The Devil's Moon (24 page)

‘Just a tad. Are you religious?'

‘I was brought up Catholic but it didn't really take.'

‘Not even the guilt?'

Heap blushed. ‘A bit of that.'

Gilchrist sighed. ‘People's beliefs.'

‘You're not religious either, Sarah?' Watts said.

‘Not in any way, shape or form. Pisses me off to tell you the truth – what people get away with in the name of it.'

The door burst open and a screeching gaggle of women tottered in wearing high-heeled boots. They took off their raincoats to reveal micro-skirts and T-shirts emblazoned with ‘Laura's Hen Party'. As one they bared their teeth. Plastic vampire teeth.

G
ilchrist's first appointment the next morning was the Jubilee Library. The rare books department was on the top floor at the rear of the imposing glass-fronted building. It looked little more than a small reading room through a set of glass doors. Subdued lighting protected twenty or so books on display in glass cases. But there were no books on shelves as Gilchrist expected.

‘I thought it would look like a second-hand bookshop,' she said to the director of the collection, a nervous man with sparse black hair combed across his pate. His manner didn't seem to fit his name, which was Allcock.

‘These are
rare
books, Detective Inspector – we keep them in temperature-controlled rooms. Our collection dates from the thirteenth to the twentieth century. Many are touched, if at all, only when wearing gloves but most of the collection is under lock and key.'

He led her through an enormous room, full of tier after tier of shelves, and through to a tiny office piled with papers. He cleared space on a straight-backed chair and invited her to sit.

‘You lost a rare manuscript but didn't report it,' Gilchrist said. ‘Why?'

Allcock looked surprised. ‘That's an internal matter. We're hoping it's just misplaced.'

‘That's not what we heard,' Gilchrist said.

‘From whom?'

Whom
. This man was another Heap.

‘Is it something called the
Key of Solomon
?'

Allcock nodded reluctantly.

‘How did the library acquire it?'

The librarian seemed surprised by the question. ‘I don't really know but I assume it was in the George Long collection.'

Gilchrist looked her next question.

‘In 1879 Long donated about three and a half thousand volumes, mostly in sixteenth-century Greek and Latin.'

‘Do you really believe the
Key
has been mislaid?' she said.

Allcock shuffled papers on his desk. ‘Not really.'

‘Somebody broke in here? Or was it out there on display?'

Allcock looked almost sorrowful. ‘I think it was probably the first time it had been out on display.'

‘Aren't the display cases alarmed?' Gilchrist said.

‘Theoretically.'

‘Theoretically?'

‘Theoretically they are locked and alarmed. But there was a week when my regular staff members and I were away on a course. Somebody not familiar with our policies turned the alarms off and unlocked the case to remove another item.'

‘And they didn't lock it again,' Gilchrist said. ‘And this thief just happened to be in the room?'

The man looked embarrassed. ‘It appears the case might have been open for some days.'

‘CCTV?' Gilchrist said.

‘Yes. But our system is time-lapse. Four frames a second. Movement can be quite blurred or missed altogether.'

‘You save the images though?' Gilchrist said.

‘For a limited period, yes.'

‘So if the thief did steal it on the day the case was first left open, the recording will probably have been wiped.'

Allcock clasped his hands. ‘I would think so.'

‘And nobody noticed the theft?'

‘The casing of the manuscript was still there.'

‘The casing?'

‘It was in a silver case, very finely engraved. To be honest it was on display for the casing not the content. I doubt anyone knew what was in it.'

‘Somebody obviously did.'

He looked rueful. ‘Obviously. I'm just grateful the casing wasn't stolen as well.'

‘Is the manuscript valuable?' Gilchrist said.

‘It has intrinsic value as an ancient manuscript but it is priceless to some people.'

‘Because it is a book of spells.'

‘A
grimoire
, yes,' Allcock said.

‘Tell me about it,' Gilchrist said. ‘Pretend you're talking to a particularly stupid child and we'll do fine.'

There was a uniformed policeman hovering near the Saddlescombe Organics stall when Kate Simpson stepped into Brighton Farm Market. He was short and had rosy cheeks and people further inside the yard were giving him wary glances or whispering about him. He remained composed.

The stall had not yet opened. She stopped a couple of yards away from him. He looked at her, frowning.

‘Lesley Henderson?' he said.

She shook her head. ‘Kate Simpson from Southern Shores Radio. Looks like we want the same stall.'

He nodded. ‘I need to take a statement from someone who should be working on this stall today.'

‘Ditto,' she said. ‘They provide unusual food for Plenty and I'm doing a story about the food poisoning there.'

‘I didn't know about that,' he said. ‘You got poisoned?'

Kate nodded. ‘Me and my friend Sarah. You might know her – DI Gilchrist? Apparently among other things we ate lilies.'

‘Lilies,' the policeman repeated thoughtfully. ‘Does DI Gilchrist know that?'

‘You do know her?'

‘I work for her.'

‘They were lily bulbs, actually, supplied by this place. I haven't had a chance to mention it to her yet.'

The policeman held out his hand. ‘I'm Constable Bellamy Heap. DI Gilchrist brought me on to her team a few days ago.'

Kate took his hand. ‘You like working with Sarah?'

‘I do.'

‘We've shared a flat on and off.' Kate saw a look in his eye and let go of his hand. ‘What?' she said guardedly.

He flushed. ‘Sorry – I think I just realized who perhaps you are.'

‘And who, perhaps, am I?'

He flushed deeper. ‘I think you might be the poor woman who was attacked and defended herself with DI Gilchrist's volt gun.' He dropped his hand. ‘That must have been dreadful for you.'

‘Yes, it was.'

She didn't want to cry but the tears came anyway. He reached into his side pocket and produced a wad of tissues.

‘Crumpled but clean,' he said, holding them out to her.

She glanced around. Some of the people watching were darting angry glances at Heap, assuming he'd caused the tears.

She turned away and tried to smile. ‘A man with tissues for just such an emergency. How gallant.'

She warmed to Bellamy Heap and his pink cheeks and his kind face. And at the same time she was horribly embarrassed that she'd broken down in front of a stranger watched by a crowd of total strangers.

She was even more embarrassed that she must look a fright. She was no female
X-Factor
judge, controlling welling tears with a finger placed horizontally under each eye. She couldn't do emotional without having a make-up crisis. When Kate cried she turned blotchy and her nose ran and she made unattractive noises. Aside from that she was perfect.

She giggled at the thought. Given that she was giving some kind of tearful snort at the same time she heard the strangest sound and that made her giggle more. Heap looked bewildered. OK, so he was just a man after all.

‘You wouldn't understand,' she gasped, suppressing her laugh.

‘Probably not,' he said. His smile was disarming.

Kate was thinking, Oh, God, Mills and Boon. It made her laugh even louder.

‘The
Key of Solomon
is probably the most famous
grimoire
in the world,' Allcock said. ‘It's supposed to have been written by King Solomon – the one in the Bible? He wrote it for his son Rehoboam then ordered him to hide the book in his sepulchre when he died. The Babylonians found it during their destruction of his Temple. They couldn't understand the text until – the story goes – the Angel of the Lord came to their aid.'

‘There seems to be a lot wrong with that story,' Gilchrist said.

Allcock nodded. ‘That's the legend. Actually, the
Key
probably dates from the fourteenth-century Italian Renaissance.'

‘And this famous book of spells was in the Jubilee Library?'

‘One of them was.'

‘You're losing me again,' Gilchrist said. ‘He wrote more than one?'

‘He didn't write any of them,' Allcock said patiently. ‘As I said, it was probably written in the fourteenth century. During the Italian Renaissance ancient Greek and Roman philosophical and religious documents came from the east after the fall of Constantinople in 1451. Although some date the
Key
as far back as the Fourth Crusade's sack of Constantinople in 1204, which led to a similar transmission of knowledge long lost or unknown in the West.'

‘They found the
Key
and brought it to the West?'

‘No. But there were a lot of other manuscripts dealing with magic. Jewish Kabbalists and Arab alchemists put their own spin on them. One of those men probably created the
Key of Solomon
.'

‘Kabbalists? Is that like the religion Madonna follows?'

‘Nothing like it. That's a ridiculous modern distortion of what was a serious – if misguided – search for knowledge through the power of numbers. In this country there are a number of manuscript versions of the
Key
. This one was probably mid- to late-sixteenth century, in Latin.'

‘Tell me about the spells.'

Allcock grimaced. ‘The
Key
gives detailed instructions for preparing and performing acts of magic in rituals using specific materials when the planets are in certain configurations. The first part has conjurations, invocations and curses. The magician uses them to summon and control spirits of the dead and demons. It shows you how to become invisible, make someone love you and find lost or stolen items.'

‘Sounds like we could make use of it now,' Gilchrist said. ‘Except for the loving you bit.'

‘Part two describes how the exorcist should purify himself, clothe himself and prepare the implements to be used. It also states what animal sacrifices need to be made.'

‘Animal? Or animal and human?' Gilchrist said.

‘I don't know the manuscript that well. I believe just animal.'

‘Is it generally known the library has this manuscript?'

Allcock shook his head. ‘Scarcely known at all, I should say.'

Watts had phoned ahead but there was no sign of Avril when he arrived back at the Pearson household. Pearson answered the door himself and shuffled into the living room, assuming Watts would follow.

Watts found Pearson mesmerizing but for all his contradictions rather than his powers of thought. The man's belief in his own intelligence was staggering at the same time as his self-awareness was non-existent. Had he known how ridiculous he had looked the other day in his stained tracksuit with the tea cosy on his head?

When they were settled, glass of wine beside each of them although it was scarcely eleven, Watts said: ‘Mr Pearson, what is your view of the Templars?'

‘They found some secret that gave them a way to maintain their peak experiences.'

‘It didn't help them though, did it? Didn't help all those burned at the stake in France.'

‘Some might argue that they at least got revenge: Philip the Fair and Pope Clement the Fifth both died in agony within months of the slow roasting to death of the Grand Master Jacques de Molay.'

‘And Edward II?'

‘He protected the Templars as best he could. Then he let them all go.'

‘How come you know all this? Have you been investigating them at Saddlescombe?'

Pearson did his teeth-baring act again. ‘You've seen the books here. I know
everything
.'

‘But do you live at Saddlescombe because of the Templar secret concealed here?'

Pearson's cheeks were bright red when he grinned. ‘What secret?'

‘The secret you were just talking about.'

‘I didn't say it was located here, nor that it was a physical thing.'

‘Well then, why did kings and prelates make a special point of coming here? Why did Edward II protect them?'

Pearson said nothing.

‘The Templars dug a hundred and fifty feet down through chalk and flint to find water for their well,' Watts continued. ‘If they had that kind of commitment . . .'

‘You think there are hidden parts of the farm?' Pearson said. ‘Subterranean parts? Some secret chapel containing some secret thing?'

Watts nodded. ‘I'd bet money on it.'

‘Their secret being what, in your view – the head of Baphomet they worshipped?'

Watts shook his head. ‘No such thing.'

‘You sure? It's thought the name is a transliteration of Mohamet and that they caught their strange religious beliefs through contact with the Muslim religion in the Holy Land rather than in Provence. Makes sense to me.'

Watts snorted. ‘Except for one thing: if they were some kind of Muslim sect they'd know that an actual image of Mohammed is a major no-no. So they wouldn't be worshipping a head. Further – why would they renounce Christ whilst shedding blood fighting for him in the Holy Land? What kind of stupid logic is that?'

‘Then what? What did they worship? What was their secret?'

Watts shook his head. ‘Beats me. I was hoping you could tell me.'

Pearson rubbed his hands. ‘I think the bloodline from Jesus and Mary Magdalene down to the Merovingian kings has already been pretty well covered – and proved to be rubbish, of course. The idea of Mary Magdalene and Jesus as lovers has been around for centuries – since the second and third century AD in certain apocryphal gospels. Louis Martin in his
The Gospels Without God
at the end of the nineteenth century has Jesus become an atheist and have a son with Mary Magdalene in the south of France. Kazantzakis had a similar notion in
The Last Temptation of Christ
in the 1950s – you know it? The man who created Zorba the Greek?'