The Mills of God (28 page)

Potter stood uncertainly, swaying from foot to foot. He knew that he should not have allowed Mauser to slip through the net but he had given into their request for something stronger to drink and like a fool he had been tricked. He raced up the steps and into the mobile unit. He looked accusingly at Giles.

‘Were you part of the plot?' he barked.

The man stared at him open-mouthed. ‘What plot?' he said, his Sussex accent never more pronounced.

Potter dashed out again and started to run, full pelt, down the High Street.

From inside the glasshouse there came a loud scream just as Tennant threw open the door. The white-clad figure stood over Sally who had been knocked back into the chair and was fighting tooth-and-nail as she was slowly being strangled with a piece of cord. Tennant gave a huge leap across the space but even as he did so a shot rang out and he froze as the figure clutched its chest where a huge red patch was forming, stark and obscene against the whiteness of its clothing.

He turned back towards the door and saw there the tall and grand figure of Michael Mauser, who smiled at him.

‘
Auf Wiedersehen
,' he said, and raised the gun to his head.

Potter had never run so fast in his life and panting for breath arrived at the door of the conservatory.

He saw the policewoman, gasping almost as much as he was, dragging the air back into her lungs. He saw Tennant, holding the dying Michael Mauser in his arms. He saw the dead body of someone clad in white lying on the floor. He steadied his breathing and knelt down beside it, removing the mask that covered the lower part of the face. Then he looked at Tennant.

There was silence in the conservatory and there was death in the conservatory, and the silence remained unbroken until policemen rushed in from every angle.

It was only then that Potter said to Tennant, ‘It's Sonia Tate, sir.'

And Tennant answered, ‘Amen.'

TWENTY-FIVE

W
hy hadn't Roseanna recognized her, that was the question that burned in Tennant's brain as he mulled over the problem now that it was all over and the village had settled back to normal. He had asked her, of course, but she had looked at him with her great magnificent eyes and given him such an enigmatic smile that he had felt he should not press the point too hard. Richard, on the other hand, released from prison, was playing the part of the great man, rising superbly over the scurrilous barbs of the inferior police force who had brought an entirely false case against him. Titania, much to Tennant's amusement, had dumped him and taken up with the young policeman who had driven her home on that fateful night.

Tennant switched his computer on and again pulled up the images of the beautiful Rose Indigo letting his eyes linger on them for perhaps one of the final times. Eventually he came to the still from
Jekyll and Hyde
. There they all were: the English child actor, Richard Culpepper; the young attractive James Pitman; the glorious Rose Indigo; and that skulking figure in the background, Jane Glynde, also known as Sonia Tate.

The inspector stared closely. It was her alright, despite the ravages of time and the work of a great number of plastic surgeons, to say nothing of the change of hair colour. For Sonia had been a blonde in the still photograph, but as he had known her she had had raven black locks, obviously dyed and hard against her natural pallor.

Tennant thought about the drastic changes in the late Michael Jackson's looks and could accept that to someone whose eyes might be failing the matter of recognition could be hard.

He typed the words Jane Glynde into his computer and up came a smallish entry in Wikipedia.

‘Susan Jane Cox (Jane Glynde) was born October 8, 1941, at Brixton, in those days a poor quarter of London. Her father was the Rev. Horace Cox, a strict Baptist minister, and her mother Mildred (neé Harris). Susan, as the only child, was left alone a great deal and was allowed no books except The Bible and
The Pilgrim's Progress
. It is said that she grew up quoting passages from The Bible at length. However, she eventually rebelled against this and ran away from home at the age of fifteen, attaching herself to a concert party performing on the pier at Clacton-on-Sea. She later became an actress and played various small parts in films both in Hollywood and England. Jane Glynde married three times:

All three marriages ended in divorce. There was no issue of any of the marriages.'

And that was it. A life banished in a few miserable words.

Tennant turned the computer off and sat deep in thought. So his hunch had been right all along. It hadn't been a religious maniac who left those terrible messages in the rooms of death, but rather a woman who at one time had been able to quote the Ten Commandments just as another child would lisp nursery rhymes.

But when, he wondered, had her obsession with Roseanna Culpepper started? Probably then, way back when they had first appeared in films together. One had been incomparably beautiful and had the magic carpet of success rolled out before her, the other had been less lovely and less lucky. Had Sonia started stalking Roseanna when she had married Roseanna's first husband, James Crichton? Had the obsession grown stronger when she thought she had achieved everything with her marriage to James Pitman, the big star, attractive, commanding any salary – and an alcoholic? Had the shattering of that illusion caused her to become slightly mad in her hatred of the great and successful Roseanna Culpepper.

Tennant knew that he would never find the answer to these questions but one answer had appeared. Sonia's third marriage had produced some rather strange evidence. Roger Tate, a civil servant, had lived in Jarvis Brook, a village quite close to Lakehurst. Had it been then that Sonia had discovered the whereabouts of the woman of whom she had always been pathologically jealous? Had she lost her over the years and then, by a miracle, located her once more?

Or had she been criminally insane right from the start? It certainly seemed that way when one considered the number of her victims. Michael Mauser's words came back again. Bloodlust of a diseased mind. It appeared to Dominic Tennant that Sonia had actually enjoyed the double life she led. Did she, like Dr Shipman, enjoy watching people actually die, or were these earlier vicims merely a lead up to her revenge on Roseanna Culpepper? Whatever, she was, without doubt, a cold-hearted and cruel character whose death at the hands of the Nazi's son had been a strange quirk of fate indeed.

Sunday morning service had been truly joyful. The congregation was large and had sung lustily, the notes of the organ had never sounded merrier, the peal of bells inviting people to church had rung out over Lakehurst with a chime that announced new hope. Best of all, or so it had seemed to Nick Lawrence, Olivia Beauchamp had sat in the front pew and there had been eye contact and smiling. And, to crown it all, Dominic Tennant had arrived somewhat late and panted his way in to a place at the back.

Afterwards it had taken nearly half an hour to greet the congregation and wish them a Happy Christmas. Waiting at the end of the queue and talking to one another with a great deal of animation and friendliness had been Olivia and Tennant. Nick felt a pang of something like jealousy but dismissed such emotion as unchristian and unsuitable for the time of year.

‘Do come to The Great House,' said Olivia, who looked absolutely gorgeous in a purple beret with a sprig of holly adorning it.

‘You must,' said Tennant. ‘I've come to say goodbye to you all, quite informally of course.' So as soon as Nick had divested himself of his robes and told the choir, still conducted by a very subdued Mr Bridger but lacking Broderick Crawford these days, that he would see them at midnight mass on Christmas Eve, he made his way out by the vestry door. Behind him stood the ancient church and the rolling graveyard, as nice a place to be buried in as any he could think of, and stepping down the path and into the historic street he considered how lucky he had been to have been awarded the parish of Lakehurst.

He pushed his way through the crowd packing the pub being greeted by people, all with jolly faces, and Nick thought that a curse had been lifted from the village which at one time had seemed like the village of the damned.

He reached the table at which were seated Kasper, drinking a large vodka, his eyes sparkling, looking tremendously handsome, together with Olivia and Tennant. Giles Fielding, still wearing a scarf round his neck, had a sprig of mistletoe and was happily greeting the many young ladies who came to him for a Christmas greeting. He waved cheerfully at Nick.

‘Hello, Vicar. How goes it?'

‘Well, thank you, Giles. What about you?'

‘I'm feeling much better. By the way did you know that Mickey Mouse's place is being taken over by Cheryl's cousin? Apparently she was found by those Heir Hunter people. Once all the legal do-da is out of the way she stands to inherit the lot.'

‘Will she continue to run the business?'

‘I believe she will. Good ending, isn't it?'

‘It most certainly is.'

Giles lowered his voice. ‘I still hear him about the place, you know.'

‘Who?'

‘Michael Mauser. In the early mornings when I am out with my sheep I hear someone walking along, distinct as anything, but there's nobody there when I go and look.'

‘Do you miss him?'

‘I miss him like hell.'

‘So do I. Well, Happy Christmas.'

‘And to you, Vicar.'

Nick joined his friends, knowing with a cynical smile, that all three of them fancied Olivia. All quite hopelessly, he reckoned.

‘Well, Inspector, were you happy with the result?' he asked.

‘Happy is not quite the right word. I particularly regretted Michael Mauser's suicide.'

Kasper spoke. ‘He only had a few months to live, Inspector. And he would have received heavy doses of morphia towards the end. Perhaps he considered it the best way out.'

Giles addressed them from his place on the bar stool. ‘He shot Sonia Tate in revenge for the murder of Cheryl, let's make no mistake about it. He really loved that woman.'

‘I think this conversation is getting morbid,' said Olivia, ‘so I suggest we change it. What are you doing for Christmas, Kasper?'

‘I am going back to Poland. I give my last surgery tomorrow then I have a week's holiday. And you, my dear?'

‘I'm going to Winchester to be with my sister and her family. And you, Nick?'

‘My widowed father is coming with his new lady friend, plus my brother and his entire family. It's going to be full house at the vicarage. What about you, Giles?'

‘My brother's coming over for a drink or two. Should be a laugh.'

The vicar turned to Dominic. ‘And what about you, Inspector Tennant?'

‘I think,' the inspector answered, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his long legs out in front of him, ‘that I'll just take it easy.'