by Joyce Cato
‘Did you notice the look on his face when I asked him if he knew of anyone else who had something against her?’ he asked thoughtfully.
Flora nodded. ‘He had someone in mind all right,’ she agreed.
‘So we know that he’s not the only one who hated the victim, don’t we?’ Jason pointed out. ‘But we’re never going to get him to say who.’
Flora sighed in agreement. ‘Who next?’
Jason rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Flora, get someone down to the shop and pub. I want to know if any strangers bought any packets of peanuts since, say, last Thursday.’
‘You don’t think we’re looking for a local then?’ Flora asked, already nodding her head. It made sense – Celia was a long way from home. She’d hardly have had time to make any enemies in Heyford Bassett. ‘I’ll send Carpenter, sir,’ she said.
‘And when you’ve done that send in Bishop Bryce’s wife.’
Jason was rather interested to meet the woman who’d married a man like Arthur Bryce.
CHAPTER 9
Chloe Bryce came as a distinct shock to both of them, which probably said more about their prejudices than about her. Jason, expecting to see a motherly, untidy and kind woman, instead looked up to see a slender, chic lady with a cap of elegant black hair, dressed in a lilac suit of matching jacket and skirt with a cream blouse underneath. Long dangling amethyst earrings and a diamond-and-amethyst bracelet flashed in the sunlight. She wore what looked like sheer silk stockings, and smart grey shoes with a definite heel. Her make-up was light, but perfect.
She would have looked at home on a catwalk – either as a designer or a model.
‘Mrs Bryce, thank you for coming,’ Jason said politely, rising to his feet and rapidly revising his expectations. So this was Arthur Bryce’s wife. Somehow they didn’t fit. Or fit too precisely. He couldn’t say, for the moment, which it was.
‘Not at all, er…?’
Feeling abruptly gauche, Jason deliberately smiled the most charming smile in his repertoire. ‘Chief Inspector Dury, ma’am,’ he said.
Chloe’s eyes flickered briefly over the unexpectedly good-looking policeman, noting both the charm and the confidence with some surprise. A wary look crept into her dark eyes, but she smiled as she took the seat offered. ‘I’m not at all sure that I can be of much help, Chief Inspector,’ Chloe said deprecatingly. ‘I didn’t know the Reverend Gordon at all well.’
‘Perhaps not, but it’s surprising the amount of things that you can pick up about people, even though you’ve only known them for a few minutes,’ Jason said. ‘For instance, when you think of the Reverend Gordon what’s the first thing that comes into your mind?’
Chloe crossed her slender, very pretty legs and sighed. ‘Well, the fact that she didn’t seem to be very popular, I suppose,’ she admitted with seemingly genuine reluctance. ‘That is, nobody … well … liked her much. Which is surprising, really, when you think that churchmen usually get on with everyone. It is, after all, their job to do so, isn’t it?’
Jason nodded, and glanced at Flora. She was busily scribbling away in shorthand and seemed unaware of any vibes. But Jason was getting them, strong and sure. For all her elegance and charm, he sensed something very brittle about this woman. He felt if he were to press in just the wrong spot, she might shatter into a thousand pieces. And she had the most cautious eyes he’d ever seen. Yes, there was definitely something going on under the surface here.
‘I see, yes,’ Jason mused. ‘Do you think Reverend Gordon was aware of her … unpopularity?’
‘Oh, I’m sure of it,’ Chloe laughed lightly. ‘She just didn’t mind.’
At that Flora did look up.
‘You didn’t like her either, Mrs Bryce?’ Jason asked delicately.
Chloe met his eyes levelly. ‘Not much, no,’ she admitted. ‘But then, I don’t suppose that worried her at all either. She was very ambitious you know, and in the scheme of things, a bishop’s wife from Barnsley was neither friend nor foe.’
Jason felt a slight tingling in his spine. Here, he felt at last, was a witness who might shed some unbiased light on their victim. She was obviously very intelligent, had an insight into the ecclesiastical world, and wasn’t averse to stating her opinions clearly and concisely. He’d just have to be careful not to let her lead him up the garden path.
‘So that’s how it was?’ Jason mused, none of his astuteness showing on his face. ‘I understand Reverend Gordon was shortly to be promoted?’
Chloe raised one dark, plucked eyebrow. ‘Really? It doesn’t surprise me.’ She sounded almost bored. But was that real, or just a facade?
‘We’ve just been speaking to Archdeacon Pierrepont,’ Jason admitted. ‘He’s a very odd man, don’t you think?’
Chloe smiled. ‘Yes. If you were to be kind, you’d call him eccentric. There are, of course, many other words you could use to describe him that definitely aren’t so kind. I suppose he told you about the big disagreement he had with her?’
‘No,’ Jason said quickly. ‘When was this?’
‘Oh, at the dinner on Friday night. He tried to start up his usual tirade against female clergy, but Reverend Gordon very neatly turned the tables on him. I’m not sure, exactly, what she said, since Arthur and I were seated quite some distance away from her. But whatever it was she said, he certainly didn’t like it.’
‘But you have no idea what that was?’ Jason pushed. ‘You formed no impression?’
Chloe gently pulled on one earlobe in an abstracted gesture, then sighed. ‘She hinted at something … well … unsavoury in his past, I believe. It was quite embarrassing really – she made him look very foolish. Everyone at the table was embarrassed,’ she said, rather in a rush, her hands refolding themselves genteelly in her lap.
And Jason could quite see why both Chloe Bryce the woman, and Chloe Bryce the bishop’s wife, would find embarrassment a particularly horrific concept.
‘I see,’ Jason said. ‘You’re being very candid,’ and before she could comment on that, added quickly, ‘You can’t know how refreshing that is.’ And again he smiled charmingly.
Chloe considered this for a moment, and then shrugged elegantly. ‘Well, murder is murder,’ she murmured humbly.
Flora’s pencil jerked on the pad.
‘Who said anything about murder, Mrs Bryce?’ Jason asked silkily.
Chloe opened her bitter-chocolate coloured eyes wider. ‘Well, everyone’s talking about it as murder. Isn’t it?’ she asked, seemingly guilelessly.
Jason smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, in that case, it’s our duty to help the police as much as possible, isn’t it?’ Chloe continued smoothly. ‘It’s not that I want to gossip or spy or report on my husband’s colleagues, but there’s also our duty to the truth to be considered. And, of course, God sees everything, and will judge accordingly.’
This sudden piece of piety took Jason by surprise, until he remembered that he was talking to a bishop’s wife, after all. He’d almost begun to forget that the people he was dealing with had jobs like no other.
‘I’m glad you see it that way,’ Jason said, and meant it. He was beginning, for some reason, to dislike this woman almost as much as her husband, but he knew a good source of gossip when he saw it.
‘I only hope … well, that you weigh all the evidence carefully,’ Chloe again took him by surprise. ‘I mean that you don’t jump to conclusions,’ she clarified, seeing his puzzlement. ‘Take Sir Matthew for instance. Just because of what happened earlier this year, I hope you won’t immediately assume that because he had one violent episode, that he was responsible for another.’
Flora’s pencil stopped, then started again.
Jason met the dark level eyes and smiled briefly. If she wanted to play games, he was more than willing to let her.
‘I’m not sure I follow you, Mrs Bryce. What was it Sir Matthew did, exactly?’
Chloe immediately began to back-pedal. ‘Oh, I don’t know the specifics, Chi
ef Inspector, I assure you. I only heard … well, one does hear things, of course. I believe there was some kind of incident at the beginning of the year involving a parishioner at his church. A woman, I believe.’
‘And he attacked her?’ Jason asked, wondering why he didn’t have a report of the incident in his hand by now. The computers back at headquarters in Kidlington should have long since spewed out any past criminal records of the conference-goers.
‘Oh, as to that, I couldn’t say,’ Chloe said again. ‘It was dealt with quietly by his bishop, naturally,’ she explained with exquisite delicateness.
Jason felt a flash of anger rise in his gorge, but quickly forced himself to swallow it back down again. ‘I see,’ he gritted. Having police matters dealt with by anyone other than the police was anathema to him, as it was to all good coppers. And the thought that some bigwig had managed to prevent the course of justice didn’t sit very well on his shoulders either. If some sort of criminal assault had taken place, then he damned well wanted it dealt with properly. Not have it covered up by a powerful private citizen pulling strings.
‘Do you happen to know the name of the parishioner involved?’ he asked calmly instead, no trace of his ire apparent on his face or in his voice.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Chloe said sweetly.
And you wouldn’t tell me even if you did, Jason thought to himself grimly. He smiled again. ‘But the rumour was that it was a woman who was involved, and that Sir Matthew made some kind of violent overture towards her?’ he persisted.
‘Yes, it was something rather nasty, I believe. But as I said, I don’t know the details,’ Chloe confirmed, unruffled.
‘And at dinner on Friday night, Celia Gordon threw this in his face?’
‘Oh no, nothing so crude,’ Chloe said quickly. ‘I imagine she merely hinted at it. It was enough, at any rate, to stop Sir Matthew’s usual bad-tempered tirade before it got started.’ And she smiled, this time with obvious amusement.
‘I see. Did you happen to see what the Reverend Gordon ordered for dinner?’
‘Oh no.’
‘So you don’t know what dessert she opted for?’
‘Of course not. But I imagine, if there was an orange choice on the menu, that she took that.’
Jason felt himself tense and beside him Flora began to quiver like a pointer spotting a fallen grouse.
‘Oh? What makes you say that?’ he asked, very nonchalantly. All along he’d been wondering how a killer could have known what dessert Celia Gordon would choose. It was the main stumbling block, in his own mind at least, of this being a proven case for murder at all, as opposed to some sort of accident, or death by misadventure.
‘Oh, it was no secret that she loved oranges,’ Chloe said, offhandedly. ‘At breakfast the first day she demanded second helpings of orange juice, then lectured some poor man on the benefits of vitamin C, and generally made a big song and dance about how much she loved the taste of them.’
Chloe, seemingly unaware of the bombshell that she’d just dropped, shrugged delicately. ‘She had such a loud voice,’ she added sadly. ‘You couldn’t help but hear all her opinions.’
Jason blinked. ‘She said this at breakfast yesterday?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How many people do you think heard her?’
Chloe laughed, a gentle, soothing sound that nevertheless managed to grate on his nerves. ‘Oh, everyone in the dining hall I imagine. Like I said, she had a loud voice.’
‘I see,’ Jason said, and glanced at Flora. So the reverend was a big orange fan, was she? And they all knew it. He suddenly remembered that the waiter who’d served Celia Gordon at dinner last night had said that she’d even had the duck a la orange for her main course.
Which seemed to confirm it.
So the killer knew of her preference for oranges. But how did he or she know of her fatal allergy to peanuts? Did someone have access to her medical records?
‘Did you know Celia Gordon was allergic to peanuts?’ he asked her, his voice suddenly sharp.
Chloe shook her head. ‘No. I had no idea,’ she said quietly.
‘What else can you can tell me about Reverend Gordon?’ Jason asked after looking at her long and hard for a few seconds.
Chloe sighed and shrugged. ‘Nothing really. Oh, only that she had made a decided play for the local vicar here. Not surprising, perhaps, since he is a very good-looking man, but then, he is married. And you’d have thought Celia would have more decorum, if not sense.’
‘The local vicar?’ Jason interrupted her sharply. ‘You mean Graham Noble?’
Chloe nodded. ‘Yes, I believe that’s his name. He gave us a very good sermon this morning – really, quite excellent. And, of course, I’ve listened to a few in my time.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Jason said impatiently. ‘But are you saying … what exactly are you saying? About the Reverends Noble and Gordon?’
‘Oh, I’m sure it was nothing,’ Chloe said hastily, in that relentlessly genteel voice of hers that was really beginning to get on Jason’s nerves. ‘It was just that, on the Saturday afternoon, most of us were gathering in the hall. That funny little man who fainted gave us a talk about his manuscript – rather interesting, I thought. And then, well … again it was rather embarrassing, but Celia Gordon came down the stairs, gave this funny double take and called out a name … Graham, I believe it was, and made a beeline for this very good-looking man. He was listening to the lecture and offering around a bag of nuts. He looked, I have to say, rather disconcerted to see the Reverend Gordon.’
Jason took a few seconds to let everything simply wash over him. ‘A bag of nuts, you say?’ he finally picked up on the most obvious prompt. ‘Do you happen to know what kind of nuts?’
‘Oh, peanuts I think,’ Chloe said offhandedly. And very curiously made no comment on the coincidence of the policeman asking her if she knew that Celia was allergic to peanuts, and the fact that Graham Noble had had a packet of that very same nut on him earlier in the day. ‘Anyway, she went up to him and all but draped herself around him. The poor man was very embarrassed, especially with his wife standing right there beside him, and looking, not surprisingly, quite put out.’
Jason jerked in his seat, very visibly. Beside him, Flora began to smirk.
‘Mrs Noble was present at this time?’ he asked, rather pompously.
‘Well, yes, I assume it was she – a dark-headed, attractive woman, with rather nice blue eyes. You could tell that she was furious about it – not that I could blame her for that,’ Chloe said with a sudden and very real bitterness. ‘Celia Gordon was being quite blatant about flirting with her husband. Apparently, she and Reverend Noble knew each other a long time ago. In fact, she hinted …’
‘Yes,’ Jason put in flatly. ‘What did she hint?’
But for once Chloe seemed reluctant to be drawn. ‘Oh, I really couldn’t say. I was standing some yards away, and there were a lot of people around, talking themselves. I probably misheard. Or misunderstood.’
Jason brooded. Why hadn’t Monica told him about that little scene? At least, Graham Noble had mentioned it, but he’d certainly played it down. He wondered whether Chloe Bryce was to be believed anyway. And why had neither of them mentioned the bag of peanuts that Graham had apparently been offering around at the time? If it was a bag of peanuts. He wouldn’t put it past Chloe Bryce to be lying about that.
But why?
‘Which man fainted?’ It was Flora who stepped into the sudden silence, her question making both the others look at her in some surprise. ‘You said a man fainted,’ Flora prompted. ‘When was this?’
Chloe’s frown abruptly cleared. ‘Oh, him. Yes, it was the rather funny little man who bought the St Bede’s manuscript. Dr. Simon something. Grange? Grand? Something like that. He runs the museum where the manuscript is usually kept, or so I understand.’ Chloe spread her hands helplessly. ‘He was invited to attend the dinner yesterday evening by Dr Carew, I imagine. Who is such a nice
man. Well, anyway, the poor thing fainted. The museum man, I mean, not Bishop Carew. Mind you, I’m not surprised. It was all very ghastly. The Reverend Gordon …’ Chloe went pale herself, in remembrance, and shook her head. ‘It was … hideous. I felt weak at the knees myself and quite sick. But it was Dr Grade, that’s it, Dr Grade. He was the one who keeled over and fainted, poor man.’
Jason sighed. ‘All right, tell me as much as you can remember about the dinner yesterday. Who sat where, what was said, anything at all that springs to mind.’
‘Oh dear!’ Chloe laughed. ‘Where to start? Well, two of our party were deep into a discussion about bird-life, I know that. The missionary to Chad was telling a gruesome tale …Oh, no, wait a moment, that was at Friday night’s dinner …’
And it was nearly half an hour before she’d finished. When she had, Jason and Flora had a much clearer idea of the social chit-chat that had gone on yesterday night, but very little else. Flora gave her cramped hand a tired shake at the end, and looked back in bemusement at all the shorthand squiggling she’d made.
Jason could sympathize with her. If Chloe’s husband was like all the three wise monkeys, his wife was exactly the opposite. He wondered again whether it wasn’t deliberate on her part.
She’d certainly given them a lot to go on, but the question was, again, why? Her own explanation, that it was her Christian duty to do so, he dismissed out of hand. Could it be, as she’d implied earlier, that because she was so totally uninvolved and unimportant to the inquiry, she felt free to give her opinions free reign? Could it be as simple as that? Or was she trying to lay false trails? And why had her husband been so jumpy when he’d mentioned the sleeping arrangements?
‘Tell me, Mrs Bryce, have you ever been disturbed during the night?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Chloe asked archly.
‘I mean,’ Jason, to his extreme annoyance, felt himself flushing, and could have kicked himself, or her. ‘Did you hear anything that night that disturbed you. An argument perhaps. Someone creeping about. Anything of that nature?’
Chloe tossed her head. ‘Certainly not,’ she said primly. ‘I’d have told you at once.’
