A Bedlam of Bones by Suzette Hill

approaching your brokers – and tell your sharkish friend to flog a few more artefacts! By the way, be careful where you tread – your movements are being noted.
Quack quack for now,
Donald
     
    ‘Still the farmyard fixation,’ I observed, ‘and still no mention of the exact money.’
    ‘No,’ replied Clinker bitterly. ‘As I said, he’s enjoying making me sweat, spinning it out for the sudden pounce. And what’s that sneaky bit about being watched? Oh my God, this is awful. Where’s Ingaza? He’s got to see this.’ He scanned the crowd distractedly.
    ‘Slightly tricky at the moment, he’s collared by...er, he’s talking with your wife and the Reverend Hesketh.’
    Clinker sighed. ‘Yes, the moment it was known I would be up in London for the Dioceses’ Forum she insisted on a shopping expedition to Derry & Toms, plus this concert some friend had given her tickets for. Friend bowed out – hence Hesketh. I hadn’t a chance.’ He scowled; and taking the note from me, stuffed it back in his pocket.
    ‘But you have to admit the music’s rather good,’ I ventured. ‘Some time since I’ve been to a full-blown performance, and it’s always inspiring under a conductor like Sir Malcolm. And with Dame Myra doing the Beethoven after the interval it will really be—’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ muttered Clinker impatiently, ‘all very nice I’m sure, but I have no intention of staying for the second half. That fellow Turnbull has invited us to his cousin’s housewarming party. Apparently she’s putting on quite a show. It’s in one of those flats behind the Hall, just a couple of streets away. So with luck one can get there before everything’s scoffed. Having starved on salad for lunch and listened to the Lambeth contingent droning on about the dearth of African missionaries I could do with something substantial.’ He paused, and as I was digesting the bit about Lavinia’s housewarming, added in anguished tones, ‘But I must see Nicholas, it’s essential we compare notes!’
    ‘Yes, he certainly wants to look at the letter, but I don’t think there’s anything to compare. So far he hasn’t received a second one.’
    ‘Really?’ asked Clinker in surprise. ‘Well it’s about time he did. I don’t see why I should bear all the brunt!’
    ‘Probably come in tomorrow’s post,’ I murmured. And on that reassuring note we returned to seek out the others.
    Gladys had already donned her coat and, looking like the wrath of God, was cramming on her hat. ‘There you are,’ she began. ‘Couldn’t think where you had got to! It’ll look so rude if we’re late.’ She glared at me, obviously assuming I was responsible for the bishop’s absence – which in a way I was. ‘Do hurry up!’
    ‘All in good time,’ replied Clinker shortly. ‘Besides, there’s something I need to discuss with Nicholas first,’ and he made to draw him aside.
    ‘Can’t think what,’ was the brusque retort. ‘In any case, people are already returning to their seats. We don’t want to delay Mr Ingaza’s musical enjoyment, do we?’ (This said with a smile of icy politeness.)
    Her husband looked mulish, so sensing defeat, Gladys declared she would go on ahead and grasping the hapless Hesketh by the elbow, propelled him towards the exit.
    Clinker breathed a sigh of relief and once more taking the letter from his pocket, thrust it under Ingaza’s nose. The latter read it impassively.
    ‘So what do you think of that?’ the bishop demanded.
    Ingaza shrugged. ‘Not much. A borderline case, I would say – unless he’s assuming a persona.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well...so far the tone of these letters has suggested spite and obsession, i.e. the classic style of a twisted temperament. But that might just be a misleading front – or an amusement. It’s possible the writer is entirely sane and detached, his very normality his insurance.
    ‘Hmm,’ said Clinker, ‘you may be right, but either way, what a scoundrel!