Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (3 page)

‘Or one of their parents . . .’

‘Or a local madman, for that matter. We have no leads. You’ll talk to the boy; and his dreadful mother, of course. Did you ever get round to meeting the victim?’

‘I didn’t like him at all, Geordie, I must confess. Even the dean said he was a “perfect menace”. Although I wouldn’t put
him
down as a murderer.’

‘All this religion has a lot to answer for.’

Sidney tried to explain the difference between good and bad religion; that it wasn’t the fault of any individual belief system but misunderstandings by their followers. Even if people fall short of their ideals, it is still better to have them than not.

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Keating. ‘Wouldn’t it be preferable to have no religion at all?’

*    *    *

The next morning Sidney attended a meeting of the Cathedral Chapter in the Lady Chapel. Items on the agenda concerned the maintenance of gravestones in diocesan churchyards, a review of parish tithes for the financial year 1967/1968, forthcoming missionary work in Nigeria, and a discussion of the Church’s attitude to homosexuality in the light of the recent Sexual Offences Act.

Despite the importance of the issues, his attention was unsurprisingly diverted to the carved figurines that decorated the chapel. One hundred and forty-seven statues had been mutilated, vandalised and indeed decapitated by the puritan reformers in the sixteenth century. It was the worst of violent religion, the smashing of images, the stripping of the altars. The stained glass had been destroyed, the walls whitewashed, all colour and imagery removed. A building intended to represent God’s green garden had been razed by fire. This was a living embodiment of religious zealotry.

Had someone approached Pascoe with similar fury? Perhaps the motivation for his murder could have been religious after all?

Sidney thought of the saints, martyrs and other victims of decapitation: John the Baptist, St Alban, the first English Christian martyr, St George and Thomas More. He prayed for them all. He even prayed for Fraser Pascoe.

Then he called in to see Mrs Wilkinson. She was wearing some kind of day-gown and although her make-up was incomplete she still looked vulnerably attractive. Ever since his wife and friends had warned him how compromising the woman might be, he had found himself thinking more and more about her. Sidney told himself to concentrate.

‘I was afraid something like this would happen,’ she said. ‘It’s dreadful.’

‘Have you seen Danny?’

‘I went to the farm but there were police everywhere. My son still won’t talk to me so I wrote him a little card and included some money to help him along. One of the girls said they would take it to him. I am doing my best.’

‘I’m sure you are.’

‘Do the police have any clues as to who might have done such a thing?’

‘There’s nothing they are prepared to say publicly.’

‘And will you involve yourself? I know you are friends with the inspector.’

‘I have come to ask if there is anything I can do.’

‘I am not sure that is the only reason for your visit. You have come to ask me questions.’

‘And I have asked one,’ Sidney replied carefully before repeating himself. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘You can get my son out of there.’

‘I have tried. But now the situation has changed. The police will want to keep them all on site during the investigation. Danny will be a suspect along with the others.’

‘They all worshipped that man. Why would they kill him?’

‘Why would anyone? That’s what the police need to find out.’

‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me that I might be a suspect?’

‘That is a possibility . . .’

‘Even though I am “a weak and feeble woman”?’

‘You never spoke to Fraser Pascoe yourself?’

‘Not recently. Not at all.’

Sidney remembered something the man had said. ‘Didn’t he offer you “a way of rest”?’

‘He made a pass at me, if that’s what you mean.’

‘He claimed they were a celibate community.’

‘That is nonsense in his case, Mr Archdeacon, and he made it perfectly obvious. I am quite used to men making propositions, as I am sure you can imagine.’

‘I can.’

‘In fact, I’m sometimes surprised when they don’t. People are never very subtle about it.’

‘And you refused him?’

‘Of course I did. What kind of woman do you think I am?’

‘Your son . . .’

‘What has he said about me?’

‘I think . . .’ Sidney hesitated. It was too soon to discuss what he had heard of Barbara’s life as a swinger. In any case, it was probably better to give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘I imagine Danny wants some time away from his parents. It’s a process of discovery. I’m sure you know that this is common in adolescence.’

‘But a mother’s love never stops. I am still responsible for him.’

‘I think Danny wants you to let go.’

‘I can’t. He may be in danger.’

‘Is there anything you know that you’re not telling me, Mrs Wilkinson?’

‘Call me Barbara, please. I hate this formality.’

‘Go on . . .’

‘Fraser Pascoe may be dead but I don’t think the trouble is over. It’s my feminine intuition; something I can’t quite explain.
Haven’t you felt something similar, Sidney? It makes me shiver. That place is evil; evil masquerading as love. I am convinced that we haven’t seen the last of all this, that there are terrors still to come.’

Sidney returned to the Family of Love. The weather was appropriately sombre, with low and heavy skies, slanting rain and a biting wind that seemed to be blowing hard at him.

Inspector Keating asked Danny Wilkinson about Pascoe’s background. The cult leader had experimented with alternative medicine, learned Transcendental Meditation in San Francisco, studied under a guru in India, and returned to his home country to teach others what he called ‘the way of all knowledge’. His plan had been to let the mind run freely – ‘jazz thinking’ he called it – in order to find the underlying harmony of all religions and link human consciousness to the beginning of creation. Once a moment of eternal union had been achieved then his adherents could be filled with inner light and find themselves at one with the cosmos.

Geordie pretended to find this appealing but, as soon as they had time alone, he asked Sidney how anyone could ever believe in ‘such utter crap’. They then began to interview the residents.

There was Roger Nelson, a burly young man with a forward stoop as a result of a rugby injury at school; Kevin Jenkins, a boy who’d had rickets as a child and whose father still blamed him for failing his eleven-plus; Sam Swinton, who had the requisite air of sullen silence that suited the most obvious suspect; Tom Raven, the boy in the white shirt who appeared remarkably unconcerned, as if recent events had nothing to do with
him; and two women, Bea Selby and Rachel Sladen, who claimed that they had been in bed with what they thought was an out-of-body experience but turned out to be flu.

That left Danny Wilkinson, who swore that, at the time of Pascoe’s death, they had been drinking from the loving cup before resting in a state of trance.

‘And does that cup have any ingredients that the police might consider illegal?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Keating snapped.

‘Tell me, Danny,’ Sidney resumed, ‘do you plan to stay here? It will be very different now.’

‘I have nowhere else to go, man.’

‘Your father and mother . . .’

‘I said I have nowhere else.’

‘But you no longer have your leader . . .’

‘Your Church follows a dead man,’ Danny Wilkinson concluded. ‘Here we are living a life of peace and beauty. That’s all there is. All that matters. What we’re waiting for.’

By the time the questioning had been completed, Keating was unimpressed. ‘Peace and beauty, my arse. That’s got to be one of the least tranquil places on earth. They’re all terrified. I don’t believe a word any of them say. I presume you’re going to keep helping me with all this? It probably means seeing a bit more of the boy’s mother, but you won’t mind that.’

Sidney was part of a working party to discuss the Church of England’s attitude to ‘modern morality’, during which everyone spent a great deal of time trying to find the right level of informed tolerance over matters such as sex before marriage,
divorce, homosexuality and abortion. After several protracted sessions in dim Westminster basements with lukewarm coffee and stale biscuits, he needed cheering up.

Tubby Hayes was headlining at Johnny’s club in Soho. This meant that Sidney could see one of his favourite sax players and question his brother-in-law about the status of his marriage at the same time.

The band was playing ‘Finky Minky’. Sidney ordered a tomato juice and thought through his approach. He would begin by asking about the main matter in hand, not least because Johnny had been present when Barbara Wilkinson had first arrived to discuss her fears about the farm.

‘I don’t know what it is with those places,’ Johnny began. ‘They give me the creeps.’

‘I think it’s an attempt to opt out of boredom and pursue something other than the norm. I suppose jazz started like that. As did the Church.’

‘You just have to stay true, Sidney: no gimmicks. I hate it when vicars get the guitars out.’

‘I am not wild about that either, I must say. It’s all part of our appeal to “the youth of today” people keep writing about.’

‘Those campfire Christians always look like people who are too scared to have sex.’

‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. Perhaps they are just waiting for the right moment.’

‘That’s what Christianity’s all about, isn’t it: deferred gratification? Waiting for the return of Jesus, hoping for revelation. You’d think they might want to hurry things along a bit.’

‘Some of them do. This cult I was telling you about. They have a “loving cup”.’

‘You think it might be spiked?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And you want me to put out a few feelers? It’ll be a local dealer.’

‘Just the odd discreet word might be helpful.’

Johnny pointed to the band as they swung into ‘Mexican Green’ at the start of the second set. ‘Tubby is no stranger on the scene. Blossom knows people too, but she doesn’t get involved.’

‘The singer?’

‘She’s become a regular here. Everyone loves her.’

‘Jen was saying.’

‘She’s worried we’re having an affair.’

‘And are you?’ Sidney was surprised by his own boldness.

‘So that’s why you’re here.’

‘Not entirely . . .’

‘Blossom’s much older than me and she’s not a woman you mess with. I’ve told Jen there’s nothing going on, but she’s suspicious.’

‘Is your artiste married?’

‘Not any more. But I’m telling you, Sidney, there’s nothing going on. You can meet her if you like. Then you’ll see.’

‘I suppose the late nights can’t have helped.’

‘This is a jazz club, Sidney. What am I supposed to do? Leave after the first set and tuck up early? Come on, let me get you a proper drink.’

As the band launched into ‘Off the Wagon’ and Sidney accepted the addition of vodka to his tomato juice, he had to admit that his resistance to temptation was not always as good as it should have been.

*    *    *

Barbara Wilkinson’s former husband, Mike, was a strict but efficient Scottish dentist who was keen to instruct his new patient on the importance of ‘a confident mouth’.

‘So much goes into it, Mr Archdeacon: food, air, bacteria. It has to be your front line of defence. All manner of things can unsettle, invade and then fester. Your gums have been open to attack for far too long. In fact, your teeth are failing so fast it’s like the Battle of Bannockburn in there.’

Sidney had not seen a dentist for almost ten years and now remembered why. Mike Wilkinson had a similarly poor attendance record at Sunday services. ‘I went to church once too bloody often,’ he volunteered, referring no doubt to his marriage.

Sidney’s inability to keep to proper standards of oral hygiene meant that he was now in need of a crown, three fillings and some root-canal treatment, not to mention the fact that it was likely he would soon have to have his wisdom teeth extracted.

‘Do you have to knock me out for that?’

‘Not completely,’ Mike Wilkinson explained. ‘It depends on how complicated it is. Some patients do prefer hospital but we can call in an anaesthetist. We do have everything to hand.’

‘Gas and air?’

‘Yes. Sedation too. We try to make sure people hardly notice they’ve been here.’

‘That’s not a story I’ve often heard told.’

‘I shouldn’t worry too much, Mr Archdeacon, although we will have to see you quite a few times. However, one of the side effects of diazepam is amnesia, so you may well forget how many.’

Sidney was not at ease. He worried about the misuse of dentistry. Could, for example, a murderous dentist get away with a
slow-acting poison inserted into the body of a filling that might not kill until days or weeks afterwards? How easy would that be to detect?

He lay back in the chair and wondered why he was thinking like this. Who else would imagine that their dentist was a potential murderer?

As he was waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect, Sidney mentioned that he had seen Mike’s son Danny just before Fraser Pascoe’s death.

‘A ghastly business. I was in London at a meeting of the British Endodontic Society at the time. We meet to exchange ideas on all aspects of pulp and root-canal treatment. Dr Angelo Sargenti was giving a paper on the use of N2. Barbara tracked me down and told me.’

‘So you do speak to each other?’

‘Not if we can help it. But when it concerns our son, we have to. Hopefully that’ll put an end to it all. They can’t go on without their leader.’

‘I think they’re going to try. The plan is to live outside the capitalist system.’

‘Then Danny should move to Moscow.’

‘I’m not sure that’s practical.’

‘It’s no more difficult than living without heat or money in a draughty old barn with a collection of messed-up lunatics.’

‘I suppose if you put it like that . . .’