Murder at the Old Vicarage Page 7

  Joanna buried her face in her hands, and Marian put her arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Whoever it was would have needed a key for the back door,’ said the inspector.

  ‘The key’s kept in the door,’ said George.

  ‘I thought Graham had done it,’ Joanna said, not taking her hands from her face, ‘I thought he was just—’

  ‘And the front door’s a Yale lock,’ said the inspector, almost to himself. ‘But why would anyone want to lock the doors?’

  George wasn’t sure if a reply was needed. He shook his head.

  ‘Well,’ said Lloyd. ‘We’ll see what prints we can get. Lucky you had a key, Mrs Wheeler.’

  ‘There’s one on the ring with the car-keys,’ she said.

  ‘Before you left for the pub,’ asked Sergeant Hill, ‘did anyone check on Mr Elstow?’

  ‘No,’ George said heavily. ‘Marian asked me to let him sober up first.’

  ‘After you came back?’

  ‘We thought he’d locked us out. We left him to stew.’

  ‘So from five o’clock, nobody saw Mr Elstow at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mrs Elstow?’ asked Lloyd.

  Joanna, her face still buried in her hands, shook her head.

  ‘The front door,’ Marian said, ‘I pushed the catch up again as we left for the midnight service. I’ve probably spoiled any fingerprints.’

  ‘What about the back door?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘I unlocked it,’ said George. ‘It annoyed me – I thought Elstow . . .’ He ran his hands over his face. ‘It has to have been a burglar,’ he said.

  ‘But nothing was taken,’ Sergeant Hill said quietly. ‘You’ve got presents under the tree in the hall – why would he go upstairs?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Evidently he did.’

  ‘Why would he come in and go straight to the one room that had someone in it?’ she asked.

  He looked from her to the inspector. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But that’s what must have happened.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said the policewoman who was making out the laundry list. ‘Would you sign it, please, Mrs Wheeler?’

  Marian signed it, and was given a copy.

  ‘We’ll try not to hang on to them too long,’ said the inspector. ‘But what with Christmas and everything, I can’t promise. We really do appreciate your co-operation.’

  ‘We understand,’ George said. ‘You’re welcome to take anything you think will help.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve got your job to do,’ Marian said, and the inspector looked a little uncomfortable.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s just that whoever did do it must have changed his clothes. We have to eliminate possibilities as well as investigate them.’

  Marian stood up. ‘If there’s nothing else you want Joanna for,’ she said, ‘I think it’s time she got some sleep.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I know you’re taking these clothes away because you think I did it,’ Joanna said.

  ‘We’re trying to establish what happened,’ Lloyd said. ‘That’s all.’

  George almost believed him. He kissed Joanna, and Marian took her off. He turned back to face Lloyd, his shoulders sagging. ‘You do think Joanna killed him,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ said Lloyd. ‘Isn’t it?’

  George got up and filled the kettle. ‘I think I’d like a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘Good old English stand-by. Will you join me? I’m very aware that we are ruining your Christmas.’

  The sergeant frowned a little. ‘I don’t suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘that your own Christmas has been improved.’

  He filled the kettle, and switched it on. ‘Sergeant Hill,’ he said, turning to face her, ‘my Christmas was ruined when that young man came here this afternoon. The fact that he will hopefully soon be leaving my house, albeit feet first, is a source of considerable satisfaction to me.’

  Sergeant Hill’s eyes widened.

  ‘You think a man of the cloth should be showing more compassion,’ he said.

  ‘Or more discretion,’ she said, with a smile.

  He laughed. Really laughed. He liked this lady with the shrewd brown eyes and quick tongue.

  ‘All I know is that Joanna won’t suffer at his hands any more,’ he said. ‘And quite frankly, ‘I don’t care who killed him. But it wasn’t Joanna.’

  ‘You seem very protective of your daughter, Mr Wheeler,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘Do I?’ he asked. ‘No more than any other parent.’

  The sergeant wandered over to the window wall, where Marian had begun pinning up the photographs of Joanna when she was three weeks old. George watched her as she perused them.

  ‘My wife had two miscarriages before Joanna was born,’ he said. ‘We were told she shouldn’t have any more children after Joanna.’

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ said Sergeant Hill.

  ‘But you have to find that out from a photograph,’ George said. ‘She isn’t very pretty tonight.’ He stood up, and walked over to where the sergeant stood. ‘She’s twenty-one years old,’ he said, and tapped the wall. ‘That’s all twenty-one years of her.’ He looked at the photographs. ‘Two months ago, I had to bring her home from hospital, Sergeant.’

  ‘Hospital?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said George. ‘Cracked ribs. A broken collar-bone. Battered – that’s the word, isn’t it?’

  ‘Did she bring charges against him?’ she asked.

  George shook his head. ‘I thought you’d understand about battered wives, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘They’re too ashamed – too scared. Too—’ He shrugged, and walked away. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Do you have children, Sergeant?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Two,’ Lloyd said. ‘A boy and a girl.’

  ‘How would you feel?’ George asked. ‘How would you feel, if you found your daughter in the state that mine is in tonight?’

  Lloyd’s blue eyes looked at him steadily. ‘Angry,’ he said.

  George nodded. ‘That’s how I feel,’ he said.

  ‘And,’ Lloyd carried on, ‘I’d think he’d deserved all he’d got.’

  George sat down heavily.

  ‘And if I came in,’ said Lloyd in measured tones, ‘and found her laying into him with a poker, I might feel inclined to . . . fix it?’ he suggested. ‘Fix it so that she didn’t get the blame.’

  ‘So might I,’ said George. ‘So might I. But, fortunately, it wasn’t necessary.’

  Lloyd didn’t believe him, he could see that.

  Marian sat with Joanna until she fell asleep, her poor battered face almost peaceful. Upstairs, people still moved about, rattling up and down the stairs, going in and out of the door. Using the telephone. Talking in low voices. Across the hall, they were even in the sitting room. She bent down and kissed Joanna as she had when she was a child, and said a prayer for her. Then she straightened up, and went back to the kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Wheeler,’ Inspector Lloyd said, getting to his feet. ‘I think I’m in your seat.’

  ‘Oh, no. Please. Sit down again. I’ll sit here.’ She sat at the table with the sergeant.

  ‘We’ll be out of your hair soon, Mrs Wheeler,’ she said.

  Marian looked across at George, who smiled quietly at her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked him.

  He looked at his watch. ‘Twenty-five to five,’ he said.

  Marian had thought it must be much later. ‘Why are they in the sitting room?’ she asked the inspector.

  He cleared his throat before he spoke. ‘Your daughter says that she and her husband were in there when he lost his temper,’ he said. ‘She was pretty badly knocked about, Mrs Wheeler. The room isn’t.’

  ‘I tidied it,’ Marian said. ‘Before all this. After we found her in there.’

  She watched realisation dawn in the inspector’s eyes. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think – I must be tired.’

  Marian
was surprised that she wasn’t. She ought to be. But somehow it just felt as if this was happening to someone else. ‘Are you accusing Joanna of killing him?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re not accusing anyone,’ said the inspector. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Mrs Wheeler?’ the sergeant said. ‘No one at all saw Mr Elstow between five o’clock, when he left your daughter, and just before one, when you found him. That’s right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marian, a little worried.

  ‘No one went to check on him, or try to talk to him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what made you go up when you did, Mrs Wheeler?’

  She looked at George. It must be agony for him, sitting there, putting up with all these questions, hardly answering back at all. He’d called it pretending to be a vicar, earlier on. He’d been in such a funny mood all day. And that sermon was odd, too. As she watched, George pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. And there, hanging out of his pocket, was his tie.

  Marian stared at it, transfixed by it for the second time. Oh, my God. My God. He’d said he’d been with Joanna all evening. Oh, my God.

  ‘Mrs Wheeler?’

  She blinked at the sergeant. ‘Sorry?’ she said.

  ‘What made you go up to him when you did?’

  ‘Joanna,’ Marian said, trying to drag her thoughts away from the tie. ‘She said she wanted to see if he was all right. It was Christmas Day, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Joanna felt sorry for him!’ George said angrily, interrupting her. ‘So I told her that if anyone was going to see him, it would be me, and that I would talk to him in language that he understood.’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Hill, if I’m failing to live up to your expectations of the clergy. Clearly, I disappoint my daughter – even my son-in-law, I was told tonight. But that’s how I felt.’

  ‘He’d got Joanna and George at each other’s throats,’ Marian said. ‘So I went up. Just to let him know what he was doing to us. And I found him,’ she finished.

  ‘Did you touch anything, Mrs Wheeler?’ Inspector Lloyd asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I just called George,’ she said, still barely aware of what she was saying. George had been with Eleanor Langton.

  ‘Then I phoned the police,’ George said.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ said the inspector. ‘Where did you go when you went out, Mrs Wheeler?’

  ‘I checked up on the older people in the village. Because the weather was so bad. To make sure they were all right.’

  ‘Could I possibly have a list of the people you saw?’ he asked. ‘Not now, of course. Perhaps tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Marian acknowledged their leave-taking with half of her brain. She wasn’t sure she could cope with this.

  George came back in. ‘You could go to Diana’s,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to stay here.’

  Marian shook her head, getting up slowly from the table. She looked across at her husband, her face sad.

  ‘How many commandments have you broken today, George?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, Watson?’ said Lloyd, starting the engine. ‘What do you think?’

  Judy leant back and closed her eyes. ‘I think it’s all very depressing,’ she said. ‘And he’s a very odd sort of vicar.’

  ‘Is he? I don’t know much about vicars,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘He’s not like any one I’ve ever known,’ Judy said, and yawned. ‘But then, I haven’t known very many.’

  ‘Someone tried to burn some clothing,’ Lloyd said. ‘Can’t tell what yet. But we’ll find out, as I told Mrs Elstow.’

  Judy frowned. ‘Why the business with the washing-machine?’ she asked. ‘If you’d already found the clothes?’

  Lloyd smiled. ‘Confuse the enemy,’ he said. ‘And never take anything at its face value. What’s your verdict?’

  ‘That Joanna got hit once too often, and got her own back when he fell asleep,’ Judy said. ‘And they’re covering up for her.’

  ‘Then what about the doors?’ Lloyd said. ‘Why mention that at all? It just buggers up their own intruder theory.’

  Judy was too tired, too confused, to listen to one of Lloyd’s flights of fancy. ‘You don’t seriously think it was an intruder, do you?’ she said sharply.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then can we leave it until we know what we’re talking about?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  She rubbed her forehead, where an incipient headache was forming.

  ‘Do you fancy taking on young Mrs Elstow in single combat?’ he asked.

  ‘Poor kid. Yes, I think that might work.’ She yawned again. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘By tomorrow, I take it you mean today?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ He smiled. ‘You should worry. I’ve got the post mortem.’

  Judy closed her eyes again. ‘Michael will go through the roof,’ she said. ‘He already thinks it’s the height of bad manners to get yourself murdered at Christmas time.’

  ‘Just go to Byford when you’re ready,’ Lloyd said, obviously none too interested in Michael’s problems. ‘No need to let them know you’re coming.’

  The car bumped over the snow, as a new fall came floating down.

  ‘I should be back at the station at about four,’ Lloyd said. ‘You can let me know how you’ve got on.’

  ‘Eleven hours from now,’ Judy said gloomily, her eyelids heavy.

  ‘Let Michael cook the dinner,’ Lloyd said.

  ‘Looks like I’ll have to,’ said Judy.

  Lloyd lapsed into an unnatural silence then. Lloyd loved speaking. Judy sometimes loved to listen. But this time she was grateful for the silence, as he concentrated on his driving, through conditions which had worsened still further.

  ‘At least the road’s not blocked,’ she murmured, closing her eyes again. Just for a moment.

  ‘We’re here,’ Lloyd said, and she was startled to find herself in the police station car park. ‘Oh, Lloyd, I’m sorry,’ she said.

  The heating had, of course, broken down, and Judy began writing up her notebook until her hands became too numb. Lloyd left instructions for the day-shift, and at last decreed that they could leave.

  She flopped into the car. ‘Home, driver,’ she said.

  ‘Come to the flat first.’

  Judy turned to him. ‘Lloyd, I’ve got Michael and his parents expecting a jolly Christmas Day, and it’s almost six in the morning!’

  ‘That’s why you need to unwind. Come to the flat.’

  Unwinding would be nice, she thought.

  ‘Just for a cup of coffee,’ he persisted.

  Lloyd’s quiet, restful flat, or Mrs Hill banging on about Christmas being for the kiddies, really. ‘All right,’ she said. Though even Mrs Hill would not be banging on about Christmas at six o’clock in the morning, she reflected, as Lloyd drove off. She curled into a cold, uncomfortable heap, until at last she was in Lloyd’s flat, in the exquisite, centrally-heated warmth. She took off her coat for the first time since she’d left home.

  ‘I’ll get the coffee on,’ he said, stopping at the kitchen door. ‘You go through.’

  She opened the door to find the living room in darkness, except for a tiny tree, its coloured lights filling the room with exotic shadows. She smiled. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, going in.

  Lloyd came in after her, and her present to him joined the one under the tree. ‘I thought it was pretty good,’ he said, catching her hands. ‘Happy Christmas, Sergeant Hill.’

  He was kissing her, holding her close, and it was so peaceful, so good to have him to herself. Too good. ‘Put the light on,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you said just a cup of coffee, not kisses by coloured lights.’

  He smiled, and reached over to a table lamp, which filled the room with a soft glow.

  ‘That isn’t much better,’ Judy complained, her hands still cl
asped behind his neck.

  ‘What do you expect in a bachelor flat?’ he said. ‘I’ve only got seduction lighting.’

  Judy laughed. ‘It would take more than lighting,’ she said. ‘A few pep-pills and some rhinoceros horn, maybe.’ She kissed him. ‘When did you get the new lamp?’ she asked.

  ‘About six weeks ago,’ he said.

  Now Judy felt guilty. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been here,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll go and really put the coffee on.’

  Judy loved Lloyd’s flat, which bit by bit was being made the way he wanted it. It was quiet, and tranquil, and not at all like him.

  He came back in. ‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘And Santa’s been.’

  He sat on the sofa; she sat on the floor, and opened her present to find the little ebony cat that she’d seen months ago, and told Lloyd about. ‘Lloyd,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean you to buy it.’

  ‘I know you can’t take it home,’ he said. ‘Before you tell me. But you can keep it here, can’t you? Or at work, I suppose.’

  She smiled. ‘Where do I need the most luck?’ she asked.

  He didn’t reply, but picked up his present.

  ‘It isn’t as romantic as yours,’ she warned him. ‘I’d be disappointed if it was,’ he said. ‘One romantic is enough in any relationship.’

  She watched anxiously as he opened it, and his smile seemed genuine. ‘The new one,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for this.’ He opened it. ‘It’s signed! How did you manage that?’

  ‘I queued for two hours,’ she said.

  ‘That’s romantic,’ he pointed out. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Like someone who’d been signing books for two hours.’

  She joined him on the sofa for the rest of the five minutes, which stretched to ten. ‘Coffee,’ she said, pushing him away.

  ‘Coffee.’

  He came back with a tray on which were set two mugs, the coffee jug, cream, and a bottle of brandy. ‘Right out of pep-pills and rhinoceros horn,’ he said.

  They drank the coffee with liberal helpings of brandy, which seemed to have the opposite effect to pep-pills, and this rather counteracted any similarities it may have had to rhinoceros horn. They sat on the sofa, arms round one another, eyes half-closed. Judy squinted at her watch. ‘It’s after seven,’ she said, ‘I have to go.’ But she didn’t move.