The Thursdays And The Rain

By William Saunders

Take a virtual tour of London through the pages of the suspense novel TheThursdays And The Rain. Visit leafy Twickenham, smoky Battersea, the kooky shops of Covent Garden, the glass towers of the City's financial centre,and the ancient legal precincts of The Temple.

A cabal of high society types who play with the occult are preying on the innocent with a trail of killings with tarot cards as the common thread. Detective Constable Diana Archer has one part of the puzzle, journalist
Tim Weather has another. Can they assemble the picture before Tim'girlfriend is lured into becoming the fourth and final victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Saunders
• Release date: May 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458107824

William Saunders

William Saunders is a poet, journalist and author. He has written for most of the heavy and some of the light British newspapers at one time or other, and was a columnist with The Guardian for many years. His book Jimi Hendrix London is published by Roaring Forties Press, Berkeley, Ca.

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The Thursdays And The Rain

By William Saunders

Published at Smashwords

Copyright William Saunders 2010

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Note: This story takes place in London in the year 2000.

Part One: The Thursdays and the Rain

Chapter One: Death By Water

Chapter Two: The Hanged Man

Chapter Three: What The Thunder Said

Chapter Four: A Rattle Of Dry Bones

Chapter Five: Jug Jug Tereu

Chapter Six: Unreal City

Chapter Seven: A Wicked Pack Of Cards

Chapter Eight: Under The Rock

Chapter Nine: The Police In Different Voices

Part Two: Sweet Thames Flow Softly

Chapter One: The Temple

Chapter Two: A Flock Of Nymphs

Chapter Three: The Blissfull Bower

Chapter Four : Daughters Of The Flood

Chapter Five: Merry London

Chapter Six: Two Fair Birds

Chapter Seven: Birds Of The Air

Chapter Eight: The Thursdays And The Rain

Part Three : The Fisher King

Chapter One: Voices By The River

Chapter Two: Burning

Chapter Three: The King My Father

Chapter Four: Goodnight Ladies

Chapter Five: A Rattle Of Dry Bones

Chapter Six: So Rudely Forced

Chapter Seven: So rudely forced, teru

Chapter Eight: The King My Brother

Chapter Nine: Sweet Thames Flow Softly

Part One: The Thursdays and the Rain

Chapter One: Death By Water

Gemma Crush -7.45am London Bridge Gemma had been in the river four days and eleven hours before she was fished out. For all but ten minutes of that time she had been dead, nevertheless it had been an eventful period. She had been upstream as far as Mortlake. On Tuesday evening, when warm weather had kept the riverside pubs alive with chatter until well after dark she had drifted as a black shadow through Chiswick and Putney. At 2am that Thursday morning she had been as far downriver as Canary Wharf. This was her second visit of the week. She had been there at Monday for the rush hour, still close to the surface then; but few people had time to look into the river or even emerged into daylight as they came up from the Docklands Light Railway and through the marble pavilions of One Canada Square with their plastic ID tags hung around their necks.

Now it was rush hour again and a rich fermentation of stomach gases had brought her to the surface, which caused her to be spotted as she raced past Tower Bridge and led her to being apprehended by the authorities at London Bridge. Once more nobody had time to glance over the parapet. But nobody who had known her in life would have recognised her.

She looks Chinese, said PC Jason Brewer. It was his first week on the river.

They all look Chinese, said PC Ron Ward. He had been doing this for fifteen years.

The Police launch turned around and headed for Wapping Stairs. Rain began to spatter down on the tarpaulin that covered poor Gemma’s corpse.

Tim Weather - 8.26am Crouch End. There was a freak break in the clouds as Tim strode down the steep hill of Nelson Road. The day smelt fresh and despite the depressing demands that had arrived via the postman ten minutes ago, Tim felt fresh too. He bounced his motley golf umbrella along on its cheap aluminum ferrule. The sky was still threatening, and he was wearing his ivory cotton suit because it was the only clean set of garments to be found in his rented flat. He struggled to look decent whenever he was off an interview. Since he was off to meet a rock star he felt his outfit was appropriately 1970s. Thus satisfied he forgot about his appointment and almost a thousand pounds unpaid income tax and concentrated on the reflections of the narrow terrace houses in the puddles. Then his attention was caught by something so arresting that he thoughtlessly stood still and stared. A young woman stood at a window with a coffee cup balanced on the palm of one hand. Moonfaced with long black hair and a fringe, she wore a scarlet kimono but her most striking feature was her bright green eyes, which did not flinch when they met Tim’s. It was a staggering moment of frank human intimacy through a pane of glass, across a foot and a half of damp nettles and brambles and over a crumbling garden wall, and it pinned Tim to the spot, and still she stared, until Tim remembered himself, turned and strode away, a little ashamed at having been caught looking in on a half-dressed woman, and rather shaken by the magic of those moments.

Alison Lyonnesse - 8.27am Crouch End. Alison murmured a curse at the young man who had broken in on her favorite part of the day. How foolish he looked dressed up like some Conrad character on a chilly overcast morning in May. Then the music stopped and she went to the mantle-piece and pressed replay. Me, me Mum and me Dad and me Gran we’re off to Waterloo,. Me, me Mum and me Dad and Me Gran and a bucket ofVindaloo. It was her favorite breakfast CD. She loved to bathe in the crude masculine energy of the football chant. And with her neighbors now gone to work she could have it up as loud as she liked. She swayed along in time to the rattling drumbeat and glanced down into her coffee cup - just a dark puddle of bitter grounds. It was time for a refill. Vindaloo, vindaloo, oh we all like vindaloo.

Otto Seligmann - 8.50am Battersea Otto drew the curtains, took up his knife and sealed the West, North, and South. He left the East open. Through the wall to the next flat came the sounds of Cartoon Network, and the occasional shouts as Michelle dressed two children for school and fed the toddler at the same time. There will always be distractions. As he marshaled his attention the smell of the flowers on the altar became the dominant sense impression. He took up the wand. There will always be distractions from within too. Sometimes it is hard not to feel foolish. Supposing the entities he invoked existed, what must they think of him - just over five feet tall and bald as an egg? Round as egg, come to that - Otto usually dressed in work-mans’ dungarees, the only trousers he could find to fit over his belly. Still there is no doubt that over tens of thousands of years of human existence these beings had seen far stranger sights. The important thing is to keep on.

Tim Weather - 9.40am Regents Park Tim pressed the entry-phone of a block of manison flats and a young female voice said Who’s that?

"Hi there, my name’s Tim Weather. I’m here to see Alex Fisher. I’m from The Guardian."

He’s not expecting you.

Are you sure? It was fixed up by Amy at the press office.

Which press office?

The record company.

Well I don’t know anything about it.

Tim was not fazed by this reception. He had many years experience of getting himself back on lists and schedules that he had accidentally been left off, sometimes onto lists and schedules he had been deliberately left off, as well. He looked over the park. So far he had been lucky with the rain, although it threatened, it still held off. He was within sight of the zoo railings but he could not see any animals. After a few minutes he pressed the buzzer again.

Are you still there?

Yes I’m still here, said Tim. If there’s a problem maybe you could ring Amy. A few more minutes of silence and then the entry-phone crackled.

Oh yeah, I’ve found you. And the lock hummed and whirred to admit him.

Diana Archer - New Scotland Yard 9.50am. Diana booted up her PC and picked up the fax on top of her in tray. So far the information available was vague: A woman, white, five foot seven, aged between 25 and 40, been in the river between a week and two days. More would follow when the pathologist had taken a look. She took the lid off her cappuccino and licked the chocolate off it. With her left hand she opened the file to look at possible matches. Elena Phrangopoulos, missing from Camden Town since last Wednesday? Possible for build but a little old at 47. Kylie Fitzpatrick absconded from care in Lewisham on Friday? Let’s hope not. No, 15, and three inches too short. Marcia Grange? A history of schizophrenia, but also black, so not her. What about Gemma Crush? 28 , five foot eight, reported missing Tuesday but actually missing since Monday morning, or more likely Sunday night or longer. Start with Gemma then, but don’t rule out Elena yet.

Alex Fisher - Regents Park 10.05am Alex Fisher came into the room, noticeably slender for a man of over 50. A luxuriant crop of dark hair, veined with grey was gathered into a thick pony tail. A conspicous gold earring deepened his tan to an unnatural hue, as if he was blacked up to play Othello. He wore black jeans and t-shirt that revealed modest but well sculpted biceps. Hello Jim, sorry to keep you waiting.

Tim, said Tim. He had not minded waiting. The room was extravagant and anonymous - a thick cream carpet, glass coffee table with two deep chocolate brown sofas on either side of it, a rubber plant in one corner, two or three gold records on the wall and large windows onto the park. As Tim looked out of them the wind rose and the rain returned with a sharp rattle. Tim used the hiatus to run through the official biography he had been faxed the previous afternoon.

Alex Fisher - guitarist with The Honeydrippers in the 1960s, then the super-group Sibyl in the 1970s, a few solo projects in the 1980s which made little impact (one called The Fisher King, what else?) and now back in fashion with an acoustic CD of traditional blues.

Tim knew this. He also knew the unofficial story - the high living and heavy destruction of the US tours, the rumors of black magic, and Sabrina Cox, found dead in a hotel bedroom in Ibizia.

Tim, of course, sorry. Shall we sit down? They took a sofa each, face to face across the glass coffee table. Alex laid down a packet of Marlboro Lights in front of him together with a copy of a Zippo lighter in solid gold. Tim took out his tape recorder and his notebook, his cigarettes and his red disposable lighter.

Would you like a coffee or something?

Coffee would be nice. Thank-you.

Alex turned to toward the doorway and shouted: Ange can you sort some coffee out, love?

Tim turned the tape recorder on and listened to make sure that the hiss of the spools had begun. Where we shall we begin? he said.

How about with: What’s an old fossil like me doing back in the charts? said Alex.

Some people might think you’ve been lucky to make it to fossil status.

Yeah, said Alex, yeah. I’ve been luckier than some.

Is that what drew you back to the blues?

No, not really. It was more like getting back to what turned me on to music. It got so I thought: I’ve been in this business for 30 years. Maybe I’ve lost touch with what first excited me about it.

But presumably some of those songs must mean more to you now, after...

Alex gave a snort of laughter.After all that rock and roll living?

The girl who had let Tim in came in carrying a tray of coffee. She had long blond hair and wore a black suede mini dress and little more besides. Tim turned off the recorder while the coffee was poured. Then after this was finished:

But some of the subject matter of the songs is pretty grim, I mean take Fred McDowell’s Take Me To My Burial Ground.

You know who Fred McDowell was? said Alex.

Oh yes, said Tim.

Alex lit a cigarette and leaned back on the sofa, much more relaxed. They’re good songs, he said.

Very different from all that occult stuff.

Alex laughed again. Oh that’s ancient history now.

What drew you to Aleister Crowley and all that sort of thing.

I wanted to be immortal, said Alex. You probably still think you are.

Tamsin Grain - Finsbury Circus 11.15am. When Tamsin got a call to go down to human resources, she assumed she had been fired. In the lift she ran the immediate financial consequences of this through her head. How long could she keep the nanny on? She had not renewed her tennis club subscription yet, maybe that was just as well. When she arrived at the meeting room the signs did not look good. Jenny, head of human resources greeted her at the door, plainly agitated. When she went into the room itself she was not so sure what was going on. The dumpy little woman in long navy skirt and grey blouse did not look like she was in out-sourcing. Please sit down, said Jenny, in fact I think you’d better. Confused, her nerves a little on edge from Jenny’s manner, Tamsin sat.

Good morning, Mrs Grain, I’ve come to see you about your sister.

Gemma? You know where she is?

We think we’ve found her, said Diana Archer, but we need a little more information. We thought it was better to come to you rather than to your mother.

Are you telling me she’s dead? Tamsin felt astonishingly clear-headed. As if someone had opened a window in a stuffy room.

Let’s hope not, said Diana, and there is hope. But I’m afraid you must prepare for the worst.

Tamsin found she was gripping the leg of the table. It was cold. But how can you not be sure? You must know one way or the other.

We’ve found a lady who matches her description, roughly, but we need to do tests to be sure. Do you know who your sister’s dentist is?

Yes the same as mine, we’ve both gone to him since we were kids. Has Gemma lost her memory or something?

No I’m afraid it’s not that.

Then why? Oh no, of course, dental records. She is dead isn’t she?

We can’t be sure it’s her until we’ve checked. I know this is dreadful for you, but this is the best way to do things. Can I have your dentist’s name? Tamsin gave it to her. And we may have to trace your sister’s movements as best we can. Can you tell me where she worked, her friends, anyone who might know where she was, what her state of mind was?

Her state of mind? You don’t mean you think she..?.

I don’t think anything at the moment. But I have to check everything.

Of course you do. I don’t know if I can be of much help. We don’t mix much, we haven’t since school, just at family dos really. But she works part time at some new age shop near Covent Garden. She always rang mummy on Sunday. So when she didn’t last Sunday. Oh shit, what am I going to tell mummy?

We’ll tell her if you like, when we know if there’s anything to tell. And we’ll tell you as soon as we know anything certain.

Diana rose to go. But where did you find her? If it is her? said Tamsin.

Oh I’m sorry. I really should have said. We recovered a body from the river this morning. Apart from that we’re as much in the dark as you are. It might turn out to be someone else entirely.

A soon as Diana had left, Jenny buried her face in her hands and wept. Tamsin thought: Fine but this is my sister. But she stood up and stroked Jenny’s shoulders.

Oh Tamsin I’m so sorry, said Jenny."Is there anything I can do?’

No thank-you, said Tamsin.But I think I’ll go for a walk. I’d like to be on my own for awhile.

But it was raining hard now.

Alison Lyonnesse - Bayswater 11.30am

Alison let herself into the basement flat, collapsed her umbrella and shook it out of the door behind her. She put it, and her damp raincoat in the hall cupboard. Leaning against the wall she unlaced her trainers, put them in the cupboard too and took out the pair of stilettos she kept there and slipped them on. They went far better with the black pencil skirt and tight purple top she had on. Dawn and Lorraine were in the kitchen, Alison could see them through the half open door smoking and going over a tabloid newspaper together. She picked up the telephone and checked the call minder - nothing. She went into the kitchen herself and switched on the electric kettle. All quiet then? she said.

Morning Alison, said Lorraine, I expect the rain will keep them off today.

Oh don’t say that, said Dawn, I don’t want another miserable day like yesterday. I don’t come here for the exercise. Morning Alison, love. Here, let’s have a look at the horoscopes.

What sign are you then? said Lorraine.

Gemini, said Dawn.

A good day for friendship. Work takes the back seat for once, giving you the chance to put your feet up for a change. Unexpected money luck. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket, then Dawn.

I might as well, if this rain keeps up. I’ve got get some money somehow. Not much chance of me getting my feet up in this weather. What’s yours then?

Taurus, said Lorraine. Time to share a secret with a trusted friend. Don’t be shy when the invitation comes your way. Lucky color is blue. Don’t be shy, eh? What sign are you Alison?

Scorpio.

Scorpio - Every cloud has a silver lining. A surprise offer is worth a second glance. Romance is on the cards.

Ooh romance, said Dawn.

I see quite enough of men all day here, thank-you, said Alice.

Lorraine laughed.Do you hear that Dawn? We’re poisoning her young mind.

The telephone rang in the hall and Alice rushed to get it, flicking open the diary as she answered. Yes? Oh good morning, Sir. Yes, she’s here today. No there’s not much problem with that. 12.15 then? Right ho.

Alice returned to the kitchen where Dawn and Lorraine waited with expectant faces. Old John Griffin, she said. He asked for you Dawn.

What time’s he coming?

Any minute maybe, he’s just got into Paddington.

I’d better go and get my knickers off then, said Dawn.

Diana Archer - Wapping Stairs 1.50pm Diana went into the police station the back way. At first there was nobody there. Just the grim atmosphere that hangs over all the business of police stations, and faintly, the evidence of the high spirits of policemen. The whoops and shouts that unexpectedly break out from some distant room along the dull corridors.

Jack the custody sergeant came up from the cells. Hullo Diana.

Hullo again, Jack I’ve come over about the floater.

Oh yes, Jack went behind his desk and turned a page or two of his log book. When was that?

Pick up at 7.45 hours, said Diana. So they’ll have got her here at eight or just after.

Ah, yes. Hmmm. Ron Ward’s gone off now. Won’t be back until Tuesday. Got some back leave.

Can I have a look at the property bag.

If you sign for it.

Diana nodded. I’ll probably want to take it away with me. We’re not sure about next of kin yet, anyway.

Jack turned and rummaged through a cardboard box. Here we are. Hasn’t gone up yet. He handed her a clipboard which she signed, then a clear plastic bag. That’s all, he said, no purse or nothing."

If she had a handbag with her it probably went straight down. Do you know what she was wearing?

No idea, love. I’ve just got here, and they took her off at ten.

Sometimes it helps to know.Diana broke the seal of the bag and tipped it over the table. It could make a difference if she was dressed for a party or something.

Do they do themselves up to top themselves?

Sometimes, make a pretty corpse and all that. She had a lot of jewellery. Diana rifled over a collection of bangles. She teased two earrings out of the pile with her finger tips.Hang on what’s this? She picked up a soggy piece of card. It wasa picture of a young man hung up side on a gallows by one ankle. There was a calm smile on his face and in each hand he held a small sack.

No idea. Clothing label or something?

Looks like it’s from a card game. Oh well, probably go over to the hospital now I’ve come over all this way.

You’ve picked a nice day for it.

Miles Everett MD FRCS - Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel 3.20pm Miles came down the stairs into the dimness of the morgue with a laugh. He was accompanied by an attractive slightly built young woman with red hair. From the shadows came Fred, a huge bulk of man in a blue lab coat. Good afternoon, Mr Everett. We’ve got her already for you.

Ah hello there Fred, may I introduce my student? Suzanne Clarkson.

Good afternoon, miss. I mean Doctor.

Hi, said Suzanne.

Fred runs things down here. Vital man. So she’s all laid out ready?

Yes. I’ve given her a bath but I’m afraid she still whiffs a bit.

What about clothing and all that?

A lady came from the police and took those.

Don’t suppose it matters. I’m sure you’ve taken care of things.

I always feel sorry for the ones from the river. Such a lonely death.

Yes. This way Suzanne.

They donned their gowns and scrubbed p. Before he put his cap on, Miles put a head set on connected to a digital recorder in his pocket. A mouth piece from it hung just before his facemask. They went in through the swing doors. The corpse lay spread eagled on the table.

Now as you see a classic case of drowning, said Miles. If I open the mouth, there, you can see the froth. If we punctured the lungs we’d find the same thing. While we’ve got it open, ah yes, both sets of wisdom teeth through. That makes her at least 21. And we’ll just take a dental impression for the forensic people. Been in the water quite a few days. She was much slimmer in life I’d say. She’s become bloated up. No point in hunting for stomach contents now. But if we go round. Ah here’s something you don’t see everyday. Come and look at this Suzanne. She’s a virgin.

Chapter Two: The Hanged Man

Gemma Crush had her name back, her dental records spoke up for her, but she still lay in The London Hospital until the Coroner saw fit to release her. Her Mother lay in a darkened room in Virginia Water taking fitful bursts of sleep with the help of Valium. Tamsin had spent the night on the sofa, unable to face spending it in her childhood bedroom, even if it had been ready. At half past seven she had rung home and spoken to her husband Crispin and her nanny. Neither of them had told her son William yet ,his sister Flora was too young to understand either way. After the phone call Tamsin looked in on her Mother and found her sleeping, so she went back to the sitting room and took a book by Neville Shute off the shelf to pass the time.

At eleven o’clock that morning Diana Archer went into Avalon, on one of the side streets that run down towards Covent Garden, after pausing to look at the improbably tentacled godlet in the window, which sat surrounded by an eclectic set symbols forged from quartz crystal, semi-precious stones and silver. The interior smelled soporific from incense and equally intense and exotic smells arose from the sales staff and some of the customers, who looked over the bookshelves and the curious collection of hideous gadgets apparently designed to promote relaxation or attune oneself to mysterious energies.

Behind the counter was a girl in a kaftan whose flame red hair emphasized her unhealthy pallor. Diana looked at the bracelets that rattled together at the end of her thin arms and thought of Gemma’s collection of bangles which she gone through yesterday afternoon. I’d like to speak to the manager, she said.

Can you phone to make an appointment? said the girl. He’s really busy.

Diana took her warrant card from her handbag. This really is quite urgent, she said. Behind her Otto Seligmann put a book back in the hermetic section and slipped out of the door. He had been born in a country where the police were only to be feared.

Hang on, said the girl and she turned and picked up a phone behind her and pressed an intercom connection.Dave? it’s Jasmine. I’m down in the shop. Can you come down for a minute theres someone who needs to see you. Then, sotto voce, it’s the pigs. Diana smiled to herself. Didn’t these people knowt he Sixties were over? The girl turned back to her. He’ll be down in a minute. Excuse me." And she sold a candle in the shape of a skull to an American tourist.

After a few minutes a tall, heavily built man with thick dark side burns came from the back room of the shop. He wore a short tunic embroidered with some Eastern abstract design over his jeans, which looked frankly bizarre on a man of his size. The girl, Jasmine, indicated Diana with a flick of her head. He came over: Hi there, Dave Williams, I’m the manager here. Can I help?

It was a reassuringly normal name. These people had at least sides of themselves which touched on reality.Diana Archer. Is there somewhere we can talk more privately?

We can use one of the consulting rooms. If you’d like to come with me.

He led her through the back room of the shop where they sold CDs and tapes and through a door up an