by Frank Smith
‘Perhaps he’s exactly what he says he is and just happened to be in the Red Lion the night Connie Rice disappeared,’ Paget said. ‘We’ll have to see what turns up at the Oxford end.’ He turned his attention to Molly as she approached. ‘You’re looking rather pleased with yourself,’ he said. ‘Did you hear back from Jones?’
‘No, I didn’t, sir,’ said Molly, ‘but that doesn’t matter now, because I’ve found the register of everyone who was or is a member of the All Saints choir, and Travis, Whitelaw, Rice and Dennis Moreland were all there at the same time in the spring and summer of nineteen ninety-five.’ Molly held up the book. ‘It’s all in here, sir. One of the choir members, Meg Bainbridge, had it.’ She went on to explain how the book had come to be in Meg’s possession, ending with, ‘And both Mike Fulbright and his father must have known about this book, but neither of them said a word to us about it.’
‘And Jones? Did he know as well?’
‘Meg says they’d started another book by the time he took over, so he may not have known about it, or perhaps thought Fairfield had it. But there’s something else, sir. Meg told me about a sixteen-year-old girl who committed suicide by jumping from the church tower in August that year. Meg couldn’t remember her last name, but her first name was Angelica. I don’t know if it’s significant, but Angelica does begin with the letter A.’
‘I had noticed,’ Paget said drily. ‘However, point taken.’ He turned to Ormside. ‘If the girl went off the church tower, we must have been called to the scene, so there should be something in the files, and the local paper should have something in their archives as well, so get someone started on that right away. I think it’s time we had another talk with Mike Fulbright, Tregalles, and ask him why he never mentioned the register. And we can ask him what he knows about this girl’s suicide as well.’
‘I know he’s been holding something back,’ Tregalles said, ‘but do you think he could be our killer?’
‘I rather doubt that,’ said Paget, ‘but he is a big man, so just in case I’m wrong, take someone with you.’
‘I’d like to go, if that’s all right, sir?’ Molly said quickly. ‘One thing Meg Bainbridge said was that the boys used to try to hang around Mike Fulbright. In fact she said he had quite a gang around him for a while, so I think he could be involved in some way.’
‘That makes two of us,’ Tregalles said grimly, ‘so let’s go, Molly. You can tackle him and hold him down while I caution him.’
‘I’m afraid Mike’s gone for the day, Sergeant,’ Anita Chapman said. ‘He left here about half an hour ago. He said he had things to do at home. Is there anything I can do for you?’
A couple of things crossed Tregalles’s mind, but he resisted the temptation to voice them, and shook his head. ‘It’s not important,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop by tomorrow.’ He didn’t want Anita to let Fulbright know that they were coming.
‘You’ve been quiet,’ he said to Molly as they got back in the car. ‘Penny for them?’
‘It’s just that I keep wondering if anyone else in the choir could be involved in all this, and why Mike’s father didn’t tell us about the register when he knew we were looking for the information. I don’t think it’s the sort of thing that would have slipped his memory.’
‘Seems to me a few things have slipped people’s memory,’ Tregalles observed caustically as they pulled out into Bridge Street.
Tregalles rang the bell three times before the door was opened by Theodore Fulbright. ‘Oh, it’s you again,’ he said with barely concealed displeasure. ‘What do you want now?’
‘We’d like to talk to Mike, if you don’t mind, sir,’ Tregalles said. ‘May we come in?’
‘Michael,’ Fulbright said with emphasis on the name, ‘is not here.’ He started to close the door, but Tregalles stood firm with his shoulder against it. ‘We were told he was,’ he said, ‘so I would like to verify that for myself.’
But Fulbright wasn’t giving an inch either. ‘I told you he isn’t here,’ he said. ‘He was here, but he went out again.’
‘Can you tell us where he went?’
Fulbright shook his head impatiently. ‘I don’t ask my son where he’s going every time he goes out,’ he said coldly. ‘You’ll have to come back later if you want to talk to—’
Tregalles’s phone buzzed insistently. Without moving from his position against the door, he glanced at it then handed it to Molly, mouthing ‘Ormside’ before turning his attention back to Fulbright. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a conciliatory tone, ‘but we do need to talk to Michael, so if you have any idea where he might have gone—’
He stopped as Molly grabbed his arm to get his attention. ‘They’ve found the obituary,’ she said breathlessly. ‘The girl’s name was Angelica Jones, and heading the list of surviving relatives is her father, Peter Jones of Wolverhampton! The choirmaster was her father!’ Molly’s voice suddenly rose. ‘Mr Fulbright . . .?’
Theodore Fulbright was clutching the door for support, and every hint of colour had drained from his face. ‘Jones,’ he said shakily. ‘Peter Jones was her father? Oh, God, no! Michael . . .’
‘What about Michael?’ Tregalles asked sharply. ‘Where is he? What do you know about this?’
‘He had a phone call. Michael said Jones had changed his mind about the solo in the Christmas anthem, and he wanted Michael to do it instead of Findlay, so he asked him to go over to do a run-through before choir practice tonight.’
‘At the church?’
Fulbright nodded as he fought for breath. ‘I have to talk to Jones. He doesn’t know . . .’ He was gasping for air. ‘He’ll kill Michael.’
‘Doesn’t know what?’ Tregalles demanded, but Fulbright shook his head. ‘We’ve got to stop him,’ he said. ‘Got to get to the church.’
He started forward but Tregalles stood in his way. ‘We’ll take care of it,’ he said. ‘You stay here and try to get him on his mobile.’
But Fulbright wasn’t to be denied. ‘I have to be there,’ he insisted. ‘I have to talk to Jones, to make him understand.’
‘Understand wha—?’ Tregalles began, then decided he was wasting time. ‘Oh, for God’s sake come on, then,’ he said. ‘You can tell us on the way.’ He took Fulbright by the arm and hustled him down the steps and into the car. ‘You can try calling him as we go,’ he said. ‘And get hold of Paget,’ he told Molly, ‘and tell him that Mike and Jones are at the church, and we’re on our way there now.’
Mike Fulbright was feeling very relaxed. He raised his glass and winked knowingly at Peter Jones. ‘Great stuff, Dalwhinnie,’ he said. ‘Good choice. Best single malt in the Highlands. Drink it myself all the time.’
‘I know,’ said Jones. ‘The first time I tasted it was at that party you gave last year, and I’ve developed a taste for it myself. Which is why I bought a bottle to celebrate my birthday today. I thought I was going to have to drink to it on my own, so I’m glad you’re here to have one with me before we get down to business.’
‘Happy to oblige,’ Mike said, grinning broadly. He’d never known a single drink of Dalwhinnie to make him feel like this. Must have been a particularly good year. ‘Which one is it?’ he asked. ‘Birthday, I mean.’
Jones hesitated. ‘Sixtieth,’ he said. ‘A milestone in my life.’ He looked around the vestry. ‘Hardly the place to celebrate a sixtieth birthday, though, is it Mike? A dingy old vestry. I’d like to do something really special to mark the occasion; something different!’ He frowned as if thinking deeply. ‘Tell you what,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go up the tower and have a drink up there. That would be different; something to remember and mark the occasion. Just the one drink, though. I want you in good shape for your solo.’
But Mike was shaking his head. ‘Don’t like the tower,’ he muttered. He held out his glass. ‘Let’s have another one here.’
Peter Jones frowned at him. ‘I never would have believed it,’ he said as if surprised. ‘Mike Fulbright, afraid of heights? Well
, well, well. Do your mates in the Grinders know about this, Mike?’
‘I am not afraid of heights,’ Mike said heatedly. ‘It’s just . . .’ He seemed to be searching for words of explanation, then shrugged as if the effort were too much for him.
‘Just what, Mike?’ Jones seemed to be genuinely puzzled. ‘I mean, I am doing you a favour, and I’m not asking much in return. I’d just like to make this birthday a bit memorable, that’s all. But I suppose, if you have trouble with heights—’
‘I do not have trouble with heights!’ Mike insisted, ‘so don’t keep saying that!’ He grinned weakly, and his tone was more conciliatory when he spoke again. ‘Look, if it’s that important to you, Pete, I’ll come up and have one drink with you. We’ll drink to your health and tell the whole world you’re sixty. Just one drink, though, then we’ll come down and get to work. All right, Pete?’
Jones nodded slowly as he picked up the bottle. ‘Believe me, Mike,’ he said, ‘you’ll never know how much I appreciate this. Lead on. I’m right behind you.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘That’s Michael’s car,’ Theo said as they drove into the car park outside the church, ‘and that one belongs to Jones.’ Tregalles swung into a space next to Mike’s car. He had just opened the door when another car swung in behind them and Paget got out.
‘Please stay where you are,’ Tregalles said to Fulbright as he got out of the car, but he might as well have saved his breath, because Theo was already scrambling out. There was no time to argue. Tregalles ran up the steps and pulled the door open. Molly darted past him and headed for the vestry, but a shout from Fulbright stopped her.
‘The tower!’ he called, pointing to a curtain pulled aside to reveal an open door. ‘They’ll be up there.’ He started running, but Paget, half a step behind him, grabbed his arm and swung him round. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘This is our job.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Fulbright protested hoarsely. ‘He’ll kill my son. I have to be there . . .’ But Paget was already moving up the steps, and Fulbright’s words were lost as the others crowded through. The climb was steep and the steps were worn, but when Molly glanced back, she saw Fulbright close behind her, panting hard but gamely coming on.
The door at the top was open. Paget stepped out cautiously, eyes searching for Jones and Fulbright, but the roof appeared to be empty. He heard a noise to his left and turned to see the two men standing with their backs to one of the openings in the crenellated parapet, and he caught his breath.
Mike Fulbright’s wrists were bound behind his back with cable ties. A short, thin rope led from his wrists to a noose around his neck, forcing him to hold his hands high against his shoulder blades to prevent the noose from choking him. If he so much as relaxed his arms, the noose would cut into his throat and strangle him. His ankles were tied together loosely so that, at best, he could only shuffle. Duct tape covered his mouth, and a white dressing on his forehead was held in place by another strip of duct tape. Standing beside him, Peter Jones had a firm grip on Mike’s collar.
Behind him, Paget heard Theo Fulbright suck in his breath.
‘Stay where you are!’ Jones called sharply. ‘One move towards me and he goes over.’
‘We’re not moving,’ Paget said quietly, ‘but I’d feel a lot happier if you would move away from the parapet, and loosen the rope around Mike’s neck.’
‘I’ll bet you would,’ said Jones. ‘And who the hell are you?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Paget. I can understand—’
‘How I feel? Is that what you were going to say, Detective Chief Inspector Paget? You don’t understand anything about me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Paget conceded, ‘but don’t you think there have been enough killings? Have any of them taken the pain away? I don’t think so,’ he continued, ‘and neither will killing one more.’
Peter Jones shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘You’re right about the pain,’ he conceded, ‘but you’re forgetting satisfaction, and killing every one of them has given me a great deal of satisfaction.’ His eyes flicked back and forth across the group. ‘I hadn’t anticipated an audience for this final act,’ he said. ‘This was to have been a quiet affair between Mike and me, but now you’re here, I want you to know the truth about the way my daughter died. Sixteen years old,’ he said softly, ‘and this pitiful specimen of manhood and his gang of followers set out to rape her. Up here on this very roof.’
Mike started to make choking noises, but Jones jerked the rope and said, ‘Keep your hands up! I haven’t finished with you yet.’
‘You can’t know that—’ Paget began, but Jones cut him off with a wave of his hand and said, ‘I wouldn’t have known it if it hadn’t been for Billy Travis sniping at Mike on the bus coming home from Chester the other week, then having an attack of conscience and spilling his guts out to Phillips. But Phillips had had a bit too much to drink, so he fell asleep and didn’t hear what Billy was saying. But I did. I was sitting in the seat behind them, and I heard enough to make me want to know the rest.’ He paused, and his eyes drifted for a moment as if he were looking at a scene from the past. ‘I was never satisfied with the coroner’s verdict,’ he continued. ‘I knew Angelica could never have killed herself, so when I heard Billy talking about what really happened, I wanted to know everything. That’s why Billy was the first, and he did tell me everything before he died. He told me how Mike boasted he’d have my little girl, and told Billy and the others to come and help hold her down, and then they could have her as well when he’d finished with her.’
Jones pulled savagely on the rope. A horrible gurgling sound tried to break through the duct tape, and Mike’s knees started to buckle, but Jones jerked him upright again.
‘I got them all,’ he continued. ‘Travis, Moreland, Whitelaw and Rice.’ The names rolled off his tongue like a judge pronouncing the death sentence.
‘But Rice?’ Paget said, looking desperately for a way to keep the man talking and a way to distract him. ‘Even if what you say is true, what did Connie Rice have to do with any of this?’
‘Oh, I’m so glad you asked that,’ Jones said quietly, ‘because I want Theo to hear this. Connie was the Judas goat. Mike, here, promised to have sex with her if she would get Angelica up here for him and the others. Billy said he even lied about that. He said Mike couldn’t stand the girl, but he could get her to do anything for him.’
His voice rose. ‘Take a good look, Theo,’ he shouted. ‘This is the son you were so proud of. This is the piece of shit who drove my daughter off this tower, just as I’m going to do to your son, Theo.’ Standing as he was, inches from an opening in the parapet wall, it was only Jones’s steadying hand that prevented Mike from going backwards over the edge.
Paget made to step forward, but Theodore Fulbright put out an arm to stop him. ‘You’re wrong, Peter,’ he called. ‘Mike didn’t do that. He wasn’t even here when Angelica went over. It was me. I did it. I didn’t mean to; it was an accident, but she wouldn’t stop screaming, and—’
‘Aha-a-a-a!’ The sound coming from Jones was like a long drawn-out sigh. It seemed to hang in the air between them. ‘I wondered if you would have the guts to admit that,’ he said softly. ‘Billy told me you came up and caught them and chased them all down. So what happened, Theo? Run in the family, does it? A taste for under-age girls?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Theo said wearily. ‘I caught Connie as she came down the tower. I knew she was up to no good, so I made her tell me what was going on, and she said the boys were up there “having a bit of a game with Angelica”, as she put it.’ Theo closed his eyes as if trying to shut out the past. ‘I went up to stop it. I was trying to save your daughter. I sent the boys down, and I tried my best to calm Angelica down, but she was hysterical. She wouldn’t listen to me. She kept screaming that she was going to tell everyone about Michael. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen. She would have destroyed Michael. We struggled . . . I hit her;
hit her with this.’ He held up his prosthetic arm.
‘I knew I’d killed her,’ Fulbright continued. ‘There was no pulse. There was nothing I could do for her. But I couldn’t leave her there. There would be questions, an investigation, so . . .’
‘So you threw her over the wall,’ Jones finished for him. His voice hardened. ‘She was sixteen years old, Theo, and you threw her off this roof like a piece of garbage. Did you go to the inquest?’ he asked abruptly, then answered his own question. ‘No, you did not! But I did, and I remember your name being mentioned as the pastor of this church, and, according to the statement read into the record, you told the police you’d already gone home for the evening and had no idea that Angelica was still in the church when you left.
‘So you didn’t hear the two women who were in the graveyard at the time testify that they heard Angelica scream a second or two before she landed on the pavement below. She was alive, Theo. My daughter was alive when you threw her off this tower to save your son’s worthless skin. Angelica died screaming, Theo,’ he said softly, ‘just as your son will die screaming when he follows her.’
Jones tore the tape from Mike Fulbright’s mouth in one swift movement, then, almost casually, placed a hand on his face and pushed. It was over in seconds . . . the bone-chilling scream and then silence.
‘Now you can suffer as I have, Theo,’ said Jones, then he, too, was gone.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Theodore Fulbright, aided by Paget and Tregalles, made it to the bottom of the steps before he collapsed. Molly called for an ambulance and a response team, then stayed with Theo until the ambulance came, while Paget and Tregalles went out to await SOCO’s arrival. Fortunately, the bodies lay on the graveyard side of the church, shielded from the street and passers-by. Except for necessary instructions, no one spoke. It was as if the shock of what they had witnessed had overwhelmed their senses, each replaying the scene over and over again in their minds.
