Murder at the Old Vicarage

by Jill McGown

  ‘No, it isn’t all,’ said Lloyd. ‘I want the truth.’

  George fought the nausea. His legs were shaking. He sat down, and tried desperately to get control. They knew he’d left the pub. He’d have to say something. ‘I was at Eleanor Langton’s,’ he said, not looking at him.

  ‘Eleanor Langton’s,’ repeated Lloyd.

  George looked up, not sure what reaction to expect. Shock? Disapproval? Or a boys-will-be-boys wink? He got none of those things.

  ‘Times?’ Lloyd said.

  ‘I went straight there from the pub,’ said George.

  ‘When did you leave?’

  ‘Not until I had to,’ he replied bleakly.

  ‘When was that?’

  George stared out of the window. ‘A little before ten,’ he said. ‘The snow had drifted off the field, so I went that way. It only took a few minutes to get home.’

  Oh, Eleanor, why aren’t you on the phone? He looked at the ash on the snow. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Heaven and hell, life or death. To be or not to be, that was the question.

  The inspector was leaving. ‘Thank you, Mr Wheeler,’ he said, opening the door to find Sergeant Hill waiting in the hall. ‘Right, Sergeant,’ he said, his voice unnecessarily loud. ‘I think we’ve finished here.’ He glanced back in. ‘For the moment,’ he said, closing the door.

  When he heard the front door shut, George went to the window, and watched as they went down the porch steps. As they crossed the driveway, the inspector glanced back, and George automatically stepped back from the window. They got into their car, and drove away.

  To Eleanor’s, no doubt. George fled upstairs to the bathroom.

  Eleanor lay on the sofa, pampering herself with a dry sherry and a box of chocolate mints. Tessa had gone off with her grandmother as arranged, ostensibly to give Eleanor a rest; but Eleanor knew what was really on Penny’s mind. If a blood-crazed murderer was going to break in here one dark night, he wasn’t going to get Penny’s grandchild. Eleanor smiled, as she had at Penny’s efforts to get her to go back to Stansfield with them. But it did give her a rest, so she would enjoy it. And of course, there was a knock on the door.

  Eleanor’s heart sank when she saw the inspector, with the policewoman who had come in during her interview.

  ‘This is Sergeant Hill,’ he said. ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Yes. Please do.’

  They walked ahead of her into the sitting room. Eleanor took a deep breath of cold air before she closed the door.

  ‘I was just having a sherry,’ she said, as she joined them. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Langton,’ Lloyd said.

  She smiled. ‘I thought we’d agreed on Eleanor.’

  She was interested to see the sergeant’s immediate and hastily cancelled reaction.

  ‘Mrs Langton,’ the inspector said. ‘Did you see Mr Wheeler on Christmas Eve at any time?’

  Eleanor indicated the armchairs, and sat down on the sofa again. ‘Yes,’ she said carefully. ‘He came here in the morning to ask if I would play the organ that afternoon.’

  ‘Did you see him again?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘At the church,’ said Eleanor, noticing that the sergeant wore a wedding ring. Interesting. She wondered about that fleeting look of concern, and thought that she might play up to it. It would be quite fun to land Inspector Lloyd right in it. ‘I didn’t get the chance to speak to him,’ she added.

  ‘And these are the only times you saw him?’ asked Lloyd.

  ‘It’s up to you what you do about it.’ George’s words. This was her chance to do something about it. She forgot about making a fool of Lloyd, as she tried to decide what to do.

  ‘Mrs Langton? Could you answer the question?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll answer it. I saw him later. He came here about half an hour after Marian did. I know he’s told you he was with his daughter, but if you ask me it’s time she was responsible for her own actions.’

  She didn’t even try to gauge what sort of effect her words were having on her audience. She had started now.

  ‘If she finally had the guts to take a poker to her husband, then she should have the guts to admit it,’ she said.

  ‘And that’s what happened, is it?’ asked Lloyd.

  ‘I don’t know what happened! All I know is what it’s doing to George – it’s making him ill. It’s what he thinks happened – that’s why he said he was with her! It’s why her mother did what she did. Joanna must be protected at all costs – well, I think it’s costing too much. Whatever he’s told you, George was here. Until about quarter to ten.’

  She looked at them then, for their reaction. They didn’t seem very impressed.

  ‘Half an hour after Marian left,’ said Lloyd. ‘That would be what – half past eight?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Eleanor. ‘Maybe a few minutes later. And whatever George has told you, I’m telling you the truth.’

  ‘That is what he told us,’ the sergeant said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Langton.’

  They had left before the full impact of what the sergeant had said hit Eleanor.

  George. They’d been checking up on George.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor took the mini, though the pub was so close, preferring to brave the elements on four wheels. The car park was filling up now that it was lunch time, but she found a space; she hadn’t been able to find one on Christmas Eve, or she might never have seen him.

  Her foot slipped on the icy ground as she got out, and she walked carefully towards the back entrance. On Christmas Eve, she had had to park in Castle Road; she had used the main entrance. And so had Graham Elstow, coming in as she was going out, the mere sight of him tearing at emotions already exposed by George’s visit.

  She pushed open the door, and found herself glancing along the corridor to the bar, checking who was there. But Graham Elstow was one person she was never going to bump into again. The phone was being used; Eleanor waited, her face hot with the memory of that day, her heart beating too fast. But the man hung up, and said ‘All yours, darling’, as though she wasn’t in an advanced state of panic. She thanked him, and dialled the number, clutching the coin hard, so that her hand didn’t shake too much.

  ‘Byford 2212.’

  ‘Is Mr Wheeler there, please?’ Eleanor was surprised at how ordinary her voice sounded.

  ‘I think so,’ said the voice. Marian’s? Joanna’s? Eleanor didn’t know Marian well enough to tell, and she didn’t know Joanna at all. ‘Who’s calling, please?’

  Oh God, she hadn’t thought of that. But come on, Eleanor. Pull yourself together. You’ve called him before – you have business with him. And what’s changed, what’s really changed?

  ‘Eleanor Langton.’

  There was the tiniest of pauses. ‘Just a moment, please.’

  She could hear footsteps in the hallway, then muffled voices.

  ‘Hello – Eleanor?’ He sounded ordinary too. Not like the tortured man he was.

  ‘George.’ She glanced along the corridor. No one around. And the people in the bar too far away to hear. ‘I’ve had the police,’ she said.

  There was a silence. Then, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes!’ she said impatiently, ‘I told them you were with me,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, ‘I thought you probably would.’

  He sounded so unconcerned. So matter-of-fact. What if she’d told them that she hadn’t seen him? Wasn’t that what he’d asked her to do, in his oblique way? Was he relieved or angry that she’d told them?

  ‘But George—’ She turned her back on the people in the bar.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Thanks for ringing.’

  Eleanor realised. ‘Oh, hell, there’s someone with you.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’

  Another silence. ‘Yes – perhaps tomorrow?’ The casual tone was beginning to sound a little de
sperate.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Eleanor echoed. ‘Can’t you come before that?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and she could hear paper rustling. ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘All right,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Fine. Tomorrow, then. First thing.’

  Eleanor hung up, and let out a sigh.

  ‘Stood you up, has he, love?’

  She whirled round, her face burning, to see the man who had been using the phone before her.

  He looked a little alarmed. ‘Nothing personal,’ he said. ‘Just a joke.’ He picked up the receiver. ‘At least you got through,’ he said. ‘That’s more than I did.’

  Eleanor stared at him. What had he heard? Had she said anything? She’d called him George. Oh, George was a common name – she could have been ringing anyone called George. And why would he care, anyway?

  She turned and almost ran from the pub.

  *

  ‘Joanna,’ said her father, as he slowly replaced the receiver. ‘Did you want something?’

  She had stayed in his study after she had told him about the call. If she hadn’t, she would have listened in on the hall phone, and conspicuous eavesdropping seemed preferable, morally.

  ‘What did she want?’ she asked baldly.

  ‘Just play-group business,’ he said.

  ‘Play-group business?’ Joanna said angrily. ‘Come off it! All that diary consulting – was that for my benefit? You’re not doing anything just now!’

  He slammed his diary shut. ‘I will not be cross-examined about my private phone-calls!’ he shouted.

  That was just the problem, thought Joanna. He probably would be. She sat down. ‘That’s where you were on Christmas Eve,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it? You were with her. You told me you’d stayed at the pub.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘It’s called bearing false witness, in the trade,’ he said.

  ‘And what you were doing with her?’ Joanna asked sharply. ‘What’s that called?’

  His eyes widened. ‘It’s called minding my own business,’ he said. ‘Just like you were minding yours. You weren’t exactly forthcoming about where you’d been.’

  But she hadn’t lied to him. And she hadn’t been . . . She closed her eyes. ‘Is that why Mummy was angry with you?’ she asked.

  ‘She wasn’t angry with me,’ he said, and he sounded almost wistful.

  ‘Was that another lie?’

  ‘No!’ He stood up. ‘It was a possible explanation for her burning the dress, that’s all.’

  ‘Does she know about you and her?’

  ‘Now, look!’ He banged his fists down on the desk. ‘Whoever this concerns, Joanna, it does not concern you.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Joanna asked bitterly. ‘Then why did I find myself lying to the police?’

  His body sagged a little, and he sat down heavily. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ she asked again. ‘So that you didn’t have to admit that you were with her?’

  ‘I just didn’t want Eleanor’s name brought into it,’ he said, swivelling the chair round, and looking out of the window.

  ‘I’ll bet you didn’t.’

  ‘Have you told them where you were?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, but that wasn’t entirely true.

  ‘But you still won’t tell me? Or your mother?’

  ‘No.’ No, no, no. She didn’t want them to know about the baby. Not now. Not ever, but she had very little option about that. Not until they had to, at any rate.

  ‘Then we’ll just have to respect one another’s privacy, and hope that the police do the same,’ he said.

  He was still staring out of the window when Joanna left.

  They had spent the afternoon fruitlessly going through the mounds of paperwork that had developed on the Elstow business. Next door, people collated and cross-referenced, and tried to produce some kind of coherent sequence of events from the observations of those not involved, and therefore not likely to be lying. But they were likely to be exaggerating, or imagining things, or simply mistaken. Marian’s movements were checkable, and had been checked. She had called on half a dozen people, staying just a couple of minutes at each place, and would have arrived home at about ten, just as they all said she had. Wheeler had been seen walking up Castle Road; Joanna hadn’t been seen at all. Someone knew that it was the gypsies. If there had been any gypsies, Judy thought, she would have gladly gone and interviewed every one of them. Joanna’s information about the overalls had gone down the pipeline, so now people knew that that might be what they were looking for; at least that was something.

  Outside, the afternoon had grown dark, and evening had descended. Another day almost over, and they were no further forward.

  ‘The overalls are our best lead so far,’ she said, looking up at Lloyd.

  ‘To what?’ Lloyd got up and stretched, then sat on her desk. ‘To some intruder who went in, saw them, and popped them on just in case he came across someone he wanted very messily to murder?’

  Judy shook her head. Lloyd was edgy, ready to dismiss anything she said. He’d been like that since they’d seen Eleanor Langton. ‘Are you still convinced it was one of the family?’ she asked.

  Lloyd looked away in disgust. ‘Of course it was,’ he said. ‘I’m still convinced it was Joanna Elstow, if you want to know.’

  ‘But the doctor confirmed her story,’ said Judy.

  Joanna had arrived, a little upset, according to Dr Lomax, some time after half past eight. About quarter to nine, she thought. She had stayed for thirty, forty minutes. Something like that.

  ‘The friend of the family,’ corrected Lloyd, ‘confirmed her story.’

  ‘Oh, Lloyd! Do you think the whole village is party to a conspiracy?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,’ he said sourly. ‘A domestic. A domestic – you’re supposed to get there and find someone in tears saying that she was cutting some bread when the knife slipped. And that’s that.’

  Judy smiled. ‘I don’t believe she killed her husband,’ she said. ‘For one thing, she wasn’t there – and for another, I don’t believe she wanted to.’ She paused. ‘I think we should take a closer look at Elstow. He was sober when he arrived at the vicarage in the first place,’ she said. ‘What made him get drunk?’

  Lloyd sighed. ‘Becoming involved with that bloody family, that’s what,’ he said. ‘It would drive anyone to the bottle.’ He ran a tired hand down his face.

  ‘But he didn’t drink,’ Judy said. ‘Not as a rule. And why would he choose to just then? He was trying to get Joanna back, not put her off.’

  ‘And yet he succeeded, according to her,’ said Lloyd, tapping Judy’s notebook. ‘Does that seem likely to you? He arrives drunk, gets drunker, beats her up, and it all ends happily ever after? Or would have done, if the invisible man hadn’t popped in and murdered him?’

  Put like that, it seemed highly unlikely, but it had seemed true enough when Joanna had told her about it. If Lloyd had been in a more receptive mood, Judy might have tried to explain that.

  ‘I think our first theory was right,’ Lloyd said. ‘I think Marian Wheeler was right. Joanna went for him with the poker.’

  ‘But the time of death is wrong,’ Judy pointed out reasonably.

  ‘I’m going to get Freddie to have another look at that,’ he muttered.

  The overalls. White nylon overalls, which George Wheeler had left in the hall, and which had now disappeared. They were important, thought Judy. If they found the overalls, they might get some answers.

  Left in the hall. A thought occurred to her. ‘Wheeler,’ she said. ‘He’d know—’

  ‘Wheeler doesn’t know if he’s coming or going!’ snapped Lloyd. ‘If you ask me, he doesn’t know what day of the week it is, never mind anything else.’

  ‘If your theory’s right about Joanna, he’d have to know more than he’s telling us,’ said Judy, stubbornly.

  ‘Not necessarily. He says he heard the bedroom door
close as he went in. That could have been Joanna. Shutting herself in the bedroom with her husband, after she had killed him. Wheeler and his wife go upstairs to change, Joanna creeps down, and into the sitting room, where the original fight took place, and where they found her.’

  Judy looked up at him.

  ‘Don’t look like that! It fits all the forensic evidence. It explains why she didn’t come straight out and tell her parents what had happened. And it means that George Wheeler’s telling the truth, and doesn’t know what the hell’s going on.’

  ‘Except,’ said Judy patiently, ‘that Freddie says Elstow didn’t die until two hours after that, when Joanna was sitting in the pub.’

  Lloyd grinned suddenly. ‘That’s its only drawback,’ he said.

  ‘So you’re going to ask Freddie if by any chance he’s made a two-hour error on the time of death?’

  ‘You never know,’ Lloyd said. ‘I’m going to ask him to assume that nothing that we have been told is accurate.’

  ‘But we know it’s accurate! We know what time they arrived home, we know what time Elstow ate—’

  ‘We only know because people have told us,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘The barmaid,’ said Judy. ‘The people at the afternoon service – why would they lie, Lloyd?’

  ‘People can make mistakes. This is a domestic murder, Judy, whatever way you look at it. The intruder theory is laughable.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Judy. ‘But he did meet someone at the pub.’

  ‘According to Joanna,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘Isn’t there anyone else who might have had it in for him?’ she asked hopefully. She had believed Joanna; she wasn’t going to admit defeat yet.

  ‘No,’ said Lloyd. ‘You know there isn’t. He didn’t gamble, he didn’t owe money except in the usual way. We can’t find anything on other women – his own wife admits he didn’t even drink to excess. The one offensive thing he did was to beat his wife.’ He smiled. ‘The house looks as if a bomb’s hit it, but that seems to have been Elstow himself rather than the Battered Wives’ Liberation Army.’

  ‘Do you think it’s funny?’ Judy asked sharply.