The Killer in the Choir

by Simon Brett

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he said, somewhat mollified. ‘And what is your means of release, Carole?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘What do you do to stop yourself from being uptight all the time?’

  She wondered, for a moment, if he was making a joke. She knew a lot of people in Fethering would be of the view that she was ‘uptight all the time’. But she countered the insinuation with an airy, ‘Oh, I find a walk with my dog on Fethering Beach usually sorts me out.’

  The statement wasn’t true, but he didn’t seem interested enough to challenge it. Instead he said, ‘Talking of Fethering Beach … you haven’t heard any talk of reviving the Preservation of Fethering’s Seafront committee since Leonard Mallett died, have you?’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything, no.’

  ‘It was a good initiative, but like all these things, it needs someone dynamic and proactive to make anything happen. I considered reviving it myself but, quite honestly, I’m so busy with the various other committees I’m on … and the church, of course. Leonard’s set-up was trying to get local people to form a rota of clearing plastic from the beach, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I know,’ said Carole icily. ‘I was actually on the committee.’

  ‘Were you?’ He looked at her in amazement, before saying, ‘Oh yes, of course you were.’

  She didn’t now think his earlier lack of recognition was caused by failing memory or rudeness. She had come to the conclusion that Ruskin Dewitt was just one of those men who was so involved in his own ego, that he really didn’t notice other people.

  Carole moved her investigation forward. ‘I gather that you and Jonny Virgo taught at the same school for a while.’

  ‘Yes. Ravenhall. For our sins.’ He let out the meaningless laugh that always accompanies that meaningless expression.

  ‘And did you get on well?’ Again, it was a very direct question, but Carole reckoned Russ was so caught up in himself that, so long as the conversation centred on him, he didn’t mind too much what he was being asked.

  Her instinct proved right. ‘Well, we sort of rubbed along, as you do in a school staff room. We’re very different people, though. I was always more active, setting up new initiatives for the sixth formers, that kind of thing. Jonny had less natural empathy with the boys. Only really interested in his own music. And his mother, even back then. Devoted to her. Bit of an “apron strings problem”, but he’s always had that.’

  ‘And did you ever have any trouble at the school?’

  ‘Me? Why should I have trouble?’

  ‘I gather you sometimes had a problem with controlling your temper.’

  That really did catch him on the raw. ‘I have never in my life had problems controlling my temper!’ he bellowed in a voice which immediately gave the lie to what he was saying. ‘And if someone has been spreading rumours about me, I demand to know who it is! What have you heard?’

  ‘Just that you once lost your temper so badly that you assaulted one of the pupils.’

  ‘That is a downright lie!’ Quickly deciding that bluster was not going to be his best way out of this situation, he took on a more conciliatory tone. ‘Oh, I think I probably know the incident you are referring to. And I bet you heard it from bloody Jonny, didn’t you?’

  Carole neither confirmed nor denied this.

  ‘Very well, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Yes, one of the boys did accuse me of hitting him, I don’t deny that. But the fact was that the boy in question was a fantasist. He was from a very unsettled background – his parents were going through a sticky divorce at the time – and the boy expressed his mental turmoil by spreading mendacious rumours about his classmates. Presumably getting some kind of kick out of this, he decided to move up the food chain and spread a rumour about a member of staff. I got the short straw of being the one he chose. The boy said I had hit him over the head with a dictionary.

  ‘The headmaster of Ravenhall at the time was not very bright, but he knew what was required of him in such circumstances. Very rightly, he took the accusation that had been made against me seriously. And it’s always difficult in such situations to be certain of the truth. It was basically the boy’s version of events against mine. Fortunately, in the end, wiser counsel prevailed, and I was exonerated. I agreed not to seek any apology, or indeed to ask that the boy should be punished. It was an unsavoury incident, but one that is a hazard of choosing schoolmastering as one’s profession. I imagine the risks of such unwarranted accusations are even greater now in the days of social media. At least, thank goodness, I was spared that.

  ‘But even though I was completely cleared by the in-school enquiry, the fact that Jonny Virgo still remembers the incident shows just how firmly mud sticks.’

  Carole couldn’t be certain, but she suspected that Russ’s explanation of this incident had as much relation to the truth as his narrative of why he left the Fethering church choir. He had the skill of finessing history into a version that he found acceptable. That did not mean, though, that he didn’t believe it.

  Anyway, the demonstration of his temper was not going to deflect Carole from the course on which she had set out. ‘Going back to the question of whether you’d seen Heather Mallett since you left the All Saints choir …’

  ‘I’ve already answered that. I …’ He stopped himself, and a new knowingness came into his eyes. ‘Oh, I see. The amateur sleuths of Fethering have been putting their heads together, haven’t they? Examining the evidence, and coming up with their solution to the whodunit mystery? And I am being honoured with the role of perpetrator, am I?’

  ‘No. There is just a natural concern about—’

  ‘Natural concern my foot! Natural nosiness more likely! Natural suspicion of the outsider, of anyone who doesn’t fit the box of neatly married conformist!’

  His anger was revealing more of his self-image than he probably wanted to give away. Carole found it interesting that both Ruskin Dewitt and KK Rosser, coming from such different directions, shared contempt for the safely married archetype.

  ‘I’ve had to put up with this kind of discrimination right through my life,’ he went on, ‘particularly when I was teaching. Why can’t people understand that there are some of us who are self-sufficient, who just get on with things, who don’t need to be part of some bloody community?’

  Though Russ wasn’t, Carole was aware of the contradictions in what he was saying. His claim to self-sufficiency was nonsense; rarely had she encountered someone who seemed more desperate to be part of a community, any community. He was one of those deluded individuals who saw himself as the life and soul of the parties he never got invited to.

  But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. Ruskin Dewitt was in full flow.

  ‘Well, in this case, you can gossip as much as you like, but you’ll never pin the crime on me. Heather Mallett was murdered last weekend, right?’

  ‘Yes. After her stepdaughter’s wedding.’

  ‘And do you know where I was last weekend?’ He rose suddenly from his campaign chair and picked up the neat pile of guidebooks. ‘Have you ever been to the Holy Land, Carole?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you should try it. Concentrating on spiritual matters might possibly cure that nasty suspicious mind of yours. It’s a very inspiring place, you know, the Holy Land. I helped to organize a trip there for the Friends of All Souls Fedborough. A trip from which we only returned on Monday. So, at the time when Heather Mallett was strangled, sixteen High Church Christians from Fedborough can vouch for the fact that I was in a hotel near the Mount of Olives.’ He grinned without humour. ‘Well, Carole, would you like to withdraw your unfounded accusation?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I think, in the circumstances, it would not be appropriate for me to offer you any more coffee.’

  ‘No, probably not.’ She picked up her handbag and rose from her chair. In the small space, Ruskin Dewitt seem
ed to loom over her. ‘I’ll be on my way then,’ she mumbled.

  He stood back to let her pass. But he didn’t stand back far enough to cease to be threatening. As she got to the front door, his voice arrested her. ‘Would you like to know where I think you should look for Heather’s murderer?’

  ‘I’d be very interested, yes.’

  ‘I’m sure you would. And what would you say are the usual motives for murder?’

  Carole stayed silent. He might want to play games. She didn’t.

  ‘Sex, financial gain, fear of exposure. I reckon that covers most of them. You know, for a long time, until I decided to give it up, I sang with the church choir of All Saints Fethering.’

  ‘I know you did.’ She didn’t like being toyed with. She wanted just to walk out. But, on the other hand, if he did actually have a useful suggestion for where she should next direct her investigation …

  ‘So, I know the individuals involved pretty well. Given their age and character, I think we can forget the motivations of sex and financial gain. But fear of exposure …’

  ‘You mean, having a secret that you don’t want to have exposed …?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. So, which of the All Saints choir members do you think might have such a secret?’

  ‘I don’t know all of them.’

  ‘But, come on, Carole, you know who they are. You live in Fethering, for God’s sake. Everyone there knows who everyone else is.’ She didn’t argue. ‘Who’s concealing what then? Could it be that Shirley and Veronica Tattersall are incestuous lesbians …?’

  ‘If you’re just going to be stupid, I’ll—’

  ‘No, don’t go. I know you don’t want to … till you’ve heard my suspicions.’ Once again, he was right. ‘So, let’s ask ourselves, who might have a secret that Heather could have found out about, a secret so shaming that he or she would resort to murder to prevent it from being disclosed?’

  ‘Jonny Virgo?’

  Ruskin Dewitt chuckled. ‘No. No, much as I would like to have my revenge on the little creep for fingering me, I’m afraid that just wouldn’t stack up. Jonny’s made a kind of fetish of keeping his nose clean. No dirt clings to Jonny. Come on, Carole, who else?’

  ‘As I said, I don’t know them very well.’

  ‘What’s that old saying …?’ He was clearly having fun teasing out his narrative. ‘“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.” Now who would you say was the quietest member of that church choir?’

  ‘I don’t know … unless it’s that woman with dyed red hair.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ruskin Dewitt, ‘now you’re talking. Yes, Elizabeth Browning.’

  ‘So, what was her secret?’ asked Carole. ‘The one Heather found out about?’

  And he told her.

  TWENTY

  It was worth having a look, thought Carole, as she navigated the Renault, well within the speed limit, back to Fethering.

  She put the car in the High Tor garage and walked down towards the Fethering Yacht Club. The weather had now turned almost summery. The Seaview Café, which opened out on to the beach, had, for the first time that year, put some tables and chairs outside.

  And another denizen of Fethering had returned to summer habits. As Carole rounded the side of the Fethering Yacht Club, the sea wall which contained the ferocious flow of the River Fether was revealed. And, leaning against it, looking out to sea, was Elizabeth Browning.

  In the sunlight, the colour of her long hair looked even less natural. And her French Lieutenant’s Woman pose looked even more affected.

  Before going up to the woman, Carole paused for a moment. It struck her that she was quite possibly now at the scene of Heather Mallett’s murder. The body had certainly gone into the river, to return within only a few hours as a ‘Fethering Floater’. Was it not likely that the confrontation which ended with her strangling had taken place right here, conveniently close to the sea wall?

  But she didn’t let this thought change her plans. In fact, it gave her an idea for an opening gambit. She walked towards Elizabeth Browning. (In normal Fethering resident mode, Carole would never have gone straight up to someone to whom she hadn’t been properly introduced. But Carole in investigative mode was a totally different creature. Her interest in murder had done a lot for her social skills, helping to overcome her natural shyness.)

  ‘Good morning, Elizabeth,’ she said.

  The woman turned and squinted, trying to identify the outline against the bright sunshine.

  ‘Carole Seddon. We’ve met at the Crown & Anchor a few times.’ Well, once, anyway. And then we didn’t actually address a word to each other. But never mind, there are questions I want to ask you.

  ‘Oh yes. Good morning,’ said Elizabeth vaguely.

  ‘Looking at the river, it’s hard not to think about Heather Mallett, isn’t it?’ asked Carole.

  But her opening gambit failed to produce any very significant reaction. ‘I suppose so, perhaps.’ Elizabeth Browning’s mind had clearly been on anything other than the murder victim.

  ‘Did you know her well?’ Carole pressed on.

  The woman shrugged. Close to, Carole could see that her make-up was very skilfully and meticulously done. It took a good ten years off her real age. ‘Well, we sang in the church choir together for some years. But Heather was very buttoned-up and quiet. She wasn’t the kind of person you bonded with. Turned up for rehearsals and then left, no socializing. She did relax a bit after her husband died, but I still didn’t get close to her.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her husband?’ Carole was determined to investigate any links Elizabeth Browning might have to the Mallett family.

  ‘Not meet, really, no. I saw him sometimes. On a few occasions he’d pick Heather up after rehearsal, but he always stayed waiting in the car, didn’t come into the church. He and I never spoke to each other.’

  ‘Ah.’ Carole gestured towards a bench, commemorating some long-gone Fethering resident, who ‘enjoyed his afternoons here looking at the sea.’ ‘Would you like to sit?’

  Elizabeth shrugged again. The movement suggested she’d rather stay by the sea wall, but wasn’t going to make a fuss about something so trivial. Perhaps she was curious as to why she had been accosted by someone she hardly knew. Or, according to Carole’s more sinister interpretation, perhaps she wanted to assess how much her interrogator knew.

  But it was Elizabeth who began this latest round of questioning. ‘You’re not married, are you, Carole?’

  ‘Divorced,’ came the short reply. She didn’t really see that her marital status was anyone’s business but her own.

  ‘And you and Jude … you’re not an item, are you?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ In spite of the sunshine, the temperature suddenly dropped.

  ‘Sorry. But you know how rumours spread in a place like Fethering.’

  ‘I do indeed. But that is one that, I can tell you, should be permanently scotched. Isn’t it possible, in this day and age, for two women to be friends, without anything else being involved?’ Carole realized she was perhaps protesting too much.

  Elizabeth Browning was unruffled. ‘Sure, I’m cool with that. Mind you, I’d be cool with the two of you being a couple. I think there’s far too much emphasis on gender identity these days. Let people do what they want to do.’

  There was an almost hippyish laissez-faire tone in her voice. Carole, becoming intrigued by the woman’s personality, found herself asking, ‘What about you? Are you married?’

  ‘No. Never found a man I liked that much.’ Carole had expected the answer to be self-pitying, but Elizabeth seemed very much in control, relishing her single freedom. ‘And I’ve road-tested a few along the way,’ she added.

  She looked directly at Carole for the first time. Her eyes were of a brown so dark as almost to be black, hinting perhaps at a heritage from the Mediterranean – or even further east. ‘Anyway, what’s this about?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Carole, we don’t re
ally know each other. Yet you have deliberately sought me out and initiated a conversation with me. Why?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘And immediately started talking about Heather Mallett’s death. So, what are you doing – working through the list of murder suspects?’ This was so uncomfortably close to the truth that, for a moment, Carole was silent. ‘What do you want to know? Where was I on the night of the seventeenth, the evening of the wedding?’

  Aware that the initiative had been taken away from her, Carole changed the line of attack. ‘I’ve just come from talking to Ruskin Dewitt.’

  ‘Have you? On the premise that his public humiliation by Heather about singing at the wedding was sufficient motive for him to have strangled her?’

  Carole, surprised by how forceful her adversary was, tried to regain ground. ‘Ruskin Dewitt couldn’t have had any involvement in the crime. He was in the Holy Land last weekend.’

  ‘Lucky Holy Land,’ said Elizabeth drily. ‘How much he must have added, by his mere presence, to their national well-being. But Russ, no doubt, had some dirt to spread about me, which is why I have the pleasure of your company this bright and sunny morning?’

  ‘He did mention one or two things.’

  ‘I’m sure he did. And he no doubt suggested that Heather had somehow found out what that dirt was, and confronted me with it. And that I had been so appalled by the thought of my secrets being spread to the world that I strangled her. Was that the way Russ’s thoughts – and yours – were inclining?’

  ‘Well …’ Again, so uncomfortably close to the truth that Carole was lost for words.

  ‘Right, so shall I guess what this famous “dirt” was. My terrible secret, whose exposure would shame me before the entire world? Was part of it the fact that, in spite of constantly going on about my career there, my only appearance at Glyndebourne was when some kids from local primary schools were drafted in to sing “The Children’s Chorus” in a production of Carmen. Is that part of what Russ told you?’