Day of Vengeance: Dorothy Martin investigates murder in the cathedral (A Dorothy Martin Mystery) (17 page)

‘The other faction – the Brading supporters – claimed to be appalled by the argument. By the time they finished arguing their case, Brading was equipped with a halo and wings and was well on his way to canonization.’

‘I didn’t think Anglicans canonized people.’

‘They’re prepared to make an exception. There was a good deal of not-so-subtle finger-pointing, as well.’ He finished his beer.

‘Finger-pointing? At whom?’

‘At me, of course. “Where are the police? Why has no one been arrested for this heinous murder?” Never mind that I have been retired for a good many years and have nothing, officially, to do with the investigation.’

‘Oh, honestly! That’s just plain mean! They know perfectly well that you’re in no position to investigate.’

‘It was all politics, love. Grandstanding. But unpleasant enough. Who wants another?’

‘Mine this time.’ Jonathan got to his feet with only a bit of stiffness. Time was when he couldn’t walk without a cane. I was proud of his hard, painful work toward recovery.

‘So, are they going to postpone the process?’

‘I don’t know. They were getting ready to vote on it when you called me away. I gave Kenneth my proxy and escaped.’

‘How did you vote?’

‘In favour of postponement. That’ll take some sort of special dispensation from Canterbury, to let Bishop Hardie stay on past his seventieth birthday. But I can’t see how anyone can seriously evaluate the other candidates until Brading’s murder has been solved. And now, Jonathan, you tell me we may be down to two candidates!’

‘I’m afraid so. It looks very much as though young Walter was quite right about Lovelace cooking the books. We can’t prove it until we find Lovelace, and the accounts, but flight is pretty good evidence of guilt.’

‘And meanwhile,’ I said, ‘what about Walter? Everyone’s looking high and low for him, and that sweet child he’s going to marry is half out of her wits with worry. Where is he? What’s happened to him?’

‘The one good thing about Lovelace’s apparent disappearing act,’ Alan pointed out, ‘is that now Jonathan and I have enough to ginger up the Met. The “everyone” looking for him really amounts to a few concerned people and what police could be spared. Put the entire Metropolitan Police Force on the job, and he’ll be found. Has either of you come up with any leads?’

‘I have not,’ said Jonathan. ‘I do have a number of leads as to where Lovelace might have headed, and it’s not impossible to suppose that Walter is with him. I’m sorry to have to say it, but if Lovelace caught him snooping, it’s more than likely that he’d have tried to find a way to shut him up. I’m loath to suppose the worst of the man. I think he’s a snake-oil salesman of the very highest degree, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. So I think he’d have tried first to talk Walter out of his suspicions, and then, when that didn’t work, he’d have taken the boy with him.’

Despite my worry, I had to smile at Jonathan’s references to ‘young Walter’ and ‘the boy’. The age difference between them couldn’t be much more than five or six years. But then Jonathan’s had some hard knocks in his life, and that ages a person.

‘I do have one thin lead. That’s why I called you earlier, Jonathan.’ I told them about the country house. ‘It isn’t very likely at all, and I do realize that, but I had to pass it along.’

‘It’s possible, though,’ said Alan. ‘I agree that if Lovelace caught Walter, he’d have abducted him. But if Walter got out of the church safely, with incontrovertible evidence, he’d hardly have wanted to go home, for fear of endangering Sue.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ I said eagerly. ‘And listen, Alan! That “incontrovertible evidence” might even be the account books themselves! Walter might have them!’

Both Alan and Jonathan turned on me looks so grim my mouth dropped open. ‘What? What did I say?’

‘You just gave Lovelace an excellent reason to abduct Walter, or hunt him down,’ said Jonathan. ‘And if he finds the boy, with the incriminating evidence, then I might have to change my mind about his willingness to do murder.’

‘I think,’ said Alan, ‘that house in Kent is sounding more likely by the moment. Who else knows about it, besides Walter’s friend Ahmed?’

‘You’d have to ask him, but the visit happened some years ago, and I don’t think the friendship – if you can call it that – persisted. Even Sue was vague about the whole thing, and if she doesn’t know, I can’t think it’s likely anyone else would.’

‘Nevertheless, it’s possible. It’s amazing how much Londoners are interconnected. Jonathan, you know more people in the Met than I do. Can you get them genuinely involved in a search for Walter? I must get back to the commission meeting, if it’s still in session, and drop this bombshell.’

‘I’ll do that, and then shall I go to Ashhurst?’

‘If you will. You’d best ring them first. I must go! Dorothy, expect me when you see me.’

He gave me a quick kiss and was gone. I turned to Jonathan. ‘They don’t have a listed telephone number – not that I can find, anyway. The one on their website is just for tourists.’

‘Oh, it’s that sort of house, is it?’

‘More or less. Not exactly Blenheim, but quite old, very elaborate, extremely expensive to keep up, I’d have thought. Which means the family must be quite wealthy. They allow visitors only on summer Sundays, and that can’t bring in a lot of cash.’

‘No. But I’ll find a phone number for them. Police connections can come in handy. And speaking of police, I need to get to the chief straightaway. Would you care to share a taxi?’

‘I doubt you’ll find one. They’re not very thick on the ground hereabouts. I’ll gladly accept your escort to the Tube station, though. It’s not in the most salubrious of neighbourhoods.’

It was a fair walk. We used the time on our phones. I called Sue, gave her a brief run-down, and asked her to tell Jane I’d be there in half an hour or so to head for home. Jane called back almost immediately, to say she’d meet me at Victoria Station. ‘Platform eighteen, unless they’ve changed it.’

Jonathan called Scotland Yard. ‘My old chief is in,’ he said when he’d rung off, ‘and will see me as soon as I can get there. That’s good. I’d rather explain to him than anyone else. Meanwhile, I need to phone Sue for some basic information about Walter.’

All phone calls ceased, of course, once we were in the train, far under the streets. Our District Line train took us straight to Victoria, where Jonathan bid me a hasty farewell and I headed for old familiar platform eighteen.

‘How’s Sue?’ I asked Jane.

She shrugged. ‘What you’d expect. Trying to be brave.’

My next question was going to be ‘And how are
you
doing?’, but I left it unsaid. The set of her shoulders told me everything.

We didn’t talk much on the way home. The carriage was crowded and noisy, and what was there to say? I didn’t want to tell her about the missing cleric. Jane was no fool. She would draw the same conclusions we had, and she’d only worry more. Leave well enough alone. I did say, choosing my words in consideration of the people all around us, that Jonathan was following up on the suggestion that Sue had given us. She simply nodded and went on pretending to read the
Evening Standard
she’d been given at the station.

It was a great relief to get out of that strained atmosphere and into my own home, where the cats each opened one eye, stretched, and went back to sleep again. Margaret must have fed them. Watson wasn’t around, so she was probably taking him for a walk. Dear Margaret!

I was far too tired to do anything much about dinner. Anyway, I didn’t know when Alan would be home. I peered in the fridge. There was that bit of leftover pot roast. It wasn’t enough by itself, but I could make it into a curry or a casserole or something. Meanwhile, it had been a frustrating and exhausting day, and I was more than ready for my belated nap.

I was awakened by a wet kiss. A very wet kiss. I opened my eyes to see a black nose near mine, and a pink tongue ready for another swipe. I sat up. ‘Watson, your teeth need cleaning. Your breath could fell an elephant.’

Alan lifted him off the bed and gave my face a swipe or two with a damp washcloth before offering me a kiss of his own. ‘Any better?’

‘Much better. We’ve got to start feeding that dog some of those biscuits that are supposed to keep his teeth clean. What’s the latest news?’

‘The police are on the lookout for Walter, Jonathan’s headed for Ashhurst, and I’m ready for a bit of relaxation and food. Your bourbon is poured and ready, and dinner is warming in the oven.’

‘Bless you! Take-away?’

He nodded. ‘Lasagne from Azzurro. We’ve wanted to try it, so I hopped out at London Bridge and got some. Some “pane all’ something-or-other”, too, for a starter.’

‘It smells wonderful, and you’re an angel. Oh, my, Alan, life does look brighter when you’re around!’

That earned me a more prolonged kiss, until Watson, jealous, jumped back up on the bed and wriggled between us. ‘All right, all right, dog. Get down. I’ll give you a treat.’

Over a delicious bread-and-cheese concoction and a libation, Alan told me about the rest of his day.

‘They were still meeting, as you will have gathered, and still arguing about whether to postpone further proceedings. When the chairman asked if there was any further discussion, profoundly hoping, I was sure, that there was none, I stood and made myself most unpopular.’

‘And dropped your bomb.’

‘I did. I’m ashamed to say that I rather enjoyed it. The looks on the faces of the Lovelace supporters were priceless! They didn’t believe me at first, of course, but when I cited chapter and verse, and added that the Metropolitan Police were now searching for both Mr Lovelace and Mr Tubbs, they had to believe there was something in it. Of course, it threw the whole selection matter into confusion. The vote came very quickly after that. They decided that we could hardly proceed with only two candidates, and would have to adjourn until a more propitious time.’

‘I suppose that means we’re stuck with Bishop Hardie for the duration.’

‘For a while, at least. The Archbishop will have to make the exception official, but it was obvious that he would do that as soon as possible. He’s also going to notify Hardie of the distressing circumstances.’

‘Poor old man! He was so looking forward to retirement.’

‘Old man indeed! I’ll remind you, woman, that he’s just about our age.’

‘Oh. Well … but he
is
old!’

Alan roared at that. ‘Some are born old,’ he said, and I instantly followed up with, ‘Some achieve oldness, and some have oldness thrust upon them.’

‘Thank you, Will. More or less.’

‘Shakespeare has a quote for every occasion, doesn’t he? I think you’re right about Hardie, though. He was born old. He belongs back in the last century, or the one before that, when bishops just sat around wearing their mitres and looking pontifical. Nowadays, we need them to be active leaders.’

‘I would remind you, my dear, that most of the English population don’t feel the need for bishops at all, or for the Church, for that matter. Except perhaps for weddings and funerals.’

‘And christenings. Hatched, matched, and dispatched. And a lot of them don’t bother with christenings, get married by a registrar, if at all, and leave this earth with the blessing of a crematory official. Ah, well, we think they’re wrong about that. The Church holds the nation together. Where would we all be without the Abbey for royal occasions like weddings and coronations? Can you imagine Prince Harry and his bride-to-be, whoever she may be, rolling up in their gold coaches to a registry office? Come on, that lasagne’s calling me.’

Later, as we had settled ourselves in bed more or less comfortably around Watson, who insists on taking his half out of the middle, Alan said, ‘You realize we are now free to concentrate on who killed Brading.’

‘And finding Walter,’ I reminded him.

My only answer was a snore, from both of them.

I
woke early the next morning, not quite sure why I had a sense of contentment. Certainly there were worries enough to weigh on my mind. Then I consciously smelled the coffee and the bacon and understood. My incomparable husband was cooking breakfast, and, for the moment, troubles were in abeyance. Watson bounded into the room, presumably sent to waken me. I put my feet on the floor before he could jump up, ruffled his beautifully feathered ears, and gave him a pat. ‘Tell Papa I’m on my way.’

Not bothering to dress, I went down to the kitchen, where Alan thrust a mug of coffee into my hand and forbore to talk until I’d downed half of it.

‘Oh, my, that’s good,’ I said, when my brain was more or less functioning. ‘And it’s a beautiful day.’

‘It is that. I’ve been making plans.’ He set plates of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table, along with hot buttered toast. I’ve taught him American ways in that respect, at least. Immediately, both cats materialized beside us, lured by that irresistible smell. Watson, of course, had been there all along. There was a certain amount of jostling for position, which I ignored for the time being. ‘What kind of plans?’

‘I thought we ought to visit Chelton for a day or two. I’d like to get to know some of Brading’s parishioners.’

‘I thought you told me that cathedral wasn’t a parish church.’

‘It isn’t, officially, but you know what I mean. The people he serves. Served. And if I can find a pleasant B and B, perhaps we can take along the d-o-g.’

That took Watson’s attention away from the bacon, momentarily. He knows that word, even spelled out. His bright eyes searched both our faces for a clue to what we were saying about him.

‘You are a dreadful nuisance, do you know that?’ I told him severely, handing down a piece of bacon. Alan did the same for the cats, which kept all of them busy for at least ten seconds. ‘Do you think one of his flock did him in, then?’

‘I don’t think anything at the moment, except that we – and I include the official police – have so far come up with absolutely no suspects, except possibly Lovelace, if he wanted the bishopric badly enough to kill for it.’

‘If he did, he’s certainly shot himself in the foot now. He’ll be lucky to find a parish in Puddleby-in-the Marsh.’