Unholy Writ

by David Williams

  Speke-Jones smiled. ‘There’s no secrecy, Mr Treasure. Members pay a minimum subscription of five pounds a year – and that’s no widow’s mite.’

  Treasure mentally agreed. With three hundred thousand members, Forward Britain must already be enjoying an income, or capital build, of at least one and a half million pounds a year – substantial funding by any standards.

  ‘And that’s only the start,’ Speke-Jones added. ‘There’s a further expectancy – what you might call an endowment – coming shortly. A sum in the region of three million.’

  They had halted beside Speke-Jones’s ball, but the player was not troubling to examine its position. He was gazing intently at Treasure’s face looking for an outward manifestation of the reaction he knew his last remark must have provoked. But Treasure was too old a hand at money games to provide satisfaction.

  Speke-Jones continued: ‘That is in confidence Mr Treasure … but there’s a good reason for my telling you. D’you see, we need an experienced banker … a highly respectable banker.’ He paused. ‘That’s why I came here to meet you.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I wasn’t meaning to destroy no evidence,’ said Banquet sourly. ‘Just doin’ the job wot I was paid for – an’ a proper job I done of it too.’

  The evidence of his industry lay before them. Banquet, Chief Inspector Bantree, and Detective-Sergeant Wadkin were grouped around the neat and tidied mound that marked the resting place of Maggie Edwards. PC Humble stood behind them at what he judged a respectful distance – not from the grave, but from the figure of his superior.

  Having been paid – in advance – the piece work rate of three pounds for the grave-filling job, Banquet had completed the task with zeal and speed. His apparent enthusiasm had been not unassociated with the fact that if he was through by three forty-five he knew he could be home in time to see the second half of the FA Cup Final on television. As it was, no sooner had he finished raking around the mound of the grave than he was descended upon by three policemen and ordered to desist.

  ‘Not your fault, Mr Banquet, not your fault at all,’ said Bantree reassuringly. ‘If we’d realized what you were doing, and we should have done –’ he gave his Sergeant a reproving glance – ‘we’d have got to you sooner. Now you say the grave had been dug and prepared in the normal way?’

  ‘So far as I could tell, yes,’ Banquet replied, ‘but I’m no expert. Gardenin’s my job, not bloomin’ gravediggin’. Boards weren’t in place though. Reckon that’s the larse thing ’Orace would’a done if ’ee’d finished the job ’iself.’

  ‘Boards?’ Bantree enquired.

  ‘For restin’ the coffin on afore it’s lowered, like; they was ’ere orl right, but they wasn’t laid out proper and ready.’

  ‘And you think if Mr Worple had finished the work he’d have put the boards in position?’

  ‘Sure ’ee would, an’ the ropes as well. They was ’ere too – the ropes for lowerin’ – but they wasn’t made ready.’

  ‘But the hole itself was finished – it was the right depth, levelled at the bottom and so on?’

  ‘Clean as a whistle all through. Depth I don’t know about, not bein’ my job; ’ee looked deep enough – an’ felt it with the in-fillin’.’

  Sergeant Wadkin glanced at his notes. ‘You said there were a lot of footmarks.’

  Banquet sighed and looked at him sourly. ‘Stan’s to reason there’d be footmarks with twenty or more people payin’ their respects at the funeral. I asked Vicar if ’ee wanted tarpaulin down afore the service, but ’ee said no ’cos the ground was dry. So it were left to me to rake up after – and rake up I done.’

  It was Inspector Bantree’s turn to sigh. The turfed and the bared ground around the grave were neat and clean. The possibility of finding footprints, other than possibly some of Banquet’s, was very remote indeed. ‘Thank you, Mr Banquet,’ he said, ‘I expect you’d like to be getting along. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’

  Banquet gathered up his things and made to go; then he turned back to the Inspector. ‘If there’s anythin’ I can do to ’elp get ’im wot’s done in ’Orace, you only ’as to say.’ And with this final unexpected witness to amity he made his way across the churchyard.

  Bantree smiled at the retreating figure before turning to his assistants. ‘Now, Sergeant, this grave has to be undug, all the earth sieved – well, the routine’s obvious. There should be enough coppers here in a minute to cope. We’re still not sure where he died because we don’t know for certain when he died – the time intervals are so short – but unless he was taken from here to Old Windsor by helicopter, and that’s not likely, it’s safe to assume he was done in right here, or certainly in this village. And it’s murder we’re investigating; whether he died of the stab wounds, or the broken back. Now come over here.’ He motioned the Sergeant to the gate that led into Mitchell Hall. ‘Constable Humble, you stay right there until the work party arrives. The policeman on the gate will keep out sightseers.’

  Once out of Humble’s hearing the Inspector, continued. ‘I’ve cleared the exhumation with the Vicar and the dead person’s daughter. No red tape; it’s not a proper exhumation, we shan’t be opening the coffin. See that it’s put decently to one side, and if it can’t go back tonight, store it in the ambulance that’s coming. Now, a knife was brandished by a Filipino on the other side of this wall this morning – the Vicar told me that much, what’s the rest of the story? Have you got the man?’

  ‘No, sir; that is, I’ve seen him, and he’s still available but he’s accounted for from ten-thirty through to twelve-thirty.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘In Reading General Hospital being X-rayed and treated for two broken ribs – courtesy of the Vicar.’

  ‘Well, that’s a new twist on the church militant.’ Bantree chuckled, ‘And there are plenty of witnesses of course?’ The Sergeant nodded. ‘What about the other Filipinos? I gather there’s a whole tribe of them – what are they here for anyway?’

  ‘Officially, sir, they’re on holiday.’ Bantree raised his eyebrows. ‘Actually they’re digging a swimming pool for Mr Scarbuck – part of a larger group brought over at Mr Scarbuck’s expense three weeks ago. The rest of the party are staying near Scarborough, sir.’

  ‘Enjoying their holiday?’

  ‘Not really, sir, they’re employed demolishing a country house and laying out a new building estate.’

  ‘Fiddle.’

  ‘Precisely so, sir, but not one that need delay us now, I thought … Detective-Constable Sheer will be making a report, he’s over there now, sir.’

  Bantree nodded, as much in approval of Wadkin as of the action he had taken. The Inspector liked Wadkin, who was young, keen, and the product of one of the newer universities noted more for its student militancy than as a training ground for future officers of the law. Wadkin seemed to have survived higher education and the statutory period in the lower echelons of the Force without losing the sense of initiative and public service that had presumably attracted him to the job in the first place. He could have moved in faster on Banquet; but then, so could have Bantree himself.

  ‘How many other Filipinos?’

  ‘Eleven, sir; ten are accounted for during the relevant time. They were working under the supervision of a Mr Eustace Dankton.’

  ‘Foreman?’ (Poor Dankton!)

  ‘In a way sir. Actually he’s an antiquarian – the site is an historical one and he’s looking out for seventeenth-century relics. But he was supervising the workers from ten-thirty through to lunch time.’

  ‘Reliable?’

  ‘I should say so, sir.’

  ‘Which leaves one Filipino unaccounted for.’

  ‘Not entirely, sir. Two of them attacked the Vicar. One was sent to Reading injured, the other was just bruised and badly winded. He was ordered to lie down in the dormitory they have organized in the basement at the Hall. It seems he was still not fit for heavy work at three-thirty, but h
e was detailed to caddy for Mr Scarbuck at the Golf Club then.’

  ‘Have you talked to him?’

  ‘Not yet, sir; you see, we can’t find him.’

  Bantree looked at his watch. ‘Have you tried the golf-course?’

  ‘Sheer went over there, sir, and found Mr Scarbuck sitting on a seat near the Club House. It appears there was an altercation, sir. The caddy, he’s known as Fred, apparently attacked Mr Scarbuck and ran away. He hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘In what way did he attack Mr Scarbuck?’

  ‘Violently, sir, according to the victim – butted him in the stomach with his head.’

  ‘With or without provocation?’

  ‘That’s difficult to tell, sir. It appears Mr Scarbuck hit him with a golf-ball.’

  ‘Hm, I suppose it depends on how fast it was moving.’ Bantree paused. ‘Anyway, there’s one known belligerent Filipino at large and he’s the closest thing we’ve got to a murder suspect. Find him. If he’s still on foot he can’t have got far.

  ‘That’s in hand, sir.’

  ‘Right. I’m going over to the Hall. Join me when you’ve got the coffin out.’ He looked toward the church’s main gate. ‘And here come the reinforcements, not before time.’ A police van and two cars were drawing up alongside the churchyard wall. ‘Is this gate open?’

  ‘It is now, sir, but according to Mr Dankton it was locked by Mr Scarbuck at about ten-twenty – after the Vicar had climbed the wall. It was opened for a moment to let a dog through. Otherwise it’s been locked all day until I came through from the Hall just now.’

  ‘Dankton has a key?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he let me through.’

  ‘Right; see you later.’ Bantree pushed open the gate.

  The swimming pool site – the scene of furious activity earlier in the day – was now completely deserted. The neat excavation appeared to be complete, ready, Bantree assumed, for the concrete lining to be applied. He also surmised, correctly as it happened, that the next step would not be work for unskilled labourers supervised by an antiquarian. The whole of the west side was draped in tarpaulin, and a deep trench had been cut in the centre of the shallow north end running back some fifteen feet before it took a sharp turn to the left. Bantree knew enough about swimming pool plumbing to deduce that this ditch was destined to carry the pipe that would return filtered and probably heated water to the pool. He was prompted idly to consider how the water would be extracted for the purpose of filtration, then guessed that the tarpaulin hid the holes cut for this purpose.

  ‘Chief Inspector Bantree?’ Scarbuck had thrown open the centre Venetian window on the ground floor of Mitchell Hall. The Inspector had been making for the front of the building, but he now changed direction towards the colourful figure – still dressed for golf – standing on the steps that led from the window to the terrace.

  ‘I’m George Scarbuck; your sergeant said you’d be over. Come in, won’t you?’

  Bantree entered the long, high-ceilinged room which, like the famous double-cube room at Wilton, was the showpiece of Mitchell Hall. Scarbuck had purchased with the house most of the furniture and fittings imported by Moonlight three years earlier to provide the hoped-for tourists with something approaching the trappings and atmosphere of an historic salon. The effect was impressive, if a long way short of cosy.

  ‘How’s this for quality, Inspector?’ said Scarbuck proudly.

  ‘Very nice, sir, very nice indeed,’ replied Bantree. He smiled. ‘Now how did you come to know my name, sir?’

  ‘Your sergeant mentioned it, Inspector, and I make it my business never to forget a name that counts. As President of Forward Britain I happen to believe that senior policemen count for a great deal more than most in our community. Are you familiar with the Movement?’

  ‘Broadly, sir, yes,’ replied Bantree, whose steady promotion had been in some part assisted by his well-known penchant for political independence. ‘I understand you have a rally on here this weekend.’

  ‘Hardly a rally, Inspector, just a social get-together with some of the top chaps. We’re having cocktails here in an hour’s time followed by dinner. You’ll be welcome to join us if you’re free.’

  ‘Very nice of you, Mr Scarbuck, but I’m afraid I’m likely to be on duty the rest of this evening. Sergeant Wadkin must have told you why we’re here. I gather you’ve been helping him with our enquiries.’

  ‘So far as I could, Inspector, but frankly I don’t see how anyone from the Hall can be involved. Everyone’s accounted for except one of the little Filipinos who are here helping out with the swimming pool – but he’ll turn up. In any case, we all know where he was this morning.’

  ‘So I understand, sir. Do you think I might have a word with Mr Dankton – I understand he was supervising the … er … helpers.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector. I’ll see if he’s in his room.’ Scarbuck moved to a house telephone incongruously positioned on a passable reproduction of an ornate Louis XV gaming table, the instrument somehow reducing what authenticity the piece possessed. ‘I’m a great believer in good communications,’ Scarbuck continued, ‘had ’phones installed in all principal rooms the day we moved in. Ah, Eustace, I’m in the saloon with Chief Inspector Bantree; he’d like a word with you.’ There was a pause for Dankton’s reply. ‘Well, never mind that, man, slip a dressing-gown on, we’ll not stand on ceremony. Come now.’ The last two words were issued as an order.

  Scarbuck replaced the receiver. ‘He was in the bath. By the by, Inspector, the party of Filipinos are going north by mini-coach this evening. You’ve no reason to refrain them, have you?’

  ‘That’s difficult to say at the moment, sir. I take it you are expecting all twelve to make the journey?’

  ‘Ay, that’s a point.’ Scarbuck paused. ‘But my guess is young Fred will be back within the hour, tail between his legs. He thinks I’m angry with him – I was too, little devil – but he’ll show up.’

  ‘Well, if he does sir, we shall want him for questioning.’

  ‘I see. You know none of these chaps speak English, Inspector. Johnnie, the head boy, has a few words, but the others will be a dead loss for questioning – your sergeant, found that out earlier.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid we shall have to detain Fred until we can get hold of an interpreter. Ah, Mr Dankton, I presume?’

  If appearances had been against Dankton in his open air role they did little to improve his image indoors. His tall, thin figure was now encased from neck to bare knees in a faded Paisley silk dressing-gown which, with the proper accessories, would have been suitable attire for a drawing-room entrance in a 1930’s comedy. Held together, as it was now, with a belt borrowed from a fawn raincoat, it lacked both the style and the sophistication required for its wearer easily to carry off a relaxed arrival. But the garment, and his bare feet, were witness that Dankton had come without delay. Bantree had no way of telling whether the man’s deathly pallor was normal.

  ‘Any sign of Fred yet?’ asked Scarbuck brusquely. Dankton shook his head in reply. His hands too were shaking, though Bantree was unable to decide whether this was the result of apprehension or a too prompt arrival from a warm bath into a comparatively cold drawing-room.

  ‘I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Mr Dankton,’ said the Inspector, ‘but there are a few more questions we’d like you to answer about this morning. Besides the Filipinos you were supervising, did you see anyone else – anyone – around the swimming pool or the churchyard this morning between ten-thirty and noon?’

  Dankton hesitated before replying – long enough to ponder the question or long enough to invent a lie; once again Bantree was not sure.

  ‘No, no one,’ said Dankton finally, staring at the carpet and clasping his hands more tightly before him. ‘I was there the whole time; there was no one.’

  There was a tap on the window through which Bantree had been admitted. Sergeant Wadkin beckoned to the Inspector from outside.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,
will you?’ said Bantree. He joined Wadkin outside, closing the glass door behind him.

  ‘Pathologist’s report, sir – makes a difference to our enquiries. Thought I’d better bring it over right away. Worple died between ten-thirty and ten-forty-five. Cause of death spinal fractures consistent with a fall from a height of ten to twenty feet on to a hard and uneven surface.’

  ‘How deep was that grave?’ Bantree’s gaze moved across to the swimming pool excavation. ‘No, we can forget that; it couldn’t have been more than eight feet, and that chap Banquet would have told us if the bottom was filled with rocks. The pool’s deep enough, though.’

  ‘I just looked at the deep end, sir. The floor’s earthy but there’s a good deal of broken stone piled at the side.’

  ‘What do they say about the stab wounds?’

  ‘Not stab wounds, sir, lacerations from pairs of revolving and probably half-circular blades, possibly attached to a mechanical instrument. The wounds were inflicted immediately after death, eight in all in the chest and abdomen.’

  Bantree was used to unlikely deductions from forensic boffins. ‘They mean he was run over by a lawn-spiker?’

  ‘Not so far off the mark, sir. They seem to think it could have been an implement of that sort but bigger, and probably not poweroperated. The stab cuts are in two even rows across the body, but the pairs of lacerations are of uneven depth.’ Wadkin was reading from a typed report in his hand.

  The Inspector remained unimpressed. ‘Yes, well I saw the wounds. Certainly they were ragged, and they were in pairs, but they could have been made by a man with a broad knife, or spike, and a rhythmic swing, running out of energy or sadistic inclination. Sergeant, I want you to find that missing Filipino – and fast.’