The Reluctant Detective (Faith Morgan Mysteries) (14 page)

“Fred regularly walks his dog around the green at odd times; what about you, Fred?” asked Sue. They turned to him.

“I do remember there was a man, a week or so ago. He was sitting in his car at the top of Shoesmith’s lane one evening.” As Fred spoke, he tapped his hand on the weathered wood of the table. He stopped, realizing he had everyone’s attention. “Well, it was probably nothing unusual,” he mumbled.

What was the man doing that was so embarrassing? thought Faith, amused. Dear Fred. I hope it was nothing lewd.

“So, what was he up to?” demanded Sue, intrigued.

Fred frowned. “It was none of my business, but it looked as if the poor fellow was crying. I almost went up, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

“What colour was the car?” asked Faith.

“I’m not sure,” Fred pursed his lips. “As I said, it was dusk. I think it would have been a dark colour, though. Not black. Maybe red or blue.”

“And you didn’t recognize the man?”

Fred shook his head. “Had his face in his hands and I didn’t want to stare.”

The group, it seemed, had nothing else to offer. They peeled themselves away from the table, and Fred took the glasses back inside.

“What you suggested today,” Timothy told Faith, enveloping her hand in the warmth of his, “it was a good thing.”

“You must come and have supper with us soon,” said Clarisse, hugging her.

“I’m coming, too,” Sue added. “I want to hear more about the devastating inspector.”

Faith watched them go their separate ways. It is as if they have been visiting me in my home, she thought. How peculiar. She walked slowly back to the church, and stepped into its cool interior. How could she have assumed Alistair Ingram’s place so quickly? Faith felt a sobering wave of guilt. It had only been a few days since she had seen him die here. The poor man’s coffin would be borne down this very aisle in less than twenty-four hours.

She heard Canon Matthews’s words:
We Christians are supposed to take the long view
.

She stared at the lamb in the glass panel, with its enigmatic and somehow enticing smile.

The truth is there to be revealed. Have hope
.

She knelt by the altar rail and prayed. She prayed for Alistair Ingram and for Trevor Shoesmith and the unknown killer. And she felt at peace.

Sometime later she got up. As she turned, a shocked gasp rose in her throat. Jessica was sitting in the fourth pew, watching her.

“Sorry,” said Faith. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jessica wore a simple black dress with a scoop neck. The lack of colour drained her face, making it deathly white. Faith went over and sat down beside her. They looked at the altar together in silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the cleaning,” said Jessica. “I don’t think I could’ve coped.”

“Of course,” said Faith.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Jessica was so still, Faith had the sense that if she moved she might break. “I know it. I saw it.” Jessica frowned. “But I keep catching myself – it’s as if my mind flicks the edge of something unimaginable. I know it’s there, but I can’t look at it. Because if I did…”

The tears welled up. Faith put an arm around her and let her cry. As she waited for the sobs to subside, she remembered a passage in a sermon Canon Jonathan had preached in his church.

It is important to place the hope of the resurrection, the promise of newness and life, against the background of death and endings.

She had never fully appreciated the meaning of that. Jessica’s hair was ruffled and dull. She must have forgotten to comb it. Her sobs reverberated through Faith’s chest. It was like holding misery incarnate.

It is only in walking through the shadows and darkness of Holy Week and Good Friday
. Jonathan’s precise voice played in her memory as her eyes focused on the cross above the altar.
It is only by realizing the horror and magnitude of sin and its consequences in the world that we can understand the light and hope of Easter Sunday morning
.

Please God, let there be light after this.

J
ESSICA TOOK OUT A PACKET OF TISSUES
. “Never leave the house without them these days,” she said, and blew her nose.

“It’s been one hell of week,” agreed Faith. That drew a wan smile. Jessica inhaled a long breath and let it out.

“It has.”

Bright sunshine illuminated the window behind the altar, touching the cross above it with warmth.

“I hate the person who did this,” Jessica said. Her hands clenched in her lap. “I am so
angry.
If I could get my hands on them…”

Faith had a sudden flash of a woman sitting at her kitchen table. Emilia Santa, the mother whose strength and charity when faced with the casual murder of her teenage son had first nudged Faith towards the path that had led her to the ministry. As a young policewoman, she had found Emilia’s ability to forgive perplexing and wondrous. Sitting here beside Jessica, she marvelled again. Her own faith seemed paltry in comparison. She, too, was consumed with anger at the poisoner in the shadows. It was all so intangible. No face to blame. No reason for what had happened. What else could one do but rage at the unidentified monster?

“I am supposed to forgive – aren’t I?” Jessica appealed to her, her expression intense. “That’s what Christians are supposed to do – forgive those who trespass against us? But he’s destroyed Alistair, and then Trevor too. I don’t believe Trevor would be dead now if all this hadn’t happened here. To destroy two good men – that’s not trespass, that’s evil.”

This was where she, Faith Morgan, as a minister of the gospel, ought to offer consolation and wise words. Instead, she felt lost and inadequate. What was the comfort of faith supposed to be in these circumstances?

To weep.

What kind of good news is that! Faith raged internally.

And what is the good news?
The words popped up inside her head and sat there.

She was due to preside and preach in this very church on Palm Sunday in a couple of days. She should know the answer to that.

The good news of Christ’s death and resurrection is that sin and death do not have the last word; and something about the saving power of God’s love, she answered impatiently in her head.

Precisely
.

The empty church was peaceful; a contained space with only sunlight penetrating from the outside world.

“My faith has always been important to me.” Jessica’s voice sounded detached.

“Have you always been a churchgoer?”

Jessica nodded. “My parents were very faithful.” Her eyes darted up to Faith’s face and then away. “They weren’t Church of England – Welsh Baptists.”

“Faithful is faithful.”

“But after all this…” Jessica moved restlessly on the pew, releasing a waft of fresh polish from the wood.

“You’re questioning everything,” Faith supplied.

Jessica nodded.

“That’s natural. This is all so very recent – all the emotion and shock; you need to give yourself time.” Faith paused, casting around for something real to say. “What do you think Alistair would make of it?”

Jessica’s mouth twisted in a stubborn look. She shrugged.

“How did you two come to meet?” Faith asked.

Jessica stirred. “Alistair and me?”

“Yes.”

“When I moved to Little Worthy my marriage had just broken up. I was divorced – something I never imagined myself being. I needed to…I needed to feel…” she paused and started again. “It was a confusing time. I wanted God to lead me somewhere.”

“And he led you here?”

She shrugged again. “Not directly,” she said.

Jessica’s eyes were fixed on at a spot in the middle distance, a faint frown creasing her forehead.

“I went to go to the cathedral at first. They’re used to strangers there. I volunteered for all sorts of projects.” Her voice was self-mocking and bitter. “Looking for redemption!”

Faith suspected this savage self-awareness was a new thing to Jessica. She’d seen it before when good people cruising along on unquestioning, simple faith met a terrible crisis. Blind trust in the Lord can prove a brittle thing, Canon Jonathan was fond of saying. The faith that enables you to live with questions is much more robust in the long run.

“But I didn’t find what I was looking for.” Jessica sat up straighter, stiffening her spine. “Then one day I walked in here – into this church – and I met Alistair. We began to talk. He was such a decent man. He never made you feel small or foolish. When he listened, he made a space where you could just be.” She stretched out her hand towards the altar and rested it on the pew back in front of them. “His faith was so open and welcoming. I started coming to St James’s – and we would meet around the village. Then we fell in love.”

Her lips compressed as she struggled to keep back the tears.

“I keep wondering…” She gave a little sob. “I wonder if this is my punishment?”

Faith was taken aback. “What on earth for?”

“I betrayed God’s laws.”

What an old-fashioned phrase! Faith stared at the tragic profile of the suffering woman beside her. Could she really believe her divorce would condemn her forever?

“In what way?” she asked cautiously.

Jessica drew herself away into her own space, averting her eyes.

“Before I met Alistair…Oh, how to start!” she exclaimed. “I am so ashamed of this.”

“I have done some pretty shameful things in my time,” Faith reassured her. “I’m fairly unshockable.”

Jessica glanced at her dubiously, but she continued. “I hadn’t been long divorced. I was low and lost. I went volunteering on all sorts of charitable projects – as I said. I needed to be less selfish; to get away from myself.” Her eyes wandered about the altar in front of them.

“I met a man; a charity worker on one of those projects,” Jessica said. “He was so full of purpose…”

Faith had a sudden flash of Ben striding up the path. I understand the attraction of that, she thought.

“So full of his mission.” Jessica turned to look at her full face. “The project was abroad, in a foreign country; everything was so very different – the landscape, the colours, the light. I lost my footing.”

“How so?”

She dropped her head. “I got involved,” she said softly.

So you slept with him? thought Faith impatiently.

“And then I discovered…”

Ah!

“He was married,” Faith completed her sentence for her.

“Yes.”

Jessica came to life, her voice infused with energy.

“My husband betrayed me like that – away from home with another woman. First I was divorced, and then all of a sudden I was an adulterer. I was never going to be that person.” She appealed to Faith. “I was so far from home. Just for an instant, everything seemed perfect. This man – he needed me. He had worked so hard, alone, for so long. He needed someone to work alongside him, to believe in him. He wasn’t good with the figures, so I helped him prepare a budget for a meeting with potential sponsors…He was very grateful.”

“I know how exciting it can be when you work well together with someone – all the more when there’s sexual attraction as well,” commented Faith ruefully.

“And he was romantic.” Jessica’s voice was distant, as if she were looking down on herself from a height. “That night he gave me irises – my favourite flower. They were silk – those imitation ones – but they looked real. We were out in the middle of nowhere. Heaven knows where he got them from.”

“And you had no idea he was married?”

“No. It was all fake – just like the flowers.” Faith could read the impact of the betrayal on Jessica’s face. “And I believed him. When he talked, there was only us. How we’d come back and make our lives together, growing our own food, living in harmony with the land in a cottage by the sea.”

That sounded like a teenager’s fantasy to Faith.

“I suspect you’d need money in real life,” she commented out loud.

A faintly cynical look flashed across Jessica’s face. Now she looked all of forty and, to Faith’s eyes, even better.

“I can earn plenty enough for two; people always need accountants. When I discovered the truth, I broke it off straight away and came home as soon as I could. I was so ashamed of myself.”

“And then you met Alistair.”

“Yes. Here.” She looked around the church.

“Did you tell him about the affair?”

“Yes.” Jessica half-smiled. “The first afternoon we met. I told you he was easy to talk to.”

“And what was his verdict?”

“That I’d made a mistake; I’d repented of it, and I should forgive myself.” Her face softened. “Alistair taught me a lot about forgiveness.”

“It seems he was a good priest.”

“He was. And a good man…So you don’t think this is my punishment?” she asked in a child’s voice.

“Certainly not! My God is a loving God; he is neither petty nor vindictive.” Faith was categorical. “And he’d have to be both to sacrifice a good man to punish a simple human mistake. What could possibly be loving about that?”

Jessica didn’t look completely convinced, but she seemed a little comforted. She sighed.

“I’m dreading tomorrow,” she said quietly. “Trying not to make a fuss in case someone should notice. I don’t know how I am going to sit through it, pretending…”

“You don’t need to pretend.” Jessica’s blue eyes swung up to meet Faith’s. “People knew what you and Alistair meant to each other – in this church, I mean. You won’t be alone, and you don’t have to pretend.”

As she spoke she made a mental note to ring Fred. If he could pick Jessica up tomorrow, she could take her home herself after the funeral. She glanced at her watch. Nearly two already. Pat and the Lively sisters would be arriving before long to do the funeral flowers. It would be a good idea to get Jessica away before that. She shouldn’t have to suffer Pat’s scrutiny in her present condition.

“Why don’t you go home now and try to get some sleep?” Faith shepherded a docile Jessica to the door. “I’ll organize someone to pick you up tomorrow and I’ll take you home afterwards myself.”

As Jessica was getting into her car, something Clarisse and Sue had talked about earlier surfaced in Faith’s mind.

“Jessica – how did Pat get along with Alistair?” she asked. “Were they friends?”

Jessica looked surprised. “Friends? She was his churchwarden, that’s all.”

“Did the churchwardens have regular meetings with Alistair at Pat’s house on the green?”

“No.” Jessica leaned back against the headrest wearily. “Alistair wasn’t really the type who went round for tea with his parishioners.”

“But he would call on Pat to discuss parish business?” insisted Faith. “Is she the parish treasurer? Does she keep the books?”

Jessica frowned as if she was trying to concentrate. “Alistair would call on her in the evening once a week. He was always careful about being on time because Pat would make a fuss if he was late. But Fred’s the parish treasurer; he keeps the books.”

After she waved Jessica off, Faith checked her emails on her laptop, feeling, as usual, oddly incongruous tapping away at her keyboard in such an ancient setting. The rural dean had been in touch with a broad order of service and some suggestions. Faith made a mental note to discuss some of the finer points with Don, and wondered for the first time if he’d come at all. Crossing the threshold might be too much for him.

Next, she rang the funeral directors, sitting on a bench in the porch to the church. She spoke with Richard Blackney, the current general manager. Soft-spoken and professional, he assured her that everything was prepared, and intimated that the rural dean was handling many of the finer details so Faith wasn’t to worry. This she found mildly irritating, but understood that her superiors were probably just trying to remove any minor pressures, rather than interfering.

As she was wrapping up the conversation, Pat appeared on the path with the Lively sisters in tow, and a couple of buckets of chrysanthemums. Pat conducted the flower arranging with military precision. They were finished in time for the six o’clock news, which, she informed Faith, she never liked to miss.

Faith locked up the church feeling a little as if she had survived a strong wind. Pat was a force of nature.

Darkness was drawing in. Faith paused to admire the pink sky over Shoesmith’s farm. This is the evening before Alistair Ingram’s funeral, she reminded herself. So much had happened in so few days. She felt off balance; unreal. Through the lime trees she saw a light go on in the vicarage kitchen. She thought of Don’s face on the day of Trevor Shoesmith’s suicide – was that really only two days ago? Don had stood in almost this exact spot outside the vestry door.
I’m not going in there…

How was he going to manage the funeral, then?

This was real; she should go and check on the murdered man’s son.

The kitchen looked like a brightly lit stage set from the shadowy garden. An empty set. She opened the door and called out. She heard Don saying something to someone and the sound of the front door closing. She waited. He walked back into the kitchen. He looked amused as he saw her.

“Hello!” he greeted her. Inexplicably, he glanced back over his shoulder as if there were someone behind him, but there was no one there.

“Is this a convenient time? I just wanted to check in with you; see how you’re doing.”

His expression was politely puzzled. “I’m fine.”

“How are you feeling – are you going to be OK tomorrow?” She could see that he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Don stared back at her blankly.

“It was my impression you didn’t feel comfortable about setting foot in the church,” she stated baldly.

“Oh, that’s all right!” he responded jauntily. “I don’t need to. I’m not going to go to the funeral.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” His face stretched into a stiff smile. “Can I offer you coffee – or something stronger? I fancy a G&T. Oh, before I forget!” He held up a finger, indicating she should wait there, and disappeared into the hall. He re-emerged holding a parcel. “The postman left this. Church supplies of some sort.”

It was a box of palm crosses for next Sunday’s service.