The Snares of Death (39 page)

At long last David arrived in Walsingham. Needless to say, all of the car parks were full and he'd had to park over a mile away and walk. So when he arrived he was tired, hot, and more than a little put out.

He went straight to the hospice, to Lucy's room. It was locked. As he tapped on the door, an official came down the hall. ‘If you don't mind, sir,' she said, ‘we'll be locking the building in a few minutes.'

‘Locking the building?' he repeated stupidly.

‘Yes, sir. During the Procession and the Mass, the Shrine grounds are locked. No one's allowed in. Not until the Procession comes back.'

John Spring leaned against the door near the College which led into the Shrine grounds. The door was locked – he had the key himself. The instructions were that no doors were to be opened, and no one was to enter, until the Procession had returned. It was going to be a long two hours, he thought. Probably even more.

The weekend had been fully as grim as he had anticipated. There hadn't been any violence, and there hadn't been any excitement. He'd scarcely seen a good-looking woman all weekend, let alone been to bed with one. As he'd told David, the Anglo-Catholics were a rum bunch, and the Evangelicals were worse. Holy, the lot of them. More interested in their souls than in having a bit of fun. Not that he would have had any of them, anyway, even if they'd been interested.

And so when the blonde came up to him, he couldn't believe his luck. She was not only the best-looking thing he'd seen this weekend, she was the best-looking thing he'd ever seen in his life. Legs up to here, and masses of blonde hair down to there, and in between the most gorgeous pair of knockers he'd ever laid eyes on, straining against the thin fabric of her blouse like succulent melons. ‘Hello, sweetheart,' he said, showing his white teeth in a predatory smile.

Tiffani had her orders. Distract the cop, whatever it takes, Geoffy had said. Get him to unlock the door, and get him out of the way. And take your time, he'd said. The cop was kind of cute. This could be fun, she thought. ‘Hi-ya.'

‘What's your name, sweetheart?' His eyes devoured her ripe lusciousness.

‘Tiffani. With an “i”, ya know,' she added breathlessly. ‘And who are you?'

‘You can call me John.'

‘I'll call you Johnnie.' She looked at him through her eyelashes.

‘You're not from round here, are you?'

Tiffani gave a tinkling laugh. ‘No. I'm from Beanblossom, Indiana.'

‘Is that anywhere near San Francisco? Or New York?'

‘Only a few thousand miles, ya know.' She laughed again.

‘So what are you doing so far away from home, sweetheart? Aren't you homesick?'

‘Well, I'm pretty lonesome, ya know, Johnnie.' She sighed and put her hand on his arm. ‘But my mom always told me that the policeman is your friend. Are you my friend, Johnnie?'

‘Abso-bloomin'-lutely, sweetheart.' His hand, as if by accident, brushed her breast.

Tiffani moved closer. ‘You're what they call a bobby, aren't you?'

‘That's right, my love.'

‘Is it true that bobbies don't carry guns?'

Spring grinned. ‘I may not have a gun, sweetheart, but you can squeeze my truncheon any time you like.'

Tiffani moistened her very red lips with her tongue and moved even nearer. ‘Can't we go inside, Johnnie?' she breathed. ‘'Cause I'd like to take you up on that.'

Lucy watched Geoffrey walk nonchalantly towards the door. What on earth was he about? The Shrine grounds were locked – he had no business going in there now. Whatever he was doing, it was bound to be no good. She took a deep breath and determined to follow him in there if necessary, and find out.

Geoffrey Pickering tested the door: it was unlocked, with no cop in sight. Good girl, Tiffani, he said to himself. I knew you could do it. He pushed the door open and stepped inside the Shrine grounds, moving quickly towards the College.

He pretended that he didn't know that Lucy was following him. Damned interfering nuisance of a woman, he thought. He'd take care of her – he'd have to, or she'd ruin everything with her prying nosiness.

Geoffrey passed through the dining room; at its far end there were two doors flanking the huge sideboard. He went through one of them, and waited quietly on the other side, concealed behind the door.

A moment later Lucy followed. She was wary, but quite unprepared for what happened as Geoffrey grabbed her roughly, pinning her hands behind her back and clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her instinctive scream. ‘What do you think you're doing, you stupid bitch?' he hissed. Before she could react, or attempt to struggle, he bundled her into a nearby linen cupboard and locked the door from the outside with the conveniently left key, which he then pocketed.

‘Geoffrey!' she cried, banging on the door. ‘Let me out! You can't get away with this!'

He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Scream all you like, my dear ex-wife. In case you didn't realise, there's no one here to hear you. And won't be for quite a while. So if I were you I'd save my breath. I'll be back to deal with you later.'

She banged on the door for a little longer, but realised that it was useless. Geoffrey was right, of course: there was no one else in the Shrine grounds. Whatever he was up to, he was going to get away with it. Lucy choked back hysterical tears and curled up on the floor of the tiny cupboard.

*

There were policemen guarding all the entrances around the perimeter of the Shrine grounds, Maggie discovered. A lot of trouble to go to to protect a few dozen stuffed chicken thighs, she thought scornfully. But here was a door with no fuzz in sight. She gave it a tentative push and it swung open.

Quickly and stealthily she went through and pulled it shut behind her. She paused a minute to get her bearings, then headed towards the College. There was no need for stealth now – no one else would be inside the grounds. It might be difficult to get all those chicken thighs out on her own, but she could hide them and come back for them later. Or maybe she could do something even more dramatic: arrange them artistically in the church, where that statue had been, or throw them down the Holy Well.

Once inside the College, she had no trouble finding the kitchen – she'd carefully watched where the Fielding Farms delivery man had gone with his trays of chicken thighs. But the kitchen door was locked. Maggie kicked it furiously, and cursed, then went down the corridor into the dining room.

She stopped and stared incredulously at the other end of the room. It was like a bloody temple to food, she thought: the huge sideboard with its candlesticks, and the massive painting above with its barbaric hunting scene. Maggie was enraged. She moved closer, then stopped as she heard a noise behind her.

‘What do you think you're doing here?' said a voice. Maggie turned; it was another one of those bloody priests. This one had a fat girl with him, and between them they were carrying a very large sign. They set the sign down. ‘You have no right to be in here,' the priest reiterated.

Maggie was not intimidated by a priest and a fat girl. What could they do to her? ‘Oh, sod off,' she sneered.

‘Now listen here . . .' He advanced towards her.

‘Eh – what the hell's going on here?' They all turned as a policeman entered the room, looking a bit dishevelled and slightly disorientated. ‘No one's supposed to be in here!'

‘Officer,' said the priest unctuously, ‘this young woman is trespassing. She must be ejected, forcibly if necessary.'

‘Right you are.' John Spring collared Maggie unceremoniously and marched her towards the door, ignoring her shouts of rage. ‘And you, sir?'

‘We'll be going in just a moment, officer,' said Mark Judd. ‘The Procession will be beginning soon.'

John Spring was quite pleased. If anyone had noticed that he had abandoned his post, and he were to be questioned about it later, he now had the perfect excuse: he was dealing with a protester. So pleased was he that he didn't stop to wonder what the priest and the fat girl were doing in the College, when everyone was supposed to be out.

And Maggie's screams of ‘Police brutality!' drowned out any suspicious noises that might have emanated from a certain cupboard, just down the corridor.

CHAPTER 49

    
The singers go before, the minstrels follow after: in the midst are the damsels playing with the timbrels.

Psalm 68.25

David decided to look for Lucy in the village, passing the ‘MISSION: Walsingham' contingent at the pump. As the weather had warmed up, most of the men had shed their jackets and the pump was now awash with clean white shirts and multicoloured posters.

The priests had all departed to robe for the Procession, so the beer stall in front of the Bull was all but deserted. David spotted the BARC van and went over for a word. They had lost most of their audience, and were taking advantage of the lull to share a few sandwiches.

‘Hello, Mr Middleton-Brown,' said Karen, offering him a cheese sandwich. ‘What are you doing here?'

David waved the sandwich away. ‘Have any of you seen Lucy?' he asked without preliminary niceties.

Fiona looked up with a smile. ‘Oh, hello, David. Yes, I saw her earlier – it must have been nearly an hour ago.'

‘Where was she going, do you know?'

‘She didn't say.'

‘Well, thanks anyway.'

Lucy must have gone into the Abbey grounds, David decided. It was clear that the Procession would be beginning soon, and all but a few stragglers had already made their way into the grounds to wait for the Mass.

He was stopped at the gate. ‘Do you have your pilgrim handbook?' an elderly nun demanded.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I don't see your handbook. You can't go in without your handbook,' she amplified testily.

‘Handbook?'

The nun brandished a copy of the blue-backed booklet. ‘It's only one pound fifty, and it includes the order of service for the Mass.'

David rummaged in his pocket and produced two pound coins, which he slammed down on the table. ‘Keep the change.'

‘Why, thank you, sir, and God bless you.' The nun was now all smiles as she handed him his handbook.

Yes, Lucy must be in here, he realised. Why had he wasted so much time looking for her elsewhere? But his heart sank as he saw the size of the crowd. There must be over ten thousand people here, he thought. How will I ever find Lucy?

He murmured his apologies right and left as he walked through the midst of the assembled crowd, searching for an aureole of red-gold hair. Each time that he saw the sun glint on a reddish-blonde head his heart lifted, then sank again. He moved around the perimeter of the amphitheatre-like seating area, then began criss-crossing his way back and forth through the crowd.

His eye caught the unmistakable sheen of a golden wig, and David moved quickly to where Gwen Vernon and Alice Barnes sat with another woman. Alice sat primly, knees together, rosary in one hand and blue programme in the other, her face shaded by a small sun-visor. Gwen seemed to have shed several layers of clothing; the grass was littered with her bits and pieces, and she fanned herself hectically with her programme. ‘Hello!' she greeted David with enthusiasm. ‘Mr Middleton-Brown! How nice that you're joining us today.'

‘I suppose we can make room for you,' Alice said, glaring at Gwen's bits and pieces.

‘No, that's quite all right,' he assured them quickly. ‘I won't stop. I was just looking for Lucy – for Miss Kingsley.'

‘We haven't seen her, have we, Gwen?' Alice declared.

Gwen shook her head in disappointed agreement. ‘No, we haven't, have we, Elayne?'

Elayne! For the first time, David took a close look at the woman who sat between Alice and Gwen. He should have realised that it was Elayne Dexter, but the woman didn't square with his mental image of Bob Dexter's widow. She wasn't beautiful by any means, but she certainly wasn't the dowdy nonentity that he'd expected. Elayne was smiling, and there was colour in her cheeks; she had a good figure, and nice facial bone structure, and with a bit more effort could have been quite pretty.

He dropped down on to the grass momentarily. ‘Mrs Dexter and I haven't met,' he said.

‘Oh, I'm so sorry! How rude of us!' fluttered Gwen.

‘Mr Middleton-Brown is Father Thorncroft's solicitor,' Alice explained.

‘Miss Kingsley's friend,' added Gwen archly.

‘Oh, yes!' Elayne turned to him with a friendly smile. ‘Lucy's told me about you. She's here today, then? How is she?'

‘I can't find her,' he said with urgency. ‘It's important that I find her. Most important. I'd like to stay and chat – there are some things that you and I need to talk about, Mrs Dexter – but I must find Lucy.'

‘We haven't seen her,' Alice repeated.

He got up. ‘If you do happen to see her . . .' He hesitated. ‘Tell her that I'm looking for her, won't you?'

As it became clear from the loudspeaker that the Procession was about to leave the Shrine church and make its way to the Abbey, David once again moved to the outskirts of the seating area. There in the shade he spotted the girl who had come into Lucy's room on the afternoon of her arrival. He was sure it was the same girl – she was quite distinctive, with her frizzy hair and her massive frame. She was flopped on the grass, breathing heavily even in the shade. David approached her hesitantly. ‘I'm sorry to bother you,' he said, ‘but I was looking for Lucy Kingsley. Aren't you . . . ?'

‘Monica!' she announced, sitting up. ‘Yes, I'm Lucy's room-mate. But she's not here. I don't know where she is.' She scrutinised him curiously. ‘You're her boyfriend, aren't you? David?'

‘That's right. But when did you last see her?'