Open Writing

Ingerworth was on the south side of town. The road to it from Keighworth climbed gradually, then more steeply to the moors beyond and on to Lancashire. To reach Ingerworth you had to pass through a clutter of mills and small workshops, which linked the suburb to the belly of the town. When Ingerworth had been built, it stood a good mile clear of Keighworth. Now it was part of the town, which spilled right up the Worth Valley. In the process a railway connected with villages higher up on the Pennines.

Ingerworth clustered round its parish church and Whitcliff’s Mills. The Railway Tavern, Hartley’s local, stood in the shadow of the church. Pub and church had been delved from the same quarry, so the Revd Inspector, since his ordination, had one foot firmly placed in the pulpit and the other in the pub.

One night, Blake was about to go to The Tavern after locking up the church, when there was a light tap at the vestry door. Blake Hartley was by himself. He’d been taking an evening Communion service and was looking forward to a pint across the road. He was putting the Communion vessels in the safe when the tap was repeated - urgently.

Hartley locked up, straightened up and pocketed the safe key. Then he ran his finger inside his clerical collar and said, “Come in!”

A grey-haired woman entered. He knew her vaguely and had noticed her at the service. She lived on the housing estate nearby, but she didn’t come often to church. He’d been surprised to see her at the evening service, which only a handful of parishioners attended.

“Mrs Adams, isn’t it?” said the inspector kindly. She was agitated and he drew forward a chair, sitting down opposite. She bit her lip.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Hartley.

She looked up. “I don’t know how to put it, vicar,” she began. Then blurted out, “ You see, it’s our Rosie. My youngest.”

She paused again.

“Is she in trouble?” asked the inspector.

“Well, sort of,” said the other. Then it all came out with a rush “I think she’s into drugs an’if that’s not bad enough. But she’s got in wi’ some right weirdos as well.”

“Weirdos?” echoed Hartley.

“Black magic,” she said. “ They’ve some sort of hold over her, vicar. That’s why I came to see you.”

Shades of exorcism rose before Hartley. “They?” he said. “Who are they?”

“Madame Marie’s lot. That woman down Garlic Lane who tells fortunes. She’s into black magic as well. Our Rosie’s started mixing wi’ her lot. She’s out all hours. Sometimes all night, then comes home staring summat ‘orrible. It’s the staring I can’t bide. I tell you, vicar, it scares me stiff. ”

Blake was dying for his pint but knew he was in for a long session when she said, “What can I do, vicar?” She looked up seeking reassurance. He could give comfort but no more.

He asked if she’d any proof her daughter was on drugs. If she’d found any. If she’d seen her taking any. If she knew of anyone on the estate supplying drugs to her. She pulled out a pendant on a necklace. When he saw it, the inspector’s pint evaporated. It was lapis lazuli worked into the shape of a hooded cobra. Identical with the scar on Dr Manasas’ body. Identical with the snake painted on the afuet of the museum mummy.
He took it from her. “Where did you find this?” he asked, turning it over.

“Our Rosie used to wear a cross on this necklace. I gave it her on her eighteenth birthday last year. I don’t knew where t’cross has gone, but this were in its place. She don’t know I’ve got it. I saw it on her dressing-table wi’ two black candles. She’s told me not to go into her room, but I’ve noticed this funny smell for some time and went in while she was put. It’s them candles. This were hung round t’neck of a little statue thing.”

“A statuette?” said Blake. He sketched the goddess Hathor he’d seen in the book he’d borrowed. “Is it like this?”

Mrs Adams examined the picture. “Aye,” she said, surprised. “Who is it?”

“An Egyptian goddess. And you say she got it from Madame Marie?”

“I wouldn’t swear to that, vicar. But it’s turned up since she started knocking about wi’ her.”

She looked hard at the sketch he’d drawn while he turned over the necklace and pendant. “There’s summat else I’m worried over,” she continued.

“Oh?”

“Our Rosie used to be pals wi’ a lass called Kathy Burton. They were like sisters. Never apart. Used to stop at our house when they’d been at discos, but I haven’t seen Kathy this past month. She suddenly stopped coming. When I asked Rosie why, all she said were Kathy’d gone to London looking for work I didn’t believe her, but said nowt. She snapped me head off when I brought it up again last night. I’m worried sick about ’em both, vicar. I thought you could help, if you see what I mean.”

“I can see what you mean all right, Mrs Adams,” said Hartley. And he could see a great deal more than he could tell her then. “Her friend’s family, her mother, have you been in contact with her?” he asked.

The woman opposite sniffed. “She’s not my sort. She couldn’t care less what happens to her daughter,” she replied. “Kathy moved out an’ got her own flat when her mam re-married two years ago. Apart from our Rosie she’d no friends. I felt right sorry for t’lass. That’s why I used to take her in.”

“And you say she’s been missing a month, Mrs Adams?”

“I didn’t say she were missing. I said she’d gone to London. An’ that’s why I’m so worried. Our Rosie could tell you where, I s’ppose.”

Blake asked if there was anything else. Mrs Adams pulled out a dirty visiting-card. “I found this under one o’t’candles,” she said. “I once heard her and Kathy talking about the chap whose name’s on it. He’s part of that weirdo group. One o’t’leaders but she’s never mentioned him since Kathy stopped coming.”

The inspector looked at the greasy card and turned it over. The name on it rang a bell but he couldn’t think why. “Silas Blackwell. Taxidermist,” it said on the front, followed by an address. A farm up on the moors near Halifax. On the reverse side, written in pencil and barely legible was a telephone number. He made a note of it and promised Mrs Adams he’d look into the whole business.

He told her to replace the necklace and say nothing. To let him know when the next meeting of the black magic group took place. But especially she was to inform him if Kathy Burton turned up. He’d check out the missing girl’s flat with Sgt Khan the next day. As he handed it back, the hooded cobra amulet glinted in the lamplight. And he put Kathy Burton’s name on his prayer-list.