“Yes – she was still a junior partner, but in the last few years or so she had taken on more responsibility like the chapel.”
Miller was about to take another drink of coffee, but he stopped with the mug a few inches from his mouth. “The chapel?”
“Yes – where her body was found. Sorry, Paul mentioned it this morning.”
Miller waved away the breach of confidentiality. “You’re telling me that she was working on the chapel?”
“I thought you knew,” Maria said. “She was in charge of the work to shore up the foundations so that it survived beyond when it’s due to close next summer.”
Miller drained his coffee. Was that why she was in the graveyard so late at night? It was possible, but it still seemed unlikely. It wasn’t exactly like taking a little work home from the office. But then why hadn’t she mentioned it? She had said she was heading straight home. Why lie?
Maria seemed to sense that her information was giving Miller more questions than answers. “Do you want to know about her work?”
“Yes – of course. Go on.”
“She’s worked at Anstey Ltd for three or four years now. It’s how we met. I was doing some translation work for a job they had in France…”
Miller’s look of confusion was almost comical. “You’re a translator?” He suddenly realised how little he knew about Maria Riddle. He felt a strong pang of guilt that he had never asked Riddle more than perfunctory questions about his wife.
“That’s right,” Maria said. “French and Italian. I normally work on legal documents, but sometimes I help out with corporate contracts. That’s what the job with Anstey was. Back then Samantha still had admin duties and she was charged with finding a translator. I remember she was really surprised to find one in Whitby.”
“It’s normally Geordie to Yorkshire that needs translating,” Miller said. It was a weak joke, but he was trying to make Maria feel better about him knowing so little about her life.
“True,” she laughed, “and ten years ago that might have been the case, but what with the internet and the ability to work from home I can be based pretty much anywhere.”
Miller had always assumed that when Riddle mentioned his wife was in during the day that she was a housewife. He shook his head at his lack of foresight. Some detective he was.
“We hit it off straight away,” Maria said. “We even went to night school together. I often think we could have been really good friends.”
“Really?” Miller said, his self-wallowing suddenly replaced with prickles of curiosity. “Why didn’t you?”
“In two words?” Maria said, a look of distaste on her face. “David Higgins.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the living room window as Maria disappeared into the kitchen to make a second cup of coffee. Miller turned to look outside. The last remnants of autumn leaves were dancing demonically in the Riddle’s small front garden. Some leaves broke from the melee and struck the glass before becoming caught in the neatly trimmed shrubbery.
Miller locked his fingers together and stretched his arms above his head. Despite his intention not to let his suspension get to him, he was feeling increasingly frustrated. It may have only been a matter of hours, but the early stages of a murder investigation were often the most crucial and here he was drinking coffee with the wife of his sergeant.
Miller took three deep breaths to try and calm down as he reminded himself that Riddle was quite capable of dealing with the investigation in his absence and he was gaining useful information from Maria Riddle.
“Here you are,” Maria said as she came back into the room carrying a tray laden with more coffee and biscuits. The cups were covered with a design that was based on a 1960s pattern his parents had owned, but was now making a comeback as part of a major department store’s “vintage” line. He tried to picture Riddle shopping for fashionable kitchenware, but his imagination couldn’t make the leap.
“Thank you,” Miller said. “Nice cups.”
Maria smiled. “Paul chose them.”
Miller laughed.
“What is it?” Maria said, with a look that suggested she had guessed what Miller had been thinking.
Miller scanned the living room, as if he had just noticed where he was. Although the house itself was typical of new build homes throughout the country, it struck him for the first time that it was actually decorated with some style and taste. The decor was modern, without being typical. It showed imagination and not a little flair for colour. One wall was painted a deep red, while the others were wallpapered with a small repeating coffee bean-shaped design. All it needed was a few records and books, he thought again.
“Your house is lovely,” Miller said.
“You say that as if it’s the first time you’ve been here,” Maria laughed. “But thank you. I will make sure I let Paul know you approve of his taste. Of course,” she added, “you probably wish there were more books and records.”
“You probably think I have too many,” he said.
Maria shrugged. “It’s what makes you the person you are,” she said. “How can you have too many?”
For the second time that morning, it occurred to Miller what a lucky man his sergeant was.
Miller selected a chocolate biscuit from the tray and relaxed back into the sofa. “You were telling me about Samantha’s boyfriend,” Miller said glancing down at his scribbled notes.
“David Higgins?” Maria grimaced.
“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of this David Higgins. Why don’t you tell me about him?”
Maria nibbled on the corner of a cream wafer. “Well, he’s one of the partners at Anstey Surveyors. And he’s not Samantha’s boyfriend – well, not officially anyway.”
Miller’s interest was now definitely piqued. “What do you mean?”
“Well for one thing, he’s married.”
“Really?”
“Why are so surprised?” Maria asked.
Why was he so surprised? He had only met her the one time. And yet he was normally a good judge of character, apart from the one obvious exception.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he said. “It’s silly I know, but I just got the impression that she didn’t need to get involved with a married man.”
“I’m not sure anyone needs to get involved with someone’s who married, but it still happens.”
“True,” Miller conceded.
“But you know what?” Maria said, “I think on this occasion you may have a point. Samantha was a very intelligent woman who normally didn’t let her heart rule her head.”
“So why was she seeing a married man who was also her boss?”
Maria thought for a moment. “Well, she wasn’t exactly seeing him. They had a brief fling. You know what it’s like. They were working late a lot, there were drinks one night and one thing led to another.”
“But it was more than once?”
Maria shrugged. “He’s a good looking man and although she wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, I think she was flattered. They went out a couple of times, but it didn’t take her long.”
“Didn’t take her long to what?”
“To realise what a total idiot he is.”
“In what way?”
Maria stared out of the window. The wind had suddenly dropped. The sky was looking dark and threatening. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her body. “Like I said, he’s a good looking man. Drives a nice car, is personable enough. On the surface he seems quite an attractive person.”
“But below the surface?” Miller prompted.
Maria’s brow creased. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s like he’s less than the sum of his parts, if that makes sense.”
Miller wasn’t sure that it did.
“Put it this way,” Maria said. “He seems to tick all the boxes, but there’s something missing. Beyond the good looks, the money, the manners, it’s like he’s empty. Not nasty, at least not in a premeditated way; rather there�
��s nothing behind the facade. He’s not like a lot of men – women too – who hide a mean spirited or nasty character behind false smiles. It’s more that there’s nothing behind the facade at all. He’s almost child-like in his amorality. He’d sleep with someone because he wanted to and just not consider the consequences. They’d be nothing malicious, but they’d equally be no remorse. And the problem with that,” Maria added as she picked up a second cream wafer, “is that because he has no concept of other people’s lives, it is all too easy not to see the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake.”
“Trail of destruction?” Miller said. He had been taken aback by the increasing anger in Maria’s voice.
“Perhaps I’m being a little dramatic,” she said shrugging her shoulders, “but it really makes me angry when people don’t consider the consequences of their actions.”
“And what were the consequences of his actions?”
Maria laughed bitterly. “He made her work life uncomfortable. And as for her personal life, well let’s just say that was far from a walk in the park.”
“She had a boyfriend, then?”
“Yes. Tommy something. Gregson or Gregory, I think. He’s a sweet bloke, a little soft perhaps. But he really seemed to care for Samantha.”
“And was he a surveyor?”
“No. He works at a stationers on Skinner Street. They’d been together for 18 months or so.”
“And were they happy?” Miller asked thinking back to the previous night in the Endeavour. Had she seemed happy? There was something that had struck him about her. What was it? There had been something almost melancholy about her mood. Or was he reading too much into one night?
“I think they were quite happy,” Maria said. “At least until he found out about David Higgins.”
Miller sat forward. “He knew about the affair?’
“Oh, he knew all right. That was when all the trouble began.”
“Maria,” Miller said. “I need you to tell me all you know about Tommy…”
“Gregory. That was it. Tommy Gregory.”
“Right. Tell me all you know about Tommy Gregory.”
“Well, as I said they’d been together a year and a half or so. I’m not saying he was the one or anything, but they seemed happy enough. Then about twelve months ago, Samantha had her fling with David Higgins. It probably only lasted a few weeks, before Samantha put an end to it.”
“She felt guilty?”
“Perhaps,” Maria said, sounding unconvinced. “I think it was more that she saw through him. She realised it was a mistake. For what it’s worth, I don’t think she loved Tommy. But I think he loved her.”
“So how did he find out about the affair?”
“That was a mutual friend. Well, I’m not sure friend is the right word. Anyway, he let it slip and Tommy was upset. Very upset.”
“Upset? In what way.”
“They had this God-awful row. Things were thrown; there was a lot of shouting. Recriminations. That sort of thing. Anyway, that’s when it started.”
Miller looked confused. “When what started?”
“The whole weird religion thing.”
“Hold on,” Miller said. “Weird religion? You mean he found God?”
“Wrong religion. He got into one of those ancient religions. You know all stone circles and robes.”
“New Age religion?” Miller asked.
“Yes – but he didn’t call it that. He had a name for it.” Maria thought for a moment. “Paganism. That was it. He became a Pagan.”
Miller wasn’t as surprised as some of his colleagues in other areas may have been. Whitby was awash with alternate religions; it seemed to attract people who were looking for a different path to follow. They were mostly harmless and well meaning, as well as often educated and articulate. Which was far removed from their presentation in the media, where they were often portrayed as drug addled vegetarians.
“I don’t suppose it’s that strange,” Miller said, almost to himself.
“Really?” Maria said.
“Well, people turn to drink and even drugs when relationships break up, so is it that strange that someone might seek spiritual solace in a new religion? It’s better than losing yourself in an endless stream of bottles of Scotch,” he added as his mind when back to Charlie, a friend he hadn’t seen since he had left the town for the south coast.
“If they had broken up,” Maria said, “I could understand it.”
Miller looked up sharply. “If they had broken up? You mean they were still together?”
“Yes,” Maria said. “That’s what I found so odd about it.” She stood up and began to pace the small living room, as if she was lecturing at the university. “When someone has an affair, two things tend to happen in my experience. One: the couple split up in an atmosphere of bad feeling and recrimination or two: they somehow stay together trying to paper over the cracks. Sometimes it works, normally if there are children to consider, but often it doesn’t. In the case of Samantha and Tommy, at least from what she told me, he seemed to have an almost schizophrenic response to the situation.”
Miller sat forward. “Go on,” he said.
“Well on the one hand he never showed any indication that he had even considered leaving Samantha. She told me that at first she felt so guilty that she was just relieved, but then she started to think it odd that after the initial argument, he never got angry.”
“And on the other hand?”
“On the other hand, he seemed to become almost another person. Before the affair he did what most blokes do. He went to the pub, talked about cars and watched football.”
Miller smiled at Maria’s idea of what most men did. While he was no stranger to Whitby’s public houses, football and cars played almost no role in his life. “And after the affair?” he prompted.
“He took to this new religion with a passion.”
“How did it manifest itself?” Miller asked.
“Apparently he bought all the books he could get his hands on, he started shopping in all those weird shops on Church Street, and he set up a shrine in his spare bedroom.”
Miller almost spat out his coffee. “A shrine?”
“Well I didn’t see it, obviously. But Samantha told me that it was made up of stones and candles, that sort of thing. He used to go in there and recite spells and such.”
Miller sat back. He needed to tell Riddle about this as soon as possible. Just as he was wondering if he should return to the house later that night, his mobile phone rang. Riddle’s name was displayed on the screen.
“Sergeant,” Miller said. “You do know this call is in direct contravention of Chief Constable Davis’s instructions.”
“I seem to have missed those instructions,” Riddle lied.
“So what can I do for you?”
“I’m calling you about the victim’s…” Riddle corrected himself. “About Samantha Thompson. I’m at the chapel. You need to see this, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it. You won’t believe it. Her body is naked on a tomb stone, it’s like…”
Miller looked up at Maria as he interrupted his sergeant.
“It’s like a Pagan ceremony?”
*
A few minutes later Riddle walked up to PC Newbold.
“What did the boss say?”
Riddle turned around and looked back into the tent. “He asked if it looked like a Pagan ceremony.”
Riddle and Newbold looked at each other and then both spoke at the same time.
“How the hell does he do that?”
Chapter 6
“Excuse me,” a well-spoken voice said.
Riddle and Newbold turned around to be confronted by a tall, wiry man in his early forties. He had bright red hair and was dressed all in black except for a white collar.
For some reason Riddle could not think of anything to say.
“Hello,” Newbold said with a quizzical look up at Riddle. “I’m PC Newbold and this is Detective Sergeant Riddle.”
“Good morning, although what is good about it…” he trailed off with a sideways look at the SOCO tent.
“Are you in charge here?” Newbold said, her knowledge of ecumenical matters about on a par with what she knew about alternative religions.
The man seemed to consider this for a moment. “I suppose I should say something about God being ultimately in charge, but I do so detest the trivialisation of divinity that seems to be increasingly in fashion among certain areas of the church.” He stopped suddenly as if he had just remembered it was him who had approached Riddle and Newbold.
“Sorry. For all intents and purposes I suppose I am in charge. I’m Luke Moore, the vicar of Curlew Lane Chapel,” he said waving his arm around him. “At least until it closes down next summer.”
“Hello, sir,” Riddle said, finally managing to string two words together. “This must be very unpleasant for you.”
“Death is seldom pleasant,” the vicar said. “But I take your meaning. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Riddle thought for a moment. The last thing he wanted was some God-botherer, however well meaning, messing up his crime scene. But on the other hand, with Miller being off the case, he could do with as much help as he could get.
The vicar seemed to sense his quandary. “I have seen death in all its forms, Detective Sergeant. I may be able to provide you with some information.”
Riddle’s eyes narrowed.
The vicar held up his hands. “I could not help hear you speak of a Pagan element in this terrible crime. I have a little knowledge of such things.”
The surprise on Riddle’s face was almost comical.
“How are we supposed to fight the unholy elements in our world if we know nothing of them? I would like to help if I could.”
Riddle looked to Newbold who shrugged. They were both thinking the same thing. What would Miller do if he were here?
*
As soon as Miller had ended the call with his sergeant he had stood up and thanked Maria Riddle for all her help. Within minutes he was driving back towards Whitby.
As he passed through the village of Sleights, he used the controls on his steering wheel to place a call to Chief Constable Davis. His secretary answered and put Miller on hold. He was still waiting as the car passed the Welcome to Whitby sign. It was only as he pulled up at the traffic lights on Mayfield Road that the line clicked into life.
Better the Devil You Know Page 4
