“I knew that,” I said.

“I’ll shoot your balls off,” said the captain.

“Pray continue with your most interesting narrative,” I said.

“He created the Earth as a present for His wife. But that was a good many years ago and there have been many many years since, which means many many more birthdays for God’s wife. And He had to keep giving Her more and better. Women expect that, you know. God may have infinite wisdom, but even He doesn’t have infinite resources. There eventually comes a time when the bills have to be settled and it costs a great deal to construct galaxies and nebulas and black holes and splatagramattons.”

“What’s a splatagramatton?” asked Johnny Boy.

“It’s a posher version of a carmufti.”

“Oh, I see.”

“God kept digging deeper and deeper into His robe pockets until finally they were empty.”

“So who was He paying out to?” asked Icarus.

“The cosmic builders,” said Captain Ian. “The celestial corps of engineers. Everything is subject to universal laws. God might appear to simply wave His hand and cause the Earth to come into being. But certain forces have to be invoked by that bit of hand-waving. And call those forces whatever you like, they don’t work for free. God took a second mortgage out on Heaven and then a third and a fourth. And then He went bust and so the angels got evicted from Heaven. And God had to move His family to Earth. You’ve heard about people having visions of the Virgin Mary. They couldn’t have visions of her if she was up in Heaven, could they? They can only see her if she’s down here on Earth.”

“So Jesus is down here too?” said Icarus.

“You’ll have seen him on the telly. But I am not at liberty to divulge his earthly identity.”

“This is all too much,” said Icarus. “Far too much.”

“It gets worse. When God went bust, He had to sell up Hell too. So the demons all got evicted and now they’re here as well.”

“And you and they have been battling it out ever since, with mankind in the middle?”

“It was all predicted in the book of Revelation.”

“Isn’t everything?” said Johnny Boy. “But tell me this. Professor Partington reasoned that there was no afterlife. No Heaven or Hell to go to when we die.”

“Not any more,” said the captain.

“But there could be again?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. “I know, because I’ve solved it.”

“What?” they all went. Well, they would, wouldn’t they?

“I’ve solved the case,” I said. “Now that I’ve heard everything the captain had to say, I know who did it and why.”

They looked from one to another and then they all looked back at me.

“Well, go on then,” said Icarus. “Tell us.”

“No way, buddy. Not until the final rooftop showdown. I know, but I need proof. I have to present this proof to my employer. To wit and to woo, God’s widow. When I’ve done that, I’ll tell you the lot.”

“He’s bullshitting,” said Icarus. “He doesn’t know. He’s just making it up.”

“Kid,” said I, “once I’ve solved this case, you can forget about angels and demons walking the Earth. Everything will be back the way it should be. Trust me on this, I’m a detective.”

“Well,” said Johnny Boy. “Where does this leave Icarus and me?”

“Dealing with it ourselves,” said Icarus.

“My advice to you”, said Captain Ian, “would be to lie low until Mr Woodbine has solved the case.”

“Oh yeah, right,” said Icarus. “As if I’d trust him.”

“All I need is a week, kid,” said I. “And if I don’t solve the thing in a week, you can do whatever you want. Tell your tale to the News of the World. Whatever you damn well please.”

“A week?” said Icarus. “One week?”

“That’s all I need.”

“No,” said Icarus. “Out of the question.”

“Listen,” said Captain Ian. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Icarus nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Then if I were to ask you to let Mr Woodbine deal with this, would you do it, for me?”

“Well …”

“He did save our lives,” said Johnny Boy.

“All right,” said Icarus. “I’ll do it for you. But when my brother here screws up, as he most certainly will, Johnny Boy and I will sort everything out by ourselves.”

“And how exactly will we do that?” asked Johnny Boy.

“I’ll think of something. All right, captain, I agree.”

“Good lad,” said Captain Ian. “Then I suggest this. I will liaise with Mr Woodbine, you and Johnny Boy take yourselves off to a place of safety and we’ll all meet back here in exactly one week’s time. How does that sound?”

“All right,” said Icarus. “But if after a week he hasn’t solved the case and everything is not put to rights, Johnny Boy and I will deal with it.”

“Kid,” said I, “I will solve the case.”

And I would. I knew that I would.

Yes siree.

By golly.

14

Icarus Smith and Johnny Boy sat in the scarlet bar and grill of the Station Hotel.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Johnny Boy.

“Lie low,” said Icarus Smith. “Leave it to Lazlo Woodbine.”

“As if. You lied to them, but you can’t lie to me.”

“Lying to them seemed hardly out of place. Everyone in that office was lying about something.”

“I wasn’t lying at all.”

“Everybody but you, then.”

“Hold up there,” said Johnny Boy. “Are you telling me that the captain was lying? Angels don’t lie, do they?”

“He did. It was nonsense, all of it. Think about it, Johnny Boy. God having to mortgage Heaven. Angels and demons getting evicted. It’s all rubbish.”

“It sounded quite convincing when he told it.”

“Well, it might have done in there with my brother. I told you that if you spend time with him, you get drawn into his madness.”

“But surely angels don’t lie.”

“And do angels murder people with golden swords?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But do you think your brother was lying too? I could see his colours. It looked as if he thought he was telling the truth.”

“I think you’ll find that he gave a somewhat edited account of his side of the story. He neglected to mention Barry, for instance.”

“And who’s Barry?”

“Barry the voice in his head. His Holy Guardian Sprout. Barry talks to him and helps him solve his cases. Except he doesn’t solve any cases. He’s not a real detective. He’s my mad brother.”

“I find it all somewhat confusing,” said Johnny Boy. “And I still don’t understand how nothing happened to him when he took the drug.”

“Now that”, said Icarus Smith, “is a mystery.”

“It’s a mystery. It’s a mythtery.” I sang it in my finest Toyah Wilcox.

“Ease up on the singing there, chief.”

“Why, Barry, my little green buddy pal. Where have you been all this time?”

“Sleeping, chief. That Sam Maggot bopped us on the head, didn’t he? Did I miss anything?”

“Not a lot,” said I. “But I seem to be missing quite a bit.”

“How so, chief?”

“Well, Barry, I have taken a drug which enables me to see angels and demons, which would otherwise be mistaken for ordinary folk.”

“Good golly Ms Molly, chief.”

“Ms Molly indeed, Barry. Yet, even though I have taken the drug, I can’t see any angels or devils at all.”

“I can’t say that I find that altogether surprising, chief. You probably can’t see any pink elephants or fairies either.”

“Point taken, yet only a moment ago I was in the company of an angel. And also two men who had also taken the drug. And what they saw on the surveillance video footage, I was quite unable to see. How would you account for that, Barry?”

“Perhaps they were all just pulling your plonker, chief.”

“Or perhaps someone or something was stopping me seeing what they saw. What do you think about that, Barry?”

“Well, chief … I—”