by P. D. James
“I didn’t think you did. Crampton was found in the church and the facts so far suggest he was lured there. If you’d wanted a bloody encounter, you’d only have had to go next door.”
“But that’s true of everyone in college.”
“The killer wanted to incriminate St. Anselm’s. The Archdeacon was intended as the chief but not the only victim. I don’t think you feel like that.”
There was a pause. Yarwood shut his eyes then shifted his head restlessly on the pillow. He said, “No, I don’t feel like that. I love that place. And now I’ve spoilt that too.”
“It’s not so easy to spoil St. Anselm’s. How did you meet the Fathers?”
“It was about three years ago. I was a sergeant then, new to the Suffolk force. Father Peregrine had backed into a lorry on the Lowestoft road. No one was hurt, but I had to interview him. He’s too absent-minded to be a safe driver and I managed to persuade him to stop. I think the Fathers were grateful. Anyway they never seemed to mind when I started turning up. I don’t know what it was about the place but I felt different when I was there. When Sharon left me I began driving over for Sunday morning Mass. I’m not religious and I really hadn’t a clue what was going on. It didn’t seem to matter. I just liked being there. The Fathers have been kind to me. They don’t pry, they don’t invite confidences, they just accept. I’ve had it all, doctors, psychiatrists, counsellors, the lot. St. Anselm’s was different. No, I wouldn’t harm them. There’s a police constable outside this room though, isn’t there? I’m not stupid. A bit crazy, but not stupid. It’s my leg that got broken, not my head.”
“He’s there for your protection. I’d no way of knowing what you’d seen, what evidence you might be able to give. Someone could have wanted you out of the way.”
“A bit far-fetched, isn’t it?”
“I preferred not to risk it. Can you remember what happened on Saturday night?”
“Yes, until I actually lost consciousness in the ditch. The walk against the wind is a bit hazy it seems to have lasted a shorter time than it did but I remember the rest of it. Most of it, anyway.”
“Let’s start from the beginning. What time did you leave your room?”
“About five past twelve. The storm woke me. I’d been dozing but not sleeping soundly. I switched on my light and looked at my watch. You know how it is when you’re having a bad night. You lie there hoping that it’s later than you think, that it’ll soon be morning. And then the panic struck. I tried to fight it. I lay there sweating, rigid with terror. I had to get out, out of the room, out of Gregory, away from St. Anselm’s. It would’ve been the same wherever I was. I must have put on a coat over my pyjamas and my shoes without waiting to put on socks. I can’t remember that bit. The wind didn’t worry me much. In a way I think it helped. I’d have walked out even into a blizzard and twenty feet of snow. God, I wish I had.”
“How did you leave?”
“By the iron gate between the church and Ambrose. I’ve got a key -all the visitors are given one. But you know that.”
Dalgliesh said, “We found the gate locked. Do you remember locking it after you?”
“I must have done, mustn’t I? It’s the sort of thing I’d do automatically.”
“Did you see anyone near the church?”
“No one. The courtyard was empty.”
“And you didn’t hear anything, see any lights? See the door of the church open, for example?”
“I heard nothing but the wind and I don’t think there was a light in the church. If there was I didn’t see it. I think I’d have noticed if the door had been wide open, but not if it had just been ajar. I did see someone, but not near the church. It was earlier, just when I was passing the front door of Ambrose. It was Eric Surtees, but he was nowhere near the church. He was in the north cloister letting himself into the house.”
“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”
“Not really. I can’t describe what I felt at that moment. Breathing in that great rushing air, the sense of being outside the walls. If I’d thought about Surtees at all, I suppose I’d have taken it for granted that he’d been called in to cope with some domestic emergency. He is the handyman, after all.”
“After midnight, in the middle of a storm?”
There was a silence between them. It was interesting, thought Dalgliesh, how his questioning, so far from worrying Yarwood, seemed to have lifted his spirits and deflected his mind, at least temporarily, from the weight of his own troubles.
Now Yarwood said, “He’s an unlikely murderer, isn’t he? A gentle, unassuming, useful kind of chap. He had no reason to hate Crampton as far as I know. Anyway, he was letting himself into the house, not into the church. What was he doing if he wasn’t on call ?”
“Perhaps collecting the keys to the church. He’d know where to find them.”
“A bit foolhardy, wouldn’t it be? And why the hurry? Wasn’t he supposed to be painting the sacristy on Monday? I think I heard Pilbeam mention it. And if he’d wanted a key, why not take it earlier ? He could move about the main building as he chose.”
“That would have been riskier. The ordinand who prepared the church for the service would have noticed that one set of keys was missing.”
“All right, I give you that, sir. But the same argument applies to Surtees as it does to me. If he’d wanted to pick a fight with Crampton he knew where to find him. He knew that the door of Augustine would be open.”
“You’re sure it was Surtees? Sure enough to swear to it in court if necessary? It was after midnight and you were in a pretty bad state.”
“It was Surtees. I’ve seen him often enough. The lights in the cloisters are dim but I couldn’t be mistaken. I’d maintain that in court under cross-examination, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that it would do much good. I can hear defending counsel’s final address to the jury. Poor visibility. Figure seen only for a second or two. Witness a deeply disturbed man, crazy enough to walk out into a raging storm. And then, of course, the evidence that, unlike Surtees, I disliked Crampton.”
But now Yarwood was beginning to tire. His sudden spurt of interest in the murder inquiry seemed to have exhausted him. It was time to go, and with this new information Dalgliesh was anxious to leave. But first he must be sure there was nothing more to learn. He said, “We’ll need a statement, of course, but there’s no great urgency. By the way, what do you think brought on your panic attack? The quarrel with Crampton after tea on Saturday?”
“You’ve heard about that? Well of course you would. I didn’t expect to see him at St. Anselm’s and I imagine it was just as much of a shock for him. And I didn’t start the row, he did. He just stood there spitting the old accusations at me. He was shaking with anger,
like a man in some kind of fit. It goes back to the death of his wife. I was a detective-sergeant then and it was my first murder case.”
“Murder?”
“He killed his wife, Mr. Dalgliesh. I was sure of it at the time and I’m sure now. OK, I was over-zealous, I made a cock-up of the whole inquiry. In the end he complained of harassment and I was reprimanded. It did my career no good. I doubt I’d have made inspector if I’d stayed with the Met. But I’m as sure now as I was then that he killed her and got away with it.”
“On what evidence ?”
“There was a bottle of wine by her bed. She died from an overdose of aspirin and alcohol. The bottle had been wiped clean. I don’t know how he got her to take a whole bottle of tablets but I’m damned sure he did. And he was lying, I know he was lying. He said he never went up to the bed. He did a bloody sight more than that.”
Dalgliesh said, “He could have been lying about the bottle and about not approaching the bed. That doesn’t make him a murderer. He could have found her dead and panicked. People behave oddly under stress.”
Yarwood reiterated obstinately, “He killed her, Mr. Dalgliesh. I saw it in his face and in his eyes. He was lying. That doesn’t mean I took the opportunity to av
enge her.”
“Is there anyone who might? Had she close relations, siblings, a former lover?”
“No one, Mr. Dalgliesh. Just her parents and they didn’t strike me as being particularly sympathetic. She never got justice, and nor did I. I’m not sorry Crampton’s dead, but I didn’t kill him. And I don’t think I’ll care over-much if you never discover who did.”
Dalgliesh said, “But we shall. And you’re a police officer. You can’t really believe what you just said. I’ll be in touch. Keep what you’ve told me to yourself. But you know all about discretion.”
“Do I? I suppose so. It’s difficult to believe now that I’ll ever get back on the job.”
He turned his face away in a gesture of deliberate rejection. But there was one final question Dalgliesh needed to ask. He said, “Did you discuss your suspicions about the Archdeacon with anyone at St. Anselm’s?”
“No. It wasn’t the kind of talk they’d have wanted to hear. Anyway, it was all in the past. I never expected to see the man again.
They’ll know now that is if Raphael Arbuthnot bothers to tell them.”
“Raphael?”
“He was in the south cloister when Crampton tackled me. Raphael heard every word.”
They had driven to the hospital in Dalgliesh’s Jaguar. Neither he nor Piers spoke while they buckled themselves into their seats and they had thrown off the eastern suburbs of the city before Dalgliesh briefly reported what he had learned.
Piers listened in silence, then said, “I can’t see Surtees as a killer, but if he did do it he wouldn’t have been alone. His sister would’ve had a hand in it somehow. I can’t believe anything happened at St. John’s Cottage on Saturday night that she didn’t know about. But why should either of them want Crampton dead? OK, so they probably knew he was hell-bent on getting St. Anselm’s closed down at the first opportunity. That wouldn’t have suited Surtees he seems to have set himself up very nicely with his cottage and his pigs but he wasn’t going to stop closure by killing Crampton. And if he had a private quarrel with the man, why bother to set up an elaborate scheme to lure him into the church? He knew where Crampton was sleeping; he must have known too that the door was unlocked.”
Dalgliesh said, “So did everyone in the college, including the visitors. Whoever killed Crampton wanted to make sure that we’d know it was an inside job. That much was apparent from the beginning. There’s no obvious motive for either Surtees or his half-sister. If we’re considering motive, George Gregory has to be prime suspect.”
None of that needed reiterating and Piers wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He had learnt that when AD was in one of his silent moods it was sensible to stay quiet, particularly if one had nothing original to contribute.
Back at St. Matthew’s Cottage, Dalgliesh decided to interview the two Surteeses with Kate. Five minutes later, escorted by Robbins, they arrived. Karen Surtees was shown into the waiting room and the door firmly closed.
It was apparent that Eric Surtees had been mucking out the piggery when Robbins arrived to summon him, and he brought into the interview room a strong but not disagreeable smell of earth and animal. He had taken time only to wash his hands and now sat with them lying side by side, knuckles clenched, in his lap. They were held with such controlled stillness that they seemed curiously at odds with the rest of his body, reminding Dalgliesh of two small animals curled in petrified fear. He would have had no time to consult his sister and his backward glance at the door as he came in betrayed his need for her presence and support. Now he sat in unnatural stillness; only his eyes moved from Dalgliesh to Kate and back again, then settled on Dalgliesh. Dalgliesh was experienced in recognizing fear and he didn’t misinterpret. He knew that it was often the innocent who were the most obviously frightened; the guilty, once they had concocted their ingenious story, were eager to tell it, borne through their interrogation by a surge of hubris and bravado which could sweep before it any embarrassing manifestations of guilt or fear.
He wasted no time on formalities. He said, “When my officers questioned you on Sunday you said that you hadn’t left St. John’s Cottage during Saturday night. I shall now ask you again. Did you go either to the college or to the church after Compline on Saturday?”
Surtees gave a quick glance at the window as if it offered escape, before again willing himself to meet Dalgliesh’s eyes. His voice sounded unnaturally high.
“No, of course not. Why should I?”
Dalgliesh said, “Mr. Surtees, you were seen by a witness entering St. Anselm’s from the north cloister just after midnight. There can be no doubt about the identification.”
“It wasn’t me. It must have been someone else. Nobody could have seen me because I wasn’t there. It’s a lie.”
The confused denial must have sounded unconvincing even to Surtees’s ears.
Dalgliesh said patiently, “Mr. Surtees, are you asking to be arrested for murder?”
Surtees seemed visibly to shrink. He looked little more than a boy. There was a long pause, then he said, “All right, I did go back to the college. I woke up and saw a light in the church so I went to investigate.”
“At what time did you see this light?”
“At about midnight, like you said. I got up to go to the lavatory and that’s when I saw it.”
Kate spoke for the first time.
“But the cottages are all built to the same plan. The bedrooms and bathrooms are at the back. In your cottage they face north-west. How could you have seen the church?”
Surtees licked his lips. He said, “I was thirsty. I went down to get a cup of water and saw the light from the sitting-room. At least I thought I saw it. It was only faint. I thought I’d better investigate.”
Dalgliesh said, “Didn’t you think to wake your sister or telephone Mr. Pilbeam or Father Sebastian? Surely that would be the natural thing to do.”
“I didn’t want to disturb them.”
Kate said, “Pretty courageous of you venturing out alone on a stormy night to confront a possible intruder. What were you planning to do when you got to the church?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”
Dalgliesh said, “You’re not thinking very clearly now, are you? However, go on. You say you went over to the church. What did you find?” ‘ “I didn’t go in. I couldn’t because I hadn’t got a key. The light was still on. I let myself into the house and fetched one of the keys from Miss Ramsey’s office but when I returned to the north cloister the light in the church had gone out.” He was speaking more confidently now and the clenched hands visibly relaxed.
It was Kate who, after a brief glance at Dalgliesh, took over the questioning.
“So what did you do then?”
“I didn’t do anything. I thought I must have been mistaken about the light.”
“But you seemed quite certain about it earlier, otherwise why venture out into the storm? First a light is on, and then mysteriously it’s switched off. Didn’t it occur to you to go into the church to investigate? That was your purpose, wasn’t it, in leaving the cottage?”
Surtees mumbled, “It didn’t seem necessary, not when there wasn’t a light any more. I told you, I thought I’d been mistaken.” He added, “I did try the sacristy door and it was locked so I knew that no one was in the church’.
“After the Archdeacon’s body was found, one of the three sets of church keys was discovered to be missing. How many sets were in place when you took the keys?”
“I can’t remember. I didn’t notice. I was just anxious to get out of the office. I knew exactly where the church keys were on the key board and I just took the nearest pair.”
“And you didn’t return them?”
“No. I didn’t want to go into the house again.”
Dalgliesh interposed quietly, “In that case, Mr. Surtees, where are those keys now?”
Kate had seldom seen a suspect more broken by terror. The brave spirit of hope and confidence which had been apparent
during the early part of the questioning drained away and Surtees slumped forward in the chair, his head bowed and his whole body shaking.
Dalgliesh said, “I’m going to ask you once again. Did you go into the church on Saturday night?”
Surtees managed to sit upright and even to meet Dalgliesh’s eyes. And now it seemed to Kate that terror was giving way to relief. He was about to tell the truth and was glad to put an end to the prolonged ordeal of lying. Now he and the police would be on the same side. They would approve of him, absolve him, tell him that they understood. She had seen it all so many times before.
Surtees said, “All right, I did go into the church. But I didn’t kill anybody, I swear I didn’t. I couldn’t! I swear before God that I never touched him. I was only there for less than a minute.”
Dalgliesh asked, “Doing what?”
“I was getting something for Karen, something she needed. It was nothing to do with the Archdeacon. It’s private between us.”
Kate said, “Mr. Surtees, you must know that that isn’t good enough. Nothing is private in a murder investigation. Why did you go to the church on Saturday night?”
Surtees looked at Dalgliesh, as if willing him to understand.
“Karen needed another consecrated wafer. It had to be consecrated. She asked me to get one for her.”
“She asked you to steal for her?”
“She didn’t see it like that.” There was a silence, then he said, “Yes, I suppose so. But it wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I didn’t have to agree. I didn’t want to do it, the Fathers have always been good to me, but it was important to Karen and in the end I said I’d go. She had to have it this weekend because she needs it on Friday. She just didn’t think it was all that important. It was just a wafer to her. She wouldn’t have asked me to steal something valuable.”
Dalgliesh said, “But this was something valuable, wasn’t it?”