker
. Yeah, right. That’d really reassure him.

Should I be worried? I slumped onto the sofa a bit too heavily, startling Merlin, who shot out of the room like I’d shoved a rocket up his bum. Looking smug, Arthur padded heavily over and settled in my lap, a lead-lined furry cushion. “What do you think, Arthur?” I asked, knuckling him between the ears. His eyes slitted in bliss as he started to purr. “I’ve got to call him, haven’t I? He’d be well pissed off if he found out I knew and didn’t tell him.”

I hit the dial button before I could talk myself out of it again.

Of course, after all that bloody angsting, it ended up going to voice mail. I wondered what he was up to, and why he wasn’t answering his mobile—maybe he’d left it on silent by mistake? I’d done that often enough myself, before I’d worked out the connection between missed calls and lack of money to pay the bills.

Maybe Phil had heard about the Rev already and was snooping around Brock’s Hollow? Why bother, though? What was left to investigate? I wondered if the Rev had left a confession, and if the police would still carry on looking for Melanie’s murderer if he hadn’t. Would Phil? Maybe he’d stopped already and was back home typing up his final bill for the Porters.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt he hadn’t at least phoned to check if I’d heard the news, and if I was okay about it. He’d been keen enough to come round last night, after Merry’s visit.

Perhaps he hadn’t thought there’d be a shag in it this time.

Sod it. I sent Phil a brief text:
Rev is dead, suicide
, and then headed off to my customer in Harpenden.

Chapter Nineteen

The Harpenden job ended up taking longer than expected—twenty years of limescale needed to be chipped off before I could even get at the taps. The water round here’s so bloody hard it practically comes out the taps in lumps. It wasn’t so much plumbing as open-cast mining. By the time I’d finished, I was hungry enough to eat a pit pony, but I was running too late to stop for lunch, so I grabbed a cheese roll from the baker’s in Vaughn Road and ate it on the way to the next job. Not great for the digestion, maybe, but at least keeping busy was keeping my mind off—well, off stuff I’d rather not be thinking about.

Later that afternoon, just as the sky was starting to get dark, I passed through Brock’s Hollow. I’d been thinking about popping in on Pip—after all, if she’d been cut up about Robin getting taken in for questioning, how much more upset would she be about Merry’s death? She was a churchwarden; she had to have known him pretty well.

This time, the lights were on in Village Properties, I noted as I parked the van in the lay-by next to the chippy. They were also on in the WI shop, and the old battle-axe in there glared through the window at me as I went into the estate agents. I made a mental note never to go in that shop in case she stabbed me with her knitting needles for fraternising with perjurers.

Robin gave a big, welcoming smile as I walked in the door—then he realised it was me and stopped bothering. “If you’re here to ask more questions, I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to leave,” he said, with a hint of steel in his tired eyes that didn’t make him any less attractive.

“Nah—reckon you’ve had enough of that in the last few days, right? I’m just here to say hi to Pip,” I assured him, turning to her corner. “Bloody hell!”

She had a bruise on her cheek. “Did that bastard hit you?” I demanded, striding over to her desk. “Pip, love, you’ve got to call the police. You can’t let him treat you like this.”