Death is a Welcome Guest: Plague Times Trilogy 2 (28 page)

Magnus laughed. It was macabre. So many dead and here they were, preparing to kill one more. ‘How do you plan on doing it? A firing squad? The electric chair? Crucifixion?’

Father Wingate sucked in his breath, but it was Will who spoke. ‘I told you, we haven’t decided. Raisha used to be a chemist, maybe she can make something painless.’

They slipped past the
Thank You for Driving Carefully
sign and the national speed limit sign, into a country road bordered on either side by wavering hedgerows, so high they almost formed a tunnel.

Magnus said, ‘And if you kill him and then find out you’re wrong?’

Father Wingate seemed to have forgotten that the earth was still settling on Jacob’s corpse. He touched Magnus’s arm and smiled. ‘Then God will forgive him and us. Every death is a sacrifice to His name.’

A bird flew low across his windscreen, chirping out a warning call. Magnus tapped the brakes, though he was in no danger of hitting it.

‘Even innocent deaths? Aren’t you forgetting your Ten Commandments?’

The old man’s voice was sure. ‘We enter this world corrupted. Only death can purify us. That is what God revealed when He visited the sweats on the world. The plague is an act of love.’

Magnus stole a quick look at Father Wingate. He saw his arthritic fingers and trembling hands and knew that he would not have had the strength to force Henry’s wrists into handcuffs or Melody’s neck into a noose.

Leave Jeb behind
,
a mutinous voice in his head whispered.
Get on your way and never think of him again.
But he knew that would invoke another haunting, company for his suicide-cousin, Hugh.

Magnus said, ‘I’ll take Jeb north with me. You never have to see him again.’

Will said, ‘But he would still be alive and Jacob would still be dead.’

‘It wasn’t him.’ Magnus wondered why he was so sure of Jeb’s innocence. He had been with Will when he had burst into Jeb’s room, full of accusations and fury. He had seen the look of bewilderment on Jeb’s face turn to anger as he realised what he was being accused of. But the man had been an undercover policeman who had fooled the people closest to him for years. Perhaps rage had got the better of Jeb and he had fired into the dawn, fired at Jacob. Magnus could see it in his mind’s eye: Jacob walking the length of the kitchen garden, Jeb standing at his open window, the gun raised and aimed, Jacob falling to the ground, a swift descent driven by gunpowder and gravity. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times on the big screen and too like a movie to mean anything.

They had reached the gates of Tanqueray House. Magnus steered the truck into the drive, braking again as the tyres bit into the unpredictable gravel surface. He gave Will a grim smile. ‘Killing is a poor foundation for a community. You don’t want any trouble and neither do we. Jeb’s a tough enemy, even with a broken leg. Take him on and you take on me as well.’

Father Wingate whispered, ‘Your loyalty is misplaced.’

Will said, ‘You never asked what I did before the sweats.’

It was true. Magnus had not been interested enough in the man to enquire about his life. He regretted it now. Perhaps if he knew what made Will tick he could persuade him to let Jeb go.

‘What did you do?’

‘I was a maths teacher. Maths is not the most popular lesson among rough boys. A teacher must learn how to instil discipline, or let their classroom turn into a madhouse. One of the first things I learned was to separate troublemakers. That’s why I held a gun to Jeb’s head and put him in the dungeon before we left for Jacob’s funeral.’

Magnus stopped the truck short of its usual parking place. ‘You put him in the what?’

Father Wingate said, ‘Tanqueray House really is quite ancient and my ancestors were rather dreadful. They used to put their enemies down there and throw away the key.’ His voice grew anxious. ‘I don’t think we should do that.’

Will nodded. ‘We are civilised people. We want justice, not revenge. Taking a life is a grave responsibility. It was one Jacob shouldered when he saved you both and it is one that I am willing to shoulder in turn.’

Magnus shook his head in disbelief. ‘Raisha and Belle won’t agree.’

Will’s smile was modest, a director announcing a star casting. ‘Belle helped me.’

‘And Raisha?’

Will nodded. ‘She agreed.’

‘You’re mad,’ Magnus whispered. ‘All of you.’

‘My son . . .’ Father Wingate squeezed his shoulder.

Will said, ‘We’re alive and we intend staying alive, even if that means defending ourselves. This man is nothing to you. Go and find your family.’

Magnus closed his eyes. ‘When I find my family I want to be able to look them in the eye.’

Thirty-Two

Jeb was a long way down in the dank and the dark. He said, ‘I thought you’d be in Jockland by now.’

‘You and me both.’ Magnus had envisaged a cell more rustic than the one they had shared in Pentonville, but of the same basic design. Instead he was lying flat on his belly in a damp basement, looking through a metal grille set into the ceiling of the cellar below. It was hard to make out Jeb’s features in the gloom, but Magnus recognised the hang of his head, the slump of his shoulders. ‘I thought I’d stick around and try and save you from the gallows.’

Jeb was sitting on the ground, his good leg bent beneath him, his broken one stretched out straight. He looked up, his face a spot of white in the darkness.

‘Is that how they’re planning on doing it?’

Magnus shook his head. ‘I don’t think they have a plan yet. How did they get you down there?’

Jeb grimaced. ‘The element of surprise. Belle unlocked my door. I should have realised when I saw her. She was wearing a beret and combat trousers, like a member of the fucking Angry Brigade. I thought she’d come to let me out, but she drew a gun on me. I could have handled that, I actually laughed when I saw it. I didn’t reckon on that ugly twat being right behind her. He put Jacob’s gun against my head, ordered me into a rusty wheelchair that probably last saw service in World War One and shoved me through the house in it.’

The palms of Magnus’s hands were damp and gritty against the cold flagstones, his flesh chilled beneath his jeans and T-shirt. He shifted a little. ‘Was Raisha with them?’

‘No, she went her own sweet way as usual. The old priest was there, flapping on about how they weren’t going to hurt me. But he led the way to the dungeon sure enough.’

‘How did they get you down the stairs?’

‘A gun is a great motivator.’ Jeb rubbed the plaster encasing his broken leg. ‘I don’t suppose you have one to spare?’

‘Will searched me before he let me in here.’

‘What’s the chance of you laying your hands on one?’

‘Slim to non-existent. He’s on my back like a shadow.’

Jeb’s voice was insistent. ‘So fuck him up. Stick a knife in his guts, trip him down the stairs, poison him or suffocate him in his sleep. He’s not the man Jacob was. You could take him.’

Magnus was not sure that he would be up to the job, but it made no difference. ‘Will made a point of telling me he’s hidden the key to the dungeon. He’s the only one who knows where it is.’

The grille was too small for a grown man to pass through. Magnus put his face close to its bars, but he could not make out the interior of the cell below.

‘What’s the door like?’

‘Fucking impregnable.’ Jeb lowered his head. ‘You may as well get going. I’m finished.’

‘Not necessarily . . .’ Magnus could no longer see the other man in the dim light of the dungeon. It was like speaking to the dead. He said, ‘They want justice. If I can prove someone else shot Jacob, they’ll let you go.’

Jeb’s voice came soft and flat, out of the blackness. ‘Do you know how often we solved a murder when I was in the police?’ He did not bother to wait for an answer. ‘Generally when the killer confessed, or we found them standing by the body holding the murder weapon. This isn’t
Murder She Wrote
and you’re not Nancy Drew.’

‘Jessica Fletcher.’

‘Miss Marple, Perry Mason, fucking Columbo: you’re not any of them. If you want to get me out of here, get a weapon and take Will out when he’s got the key on him.’

There had been too much killing for Magnus to embrace another death. He said, ‘There are only four people to choose from: Will, Belle, Raisha and Father Wingate.’ In his mind Magnus rejected the notion that Raisha might be the murderer. ‘If I can work out who wanted Jacob dead, I’ll have found the killer.’

‘Just like that.’ Jeb’s laugh sounded hollow from the shadows below. ‘What if it’s a motiveless crime?’

Newspapers used to carry headlines of senseless violence. A stranger knifed in the anonymity of rush hour, a dog walker raped in a quiet beauty spot, a child abducted on its way home from school.

Magnus said, ‘Even anonymous crimes have a motive, usually power. Jacob and Will locked horns. Now Will’s in charge. Maybe I should start with him.’

‘No.’ Jeb’s voice was low as if he were worried someone might be listening, and Magnus had to strain to hear him. ‘Always begin an investigation with the victim. Give Will the slip and search Jacob’s room. Look for anything that seems out of place and see where it takes you.’

‘And if I find nothing?’

‘Raisha’s your next stop.’

Magnus shifted his body again, feeling the cellar flagstones rough and damp through his cotton T-shirt. ‘She’s not the killer.’

‘Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t, but you’re sleeping with her. She likes you and that means she’ll be more inclined to talk.’

Magnus wondered how Jeb had known about the two of them. He said, ‘I’m not you. I don’t sleep with women in order to spy on them.’

‘I’m sure your heart is pure.’ Jeb’s laugh turned into a cough. The sound echoed dimly against the stone walls of his cell. ‘But from down here your honour seems a small price for my life.’

Thirty-Three

Magnus had expected Jacob’s room to be in military order, but the bed was unmade, its sheets a tangle that spoke of sleepless nights and bad dreams. There was a Bible on the bedside table next to a half-empty glass of whisky. Magnus opened it and a photograph fell to the floor. He picked it up and saw a smiling woman sitting next to two little girls in summer dresses. Magnus had imagined Jacob’s wife Annie as a frail brunette in need of protection, but the woman in the photograph was a voluptuous blonde; sexy and capable.

Belle was standing in the doorway. ‘Can I see?’

Magnus handed the picture to her.

Belle glanced at the photograph of Jacob’s wife and gave a small snort of amusement. ‘That’s how Marilyn Monroe would have looked if she’d eaten all the pies.’

Magnus took the picture back. He felt a need to defend the dead woman. ‘She looks nice.’

Belle shrugged. ‘You mean she looks like she could fuck and cook. I guess that’s all men will want now.’

The girl had been sarcastic and skittish since Jacob’s death. Magnus resisted asking if she was thinking about leaving the group in case she mistook the question for an invitation. He opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and pawed through its contents: a tube of Savlon, a box of matches, a dead battery. He slid his fingers above and below the drawer, checking its hidden surfaces the way he had seen spies in movies do, but nothing was taped there. He thought Belle would ask what he was looking for, but instead she said, ‘How’s Jeb?’

‘Locked in a dungeon, but otherwise on top of the world.’

‘Perhaps I should visit him.’

Magnus lifted Jacob’s pillow. He turned to look at the girl. ‘Would Will give you the key?’

Belle said, ‘Will thinks he’s the big man now Jacob’s gone. And you know how keen big men are on keys.’

‘Would you be willing to ask him for it?’

She paused, considering his question. ‘Probably not.’

Magnus dropped the pillow back on the bed and pulled the covers down. There was a stain on the sheet, stiff and familiar. He felt a quick stab of shame and drew the bedclothes over it.‘Because Jeb insulted you?’

‘Because he killed Jacob.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘How sure are you that he didn’t?’

‘Pretty sure.’ Magnus lifted the mattress. The slats below were empty. He had built a bed like it once, a flat-pack from Ikea he had assembled and then christened with a girl he had gone out with in college. He let the mattress flop back down again and sat on it. ‘Why didn’t you come to the funeral?’

‘I couldn’t face it.’ Belle ran a finger through the dust on a chest of drawers by the window, leaving a wavy line on its surface, a river or a swimming snake. ‘Jacob focused on survival so much it’s ironic he’s dead.’ She dragged a hand through her hair. A wisp came away. Belle looked at it and then let it fall to the floor. ‘He wouldn’t have let you leave, you know. He’d decided you were crucial to
the community
.’ She stressed the words. ‘I thought about leaving after Melody died.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘But where would I go?’

It was Magnus’s cue to invite her to join him. He asked, ‘How did you end up here?’