03 - Murder in Mink (17 page)

“Bravo!” Tommy cheered, “Now turn around and come back to
me.”

Clara described a lazy circle in the wide road, feeling
the smooth action of the pedals and almost laughing to herself. This was much
easier than she remembered.

“All right, now all you have to do is stop. Apply the
brakes gently.”

Clara was listening to the instructions, but her mind had
flicked back into a memory of the last time she had ridden. As her fingers
found the brakes she remembered poor sergeant Blake conducting the cycling
classes in her school playground. He had been signalling the children right and
left and as Clara approached him on a borrowed bicycle (only one of the girls
had a bike of her own) he had signalled right. She could see him now, looking
sternly out from beneath his helmet, arm stretched out at 90 degrees, and there
was Clara heading closer and closer, a sudden fear hitting her as she knew she
would never turn in time. And then Blake was waving his arm and a frantic look
was dancing in his eyes and she never understood why he didn’t just move to the
side, but perhaps it was already too late, for in that instant she collided
with the unfortunate policeman. The front wheel had took out his knee, Clara
flying over the handlebars had winded him, the final stab was when the bicycle
did a graceful half-flip and clipped him across the chin. Sergeant Blake had
lain groaning on the floor, rubbing at his bruised anatomy and trying to catch
his breath.

It was that image that spun in Clara’s mind as she
reached for the brakes. She had never ridden a bicycle again for she had been
so mortified by her first and only experience. Now she was on another
policeman’s bike and the front wheel was wobbling.

“Steady!” Tommy cried, but it was all too late.

Clara jammed on the brakes, the bicycle almost bucked
beneath her and she was tipped over into the hedge. It turned out it was not as
soft a landing as Clara had hoped for.

“Are you hurt?” Tommy was chuckling as he rolled over.

“Only my pride dented.” Clara extracted herself from the
hedge, “And the sleeve of my cardigan torn.”

“You almost had it. But you pulled too hard on your
brakes and you forgot to put out a leg to balance yourself.”

“Put a leg out?” Clara had a vision of wobbling along a
road with her leg out at one side like a wing.

“Like a stand for the bike, as you come to a halt you put
out a leg on the side the bicycle leans to stop it tipping right over.”

“Oh.” Clara digested this, “Yes, that makes sense. Well
let’s try again.”

Tommy wheeled away as she remounted, a little more
confidently this time, and cycled off. She pushed thoughts of injured sergeant
Blake from her mind and made the same turn as before, noting the slight mark in
the ground from her last manoeuvre and headed back to Tommy. As she came level
she gently eased the brakes on. The bicycle tipped to the right and almost
unconsciously she put out a leg to stop herself falling. She found she was
standing in a perfect halt.

“You’ve got it old girl.” Tommy grinned at her.

Clara was so amazed she was almost speechless.

“So what are you planning on doing now?” Tommy asked.

Clara was glancing at the bicycle, almost disbelieving
she was really sitting on it.

“Clara?”

“Oh, I’m going to see reverend Draper.” Clara answered,
“But I would rather not say more until a little later. I suggest a ‘Council of
War’ in your room this evening, Annie included. I’ll explain everything then.”

“What about me? I haven’t done anything except talk to
Eustace. I’m decidedly bored.”

Clara came back to herself, her mind working seriously.

“I need you to go around the house discreetly and find
what supplies of arsenic they have.”

Tommy didn’t think he had heard her clearly at first.

“Arsenic?”

“I am certain Eustace was poisoned, I’m not sure the exact
substance used but arsenic is a good bet. Big houses tend to have lots, but if
they are as efficient as Annie they will keep a record of how much and what
they use. People are much more worried about household poisons these days and
servants like to keep themselves covered.”

“So you want to know if any is missing?”

“Yes, and how much. If you can’t find any gone astray
I’ll have to think again.”

Tommy was letting this all sink in.

“Who would kill Eustace Clara?”

Clara looked up at the house, almost feeling a shiver
running down her spine.

“Oh Tommy, aside from you and me, I think the better
question is, who wouldn’t?”

The church was about a mile up-hill, sitting at an angle
to the vast grounds of the Campbell house. Clara pedalled up the road, the bike
seeming to fight her all the way, wondering why she had ever thought borrowing
the damn thing was a good idea. The church jutted up from around a corner, the
biggest building for miles around with its stone tower and long nave. Clara
came to an unsteady halt beside the churchyard gate and dismounted with a
little embarrassment as her skirt caught around the bicycle seat. Fortunately
there was no one around to see.

The church was equally empty. Clara glanced around and
even poked in the vestry thinking someone might be about, but she was alone.
She returned to the gate where a notice board was prominently displayed and
glanced through the various details of services, choir practice, church hall
luncheons and ways of leaving donations before finding an address for the
vicar.

She retrieved the bicycle and decided to push it along
for the next slog uphill. She wasn’t entirely sure where the address was, but
she suspected the rectory could not be far from the church. The road twisted
around the church again, almost cutting it off on its own little island of
grass, then it turned left and she was wandering among a set of three workers
cottages. There were small children fudging around in the dust at the side of
the road and at the far cottage a woman was sweeping at her doorstep. Clara
approached her.

“Good morning, could you direct me to the vicar’s house?”

The woman looked up, she had to be around 28 or 30, but
she seemed very worn and tired. She wiped a strand of hair off her forehead
with the back of her hand.

“Just up the lane, but he isn’t in.”

“Ah.” Clara felt deflated, so much for her plan for the
morning, “When will he be back?”

“Who knows? Probably not until the weekend, that’s the
usual.”

Clara stared at the woman in puzzlement.

“Where has he gone?”

He woman gave a shrug.

“London.”

“And he does that often?”

“Every week between Sundays.”

Clara realised she had gone silent out of astonishment.

“Has he family there?”

“Who’s to say?” The woman gave another shrug, “All I know
is he goes off to London on a Monday morning regular as clockwork, then he
turns up back here Friday teatime. Personally, it suits me just fine. Better
than some of those interfering pastors, and the churchwarden keeps an eye on
the church.”

Clara didn’t know what to say, she had never heard of
anything so bizarre, a vicar who merely popped in and out of his parish on a
weekend as though it was a holiday retreat! She was sure the Anglican
authorities would not approve, but she supposed he was not really doing any
wrong, except for neglecting his flock.

“What did you want him for?” The woman was giving Clara
an appraising look, as if she was used to this sort of question and had a hunch
why Clara was interested.

“I wanted to talk to him.” Clara said honestly.

The woman stood her broom upright and leant on it like a
tall walking stick.

“I’ve got the address of Mrs Patterson if you want it.”
She said.

“Mrs Patterson?”

“The lady who does for the vicar. Personally I wouldn’t
recommend it, but if you girls will get yourselves into bother.” She tutted.

Clara grasped what the woman was about, so she was aware
of the vicar’s alternative services too?

“I take it this doesn’t surprise you?”

“Women come up here all the time.” The woman looked
bored, “All sorts, usually with a spot of bother. Her next door even takes them
in sometimes, when they get caught poorly like. I refuse, you never know what
sort of business you will end up involved in. What if one of them dies? Girls
can die from that sort of treatment you know.”

“I do know.” Clara admitted.

“Then follow my advice and don’t be messing with nature.
If God chose you to have a babe so be it, who are we to question him?”

“I thought you weren’t much of a Christian?”

“Oh I believe in God all right.” The woman pulled herself
up stoutly, “I’m just not for all that religion lark. All them pompous souls telling
me about my sins when I see half their daughters walking up here for a ‘chat’
with the vicar.”

“Well, if it puts your mind at ease I am not one of
them.” Clara found herself smiling slightly, beginning to like the woman.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well, I suppose…” Actually Clara wasn’t sure what she
was intending to do, “I was half imagining giving that vicar a piece of my mind
on account of a friend who had a ‘chat’ with him.”

“She all right?” The woman actually seemed concerned.

“Yes, thankfully. But I will take the address of Mrs
Patterson, if you don’t mind.”

The woman disappeared inside briefly then re-emerged with
a slip of paper.

“I don’t like the woman, for what she does, but I suppose
that might not make her a bad sort.” She handed over the paper, “Was your
friend a recent one?”

“Recent? Ah, I see what you mean. Yes she did come quite
recently.”

“Not that woman with the mink stole? I thought her a bit
old for it really, but she didn’t look half pale.”

Clara almost jumped at the statement. She had to wrap her
brain around it before she could reply.

“Was that on Saturday?”

The woman had to pause to think.

“I expect so, I was peeling potatoes by this window.” She
motioned to a small pane of glass that gave a hint of a kitchen beyond, “And I
saw her walk passed.”

“It was early evening?”

“Dinner time really, my husband gets in around seven so I
cook for then.”

“Did you see her come back?”

“No, once it gets dark I pull the curtains so no one can
peep in. Was that your friend then?”

Clara hesitated about replying, she didn’t want to reveal
too much.

“Actually my cousin’s wife.”

“Then what was she doing up here then?”

Clara shook her head.

“I would very much like to know that. As far as I am
aware she should have had no business here.”

The woman studied her curiously for a moment, then she
seemed to conclude it was not her problem and returned to sweeping. Clara
trundled up the lane a little further and quickly spotted the red-brick
rectory. She propped her bicycle against the garden wall and rapped the
door-knocker. She really didn’t expect an answer, it seemed unlikely Reverend
Draper had a housekeeper when he spent so much time away. Probably he just had
a lady pop in on the weekends to cook his meals and clean. She wandered along
the front of the house and glanced in a window. There was a well-appointed
parlour just beyond, but it was very tidy and bare. At the next window she saw
an equally empty dining room, a drooping vase of flowers set upon the table.

Clara walked to the right side of the front door and
peered in that window. She saw a study which at least looked a little busy.
There were numerous books stacked on the shelves and the desk had papers
carefully piled on it. Otherwise there was no sign of life. She took a pace
back and glanced up, not sure what she thought she would see. The upper rooms
had the curtains drawn.

Clara gave up, it was a house under lock and key, secure
but empty. Until the vicar came back at the weekend she would have no luck
here. She grabbed up the bicycle and headed away.

Going downhill was a lot pleasanter than going up, except
for the odd stray dog or cat wandering into Clara’s path, which caused frantic
braking and swerving. Remarkably Clara avoided crashing all the way down into
the town, there the ground evened out and she had to go back to pedalling. She
quietly coasted to a stop outside the police station, feeling she had more than
made up for her disastrous experience during cycling proficiency class.

Clara wheeled the bicycle through the front doors and
greeted the sergeant behind the desk.

“I’m returning this to one of your constables.”

“That would be Stan.” The sergeant observed the bike
morosely, “He felt right queer riding back in that hearse.”

“But he made it safely?”

“He did.”

“Good, could I talk to the inspector please?”

The sergeant gave her another strange look, the sort
reserved for people of dubious character, and hopped off up the stairs to see
the inspector. He was back in a moment to tell Clara she could see the
inspector at once. Clara leaned the bicycle against the front desk, gave the
sergeant a bright smile and hurried upstairs.

Jennings was haphazardly typing a draft report on the
case when Clara entered his office.

“The lab won’t have any results until the morning, the
coroner will be even longer.” He said rather shortly.

“Well that is disappointing, fortunately that is not why
I came.”

Jennings peered at her.

“Should I be excited or dismayed?”

“I don’t know.” Clara helped herself to a chair, “It is
rather curious, it seems Shirley paid a call on Reverend Draper at his home on
Saturday evening.”

“He told you this?”

“No, he is out of the parish. But one of his neighbours
saw her go up.”

Jennings leaned back in his chair.

“I suppose no reason she shouldn’t go to a vicar like
anyone else for spiritual guidance and comfort.”

“Perhaps, but I think you should know a bit more about
the illustrious Draper.”

Jennings eyes twinkled.

“Go on.”

Clara removed the paper with Mrs Patterson’s address from
her purse and laid it on the table.

“If this station doesn’t have something on this woman I
would be surprised. She is running an abortion clinic, if you can call it that,
and the good reverend is helping her.”

Jennings whistled through his teeth, he stared at the
slip of paper.

“Are you certain?”

“I have an impeccable witness. Even if I did not, his
neighbour confirmed it. She, in fact, gave me the address.”

“What is the reverend doing caught up in this business?”

“At my kindest I would suggest he is doing it out of a
warped sense of Christian charity, at my worst I would suggest he was nothing
more than a sleazy profiteer. He charges the girls for referring them to Mrs
Patterson, of course.”

“Right here, under our noses.” The inspector shook his
head, “Hold on a moment.”

He went to his door and bellowed for the desk sergeant to
come up. When the policeman appeared he looked deeply uncomfortable. Clara
wondered if he thought he was in trouble.

“Sergeant, is there a file on a woman called Mrs
Patterson?”

The sergeant gave a little jerk of surprise.

“Yes sir.” He went to the filing cabinet in the room and
started flicking through folders, “We’ve been keeping tabs on her for a while.”

He found the file and handed it over.

“What for?” Jennings asked as he took the file.

“Well…” The sergeant’s eyes fell on Clara.

“Please don’t be shy on my account.” Clara said sweetly,
“You would be amazed at the awful things I have heard.”

“Come on sergeant.” Jennings pestered.

“I only know odd bits, but we believe she is running a
house of dubious activities.”

“Namely?”

The sergeant glanced at Clara again and shuffled
uncomfortably.

“Abortions, sir. Nothing we can pin on her, no girls have
come forward. We think they aren’t locals anyhow, so they go home after it’s
all done and we never hear no more. Besides, they won’t talk about it, sir.”

“No, they won’t.” Jennings was thumbing through the file,
“She has never been arrested?”

“We’ve never even got close to it. She is very secretive.
We’ve raided her once or twice but haven’t found anything. She has an
accomplice, an unknown man.”

Jennings gave Clara a significant look.

“You have nothing on him?”

“He drops the girls off, but we’ve never seen his face.
They always do things at night. Besides, there just ain’t enough of us to keep
a watch all the time.”

“All right sergeant, thank you for explaining that. You
can go back to your desk now.” Jennings shuffled the folder back together as
the sergeant left, “Who told you Clara?”

“I would rather keep that private.” Clara was already
feeling a little over her head, breaking Susan’s confidence was the last thing
she needed. Murder, an illegal abortion clinic and the suspicious demise of
Eustace – it was all getting out of hand.

“How does a vicar get embroiled in something like this?”
Jennings was leaning back in his chair again, wondering if it was time for
another cigarette, “It’s not their usual territory.”

“It strikes me Reverend Draper is not the usual sort of
vicar. Did you know he spends most of the week in London, only returning here
to hold services? That is extremely odd.”

Jennings nodded.

“I wonder where he goes in London?”

“What troubles me most is why Shirley was heading towards
the rectory. Why was she going to see him? We know she didn’t need to arrange
an abortion and I hope you are agreed that on further evidence it is unlikely she
was heading for spiritual purposes.”

“What does that leave?”

“I don’t know.” Clara sighed, “You will do something
about the vicar and this Mrs Patterson, won’t you? Who knows how many girls
they have killed with their ‘help’!”

“Leave it with me Miss Fitzgerald, I’ll see if I can
track down our elusive reverend in London. Then we can start thinking about
what we are going to do with Mrs Patterson.”

“That just leaves Eustace to consider.”

“Old men die.” Jennings heaved his shoulders in a shrug,
“Sad, but true.”

“I think Eustace was murdered, but I see you will need
more than my suspicions before agreeing with me.”

“Miss Fitzgerald, you once more read me astutely.
However, the very fact I am having those tests done at all should indicate to
you, how seriously I take your suspicions.”