Shades of Murder (31 page)

The Josses didn’t normally give out information to the police on a point of principle. That Kenny had done so now indicated how rattled he was. Pearce was being diverted to other quarry. Whether profitably or not, was another matter.

‘Good dog!’ said Pearce to the Alsatian.

James Holland sat in his study working on a sermon for the forthcoming Sunday. He wasn’t getting on very well. Despite frequent reference to a well-thumbed sermon crib and much scratching of his head and bushy beard, his notes hadn’t progressed beyond a single sheet. From time to time, his gaze wandered wistfully to
Superbike
magazine, lying on a chair nearby. A tap at the French windows caught his attention. He looked up, saw who his visitor was and put down his pen with relief.

‘It’s open!’ he called, but got up anyway to usher her in.

Juliet Painter stepped over the sill. ‘Bad moment, James?’ She indicated the unfinished sermon notes.

‘Good moment,’ said the vicar. ‘I’m suffering from writer’s block. I was about to stop and make a cup of coffee. Now I’ve got a visitor, I can upgrade that to gooseberry wine as made by a parishioner. Very good it is, too, I can promise you. Care for a glass?’ He walked to his
modest drinks’ cabinet and opened the door.

Juliet had seen
Superbike
lying on the chair and hid a grin. ‘Love a glass of gooseberry firewater, James.’

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked when they were comfortably settled with a glass apiece. ‘Or is this just a social call?’

‘Part social, part business,’ she admitted. ‘You’ll guess what’s brought me. It’s this wretched affair of Jan’s murder and what to do about the Oakleys. Have you seen them recently?’

He nodded. ‘I called round yesterday evening. I thought they were bearing up very well, everything considered. They’re very grateful for your help and support.’

She grimaced. ‘Yes, I know they are. It’s something of a burden. If I’d known, when I agreed to help them hunt for a flat and dispose of Fourways, that I’d end up being interrogated by the police . . .’

‘We none of us knew,’ said Father Holland. ‘How could we?’

Juliet was thoughtful, searching for her words. ‘It’s – unpleasant. There’s a nastiness to it all. Murder is nasty by its very nature but this is – wicked.’

‘Murder is wicked,’ said the vicar. ‘But I know what you mean. I like to read whodunnits, but this is real. It happened in our community. It happened to someone we’d met. It took place at a house we know well and involves people we’d wish to protect and shield from any kind of stress. That’s the difference between fiction and reality.’ He brightened. ‘That’s it! That’ll do for the theme of my sermon. I’ll talk to the congregation about that.’

‘Sorry I shan’t be there to hear you,’ said Juliet. ‘My churchgoing has slipped a bit. I go along at Christmas and Easter.’ She sipped her wine. ‘Gosh, this is powerful stuff! Who made it?’

‘Mrs Harmer, my housekeeper, to tell you the truth. Keep it quiet. She’s coy about it. Her father was a leading light of the temperance movement in the town.’

‘Secret vice, eh?’ Juliet managed a brief grin. ‘There’s been a development, James.’

‘I had heard,’ he said, ‘that a couple of super-detectives from London were expected.’

‘They’re here and I’ve seen them. I don’t know how good they are at their jobs. One looks like a prosperous bank-robber and the other looks like a Dickensian pickpocket.’ Juliet spoke with a ferocity which the vicar guessed indicated some personal contact with the gentlemen in question.

‘Been grilling you?’ he asked, chuckling. ‘Wish ’em luck!’ He raised his glass to the absent Met men.

‘I’m not supposed to tell you about this,’ said Juliet. ‘If I do, can you keep it quiet?’

‘If you’re not supposed to tell me, perhaps you shouldn’t?’

‘I want to. Get it off my chest.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then consider your problem safe under the seal of the confessional.’

‘Fair enough. It’s only a temporary ban on talking about it, anyway. You knew that Jan was done in with arsenic?’ He nodded and she went on, ‘Now we know where it came from. Ron Gladstone had found an old bottle of rat poison in a locked shed. He meant to get rid of it but forgot and when he remembered and went to find it, it’d gone. Meredith and I took him over to Regional HQ to tell the cops and we ran straight into Minchin and Hayes. That’s the two London men. Poor Ron was in a terrible state,’ her tone became indignant, ‘and that man Minchin was no help at all!’

There was silence during which Father Holland finished his gooseberry wine, poured out another for himself and topped up his visitor’s glass. ‘Shed was kept locked, you say?’ he asked.

‘Was locked prior to Ron’s discovery of the arsenic. He left it unlocked afterwards. He’s been very stupid about it and he knows it. The thing is, who took it?’

James Holland said slowly, ‘Anyone could’ve taken it. Who knew it was there? That’s the real question.’

‘Only Ron that we know of. But Ron didn’t move it. Ron didn’t use it to poison Jan, either. If he had, he would have kept quiet about the arsenic. You see?’ Juliet grew agitated. ‘You see what this has done? We’re suspecting one another. We’re all scratching round for alibis. Worst of all, we’ve all got guilty consciences because we didn’t like Jan. Did you meet him, James?’

‘Pam asked me to talk to him. As it happened I ran into him in town shortly afterwards.’ The vicar frowned. ‘He was standing in front of an estate agent’s window, studying all the cards with house details.’

Juliet scowled. ‘I can guess what he was doing. He was trying to work out how much Fourways was worth. I don’t believe a word of what he said to Meredith.’ Seeing the vicar’s bushy eyebrows twitch, she added, ‘Meredith invited him along to tea. It was my idea. I thought she could talk him into dropping his claim on Fourways. He told her he had. But I don’t believe it, not for one minute. How did you know it was Jan?’

‘Ah, because Damaris described him to me with extraordinary accuracy. Most people give you age, height and colouring when they describe someone. Damaris was very insistent that Jan had what she called an aura. I thought she was overdoing it but funnily enough, when I saw him, I understood what she meant. Good-looking bloke, mind you.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ said Juliet firmly.

‘Oh? Well, I knew I’d found my man, so I introduced myself. He was a bit startled.’

‘People are, when they meet you, James,’ said Juliet, grinning. ‘You weren’t wearing your biker’s leathers, were you?’

‘Sadly, no. I was wearing pretty much what I’m wearing now,’ Father Holland indicated his well-worn corduroy trousers and sagging Aran sweater. ‘Jan was very chatty. He told me how much he had longed to come to England and see the family home. He enthused about beautiful Bamford. I like Bamford,’ said the vicar, ‘but beautiful it ain’t. However, I suppose he was being polite. He seemed a harmless enough chap. But then, over the years I’ve met all kinds of harmless-looking fellows who’ve turned out to be every kind of rogue. I stressed to him that his cousins, as he called them, were in very reduced circumstances. I was hoping he’d take the hint and not trespass on their hospitality for much longer. He said he was very sorry to see them living as they do, though he did seem worried about the “poor old house”. He did, I have to confess, seem more interested in the house than in its inhabitants.’

‘See?’ said Juliet moodily, twisting the end of her long braid of hair round her finger. ‘He came to England to make money by hook or by crook. He didn’t just give up the idea, no matter what he told Meredith.’ She sighed. ‘I wish Pam had got hold of him. Pam at full steam is pretty frightening.’

‘Yes,’ said the vicar reminiscently. ‘She is.’

Juliet leaned back in the battered leather-covered armchair. ‘You’ve got to stand up to Pam, it’s the only way. I know she keeps trying to throw us together, James, but whilst I see you as a dear and valued friend, I don’t see myself as your wife. I thought you’d like to know that.’

He spread his hands in a rueful gesture. ‘What can I say?’

‘Don’t say anything. I’m just telling you for the record.’ She stopped twisting her hair and put her head on one side. ‘Besides, I’ve long ago guessed where your heart lies.’

Father Holland looked startled and what could be seen of his features between thatch of black hair and beard, turned dusky pink.

‘It’s Meredith, isn’t it?’ said the ruthless Juliet. ‘You’ve been sweet
on her for ages. Ever since she first turned up in our neck of the woods. Don’t panic, James. I won’t tell anyone. It’s like your seal of the confessional. I may not reveal it.’

‘Thank you,’ he said after a moment. ‘But how did you guess? Or am I that obvious? Because if I am, other people will guess it too. I shouldn’t like that to happen.’

‘Poor James. I only guessed because I know you so well. Besides, I decided that since you had absolutely no romantic interest in me, there had to be someone else.’

He smiled. ‘I remain in the tender care of Mrs Harmer, then.’

As if on cue there came a distant crash from the kitchen. It was followed by a patter of footsteps and the vicar’s redoubtable housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

‘Excuse me, I’m sure,’ she said, staring hard at Juliet and then at the bottle of gooseberry wine. ‘I come to say, Vicar, that lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes. Is the young lady staying? I expect the shepherd’s pie will stretch to two. Don’t know about the rice pudding. It’s what’s left from yesterday. Just a little dishful.’

‘I have to go,’ said Juliet. ‘Thank you, anyway, Mrs Harmer.’ Ostentatiously she set down her empty glass. Mrs Harmer reddened and withdrew.

Juliet grimaced. ‘I’ll come over and cook you supper tonight, if you like. I can do better than shepherd’s pie and left-over rice pud. I make a very good spaghetti bolognese.’

‘You’re on!’ said the vicar with feeling.

‘Great. I’ll bring the ingredients with me. Around seven?’

‘I’ll provide the wine.’ He hauled himself from his chair. ‘I know you’re worried about the Oakleys but it will work itself out, either with the help of these London detectives or without them. Don’t be tempted to underestimate them, will you? That would be a serious error.’

‘You bet it’ll work itself out,’ said Juliet. ‘Meredith and I are on the case!’

‘I can’t think why you see the need to talk to me, Inspector,’ said Dudley Newman. He had risen from his chair behind his desk but not left it. He indicated a facing chair to his visitor, but didn’t offer to shake Dave Pearce’s hand. The small room was cluttered with filing cabinets and strewn with papers and loose files. Various pieces of correspondence and copies of estimates were pinned to a cork board. It looked untidy but it wasn’t. It was kept that way to impress on a visitor that Newman was a successful man whose time was precious.

Pearce had gained entry to the builder’s inner sanctum after some argument with a secretary. To claims that Mr Newman was busy, he’d replied that he was also busy. He’d met a suggestion that he make an appointment by asking if there was some reason Mr Newman might not wish to see him. The secretary had grown flustered, bad-tempered, indignant. But she buzzed him through after a brief exchange with her boss.

So here was Newman himself, large, outwardly imperturbable, but beneath the surface annoyed. If he showed any emotion, he seemed reproachful. He wanted the police officer to feel he was the one being unreasonable. But Pearce, though young in years, had been a policeman for too long. Inconvenient it might be for Newman to have him here. Like Rhett Butler, Pearce didn’t give a damn.

‘We’re talking to everyone who met Jan Oakley during the short time he was in the country before he died.’ Pearce met the builder’s eye. ‘And you had a chat to him, didn’t you? In a pub one lunchtime? We have a witness.’

‘I’d like to know who it is!’ Newman snapped. He paused, perhaps hoping Pearce would oblige with a name. Pearce said nothing. Newman hunched his shoulders and slapped his palms on his desk. ‘Yes, I had a word with him. I’ll be frank with you. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be. I – ’ Newman emphasised the pronoun. ‘
I
have nothing to hide.’

Pearce still waited. Sometimes one learnt more by waiting than by
asking. Ask Newman a question and he’d answer it – no more. Leave him to fill the silence and he might be tempted to reveal a lot more. But he was surprised by Newman’s next words.

‘You married, Inspector?’

‘Yes,’ Pearce admitted.

‘I expect you and your wife will be buying your first home.’

‘What’s this got to do with it?’ asked Pearce, niggled.

Newman ignored his visitor’s irritation. ‘You found it difficult, I dare say, to find a suitable place. Young professional couples do, around here. You want to put your money in solid bricks and mortar. You want a place that looks good. You’re thinking about a family in a few years’ time so you want the space. You probably run two cars and want a double garage. Above all, you want to feel sure that when the time comes for you to sell and move on, you’ll find a buyer quickly and he’ll be prepared to pay the sort of price you’ll be asking for your property. Am I right?’

‘What are you trying to do? Sell me a house?’ demanded Pearce.

Newman leaned across the desk and shook a finger at him. ‘No. You’ve got a house. I’m thinking of selling houses to people like you who
haven’t
got a house. People with two incomes who want a place with character and style but modern, easy upkeep. You don’t want a big garden. You haven’t got time for it. You want somewhere new, because new means nothing should need doing to the place for years. That’s the kind of house I want to build on the land where Fourways stands at present. I’m not interested in building starter homes. I’m looking at people who can pay a bit more for something better. Besides, starter home developments have got themselves poor publicity in the past and getting planning permission isn’t so easy as it once was. But getting permission to build a small number of quality homes which will add to the neighbourhood, not detract from it – now we’re talking.’

‘We’re talking,’ said Pearce patiently. ‘But not about Jan Oakley.’