Page 42 of The Mercy Chair

‘Of course,’ Joshua replied. ‘He was the founder.’

‘Let’s see it then.’

Chapter 39

Cornelius Green’s office in the old school buildinghadbeen emptied by Superintendent Nightingale’s detectives. Finding out how the victim lived was often the key to finding out how they died, and as Cornelius’s workwashis life it made sense to do a deep dive. Poe spent less than thirty seconds in there.

‘Show me the rest of the building,’ he said to Joshua. He wasn’t expecting to see anything, but sometimes, as Bradshaw said it was in science, unguided research resulted in unintended discoveries. And anyway, the more he poked his nose in, the more irate Joshua became. Irate people slipped up.

The first floor used to be the old school’s dormitories, and the Children of Job had seen no reason to change it. Where once the sons of wealthy Cumbrians had masturbated in rows, a generation of confused young adults now prayed and slept. And secretly masturbated, no doubt. There was nothing to see. Attendees of the residential courses the Children of Job offered had either been told not to bring any personal possessions with them, or, like Cornelius, they didn’t have any.

They walked down the grand central staircase to the ground floor. The rooms on this floor were of more generous proportions. The old classrooms were the same size as the ones Poe had been taught in, although he suspected there would have been fewer pupils back in Chapel Wood’s day. There were storerooms, a well-equipped staffroom and two changing rooms – one for men, one for women. The gender-neutral movement clearly hadn’t reached the Children of Job.

‘What’s through there?’ Poe said, pointing at a doublewide door. He could hear the thump of a bass guitar.

‘It used to be the school gymnasium,’ Joshua said. ‘It’s where the graduation ceremony is being held tonight. We’d better not go in; it sounds like the band is rehearsing.’

‘Yeah, we’d better leave them alone,’ Poe said, pushing open the doors and stepping inside.

Joshua sighed and followed him. Bradshaw and Linus brought up the rear. As she always did when Poe was being deliberately antagonistic, Bradshaw looked worried about self-inflicted wounds. Linus on the other hand seemed to be enjoying himself. Poe was wondering why that might be when, out of nowhere, something happened that Poe was sure he’d remember for the rest of his life.

Chapter 40

As the only large indoor communal space on the estate, the Children of Job used the old school gym as a multipurpose room, Joshua explained. Poe asked for examples.

‘Morning and evening prayers, obviously,’ Joshua replied. ‘Harvest festivals, a few of the other traditions we celebrate. Anything too large for one of the classrooms basically. It’s used every day and it has to be booked in advance. Any diary clashes were mediated by Cornelius.’ He paused. ‘I imagine that will fall to me now.’ It didn’t look as though it were something he would relish.

Despite the unexpected turn the gym had taken, echoes of its past were there if you knew what you were looking for. Scars on the polished maple floor where badminton and basketball court markings had been scraped off. Walls that still bore evidence of climbing frames, hooks for the ropes that remained in the ceiling. He could almost hear the slap-slap of kids in plimsolls as they ran and jumped and yelled in excitement.

It was currently being dressed for that evening’s graduation ceremony. Half-a-dozen men and women were hanging up banners and putting out chairs; another two were setting up what looked like a dry bar in the corner. One end of the gymnasium was wall-to-wall stage. Poe couldn’t tell if it was new, or whether this was where the headmaster had stood during assembly. Probably the latter. It was made from the same wood as the floor. The wall behind the stage was bare brick. On it hung a large crucifix, at least ten feet tall. It was a simple design, two bits of oak and a wooden Jesus. No colour. Given how frippery-free Cornelius Green’s life had been, Poe wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the Children of Job’s founder had personally chosen it. On the stage underneath the crucifix the band rehearsed. They watched for a while.

Poe had always thought Christian rock was to music what Michael McIntyre was to stand-up comedy – cosy, clean-cut, with no personality. Nothing to dislike, but nothing to admire either. It had none of the Sex Pistols’ disenfranchisement or the Clash’s politics, the Ramones’ humour or the raw sexuality of Led Zeppelin. It was music without danger, and it therefore had no value.

Poe listened for a while and decided that the rosy-cheeked musicians on stage, two boys and two girls, weren’t actually that bad. They finished a song he didn’t recognise and moved straight into a punchy, guitar and drum-heavy cover of ‘Kumbaya’. When they got to the bit about ‘Someone’s singing, Lord, kumbaya’, a voice behind them started chanting in time with the beat.

‘I cast thee out, serpents, I cast thee out! Oh serpents, I cast thee out!’

Bradshaw frowned. ‘Those aren’t the right words,’ she said.

They all turned. A wild-looking woman shuffled towards them. She continued chanting, getting louder and louder, until it was little more than unhinged ranting. When she was twenty yards away, she stopped. Her ranting did not. She was younger than Poe had imagined. Mid-thirties if he were forced to guess. Her back was stooped, and it was this that caused the shuffling gait. She had Edward Scissorhands’s hair and wore a chewed up old cardigan that was grey rather than the white it had once been. The buttons were in the wrong holes, adding to her lopsided look. Her eyes were manic and unfocused; her face mottled with rage.

One of the men who had been quietly putting up a ‘Congratulations!’ banner climbed down from his ladder. He approached the woman cautiously but made no move to intervene.

Poe faced Joshua. ‘Well, she’s not with me.’

‘That’s enough, Alice,’ Joshua said kindly. ‘These people are our guests.’

‘Sinners!’ she shrieked.

She began tugging at her hair. No wonder it was wild, Poe thought. She probably pulled it out in clumps.

‘That may be the case,’ Joshua said, ‘but the heart of the Gospel is rooted in hospitality, is it not?’

‘Hey,’ Poe said. ‘Tilly isn’t a sinner.’

‘Hello, Alice,’ Bradshaw said. ‘My name is Matilda, but you can call me Tilly if you want. I am very pleased to meet you. I like your jumper – is it wool?’

‘I cast thee out, serpent!’

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