The Mills of God (17 page)

‘It's the police. They arrived at nine o'clock just as I was eating my porridge. They asked me endless questions about poor Ceinwen. You see, I was the last person to see her alive.' Ivy made a muffled sound which vaguely resembled a sob. ‘They asked me to tell them everything. Had I gone into the house with her, had I noticed anybody hanging round. That kind of thing. They just went on and on. It really brought it all back so vividly.'

‘And did you go into her house?' Nick asked.

‘Certainly not. I dropped her at the front door and drove home. I live in The Maze, you know.'

‘No, I didn't actually.'

‘Oh, it's a private estate with such polite neighbours . . .' And Ivy was off extolling the virtues of living amongst the best people. Nick gave her a somewhat forced smile and turned away to go to the vestry.

He had changed the key long since and had given the new one to very few people, namely the churchwardens – though he had kept Richard Culpepper's until the man returned from his season in London – the organist, the leader of the choir and old Reverend Mills. Other members of the choir, who had previously held keys, were now excluded. Since that precaution had been taken there had been no sign at all of the sinister kneeling figure that had so frightened Nick when he had first arrived in Lakehurst. Now, he had just peeled off his robe, when there came a polite knock at the vestry door. He went to answer it and saw Inspector Tennant standing there.

‘Good afternoon, Inspector. How goes it?'

‘Better than it was, Vicar. We've identified some fibres that come from a coat or cloak. They were clinging to the wood with which you were clouted and ended up in your head. But taking a punt on the fact it was definitely a cloak you saw, have you got any such things here?'

‘Do you know, I'm not aware that we have. I've been here such a short time that I honestly haven't a clue.'

‘Do you mind if I take a look?'

‘No, carry on.'

The inspector threw open a cupboard door and gave an exclamation. ‘You've got a dozen or so at least.'

Nick felt vaguely uncomfortable as if he had been withholding information from the police.

‘I suppose they must be for when the choir go on outings.'

‘Clearly they're not used very often,' Tennant answered, and removed two or three from the cupboard and began to search them.

Nick again felt wrong-footed.

‘Can I help you?' he asked tentatively.

‘Certainly. We're looking for a tear – or at least an abrasion – on the shoulder.'

There were a dozen or so cloaks hanging in the cupboard, one or two with name tags sewn in. He felt very amateurish in comparison with Tennant who was zipping through the search at a rate of knots. But, as luck would have it, it was the vicar who found what they were looking for. A rather moth-eaten looking item with the name Turner written on a grubby white label. Nick thought rapidly but could come to no conclusion as to who Turner might be.

‘Is this what you're looking for?' he said to the inspector.

Tennant took the cloak from him and moved to the window to examine it.

‘This could very well be it,' he said. ‘Mind if I keep this.' He was going to anyway but thought it only polite to ask. ‘By the way, who is Turner?'

The vicar smiled and spread his hands. ‘You'll have to blame this on my newness of arrival again but frankly I haven't got a clue. None of the choir is called that as far as I know.'

Tennant looked thoughtful. ‘What would happen to the garment if a chorister left and somebody new took his or her place?'

‘Well, I'm sure it would be handed on to the new chorister. Provided it fitted, of course.'

‘I see. Would you mind making a few enquiries for me? Just ask Mrs Cox what the system is but don't say anything about the fact that we've found the cloak. If you could keep it casual and when you've got the answer give me a ring.' And he handed Nick a card.

‘I'll do my best. Now can I ask you a question?'

‘Certainly.'

‘Did the murderer leave a note at the scene of Ceinwen's murder?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I was going to call at the vicarage and ask you about it. Forensics have removed it from the wall and it's now in an evidence bag.'

‘What did it say?'

‘The usual thing. Number Four. Six to go. Never on Sunday. Potter and I have been somewhat mystified by this one.'

‘You don't think,' asked Nick, fingering his chin, ‘that it has anything to do with the fact that Ceinwen was a pagan?'

Tennant stared. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Just that. Never on Sunday could refer to the fact that she never attended church. She worshipped the Great Goddess of Earth – or something like that anyway.'

‘Good heavens, that could throw an entirely new light on things. Perhaps all of them refer to some religious law or other that the poor sods had inadvertently broken.'

Nick looked at him. ‘You don't think you could bring a copy of each saying round to the vicarage tonight after evensong?'

‘What time would that be?'

Nick tut-tutted. ‘I see you're not a churchgoer, Inspector.'

‘I'm afraid not. Christenings, weddings and funerals, that's me.'

‘In line with most of the rest of the population I fear.'

‘These are hard times, Nick,' was the only thing that Tennant could think of by way of making a reply.

‘They weren't so good in Christ's time either,' the vicar answered mildly.

Evensong was finished and Nick, changed into informal clothes, was preparing for a visit from Tennant when there was a knock at the vicarage door, somewhat earlier than he had anticipated. He went to answer it, quite looking forward to the challenge thrown down by those baffling clues, to see Sonia Tate standing on the doorstep.

‘May I come in?' she said, and stepped inside before he had a chance to answer. Making her way to the living room, she sat down without invitation. She looked up at him and smiled seductively.

‘Good evening, Father Nick,' she said, again with that slight emphasis on the word ‘father'.

‘How can I help you, Mrs Tate?' he answered in a clipped tone.

‘Well, you could fetch your diary and make a date to come and have dinner with me for a start.'

He felt a wave of anger. Why should he be harassed in his own home by some old bag trying to get off with him? But then his Christian spirit returned and he knew that he should try to be nice.

‘You may think me a wimp, Mrs Tate, but I am being extra careful since Ms Carruthers's murder. And, of course, since the recent attack on me. I don't go out at night any more. And I would advise you to be careful too. I mean you took a risk even coming to see me. It gets dark at six these days.'

She turned a face that had once been attractive towards him and batted her obvious pair of false eyelashes. ‘I'm not frightened of anything or anyone, Father Nick. It's just the way I'm made, I suppose. When I was younger I had quite a hard life. And as for the line of women who hate me, they'd be enough to scare the pants off anyone – except me.' She laughed merrily.

The vicar put on his most serious expression. ‘Despite your own personal feelings I still think you should be cautious, Mrs Tate.'

‘I've told you before – my name is Sonia. Have you got a glass of wine handy?'

Memories of a previous visit when he had offered her nothing came back.

‘Yes, of course. Or would you prefer gin and something?'

‘No thank you. A glass of red would do very nicely.'

Nick fetched the bottle, corkscrew and two glasses wondering all the time how he was going to get rid of her. Then he remembered that Tennant was going to call and hoped sincerely that it would be in the next fifteen minutes.

‘Thanks,' she said, as he handed her the glass. ‘Do you know I've been longing to speak to you in private for ages.'

‘Have you? What about?'

‘About Lakehurst. Do you know, I hate the place. It's full of beastly gossips who make up stories about one out of sheer spite.'

‘Is it? I can't say I've really noticed that.'

‘Well, you haven't been here long enough. But I can tell you now that the rumour mill is positively working overtime about you and Olivia Beauchamp.'

Nick stared at her in blank surprise. ‘Good heavens,' he said.

‘Yes. You should hear them at it. They're all talking about the eternal triangle and saying that you and that Polish doctor are rivals for her hand.'

It was such a quaint way of describing the situation – if situation indeed there was – that Nick could feel a smile creeping over his face.

‘I can see you grinning, Father, but you really ought to take the viciousness of these people seriously. I mean they can blacken your character without any further thought. Why I wouldn't be at all surprised if that attack on you the other night wasn't done by one of them.'

‘Mrs Tate – Sonia – you must be joking. I admit that I haven't been in the village long but as far as I can see it is populated by perfectly honest, hard-working characters. If the attack on me was some sort of act of vengeance, then I'll leave the parish forthwith.'

He had no intention of doing any such thing and wondered if she was slightly potty. But she was smiling at him in a disarming way and hitching up her short skirt to reveal a great deal of leg clad in lacey tights.

‘Well, Nick – may I call you that? – please don't even say those words. The majority of people like you enormously and you must just ignore the gossip and get on with your own life.'

‘That is precisely what I intend to do.'

‘Good.'

It was at that moment, thankfully, that the knocker sounded once more and Nick, excusing himself, went to answer the door to see both Tennant and Potter standing there.

‘Thank goodness,' he murmured.

They both looked rather surprised. Dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, the vicar whispered that he had a visitor who he was quite anxious to see the back of.

‘Why's that?' asked the inspector.

‘Well, it may sound crass but I think she's the village vamp and I am her latest victim.'

‘Mrs Tate?' mouthed Potter.

‘My, but you lads don't miss a trick, do you?'

‘We do our best,' Tennant answered.

He walked into the living room.

‘Good evening, Mrs Tate. I am so very sorry to have to disturb you but we're here on official business I'm afraid.'

‘Oh, don't worry. I just called in for a social chat. I'll be on my way, Nick.'

To have judged from her voice one might not be blamed for thinking that she and the vicar were having an intimate relationship.

He made her a bow and said, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Tate. Take my advice and go straight home.'

She gave him what she reckoned was a saucy grin. ‘I've told you before, I fear nothing.'

Tennant chimed in. ‘I think if you're suggesting that you walk round the streets of Lakehurst after it gets dark, then I would say you are being very foolish.'

‘You can say whatever you so choose, Inspector. Goodnight.'

She minced out of the room with what she thought was a seductive wiggle and Nick was heard helping her into her coat. A few seconds later the front door closed with a final bang. Nick came back inside and said ‘Phew!'

Tennant gave a broad grin. ‘That's how I felt when I interviewed her. Do you think she eats men for breakfast?'

‘Has 'em for an early morning snack, more likely,' Potter answered.

‘What did you find out about her?' asked Nick.

‘Apparently – and this is only according to rumour – she's slept with every man in the village, every man that's capable that is.'

‘Really? No wonder Mrs Cox doesn't like her.'

Tennant looked suddenly stricken. ‘Don't pass this on for God's sake.'

‘Don't forget,' said Nick, with a smile, ‘that you're talking about my boss. Now, where are these messages?'

Tennant produced typed copies of them and laid them out on a small table. The vicar picked them up, one by one, and stared at them with the utmost care. Eventually he said, ‘Would you excuse me. I'm going to get my bible.'

‘Do you think you've found something?'

‘Possibly.'

He went to his study and while he was gone both Tennant and Potter heard a thump coming from upstairs. They looked at one another and said, ‘William,' then they laughed.

Nick came back with a well-worn leather-bound book, clearly well thumbed. Sitting down, he turned the pages until he found what he was looking for.

‘Listen to this, gentlemen. Exodus, two to seventeen.'

Tennant and Potter stared at one another blankly.

‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. Do not have any other gods before me. Does that remind you of anything?'

It was Potter who answered. ‘The Patels?'

‘Precisely, they were Muslims'

‘Are these the Ten Commandments?' asked Tennant incredulously.

‘They certainly are,' Nick answered. ‘And I think they fit the case.'

‘Go on.'

‘You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, etc. etc.'

‘The Buddha,' exclaimed Tennant. ‘Gerrard Riddell! According to Giles Fielding he worshipped the damn thing. Oh my God, it's all becoming crystal clear.'