“Forensics’ll get something.”

“Don’t make me laugh. Flamin’ wild-goose chase, same as usual. Only one answer.”

“Which you can keep to yourself.”

“Make it legal.”

“I said shut it. Not in here.”

They walked through the small department store towards the manager’s office at the back of the ground-floor showroom. The man had been almost hysterical when phoning to say traces of cocaine had been found on a shelf in the Gents. Nathan had gone in with the aim of calming him down by taking the find seriously, in spite of knowing that coke was sniffed in any number of toilets, in stores and other public buildings all over the district. Joe Carmody’s attitude in front of the man had been openly cynical.

“You’re not chucking a load of bull at this, Nathe? Tell me you’re takin’ the piss.”

Nathan dodged round a stand of duvets and turned. “I said shut it. We take this as serious as we take any other reported case of drugs—coke, spliff, whatever c every needle find and every little speck of white powder. We have zero tolerance, right? There’s kids in this town deserve better than scum selling stuff to them before they’re into secondary school, so you do your job and keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Whatever.”

“And no bright ideas in the bloke’s office, he’s aerated enough.”

“He wants to get out more.”

They had reached the door when Nathan’s mobile rang.

“OK, you wait here.”

“I can sort him, don’t need my hand holding.”

“That’s exactly what you bloody need. I said wait.”

Walking quickly out to the street where he could get a signal, Nathan cursed Joe Carmody In spite of his reports to the DCI, Carmody had been taken on at Lafferton for a further six months. “Very nice,” Carmody had said with a grin. “Feet under the table or what?” To him it seemed an easy berth. Nathan knew he would be proved wrong but his own frustration was growing, and in the past few days he had realised that it wasn’t basically to do with Joe Carmody. Carmody was a flea.

He reached the street and dialled back. “Guv?”

“Where are you, Nathan?”

“Outside Toddy’s c”

“You short of work or what?”

“I wasn’t sending DC Carmody on his own, guv, he ent safe.”

“Oh, grow up, Nathan. Get over it. And get back here. We’re going to Yorkshire.”

Fifty-nine

“Come in, Jane.” Geoffrey Peach came round his desk and took her hand in both of his. He had got back from his holiday in Sweden, where his wife came from, late the previous night. Now it was just after eight thirty, Jane was the first person in his study. “My dear, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am. It is absolutely appalling. To have a parent die is always hard but to have this c Is there any news from the police?”

“Not yet.”

“And what about you, Jane? I’m concerned.”

She leaned her head back in the armchair and looked around the comfortable room. Books. Papers. Pictures. A small table with a cross and a kneeler in front of it. Photographs, of children and grandchildren, of weddings and christenings, of Swedish lakes and mountains, of small dogs and large horses. In its quiet and peaceful atmosphere, its sense of love and prayer, the room seemed to be an extension of the cathedral itself. It would be easy to lie back and absorb it all, let it wash over her and seep into her and bring its own steady healing. Easy.

“Whatever you want — whatever seems the right thing to do. Tell me.”

She looked at Geoffrey. Tall. Rather awkwardly tall. Angular. Bony features. Deep-set eyes. She respected him and liked him. She had wanted to be here, to work with this Dean, above anything else. Now?

“Too much has happened to you in so short a time. You need to step back.”

“More than that,” Jane said. “Geoffrey, I don’t think I can stay here. I don’t think this is the right place for me.”

He shook his head. “That’s how you feel now. But it would be a decision made in haste and out of shock. A reactive decision. They’re never the best, as I’m sure you know.”

“I do. But this is not because of everything that’s happened c Max Jameson, my mother c I thought this was the place I should come to. I wanted it to be. But it isn’t. I am not right for the cathedral, for Lafferton—and they’re not right for me. That would be true even if none of the other things had happened. I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Geoffrey.”

There was a long silence. Somewhere, a door closed. Another. Silence again.

“I won’t insult you by asking if you have thought about this carefully, and prayed about it. Clearly you have. I wouldn’t expect anything else. But if you feel Lafferton is not right for you, then what are you thinking of doing? What wouldseem to be the right place? It’s easy to go—it’s where to that takes some working out.”

He was right and Jane knew it.

“Can I ask your advice?”

“If I can help you, of course I will. I may be able to see things with a small amount of detachment. But it is small, Jane—I want you here, I value you and I don’t want you to leave us. I don’t think you should leave us. So don’t expect an impartial judgement.”

“That means a lot. Thank you.”

“It is sincerely meant, as I hope you understand.”

“Yes. Maybe someone else in my shoes would run away—I mean a long way away. Try to work in the Third World or something. I wish I could be that sort of person but I don’t think I am. And anyway, the Third World deserves the best, not our rejects.”

“You are most certainly not a reject.”

“I think I’m rejecting myself.”

“Dangerous.”

“There are two things I’m drawn to. You know I’ve spent some time on retreat in a monastery—St Joseph’s nuns prefer to call it that rather than a convent. But OK, monastery, convent, whichever. I would like to go back for longer. If they’d have me.”

Geoffrey Peach frowned. “And the other idea?”

“To go back to academic work for a year or two. I loved doing my theology degree, I loved doing the master’s. I miss that very much and I’d like to find a way of going back and doing a doctorate. There are areas I want to investigate in more depth. I’d have to combine it with a job, I know c a part-time curacy, something like that?”

“Forgive me, Jane—but you don’t seem to me to have worked this through yet. Possibly a retreat into conventual life, possibly a higher degree, possibly combined with something or other c You are not convincing me.”

“I’m not sure I’m convincing myself yet. It isn’t clear.”

“No.”

“Are you thinking I might be jumping out of the frying pan?”

“I hesitate to think of the Cathedral Church of St Michael as a frying pan c You need more time. Rushing into anything is usually a mistake. Except perhaps marriage. I rushed into that after knowing Inga for three weeks. Take six months off and have a complete career break. Don’t do anything or go anywhere, apart from a holiday maybe. But you’ll need to be in London some of the time presumably, while the police sort out your mother’s affairs. Could you find a bolt-hole somewhere and use the time to read and think and pray? And just recover, Jane. You need to recover.”

“I don’t know. I suppose there’ll be some money from my mother’s estate and then the house. But that could take a long time.”

“There are ways and means. Let me investigate. I am very serious in advising you not to make any life-changing decision at the moment.” He stood up. “I know there’ll be some coffee brewing. We’ll go and find it after we’ve said a prayer together. Relax and be quiet for a moment.”

Jane closed her eyes. Let go, she thought. Trust. All will be well.

“Lord, bring peace and calm of mind to Your servant Jane. Pour down on her Your healing grace and love c”

She tried to focus on the voice of the Dean and on his prayer to steer her out of her darkness and confusion, which seemed to have gathered and deepened until it was shrouding her and keeping out everything that was clear and hopeful.