Preacher Man: 'their blood shall be upon them' (Ted Darling crime series Book 9)

by L M Krier

  Ted could tell she was dragging it out for the dramatic impact. He felt like shouting at her to hurry up. But he didn’t. For one thing, he couldn’t afford anyone to see any display of temper or loss of control on his part. He knew that he would be being closely watched and that was not paranoia on his part.

  ‘Luckily for us, our kidnapper doesn’t seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer. It shouldn’t be long now before I can tell you exactly who he is, because it seems he stupidly used his own phone for the earlier call. With luck, I can also tell you exactly who he was calling.’

  ‘Océane, that is what I call very good news. Thank you so much. I owe you a drink, if not a meal.’

  Rob was enjoying the chance of a run out up to Preston. He had the radio on full blast and was singing along. He’d had an anxious few days, with rumours of cuts rife in the station. He knew his position, as a newly promoted DS, could have put him at risk of being moved on and it was the last thing he wanted. He was engaged now and he and his fiancée Sally were making plans to get married.

  She had a good job in Stockport as an RSPCA inspector and neither of them wanted to move to a new area. They wanted to settle down and start a family. Not of their own, as Sally couldn’t. But having spent some time in foster care himself, Rob was keen to foster and possibly to go on to adopt. Now he knew they were staying put, at least for the time being, they could take their plans to the next level.

  He found the church he was looking for with no difficulty. It was a short distance outside Preston and was as he imagined it would be. An old-fashioned ‘proper’ church which probably dated back a few centuries and had a churchyard which looked as if it would be a creepy place to find oneself after dark.

  As he’d thought, the building was locked firmly and the boss had been right. It must have been a big key to fit that lock and turn the mechanism. A notice in the porch gave him the times of service. He took a photo of it on his mobile.

  He decided to take a walk round the outside of the building, to see what he could find out. He’d phoned ahead to find out if the vicar would be available to talk to him and had been given a slot. He was slightly early so he had time to kill.

  Around the far side of the church, he found a much smaller door, a side entrance of some sort. Rob didn’t know anything much about churches but vaguely knew they had something called a vestry and he supposed this was the way into it. He noticed that this door had a modern Yale lock. That would make the possibility of having a duplicate key made much easier. He took a photo of that too. Then he headed off to find the vicarage, a short distance away.

  He passed an impressively large detached house which he assumed must once have been the vicarage before he came to a much smaller modern building, built on land which looked as if it could previously have been part of the old vicarage grounds. More signs of cost-cutting and down-sizing, he supposed.

  A woman answered the door when he rang the bell. He showed her his ID and she led him into a light and pleasant sitting room.

  ‘I’ll just let my husband know you’re here. He’s upstairs in his study. Please take a seat. Would you like some tea? Or some coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, thank you, very kind.’

  Rob wasn’t sure what he was expecting a vicar to look like. The man who bounced through the door didn’t fit any preconceived ideas he had. He was probably in his forties, though looked younger. With his rather wild hair and somewhat eccentric clothing he looked more like a hippy than a cleric. He wasn’t wearing a dog collar either, as Rob had expected him to be.

  ‘Hi, I’m Gabriel Clegg. Please call me Gabe,’ the vicar said breezily, extending a hand. ‘Yes, really, like the archangel. You can tell my parents had a certain path mapped out for me. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m just checking a bit further about access to the church. As I said on the phone, it’s about the phone which was found there. I’m trying to find out who might have had a key as it was left there outside times when the church was open. I know you’ve already given a list to the police here in Preston but I wondered if you could think of anyone else who might have a key for any reason? I noticed there’s a side door with a Yale lock. Could someone have had a spare key cut for that, without you knowing?’

  They were briefly interrupted by the vicar’s wife bringing in the coffee on a tray which she put on the low table between them, instructing Rob to help himself to milk, sugar and biscuits.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s possible, but I can’t think why anyone would want to.’

  ‘Can you tell me briefly about the former vicar? I understand his son used to be the organist here.’

  ‘Yes that’s right. Robert Spencer was vicar here for many years. He used to live in the old vicarage. You probably noticed it as you walked past. It was sold off as the diocese needed the money so they kept a part of the garden and built this smaller one. He died in an accident, as I’m sure you’ve heard.

  ‘His son Peter was indeed the organist but he moved on soon after his father died. That would be more than three years now, I think.’

  ‘Do you know where Peter Spencer is now? I was wondering if he might remember someone from his father’s time here who might perhaps have had a duplicate key.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t. I might have an address for him somewhere but I’ve no idea if it’s still current. Might I ask what this is all about, officer?’

  Rob hesitated. He didn’t want to say too much about an ongoing enquiry but he thought he could probably trust a vicar.

  ‘The phone belonged to a young man who was kidnapped in Preston, about six months ago. You may perhaps have seen details in the local paper? Darren Lee.’

  ‘Yes indeed, I’ve been keeping him in my prayers. Is there any news of him?’

  ‘He’s been found, although not in a very good way. His phone being found inside the church here is the last trace of him so far. That’s why we’re trying to find out who may have left it in the church, if he didn’t do so himself. Who might have had access to do so and presumably Darren wouldn’t have.’

  ‘I certainly won’t have Peter Spencer’s contact details in my phone. But I would imagine he will be quite easy to track down. His profession is not very common. He’s an IBO accredited church organ tuner, and there aren’t many of those to the pound.’

  Seeing Rob’s querying look, he continued, ‘Institute of British Organ Building. They’d probably have contact details for him, if he’s still doing that. He was also a freelance teacher of organ and piano so once again, you might be able to track him down through that. There’s probably a register of those, too.’

  By the time court was finished for the day, Ted felt as if he’d done a twenty-mile forced march followed by an hour of Krava Maga with Green. The defence’s tactics were a relentless attack on everything Ted had done and said throughout the enquiry. He was just thanking his lucky stars that no one had dug deep enough to discover that he had been seeing a therapist, on and off, for some time to deal with things from his past. That could potentially have put the nail in his coffin as a reliable person to have run a balanced enquiry.

  But at least they had finished with him for now so, unless he was recalled for some reason, he could get back to the station and get on with being a copper. He had to put up with another lecture from Jim about keeping well away from Edwards and not doing anything to rock the boat until the trial was over and sentence handed down if Morgane was convicted. There was always the possibility of an appeal and he was certain that Clive Edwards would move heaven and earth to lodge one if he could.

  He decided to phone Océane again for any news before he left Manchester, in case he needed to swing by Central Park on his way back to Stockport. Although he was not looking forward to doing so, in case he bumped into the ACC again. He was still feeling stupid about his behaviour, bitterly regretting his impulsive action in storming up there to see him.

  There was another message from Océane when he turned his phone back on, asking
him to phone when he could. He hoped it was good news. He could certainly do with some.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the good news, boss?’

  ‘I want the best news I can get, please, after the day I’ve just had. So go on, make my day.’

  ‘I have the contact details for the registered owner of the phone which made the call. A certain Tony Barlow. And I can tell you exactly to whom the call was made.’

  There was a pause. He could tell she was enjoying the suspense. He wasn’t.

  ‘I’ll forward you all the details but the recipient phone is registered to a Mr Clive Edwards. Is that good news, boss?’

  ‘That is bloody marvellous news, Océane. Thank you. But it’s also a poisoned chalice because I haven’t a clue what I can do with it just at the moment.’

  ‘I’ve finished in court but I need to go back to the nick now and I don’t know what time I’ll be finished. Sorry. Don’t wait to eat. I’ll grab something when I can. How are you? How’s the head?’

  ‘I’m fine. You know me, as bouncy as Tigger. I still don’t get what it was all about, though. Why would anyone kidnap me? It’s not as if you’re loaded, and you didn’t get a ransom demand. And if it’s to do with your work, how would they know about me, and where to find me?’

  ‘I might just have a few answers for you by the time I get back. Just please be careful. Keep an eye out all the time. I can’t guarantee yet that this is over. You’re sure you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, don’t fuss. Just try not to be too late home. Then I can show you how fine I am.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘How did it go at court, Ted? You look a bit frazzled.’

  ‘Frazzled? The jury now think I’m a gun-toting, high-kicking psychopath with a grudge, so I’d say frazzled is the least of it, Bill.’

  ‘They’ve about got your measure then,’ Bill laughed. ‘What about that drink tonight? Perhaps a ginger beer might perk you up a bit.’

  ‘I can’t tonight, Bill, I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what time I’m going to finish. When’s your end date?’

  ‘Friday of next week. Then an enforced extended holiday until they can throw me the lifeline of some pen-pushing job to keep me going.’

  ‘As soon as that?’ Ted was surprised. ‘I’m really sorry, Bill. Tomorrow evening then, promise. Surely I’ll have caught up with myself by then. I suppose there’s a leaving do next week?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to know. It’s a surprise party. I hate those bloody things. How old am I, for god’s sake? But Kevin will wheel me over to The Grapes on the pretence of a quiet pint and I’ll have to pretend to be surprised and pleased in equal measure when half the station is there making out that they care that I’m not going to be behind this desk any more.

  ‘I’ll hold you to your promise for tomorrow, then, Ted. Don’t let me down.’

  Ted took the stairs two at a time, as much to burn off some energy as anything else. He hadn’t managed any martial arts to speak of, except for a bit of pad work and a few kata sessions in the garden with Trev, for a couple of weeks now. It always showed. He needed both the release and the controlled discipline of martial arts to help him through his work.

  The first thing he noticed when he went into the main office was that Megan Jennings was looking a decidedly unhealthy colour. He hoped it wasn’t a sign of something serious.

  ‘Are you all right, Megan? You don’t look too brilliant.’

  ‘It’s not the babies, boss, it’s a new case. The front desk asked for a female officer to attend and I drew the short straw. My first case of FGM.’

  Ted gave an involuntary wince at the thought. He’d heard of Female Genital Mutilation going on. It seemed to be rife in some areas amongst certain immigrant populations. This was the first case he’d heard about on his patch. It was certainly the first one his team would be involved in.

  ‘Are you all right with that?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’d like to at least start it before I go off to my nice desk job. I’ve taken lengthy statements already. I’ll pass my notes over to Jezza, shall I?’

  Ted nodded. ‘I’ll just catch up on messages and then we need a get-together. The full team. Can you make sure everyone knows and get them together in, say, half an hour? A bit longer if anyone’s out further afield.’

  Rob had done an internet search for church organ tuners as soon as he’d finished talking to the vicar. He found Peter Spencer easily enough, the only accredited tuner listed in Lancashire, with an address not far from Preston and a mobile phone number. Rob rang it, but it went straight to voicemail. He left a brief and somewhat vague message, asking the man to contact him as soon as possible, not sure if he would get a response.

  He was back at the station, writing up his notes from the morning before he did.

  ‘Is that Sergeant O’Connell? I’m Peter Spencer, the organ tuner. As you’re a policeman, I’m assuming you don’t have a church organ at the station which needs tuning, so how can I help you?’

  ‘Thank you for calling me back, Mr Spencer. It’s just an ongoing enquiry, and the church where your father was the vicar is a subject of interest to us. I wondered if you might remember who would have had a key to the church back when you were there?’

  ‘Please call me Peter. And gracious me, that’s a strange question, but let me see. There was Miss Moneypenny, of course.’

  ‘Miss Moneypenny?’

  ‘Father and I were very bad for giving everyone nicknames. She was called Miss Dean, in fact, but she was always talking about having to count the pennies to make her pension last so the name rather stuck. She was in charge of the flower rota and she was quite a dragon. Heaven help any of the ladies who put a wilted bloom on the altar.’

  ‘I believe it’s the new vicar’s wife who does that now, so perhaps she’s retired?’

  ‘Oh good gracious, she won’t like that! She’s probably making effigies of her usurper out of candle-wax and sticking pins in it,’ Spencer laughed then went on hurriedly, ‘Oh, heck, that was a bit tactless. I do hope it’s not a serious case you’re investigating?’

  ‘How old was Miss Dean?’ Rob neatly avoided his question.

  ‘She must have been in her eighties, I think. Quite a character. Had a manky old cat which always had something or other wrong with it and had to wear one of those big collars, like a cone. She thought it looked like a chorister’s collar. She always told us Buttons was in the choir again. I don’t even know if she would still be in the land of the living.’

  ‘I’ll check up, thank you. Anyone else?’

  ‘Well, there was Stan the Man.’ Spencer laughed again. He had a pleasant voice and a ready laugh. ‘You see, there we go again, another nickname. We were very bad. He was some sort of obsessive expert on religions of all kinds, both Christian and pre-Christian. Once he latches on to someone, he’s a bit like a stray cat. Give him a saucer of milk and he refuses to go away. Father was kind to him, because he was like that, despite the nicknames. He spent some time with him and after that we were rather haunted by Stan the Man. I think Father eventually let him have a key for a while to fuddle about in the church whenever he wanted to, rather than having to see him all the time to let him in.’

  ‘Can you tell me his full name?’

  ‘It’ll come to me in a minute. Stanley … Stanley … Something or another. He’s got a few books out, some minor imprint or another, so you might be able to find him on the mighty Amazon. Or there’s possibly some mention of him somewhere on the internet. He does talks and things, I think, about his research and his books. Very strange fellow. Scrawny, rather seedy looking somehow, with possibly the worst comb-over you could imagine. Father and I were awful about him, honestly, but never to his face, of course. Father used to say that if Stan was a scoutmaster, anyone with sons wouldn’t want them to go off camping with him, if you understand me.

  ‘Stanley Harrison, that was it!’

  ‘Did your father give people the key to the church door?
’

  ‘Heavens no! Far too big and clunky and very difficult to get replacements if they lost them. No, he’d let them have a key to the vestry door. That’s a Yale lock. But he was always very careful to keep track of them. They all had to go on an inventory and be accounted for to the diocese. They always kept a very tight grip on the purse-strings.’

  ‘So if it was a Yale key, people could have had a copy of it made?’

  ‘Well, I suppose they could, yes, although I’m not sure who would want to or why. It was never a rich parish, not a lot of money in the collection plates, no rare works of art or anything.’

  ‘Thanks, Peter, you’ve been very helpful. If you do happen to think of anyone else, it would be great if you could give me a bell.’

  ‘I will do, of course, but I should just warn you that I’m going on holiday in a few days. Another of my very indulgent extended tours round Europe to see some of the finest church organs in the world. It’s a little treat I award myself when I can. Because of my credentials, I’m sometimes granted the honour of playing some of them. This trip includes Freiberg, Sion in Switzerland, and Brescia in Italy.’

  ‘Do you still work as a tuner? I understand you teach organ and piano, too.’

  ‘I do, but not as much as previously. This is going to sound highly improbable and will make Father spin in his grave at the very idea but I had a win on the Lottery. One of those instant millionaire things. Incredible. I’d never bought a ticket before but I suddenly decided to try one just after Father died and there you go. Divine intervention, perhaps. I still tune church organs and I’ve kept on some of the most interesting and talented of my pupils but that’s all.’

  Something rang a bell in Rob’s memory. A music connection.

  ‘By any chance, did you ever have a student called Robbie Mitchell? A lad from Humberside?’