The Malcontenta by Barry Maitland Page A

him after Mr Long left him, around four. He just disappeared and turned up the next morning hanging by the neck in the temple crypt. No one had an inkling he might have been contemplating suicide. What now?’
    Someone yawned, another stretched. They were tired; this stage of the operation was over, and they were reluctant to start pondering the next. Gamely, Gordon said what everyone was thinking. ‘I reckon we’ve got to look outside, Sarge. Try to find his friends in London, the places he went to in Crowbridge and Edenham.’
    ‘If he had a visitor that evening, I suppose they could have been mistaken for one of the people coming to the recital and not been identified by anyone,’ Kathy said. ‘But where would they have met? Parsons says he heard no sound from Petrou’s room all the time he was working next door later that evening. Anywhere else he’d have been spotted, surely.’
    ‘In the temple?’
    ‘In the dark?’ someone objected.
    ‘Alternatively, could he have slipped off to meet someone? Visitors’ cars were coming and going from about six forty-five. No one seems to have heard the motor bike leave, but it’s possible he could have done.’
    ‘The tank was full when we looked at it on Monday morning,’ Gordon said.
    ‘Although he was using it on Saturday night,’ Kathy added. ‘Maybe he filled it up on Sunday evening. We could check garages. Then the pub and club in Crowbridge that Rose mentioned, see if he went back there. And try to track down this Errol.’
    ‘There’s a gay pub here in Edenham,’ someone said. It was Kenny, Kathy noticed, the comedian. ‘Is that right?’
    ‘Yeah, so my informants tell me.’ Someone at the back sniggered. ‘It’s called the Jolly Roger.’ Louder laughter. Kathy’s eyes narrowed, wondering if he was having her on.
    ‘No, straight up. It’s on the other side of the High Street from the Hart Revived, down a side lane.’
    ‘Is that a side lane or a back passage, Kenny?’ a voice called out.
    ‘I think you lot need some fresh air,’ Kathy said. She set about organizing their tasks with Gordon.
    It was after six that evening by the time Kathy left the clinic. She had faxed the last of the reports through to Belle’s number, unsure whether anyone would be there at the other end to pick them up. As she handed over the keys of the interview rooms to the woman at reception, she saw the patients filing into the dining room for the evening meal, their routine now re-established. One man gave her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, frowning as if willing the last of the intruders to go away.
    The rain was holding off, but the wind was chill, giving the autumn smells the bitter edge of winter. She hurried to the car, turned on the engine, lights and heater, and drove off, her headlights swinging across the dark meadow towards the stone bridge. When she reached Edenham she drove slowly down the High Street and, sure enough, spotted the Jolly Roger off a turning to the right.
    Formerly called the Plough, the brewery had tried to increase its modest turnover by transforming it from a rather drab little village pub into a themed bar. For some reason which no one could now remember, they had chosen a seafaring theme, and the interior was fitted out with timber-panelled walls punctuated with brass portholes, red and green navigation lights, framed charts and blackened fishing nets. The doorway to the former snug bar, now renamed the Poop Deck, was guarded by a replica cannon, which regularly caught the shins of customers when the place was busy. Kathy opted for the main bar, glad that it was almost deserted.
    ‘What can I get you, luv?’ The barman was young and good-looking. He wore a white collarless shirt and a black apron tied at the waist. He regarded Kathy with a severe expression, one eyebrow arched. Kathy didn’t normally drink beer, but the overheated atmosphere of the clinic had dried her out.
    ‘Half of lager,