Haysham let his gaze drift around the room. He saw Father Gilbert. “Ah!” he cried out. “A friend!”
Father Gilbert made his way out of the conference room. “Just one drink?” Father Gilbert asked.
“That’s as much as he needs to know.” Haysham hooked a thumb at the closed door. “He’s got the brains of a turnip. How embarrassing for him.”
“For him?” Father Gilbert asked, thinking it was Haysham who ought to be embarrassed.
“The dressing down he’ll get.” He leaned towards Father Gilbert, nearly fell over, recovered, then affected a stage whisper. “He was following me, you know. The sneak. The whole thing was a set-up. He probably works for David Todd.”
The door opened and DI Wilton came out alone. “M’Lord, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ll be happy to drive you home.”
“Not necessary, Alex. I’ll make my own way, if it’s all the same.”
“I wouldn’t drive again, if I were you.”
“You’re not me.”
“I’ll phone your wife.”
“You will not!”
“A taxi, then.”
“Suit yourself.”
Haysham struggled to his feet and Wilton escorted him through the security door to the front of the station.
Father Gilbert and Father Benson exchanged looks.
“This is unusual,” Father Gilbert said. “He’s not a heavy drinker.”
“Obviously not,” Benson said.
Father Gilbert decided to check his schedule for tomorrow, to find time to pay Haysham a visit.
DS Sanders emerged from the side room and, with only a quick glance in Father Gilbert’s direction, went to his desk, grabbed his car keys, and then marched out through the rear exit.
The two priests finished packing up the study materials and made their way out. They reached the kerb in time to see Lord Haysham ride away in a cab. DI Wilton stood with his hands in his pockets.
“Goodnight,” Father Gilbert said to him.
“Not really,” DI Wilton said. He spun around and went back inside.
It began to rain.
* * *
Father Gilbert checked the bath and was tempted to peek in the wardrobe and even under the bed to make sure nothing was lurking there. He never knew if or when he’d have another encounter.
The sound of the rain helped lull him into a deep sleep – until the shrill ringing of the phone jolted him awake. He grabbed for the receiver as, blurry-eyed, he checked the red digits on the alarm clock. 5:57 in the morning. His mind flitted through the darkest possibilities in the few seconds it took to get the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he asked. His voice sounded drunk to his own ears.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Gilbert.” It was Bill Drake.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lord Haysham has been murdered.”
Father Gilbert sat up in bed. “What?”
“David Todd has been arrested. He’s being held at the Stonebridge station.”
Rain splashed lightly against the window. Father Gilbert struggled to clear the cobwebs in his head. “Did he do it?”
“I don’t know the details yet. Todd is refusing to talk to the police. He said he’ll talk only to you.”
“Why me?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Are you representing him?”
“You know I’ve been on retainer with the Haysham family for years.”
“Yes, yes,” Father Gilbert said, impatient that he was so slow in waking up. “How is Lady Haysham?”
“Medicated,” Drake said.
Father Gilbert groaned.
“Do you need a lift?”
“I’ll walk. It’ll wake me up.” He also needed time to get a grip on his feelings. He’d known Haysham for a few years, even considered him a friend. But the thought of murder made him feel sick – just as he’d felt before the encounter on the tower. Death had come, to be sure, and wasn’t finished with any of them yet.
CHAPTER 20
The rain had stopped by the time he reached Stonebridge’s police station. Inside, it was far more active than when he’d left it a few hours before. Chief Constable Macaulay, looking fit and sharp as if he’d just come from a dress parade, and DI Wilton, looking less so, met him in the reception area. Father Gilbert was taken through to the meeting room where they’d had the study group. He noticed a detective talking to a baggy-eyed man at one of the desks. A similar interview was playing out at another desk, with one detective talking to two sharply dressed men. Father Gilbert recognized them from The Mill House restaurant.
Once seated at the conference table, Macaulay folded his hands on the top and shook his head slowly. “This is a bad business.”
“It certainly is,” said Father Gilbert. He wished he had called Father Benson to come with him. A second set of eyes and ears would have been helpful. “What are the details?”
Macaulay nodded to DI Wilton. “Go on, Alex.”
Wilton took out his notepad and flipped it open. “We know that Lord Haysham and David Todd met at The Mill House at 7:00 p.m.”
“Why?”
“To talk about recent events at the Haysham estate.”
“Who called the meeting?” Father Gilbert asked.
“We don’t know yet. In any event, they met and both men drank quite a bit. The conversation got heated. Threats were made, according to both the waiter and the manager.” He gestured to the window and the two men being interviewed by the detectives. “They’re giving their statements now.”
“What kinds of threats?” Father Gilbert asked. “Who threatened who?”
“Allegedly Haysham said that he was going to ‘bring Todd down’ and Todd said he was going to ‘destroy Haysham’.”
“They’ve talked like that for as long as I’ve been here,” Father Gilbert said.
“They parted company a little before nine and, shortly after, DS Sanders brought Lord Haysham here, as you know.”
“He left in a taxi,” Father Gilbert said. He looked through the window to the baggy-eyed man and suspected he was the cab driver.
“It took ten minutes to get to the Haysham estate. According to the cab driver, whom you saw coming in, Lord Haysham insisted on being dropped off at the end of the drive.”
“It was raining. Why did he want to be dropped there?”
“The cabbie said that Lord Haysham wanted to walk the rest of the way so he’d get a chance to sober up a little. He didn’t want his wife to see him ‘in his cups’.” Wilton flipped a page. “The cab driver got a call for a passenger pick-up south of Stonebridge, so he pulled to the edge of the drive at the road. He waited while another car came from the direction of Stonebridge. It pulled into Haysham’s drive. He thought, but couldn’t be sure, that it was a red saloon of some sort.”
“A red saloon?” Father Gilbert asked.
Macaulay looked at the priest. “Is that significant?”
“Maybe,” said Father Gilbert. “Though I don’t think David Todd drives a red saloon. I thought he had one of those small, white, fuel-efficient things.”
“He has two cars. One white, one red,” said Macaulay.
“Any chance of getting moulds of the tyres in the driveway?” asked Father Gilbert.
“We can. But it won’t do much good. The rain has washed out everything,” Wilton said. His gaze went back to the notepad. “The cabbie was curious and looked in his rear-view mirror. He saw Haysham approach the driver’s side. Then he walked around and got in the passenger side. The car turned around in the drive and came back to the road. It turned right out of the drive.”
“Towards Stonebridge?” Father Gilbert asked.
“Correct. The cabbie turned left to go to his next fare.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing until 4:00 a.m., when a jogger came upon Lord Haysham’s body on the bike path that runs along the canal from the centre of town.”
“The path eventually goes pas
t his estate,” Father Gilbert said. “Who would jog in the rain at four in the morning?”
“This man, apparently,” Macaulay said.
“He’s local. No record,” added Wilton. “Just a fanatical fitness type.”
“Why was Lord Haysham on that path?” Macaulay mused.
“He may have been taken there and murdered – or murdered in a different location and the body deposited there,” Wilton said. “With so much rain and mud, it’s hard to know. I hope the autopsy will give us a clue.”
Father Gilbert thought of when he’d last seen Lord Haysham: drunk and belligerent, scowling as he got into the cab. If Wilton had given him a ride, or if Father Gilbert had offered a lift in Benson’s car, who knew how differently things might have turned out?
“Cause of death?” Macaulay asked.
“A head wound,” Wilton said. “A long gash, very deep. Probably cracked the skull.”
“From what?” Father Gilbert asked, guessing the answer.
“Initial guess is that it was the thin edge of something sharp and heavy,” said Wilton.
“A sword,” said Father Gilbert.
“Possibly. Though it could have been something like a sword. The coroner will have to determine that.”
Macaulay drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Crime scene?”
Wilton shook his head. “Nothing so far. As I said, the rain has washed everything away. Our SOCO team is still there.”
Wilton hesitated – a telling look, as if he wasn’t sure he should continue.
“What?” Father Gilbert asked.
“It may be nothing.”
“It may be something,” Macaulay said.
“There was a small piece of wood near the body. It had a symbol carved into it.”
“What symbol?” Macaulay asked.
Father Gilbert already knew the answer.
Wilton fixed his eyes on his notepad. “A pentagram.”
“How strange,” Macaulay said. “Isn’t that a symbol of the occult? Are you saying Haysham was the victim of a nut-job from a cult?”
“No, sir,” Wilton said – and nothing more.
“Pentagrams seem to be showing up a lot lately,” Father Gilbert said.
“Where?” Macaulay asked.
Father Gilbert told Macaulay about the church cellar and Clive Challoner’s house.
Macaulay rubbed his face. “Are you saying there’s a connection between a body found in the church cellar decades ago, Challoner’s heart attack, and Lord Haysham’s murder? This is preposterous.”
Father Gilbert turned to Wilton again. “What kind of wood was it?”
“A plank, like a slat from a fence. The wood looked weather-worn but the carving was fresh. I suspect it came from the fence that borders that part of the path.”
“The killer took the time to carve the pentagram there at the scene?” Macaulay asked. “Like the mark of Zorro?”
Wilton shrugged.
“Why did you arrest David Todd?” Father Gilbert asked.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Wilton asked, a challenge. “A heated exchange with Haysham at The Mill House. Threats. A red car. That’s more than enough to bring him in for questioning.”
Father Gilbert nodded as a concession. “Why did Todd insist on talking to me?”
“He didn’t say,” said Wilton. “He’s been uncooperative since we brought him in. He’s said only that he didn’t murder Haysham and that he wanted to talk to you.”
“Then I ought to have a word with him,” Father Gilbert said as he stood up.
* * *
The observation room was a small, dark box with a small desk, a computer, and a few folding chairs. A video camera stood on a tripod with wires stretching to the computer. The camera faced a large two-way mirror that allowed the observers to see into a brightly lit interrogation room, padded with white panels to cushion the sound. David Todd sat at a rectangular brown table, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. His face was set in a frown, his red-rimmed eyes fixed on the tabletop. He had an angry bruise on his left cheek and a split lip.
Macaulay stood to Father Gilbert’s right. “I never thought Todd would go as far as murder.”
“Maybe he didn’t do it,” Father Gilbert suggested.
Macaulay gave the priest a condescending look.
Wilton stepped in. He went to the computer and typed in an instruction that triggered a green light on the camera. He checked a few more settings. Then he signalled Father Gilbert to follow him.
They walked the few steps to the interrogation room. Wilton held up a hand for Father Gilbert to wait, then opened the door. Father Gilbert could see Todd over Wilton’s shoulder. He slowly looked up at them.
“As you requested,” Wilton said and moved aside for Father Gilbert to enter.
Father Gilbert went to the table. “Hello, David.”
“Father.” A low, mournful tone.
Father Gilbert sat down across from Todd, his back to the mirror. Wilton slipped out and closed the door behind him.
“Are they treating you all right?” Father Gilbert asked.
Todd shrugged, then tipped his head in the direction of the mirror. “You should have asked them yourself.” He turned his face to the mirror and spoke to the men on the other side. “Do you think you’re treating me all right?”
“How did you get those?” Father Gilbert gestured to the bruise and cut lip.
“I fell when I got home. I guess I had more to drink than I thought.”
Father Gilbert sighed. “It looks bad, David. You should be getting legal advice.”
“Later.” He winced as he touched the split lip. He pumped his right leg up and down impatiently. “There are things my solicitor won’t understand. You will.”
“Like what?”
“The presence of evil.”
“What kind of evil?”
“The kind that kills people.” He screwed his face up a little as if he’d experienced a sudden pain somewhere.
Father Gilbert watched him. “David, are you talking about an external evil or something you feel inside?”
He leaned forward. “Help me,” he whispered.
A chill went up and down Father Gilbert’s spine. Todd’s voice was filled with despair, much like Colin Doyle’s had been. “How can I help you?”
Suddenly, Todd straightened up and looked at the mirror again. His eyes were wide, then he narrowed them, as if concentrating on something in the mirror or beyond it.
Father Gilbert was tempted to turn and look.
Todd relaxed, his gaze on Father Gilbert again. “I didn’t kill Lord Haysham. He was angry and tipsy when he left me at The Mill House. You know what a mean drunk he can be.”
“Actually, I don’t know that,” said Father Gilbert, noting the way Todd referenced Haysham in the present tense.
“He is. And if you’re looking for people who hated him enough to kill him, you’d have to question half the town.”
“Unfortunately, you were the one last seen with him.”
Todd shook his head.
“You didn’t pick him up on the driveway to his estate?” Father Gilbert asked. “That wasn’t your white car the cabbie saw?”
“I was driving my red Peugeot last night.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” It was an old interrogation trick – and Father Gilbert felt a slight disappointment that Todd had fallen for it.
Todd spread his arms. “I don’t know what happened to Haysham after he left me. Cabbies. A car on his drive. They don’t mean anything to me. I was home.”
“There are witnesses who’ve said you argued at The Mill House. What did you argue about?”
Todd snorted. “The same thing we’ve been arguing about ever since he started developing his land.”
“Then why meet with him? You already knew his position.”
Todd shrugged.
“Did you talk about Colin Doyle?”
“What about him?”
“You paid him
to spy on Haysham for you.”
“Business, that’s all.”
“Environmental business? To thwart Haysham’s development of his land?”
Todd gave a wry smile.
“If it wasn’t because of your protests, then…” Father Gilbert paused to think. He ventured to say, “Colin Doyle wasn’t spying to thwart Haysham because of the environment, but to get a step ahead of any possible deals with the land. Knowing the inside track would allow you to invest in the investors.”
“Now you’re thinking,” Todd said.
“You’re connected to the Doyle family,” Father Gilbert said, realizing. “Jack Doyle told you to enlist Colin, to exploit any business opportunities the Doyles might want to grab.”
Todd’s smile remained. But he said nothing.
“Did Colin know you were working with his father? Or were you the means for Jack Doyle to keep an eye on Colin?”
Again, Todd didn’t reply.
“Is that what you and Haysham argued about?” Father Gilbert asked.
Todd sighed. “We argued about the body found under the bridge. And what happened between our ancestors.”
“You think he owes you something for that.”
Todd sat up straight. “He certainly does,” he said sternly. “But it’s in his DNA to fudge on his commitments.”
“What commitments?” Father Gilbert asked.
Todd’s lips twisted into a sneer. “That’s between us.”
Father Gilbert flinched. He had never seen that expression on Todd’s face. “Whatever the topic, he didn’t agree with you.”
“No. He left and that was the last I saw of him.” Todd put his hands on the table and stretched his fingers apart.
“Where did you go after you left The Mill House?”
“Questions, questions, questions,” Todd said impatiently. “Are you here as a priest or a detective?”
“You’re the one who asked me to come. I’m simply trying to understand what happened.”
Todd closed his eyes tightly, as if in pain. “I went home. I stayed home.”
“Can anyone—?”
“No, there’s no one to corroborate my story.” He opened his eyes again. “I’m alone. And I doubt that my neighbours saw me come home.”
“What about Mary Aston?” asked Father Gilbert.
“What about her?”
The Body Under the Bridge Page 14
