‘What are you doing in the cemetery?’ he asked.

I walked toward him. He watched my progress carefully.

‘Same as last time,’ I said. ‘Trying to find a missing girl.’

‘She’s not here, and you’re disturbing the peace of the dead.’

I sidestepped a tilting stone cross. The names and dates on it were so old and faded as to be entirely illegible.

‘Really? I’ve found that it takes a lot to wake the dead, unless some were never quite asleep to begin with.’

‘This is neither the time nor the place for mockery, Mr Parker. Our town has been through a difficult period.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Warraner,’ I said. ‘And I’m entirely serious.’

I was facing him now. His hands gripped the railing so tightly that his knuckles showed white against his skin. I turned to the right and continued walking, forcing him to keep pace with me.

‘The gate is to your left,’ he said.

‘I know. That’s how I got in.’

‘It’s locked.’

‘It was locked. I found it open.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I suppose you could call Chief Morland and ask him to dust it for fingerprints. Or you could just buy a better lock.’

‘I fully intend to call Chief Morland,’ said Warraner. ‘I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.’

His hands searched his pockets for his cell phone but came up empty. I offered him mine instead.

‘Feel free to call, but I was planning to pay him another visit anyway, just as soon as I’ve finished here.’

I saw that Warraner was tempted to take my phone, but even he could appreciate the absurdity of doing so. The threat of police involvement was of limited effectiveness if the person being threatened was only a middleman away from calling the cops on himself.

‘What do you want, Mr Parker?’ he said.

I paused beside a hole in the ground. It was similar to the one that Euclid Danes had pointed out to me close to the edge of his own land.

‘I was wondering what this might be?’

I had stumbled across the hole by accident – literally: I had almost broken my ankle in it.

‘It’s a fox den,’ he said.

‘Really?’

I knelt and examined it. An active den usually retained signs of the animal’s comings and goings, but this had none. The ground around it was undisturbed.

‘It’s big for a fox hole,’ I said, ‘and I don’t see any sign of foxes.’

‘It’s an old den,’ said Warraner. Hostility flowed from him in waves.

‘Do you have many old dens around here?’

‘Possibly. I’ve never taken the time to count them. For the last time, I want you to leave this place. Now.’

If we’d both been nine years old and in a schoolyard I could have asked him to make me, or inquired about what he might do if I refused, but it didn’t seem appropriate in a cemetery, and I’d annoyed him enough for now. He tracked me back to the gate, and examined the lock once I was back on the right side of the fence. I hadn’t been forced to break it: two decades of friendship with Angel had taught me the rudiments of picking. Warraner wrapped the chain from gate to fence and secured it.

‘Do you want to follow me to the police department?’ I said.

‘No,’ said Warraner. ‘I know you’ll go there. You have more questions to ask, don’t you? Why can’t you just leave us in peace?’

‘Questions always remain, even when things work out. It comes with the territory.’

‘With being a self-righteous prick who can’t allow a town to mourn its dead?’

He savored the word ‘prick’. I’d been called worse, but not by anyone with a degree in divinity.

‘No, with being human. You should try it, Mr Warraner, or Pastor Warraner, or whatever title you’ve chosen to give yourself. Your dead are past caring, and your mourning will do them no good. I’m searching for a missing girl. If she’s alive, she’s in trouble. If she’s dead, someone else is. As an individual who professes to be a man of God, I’d suggest that your compassion is currently misdirected.’

Warraner plunged his hands into the pockets of his jeans as though fearing the damage he might otherwise inflict upon me. He was a big man, and strong as well. If he got his hands on me he’d do some harm. Of course, I’d shatter one of his knees before he got that close, but it wouldn’t look good on my résumé. Still, all of his weight was on his left leg, which was ramrod straight. If he moved, I’d take him.

Warraner breathed deeply to calm himself and recover his dignity. The moment passed.

‘You know nothing of my god, Mr Parker,’ he said solemnly.

I looked past him and took in the ancient stones of his church, and the leering faces visible in the fading afternoon light.

‘You may be wrong about that, Pastor.’

He stayed at the gate as I drove away, his hands deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed upon me, standing in the shadow of his church.

In the shadow of his god.

30

Chief Morland was looking out the window of his office as I pulled up outside his department. If he was pleased to see me, he was trying manfully to hide it. His arms were folded, and he stared at me without expression as I walked up the path. Inside there was a strained silence among the staff, and I guessed that not long before Chief Morland had been shouting into a telephone receiver at Pastor Warraner. Nobody offered me coffee and a cookie. Nobody even wanted to catch my eye.

Morland’s door was open. I stood on the threshold.

‘Mind if I come in?’

He unfolded his arms. ‘Would it matter if I did?’

‘I can talk to you from here, but it seems kind of childish.’

Morland gestured me inside and told me to close the door. He waited for me to sit before doing the same himself.

‘You’ve been keeping my phone busy,’ he said.

‘Warraner?’

‘The pastor was just the most recent caller. We’ve had reports of a man in a car like yours casing properties, and I already sent a deputy out to take a look. If you’d been driving your fancy Mustang I’d have known it was you, but you seem to have left your toy automobile back in Portland today.’

‘I was trying to be discreet.’

‘The pastor didn’t think so. Maybe you failed to notice the sign that read “Private Property” out by the cemetery?’

‘If I paid attention to every sign that read “Private Property” or “No Entry”, I’d never get anything done. Besides, I figured that after the last tour I was practically a member of the congregation.’

‘It doesn’t have a congregation.’

‘Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask about that. I still find it strange that a religious sect would go to the trouble of hauling a church across the Atlantic, rebuild it brick by brick, and then just shrug and walk off.’

‘They died out.’

‘You’re speaking metaphorically, right? Because the descendants of the original settlers are still here. This town has more old names than the Bible.’

‘I’m no historian, but there are plenty of folk in this town who consider themselves one,’ said Morland. ‘The Familists faded away. I’ve heard it said that the worst thing to happen to the Family of Love was leaving England. They survived because they were hunted and oppressed, and there’s nothing guaranteed to harden a man’s convictions more than to be told he can’t follow his own beliefs. With freedom to worship also came the freedom not to worship.’

‘And where do you worship, Chief?’

‘I’m a Catholic. I go to Mary Immaculate down in Dearden.’

‘Are you familiar with a man there called Euclid Danes?’

‘Euclid’s a Methodist, although they’d disown him if they weren’t so short on bodies to fill their seats. How do you know him?’

He didn’t blink, didn’t look away, didn’t rub his left ear with his right hand or scratch his nose or whatever it is that men and women are supposed to do when they’re lying or trying to hide knowledge, but he might just as well have. Morland was well aware that I’d been speaking with Euclid Danes. He wouldn’t have been much of a chief of police if he wasn’t, not in a town like Prosperous. So he pretended, and I let him pretend, and each of us watched the other act.