by Helen Phifer
Chapter Twenty-Five
They filed out of the conference room, and Rachel whispered to Col: ‘You know what they say, don’t you? Most murders are committed by family members. Do you think he did it?’
Lucy, who was behind her, slowed down, letting the comment go. Rachel was right; they needed to get Tom out of the picture, because it often was a family member. She hoped to God the footage showed him browsing the aisles and leaving sixty minutes later with a giant trolley full of food. She went to her office to retrieve her phone. Mattie followed her.
‘How did you find out about Sainsbury’s? Have you spoken to Tom?’
Lucy could detect the hint of disbelief in his voice. ‘Yes, I had to. He’s lying about where he was and I need to know why.’
Mattie shook his head. ‘God, you’re so anal at times. I’m telling you now, he’s probably trying not to tell the whole world he’s having an affair. He’s protecting his family the best he can.’
‘Why are you so fucking sure of that, Mattie? What, are you and Tom best friends now?’
Mattie shrugged. ‘No, but I’m putting myself in his position and it’s the only explanation.’
‘Well you can talk to him next time if we need to, he might open up to you. You can tell him all about your latest conquest and compare the notches on your bedposts.’
‘Sometimes you can be a real bitch, Lucy. If you want to know I haven’t got a latest conquest, she left me for the pizza delivery guy because she said she sees more of him than me. I’ll wait for you in the car.’
He turned to walk out of her office, and her stomach lurched as her mouth filled with stale wine and regret at what she’d just said. Mattie was her only real friend, she needed to stop being so mean to him. None of this was his fault; her fucked-up life was her problem not his and she needed to stop taking it out on him.
* * *
Mattie parked in the small car park outside of the church hall; they’d driven there in silence and Lucy felt terrible. He turned to her.
‘Are you okay? How are things at home?’
‘Bloody awful. George rang up asking me to have Ellie because she’s been a cow to Rosie. I said no because I was too busy with the case. I’m so crap at this parenting thing. I’m sorry about…’ She was wracking her brains trying to remember his last girlfriend’s name.
‘About what, Jody? Don’t be, it wasn’t serious. I’m a bit sensitive today, must be my hormones.’
He winked at her, and she nudged him in the side. ‘Very funny, what a pair we are. Neither of us can keep a relationship going.’
‘You speak for yourself, I’m not that bad. At least I don’t marry them. I’m more of a love them and leave them kind of guy. Come on, let’s get this over with; I hate churches and vicars. You can speak to him, I’ll take his wife.’
‘You might regret that when you see her. I get the impression she’s an angry little thing.’
They got out of the car, harmony restored.
Lucy hammered on the vicarage door and let out a sigh. The door flew open and the woman on the other side glared at them.
‘What are you trying to do, wake the dead?’
Lucy held up her warrant card. ‘DI Harwin and DS Jackson, we need to speak to you about Margaret Crowe. Can we come inside?’
The woman studied her badge then stepped to one side to let them in. She pointed to the door to the left of them. Lucy walked into the large lounge, where the vicar was on the phone talking loudly to the person on the other end. He looked at her and smiled, ending his conversation.
‘Well this is a nice surprise; it’s Ellie’s mum, isn’t it? What brings you here?’
‘I’d like to say it was a social visit, unfortunately it isn’t. We need to speak to you both about Margaret.’
‘Oh dear, is she okay? I’ve been phoning and haven’t been able to get hold of her. Has she had an accident?’
Lucy didn’t look at Mattie. She nodded and pointed to the sofa, where the vicar’s wife was hovering and looking uncomfortable.
‘I think it might be better if you both sit down.’
They did, but not together. He sat on a chair and she sat on the sofa, as far apart from each other as they possibly could be. Lucy and Mattie both sat down on the two-seater opposite them.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that Margaret’s body was found in the early hours of Saturday morning.’
The woman’s hand lifted to her mouth as she let out a gasp. The vicar tried his best to look shocked, when in reality he didn’t look in the least bit disturbed, which Lucy found very interesting. His wife, on the other hand, looked genuinely distressed.
‘What do you mean her body, is she dead?’
Lucy nodded. The woman opened her mouth and let out a wail, making Lucy jump. She hadn’t expected that reaction.
The vicar stared at his wife, shaking his head. ‘Jan, for the love of God shut up and let us listen to what the police have to say.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘She’s not very good at coping with death when it’s someone she knows. Are you, dear?’
He was glaring at his wife. She clamped her mouth shut and looked at Lucy.
‘I know this must be a bit of a shock for you both but I need to ask you some questions. We need to piece together her last movements so we can get a clearer picture of what happened.’
There was a slight nodding of both their heads.
‘Can you tell me when you last spoke to Margaret?’
He answered. ‘At the church hall; she’d helped us to set up for the winter fair two days ago. In fact it was her idea to have it in the first place. We left her there and went home. She said she was doing some final checks before going home herself.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know, I’m not sure. What time was it, Jan?’
She shrugged.
‘Did she say where she was going? Did she have any plans to meet up with someone?’
‘No, I assumed she was going home. I don’t think she went out much; the church and her cat were the most important things to her.’
‘Did she tell you about her cat?’
He nodded. ‘All the time.’
‘No, I mean did she tell you about it being killed?’
Jan finally spoke, her voice a whisper. ‘She told me, it was dreadful. Who would want to kill an old person’s pet cat?’
‘You never told me this. I wondered why she wasn’t herself.’
‘You never bloody listen, David, I did tell you. If you weren’t disappearing all the time and paying attention you’d know this stuff.’
Lucy held up her hand before their bickering got out of hand; the last thing she wanted was for them to have a domestic in front of them.
‘We’re going to need to take a brief witness statement from you both. Do you want to come to the station or should we do it now?’
‘I’m very busy this afternoon – I have thirty minutes before morning service. Can you do it now? How long will it take?’
‘Not long, David, if I speak to you in here. Mattie, can you take Jan into the kitchen and speak to her in there?’
Mattie smiled at the woman and stood up. ‘Of course, do you want to show me the way to the kitchen?’
She stood up and led the way, leaving Lucy alone with the vicar.
‘This must be a terrible shock for you; but can you tell me what happened the last time you spoke to Margaret?’
He nodded. ‘Well I remember she was walking around with that bloody clipboard tucked under her arm and worrying about the running order of the fair.’
‘Did you get on well with Margaret?’
He stared at her, a slight pink blush began to spread across his face. ‘Of course I did, I mean she was a lovely woman and very dedicated to helping out with the various groups the church run; her fundraising efforts were amazing.’
‘I see, it’s just you said a moment ago “that bloody clipboard”: what did you mean by that?’ She smiled at him.
&n
bsp; ‘Well, I don’t want to sound as if I don’t care, because I do. I’m terribly upset to hear that she’s dead.’
‘But?’
‘But she could be a bit of a pain in the arse if I’m honest; oh Lord that sounds horrific. She was bossy and had to list everything down, and then check it off her list. It could be very annoying. I’m more of a go with the flow and let everything follow its own course person.’
‘I see, did you fall out with her over this?’
‘No, I’d never do that. I’m very grateful to her for her help. I feel terrible I didn’t know about her cat, and now she’s dead. Who would do such a thing?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out. Did anyone else speak to Margaret? Did she fall out with or try to boss others around? Do you think she could have upset someone enough that they’d want to kill her?’
He shook his head. ‘No, not at all. Jan and I left her to it. She locked up the hall.’
‘Did you go out again that night or did you stay in with Jan?’
‘I stayed in of course, I’m a vicar. I don’t go out of an evening unless it’s something to do with the church. I assumed that she’d get the bus home. She normally does. Where was she found?’
‘Basterfield House.’
‘She must have decided to walk home; the bus doesn’t go anywhere near there. Why didn’t she get the bus or knock on my door? I’d have given her a lift, and we wouldn’t be here today, would we?’
He buried his head in his hands, and Lucy couldn’t decide if he was genuinely anguished or doing it for her benefit. He was pretty hard to read. There was one thing she did know about him though, and that was she didn’t like him. There was something about him that didn’t sit right with her; he gave her the impression he was trying to give an award-winning performance and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was a vicar or if it was his personality.
‘It’s hard to know under these circumstances what could have happened. If she’d been picked out as a victim by the killer, he would have got to her either way. It’s all terribly sad.’
Mattie came back into the room. He stared at the vicar with his head in his hands, and Lucy nodded. Standing up she smiled at Jan, who was staring at her husband.
‘Thank you both for your time. I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions. If you can think of anything that you might think could be relevant in any way, shape or form then please ring 101 and ask to speak to me.’
Lucy wondered what was going on between the vicar and his wife, they didn’t seem particularly close. In fact, they seemed to bicker more than they talked, which of course wasn’t unusual for couples who had been married a long time. But could they really have been responsible for Margaret’s horrific death – or was she way out of her depth?
Chapter Twenty-Six
March 1990
He’d been here for three weeks now. Father Vincent had told the police he could stay as long as he needed to. He’d been kind to him, he hadn’t asked too many questions, and he fed him better than he’d been fed in a long time. The only rules were he wasn’t to go into Vincent’s bedroom, or David’s, the trainee vicar’s. He could use the library; he was allowed in the church as long as he didn’t mess around with the stuff in there, and he had to do all of his homework before he could eat his tea. As far as rules go he could cope with them; it was nice knowing that he wasn’t going to get a good hiding if he looked the wrong way or said he was hungry. David was a bit weird though; he watched him a lot, and he’d catch him staring. He wasn’t very old and when Vincent wasn’t around he didn’t stay in the same room as him. All he did was talk about God and lick his lips. It was repulsive, and he reminded him too much of his dad. He didn’t ask after his dad. He’d heard Vincent telling the housekeeper that the social were trying to get him a permanent placement. He didn’t know what it meant; he didn’t care really. Anywhere away from him had to be better.
Climbing out of bed he began to shiver. This house was freezing until the heating kicked in and that was only when it felt like it. He dressed in his school uniform, tugging the jumper down as far as it would go. He’d grown since his mum had bought it for him and needed a new one but he didn’t know who to ask. The bathroom was huge and even colder than his bedroom. Brushing his teeth he looked up into the mirror and jumped to see David watching him.
‘Sorry, will you be long? I’m late.’
Spitting the foamy mouthful of Colgate into the sink, he shook his head. Expecting him to turn around or something, he was shocked when he stepped inside and shut the door. Crossing the room, his shadow blocked out the light.
‘You’ve had a terrible time; there’s no need to be scared of me. I want to help you. If you need to chat about anything, your mum or even your dad, then you can always talk to me.’ He reached out his hand and brushed his fingers against the soft skin of his cheek, and he yelped. Slapping the hand away from his face.
‘Don’t touch me.’
Shoving the much bigger man as hard as he could, he ran past him and out of the door, downstairs to the kitchen.
Vincent was stirring the contents of a pan on the stove, humming along to the radio. He turned around and smiled at him.
‘Porridge for breakfast, young man, there’s nothing like it on a cold morning to set you up for the day. Sit down and have some before you go to school. We don’t want your stomach growling all morning before dinner time, do we.’
Shaking his head, he went and sat at the table. He was starving. That weirdo upstairs wasn’t going to put him off his breakfast. With a bit of luck he wouldn’t come down here until he’d left, but he was going to have to be careful around him. Vincent placed a huge bowl in front of him, and he began to shovel sugar into it to make it taste half decent. Vincent never said anything, just smiled and turned around to make a pot of tea.
‘So, I’m going to be working a bit later tonight than I usually do. It’s the monthly pensioner’s quiz night in the church hall, so you can either stay here with David or come and help me once you’ve finished any homework. It’s up to you, I don’t mind. They normally have homemade pie and peas halfway through the quiz, which I must say are the reason I don’t mind being the quizmaster. They’re very tasty, throw a few onions and some beetroot on and you’d think you were at a pub somewhere.’ He turned back to face him. ‘What do you think? I know you might not want to hang around with the oldies.’
‘I’ll come.’
‘Oh, that’s good then. You didn’t have to think about it, they’ll love you. The old dears will be fussing around you.’
‘It’s okay, I’d rather do something than be stuck in here.’
He didn’t tell him that being here alone with that weirdo, David, was the last thing he wanted to do in case it caused any trouble and they sent him home. Although the social worker had told him he wouldn’t be going back home, he didn’t believe them. He could avoid David in this huge house, but he couldn’t avoid his dad or his fists in their tiny two up two down.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The door shut behind them, and Lucy was glad to be outside in the fresh air; the house was too stuffy and filled with far too much dust-gathering crap for her liking. She liked her space clear and clutter free, no cheap pot ornaments filling every surface. Jan must have spent years rifling through the rubbish that was donated to the church for jumble sales and fairs to amass such a collection of crap.
Mattie whispered, ‘What did you think of those two then?’
She didn’t answer, in case they were watching from the windows and her body language betrayed her. As soon as they were inside the car she spoke.
‘I don’t trust him. I get the impression he wasn’t very fond of Margaret. He said she was too bossy, although I don’t know if it’s a good enough motive for murder. She’s like a fiery little ferret.’
Mattie laughed so loud she turned to him and frowned.
‘A fiery little ferret. That’s a good one, Lucy.’
Driving out of
the small car park she put the window down and breathed out. ‘I got the feeling he was getting a bit antsy when I was questioning him.’
‘About what?’
‘His whereabouts for one, said he was at home with Jan – and he may well have been for some of the time. He started out relaxed, then when I started asking him more details he was blinking far more than he had been since we’d come in. He kept scratching his cheek; these are all signs that someone is lying to you.’
‘Bloody hell, Lucy, do you analyse everyone you talk to?’
Shrugging she laughed. ‘Not all the time, only when I’m interested in whether they’re a person of interest or not to my investigations. Body language is a fascinating subject, the FBI use it all the time.’
‘You need to get out more.’
She glared at him, and he turned to look out of the window.
‘I didn’t mean that, it’s good that you read up on all this stuff. That’s what makes you a great detective. I suppose it’s better than playing on an Xbox in your spare time.’
‘Yeah, well I’ve always liked reading. It’s my equivalent of playing a games console. Let’s go get a coffee then go back to the station to figure out where this is all going.’
‘Do you think he could be good for this?’
‘Whoever it is has some fucked-up problem with God or the church; he’s a vicar, which kind of makes him an obvious choice, and what about Sandy? I’m pretty sure there’s a connection somewhere along the line. We just need to find it. He could be harbouring some dark desires to kill, and trying to cover them up with his choice of job?’
