The Funeral Boat (21 page)

‘Where do we start?’ asked Gerry Heffernan, as he narrowly avoided an assault with a loaded ice cream held by a small boy standing to his right.

‘The parade starts by the river then comes up the High Street, past the castle, and ends up on the school playing fields for the battle re-enactment.’ Wesley looked at the printed programme in his hand. ‘It all seems well organised.’

Heffernan looked round at the large police presence, officers in uniform standing chatting awkwardly in the heat, not quite knowing what to do. ‘So where do you suggest we put this lot, Wes?’

‘I’d keep a few uniforms here and get the rest up to the school playing fields.’

The inspector nodded and pushed his way through the crowd towards the uniformed sergeant who would relay his orders. To Wesley’s surprise he returned with two large ice creams. ‘Well, we’re undercover, aren’t weT he said by way of an excuse as he took his first lick.

Then Wesley heard the strains of the approaching band. First a deep rhythmical drumbeat, then distant brass turning out a barely

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audible tune. The parade was on its way. The crowd quietened, straining to hear; screaming children were shushed by their mothers. All eyes turned downhill towards the river.

The first thing to appear was the band, puffing solemnly on their instruments, marching in their ill-fitting uniforms and setting feet tapping on the dusty pavements. Then came the boat. A longboat replica on wheels, towed by a local agricultural feed merchant’s newly polished lorry. The vessel trundled along proudly, its great square sail raised, the tall carving of the fearsome dragon on the prow glowering threateningly down on the crowd.

The Vikings stood on the boat in their gleaming helmets, waving their swords and shields at the bystanders in an inappropriately friendly manner, raising a hearty cheer. Their predecessors, a thousand years before, would not have been granted such a welcome, Wesley thought as he scanned the smiling faces on the boat, wondering which one was Odin. To W esley, they all looked pretty harmless … but then appearances often deceived.

More Vikings marched behind, waving cheerfully. Then came a large and motley group of townspeople in Viking and Anglo-Saxon dress. He spotted Pam among them, marching next to a formidable-looking elderly lady, and nudged Gerry Heffernan.

‘There she is,’ the inspector cried, waving what was left of his ice cream. ‘Oi, Pam. See you later,’ he shouted, causing people to turn and stare. Pam, looking demure in her pale blue homespun gown and white veil, waved at them with a smile of relief.

The spectators fell in behind the parade. It seemed as if the entire population of Neston was marching on past the castle towards the school playing fields. Wesley and Heffernan allowed themselves to be swept along with the crowd.

Wesley wondered if the burghers of Neston had noticed the increased police presence on the playing fields. Normally the event would have been policed by a handful of smiling community constables, but today it looked as if they were expecting a heated demonstration at least, possibly a minor riot. Tents and marquees had been erected on the far side of the field for the use of those taking part, and strangely dressed figures scurried in and out, preparing for their big entrance. But Pam was nowhere to be seen.

The announcement over the public address system was loud but indecipherable. As the distorted words boomed out across the

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parched field, the Vikings emerged from the smaller marquee, brandishing their swords murderously. The other participants, Pam included, emerged from the tents and stood about the edge of the field, watching.

Wesley had to admit that the battle itself was impressive. He looked around as the swords and axes crashed on the shields, searching the crowd for NeiL Surely he wouldn’t be missing this, if only to scoff. Neil was nowhere in sight, but Wesley spotted Rachel pushing her way towards them through the crowd, her face serious and determined. When she finally reached them she stood silently by Heffernan’s side.

The fighting was reaching its climax. Bodies lay about the field, gory with scarlet stage blood, as Pam and her colleagues ran on to tend to the wounded. Pam looked as though she was enjoying herself … and not taking the proceedings too seriously.

‘Which one’s this Odin, then?’ asked Heffernan.

‘Paro said she’d point him out.’

As if on cue, Paro scanned the sea of faces and caught her husband’s eye. The fighting was down to two men, the rest having been dispatched or retired wounded. The combat now seemed somewhat more professional as the last two warriors engaged in a fake duel to the death.

Wounded Vikings propped themselves up on their elbows to watch as sword thudded against shield. .

‘How come they don’t cut each other to pieces?’ asked Gerry Heffernan rhetorically as he watched the battle, his attention, like everyone else’s, focused on the two combatants.

But Wesley was looking at Pam. The two battling Vikings parted for a moment, preparing for a second deadly meeting. Paro pointed at the nearest and mouthed ‘Odin’. Wesley nudged his boss. ‘That’s Odin … the fair-haired one fighting. That’s him.’

But Gerry Heffernan wasn’t listening. Something else had caught his eye. Near the two fighters some wounded Vikings had stood up and moved back, so as not to get in the way of the main attraction. One man who stood there, stocky with a beard, looked unsettlingly familiar, and Heffernan stared, growing more and more certain that he wasn’t mistaken. .

‘Wesley,’ he whispered urgently in his sergeant’s ear. ‘} think I’ve just seen a ghost.’

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It was over. Odin was the victor, receiving the crowd’s applause and standing triumphant, his great sword raised. The other Vikings, now miraculously revived, milled around, not to be left out. Aggression had given way to cheerful banter as the costumed participants began to mingle with the crowd. The band struck up again, and the many stalls dotted around the edge of the field opened for business as the public began to wander onto the battlefield.

Pam strolled around looking for Wesley but, in the press of people, he was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was discreetly arresting Odin, she thought with mixed emotions. It would probably be best if she wasn’t there when it happened.

She decided to look for Dorothy. With Wesley busy, they could go round the stalls together. She searched in the crowded marquees first, with no luck. Then she came to the smaller tent where the clothes and equipment were stored. Dorothy had mentioned that she might get changed before enjoying the dubious pleasures of the Neston Festival. Pam raised the flap of thick cream canvas and stepped inside, calling Dorothy’s name softly. But the tent was empty. Clothes and bags were strewn everywhere. Pam looked at the pile of hold-aIls belonging to Thor’s Hammers that lay on the floor: the red one that had contained the gun was there, near the top. Pam would have recognised it anywhere ..

The flap of the tent opened and she gasped involuntarily. Odin stepped into the tent, his eyes on hers. He was dishevelled after his long fight, his clothes soiled and his skin glistening with sweat. She stood quite still as he walked towards her slowly, an accusing half-smile on his lips.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said softly as Pam took a step back.

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997

AD

I write now for my eyes alone. In the days when I wrote the

Minster chronicle I wrote for all in our house, but now I set

out thoughts that I should not wish others to know ..

Concerning Rilda, last night, in a barn preserved by some

great miracle from the fire of the Danes, we spent the night

and I had knowledge of her. To lie beside her and then enter

her warm bQdy was the sweetest moment in my life. Rilda is a

creature of such beauty and of such devoted nature and I

thank the Lord that he has left me by His grace something

good and lovely after all the evil we have witnessed. And she

clung to me, saying that she loved me with the love we must

reserve for our Maker. I told her she should not say such

things; that I am merely a man like any other. But it may be

that I should not scold her: it may be I am truly blessed by her

great love.

If the church at Stoke Beeching has been spared we will ask

the priest to marry us there. But I have heard word of much

destruction from those we have met on the road and I pray

that the church has been left standing. We will come to Stoke

Beeching tomorrow. We pray earnestly that all will be well

when we arrive. I have had no word of my mother and father.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

‘Where are you going, sir? Shouldn’t we be looking for Odin?’

‘All in good time, Wes. I’m sure he went this way,’ Gerry Heffeman muttered as he pushed through the crowd.

Wesley looked round, wondering if Rachel had followed them.

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But she wasn’t there. ‘I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I think we should have a word with Pam before we … ‘

‘Hang on, Wes. There he is. He’s with another bloke … big chap, see?’ Heffernan spotted his quarry and watched him like a deerstalker, weaving in and out of the throng, never taking his eyes off his prey. ‘Get on your radio, will you,’ he whispered. ‘Say we need some back-up here.’

Wesley took his radio from his pocket. As he did so, the bearded man turned round and his eyes met Heffernan’s with horrified recognition. Then he began to run. His companion saw what was happening and did likewise. Soon they were lost in the press of people.

Heffernan emitted a string of colourful expletives which made some around him tut in disgust. T m getting on to the Super … get a search warrant organised. At least I can guess where he’ll be heading,’ he said to Wesley with a sly grin.

‘Where?’ Wesley, who had expecting to be questioning Odin, still felt somewhat confused.

‘Longhouse Cottage. Maggie Palister’s been acting a bit strange every time a policeman hoves into view. Now I know why. Can you organise someone to bring in this Odin character?’

‘So who is it we’re after exactly? Who’s that man with the beard?’

‘Jock Palister, of course. You were right about that skeleton all along,’ said Heffernan with a regretful grin.

Odin stepped towards Pam, slowly, his eyes on hers. She pulled herself up to her full height.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, casually. To her surprise she felt calm, completely in control. Any attraction she had felt for this man had now disappeared. The moment of flattery, of madness, had long passed. But then she asked herself why she felt so calm. In all probability this man was an armed robber, and it was likely that he had expectations of their tenuous relationship which she had no intention of fulfilling. She suddenly felt an over-whelming wave of cowardice, but tried hard to fight it.

‘I just wanted to talk.’

‘What about?’

He took another step forward. ‘I just wanted to … ‘

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‘Look,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I’ve arranged to meet…’

At that point a bearded man in full Viking regalia exploded into the tent. He saw Pam and hesitated. Then he grabbed the red hold-all that had contained the gun. He heaved it off the pile, causing the other bags to tumble onto the ground in an untidy heap, and pushed past, bashing Pam’s legs with his heavy burden. He ran from the tent, breathless; a man in a hUrry.

‘Steady on,’ Odin shouted after him. ‘You’ve knocked all these bags down. Hey, Jock, come back…’ Odin stood there helpless, his authority as the Viking leader diminishing by the second.

‘That red hold-all,’ said Pam tentatively. ‘Was it yours?’

Odin looked at Pam, deflated; the sexual desire that had beamed so clearly from his blue eyes before replaced by uncertainty.

Pam sensed the change. ‘Well?’ she prompted in the voice she used to interrogate naughty pupils. ‘Was it yours?’

‘No. It’s his … Jock’s. Why?’ Odin sounded genuinely puzzled. Either he was an extremely good actor or he was telling the truth.

‘No reason.’ Pam had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d made an embarrassing mistake. ‘Now what did you want to talk to me about?’

‘Oh, it’s, er … I just wanted to apologise for the other day in the changing room. I was out of order. And if you’ve forgien me I wondered if you’d fancy coming out for a drink,’ he added sheepishly.

The tent flap opened again and the police piled in. Gerry Heffeman led the way, followed by Rachel and PC Johnson. Wesley brought up the rear.

‘We saw him come in here. Where is he?’ Gerry Heffeman addressed Odin in a voice that indicated he’d stand no nonsense. He looked surprised when he spotted Pam. ‘Pam,’ he said urgently. ‘Did a man come in here … beard, shifty face?’

Rachel stared at Pam - the woman she’d heard so m.uch about but had never before met - making a swift appraisal. Pam was attractive, she thought, and the long blue Saxon dress enhanced her looks. She glanced over at Wesley, who had just exchanged a smile with his wife, and took a deep breath, tom between jealousy and embarrassment at harbouring such unspoken and barely acknowledged thoughts about a colleague. She avoided looking at

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Wesley, cursing herself for the foolish, unadmitted fantasies that had crept into her idle hours.

‘He grabbed the red hold-all and ran off.’ Pam glanced at Od in nervously. ‘Apparently it belonged to him. His name’s Jock.’

‘Thanks, love. We think we know where he’ll go to ground.’

‘I wondered why Maggie Palister was so anxious to keep Neil and me away from the house,’ said Wesley. ‘Do you think he’s been hiding out there?’

‘If it’s Jock you’re talking about,’ began Odin apprehensively, ‘he said he was staying with friends about ten miles from here.’

‘And you are?’

‘Er … Odin,’ he said, having put aside completely the swagger of a Viking warrior. Even his voice now seemed meek, anxious to please. ‘Alias Cec Mitchelson,’ he added with a feeble smile. ‘I’m the, er, leader of Thor’ s Hammers. Look, I don’t know what this is about, but…’