Candles for the Dead

by Frank Smith

  ‘Then, of course, you had to try to make it look as if it was a random killing for money. You decided to make it look as if Beth was taken unawares while kneeling at the chancel steps, and try to hide the murder weapon at the same time. So you pulled the Cellophane wrapper off the new candles, wiped the holders clean, then set them back on the altar and lit them.

  ‘You wiped everything you’d touched, or thought you had, but you forgot the Cellophane wrapper on the floor. I doubt if it occurred to you that prints could be taken from it in its crumpled state, but they can. And you forgot one other thing: that you’d handled some of the items in Beth’s handbag when you helped her pick them up earlier in the afternoon.

  ‘Forensic have a match. The irony of it is that if you hadn’t told me you had helped Beth put things back in her handbag that day, we wouldn’t have had any reason to ask you for your prints, and chances are they would have gone unidentified. As it was, the connection almost slipped past them, and it wasn’t until today that I was able to get confirmation.’

  Rachel Fairmont looked very small and vulnerable as she huddled in the chair. She raised a tear-stained face to Paget.

  ‘I don’t know anything about any Cellophane,’ she said, ‘but you have to believe me. It was Arthur. When I came round to see you yesterday, I thought by telling the truth I would be helping him. I had no idea until he stormed in here today that it was he who had killed Beth.’

  Rachel buried her face in her hands. ‘I thought he was going to kill me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life.’

  She unfolded her long legs and sat up straight. ‘As for the sweater, I told you it was Arthur’s originally, and he was the one who was wearing it when he left here that night.’

  ‘You told me you were wearing it that night.’

  ‘I was, but…’ Rachel hesitated and lowered her eyes. ‘Arthur liked me to be wearing it when he came to me. I – I don’t wear anything underneath, you see, and he liked to take it off me when we made love. When Beth rang, I slipped on my housecoat to answer the phone, and Arthur put on the sweater when he got out of bed.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you made love that night?’ asked Paget sceptically. ‘I find that very hard to believe, Miss Fairmont.’

  Rachel lifted her head and looked directly at him. ‘We were in bed when Beth rang,’ she said simply. ‘But Arthur was in such a state when he left that he simply forgot to take the sweater off. He brought it back the following night and picked up his own sweater. That’s the truth, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘The truth?’ Paget sighed. ‘We shall see,’ he said quietly. He motioned to WPC Cooper, who had been standing unobtrusively in the background all this time. ‘Help Miss Fairmont get properly dressed,’ he told her. ‘And she’s not to wear that sweater. We will need it for evidence. I’m charging her with murder.’

  * * *

  ‘They’re both down there now,’ said Paget, ‘each accusing the other of killing Beth Smallwood.’ He sat across the desk from Alcott in the superintendent’s office.

  ‘It was a good thing Rachel wasn’t in the room when we read him extracts from her statement. As it was he had to be restrained. When he calmed down, he told us he’d been trying to break off with her for weeks, but she wouldn’t have it. He claims that she flew at him that night; accused him of raping Beth – which of course he did but is still trying to deny – and of trying to break his promise of marriage to her. Which, incidentally, he denies ever making. As for the sweater, he swears that it was she who was wearing it when he left that night.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned,’ he continued, ‘they can argue all they like about who was wearing the sweater, but it will be the fingerprint that will clinch it. Rachel couldn’t help but know what had happened in Gresham’s office that afternoon, and when Beth rang that night and talked of going to the police, Rachel saw a way to get rid of Beth and – she hoped – make Gresham grateful to her for saving his skin. But Gresham wanted to be rid of her, and when Rachel realized she couldn’t hold him, she turned on him. I think she came here quite deliberately yesterday afternoon to throw suspicion on him while pretending to defend him.’

  ‘What did Trent say Gresham was wearing when they met?’ Alcott asked.

  ‘Trent thinks he was wearing a turtleneck beneath his jacket, but he can’t be certain.’

  ‘So it all comes down to a fingerprint,’ Alcott mused. ‘They both had motive.’

  ‘That’s right, sir, but I think we’ll find that Rachel Fairmont is the more determined of the two, and she had more to lose – at least she thought she had. Regardless of what we may think of Gresham, I think she really loved him, and when she saw him slipping away from her, she was prepared to do anything to get him back. So, when it looked as if Beth was going to have Gresham charged, she took matters into her own hands.’

  Alcott shook his head. ‘I really thought it was Beecham,’ he said almost wistfully, ‘especially when his prints were found in the church.’

  ‘So did I at first,’ said Paget, ‘but Beth was dead when he arrived. Which explains why Rudge heard nothing before Beecham ran out. Beecham came storming into the church, probably at least a little drunk, and banged the door. Rudge heard it, but by the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, Beecham had discovered Beth’s body. No doubt that sobered him up in a hurry, and all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as possible.’

  Alcott scowled and drew deeply on his cigarette. ‘She’s liable to get away with it, you know,’ he said. ‘A good brief will use Beecham as a red herring and create so much doubt in the minds of jurors that she could get off, despite the fingerprint. Juries are so bloody unpredictable. You never know what they’ll do.’ The superintendent rose from his seat and stretched.

  ‘Let’s hope they get it right this time,’ said Paget as he, too, got to his feet.

  They left the office together. ‘Mr Brock wants us both in his office first thing tomorrow morning,’ Alcott said. ‘He’ll need a full briefing before he talks to the media.’

  Paget suppressed a smile. Trust Brock to step in at the last minute and take the credit.

  As they came out of the building, Alcott nodded in the direction of the pub across the street and glanced at his watch. ‘Still time for a quick one,’ he observed, ‘and young what’s-is-name will be disappointed if we don’t stop in for at least one.’

  Paget looked at him blankly.

  ‘Maltby. Wife had a boy this morning. Everybody’s invited to wet the baby’s head. You are coming, aren’t you, Paget? I mean, it’s not as if you have anybody waiting for you at home, is it? Come on. We can’t disappoint the lad.’

  Paget hesitated only for a moment. He had thought of stopping in at the hospital. Just on the off-chance that Andrea might be there. Still, even if she were there, she’d probably be busy. She had phoned him to thank him for the flowers, but it would be foolish to read too much into that. Anyone would have done the same.

  He became aware that Alcott was waiting for a reply.

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘As you say, it’s not as if there is anyone waiting for me at home.’

  * * *

  He was home by ten o’clock, having slipped away from the party as soon as he decently could. Paget had all but forgotten how noisy a pub full of boisterous young coppers could be, and his ears were still ringing as he climbed the stairs. The acrid smell of smoke and stale beer clung to his clothes, and he undressed quickly before stepping into the shower. Hot water poured over him, and he turned his face to it, luxuriating in its warm embrace.

  His mind began to drift back to the day’s events. There were still many things to do as far as the case was concerned, of course, but they would be dealt with in the days to come. As far as he was concerned, the case was closed.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Rachel was the one who had gone to the church that night. The fingerprint on the candle wrapper proved beyond a doubt that she was there, and since
it was on the inside of the wrapper, it had to have been put there after Mrs Turvey saw the candles sealed in their wrapper when they slipped out of Beth Smallwood’s bag. Paget had rung Mrs Turvey himself to check on that very point.

  But enough of that, he told himself firmly as he stepped out of the shower and got ready for bed. He stifled a yawn and thought of young Maltby and his friends back at the pub, and wondered how many of them would make it into work next morning – and how they would feel if they did.

  His eyes fell on Jill’s picture on the bedside table as he slid beneath the covers, and memories of other evenings, of other celebrations, came flooding in. Memories of the days when he and Jill were together. Memories that would remain no matter what.

  But he was beginning to realize that memories of the past and living in the past were two very different things. It had taken him a long time to recognize that. It would probably take even longer for him to accept it, but it was a start, he told himself. It was a start.

  He turned out the light and lay there staring into the darkness. He must phone Patrick in the morning. Tell him he’d be there in London to meet him and Louise when they arrived next month. And, painful as it would be, he must find the words to break the news of Jill’s death to his old friend. An old friend he’d long suspected of being in love with Jill himself.

  ALSO BY FRANK SMITH

  Stone Dead

  Fatal Flaw

  Dragon’s Breath

  Sound the Silent Trumpets

  The Traitor Mask

  Defectors Are Dead Men

  Corpse in Handcuffs

  CANDLES FOR THE DEAD. Copyright © 1999 by Frank Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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  First published in Great Britain by Constable & Company Ltd.

  First U.S. Edition: August 1999

  eISBN 9781466876170

  First eBook edition: June 2014