A Vicar, Crucified

by Simon Parke

  Malcolm breathed deeply as he added to the stack of organic large.

  ‘Oh, well - there’s not much of me to put up on display really.’

  ‘I’ll have one of those, please.’

  Malcolm handed her a box of the organic large. The stranger checked to see none were broken.

  ‘But this isn’t what you want to do.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Each body conveys a message. And that’s the story yours tells.’

  ‘Whoever got to do what they wanted to do?’ he said wearily.

  ‘Well, what would you like to do?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I’m not talking to the eggs.’

  Malcolm was thrown, unfamiliar with the interest being shown.

  ‘Sorry if I’m a bit direct,’ she said. ‘But maybe direct is good sometimes.’

  ‘No, well -.’

  ‘I’m a careers adviser by trade and I don’t have time now. But if you ever want help, here’s my card. I am a business but only because I believe in people.’

  ‘I don’t think you’d believe in me.’

  ‘It’s you believing in yourself that’s more important.’

  ‘I’m just a commodity in the market of life - and sadly, a commodity no one wants.’

  ‘Cop-out.’

  Malcolm was suddenly angry.

  ‘You just want my business.’ The woman paused.

  ‘Come for free. I don’t want your money. Come for free and for as long as it takes. But before you do, stop hiding, stop accepting some vague unhappiness as your birthright and consider what you want.’

  He’d thrown away many things but he’d never thrown away the card. And tomorrow he was going to give her a call. The stranger... who might be an angel in disguise.

  ***

  Sally parked in the road next to the Bishop’s home. It was one of those new Bishop’s palaces that wasn’t a palace at all but a bland fit into well-off suburbia, four bedrooms, dining room, study, wood flooring and the Daily Mail; less ostentatious, authority-lite and no swans in the episcopal lake to worry about. She crunched her way towards the front door but paused before ringing. There was the mother of a row going on inside.

  ‘Well, I’m sure God will forgive you!’ shouted Margaret. ‘But don’t wait for me to!’

  Sally knew Margaret from dull ‘Women in Ministry’ days, a slightly distant soul. She seemed trapped by a role she had no desire for, and given the exchange inside, a husband also.

  ‘You bitch!’ countered the Bishop.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Don’t make me out as the bad one here!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t ever do that, I won’t have you do that!’

  ‘No, let’s crucify someone else, that always helps ease the pain.’

  ‘Bitch!’

  ‘Pharisee!’

  ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘Good! Don’t hurry back. I wouldn’t want you imagining you’re needed here.’

  Sally heard the Bishop moving towards the door. She spun round quickly on her heels and made for the car. The conversation with the Bishop could wait, there’d be better moments. And by the time the front door opened and the gaunt figure of the Bishop appeared in silhouette, she was driving past, driving away, another anonymous driver taking a peek at where that Bishop lives.

  And now to the police station. It was time to explain why she was the one who discovered Anton’s body.

  Seventy Seven

  Monday, 22 December

  ‘I knew how the meeting would go,’ said Jennifer, ‘and the thought of it was quite unbearable.’

  They were sitting in Lewes police station, overlooking the town. It was a quieter setting at night than the Stormhaven nick, better resourced, more civilised. Lewes boasted classy middle-class gift shops, its own brewery and a police station which was also the regional HQ with its own indoor firing range, an HR department and a more expensive coffee machine.

  It was just the three of them in the room. Jennifer had refused a solicitor with the words, ‘Why on earth would I want one of those dreary little people.’

  ‘They can be a friend,’ said the Abbot, before receiving a killing look from Tamsin.

  ‘Anton had let me down,’ said Jennifer neutrally. ‘He’d let me down very badly and unfortunately we have a Bishop who rather feeds on that sort of thing. He loves error in others; it makes him feel so much better about himself.’

  ‘And so you made your plans?’ said Tamsin, who sat with Peter on the opposite side of the desk in Interview Room 3.

  Each had a coffee in front of them, Abbot Peter’s with his customary extra shot to give the necessary bite. It was 2.00 a.m. and interesting conversation was anticipated. Despite the hour, no one expected to fall asleep.

  ‘He had to be punished, obviously.’

  ‘His failure was your failure?’

  ‘And quite exciting in a way. People don’t realise how practical I am. I’ve bought two run-down houses and done them up almost single handed. I know how to do things.’

  ‘Of course, we nearly got you at the Christmas Fayre.’

  ‘No, I was way too quick. As soon as I heard the Berlioz, I sensed danger. Who did put that CD on to play?’

  ‘Sally. She just saw the words ‘Christmas Music’ on the cover and slammed it in.’

  ‘Why do I care? Anyway, I told my mum I was going to the loo, set off in that direction but went instead to the vestry from the outside.’

  Peter was momentarily impressed by this smooth operator.

  ‘No one saw me enter and I was quickly out by the same way I came in. I went straight to the toilet on my return and hid the CD there just in case we were searched and then emerged a few minutes later.’

  ‘So give us the killing details, if you don’t mind,’ said Tamsin.

  This was a key moment. Would the murderer clam up in defensive fear or feel the exhilaration of the stage? For Jennifer it was the latter, her vanity seeking the freedom fields of explanation. She was a good teacher, always had been, but now it was like home, all those years ago; like showing mummy a good piece of homework.

  ‘I once told Anton that I found something sexual about the naked figure on the cross,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if that’s allowed. Is that allowed, Abbot?’

  Peter smiled.

  ‘It was just a game really,’ continued Jennifer, ‘but I could see he was intrigued. He’d joke about acting it out.’

  ‘And when it suited you, you did.’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. He was a little boy really, just another little fellow who wanted to be mothered.’

  ‘But perhaps not crucified,’ said Tamsin.

  ‘He was crucified long ago,’ said Peter quietly. ‘As Van Gogh said of himself, “A young sapling caught too young in the emotional frost”. That was Anton too.’

  There was a pause, a few heartbeats of silence.

  ‘I knew what I would do,’ continued Jennifer, undeterred by art history. This was her stage, not Vincent’s. ‘I needed a store cupboard for the equipment that no one would find and on a sea walk the answer rather leapt out at me.’

  ‘A beach hut.’

  ‘I found the council officer responsible for allocation, a rather pliable man called Christopher Thornton.’

  ‘Now dead.’

  ‘Yes, I read. Hardly my fault, though. He was clinically depressed long before my brief dealings with him.’

  ‘And so you jumped the queue.’

  ‘It wasn’t that hard. I played the school card and perhaps one or two others. People so want to help the kids, it’s rather pathetic. And they want to please me. They always have done, which helps.’

 
‘But it was about to become Betty’s beach hut.’

  ‘I didn’t realise the queue I was jumping had Betty at the front of it; nor that the hut once belonged to her father.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  Jennifer offered the joyless smile of the narcissist.

  ‘But with that obtained, everything was easy. All that I needed was stored there as the nosy Abbot discovered. I collected them after the meeting and then called Anton. I told him I’d spoken with the Bishop and that he’d had a change of heart.’

  ‘And that you wanted to see him naked in the vestry in ten minutes?’

  ‘I didn’t seriously imagine he’d play along. I was quite prepared for a more traditional murder, a simple stabbing, like Clare.’

  ‘We’ll get to that.’

  ‘But he did play along, there he was sitting stark naked recording his ridiculous Christmas music. The Naked DJ was naked. And so I just thought “Why not?”’

  ‘And so you persuaded him up onto the cross.’

  ‘It wasn’t persuasion, he was as eager as a rabbit. He liked to live close to the edge, Anton, I think it helped him to feel.’

  ‘So he was up on the table and taped without a struggle?’

  ‘He was as happy as Larry, believe me. In fact, he only stopped smiling when I put him to sleep. Or rather a few seconds before.’

  ‘When he saw the chloroform?’

  ‘He was suddenly scared then, yes, as if he knew. But as you once observed Abbot, his eyes were never far from terror.’

  Jennifer paused, as though seeing those eyes again, like Macbeth and Banquo’s ghost; as if for a moment, she felt something.

  ‘And then?’ asked Tamsin.

  ‘Then stupid Clare arrived! How could I have predicted that when the Bishop had whisked her away after the meeting? But she’d come back, come back to light a candle when she saw the light on in the vestry.’

  ‘The best laid plans and all that.’

  ‘As every teacher knows, no lesson goes to plan.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Poor Clare. She pushed open the door, took a look at Anton, screamed and ran out. I’d just climbed down from the table after putting the dog collar round his neck.’

  ‘You’re quite cruel, aren’t you?’

  ‘It was just for the record, nothing more, just a keeping of the record.’

  ‘Like the record your mum kept?’ asked Peter.

  ‘She didn’t need to say anything. She kept wordless records.’

  ‘And you carried on the tradition,’ said Peter.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You couldn’t break the family pattern?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have known anything about it.’

  ‘That wasn’t my question.’

  ‘I do believe every child should earn their good marks. We don’t help young people - or vicars - by applauding inadequacy.’

  ‘So the answer’s ‘No’.

  ‘He shouldn’t have dragged me into his failure; that was his mistake. The Bishop called me “a pretty poor judge of a disaster”. That was a bad thing to say because I’m not a failure.’

  ‘Anton spoke of the look you gave him after the vote,’ said Peter. ‘He called it “the look of a maniac”.’

  ‘But now you had Clare to think about,’ said Tamsin, eager to get on. Peter had the habit of taking interviews down psychological cul-de-sacs which helped no one.

  ‘Initially, I confess, I was paralysed. I didn’t know what to do, in shock I think.’

  ‘You found Clare more shocking than Anton?’ said Tamsin.

  ‘She threatened a successful outcome in a way Anton didn’t.’ There was a pause.

  ‘And a successful outcome: was that your only thought?’ asked Peter.

  ‘What other thought is there?’

  ‘Perhaps a thought about others, a feeling perhaps?’

  ‘Why does everyone insist on feelings?’ said Jennifer, dismissively.

  ‘Carry on,’ said Tamsin, clearly disturbed.

  ‘I knew Clare couldn’t be allowed to live. So I followed her into the church, calling out, saying she’d made a mistake, saying that I’d discovered Anton like that. I needed to sound weak, I just had to stop her leaving. And then the idea of the mad man came to me. It was brilliant.’

  Peter and Tamsin sat impassive. It was the murderer’s moment, her great monologue, so there must be quiet in the auditorium as the tape recorder immortalised the performance.

  ‘It was quiet for a while and I walked round to the back of the church to make sure she didn’t leave. But I kept talking, kept saying that there was a madman in the building and she believed me, thank God. Eventually she came out from behind a pillar, frightened herself now and approached me, feeling there’d be safety in numbers.’

  ‘A mistaken walk to safety.’

  ‘But a great relief to me.’

  ‘So you talked?’

  ‘Oh yes. In fact we probably enjoyed the longest conversation we’d ever had. She actually felt very close; we could have been friends.’

  ‘But for you killing her,’ said Peter.

  ‘She believed in my mad man completely. “This is terrible”, she said. “It is,” I said. “Where is he?” she asked me. I said “Up in the gallery, I think. I’m so glad you walked in, Clare. But what brings you here?”

  ‘She said “The unwelcome attentions of a Bishop, if you must know. He was driving me home and then he suddenly pulled over.He grabbed me, wouldn’t let me go! Said he loved me.”

  ‘“My God!” I said. I mean, I had zero opinion of the man already but now we were some way below freezing.

  ‘“I just came to light a candle”, Clare said.

  She pointed to the altar where a single flame burned. It was rather striking in the darkness.’

  ‘Of which you, in that moment, were perhaps the darkest part.’

  ‘How reassuringly sanctimonious, Abbot, and such a shame your neck remains intact. But strange though it may seem, I meant what I said, you have been like an uncle to me. I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, Jennifer.’

  ‘And to think I recommended you as Special Witness.’

  ‘It was you?’

  ‘I thought you’d be kind but, well, not quite so effective. I’m usually very good with staff appointments, knowing exactly what I’ll get. The nativity was good, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The nativity was wonderful.’

  It had been the highlight of Peter’s Friday.

  ‘And then?’ asked Tamsin.

  ‘I suggested to Clare that we go over to the candle. I said I’d feel safer there which she believed. I mean, sweet in a way. She just said “Good call” and those were her last words.’

  ‘You killed her by the altar?’

  ‘Does the “where” make a difference? We dress things well but everything’s a deceit in the end. And I mean, I put her to sleep first. I only killed her when I’d put on the rather unbecoming overalls. But I did have a concern.’

  ‘Social? Aesthetic? Moral?’

  ‘I feared she’d made a phone call while hidden. I couldn’t take the chance, I knew I had to get out so I put her behind the altar, went back to the vestry, grabbed all my gear, turned out the lights and left.’

  ‘Without banging in the nails?’ It was Peter who asked this.

  ‘That’s right. I don’t know how you knew but it wasn’t me who crucified the vicar. You still have another arrest to make, I’m afraid.’

  There was a silence in the room, broken eventually by Tamsin.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I went out into the car park and from there into the church garden where I hid. Rain pouring down of course which I thoug
ht was all to the good: visibility poor, foot prints washed away, all something of a blessing.’

  ‘And you waited there.’

  ‘I’d know soon enough if the alarm had been raised. It didn’t seem like it had, no self-important police cars arriving with their big flashing lights. But then as I left, I saw a figure by the vestry door.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m sure it was someone.’

  ‘That’s helpful.’

  ‘I don’t know who it was and don’t really care. They must have heard the door banging in the wind, I hadn’t shut it properly.’

  ‘So they went inside?’

  ‘Presumably, but I didn’t stay. I knew I had to get away, get to the beach hut with my luggage and then home to sort out a story. I was quite sure no one would believe Anton if he told the truth. I doubted he would, the shame would be too great and of course I’d deny it completely and people would believe me, because they do.’

  ‘But you hadn’t completed the punishment.’

  ‘Strangely, I wasn’t too concerned. His humiliation was complete, that was the thing and I was free to be the wonderful church warden again with Anton gone, because he would be. And you must remember, I now had plenty on the Bishop so he wouldn’t be troubling me again.’

  ‘How edifying.’

  ‘But when I heard the next day someone had crucified him - well, I was shocked!’

  ‘There are some sick people out there,’ said Tamsin, sarcastically.

  ‘But elated as well. It was better. The nails had actually been driven home.’

  ‘All very reminiscent of your Cyril,’ said Peter.

  ‘Cyril?’

  ‘Your teddy bear.’

  ‘Oh, you have been busy.’

  ‘Strong sense of deja-vu.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Who said the past wasn’t important, Jennifer? It provided the first big clue.’

  ‘I didn’t say the past was unimportant, Abbot. I merely said it was self-indulgent.’

  ‘Not for the detective.’

  ‘And Clare?’ asked Tamsin. ‘Anything more to say about her? She was an innocent in all this.’

  ‘I never warmed to Clare.’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘What does it matter? In those particular circumstances, I would have killed her if she’d been my mother.’