The Janus Stone

Another pause and then Nelson says slowly, ‘That would explain why the body under the doorway shared DNA with Roderick Spens. They did share a common male ancestor – they both had the same father, Christopher Spens.’

‘Do you want me to come back, sir?’

‘No. Stay where you are. I’ll come up tomorrow and we’ll take a proper statement. She’s unwell, you say?’

‘She’s dying.’

‘We’d better be quick then,’ says Nelson callously. ‘You stay in Southport another night. Enjoy yourself.’

This last, thinks Judy, as she walks along the promenade in the rain, might prove a tough assignment.

Nelson puts down the phone. Judy’s story is almost unbelievable and yet he does believe it. As soon as he saw the little body, arranged so carefully amidst the stones and the rubble, he had known that something evil was afoot. Whether the child was Elizabeth Black, Annabelle Spens or Bernadette McKinley, something terrible had happened to that little girl and the memory of it still haunted that house, hung in the air around the swing and the wishing well, clung to the wallpaper, was imprinted in the black and white tiles. All traces of the house may now have vanished but Nelson knows one thing; he would not live in one of Edward Spens’ luxury apartments for a million pounds.

He jumps when his phone rings again. An impatient voice, a woman, educated and possibly Asian.

‘This is Doctor Sita Patel.’

‘Who?’ Nelson’s mind is blank.

‘You rang me. About Sir Roderick Spens.’

‘Oh yes.’ This is what Nelson had promised Whitcliffe. That he would check with Sir Roderick’s GP about his state of health, ask whether being involved in a police investigation, however peripherally, would upset his delicate mental balance (Whitcliffe’s words).

Nelson explains as best he can. There is a silence at the other end of the phone.

‘I don’t understand,’ says Doctor Patel crisply, ‘Sir Roderick Spens does not have Alzheimer’s.’

‘He doesn’t?’

‘His mind is remarkably sharp. Sharper than yours or mine I daresay, Detective Chief Inspector.’

Nelson clicks off his phone, thinking hard.

‘Interesting God, Janus.’

‘So I understand.’ Ruth looks up from the mosaic.

‘A minor deity, of course. Like Nemesis, Morpheus and Hecate.’

‘The minor deities all seem to be baddies,’ says Ruth lightly.

‘You could say that.’

Judy’s options for the afternoon seem to be: amusement arcade, shopping centre, an endless cream tea at one of the endless hotels or going back to the B and B to stare at the wallpaper (pink with green trelliswork). In the end, she decides to go to the cinema. Inside one of those multiplexes, you could be anywhere. The same worn purple carpet, the same smell of popcorn, the same posters, the same Pick ’n’ Mix with what look like the same fingerprints on the chocolate Brazils.

She hasn’t been to the pictures for ages. She and Darren like such different films, she usually waits until things are out on DVD. But a film is just what she needs to stop the slideshow in her head, to rid her mind of Sister Immaculata’s words: There was blood over the walls, the covers, the floor – everywhere. He wanted me to put my hands in her blood.

The foyer is deserted and Judy dithers for ages between a thriller and a girl-fest about bridesmaids. In the end she opts for the thriller. She has been going out with Darren since they were both seventeen and he has started to make noises about marriage. Judy, to her own surprise, finds herself violently opposed. The idea of prancing down the aisle in a huge white dress seems alien, offensive and, above all, embarrassing. Judy hates being the centre of attention. It’s one of the things that makes her a good detective.

There are only four people in the cinema. An elderly couple, a single man who looks so like a pervert that he could be an undercover policeman – and Judy. She sits near the back, eating Revels and feeling rather guilty. Going to the cinema is no way for a person of working age to spend the afternoon. But, in the cinema, there is no afternoon. Just as you could be anywhere, it could be anytime. She knows that when she leaves the light will hit her like a blow. It is always dark in multiplex world.

The thriller is quite entertaining though she had forgotten that Americans mumble so much. She wants to lean forward like an old lady with an ear trumpet, ‘What did you say, young man?’ And the music is loud enough to pin her back against her seat. It has been a long time since she has been to a club or anywhere that plays loud music. She is used to the gentle murmur of her iPod. She really must get out more.

Gradually, though, she starts to get into the plot which involves the FBI, a conspiracy to kill the president and, rather inexplicably, aliens. She is just drifting into zombie-like enjoyment when one of the characters mumbles something about ‘my kid sister, Jocasta’.

Jocasta.