Ellie ground her teeth. Claire had been made the scapegoat, as usual. ‘I regret, the meeting is not an open one.’
‘Ah, but for us …’ He smiled, widely.
Rose appeared, hesitating in the doorway to the kitchen quarters.
Ellie wondered if Rose had told Claire about their weekly business meetings. Was that how Ambrose had come to hear about it? She said, trying to be polite, ‘Forgive me, but the meetings of our trust are private. None of you have been invited to join us, and I don’t think—’
The pastor waved her objection away. ‘Ah, but we were invited. Rose invited us.’
That took Ellie’s breath away. The effrontery of the man! She looked at Rose, who shook her head, worried, grimacing. ‘I don’t think I did, did I?’
Ambrose wasn’t listening. ‘This is the way to the boardroom, isn’t it?’ He gestured to the dining room. ‘I asked that it be cleared specially for us …’ He stepped inside and halted. ‘Oh. The table has been put back again, although I thought the room was to be redecorated … Well, I can rise above that. We will sit around it and confer. Claire, you may sit here on my right. Dolores, Liddy: sit on either side of us. Mrs Quicke, I see you are serving coffee, which is poison to our systems. We of the Vision do not take stimulants, and I trust you will soon see the sense of that.’
Rose sent a helpless look in Ellie’s direction and vanished.
Diana half rose from her chair. ‘How dare you force your way into a private house!’
‘It is not just a private house, is it? This is where you hold the meetings of the trust. That is why I am here and why I have brought witnesses to the good work which we do.’
Kate looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand. I have here an application from the people calling themselves the Vision for funds, but—’
‘That is us. Continue.’ Pastor Ambrose waved his hand, giving permission.
Ellie stood behind her chair. ‘Pastor Ambrose, we cannot be bullied into varying our procedures. It is true that we have received an application for funds from you, but we have not yet had an opportunity to discuss it among ourselves, and when we have done that, there will no doubt be questions which—’
A radiant smile. ‘Which is why I am here, to remove all possible objections to our application.’
Diana said, ‘Shall I ring for the police to remove these people?’
Ellie shook her head. ‘No need. I suggest that, due to unforeseen circumstances, we adjourn this meeting to a more convenient time. All those in favour?’
‘Seconded,’ said Stewart.
‘Agreed,’ said Diana, rising from her seat. ‘And now, I really must get back to work.’
Pat hesitated, halfway out of her chair. ‘I don’t understand why these people are here. We’ve never invited visitors to these meetings before, have we?’
‘I feel,’ said Kate, frowning, ‘that I have been inadequately briefed. Ellie, there is obviously a lot more going on with this application than we have been told. I agree we should adjourn until we have all the information we need.’ She closed her laptop and picked up her smartphone, checking for new messages.
‘But,’ said Pastor Ambrose, ‘there are five of you, and only four of us, which makes for uneven voting.’
‘You are not trustees,’ said Pat, who liked to follow rules and regulations. ‘This is not a situation in which you are eligible to vote.’
‘A trivial objection. Let me put you in the picture.’ He laid an A4 photograph on the table. ‘The original house was built a hundred years ago for a large family, with servants’ quarters in the attics, capacious outhouses and a large garden. Some forty years ago, the house was sold to a business man who divided it into flats of various sizes. Later, a developer added a block of flats to one side, thinking to rent the place out for student accommodation. The building was eventually sold to the council and used for social housing, and that is how it came to our attention.’
He pushed back his chair and began to stride about the room, gesturing widely. His followers tracked him with adoring eyes. ‘Two years ago we, the people of the Vision, were looking for a large house with some rooms which could be used for communal living while we pursued our aim of rescuing those cast out of society for various reasons: the recovering addicts who were under the spell of Evil Alcohol and Killer Drugs and bound for hell till we rescued them and placed them on the road to recovery.’
‘Not Claire, I think,’ muttered Diana.
He swept on, disregarding her. ‘Dolores, stand up! Tell these good people in what degrading condition you were found in, selling yourself for drugs and alienated from your family, your children taken into care and—’
Ellie said, ‘This is irrelevant—’
He ploughed straight over her. ‘—you forbidden to see them. And now, tell them! That you are clean and free of drugs and being helped to see how you were dragged down to—’
‘Yes, yes! It’s all true!’ cried Dolores, arms and eyes uplifted.
‘Soon, very soon, you will be able to see your children again—’
‘Alleluia!’
Ellie saw that everyone but her was watching the pastor. Mesmerized. Ellie wasn’t mesmerized. In fact, she was more than slightly annoyed. Yes, if all this was true, the pastor was doing good work in the community … though she would like to consult a doctor or two, and Social Services, before she was totally convinced.
‘Now, Liddy; tell them how you were found in a squat, with the needle still sticking in your arm. How you are willing now to wash and clean and—’
He’s their lord and master, and they are his slaves. They’ve exchanged one dependency for another. It’s as if he’s removed their power of independent thinking as neatly as a surgeon might remove an appendix. If he told one of them to jump in the river, they’d do so. Which, knowing how much toxic waste flows into the River Brent hereabouts, would be the cue for having one’s stomach pumped out and a course of antibiotics.
I do understand that if he had not taken them in, they might by now be very very dead, and that I should applaud him for turning their lives around, but I can’t help feeling that there’s some snag here I’m not seeing.
‘Truly, God is great!’ cried Liddy, with tears in her eyes. One side of her face seemed swollen. Had Ambrose hit her? No, she was back to rubbing it again. Definitely, toothache.
Claire, down on her knees, was holding on to the Pastor’s legs. ‘Alleluia!’ she screamed, her eyes rolling up in her head. She threw herself backwards on to the carpet and writhed.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Ellie. ‘Should I call for an ambulance?’
Ambrose caught himself up, caught mid-sentence. Seeing Claire lying at his feet, he held up his arms, closed his eyes and shouted, ‘Alleluia!’ And then, ‘Get up, woman!’
Which Claire did.
Stewart half rose from his chair, but subsided when he saw that Claire had regained her feet.
The others looked on, stunned. Speechless.
Except for Ambrose. He resumed his chair and said in his normal voice, ‘Our work in the anterooms of hell flourished from the start. We raised funds and, supported by Social Services, and with the help of some private donations, managed to rent our new home. We had to accept that there were some tenants already in place, but on the whole they have given us very little trouble. Our success rate has been phenomenal. It has not been easy. No. But worthwhile. No one can dispute that. Only, now we are faced with a crisis of truly desperate dimensions. A developer has made an offer to the council for the site and we, who have spent our all on caring for the poor and neglected of this world, are unable to raise the amount needed.
‘That was when I had one of my visions. I saw the name of Ellie Quicke, as clear as the day is true. A voice from heaven told me that she will be the angel to rescue us in our hour of need. She will assist us in our crusade against the forces of evil—’
‘Praise the Lord!’ cried Claire, raising her eyes and her hands high to he
aven.
Ambrose was hitting his stride. Fist in the air, he thundered, ‘We have rescued our brothers and sisters from the very pit of hell!’
‘Hallelujah!’ screamed Claire, jumping up and down.
‘We have beaten back the powers of darkness, we have grappled with the fiends from the pit! We fought and we won! Alas, the enemy has not been defeated for good! No! He returns, trying to destroy all the good we do. He threatens to throw us out of our home, to make us homeless! Are we cast down? No! I have prayed and I have fasted. I have wrestled with God, and he has assured me that he will not let us fail!’ The cords were standing out on his neck. He was working himself up into a right royal tantrum.
‘No, no!’ chanted Claire. ‘He will not let us fail! O blessed Vision, fly swiftly to our aid!’
Diana had had enough. She pushed back her chair and stood, leaning forward with both hands on the table. ‘What a load of rubbish! I can see through you, if no one else can. You are a fake, a charlatan! I am not taken in by your claims to save people. You may pretend to be oh so holy, but you are nothing but a con man, who has surrounded himself with poor creatures who don’t know the difference between day and night!’
Bravo! Diana’s actually got it right for once.
Ambrose tore open his shirt. ‘You dare to attack me, the saviour and prophet of the Vision? How dare you, woman! I see you for what you are! A servant of Mammon! Spawn of Satan!’
Diana was not to be faced down. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s as clear as the nose on your face that you’re after my mother’s money, just as you’ve conned other elderly women into handing over everything they own. As for these poor creatures you’re talking about, if Claire’s an example, they stink!’
Claire cried, ‘Shame! Oh, alleluia! Our leader will trample his enemies underfoot!’
Ambrose shook his fist at Diana. ‘I see you … I see you … I have this vision … Aaargh!’ His eyes rolled up in his head. He staggered, hands outstretched. ‘I see you writhing in the torments of hell. I hear you cry out for relief, and relief there will be none for such as you! You are a child of Satan. I look into your black heart, and I see how you want the money for yourself. And so I lay a curse upon you! I curse you for coming between us and the money which is meant for us! Coming and going, sleeping and waking, at home or abroad, I curse you for—’
Ellie looked around the room, thinking it was time someone stopped the man.
No one moved.
Everyone, bar Ellie, was horrified, hanging on his every word.
She’d sometimes wondered why she was the chair of this committee, because Stewart was a brilliant administrator, Kate could read a balance sheet in a blink of an eye and Pat knew her way round everything a computer could do. Ellie had none of these skills. She’d often sat through these meetings, thinking the most she could bring to the table was the ability to serve coffee on demand.
The other trustees didn’t seem to know what to do now, though.
Ellie did. She picked up the fly spray and aimed it at the centre of Ambrose’s chest. Accurately. ‘Oops,’ she said. ‘A wasp!’
‘A wasp? What? Aargh!’ He flailed at his shirt. ‘Get it off me!’
‘Stand still,’ said Ellie. And aimed again, a little lower.
‘What!’ He shook himself, glaring down at his crotch, fumbling with his belt, pulling his shirt away from his chest. ‘Help me!’
Claire cried, ‘Let me! Oh, let me see!’
Ellie squirted once more, this time to his left shoulder, but he was on edge, dancing around … and the spray got him on the chin. Perhaps a few drops got as far as his mouth?
‘Gerrough!’ he said and choked.
Coughed.
Oh dear. Ellie tried to read the label on the can. Was this stuff poisonous? Possibly.
Claire gaped, crying, ‘I can’t see any wasp! Where is it?’
All eyes were on Ambrose. No one but Ellie seemed able to move. Once she was sure he’d been neutralized – if that was the right word? Possibly not, but – she put the spray down and handed him her almost empty cup of coffee. ‘Here, drink this.’
He swilled it round his mouth and spat.
Claire wailed, ‘The wasp! Has he been stung? Shouldn’t we get the doctor?’
‘No need,’ said Ellie.
Ambrose gasped, eyes bulging. A shaking hand reached out to her, forefinger pointing. She struck it aside. He gobbled something. Another curse?
She said, ‘Shut … up!’
Amazingly, he did.
The atmosphere in the room was so tense, they could hear the clock tick in the hall.
Ellie thought, This is all too funny for words. And she giggled.
There was an appalled silence.
Everyone’s eyes switched to Ellie. Except for Ambrose, who was still wheezing.
Ellie giggled again. ‘Too ridiculous! Dear me! All this fuss over a wasp.’
Kate sank back into her chair. ‘You’re right.’ And she began to laugh, too.
Stewart thumped the table and joined them. ‘Oh my …!’
Diana didn’t laugh. There were white patches either side of her nose. She grabbed her bag and pushed her chair back. ‘I’ve had more than enough of this. This … this …! I don’t know what to call him … but he’s gone too far. Mother, you should hand him over to the police!’
Ellie sighed. ‘Well, I would if I had any proof that he’d done anything against the law of the land. Oh, I suppose I could claim trespass, since he has forced himself into our meeting, but he’ll only say he was invited, and it’s not worth it, is it?’
Diana snapped back, ‘What about what he’s doing against the law of God!’ She rushed out to the hall and left the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Ellie’s eyes opened wide. This, from Diana, who had said religion was all nonsense, and who never went to church except for funerals and weddings! This, from Diana, who’d said she wouldn’t bother to have little Evan christened! Did this outburst mean that Diana did, at bottom, believe?
Ambrose was, for once, without words. He was alternately spitting saliva – oh dear! – and pulling his shirt away from his body. Ellie was, slightly, alarmed. Did the man have asthma? It had been an accident. She hadn’t intended the stuff to go into his face, but he’d moved into the target area, instead of stepping away from it.
Claire, needless to say, was in tears, hands upraised to heaven, whispering to God to help them.
Ellie was inclined to think that, yes, God was in heaven all right, but he could be everywhere else, as well. Only, of course, most people couldn’t see him nowadays. Prophets could, perhaps? Ambrose was not, in her opinion, much of a prophet. She wondered what sort of brain might produce illusions which could be passed off as visions. She thought it more likely that his were produced by hysteria rather than religious fervour. In this particular case, the line between religious fervour and madness seemed to her to be very thin indeed.
Ambrose held on to the table. His breathing slowed and became normal. His shirt was drying on him, sticking to him. As were his trousers. He passed a trembling hand across his forehead and flicked away moisture. He might, also, be perspiring. It was hard to tell.
Stewart pushed back his chair. ‘Are you all right?’ Stewart would want to help, wouldn’t he!
Kate leaned back in her chair, preparing to withhold judgement till she’d ascertained the facts of the matter.
Pat was smiling nervously as she fiddled with her laptop.
Ambrose opened his mouth and pointed at Ellie. About to curse her, too?
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Ellie. ‘You don’t kill the goose which lays the golden eggs.’
He wasn’t prepared to give up yet. In a hoarse voice he said, ‘You assaulted me!’
‘You,’ said Ellie, ‘disrespected me. You have abused the laws of hospitality not once but several times.’ She’d never used the term ‘disrespected’ before and was pleased to see that she’d understood it correc
tly and that it worked, for Ambrose staggered back, clearly wanting to say that you couldn’t ‘disrespect’ a woman and that he wished her dead. Some remnant of common sense made him refrain.
His hands shook as he twitched his shirt away from his body. ‘You are …’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Ellie. ‘I own this house, I head up this charitable trust and, in spite of your behaviour today, I will study your application papers and give them the attention they deserve. Now I suggest that you take your witnesses and depart. Claire, leave your unauthorized set of keys on the table, please.’
‘Oh, but—’ Claire wept.
‘Keys!’ Ellie pointed to the table, which had some flecks of saliva on it. Bother: water stained mahogany. She must remember to give the table a polish as soon as the uninvited visitors had gone.
Claire sought in her handbag. She shot a despairing glance at Ambrose. Looking for support? Which plea he refused to see. Claire dropped the keys on to the table. As her hands were slimy with tears, Ellie made a mental note not to touch the bunch without first gloving up.
Ambrose made his way a trifle unsteadily to the door, followed by Claire and the two women. Ellie opened the front door for them and shut it with a firm hand after they’d left the house.
Kate followed her into the hall. ‘Is that man mentally unbalanced? Is he a con man, or a misguided fanatic?’
‘I suspect a personality disorder of some kind,’ said Ellie. ‘As to whether he does some good in the world or not, I really cannot say.’
Kate frowned. ‘I suppose that if he’s really doing the work he claims …? No, I don’t think the trust should back someone who’s mentally unbalanced.’
‘It may be worse than that,’ said Ellie, feeling rather limp. ‘There’s a murder in his background somewhere. Or in Claire’s. I can’t be sure yet, but I think that, if she did kill someone, he might feel it his duty to protect her from harm provided she devoted her life to raising money for his needs.’
‘You appal me,’ said Stewart, joining them.
Pat dithered in the doorway. ‘What do we do now?’
Murder by Suspicion Page 11
