The Ten Commandments (6 page)

Page gave a short laugh. 'Really, Mr Mace, you're being very reticent. Surely you can tell us something about it? I don't doubt your public out there are agog to know more.'

Frederick hesitated a moment longer, then appeared to admit defeat. 'Well, this might sound simplistic, but it struck me that if everyone kept the Ten Commandments, there would be virtually no crime.'

The camera panned in on Page's raised eyebrow, and Frederick went on quickly, 'Oh, I'm aware that from the legal standpoint you can break all but three with impunity. Only murder, theft and false witness are criminal offences, but my point is that in a great many cases, the
motive
for a crime lies in someone
else
– possibly the victim himself – having broken a Commandment.'

'That's quite a contention.'

'But worth examining, I felt. So to illustrate the theory, I decided to study ten criminal cases, each of which could be linked with the breaking of a different Commandment, either in the crime itself or, of more interest to me personally, the motive behind it.'

He gave a slight smile. 'As you'll appreciate, it was necessary to go back quite a long way in respect of the first five, which, alas, only fundamental religions still adhere to. Taking the name of the Lord in vain is commonplace, we opted not to keep holy the Sabbath day, and so on. The flouting of those is unlikely to provoke any violent reaction today. However, by diligent searching – mainly on the part of my researcher, I hasten to add – we managed to find an example for each of them. I completed the chapter on number five just before leaving for Canada.'

That dry smile again. 'Lizzie Borden was, I felt, a prime, if somewhat extreme, illustration of not honouring her father and mother.'

Gregory Page leaned back in his chair. 'You've touched on some of the Commandments, Mr Mace. Can you remind us – what are the rest of them?'

'The so-called "shalt nots". Murder is number six, and as well as being the ultimate crime, it frequently – to use the vernacular –
begets
murder. That is, it can lead to other, "revenge" killings – especially in the case of sectarian murders – thereby doubling as both crime and motive.

'Next we have adultery, no longer illegal in itself, but responsible for
crimes passionnels
– as also, of course, is number ten, not coveting your neighbour's wife.'

'Which we've all done at some time or another!' Page put in facetiously. 'Sorry – please go on.'

'
Thou shalt not steal
,' Frederick continued, 'is, as I mentioned, one of the three still indictable, and has a pretty broad scope – white-collar crime, fraud, unlawful possession. It, too, can be both motive and crime.

'Number nine.
Bearing false witness,
covers both perjury and, in today's parlance, "framing" someone, often causing grievances which result in violence; and the last part of the final Commandment, ordering us not to covet
anything
that belongs to someone else, embraces all the petty crimes which result from greed and envy.'

He lifted his hands. 'Have I proved my point?'

Page gave a laugh. 'I need notice of that question, but you've certainly given us plenty to think about. Let's get down to specifics, then: this latest murder we have here in Broadshire: was a broken Commandment behind that?'

'My dear Mr Page, how could I know? I should have to study the case in detail before hazarding an opinion. No doubt the police have their theories, but I'm not privy to them.'

'The press are comparing it with another murder some years ago. Would you therefore expect the motives to be the same?'

'I admit I'm intrigued by the possibility; the more so, since I had the notion of including an unsolved crime among my ten, in the hope of discovering a new slant. By ironic chance, it was the murder of Trevor Philpott which I selected.'

Page leaned forward excitedly. 'How about that? And what was the motive for that one?'

'Oh, I've not started work on it yet. No, really –' He held his hands up as Page prepared to press him. 'I can't say any more about it at the moment.'

The interviewer, hiding his disappointment, leaned back again. 'Well, Mr Mace, it's been very interesting to talk to you, and I'm sure we've all learned something. I confess my knowledge of the Commandments was limited to the story of Moses coming down from Mount Sinai and saying to the Israelites, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"'

He paused, as though expecting some reaction. Frederick merely waited.

'"The good news,"' Page continued, "'is that I kept Him down to ten. The bad news is that adultery's in."'

He laughed, and Frederick smiled politely. There was a final exchange of courtesies and the credits began to roll. Edwina pressed the remote control and the screen went blank.

'Well, I must say you didn't
seem
reluctant to talk about it,' she remarked.

'That's just the trouble; once I let myself start, I say too much and then regret it.'

'I don't think you said too much,' she declared staunchly. 'I found it fascinating, and so, obviously, did Gregory Page. It will be interesting to read the reviews.'

Frederick said irritably, 'Did you notice he said "Si-ni-ai"?
Why
have people started doing that? For donkey's years we've learned about Moses bringing down the tablets from Mount Sinai – pronounced exactly as it's spelt – and now, for some unknown reason, everyone puts in the extra "i". No doubt some inexperienced newsreader started it, and everyone blindly followed suit. I even heard a clergyman say it. Lord help us.'

Edwina laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. 'I do love you,' she said.

'Well,' Hannah commented, switching off the set, 'what did you think of that?'

'Ve-ery interesting, as they used to say on the

Laugh-in.'

'Seriously, though, do you think he has a point?'

'He might well have,' Webb conceded, 'though I don't see that it gets us much further.'

'Can
you
think of a crime that wasn't prompted by breaking one of the Commandments?'

'How about so-called mercy killing, allegedly done with the best of intentions?'

'"So-called", "allegedly"! You policemen! Anyway, some people don't regard that as a crime.'

'It is in the eyes of the law.'

'He came to talk to us at school once, Frederick Mace. He was excellent. Have you ever met him?'

'Not personally, though I've read his books. He gets carried away sometimes, like all these academics, but basically he's pretty sound.'

'It would be interesting to know if, when he's had time to study them, he concludes it was the same motive for both killings.'

'Whatever he concludes,' Webb responded, draining his glass, 'I sincerely hope we'll have beaten him to it. It's all very well for these writers; they can sit back and hum and haw for months on end. They haven't got the press or the Super on their backs wanting a quick result.'

'
Do
you think it's the same killer, David?'

'I hope so; it would be gratifying to clear up two cases at once.'

'That wasn't exactly what I asked.'

Webb smiled and got to his feet. 'Like your pal Mace, I can't say any more at the moment. In other words, I haven't a clue.'

It was, he reflected, as he went up the stairs to his own flat, a depressing admission on which to end the day.

Paul Blake said over the phone, 'I enjoyed the interview, sir. Well done.'

Frederick smiled bleakly. 'Good of you, but I said more than I should, and now I've got the newshounds on my track. Serves me right, I suppose.'

'Yes, I've seen the papers.
"The answer to pub murders lies in the motives," says criminologist.
Are you still interested in meeting Philpott's widow?'

Frederick's hand tightened on the receiver. 'You've not tracked her down?'

'I have, as it happens. Following your instructions, I went to Oxbury yesterday and had lunch in the local pub. As you can imagine, this talk of links between the latest murder and Philpott's was the main topic of conversation. All well-trodden ground, of course, but then I really had a break. One of the men commented that the person he felt sorry for was Philpott's wife, having it all dragged up again.

'So I said casually, "She remarried, didn't she? What was the name again?"

'And he said, "A chap called Bradburn. They moved down to Broadminster."'

'Well done, Paul. Do we know where in Broadminster?'

'We do. All I had to do was look them up in the phone book.'

Frederick said anxiously, 'She might not want to see me; she must have tried to put all that behind her.'

'Oh, I think she will, sir. Human nature being what it is.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, you're not in the same category as the police or a common-or-garden reporter, are you? Even if she didn't watch the programme, she'll have seen today's papers. You're a celebrity, after all; she'll be flattered you want to see her. I suggest you give her a call.'

Frederick hesitated, his natural disinclination to intrude at war with his writer's curiosity. Then, well aware which would triumph, he said resignedly, 'Give me the number, then.'

A man's voice answered the phone, abrupt and impatient. It could be that Mrs Bradburn had already had more than enough calls that morning. However, on hearing Frederick's name, the tone changed.

'The one who was on the box last night?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Frederick deprecatingly.

'Just a minute.'

A woman's voice came on the line. 'Hello?'

'Mrs Bradburn? My name is Frederick Mace. I realize this is a difficult time and I'm sorry to trouble you. You might perhaps have heard that I'm studying your first husband's murder for my new book?'

'Did the same man kill the social worker?'

Straight to the point, which, thankfully, meant he needn't tread warily. 'It's possible, but I might have a clearer idea if we could discuss it personally, which is the reason for this call. May my assistant and I come to see you?'

A slight pause, while he held his breath. Then, 'I haven't anything new to add.'

'Even so, a first-hand account would help enormously.' He glanced at his watch, anxious to tie her down before she changed her mind. 'Would later this morning be convenient? We could be down in about an hour.'

He heard her sigh. Then she said, 'Very well. But I warn you, you might feel it's a wasted journey.' She cut short his protests. 'Have you got our address? It's off Lower Broad Street, just before you come to the hospital. Batchwood Drive, number twelve.'

'Thank you,' Frederick said, checking it against the address Paul had given him. 'I'm most grateful. In about an hour, then.'

On that sunny Saturday morning, the country road was clogged with caravans, joggers and cyclists. Frederick, checking his watch for the umpteenth time, said, 'What do we know about her? Anything?'

'Only that she and Philpott were married for ten years, very happily, it seemed. No children.'

Frederick lifted his briefcase and took out the notes he'd made while waiting for Paul to collect him, several sheets closely covered in his small, cramped handwriting.

'She sounded quite calm on the phone; I hope it won't upset her, resurrecting it all.'

'It's water under the bridge now, and she'll have her new husband for moral support.'

Something in his tone made Frederick glance at him sideways. Blake was a tall, thin young man with dry-looking dark hair and brown eyes which peered short-sightedly through horn-rimmed spectacles. He was the ideal researcher: thorough, efficient and meticulous. Frederick frequently marvelled at the speed with which he transcribed his own tightly packed pages into neat, easy-to-read print.

Of his private life, Frederick knew nothing, nor wanted to, grateful only that he had materialized in response to the advertisement for a researcher which he'd placed in a professional journal. He never spoke of family or friends or of his life before he came to Ashmartin, but there had been no cause to; theirs was, after all, a business relationship. All Frederick knew was that he was unmarried and had lodgings in Sheep Street, a location within five minutes' walk of the main library, which was doubtless why he'd chosen it.

'It's good of you to give up your Saturday morning,' he said suddenly, as the thought struck him for the first time.

Blake smiled. 'It's no hardship; I'm as interested as you are.'

They slowed down still further on the approach to Broad- minster, entering the old town from the north east and filtering through the shoppers on to Broad Street before reaching Lower Broad Street and the turning to Batchwood Drive. The houses here were a mix of semi-detacheds and bungalows, each in a colourful and well-kept garden. Paul pulled up outside number twelve, a bungalow, and both men got out into the stifling heat.

As they walked up the short path the front door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man stood there. 'Peter Bradburn,' he said, holding out his hand. 'My wife's expecting you.'

She came forward as they were shown into the sitting- room, a small, pretty woman in her forties, wearing a print dress and sandals.

'We thought you might like coffee on the terrace? It's shaded out there at this time of day.'

'That's most kind of you.'

'Peter will take you through while I get the tray.'

'We sent the kids out to play, so we could have some peace,' Bradburn said, as they settled on the wrought-iron chairs.

'Oh? I understood –' Frederick began, before he could stop himself.

'My kids,' Bradburn explained, 'from my first marriage. We have them at weekends.'

'I see. Forgive me, it was just –'

'You're right, Aileen hasn't any of her own.'

'Did you know your wife's first husband, Mr Bradburn?'

'No,' Bradburn said, shaking his head for extra emphasis. 'I'd read about the murder, of course, but I didn't meet Aileen for a good two years after that – just, as luck would have it, as my own marriage was coming apart.'