His statement went like this: ‘I was in my mother’s shop at five o’clock on the afternoon of the 19th May when I saw a woman going into the church with some flowers. I had never been inside St Kenelm’s and always having had a special interest in church architecture, I entered after she’d been in some time and sat down in one of the pews. I did not make my presence known because she was busy arranging the flowers near the altar and I did not wish to disturb her. When she left I was bending down in one of the pews tying my shoelace so she did not see me. I was upset to find that she had locked the door behind her and that I was imprisoned in the church. Then I heard the door being unlocked and an elderly person in a wheelchair came in and went across the front. He did not see me because I had stepped back behind the door when I heard it being unlocked. Almost immediately a man followed him in. I got a look at his face and I saw his back view as he walked towards the front and I am sure I would recognize him if I saw him again. I do not know what happened after that because I left the church immediately.’
Mayo grinned as he read it. No prizes for guessing what Tigger had been up to: slipping in while Mrs Holden had been occupied to suss out the possibilities of the silver and anything else that looked likely.
At that moment, the church door opened and Lionel Oliver came in. Walking slowly, his shoulders bowed, his tall figure elongated in his long cassock, he went straight towards the chancel steps and knelt at the communion rail in front of the altar. Not knowing whether to make his presence known or to tiptoe out and so risk disturbing the man even further, Mayo hesitated too long and the opportunity was lost. Before he could make his mind up, the Rector rose and came back down the aisle, pausing when he reached the pew where Mayo sat, seemingly having been aware that he was there all along
‘I’ve just come from the hospital. There’s no change,’ he said bleakly. ‘His mother is with him.’
He himself was dreadfully changed. The smiling blandness had quite disappeared. He was pale as bleached bone and two deep lines grooved themselves between nose and chin. ‘Thank you for coming. I couldn’t say what I have to say over the telephone. Perhaps we should go across to the Rectory. We shall be more comfortable there.’
In his study, the Rector switched on an electric fire that wasn’t needed and stood in front of it for a while, rubbing his hands as if unable to get warm. Then he sat at his desk and turned his chair round to face Mayo but seemed quite at a loss where to begin. Mayo coughed and set the ball rolling. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to ask you a few questions, sir. Perhaps we’d better start by that.’
‘What? Oh, go ahead, I don’t mind questions, if it’ll help you find out who did this to him.’
‘Have you heard of an organization named SARA?’
A moment’s painful silence. Outside in Parson’s Place nothing stirred except Florence, the black Persian, stalking her territory with lofty, monarchical interest. ‘Unfortunately, yes, though only recently.’ The Rector rubbed his hands across his eyes. ‘Yes, I know of it. I learned a few days ago that my wife was, until last weekend, a member. You remember perhaps that she went to a meeting on Saturday?’
Mayo nodded.
‘That was a meeting of SARA. She has some inherited money of her own and in addition she has recently written a little book which I am told is expected to bring in more.’ He paused and blinked, reflecting perhaps on a phenomenon evidently astonishing to him. ‘She had offered to donate to SARA whatever the book might make, plus a considerable amount more – on certain conditions.’
‘Which were?’
‘I don’t know how much you know about this group – though whatever it is I feel it will not be to their credit. An ill-conceived gathering of foolish idealists who, I’m sorry to say, have recently begun to advocate violence to achieve their aims. Needless to say, Catherine could never have supported this and she asked for a promise that any money she put into the funds would not be used for these purposes. It was made clear on Saturday, I believe, that no such promises would be forthcoming, and she was therefore obliged to resign, along with a few more who haven’t yet lost their sanity.’
‘And did you know that your son was also connected with SARA?’
The Rector’s eyes closed for a moment. ‘Sebastian’s concerns are a mystery to me.’ He fell again into silence, then roused himself. ‘But that brings me to what I have to say. Eight years ago, Sebastian was in the sixth form at Halsingbury – you know it?’
One of the better-known public schools, it was located near the Welsh border and was famous for its successes in schoolboy rugby internationals and for having numbered a former prime minister among its pupils. And among its teachers, a name he had yesterday connected with it. He nodded, feeling again that sixth sense, a rising of the hairs on his scalp, telling him that here it was, the end of the thread which would lead him through the labyrinth and into the daylight.
‘There was – an incident – and he was asked to leave. You may imagine that as parents we were very much upset, and of course I demanded to know the reason why. I met with no success, I was frustrated at every turn, even by my son. Especially perhaps by my son. Sebastian and I, as you may have gathered, do not communicate easily.’ The line of pain between the fine brows deepened. ‘However ... The reason given for his being expelled was that he had apparently knocked down one of the masters. What nonsense!’
Mayo could understand the father’s difficulty in accepting this. It wasn’t easy to imagine that urbane young man rousing himself to anything so uncouth as a bout of fisticuffs. ‘You say apparently. Was there some doubt?’
‘Sebastian didn’t trouble to deny it, but I know my son, Mr Mayo. I am not blind to his faults but he is not, and never has been, given to violence and I am not of the opinion that anyone suddenly acts out of character. I was not even told why he was supposed to have done what he had. The Headmaster, for reasons of his own, refused to try to get to the bottom of it. I was asked to remove my son from the school at the end of the summer term and when I demanded to see the master in question I was told he wasn’t available – that he’d already left for an extended holiday in Greece and would not be returning to the school. Sebastian, despite everything I could do to persuade him otherwise, would say nothing. He was apparently quite happy to leave Halsingbury and subsequently, I suppose, he has done no worse for himself than if he had stayed on. There was no alternative but to consider the matter over and done with.’
At that moment, the telephone rang.
Later that afternoon the Rector accompanied Mayo and Kite as they drove to Uplands House School, Mayo showing nothing of the taut excitement he felt, like the rush of adrenalin an actor feels at the start of a play, which told him he was approaching the winding up of the case, with only a few loose ends remaining to be tied up. Kite, impassive at the wheel of the car, gave no indication either as to whether he was feeling the same, though it had been agreed that his role, in this instance, was to be a supporting one, that of silent observer, note-taker, strong-arm support if necessary.
The car drew up on the cobbles outside the old stable block and the three men alighted. A short flight of wooden stairs on the outer wall led to a door at the top, at present standing wide open.
‘Come in,’ Jonathan Reece invited, charming as usual, carelessly tossing back his hair when he looked up from where he sat and saw Mayo, his hand raised to knock. ‘The more the merrier.’
The three men stepped into a room that looked like anything but a converted stable loft. A thick white carpet and modern furniture, a lot of expensive equipment for playing music, stacks of CD discs. In the middle of the room stood Phyllida Thorne.
She was standing directly opposite the chair Reece had just vacated, next to which was a bottle on a small table, and a glass containing a considerable measure of whisky. Confrontation was in the air.
At first sight of Mayo she assumed a defiant look but her eyes widened as she saw that he and Kite were followed by the Rector. ‘Sebastian?’ There
was a new uncertainty in her voice.
‘My dear Phyllida, they have just rung to tell me that he came round. Only for a brief moment but we pray and live in hope.’
The kindness of the Rector’s tone, the joy on his face, her own relief, made her eyes fill with tears which seemed as unexpected to herself as they did to those watching her. Was it possible the tough case around the dormant flower seeds was beginning to soften? Knuckling this unbidden sign of weakness away, ashamed, she looked like a small, defiant, waif-like urchin. No make-up, her short spiky hair all anyhow, an old pair of grubby jeans and a denim jacket. ‘Oh bugger Seb,’ she said as more tears rolled, furiously scrubbing at her eyes with an inadequate piece of tissue pulled from her pocket. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ...’
‘My dear child,’ said the Rector.
‘He thinks he’s so clever ... I suppose he thought he was pulling off another of his smart deals, but oh, he can be such a fool! Why did he have to do such a crazy thing?’ she cried, in an agony of despair and belatedly realized love. But hopefully, Mayo thought, not too belated.
‘What are you talking about, Phyllida?’ the Rector asked.
‘Ask him!’ she declared, looking at Reece. ‘He knows what I mean.’
‘You’re upset, Philly,’ Reece said. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. Sit down and have a drink. Let’s all have a drink, why not?’ With an ironic gesture of his hand, he invited everyone to sit.
Throwing him a glance of the utmost loathing, Phyllida dashed away the last of her tears and picked up her leather shoulder-bag that was lying on a table.
‘Don’t go, Miss Thorne,’ Mayo said. ‘I’d like you to be in on this.’
‘I’ve no intention of going. I was only looking for a handkerchief.’ Having found it, made brisk use of it and tucked it away, almost in command of her emotions once more, she meekly obeyed Mayo’s indication that she should seat herself.
Reece spread his hands in resignation. He was wearing black, a roll-neck sweater and jeans. His tall blondness gave him a Teutonic appearance. The black went with his leather chairs and modern furniture, the modern abstracts on the walls. The blondness went with his blue eyes and crinkly smile. But it was a smile that had little humour or welcome in it and though he was affecting nonchalance Mayo thought he suspected what was to come. ‘To what,’ he asked, throwing himself down in his chair when his offer of drinks was refused, ‘do I owe the pleasure?’
‘We’re here to ask a few more questions about the day Mr Willard was killed,’ Mayo said, choosing an upright chair by the dining table.
A raised eyebrow and a glance towards the Rector.
‘Mr Oliver has asked if he may be present in view of what we have to say.’
Reece inclined his head, took an unhurried drink, drove his hands into his pockets and leaned back with his legs stuck out. ‘Fire away. You won’t learn any more than I’ve already told you.’
‘Don’t be too sure of that. For one thing, I’d like to talk about your visit to Mr Willard around twelve noon last Saturday, and why you never mentioned it.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I’d been asked.’
‘I’m asking you now, Mr Reece. Please don’t prevaricate.’
Reece shrugged. ‘A social visit, off the cuff. A few minutes’ chat, that was all it was, on my way to the church for that rehearsal I did tell you about.’
‘I don’t think it was off the cuff, though, was it? Not when Mr Willard had telephoned you and asked you to call. His reason for asking you was important enough to make you arrange – in the middle of a very busy day – a rehearsal with young Simon Rushton as a cover for going out. You didn’t want anyone to know you were visiting Mr Willard because he’d told you he wanted to talk to you about Sebastian Oliver. And I think it was that conversation with him that made you decide to kill him.’
Reece had gradually lost his engaging air of schoolboy frankness, but it had been replaced by annoyance rather than fear. He wasn’t yet sweating. He gave a short laugh. ‘When someone’s murdered, there usually has to be a motive, doesn’t there? And an opportunity, which I didn’t have. Mrs Holden has confirmed where I was when Willard was being killed.’
‘Which is no alibi at all. There was nothing to prevent you turning the volume up on your music – anyone calling and hearing it would assume, as Mrs Holden did, that you hadn’t heard the doorbell – and then running along the river bank, up the slope that leads to Parson’s Place and then into the church. You jog regularly about the village so you’d have a very fair idea what time it would take. You also knew Mr Willard’s invariable habit of arriving early for Evensong and that with a reasonable amount of luck you’d have time to do what you’d deliberately decided to do after your earlier talk with him. The timing was tight but you knew there’d be no further opportunity to find him alone, his daughter would be at home and with him the following day and the all-important governors’ meeting was scheduled for Monday morning.’
‘This is ridiculous! Especially since I’ve already told you I could have had no possible interest in wanting him dead.’
‘Yes, that’s what you’ve said, but it’s not so, is it? You’d a very good reason. It matters very much to you, becoming the next Head of Uplands House. And Mr Willard supported you in that – until he learned something about your past so unacceptable that he felt he must withdraw his support. Something that would give you no chance of being considered if it was generally known. In fact he wanted to talk to you about Halsingbury, the school where you both used to teach.’
‘That’s going back a few years.’
‘I’m not talking about the time you and he taught there together but later, after he’d left. When Sebastian Oliver was a pupil there.’
Silence.
‘On Sunday morning when we spoke to you, you said you and Mr Willard had taught together – at Halsingbury as it turned out. I had been told earlier that was the school Sebastian had been expelled from, and this enabled us to establish a connection between yourself and him. I must tell you that the Rector has told me of the incident which concerned you both and which resulted in Sebastian being asked to leave, and in you yourself subsequently resigning.’
From the corner of his eye Mayo saw Philly, perched on the edge of a sofa, open her mouth to speak, then close it.
Reece’s silence lengthened. At last he withdrew his unwavering blue stare from Mayo’s face and fixed it on the Rector’s. ‘Have you known who I was all this time – and said nothing?’
Lionel Oliver replied slowly, ‘When you took up the appointment at the school, there was no reason why I should have connected John Reece, as I heard it, with Jonathan Talbot-Reece, the master concerned with Sebastian being asked to leave Halsingbury. In fact, I didn’t realize who you were until I picked up a manual you had left beside the church organ and saw your name written inside the cover, J. C. R. Talbot-Reece.’
Kite gave a sentient nod over his notes. He’d made a similar mistake himself between John and Jon. For Sara hear Sarah.
‘I knew immediately who you were then, of course, and that you’d simply dropped the Talbot. It was a shock.’
But nothing to what Reece’s shock must have been on discovering that Lionel Oliver was the incumbent at Castle Wyvering, Mayo thought.
‘I’m astonished that you didn’t see fit to confront me with it,’ Reece said coolly.
The Rector’s patrician face showed his anger and distaste. ‘Do you think I don’t bitterly regret now that I didn’t? It was my first impulse. I imagined I might after all now be able to discover what had happened and perhaps clear my son’s name. However, on mature reflection I decided to leave well alone, that nothing would be gained but my own satisfaction. Sebastian had put the incident – whatever it was – behind him and if it was anything to your discredit I saw no point in raking it up, simply for the sake of it.’
Reece remained unimpressed by the Rector’s charity and consideration, but Lionel Oliver hadn’t
been looking for thanks. ‘As far was possible, I tried to forget it – until I heard there was a strong possibility you might become the new Head at Uplands, since when I’ve been much exercised in my mind.’
Mayo said, ‘I have to tell you, Mr Reece, that I’ve spoken to Mr Micklejohn, the Head of Halsingbury, and in the light of present circumstances he’s been more forthcoming than he was with Mr Oliver. I understand now that the incident concerned examination papers – that you had in fact offered to let Sebastian see them before the exam. He was apparently insulted at the suggestion that he couldn’t have passed without cheating if he’d been so minded, an argument developed and there was a scuffle – though I believe it wasn’t altogether because of the offer to give him a preview of the papers but rather for the implication of what you expected to follow.’
Reece said thickly, ‘I wondered when that was coming!’
‘Come off it, Jon!’ Philly was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘Don’t use that as an excuse. Nobody cares nowadays what anybody’s sexual preferences are. It was offering to let him see the exam papers that cost you your job at Halsingbury.’
‘According to Mr Micklejohn, that was so, but let me finish, please, Miss Thorne,’ Mayo said. ‘Since it was in Micklejohn’s interests not to have a scandal, he agreed, if you would leave the school quietly, Mr Reece, to recommend you to whatever school you moved to, and to say nothing.’
‘A highly questionable attitude, if I may say so,’ commented the Rector severely.
Reece spun round on him. ‘Why should it be questionable? I swear Micklejohn knew nothing whatever about my personal life! I’d never before let it interfere with my job and haven’t since. And I don’t mess around with young boys, either. Sebastian was different – he was seventeen and I thought ... Well, I was mistaken, wasn’t I? One mistake. But it would’ve ruined me here. It had obviously suited his corner to leave Halsingbury, so he let people believe what they wanted but it seems he’s never forgiven the way it happened, all the same – nor the insult to his precious macho image! When he heard I might be made Head at Uplands he wasn’t slow to talk, was he?’
Late of This Parish Page 21
