Page 30 of Pressure Head
“Oh—ah, yes. Lionel. Lionel Treadgood.” The Rev had a sour expression on his face that suggested he wasn’t over-fond of Treadgood the treasurer. Then again, Treadgood probably wasn’t all that keen on the Rev. I knew I wasn’t. The vicar in the London church I’d been to as a kid had been an old bloke with a shiny bald head and a perpetual smile, and he’d acted like everyone’s granddad. Rev Lewis was more like the weirdo cousin you try to avoid at weddings.
“Would he be willing to talk to us about Melanie?” Phil persisted, seeing as the Rev apparently didn’t want to be forthcoming about Lionel.
“I— Ah, yes. I’m sure he, ah . . .” Lewis stared at his wallpaper, which personally I thought was the cheeriest thing in the room, but it only seemed to depress him even further.
“And he lives in . . .?”
The Rev’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, making me think of those nature programs where you see a snake gulping down some poor furry animal. “Fallow’s Wood.” That was the posh end of Brock’s Hollow; half the houses didn’t have numbers, only names, which made finding them a bloody nightmare when you were called out. On the plus side, though, the coffee was usually top-notch, and it was often the cleaner who let me in, rather than the lady of the house. That meant I didn’t have to worry about her constantly checking up on me—and biccies were usually in plentiful supply.
Phil nodded. “And would you mind—”
He was cut off by the tinny strains of something churchy yet vaguely familiar. I realised it wasJesu Joy of Man’s Desiring—my mum always liked that one—just as the Rev mumbled, “Sorry,” and picked up his mobile phone. “Meredith Lewis. Oh. Yes, I— Well, of course, if you— Actually, I’ve got some people round— No, no, of course not. I’ll be right there.” He looked up, grimacing in what I assumed was dismay, although it looked more like he was constipated. “I’m so sorry—I’ve got to go out. Duty calls . . .” The Rev made a helpless gesture. “You won’t mind me shooing you out, will you? Really, I can’t think of anything else I can tell you in any case. I do hope I’ve been helpful,” he added, standing.
Bloody brilliant. That was two failures in two visits. Phil was going to start thinking of me as his bad-luck charm. We stood in unison. “Thank you,” Phil said, like the words were being pulled out of him with pliers. “You’ve been very helpful. I take it we can drop back in to continue this another time?”
“Oh, well—you know how it is. Busy, busy. The job of parish priest isn’t a nine-to-five one, I’m afraid.” He flapped his hands a bit; I hadn’t realised he’d meant the shooing out literally.
“Thanks, Rev,” I said, steeling myself to offer a handshake.
He took my hand, moistly. “Oh—please, call me Merry.” It was followed by another nervous little laugh. God, he was weird. Even by the standards of a profession that spends most of their working lives in a frock, talking to someone who might not exist and even if he does, they’ll never get to meet until they’re dead.
“Er, right. We’ll see you around, then.” I managed not to wipe my palm on my jeans until after the front door had closed behind us.
“What do you reckon, then?” I asked as we got back in Phil’s car. “He tried it on with Melanie, she wasn’t having it, and he killed her?” I could just imagine the Rev as that sort of creepy stalker type.
Phil turned halfway through putting on his seat belt and stared at me. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?” I asked, nettled by his tone.
He clicked the belt on, put the car in gear, and started off down the gravel drive. “The Rev’s as bent as a bishop’s crosier. Didn’t you notice the way he kept staring at your crotch?”
Merryfancied me? “Bloody hell. Stop the car, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Try and hold it in until we’re out of his bloody driveway, will you?” Phil tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited to pull out into the road. “Who do you reckon that phone call was from? Whoever it was, sounded like he had the vicar’s nuts in a vise.”
“Maybe it was head office,” I suggested with heavy sarcasm. “Even God has to move with the times, keep up with technology.”
“Haven’t you heard? He’s got his own website these days. Course, only the faithful can log on . . .” We swung out into the high street and headed up the hill towards St. Albans. “I think I might start making a few enquiries about the Rev.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always the closet cases you have to watch, isn’t it?” I said idly—then turned to Phil so fast I got a crick in my neck. “That wasn’t a dig, all right?”
The tension in his jaw eased, but not all the way. His dentist was going to give him hell next time he went for a checkup.
I managed not to shudder as we passed Nomansland Common and went on through farmland. “Where to now?” I asked. “Seeing as the Rev was a dead loss.”
Phil gave me a look I couldn’t work out. “I’ll drop you off at yours, all right?”
“What, no more interviews lined up?”
“Not right now. I’ve got a few things I need to check out.”
“Like?”
He gave an exasperated-sounding huff. “Like Robin East’s secret love nest.”
“You what? You mean I was right about that?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. Yeah, he’s got one of those new flats near the river in Harpenden. Pretty pricey, they are—most of them are owned by commuters with flash jobs in London. Don’t let anyone tell you money can’t buy you love.”
