An Unholy Shame

by Joyce Cato

  Graham noted the policeman’s cautious voice and tone and nodded, a shade warily. ‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’

  Flora took a seat and glanced at the vicar. He really was good-looking in a totally different way from her boss. And, like Jason, she quite liked him. There was something quiet and strong and gentle about the man that touched something in her. She imagined that it would touch most women, and could well understand why someone like Monica Noble should chuck it all in to marry him.

  ‘When we talked first thing this morning, and I told you that the Reverend Gordon had died due to a peanut allergy, didn’t that … mean anything to you?’ Jason asked, rather obscurely. In fact, he wanted to give the vicar every chance to volunteer the information, rather than have it prised out of him.

  Graham frowned at him. ‘Sorry? I’m not sure … Oh.’ His face suddenly cleared, then darkened again. ‘Oh … yes.’ he said again. ‘It didn’t occur to me. Not then. I’m so sorry. You mean it’s about the bag of peanuts that I bought at the shop yesterday morning?’ he stated flatly.

  Jason nodded. ‘Yes. Why didn’t you mention it this morning?’

  Graham looked at the policeman openly. ‘I didn’t think to. To be perfectly honest, I’d forgotten all about it.’ There was nothing apologetic in his voice. Nothing challenging either. Just a simple statement of fact, and one that both Jason and Flora found themselves instantly believing. Not that either of them would ever indicate it.

  ‘I see. Can you tell me about it, please?’ Jason asked.

  So Graham obliged. ‘I was nervous that morning, you see. That’s what it all boils down to. I was due to give a lecture, and I don’t know about you, but I think it’s always worse when your audience is comprised of members of your own profession. They’re apt to know as much about the subject as you are! Anyway, when I get nervous I tend to nibble. There were a lot of conference-goers at the shop when I got there, and they were all buying bags of Phyllis’s sweets, but I thought if I did that, I’d eat the entire bag myself within ten minutes or so and make myself feel thoroughly sick. So I chose something savoury instead.’

  ‘The peanuts,’ Jason said. ‘Can you remember who was there when you bought them?’

  Graham blinked. ‘Oh. Well, Monica, of course. And there were several clerics there I could recognize by sight, but not by name… .’

  ‘That’s fine. When we’ve finished, I’ll have you point them out to one of the constables so that he can take their names. Anyone else? Anyone you recognized?’

  ‘Hmm, let’s see. Bishop Bryce was present, as was his wife. And, oh, what’s her name… . Jessica Taylor, she struck up a conversation with my wife. Monica took her back to our place for coffee afterwards. Oh yes … and Archdeacon Pierrepont,’ Graham said, his voice becoming ultra-expressionless.

  ‘You don’t approve of Sir Matthew,’ Jason hazarded wryly.

  Graham smiled faintly. ‘He’s very … old-fashioned,’ he contented himself by saying.

  Jason nodded. ‘I see. So what did you do next?’

  Graham went back over his movements – going in to lunch, watching the men installing the big glass manuscript case and then the impromptu lecture after lunch. ‘And then Celia came over to say hello,’ Graham said, and paused.

  He’s expecting it, Jason thought, and felt strangely reluctant to go on. But of course, he had to.

  ‘I’ve heard from several witnesses, Graham, that Celia was … rather obvious about how happy she was to see you again.’

  Graham flushed very faintly. Flora tensed. Like Jason, she hated moments like this. When it was somebody you liked.

  ‘Yes, I can imagine it appeared that way. Celia was very … self-confident.’ He had no wish to speak ill of the dead.

  Jason nodded, appreciating the reasons for his careful language, but not willing to let him get away with it. ‘Moni … Mrs Noble was with you at the time I understand?’ he pressed.

  Graham began to look angry and took a deep, steadying breath.

  ‘In fact,’ Jason carried on remorselessly, ‘from what we’ve been told, Celia flirted with you quite openly, and caused something of an embarrassment. I imagine it made Mrs Noble very angry?’

  Graham shrugged. ‘A little. But it was nothing. I hadn’t seen Celia for twenty years or so.’

  Jason leaned back in the chair and sighed heavily. ‘So you didn’t regard her as a serious threat to your marriage?’ he asked bluntly.

  Graham gaped at him. ‘You’re not serious,’ he finally said.

  Jason shrugged. ‘You’re in a very precarious position, aren’t you? Being a vicar, I mean. It would take so little to start an avalanche of painful and dangerous gossip, wouldn’t it?’

  Graham laughed. It was half-angry (and who could blame him, Jason sympathized) and half-defiant. ‘I assure you, Chief Inspector, nobody who knows me would ever accuse me of infidelity. Not my bishop. Not my parishioners. And,’ he looked Jason long and very levelly in the eye, ‘certainly not my wife.’

  Jason felt as if someone had just kicked him in the ribs and quickly looked down. His hands, he was surprised to note, were curled up into fists on his knees. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, his sergeant cast him a quick, anxious look.

  ‘I have to ask certain questions, of certain people, Graham, whether I like it or not,’ Jason Dury said, in what was as close to an apology as the vicar of Heyford Bassett was going to get.

  Graham slowly but visibly relaxed. He nodded. ‘Yes, of course you do,’ he said quietly. ‘I understand that.’

  Jason let out a long, slow breath. ‘Let’s get back to the bag of peanuts. I have a witness who says that during Dr Grade’s talk just before your lecture, you offered the bag around. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So the bag must have been opened already?’

  Graham hesitated. He shook his head slowly. He looked frustrated. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. ‘It’s ridiculous, I know, but I can’t seem to remember. I might have opened it when I first bought it. Or later… .’ he tried to cast his mind back, but all he could clearly recall was Celia’s tight face and glittering eyes.

  ‘It’s probably not important,’ Jason said hastily. ‘What did you do with them then?’

  Graham looked at him, frowning slightly in puzzlement. ‘Hmm? Oh, the bag of nuts. I … yes, I took them into the lecture hall with me.’ He laughed at his remembered embarrassment to find he was still hanging on to them. ‘I put them on the little ledge that runs along the blackboard.’

  ‘But you picked them back up again when you left?’ Jason prompted.

  Graham frowned. ‘No, I didn’t. I’m sure I left them there. To tell the truth, after giving the lecture, I was so relieved that I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself that I forgot all about them.’

  Jason sat up abruptly. ‘Are you sure?’ And, at the cleric’s nod, he turned to Flora.

  ‘Sergeant, nip down to the lecture hall. See if they’re still there.’

  Flora got up quickly. For a long moment the two men were quite silent. Jason ran a tired hand across his face, whilst Graham watched him, unable to help. They were both relieved when Flora returned, panting slightly. Behind Graham Noble’s turned back, she met the eyes of her superior and shook her head emphatically.

  Jason nodded. He’d been expecting that answer. ‘So, you finished your lecture and left. And that’s the last you remember seeing of them?’ he swept on.

  ‘Yes.’ Graham glanced at Flora as she retook her seat, but knew better than to ask what she’d found. He had a horrible suspicion that the bag had gone. That someone had used them to kill Celia Gordon. And he didn’t really want to know that.

  ‘Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to mention?’ Jason asked, then jerked a quick hand gesture of apology. That had sounded more accusing than he’d meant.

  Graham, however, merely smiled. ‘No. I don’t think so. And I would have told you earlier about the peanuts, I really would, if I hadn
’t been so … preoccupied. Celia’s death came as such a shock, you see.’

  ‘Well, thank you for your co-operation,’ Jason said somewhat flatly, and watched him walk to the door. He knows, Jason thought gloomily. Oh hell, he knows that I’m attracted to his wife. He closed his eyes briefly and wondered how he would feel, if the situation were reversed.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Sir?’

  With a jerk, Jason looked up and realized that he’d spoken out loud. ‘Nothing. Show Monica Noble in, will you Sergeant,’ he said brusquely. ‘And get Graham and a constable together. I want to know who else was at the shop when he bought those damned peanuts.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Flora left, quickly catching up with Graham before he reached the lawn. She saw that he was heading in a beeline for his wife, no doubt to warn her, and beckoning a constable who was watching the garden party from the sidelines, promptly cut across to intercept him.

  ‘Oh, Reverend Noble,’ she said sharply, seeing Monica coming their way. ‘If you could go with Constable Wainwright here and point out those clerics you recognized from the shop yesterday morning, I’d be very much obliged.’

  Graham cast a quick glance at his approaching wife, then at Flora’s determined face as she planted herself firmly in front of him, thus blocking Monica’s path, and smiled in acknowledgement of her adroitness. ‘Certainly,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Noble,’ Flora said, turning to give the vicar’s wife a polite smile. ‘Chief Inspector Dury would like another word with you if you don’t mind.’

  Monica followed her meekly, her mind working fast. She hadn’t mistaken her husband’s warning look. But what on earth could it mean?

  She wasn’t to be kept in the dark for long.

  Flora left her at the door to the interview room, and when Monica sat down opposite Jason a few minutes later, he had a very tight, shuttered look on his face. His jacket was off, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. The sunlight had moved around during the afternoon and now shone through the windows just behind him, turning his hair into a golden-silver halo. Monica caught just a whiff of his aftershave as she sat – something cool and refreshing. Her heart began to beat just a little faster than it should.

  And, although she thought she was prepared for the ice-blue quality of his eyes, she wasn’t. She quivered, just for a second or two as he looked at her.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the bag of peanuts your husband bought yesterday morning?’ he shot out, far more brutally than he’d meant to. ‘Did you think we wouldn’t find out?’

  Monica flushed. ‘Of course not. I mean, of course I expected you to find out. And I was going to tell you later,’ she said, clearly flustered. ‘When you weren’t so busy,’ she ended lamely.

  Jason smiled grimly. ‘I see. And were you also going to tell me that Celia Gordon “draped herself around your husband”, as one eyewitness put it. And that she “was all over him”, as another would have it?’

  Monica angrily rose from her chair then slowly sank back again. She stared at him, eyes wide. ‘You don’t seriously think that either Graham or I would kill her over something like that?’ she demanded in disbelief.

  Jason shrugged. ‘Somebody killed her,’ he said flatly. ‘For some reason or other.’

  Monica stared at him grimly. ‘Yes they did,’ she agreed. ‘And I’m beginning to think that it will be in my best interests to find out who.’ He was not, after all, the only one who could throw dramatic statements about.

  ‘Now wait just a minute,’ Jason yelled, getting to his feet and glowering down at her. ‘Just because you were lucky twice before …’

  Monica also rose to her feet. ‘Lucky?’ she echoed softly. Twice, in the past, she’d discovered the identity of a killer. And, if she remembered correctly, it had had far more to do with her reconstructing events, questioning witnesses, and putting the pieces together, than mere luck.

  Jason sighed and ran a harassed hand through his hair. The gesture gave her a distinct pang, deep in her stomach. ‘Look, Monica, you have to keep out of this,’ he began, in a much more reasonable tone.

  Monica smiled savagely. She had Graham to think about – and in more ways than one. Hadn’t this policeman just told her that they were both suspects? Graham, she thought, rather more so than herself.

  ‘I’d love to keep out of this,’ Monica said quietly. ‘But I rather think that you’ve just dropped me right in it, haven’t you?’ And with a tremulous and defiant smile, combined with a devastating flash of those big blue eyes of hers, she turned and left him.

  At that moment, in a bedroom above Jason’s head, a killer paced the floor anxiously.

  How had it all gone so badly wrong? Surely the police would begin to suspect… . but perhaps not. With just a little luck, all might not be totally lost. Not yet. But I have to think, damn it!

  But the danger is still so sickeningly close. I can almost taste it, it’s almost tangible. It’s unbearable – it’s simply far too much for flesh and blood to stand. Oh if only….

  The killer continued to pace desperately amidst the remnants of a perfect plan that had turned out to be anything but. After a few minutes of this, the pacing began to slow. The fevered and tortured mind began to clear.

  Because, when all was said and done, facts just had to be faced. And the simple fact was – it wasn’t over. It should have been, but it wasn’t. Which meant that now someone else had to die. And soon. Before the conference drew to a close, and all the delegates scattered to the wind.

  The killer slowly sank down into a chair and began to think furiously.

  The nut allergy had seemed to be ideal, since it might have passed off as an accident or been blamed on the kitchen staff’s negligence.

  But all of that was irrelevant now. When a second person died, the police would know beyond any reasonable doubt that they were dealing with murder. And it was vital that they have as wide a range of suspects as possible to choose from. Which meant striking now, when everyone was still under suspicion.

  So fast action was needed.

  But when? And how? Once more the frustrated pacing began. Just how did you kill a second time, right under the noses of the police no less, and hope to get away with it?

  Could it possibly be made to look like an accident?

  Or could somebody else be framed for the killing – someone who might have a motive? Oh, but that was impossible.

  The killer began to despair, fighting back the urge to scream in rage and rant at the injustice of it all.

  It was all so unfair. None of this should have been happening. I should be feeling home and dry now, and celebrating my success. Instead, I’m in more danger than ever! Things just shouldn’t be this way!

  But they were. The problem wasn’t simply going to go away – and the killer knew that it had to be faced.

  Somehow, somewhere, and within the next twenty-four hours or so, the danger needed to be eliminated. Someone else had to die.

  I have to think! I have to be clever – cleverer than I’ve ever been before in my life. I have to be strong. I can let nothing stand in my way.

  I can do it.

  I must do it.

  But how? How?

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘ It’s nearly five, sir,’ Flora said, looking up from a forensics report, which had made dismal reading. As expected, the kitchen had yielded a plethora of evidence – but none of it had been useful. Besides, Jason was hardly yet in a position to ask fifty-odd clerics to submit to fingerprint testing.

  ‘All right. But before we go, I want to interview one more suspect. The woman Monica Noble took to her house for coffee. She was there when Graham Noble bought the bag of peanuts and might have something interesting to tell us. What was her name again?’

  Flora consulted her notes. ‘Reverend Jessica Taylor, sir. She’s a speaker, I think,’ she added. ‘A mum and babies liberationist, by the look of it, too. I bet she’s popular,’ she added, sotto voce.
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  Jason heard her nevertheless and laughed outright. ‘I’ll bet she’s Archdeacon Pierrepont’s favourite,’ he drawled. Flora was still laughing as she headed out of the door.

  Jason tiredly rubbed his hand across his face and reviewed the day. What had they got?

  A murder. Well, almost certainly a murder, unless they could come up with some innocent reason for that damned peanut paste getting into the orange gateau. And he didn’t think that was going to happen. So: a conference centre full of clerics and one grieving host; a female vicar for a victim and, though universally unpopular, still an unlikely candidate for murder. And motives? A nutty, probably senile old archdeacon who didn’t like women; a local vicar who’d been flirted with against his will and a museum-owner who’d got a case of the twitches whenever his precious manuscript was mentioned.

  And what else?

  Jason groaned. Already he’d been thoroughly sounded out by his superior, who’d demanded a lengthy verbal report and had been ominously silent when he’d finished. A terse reminder that he was dealing with vicars and was to tread carefully around the two bishops especially, was all the help he’d been given there.

  No forensic help worth a damn; a Manor-house full of very discreet clergy and an angry Monica Noble, on the prowl.

  Verily, my cup runneth over.

  He hastily straightened up as the door opened and a tall, rather pretty redhead walked in. She was dressed for evening service by the look of it, in a sombre dark suit and dog collar. He rose with a smile. ‘Reverend Taylor. I’m Chief Inspector Dury. Thank you for seeing me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jessica said smoothly. She took the seat offered, gave Flora a friendly, curious glance as the sergeant picked up her notebook, and looked back at Jason.

  ‘As I’m sure you’re aware by now, we’re treating the death of Celia Gordon as … suspicious,’ Jason began.

  Jessica nodded alertly.

  ‘First of all, what can you tell me about dinner yesterday?’

  Jessica did her best, but could tell them nothing new.