The Mortdecai Trilogy (Charlie Mortdecai #1-3)(172)

‘That all?’ I quavered manfully.

‘By no means, Charlie, by no means. I’m afraid that all those can be doubled and redoubled in spades by repeating them with the words “conspiring to” in front of them. Then a number of civil actions would probably lie:

‘Trespass to the chapel and damage thereto.

‘Trespass to the dolmen and damage thereto.

‘Trespass to the Hougue Bie site generally and failure to pay the admission charge.

‘Damages in respect of the rooster or cockerel.

‘They’ll probably think of some more, they’ve hardly started. Then I’m afraid there’s all sorts of sticky possibilities under Ecclesiastical Law – and if that lot brings charges I’d plead guilty outright if I were you: cases in their courts drag out for years and the costs would break you.

‘Just for example, if the Bishopric of Coutances hears about it you could be in bad trouble; the Bishop has something called a Right of Interference in anything concerning a priest criminally.

‘Then there’s a particularly horrid Papal Bull of 1483 which is still in force wherein Pope Sixtus IV protects Jersey churches against all sorts of things with an automatic sentence of “excommunication, anathema, eternal malediction and confiscation of property”. Shouldn’t worry too much about that unless you happen to be a Papist – the confiscation of property bit wouldn’t hold much water today.’

‘Oh good,’ I said heavily. ‘And now have you exhausted all the possibilities? I mean, I’ve heard about the man in New Orleans who’s serving 999 years, but I am no longer a young man, you know.’

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I’m afraid there could be quite a lot more. You see, there’s practically no codified statutory criminal law in Jersey; virtually all offences are Common Law ones. What that means, to the ordinary customer, is that the Attorney–General can prosecute you for anything deemed offensive or anti-social simply by sticking the word “unlawfully” in front of a description of whatever it was that you did and was objected to. Do you follow me?’

I whimpered assent.

‘But let me bring a little sunshine into your life. All domestic motor insurance policies are automatically invalidated when the vehicle is used for an illegal purpose, so they’ll certainly nab George Breakspear for driving uninsured. Yes, I thought that might cheer you up a bit. Oh, and by the way, you’re lucky that your nasty little ceremony didn’t actually succeed in raising up the Devil in person: there’s a foot-and-mouth restriction in force at the moment and they would have got you under the Diseases of Animals Act for transporting a cloven-footed beast without a licence, ha ha.’

‘Yes, ha ha indeed. In the meantime, what do I do?’

‘Wait,’ he said, ‘and pray.’

I hung up.

Neither waiting nor praying is a skill I can boast of. Thinking was what was required – but thinking requires Scotch whisky, as all great thinkers agree and I had, in an idle moment, made an absurd promise to Johanna. The clock stood at ten to three. I turned the hands on to five-past six and rang the bell for Jock. He brought in the life-giving drinks-tray in what I can only call an insubordinate manner and wordlessly corrected the clock.

‘Jock,’ I said as the decanter gurgled, ‘I rather fancy I am in the shit. It’s because of Fr Tichborne dying, you see. Difficult to control the thing now.’

‘Wasn’t his fault, was it?’ said Jock sulkily.

‘Of course not, he was an excellent chap, the soul of courtesy; wouldn’t have dreamed of embarrassing us on purpose. But the fact remains that it’s made everything very difficult. What’s to be done?’

‘Well, kissing goes by favour, dunnit? Specially in Jersey.’

‘I’ve never really known what that means. What do you take it to mean?’

‘Well, say, if the filth’ (by which he meant the CID), ‘is getting a bit too close to you, you ring up one of your mates who was at Borstal with you and he fits the copper up with a corruption rap. Doesn’t matter if it don’t stick: they have to suspend him till it’s investigated and the new bloke they put on your case hasn’t got his contacks, has he, and most of what the first bloke had he kept in his head, didn’t he, so you got a couple of munce to sort things out, see?’

‘I think I see. Goodness. But I suppose it’s the way of the world. I certainly can’t think of anything else. Thank you, Jock.’

I rang up George.

‘George,’ I said in dulcet tones, ‘I really must apologize for my incivility just now. Heat of the moment, you understand. Not myself, eh?’

I accepted his grunt as an acceptance of my apology.

‘It seems to me,’ I went on, ‘that our watchword must be “kissing goes by favour” – we must use our influence, bring gentle pressure to bear, don’t you think? For instance, how well do you know the more august chaps in Jersey; were you at Borst … I mean Harrow with any of them? I mean chaps like the chap you rang up from the Police Station yesterday?’

‘Very well indeed, some of them.’

‘Well, there you are then. Ask them to tea, fill them up with tuck – hot buttered crumpets, little meat pies, cherry brandy – all the nice things they won’t be allowed to have at home – then remind them of your schooldays together, all those innocent pranks, you know the sort of thing.’