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in response. He tore off his tunic and revealed a T-shirt with the exhortation: ‘Jump for Jesus!’ Leaping up and down he cried, ‘Now, jump for Jesus.’ Feeling like a complete idiot and avoiding Pooley’s eye, Amiss obediently followed the example of the bikers and his neighbours, until after a couple of minutes exhaustion overtook the crowd.
    The bikers removed their helmets and raised their arms again towards the pulpit. ‘These were bad people,’ shouted Bev, ‘but they’ve seen the light and with the help of Jesus they’re going to drive out the devil’ There was an expectant hush, and from the ceiling there descended a fluorescent red cross. ‘Come on, now! Shake out the devil! Shake him out! Shake him out!’ He descended from the pulpit – revealing his bottom half to be clad in jeans and trainers – rushed towards the bikers and knocked each of them over until they all lay prostrate. ‘Down, down, all of you down for Jesus,’ he screamed, and the congregation obeyed as quickly as infirmity and clumsiness permitted.
    As the entire congregation began noisily expelling the devil, Pooley grabbed Amiss’s arm; together they set off, with considerable difficulty, to crawl towards freedom. When they reached the side door and stood up, Pooley strode out immediately. As Amiss took a last half-wistful, half-relieved look back, a sobbing Bev Johns was clasping the bottom of the red cross crying, ‘Strike him, Jesus. Save us all,’ and the bikers were writhing and alternately screaming and groaning. Various members of Bev’s flock appeared to be trying with some success to speak in tongues.
    Amiss caught up with Pooley and jerked his head towards the pub on the corner. ‘Hold on. I need a drink.’
    ‘I don’t. I’ll wait outside. I need fresh air.’
    Amiss tottered into the bar like an old man, ordered and paid for a large whisky and downed it in one. ‘Bad night?’ enquired the barman. ‘Same again?’
    Amiss shook his head. ‘No, thanks. Get thee behind me, Satan.’

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    Chapter 7
    « ^ »
    After the brisk walk on which Pooley insisted, they repaired to his flat, where, with the help of some restorative gins and tonic, they put together a hearty lunch of steak, onions and mashed potatoes.
    Amiss cleared his plate and washed it down with some more rioja. ‘Gosh, I did enjoy that, Ellis. And to think I feared you might think quiche more suitable for dejeuner à deux hommes nouveaux .’
    ‘Life in the Met is not conducive to New Mannishness, I can tell you.’
    ‘So what’s been going on? I think we’ve exhausted my affairs. Now give me the lowdown on that case you’ve been hinting darkly about. And omit no salacious detail, however disgusting.’
    Pooley burst eagerly into the account of the perplexing and grisly murders which during the previous couple of months had so much occupied him and their mutual friend, Chief Superintendent Jim Milton. It had been cracked, it turned out, through a great deal of patient investigation, culminating in the discovery of a call girl who had witnessed a crucial encounter from a doorway in which she had been loitering.
    ‘Has this done much for your reputations in the Yard? Jim seemed a bit gloomy about his personal standing last time we met.’
    ‘He’s been pretty gloomy generally. All this is-she-isn’t-she coming back from the States?/will-he-won’t-he join her there? hasn’t been helping his morale. Certainly I had some pats on the back and I suppose Jim must have too. But he’s been so busy we haven’t had a chance to talk as friends and he took off the other day for their long-overdue holiday. Won’t be back for almost a month, I think.’
    ‘I hope to Christ they resolve things this time.’
    Pooley shrugged. ‘I see no happy endings. I just can’t see Jim throwing up his job and—’
    The telephone shrilled; Pooley picked up the receiver. ‘Hello. Ellis Pooley.’
    The voice coming down the line was so loud that Amiss could hear it