03 - Murder in Mink (24 page)

Jennings was eyeing Clara, trying to keep a smile off his
face.

“Thank you Mrs Patterson.” Clara said, “That helps
considerably.”

“Perhaps you could say that to the judge.” Mrs Patterson
piped up hopefully.

Clara met her eyes, her expression implacable, her temper
barely checked.

“I don’t think so Mrs Patterson.” She said coldly, “It’s
too late to ask me for help.”

It was over a week before any more could be done.
Reverend Draper had apparently vanished, no sign of him could be found in
London and his rectory remained empty and quiet. Clara passed the time uneasily
at the Campbell house. She was itching to get back to Brighton and to her usual
work. The Campbells were morose now, hardly talking to one another. Clara felt
like the person who had brought this curse upon them. Not to mention her exposure
of Peg’s poisonous intentions, which were enough to make her very careful of
everything she ate and drank.

Inspector Jennings set the young constable to monitor the
rectory and report the return of the vicar. Clara came to know the time he
cycled up the hill towards the house each morning and would wait by the gate to
ask him for any news. She repeated the process in the early evening as he
cycled home. Three long days of this dull waiting with only a negative response
was very trying on her nerves and she began to wonder if Reverend Draper had
proved more canny than they thought and had fled the country.

Then Saturday came and the constable cycled down the hill
rather fast just after lunch as though he was pursued by the Devil himself.
Clara spotted him out of a window and turned to Tommy.

“He’s back. Quickly!”

They hurried up the hill, they could hardly expect to
make it much before the police, for Inspector Jennings had a car that he could
use for important business, and catching Reverend Draper at home seemed pretty
important. Even so Clara was determined to be there first. She puffed up the
hill pushing Tommy’s wheelchair.

“He can’t know what we have been about.” Tommy spoke
excitedly, “Else he would not have been fool enough to come back. Oh Clara, just
supposing, just supposing..?”

Clara couldn’t answer him due to her exertions, but she
was equally eager. Since her conversation with Mrs Patterson several facts had
played on her mind and had brought her into deep consternation concerning the
good vicar. In particular she was playing out Reverend Draper’s words in her
mind “I never expected that. To see her walk in like that!” Oh at the time it
had made such simple sense to assume he was referring abstractedly to the
ruined wedding but what he had really meant was that he had recognised Shirley
Cox, his one-time mistress! The shock Clara had perceived in him that day and
nothing to do with the interruption of a sacred ceremony and everything to do
with Draper seeing his ex-mistress standing in his church!

Clara grimaced up the last leg of the hill, she was just
reaching the gate of the rectory when they both heard the roar of an engine.
Jennings was coming full of questions no doubt. Clara brought the wheelchair to
a stop and leaned with exhaustion against the rectory wall. She had to catch
her breath before Jennings arrived, but there was the car already sweeping
around the corner.

Jennings pulled up on the opposite side of the road and
jumped out eagerly. The sergeant and constable were with him and tumbled out
the car.

“I thought I was the first to know?” Jennings said,
mildly amused to see an out-of-breath Clara leaning against a suspect’s front
wall.

“I spotted the constable riding downhill.” Clara muttered
in-between gasps.

“And you came to one of your usual, spot-on, conclusions.
Well, are you ready to meet the man himself?”

Clara gave her assent and Jennings led the way to the
door. The constable and sergeant flanked him, Clara and Tommy were just behind.
Jennings rang the bell by the side of the door and they all stood waiting
impatiently. Everyone seemed nervous and twitchy, as if something horrible
might at any second erupt from the door. Clara reflected it was somewhat of a
disappointment instead to see a humble-looking vicar open the door in carpet
slippers.

“Hello?” Draper asked curiously.

“Inspector Jennings, might I come in and speak with you a
moment?”

Draper glanced at the small crowd on his doorstep.

“I suppose.” He said, more bemused than worried.

Jennings stepped into the house and Clara followed, but
when she tried to help Tommy in the inspector stopped her.

“Just you, Miss Fitzgerald. You’re the one I have an
agreement with.”

Clara glanced at Tommy, but he just gave a shrug.

“Best I stick here and make sure he doesn’t leave.” He
grinned.

Clara gave him an apologetic look and followed Jennings
indoors. The front door was left ajar so the constable and sergeant outside
could be aware of anyone trying to leave unexpectedly. Clara followed Jennings
through the tidy, but rather barren, rectory, he, in turn, behind Draper. They
entered a small front room where a fire had just been started in the grate to
try and take the dampness out of the air. Draper pointed to a pair of chairs
one side of the hearth and then took a seat opposite. He studied them with
benign, grey eyes.

Reverend Draper was a compact man, without his clerical
clothes he looked like a clerk or some similar very ordinary person. He had a
weak smile and watery eyes, his hair was thinning on top and receding at the
temples, emphasising rather prominent ears. But all in all Clara felt it seemed
an honest enough face, and that of course was the real danger. Draper did not
give the impression of a man embroiled in a nefarious life of mistresses and
illegal abortions, he seemed a perfectly studious and non-threatening vicar.

“Sorry to disturb you reverend, but we have been needing
to speak with you. I believe you have been away in London?” Jennings began.

Reverend Draper smiled politely.

“That’s right.”

“You have only just returned?”

“About an hour ago. I came from the opposite road to
avoid going through town.” Draper persisted with his wincing smile, “As a
vicar, one gets waylaid a lot, so one tries to avoid town if possible.”

“That is quite all right reverend, I was merely curious
if you could tell us anything about the girl who died here last week? You may
recall her name was Shirley Cox?”

Draper gave a little shrug.

“We have a witness who saw her pay a call here on the
night of her death. As far as we are aware that is the last time she was seen
alive. Perhaps you could help us by explaining why she came to you?”

“No one came to me.” Draper smiled blithely, “Would you
care for a cup of tea?”

“Reverend, you don’t appear to grasp the seriousness of
this.” Jennings continued, “We know she came here. We know that you know
Shirley Cox. Mrs Patterson has told us everything.”

“Who?” Draper asked without blinking.

“Mrs Patterson has explained her working relationship
with you and has told us how you came to know Shirley Cox.”

Draper gently shook his head.

“I can’t say I know this Mrs Patterson. She doesn’t sound
like a regular at the church. I’m afraid she must be mistaken.”

Jennings contained the sigh that threatened to escape his
lips. He didn’t look at Clara but he knew she was thinking what he was. What
evidence did they have of the connection between Draper and Shirley? The
confession of a woman who conducted abortions? What jury would believe that
over the word of a vicar?

Jennings decided to make himself comfortable, since this
was going to be a long job, and settled back in his chair.

“Let’s start again, tell me about last Saturday, every
detail you can remember…”

Outside Tommy watched a pigeon flutter onto the road and
peck jerkily at the ground.

“What does Inspector Jennings want with a vicar?” The
constable was asking.

“I imagine he is a witness to something. He was there at
the wedding, right.” The sergeant answered him.

“I thought we were going for that Andrew Campbell on that
one?”

“No evidence. I mean, he probably did it, but we can’t
prove it can we?”

“Oh, but maybe the vicar can?”

“This is the joy of police work, constable. Repeatedly
banging your head against a brick wall.”

Tommy smirked to himself. They were silent a moment, then
the constable started again.

“I thought it was funny being posted here. Just staring
at this house.”

“That is another joy of police work. Waiting.”

“I mean, the lady down the road kept on watching me and
this morning she asked me to help with her washing line which had snapped. That
was all right, wasn’t it sergeant? I’m supposed to help people?”

The sergeant pursed his lips.

“You were supposed to be watching this house.”

“Yes, but the line snapped and all her washing had fallen
down, and she couldn’t reach up to re-tie the line. I was only gone a few
minutes, I was hardly expecting him to turn up after three days of watching for
nothing. Certainly not in a car.”

“What did you say?” Tommy interrupted.

“I was hardly expecting him to come.” The constable
dutifully repeated.

“No, the other part, about the car. The reverend arrived
in a car?”

“From the wrong direction too. I was expecting him to
come up the hill, instead he came from the other road. No one mentioned that.”

“You have to be alert to such possibilities.” The
sergeant commented with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, it all took me by surprise.”

“What became of the car?” Tommy pressed.

The constable looked at him perplexed then pointed to a
workshop structure at the back of the house.

“Push me over there constable.” Tommy insisted.

The constable looked to his sergeant for what to do, his
sergeant gave a vague nod and so Tommy was pushed to the workshop doors. He
tried them. Locked.

“I need you to break open this door constable.”

“I can’t do that.” The poor constable was having memories
of being press-ganged into a hearse by Clara. It seemed all the Fitzgeralds
were adept at getting him into trouble.

Tommy had his fingers in the crack of the door and was
trying to lever them open.

“Constable, vital clues could be inside here. You must
open it!”

The constable shuffled his feet. He tried the doors
rather half-heartedly to see if they were really locked. They were. He looked
at the lock for a bit, poked at it with a pencil from his pocket.

“Constable, find a lever of some sort.” Tommy instructed.

The police constable flapped his arms at him.

“This is breaking and entering!”

“Can you pick locks?”

“No!”

“Then do as I say and find a lever. I want to see this
car.”

The constable huffed and hesitated. He paced back and
forth, gave the door a little nudge with his foot just in case. But nothing was
working. Tommy was glaring at him with the sort of look Clara had perfected for
neglectful tradesmen. The constable felt stuck, he turned back to his sergeant,
but he was annoyed with him for having left his post to help with a washing
line and wasn’t taking any notice. Supposing this car was important? Should the
constable really ignore it? Would it not redeem him for his earlier failings?
With another sigh the constable made a decision and picked up a sturdy piece of
wood from the pile of lumber beside the workshop. He wedged the narrow end in
the gap of the door and gave a tentative push. The door resisted him admirably.

“You would be better off with that.” Tommy was pointing
to a forgotten gardening trowel sitting upright in a flowerbed where it had
once been left.

The constable picked it up and stared at it as if it were
a meteor from Mars.

“Try wedging that in the door and giving it a good jerk.”

Once again the constable gave Tommy an odd look, then he
did as he said. The end of the trowel slid into the gap of the doors easily
enough, the constable gave a tentative push on the other end.

“Harder.” Tommy commanded, one eye watching the door of
the house. The sergeant was watching them curiously, but from his angle he
couldn’t quite see the door operation.

The constable pushed at the trowel a little harder. Still
not enough. Tommy looked at him irritably, grabbed the trowel and wedged it in
around the height of the door lock, which was just above his shoulder height.
Then, half falling out of his chair, he pressed against it with all his might and
the door groaned. He pulled back then jerked forward again. His wheelchair spun
out beneath him at the same time the door popped open with a rattle and creak.

“Oi!” The sergeant was running forward.

“Get me in my chair.” Tommy snapped at the constable who
was standing indecisively between him and the sergeant. Abruptly he bent down
and hoisted Tommy into his wheelchair.

“What do you think you are doing?” The sergeant yelled as
he reached the workshop.

Tommy ignored him and left the constable to fend him off,
while he pushed at the wheels of his chair and made his way into the workshop.
The car was there all right, bright and shiny, new red and black paint, wheels
sparkling clean, leather interior smelling of saddle soap and polish. Tommy
peered over the side of the door, the soft roof was pulled back and it was easy
to see the entire interior of the car. It was clean and neat, very much like
the vicar’s house. Not even a road map cluttering the floor space or seat.
Tommy moved a folded travel rug, but there was nothing beneath it. If this was
the car Shirley Cox had been transported to Brooklands in, there was no sign of
it. Tommy felt he had hit a dead end. Here was the car, but any evidence was
gone.

“You can’t just go breaking open doors!” The sergeant was
yelling at his constable.

Tommy tried to block out the row. If I had a body to move
what would I do with it, he asked himself. Put it on the back seat, cover it
with the travel blanket, but there would still be a visible lump. Anyone could
see it, really. Anyone might notice. Tommy pulled back from the car.

Reverend Draper was a cautious man, he had spent years
keeping multiple mistresses secret, living two lives. Surely he was not fool
enough to travel around with a body in the back seat of his car. Even at
midnight you could stumble across someone…