by John Dean
‘Ah, but I think you did see something, Mrs Rutherford,’ said Blizzard. ‘And I would appreciate it if you told us the truth.’
‘I am telling you the truth.’
‘I think not.’
She lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze.
‘Mrs Rutherford,’ said Colley. His voice was softer and more reassuring than the inspector’s. ‘We do not want to make this difficult for you.’
She looked up, appreciating the sergeant’s more sensitive approach. Blizzard did not resent his sergeant’s interruption: it was the way they worked. He knew that people responded much better to the sergeant’s greater sense of humanity.
‘We believe that someone wanted us to think Jacob was hit by the brick,’ said Colley. ‘But we reckon that he was attacked before it happened. Did you see anyone in the church before you left for home?’
Hesitation. A hunted look. Confusion. A glance at the door but realisation that it was being blocked by Colley. The detectives exchanged glances. Years of experience told them when someone was lying – and Glenda Rutherford was lying.
‘You did see something, didn’t you?’ said Colley.
‘Yes,’ she said. The voice was hoarse, no more than a whisper. ‘I saw him on the way out.’
‘Saw who?’
She hesitated again. For a moment, it looked as if she was about to collapse but with a massive effort, she regained her composure.
‘Henry,’ she whispered eventually.
‘The vicar?’ said Colley.
She nodded.
‘What did he want?’ asked Blizzard.
‘He said he wanted to discuss something with Jacob. They were in the office when I left for home then I heard the window breaking and went back.’ Tears welled up again. ‘It was awful… Jacob was lying there… I thought he was dead. There was blood everywhere.’
‘Did the vicar have anything with him when you saw him?’ asked the inspector.
‘Like what?’
‘A weapon?’
‘No.’ Glenda Rutherford’s look was defiant as she found fresh energy. ‘I am sure that Henry did not attack him.’
‘But how can you be sure?’ asked Colley. ‘You weren’t in the building while they talked, were you? You’d left for home, hadn’t you?’
She shook her head in disbelief.
‘Surely, a vicar would not do something like that?’ she said. ‘Not a man like Henry.’
‘You should watch more Channel 5,’ said Blizzard. ‘Besides, what else are we to think?’
‘Well, I don’t believe it,’ said Glenda. She sat back in her chair. The conversation was clearly at an end.
The detectives left the office and walked across the church.
‘Channel 5?’ said Colley.
‘Something Arthur said.’
As they walked towards the front door, they saw Edgar Rose-Harvey standing in the reception area. He was examining a piece of paper in his hand and seemed unaware of their presence. When he saw them, he slipped the paper in his pocket but not before they saw the letterhead from a bank. The detectives sensed that something was different about him. The hair was as well groomed as ever, the black polo-neck sweater was clean and the black jacket had been brushed free of rogue fluff but something had changed. Gone was the usual confidence, replaced by a more troubled countenance.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. He tried to sound calm and relaxed. He failed. ‘What brings you here this time?’
‘Your ill-advised hostel,’ said Blizzard.
‘You really do not give up, do you?’ said Rose-Harvey. His edge was back. ‘You have already been told that it has official sanction from social services.’
‘I would like to know which idiot made that decision.’
‘You need to choose your words very carefully, Chief Inspector, because the hostel was Councillor Gill’s idea. We were only too willing to help him turn these lives around through the power of the Lord.’
‘Yes, well, I think Councillor Gill would be very interested to hear what has been happening here, don’t you? Where’s the vicar?’
Rose-Harvey sighed.
‘I am afraid that Henry has gone…’ he said.
‘Gone?’
‘Gone,’ said Rose-Harvey. He sighed and took the letter out of his pocket. ‘And he appears to have taken the church’s money with him!’
Chapter sixteen
Edgar Rose-Harvey sat in the office at the church with the letter from the bank lying on the desk in front of him. His irritation was growing as he watched the young woman checking through files on the desktop computer, something she had been doing for several hours.
‘How much longer are you going to be?’ he asked. ‘I can’t keep hanging around. I’m a busy man.’
‘So is Mr Blizzard,’ said Detective Constable Angie Gaylard from the Economic Crime Unit. She did not look up from her study of the church’s financial records; it was the third time that they had had the conversation. ‘He said that he’d be here by three thirty. He must have been delayed.’
Rose-Harvey glanced at the wall clock. Twenty to four. He stood up to leave.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Gaylard. Finally, she looked up from her work. ‘My orders are to arrest you if you try to go.’
‘On what grounds, may I ask?’
‘Obstructing our inquiries.’
‘This is outrageous!’ exclaimed Rose-Harvey.
‘What’s outrageous?’ asked Blizzard as he entered the office. He gave Rose-Harvey a look. ‘Well?’
Rose-Harvey sighed and sat down again.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘Good boy.’ Blizzard also sat down and allowed himself a slight smile; no doubt who was in control now. He looked at Gaylard. ‘How much is missing?’
‘I reckon it’s at least twenty-eight thousand, sir. But that could be the tip of the iceberg. I’ll need to do an awful lot more work to be able to say for definite. It’s not an easy digital trail to follow.’
‘It’s complicated then?’ said Blizzard; he was never a man who had taken easily to mathematics or computers.
‘Very,’ said Gaylard. ‘The vicar seems to have operated a system of bogus ledgers and fake invoices for the best part of a year and he set up a string of accounts. For all I know, he’s got another twenty-eight thousand squirrelled away. Possibly more.’
Rose-Harvey shook his head in disbelief. Blizzard noticed the gesture.
‘Wasn’t someone checking up on him?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Rose-Harvey. ‘Jacob was but as far as I knew, everything was above board. And Henry is a vicar. We trusted him. Clearly, he is more intelligent than I give him credit for.’
‘From what I have seen, you don’t give him credit for anything,’ said Blizzard.
‘It was an awkward relationship at times, I’ll admit that. I don’t suppose there’s any way we can hush this up, is there? Something like this would be very bad for the reputation of the church.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’
Rose-Harvey scowled.
‘I knew we should have sacked him,’ he said.
‘And why would you do that?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Henry never bought into what we are trying to do.’
‘Au contraire,’ said Blizzard. ‘It seems that he bought into the tune of at least twenty-eight thousand pounds.’
Rose-Harvey gave him a dark look but said nothing. Blizzard glanced at Gaylard.
‘How much longer will you need here?’ he asked.
‘I’ve just about finished, sir. I can do the rest back in the office. I’ll need to take some stuff with me but most of it’s in the cloud.’
‘Wherever that is,’ said Blizzard.
‘Last time I checked it was in a storage unit in Norfolk,’ said Gaylard.
Blizzard and Gaylard left the church a few minutes later, the latter clutching a large box of files and the inspector carrying the desktop computer. As they did so, David Colley
was on one of the nearby side streets where he spotted a bespectacled young man in a dark suit who was also carrying a cardboard box. The description was familiar to the sergeant and he approached him.
‘Phil Calvert?’ he asked.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I am Detective Sergeant Colley from Western CID.’ The sergeant produced his warrant card.
‘What do you want?’
‘I am investigating recent events at St John’s. Several people told me that you might be able to help. That you are a friend of Edgar Rose-Harvey.’
‘I’d hardly say friend.’
‘Nevertheless.’
‘Look, I don’t really want to–’
‘I’d hate to have to make it official,’ said Colley. ‘Bring you in for questioning.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Oh, I’d think of something. Maybe ask a few questions about your company, for starters.’
Calvert searched the stern expression on the sergeant’s face for signs of bluff. He found nothing and shot an uneasy look in the direction of the church.
‘Alright, but I don’t want to be seen talking to you in the street,’ he said. He lifted the box up. ‘Let me deliver these leaflets to the church then we can go to my office. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.’
‘Don’t run away,’ said Colley.
‘I won’t.’
Calvert was as good as his word and, a few minutes later, they were sitting in the office from which he ran his property letting agency, which was situated halfway along a shabby row of converted terraced houses not far from St John’s. Calvert loosened his tie and threw his suit jacket over the back of his chair.
‘This is better,’ he said. He opened the filing cabinet and produced a bottle of whisky and a couple of glasses. ‘Snifter?’
‘Better not,’ said Colley. ‘Duty and all that.’
‘You don’t mind if I do?’
‘Be my guest.’
Calvert poured himself a large drink and sat down behind his desk.
‘What were the leaflets about?’ asked Colley.
‘The church lets me advertise properties that are available to rent.’
‘You get on well with the people at St John’s then?’
‘I’m a member of the congregation, if that’s what you mean.’
‘You born-again?’
‘Na, but I get a lot of business from folks there and it pays to show my face. There’s quite a few young people who have moved into the area so that they can attend services. I hadn’t gone for years but you’ve got to show willing when you run your own business. I don’t really have much time for all that clapping and waving your hands in the air. Why so interested anyway?’
‘We’re looking for anyone who can offer us an insight into what’s been going on in the church,’ said the sergeant.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything. There’s something not right.’
‘That’s why I did not want to be seen talking to you.’ Calvert took a large gulp of whisky and leaned forward. ‘Listen, I don’t want my name dragging into this, right? I don’t want anyone to know I have spoken to you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Let’s just say that it would not be good for business, shall we? Rose-Harvey and his pals have plenty of influential friends.’
‘So he keeps reminding us,’ said Colley.
‘St John’s was a nice church before him and his cronies arrived,’ said Calvert. ‘I went there when I was a kid. I was a Scout – only because it got me in with the Guides, mind.’
Colley smiled at the joke.
‘I drifted away when I got older,’ continued Calvert, ‘but my grandparents kept going. They left a few months after the new people arrived. Didn’t feel welcome. They’re at St Cuthbert’s now.’
‘And who exactly are these new people?’ asked Colley. ‘They don’t seem to be an official group that I can identify.’
‘All anyone knows is that they are from the evangelical arm of the church.’ Calvert drained his glass and filled it up again. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind born-again Christians. Those stuffy old services bored the arse off everyone so something had to change, but this lot are creepy.’
‘Creepy?’
‘Yeah.’ Calvert glanced toward the office window. ‘You feel like they’re always watching you, in case you do something wrong. And anyone who disagrees with them gets frozen out. That’s why there’s virtually none of the oldies left.’
‘But the older members did save the church from being demolished, didn’t they? Wasn’t it going to be sold off as part of some property deal?’
‘That was the word,’ said Calvert. ‘I don’t know any of the details but, if you ask me, it was all talk. There didn’t seem to be much substance to it and it all fizzled out pretty quickly. I always wondered if the idea might come back some day but when the new folks arrived, congregation numbers grew rapidly and the church is pretty much secure now.’
‘Although current events can’t be helping?’
‘They’re not, no. In fact, I did hear that a number of people have said that they won’t attend services until things quieten down. Henry Sanders had warned Edgar Rose-Harvey and his pals that the hostel would be trouble, but they just shot him down.’
‘From what we hear, the vicar did not get on with the new people,’ said Colley.
‘Not at all. He seemed spooked by them. Edgar Rose-Harvey can be a nasty piece of work if he wants to be. It was like Henry had no influence after the new people arrived. They make all the decisions and Henry looks terrified whenever Rose-Harvey or one of his pals walk into the room. And, like I say, he didn’t like the idea of the hostel.’
‘But I thought that was the church’s big project?’ said the sergeant.
‘But it was their project, not Henry’s. Rose-Harvey said that it was a way of the church showing how the power of prayer can transform even the darkest of hearts. His words or Jacob Reed’s. Can’t remember which one. They all like their grandiose statements. Henry hated the idea of criminals staying so close to the church.’
‘So why didn’t he leave if he was so against it?’
‘It’s not that easy in the church.’ Calvert took another gulp of whisky. ‘Got to jump through lots of hoops if you want a posting – and all it needs is a word in the wrong place from Rose-Harvey and his bunch and he’s snookered. Pity, Sanders is a decent kind of fellow.’
Colley hesitated then decided to take Calvert into his confidence.
‘Not so decent, actually,’ he said. ‘Not to be bandied round but we think that he has stolen a lot of money from the church. I don’t suppose you have heard anything about that?’
‘Nope,’ said Calvert. He gave a low whistle. ‘Never had him down for that sort of thing.’
‘And also between you and me, Mr Calvert, he was the last person to see Jacob Reed before he was injured. I take it you don’t know anything about that either?’
‘That’s right. You sure about that?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Colley.
‘Jesus.’
‘No, we’ve got a witness to say he was elsewhere.’
There was a moment’s silence then Calvert burst into laughter.
‘Sorry, bad taste,’ said Colley but he was grinning as well. The levity did not last long. ‘Tell me, did you know Jamie Holdsworth?’
Calvert was suddenly solemn.
‘He came to the occasional service with his mum,’ he said. ‘And he was in the Scouts.’
Calvert hesitated, as if unsure whether or not he should keep talking.
‘Is there something else you want to tell me?’ asked Colley.
Calvert thought for a few moments then nodded.
‘The vicar was friendly with the family,’ he said in a low voice even though they were the only people in the room. ‘Well, with the kid’s mother, if you get my drift. There were rumours.’
‘And were the rumours tr
ue?’
‘All I can say is that once, when I was driving past the end of their street, I saw him coming out of their house and it was past eleven. A touch late for a pastoral visit, I would say.’
‘Did her husband know about the affair?’
‘Do you think the vicar would still have been walking upright if Steve Holdsworth knew about it?’ Calvert lowered his voice. ‘He’s another nasty piece of work, that one. Look, I don’t want to come over as a gossip but there was talk that Steve hit the kid. I don’t know if it’s true, but I saw Jamie with a black eye one day.’
‘Do you know if–’
‘I’ve already said too much.’ Calvert pointed a finger at him. ‘Just remember what I said. You keep my name out of this.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Colley stood up and Calvert reached for the bottle again.
‘I wouldn’t drive home if I were you,’ said the sergeant.
‘Can’t. Banned. Drink driving.’
‘There’s a surprise,’ said Colley.
The sergeant walked out into the gathering gloom of late afternoon to find Blizzard’s car parked outside the row of shops. The inspector wound down the passenger side window and leaned over.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘Only that St John’s is a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Blizzard. ‘Get in. You and I have got a little surprise for Mr Holdsworth.’
‘Ooh, lovely, I like surprises!’ said Colley, lowering himself into the passenger seat.
‘Well, you’ll definitely like this one,’ said Blizzard.
Chapter seventeen
Blizzard and Colley were soon sitting back in the living room of the Holdsworths’ neat little house. Steve eyed them with defiance, Marian was as cowed as she was the previous time they had met. She had clearly been crying.
‘Mr Holdsworth,’ said Blizzard. ‘We have been doing some checking up on you.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yes, it turns out that our CID colleagues on the north side of the city questioned you four years ago for hitting your son outside a pub following a school football match.’
‘He were being lippy!’ said Holdsworth. ‘You have to discipline them.’
