According to Polidari, a revenant is an unquiet spirit who returns from the dead to wreak havoc on the living, usually in reprisal for some slight or injustice, real or perceived, that the person suffered during their life.
‘It certainly fits our profile,’ I told Nightingale over lunch – Beef Wellington, boiled potatoes and sautéed parsnips. ‘These little grievances going all postal – it fits Lesley’s idea that the big events have little echoes. ’
‘You think it’s infecting them?’
‘I think it’s a field effect, like radiation or light from a bulb,’ I said. ‘I think the echoes are inside the field, their brains get charged up with negative emotions and off they go.’
‘Wouldn’t more people be affected, in that case?’ asked Nightingale. ‘There were at least ten other people in the cinema foyer, including you and Constable May, and yet only the mother was affected.’
‘Could be that it reinforces anger that’s already there?’ I asked. ‘Or acts as a catalyst? It wouldn’t be an easy thing to prove scientifically.’
Nightingale smiled.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘You remind me of a wizard I used to know called David Mellenby,’ said Nightingale. ‘He had the same obsession.’
‘What happened to him?’ I asked. ‘And did he leave any notes?’
‘I’m afraid he died in the war,’ said Nightingale. ‘He never did get a chance to do half the experiments he wanted to. He had this theory about how the genii locorum works that would have appealed to you.’
‘What was his theory?’ I asked.
‘I believe I will make telling you that contingent on you mastering your next forma,’ he said. ‘I did notice that there were discrepancies between the script and Mr Punch’s actions. I’m thinking of Pretty Polly.’
As laid down in the Tragical Comedy, after killing his wife and kid Mr Punch sings a happy little song about the benefits of wife-murdering and, that done, he presses his suit with Pretty Polly. She’s a character who says nothing but ‘seems nothing loath’ when our cheerful little serial killer starts kissing her.
‘We don’t know he’s following that particular script,’ I said.
‘True,’ said Nightingale. ‘Piccini was relating an oral tradition, and those are almost never reliable.’
According to the possibly unreliable Piccini, the next victim was due to be a blind beggar who coughs in Mr Punch’s face and is thrown off the stage for his presumption. The script didn’t specify if he survived the experience or not. ‘If our revenant Pulcinella is following form,’ I said, ‘then the most likely target is going to be a tinny for the RNIB.’
‘What’s a tinny?’
‘A person with a collecting tin,’ I said, miming a shake. ‘People put their spare change in it.’
‘A blind man begging for money,’ he said. ‘It would be more useful to know who the revenant was and where he’s buried.’
‘Presumably if we know who he is then we can deal with his issues and lay him to rest peacefully,’ I said.
‘Or,’ said Nightingale, ‘we dig up his bones and grind them into dust, mix them with rock salt and then scatter them out at sea.’
‘Would that work?’
‘Victor Bartholomew says that’s the way to do it,’ Nightingale shrugged. ‘He wrote the book on dealing with ghosts and revenants – literally.’
‘I think we may be overlooking a blindingly obvious source of information,’ I said.
‘Really?’
‘Nicholas Wallpenny,’ I said. ‘All the attacks have originated near the Actors’ Church, which I’m guessing means that our revenant is located nearby. Nicholas might know him – for all we know, they hang out.’
‘I’m not sure ghosts “hang” quite the way you imagine,’ said Nightingale, and with a quick glance to be sure that Molly wasn’t watching, he slipped his half-full plate under the table. Toby’s tail banged against my legs as he snaffled it down.
‘We need a bigger dog,’ I said. ‘Or smaller portions.’
‘See if he won’t talk to you tonight,’ said Nightingale. ‘But remember that our Nicholas wasn’t a reliable witness when he was alive – I doubt his veracity has improved since his demise.’
‘How did he die?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’