Idol Bones

by D M Greenwood

  The Quick and the Dead

  ‘I haven’t made an arrest,’ Spruce said. Theodora poured him a generous single malt and threw a log on the fire in her clerical flat. It was late. The cathedral clock had struck eleven. They were both tired.

  ‘It could have been Riddable,’ Theodora was putting it to him. Decks were being cleared.

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I had another message from Ivan Markewicz, this lunchtime. He’s a mine of useful information. He tells me he discovered Riddable had applied for a post as principal of a theological college in the north of England. To be sure of an interview let alone an appointment, it had been indicated to him that he would have to have published rather more substantially than he has.’

  ‘So he needed another article in some journal?’

  ‘Right. So when the dean said it was no good it would have stymied Riddable’s ambitions.’

  ‘So Riddable’s interview with the dean might have been to persuade him to alter his view?’

  ‘Markewicz needed to know the dean’s final view before the tenth of March.’

  ‘And he was killed on the ninth,’ Spruce said. ‘But surely that wouldn’t help Riddable much. What he needed was a dean writing in his favour not a dean dead. And there must be other authorities on church history apart from the dean.’

  ‘I quite agree. Unless you posit that Riddable was so angry that he didn’t know what he was doing, I don’t think it’s terribly likely that he killed him. For example, he would have had to keep his anger going long enough to return to his house, find a weapon and go back for another meeting with the dean outside the cathedral.’

  ‘My experience of Riddable,’ said Spruce thoughtfully, ‘is that if you leave time for the adrenaline to subside, he’s not going to go to extremes.’

  ‘Quite so. So what do you make of the other two probabilities, Archdeacon Gold and Oliver Fresh?’

  ‘Gold may be a rather muddled little book keeper, – our accountant chap agrees with you – but I don’t see him as a murderer. Quite apart from the tightness of the timing.’

  Theodora nodded. ‘And Fresh?’

  ‘Capable of anything. But …’ Spruce paused to formulate his reservations. ‘I mean I can see him fighting the dean in the columns of the press. I can see him picketing the cathedral or driving goats through the close or some such, but would he really think that the Hollow would be safe or the cathedral left alone if the dean were dead? He strikes me in many ways as a very rational man.’

  ‘I think then, we’re agreed, Inspector.’ Theodora looked at him over her glass. Then she said slowly, ‘There are too many razors in the vergers’ cupboard.’

  Spruce nodded. ‘I’ve sent them both for analysis,’ he said equably.

  ‘Do I take it Nick and Tristram are in the habit of spending the night there?’ Theodora inquired.

  ‘Dennis knew about it and admitted it. When did you notice the razors?’

  ‘The first time I went into the vergers’ office. Quite apart from the fact that they cook their morning bacon sandwiches there, there’s a cupboard full of sleeping bags. And on the back of the cupboard door there’s a shelf with a lot of clutter including those two old fashioned cutthroat razors as well as one modern one.’

  ‘Were both the cutthroat ones his?’

  ‘No, I think you’ll find one was the dean’s.’

  ‘What?’ Spruce was genuinely surprised.

  ‘If you look on the shelf in the dean’s bedroom, you’ll find there are no razors at all.’

  ‘A cool fellow and no mistake. So on the night of the murder after they’d both served at the party, he must have gone into the dean’s bedroom and taken his razor. Then he waited for him to go to the cathedral, followed him and killed him.’

  Theodora shook her head. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’ She put more wood on the fire. Then she reached for a parcel on the table. ‘I’m afraid the only tape machine I could find is rather old. It’s Canon Millhaven’s and must now be of considerable value for its antiquity. However, I think it’ll serve.’

  Theodora took the reel of tape from the parcel, slotted it into the machine and pressed the appropriate buttons. There was music, a bit of the end of the dean’s installation sermon and then a longish pause. Finally came the sound of two people quarrelling. The voices of the dean and Canon Millhaven could be heard quite clearly. The dean was saying … ‘refuse to be dictated to in the matter of ordering the cathedral by any weird spiritualistic nonsense.’

  ‘There is nothing weird about your distinguished predecessors,’ Canon Millhaven cut in. ‘To my mind a dead dean has far more authority than a living one. The words of the dead are tinged with fire.’ The dean’s voice became more impatient as he replied. ‘If you try and stop my proposals being accepted by chapter, I shall have no alternative but to remove you from office.’ The next few words were lost then, ‘… madness …’ could be heard and the tape whirred loose from its reel.

  ‘But I thought …’ Spruce began uneasily. ‘I mean, you’re not telling me now that Canon Millhaven killed the dean? I thought the razors … I thought you agreed with me, it’s got to be Tristram.’

  ‘Yes, I do agree with you. It was, in my opinion, Tristram. And you may be lucky and find traces of blood on one of the razors. But if you don’t, on the evidence you’ve got you’ll have all on to prove it. Whereas I think I have one or two bits of evidence which will help your case.’

  ‘Where did you get that tape? What exactly is it?’ Spruce leaned forward. The end was in view.

  ‘It was sent to me anonymously,’ Theodora answered, ‘care of the cathedral office. It was delivered by hand over the lunch hour today. No one saw the messenger. I picked it up when I got back from my travels to the suffragan and Sir Lionel Dunch this afternoon. I didn’t have time to open it until after …’ she paused, ‘after the events at the Hollow.’

  ‘So who’s it from, do you guess?’

  ‘Oh, I think no doubt about it. It’s Nick’s all right. He’s in charge of the sound system in the cathedral. The basis of the sound system as I understand it is that it’s there to amplify preachers. But of course clergy are only human, they like to know what they sounded like when they preached so the custom of recording their utterance from the pulpit has grown up. Naturally the dean wanted to know what his inaugural sounded like, so he ordered a tape. My guess is that the pause button had slipped on the machine and so Nick got more recorded than he bargained for. In particular he seems to have got a dialogue between the dean and Canon Millhaven, probably on the night of the murder.’

  ‘It could have been any time.’ Spruce was cautious.

  ‘We’ll have to talk to Nick about when he slotted in this particular tape of course. But I’m going on the Riddable boy’s evidence that a woman followed the dean out of the cathedral round about one when he was returning to the Deanery. It could have been Millhaven.’

  ‘Why send it to you?’

  ‘That is tricky. At first I thought it might be conscience. If you suspect that the person you love is a murderer and you don’t want to move on your own account, might you not send the evidence to an impartial third party?’

  ‘Nick and Tristram were close?’ Spruce sounded regretful.

  ‘I think very. However, on reflexion, I wonder if Nick thinks that Tristram was innocent and that this is proof that Canon Millhaven did the killing.’

  ‘So what’s the proof that she didn’t?’

  Theodora considered for a moment. From somewhere below them there came the sound of a door closing. Theodora waited and a moment later there was a hesitant knock. Nick sidled in.

  Theodora felt a rush of sympathy which obliterated her anger.‘Sit down, Nick.’ She poured a rather smaller measure than she had offered to Spruce and added a lot of water. She wanted him relaxed but coherent.

  ‘I went to the hospital. He was dead when they got him there.’

  Both Theodora and Spruce had known that. It had taken a
ll Fresh’s skill to exhume Tristram from beneath the metal of the fallen Janus. Theodora had arrived with Canon Millhaven just as they were finishing the operation. Nick and Mrs Riddable had arrived after the ambulance had taken the body away. Theodora was glad of that. She hoped that they hadn’t let Nick see the body at the hospital. Mrs Riddable had swept Timothy up in her arms and taken him home in a police car. Canon Millhaven had stopped to support Stella. Theodora had taken her deaf taximan back to the cathedral.

  Nick looked round at them bleakly, his face was drained of colour and tight with misery.

  ‘Would it help to tell us exactly what happened on Tuesday night?’ Theodora noticed how gentle Spruce’s tone was.

  ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘Start with after the guests left.’

  ‘They’d all gone by twelve. I locked the Archgate then we, Tristram and I, went down to the basement to tidy up and stack the dishes. About ten past twelve, Tristram heard the front door open. He made some remark about guests who forget their umbrellas but I knew it must be someone from the close because I’d locked the gate.’

  ‘Did the caller ring the bell or knock?’

  ‘No. I heard the study door open and the sound of voices. I was fairly interested so I mooched upstairs in search of stray glasses. The door of the study wasn’t quite closed. Riddable and the dean were having a splendid set to.’ Nick’s face kindled with pleasure as he remembered. ‘Riddable has quite a good line in offensive oafishness when he wants, but he was no match for the dean’s much more polished performance. “I do not care to imagine what your excellent father would have thought of such carelessness in gathering material and incoherence in its presentation. The avidity with which you rush to display your ignorance of primary sources is distressing; your fractured syntax an embarrassment” type stuff.’ Nick was clearly going to use the insults himself in due course.

  ‘What was he talking about, did you gather?’

  ‘Riddable had sent an offering to Church History Review and I gather it wasn’t much good in the dean’s opinion.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Nick’s fluency deserted him. Finally he said, ‘Well, if you must know we, Tris and I, adjourned to the cathedral, to the vergers’ quarters.’

  ‘To spend the night?’ Spruce wanted to be clear. ‘Was that usual?’

  ‘We only did it sometimes.’

  Theodora noticed how Nick turned from being an adult when he was narrating back to a schoolboy when he was answering questions. She had read somewhere that asking a question is a hostile act. Nick certainly seemed to think so.

  Nick turned his half-empty glass in his hand and went on. ‘We’d just got settled down nicely, when the door handle rattled. It was a nasty moment.’ Nick was half defiant half humorous. He clearly hadn’t decided, Theodora thought, what his own attitude to his conduct was. ‘There was this awful pause when neither of us drew breath. Then footsteps receded up the passage way. Tris told me to get out. He said he was sure it was the dean and he’d be back with a key. I didn’t at all fancy tangling with the dean.’

  ‘So you left?’

  ‘Yes. I absolutely pelted across the close, out of the Archgate and took my bike from the park in the magistrates’ court park.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I think I heard one strike as I went down Watergate.’

  ‘Your father said …’

  ‘I know, I know. Dad’s not too well. He takes sleeping pills. I told him what time I got back. He’d see no reason not to believe me.’ Nick had the grace to blush as he met Theodora’s eye.

  ‘Have you any idea what happened next? What did Tristram do, for example?’

  ‘He told me what happened, of course. He cleared the room, the vergers’ office and took to the main body of the cathedral. The idea was to keep moving around and avoid the dean until he got tired and went to his bed.’

  ‘Hide and seek in the cathedral?’

  ‘Something like that. Tristram told me afterwards. He reckoned the last place the dean would look for him would be his own kitchen. So he went back to the Deanery. He crashed out in the kitchen. It’s quite warm. He didn’t wake till there was all the hoo ha when his body was found next morning. Well, you know what happened next.’ Nick looked across at Theodora.

  ‘What about the tape?’ Theo asked.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Why did you send it to me?’

  ‘I thought things ought to be cleared up.’

  ‘What do you think it proves, Nick?’ Theodora’s tone was very gentle.

  ‘It’s clear,’ Nick’s tone was shrill. ‘It’s absolutely clear, isn’t it? Here,’ he reached into the holdall lying beside his chair. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘this is the dean’s daybook. Tristram took it on Tuesday night. It’s full of references to Millhaven. He wanted her out. He thought she was dotty. There’s ample evidence. The tape shows what happened. The dean found Millhaven communing with her dead friends. He started in on her and she flipped her top and knifed him.’

  Neither Spruce nor Theodora said a word. Nick looked from one to the other.

  Finally Theodora said, ‘The dean was killed at ten past one. The watch on his wrist stopped at that time. At one o’clock Canon Millhaven was drinking whisky in her room with Sir Lionel Dunch.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Resurrexit

  ‘Hallelujah,’ shouted the boy sopranos.

  ‘Hallelujah, hallelujah,’ returned the lay tenors across the aisle. Resurrection morning light streamed through the clerestory windows.

  The heavy scent of lilies filled the building. The procession ambled up the nave at an Anglican pace. Nick was verging for the last time.Tomorrow with any luck he’d be in France heading south. He passed close to Theodora who had managed by Canon Millhaven’s good offices to secure a seat at the back of the choir for this Easter Sunday Mattins. Nick did not smile at Theodora but he raised an eyebrow in her direction which she took to be kindly meant. Canon Millhaven herself was processing as the most junior of the residentiary canons.

  There were some gaps, of course. They had lost a dean, the archdeacon was not part of the procession. But the diocesan bishop had returned from America and would in due course be preaching. The ministry of the word, Theodora reflected, was so very important but not perhaps quite as important as our actions, which speak louder.

  From where she sat she could see the Riddable children with their mother.The children all had a well-scrubbed look. Rebecca was practising being demure, Ben looked as though butter would not melt in his mouth. Timothy, she knew, was to join the choir school next term. He’d told her he was looking forward to that because it meant being in the boarding house and not living at home. Theodora saw his point. Glancing down into the nave she spotted Sir Lionel Dunch, his eye on the splendid seventeenth-century memorial to L. Dunch Esq, Lord Mayor of the City of Bow in 1694. Well, he’d got his Janus, after all, the fractured remains of it at least, for his collection. Behind him she could see Spruce sitting next to Mules. Spruce looked alert and interested as though observing the ritual of another tribe.

  They sang, they listened, they prayed the splendid words of the collect for Easter Day. The bishop was verged from his throne to the pulpit. The congregation settled itself to follow either the bishop’s thoughts or their own.

  “‘From dust I rise, and out of nothing now awake”’, the bishop quoted. ‘We have been much beset by death of late. And as you know there are many sorts of death beyond the merely physical. The death of innocence, the death of reputation. And without religion, without the truths of the Christian religion, these sorts of death are insurmountable. Without the Christian hope, we would be condemned to end as bones in the earth.’

  Theodora thought of the ram’s head and bones hideously decorating Sir Lionel’s study. She thought also of the death of the late dean’s reputation. A mistake from his past had risen up and brought about his death. While at the same time a Roman god had risen from the
abyss and challenged the religion of the clergy showing how very lacking in vitality that religion was.

  ‘What is it,’ she returned to hear the bishop ask, ‘which can make bones live, which can rescue reputation and recapture innocence? Of this much at least we may be sure, it is nothing that idols can do for us. Our idols, those false and unworthy ideals which we set up for ourselves, power, money, self-importance, those cannot save us eternally. They cannot bring life out of death. Indeed, they are the very instruments of death.’

  Theodora thought of the end of Nick’s painful recital of the final events of Shrove Tuesday, five weeks ago. Nick had known, she felt sure, in his heart that Tristram had killed the dean. He’d known because he knew of Tristram’s past history. St Crispin’s refuge had housed Tristram’s friend. He’d been one of the men diagnosed with AIDS. He’d died soon after the refuge had been closed. Tristram hadn’t gone into the details but Nick had said Tristram’s narrative had sounded like an indictment. As far as Tristram had been concerned the dean’s action in shutting the house and turning out its inmates was tantamount to killing them. He quite deliberately followed the dean’s career and intended revenge. It had seemed to Tristram like Providence itself when Vincent Stream had been appointed to the very cathedral where he would be delivered into his hands.

  ‘Surely what alone gives life, what restores and refreshes’, the bishop was pressing on, ‘is generosity, generosity and forgiveness. That is what our Lord himself taught us by his words and demonstrated in his life and in his death.’

  But however you read the gospel, Theodora reflected, with whatever presuppositions you approach it, there’s no doubt but that Jesus was very hard indeed on the traditional leaders of religion and very gentle indeed to those on the fringes of society. Perhaps the institutional forms of religion, the worldly, power-based systems of the church were doomed always to be hostile to the practice of ordinary virtue. When Theodora had challenged Nick with having written the Bow Examiner articles he’d said that surely free, critical and truthful debate is the basis of all virtue and the Church is so obsessed with its own importance and rightness that it can’t listen. ‘I love it dearly,’ Nick had said, ‘but it won’t last my time out if they don’t reform.’