Reginald Hill

The room was full of people. Overfull. It could take at the most half a dozen in any kind of comfort. Now there were over twenty. The smell of smoke had to compete with the smell of human sweat.

“All right, my loves, now hear this,’ Franny Roote was saying. He was seated cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

“I didn’t expect much from recall tonight. Interruptions like that shatter all the links. But not to worry. There’ll be other times. As for what happened later, to poor Anita, we know this has nothing to do with any of us.” He paused. Somewhere outside a girl laughed.

“Help the police, my loves. Even you, Stuart. It’s your bounden duty under the state.”

There was a slight murmur of amusement at the heavy irony of his tone.

“But remember our responsibilities to each other. Beware especially of the fat man. Let me know instantly if you are approached.”

Sandra Firth shifted uneasily. Franny clapped his hands once.

“Now off you go,’ he said. ‘ what we decided. We have done nothing wrong.”

There was a general rustle of movement about the room as people stood up and made for the door. But no one spoke. Shadows flickered wildly on the walls as the open door let in a draught of slightly cooler air. Even the heavy curtains stirred, though the window behind them was closed, and suddenly the candles went out. The last few to leave stumbled in the darkness as they made for the narrow rectangle of light visible through the half open door. Finally one of those who remained pushed the door shut at the same time as Stuart Cockshut relit the candles.

Only five faces were now revealed by the flames. Franny still sat motionless on the floor. Sandra seated herself beside him. Two other girls sat facing them and Cockshut pulled from under the bed a highly polished square of wood on which rested a crystal wineglass and a pile of plastic letters from a Scrabble set. These he arranged swiftly in a large circle round the glass, placed the board in the centre of the seated group then retired to sit on the bed.

“Thank you, Stuart,’ said Franny. ‘, let me see.”

He closed his eyes and bent his head. The others followed suit, breathing deeply through the nose. After a full two minutes, Franny slowly stretched out his hand and laid a finger on the glass. One by one the others did the same. The glass stirred uneasily as though eager to move.

“Who is there?’ called Franny in a clear, steady voice.

Again the glass stirred, then suddenly set off sliding round the table, emitting a vibrant, bell-like noise as the rim rubbed against the polished wood.

Too fast. Too fast,’ said Franny.

The glass came to rest again in the middle of the board.

“If it’s Anita, she won’t have had the practice yet,’ said Stuart from on the bed, a touch of scepticism in his voice.

“Hush, hush,’ said Franny. ‘. Are you there?”

Slowly, jerkily the glass began to move again.

“Yes!’ breathed one of the girls. There were beads of sweat on all their faces now, except for Franny’s.

“Ask who killed her,’ said Sandra fiercely.

“Hush,’ repeated Franny.

“No. Ask!’ said Sandra. ‘! Who did it? Who did it?”

The glass moved rapidly round the ring of letters, pausing nowhere, gathering speed all the time. At first its path followed the circle itself, but suddenly it began to dart across from one side to another, till finally it broke through the barrier of letters, scattering them violently, and ran off the board altogether. It fell sideways as it caught the pile of the carpet and the stem cracked. One of the girls shrieked and started to suck her cut finger.

“It’s no good,’ said Franny. ”s too much fear there. The ambience is not right somehow. There’s some interference somewhere.”

He peered intensely around the room. A dark shadow moved from behind the Chinese screen which stood against the wall by the corner nearest the door.

“I expect that’s me,’ said Dalziel, flicking the light switch on. ”s have outward illumination at least.”

He moved over to the window, wrinkling his nose like a bulldog, pulled back the curtains and with some difficulty threw open the window.

“There!’ he said, breathing deeply. That’s better.”

Cockshut stood up from the bed and approached him fiercely.

“What the hell right have you got in here? Have you got a warrant?”

Dalziel looked puzzled.

“Mr. Cockshut, isn’t it? Ah yes. You’d know all about warrants, wouldn’t you, laddie? No, we never use them these days, we prefer illegal methods as I’m sure you know. Now shut up or I might demonstrate a bit of police brutality.”

He turned to where Franny was still seated on the floor. The girls had all risen.

“This is your room, isn’t it, Mr. Roote?”

“Yes.”

“Forgive me if I’ve intruded. There were a lot of people coming in and out earlier so I just joined them. I could see you were busy, so I sat and waited rather than interrupt. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.” “There!’ said Dalziel triumphantly to Cockshut. He squatted down cumbersomely beside Franny and looked with interest at the board and the letters.