“Put me down, you beast. Put me down.”

I acceded to her demand, allowing her to fall inelegantly to the ground. Immediately, she began to hurl a stream of abuse in my direction.

“You’re germ, Clarenden. You’re weed and a parasite. Filth like you doesn’t belong here. You’re a stain on the purity of Heaven.”

I walked away. Sally didn’t know it, but her wish was about to be granted. It was time for me to leave Heaven, at least for a while. I was now on the road to Hell.

Chapter 10

I HAD BARELY TRAVELLED a block from my office before my suspicions regarding the reason for Sally’s visit were confirmed. Two voices were approaching from behind me. Voices I had grown to know and love during my brief stay in Heaven.

Fortunately, giving Lizard Neck and Frying Pan the slip turned out to be as simple as taking broccoli from an eight-year-old. I made a quick left turn down a side street, doubled back and made a right turn down a second street, and ducked behind a large willow tree. Then I watched as the two of them went bumbling past, pulling on each other’s arms and insisting I had gone the other way.

When the sound of their squabbling had finally receded into the distance, I emerged from my hiding spot and continued my journey. It was still early in the evening, so there were a few people out in the street. As they strolled past, I couldn’t help noticing the beatific looks they bequeathed upon me, and the expressions of utter peace and contentment on their faces. At last, I began to understand what it was Jessie saw in this place. These people had lived their lives; they’d experienced their moments of happiness and pleasure, but they’d also had to work hard and suffer. Now, all of that was over, and they could enjoy a well-earned rest. Heaven catered everything they needed. Their time for worries was over.

At that moment, I realised why I could never fit into Heaven. I had no time to rest. I had a job to do, a case to solve. Unlike everybody else here, I still had plenty of worries.

As I approached that old grate in the wall, a chill ran down my spine. What would I find when I actually arrived in Hell? Could it possibly be as frightful as Jessie claimed? I tried to allay the sudden sense of dread by turning my mind to other things, such as the mess of mangled motives I had alliteratively constructed in my head.

Over the last couple of days, my wanderings through Heaven had revealed no shortage of possible suspects. It seemed that everybody I’d met had some sort of gripe with God’s supposedly mild-mannered son. Sure, some of them were less plausible than others. I had difficulty believing Peter could be the culprit. Even though Phil was responsible for turning him from God’s divine gatekeeper into an overstressed middle manager, he didn’t seem the type to act on his grudges. And besides, when would he have found the time?

Another suspect I was prepared to discount was Alby Stark. He might have professed a profound dislike for Phil, but then again he seemed to hate everyone else in Heaven just as much. In all my conversations with him, he’d never indicated an interest in anything beyond sitting around in a bar, getting sozzled on soda.

There was just the one name that blazed brightly above all others. Someone obsessed with keeping undesirables out of Heaven. Someone furious with Phil for allowing Alby to stay. Sally’s taunts, threats, and sinister midnight liaisons only served to confirm her position at number one on my hit parade of suspects. Everything about her behaviour matched exactly with the sort of person I was looking for. And everything everyone else said about her, from Peter’s complaints to Jessie’s warnings, put the finishing touches onto my suspicions.

Thinking about my companion from the previous night, I suddenly realised my personal feelings were well and truly interfering with my professional judgment. What of Jessie, a risen angel with a fear of falling? I had no valid reason for removing her from my suspect list. What better motive could there be than the dread of a possible return to Hell? I knew she was terrified of Sally, but could Phil also have represented a very real risk to her? If she could dispose of Phil while at the same time putting the blame onto Sally, she could remove both threats in one fair and blushing swoop.

I stopped and shook my head. It was all just supposition. I had no evidence for any of this. There had to be some missing link—something that connected Phil’s disappearance to the subsequent removal of Raphael. And I had a feeling those bags of rubbish in Raphael’s house had something to do with it.

I turned on my heel and began walking back in the direction I had come. I needed to speak to somebody with a talent for sniffing out garbage, and I had a pretty good idea where I would be able to find him.

* * *

The Loaf and the Fishes was empty and the barman was just finishing wiping the bar when I strolled in and took a seat.

“My usual please,” I said to the barman.

He didn’t hand me a lemonade. Instead, he regarded me from over the cloth. “I’m sorry. We’re about to close.”

“Already? Is it early closing tonight?”

“This is the same time we close every night,” he said, hanging the cloth behind the bar. “Now if you’d be so kind, I’d like to lock up.”

“Regulations really are tough here.” I placed my finger down and traced out a circle on the freshly wiped bar surface.

The barman’s face didn’t change as he retrieved the cloth and wiped away the circle. “I’m afraid you’re wrong. We have no regulations in regard to closing times.”

“So why close so early?” This time, I traced a triangle.

“Do you see anybody left to serve?” he said as the triangle disappeared under his cloth.

“Okay, I get the idea,” I said, tiring of my geometrical exercises. “I need to speak to Alby. I’ve got a message for him.”

The barman couldn’t help chuckling. “Do you really think he wants to speak to you?”

He had a point. The last time I’d been here, Alby had responded to my gift of soda water by suggesting I insert my head into a particular part of my lower body, using words that had probably never been heard in Heaven before.

“I have a feeling he may be better disposed the next time we meet,” I said. “Can I have some paper and a pen?”

He handed them to me and I quickly scribbled a note. Then I turned away from the bar. Careful to avoid the barman’s scrutiny, I took the bottle of bourbon from my pocket. I removed the label from the bottle, folded it into my note, and turned back to the bar.

“I can’t stress how important it is that this gets to him,” I said as I handed the note to the barman.

“I will see that it gets delivered.” He placed the note on a shelf above the bar. “But now I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

“And a very good night to you, as well.”

I stood up and left the bar. As I walked back towards my original destination, I noticed that The Loaf and the Fishes was not the only establishment closing up. Everywhere I looked, doors were being locked, lights were turning off, and the ranks of people in the streets were thinning. Heaven was shutting down for the night.

I quickened my pace. I couldn’t wait to get out of Heaven. I was utterly sick of the bland food in the uninteresting restaurants that closed before you were hungry anyway. Sick of the smiles and the general air of contentment that every resident wore like a treacle-coated cloak. Sick of the endless streets with the overly manicured trees and the absurd lack of litter of any kind. I could have gone on listing things I was sick of, but before I knew it, I had arrived. There before me was the grate in the wall, a welcome point of escape from the dreariness of Heaven. The fact that it was also the point of entry to somewhere that might turn out to be far worse was no longer a concern. From this moment onward, I was on my way down.