‘He is.’
Clare moved back in her chair, glancing outside at the sky. She had already told Tremayne that at the first sign of a cloud she was out of there.
‘Do you have proof?’
‘He disobeyed. That’s all I know.’
‘Disobeyed who?’
‘Those that he had chosen to follow.’
‘Are you saying they killed him?’
‘Please be here as a friend, not a police officer. It is better for you to be ignorant of the truth.’
‘But that’s my job.’
‘You are delving into something you don’t understand.’
Clare took another glance through the window. It was still clear.
‘What do you mean?’
‘With goodness there is evil, with light there is dark. Have you not read the Bible?’
‘When I was younger, but it only mentioned God as real, and Satan as a fallen angel.’
‘There are others, not as powerful, but there are others.’
‘Will your God protect you?’ Clare asked.
‘Your God as well. Remember that,’ Mavis Godwin said.
‘As you say.’
‘My God will be there for me, for I will have stood up to the evil, looked it straight in the face.’
‘Pardon my saying,’ Clare said, ‘but your belief in an all-powerful God is not common these days.’
‘Before, I was not a believer.’
‘What changed?’
‘They changed me.’
‘Who?’
‘Please leave, Clare. I cannot tell you.’
‘If I know, will I be marked?’
‘If you act against them, you will be.’
‘Who are they? Please tell me.’
Clare looked out of the window. Clouds were forming.
‘You must go,’ Mavis Godwin said.
‘Tell me before I go. Are they mortal?’
‘Those that carry out their work are.’
‘Do you know who they are?’
‘Oh, yes. Please go now. They are too powerful.’
‘Your God?’
‘We will need to suffer first.’
A rumble of thunder could be heard overhead. Clare’s phone rang. ‘Get out of there,’ Tremayne said.
‘Come with me,’ Clare said to Mavis Godwin.
‘No. This is my place. I’ll not leave. My fate is sealed.’
Another rumble of thunder and Clare left through the front door. She gave the woman left behind in the cottage a hug.
Chapter 7
Two miles down the road towards the Woodford Valley, after the events at Mavis Godwin’s cottage, Tremayne pulled the car over to one side. ‘That was the damnedest thing,’ he said.
‘Now do you believe me?’ Clare asked. She was still shaking.
‘It’ll take more than a few clouds to convince me.’
‘Then why did you tell me to get out?’
‘I knew you’d be frightened.’
Clare knew Tremayne was lying. He had seen the clouds, felt the tension in the air. He was more set in his ways than her, had more of an unshakeable belief that everything had a logical explanation, but what they had witnessed was not logical. She could see that Keith Tremayne, the hardened, cynical detective inspector, had been unnerved by the experience.
‘What’s next?’ Clare asked.
‘Trevor Godwin. What did you find out about him?’
‘His wife is convinced he’s dead.’
‘There’s no body.’
‘Then we need to find one.’
‘Around here? He could be anywhere.’
***
With little more to go on, Tremayne and Clare settled into a routine. Each morning they would meet in the office, discuss the case, receive updates from the various experts. Langley’s body, or what was left of it, was released to his family. There had been a check into his visitors, but it had revealed little. All of them had been interviewed and found to be good, upright citizens.
Mavis Godwin’s fears had become diluted in Clare’s mind, and even the storms that had threatened the cottage had been discounted by a weather forecaster they had brought in.
It had been ten days since Clare left Mavis Godwin’s cottage, and whereas she phoned every day to check on the woman, there had been no other contact. Clare was fully occupied in her spare time with Harry, either taking trips into the country or sometimes helping out behind the bar at his pub.
She was a happy woman, and thoughts of the macabre did not occupy her mind, although sometimes she would dream, only to wake when it became too frightening.
Harry had said she was foolish when she told him the story of what had happened at the cottage. ‘Old wives’ tales,’ he had said.
Clare knew that his family had lived in the area for generations, and if he said it was nonsense, then she was inclined to grant that maybe he was correct. She had stayed over at the pub on a few occasions, he had stayed at her place on the others. Their relationship was now an acknowledged fact at the pub, and the cheering each time they brushed up against each other had declined to no more than the occasional ‘Good on you, Harry’ or ‘She’s a good sort you’ve got there.’ Neither which worried Clare as she was the happiest she had been for a long time.
Not only was Harry the love of her life, but she also had Tremayne showing her how to be a good detective, not that his success with the horses was improving. The last time he had lost, he had jokingly asked if her mystical friends could give him a hand, although Spooky Sue had come in first at 10 to 1 at Newmarket.
Detective Superintendent Moulton was keeping his distance and Tremayne was still trying to find a logical explanation for Eric Langley’s death, other than it was one or another god who had been responsible. Clare thought he was trying to make a connection when there wasn’t one, but she was appreciative that he was keeping the case alive.
If Tremayne filed a report closing the enquiry into Langley’s death, then Clare knew she ran a possibility of being assigned to another department. Both she and Tremayne were convinced that Trevor Godwin had come to a sticky end. Tremayne said it was his sixth sense, the ability of a policeman to know the truth without the facts. Clare knew he was dead because the man’s wife had told her. They didn’t have any idea where Godwin was, although his car had been found by the River Avon in Salisbury. Tremayne thought he may have drowned, but she knew him well enough to know that he didn’t really believe that. And besides, where were the man’s clothes and even the body? The river did not flow that fast, and the banks were full of reeds. A dead body should have easily been spotted, and the keys were still in the car. Nothing pointed to the man having died near the car, although the cameras which should keep a watch out for vandals and thieves were not working. Forensics had been over the car and found Godwin’s fingerprints as well as those of his wife and several others, but nothing suspicious.
Crime in Salisbury, apart from the possible murders of two people, was at a low. There had been a few cases of breaking and entering, a mugging in the centre of the city, a few battered wives, even a rape, which was rare, but apart from that the city maintained an air of tranquillity. Clare had to admit she liked the place, and dependent on Harry, she intended to stay, have a few children, make detective chief inspector, possibly superintendent.
***
It was around four in the afternoon when the phone call came through. Clare had been preparing to leave early and to meet up with Harry. Tremayne was planning to stay for another hour.
‘You’d better forget about Harry tonight,’ Tremayne shouted through the door of his office as Clare stood up ready to walk out.
‘What is it?’ Clare asked.
‘Mavis Godwin.’
‘Oh, no. Is she dead?’
‘It’s more than likely. The person who found the body doesn’t know the woman. You can identify her.’
‘Where?’
<
br /> ‘An old water trough, not far from her cottage.’
Both of the police officers left the building soon after, Tremayne driving. Clare messaged Harry: Sorry, can’t make it.
Tremayne and Clare arrived at the cottage. They proceeded to the back garden. At the rear, an old metal gate opened into the field. A uniform was establishing the crime scene as they arrived. A tent was being erected over the woman’s body and the water trough. Jim Hughes, the crime scene examiner, was on his way. One of his assistants was taking control of the area.
‘Make sure you’ve got foot protectors and gloves on,’ he said.
Tremayne knew the man from way back. ‘What have we got?’
‘Woman, mid-fifties. Dressed in a black top with a wool jacket. Skirt, knee-length, tartan pattern.’
‘It sounds like her,’ Tremayne said to Clare.
‘Let me have a look,’ Clare said.
‘We’ve not taken her out yet. I can probably turn her so you can see the face.’
‘How long has she been there?’ Tremayne asked.
‘I’m waiting for Jim Hughes. He’ll be able to give you an approximate time.’
‘Your estimation will do for now.’
‘Since last night, maybe fifteen to sixteen hours. If some walkers hadn’t decided to take a short cut through the field, she could have been here for a week.’
‘Okay, I’m ready,’ Clare said.
The crime scene investigator beckoned her to come closer. Clare could see the body face down; it looked like Mavis Godwin.
‘Are you ready for this?’ the CSI asked.
‘Not really. I knew the woman.’
Slowly the woman’s body was gently lifted to one side. The right-hand side of her face became visible.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Clare said.
‘And?’ Tremayne asked. He had stood back; he had seen enough dead bodies in his time.
‘It’s Mavis Godwin.’
‘Do you have a cause of death?’ Tremayne asked the CSI.
‘Off the record?’
‘Yes.’
‘Judging by the way the woman’s arms are raised as if she was grabbing on to the edge of the trough, and by the two sets of shoe prints in the mud, I’d say this woman was murdered.’
‘No supernatural here, Yarwood,’ Tremayne said.
‘You’re right, but it’s a shame. I liked the woman.’
‘Her husband may have been a likeable person as well, but we’ve no idea where he is. I reckon we’ve got three murders on our hands now: one confirmed, one still open to conjecture and another assumed.’
I don’t know how you can remain so calm,’ Clare said.
‘Professional detachment, Yarwood. It comes with time.’
Tremayne took a few minutes to phone Superintendent Moulton to let him know that it was now murder and he would be taking on the role of senior investigating officer.
Clare thought the man a bit smug, as if he was telling his senior to get out of his way. Regardless, it was murder, and the fact that she had liked the woman did not alter the facts.
The two police officers walked away from the crime scene as Jim Hughes arrived. ‘Jim, I’ll need it in writing by tomorrow morning,’ Tremayne said.
‘Not tonight?’ Hughes replied.
‘It’s murder. We’ll deal with the paperwork later. See what you can do with the shoe prints.’
Hughes looked over at Clare. ‘Sergeant Yarwood, you’ve identified her?’
‘Yes. It’s who I thought it was.’
‘Fine,’ Hughes said. ‘Another day at the office.’
Clare thought Hughes’s statement was callous, but she could see that although he was not much older than her, he had already attained a professional detachment. She hoped she never would, but supposed it was inevitable with time.
***
Back in the office, Tremayne went to work. The first thing he did was to clear several desks around Clare. ‘We need them for our people,’ he said. ‘And I need you to call in the Reverend Harrison. If he’s reluctant, go and pick him up. He knows more about Mavis Godwin than we do.’
Clare could see that Tremayne was enjoying himself. She phoned the vicar to inform him of the situation. The man appeared to be upset. ‘I need you in here,’ she said.
‘I should be with her.’
‘There’s not a lot you can do. Our people are in control of the crime scene. Will you formally identify her?’
‘What about her family?’
‘Does she have any?’
‘I suppose she must. I never knew of them apart from her husband.’
‘If they’ve seen her recently, then we’ll use them. Otherwise, you’ll have to do it.’
‘When?’ Harrison asked.
‘I’ll arrange it for tomorrow,’ Clare said.
‘Are you sure it’s her?’
‘Yes. I knew Mavis Godwin well enough. I could identify her if necessary, but it’s best if someone independent does it.’
‘Very well. I’ll come in tomorrow, and we can talk then.’
‘Sorry, Reverend Harrison, it’s got to be today. The woman’s been murdered. I need you here within the hour. Do you need a car to pick you up?’
‘No, I’ll be there. Where are you at the police station?’
‘There’ll be someone at reception. Just mention my name, and I’ll come down.’
‘She was a decent person.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Clare said.
***
Two men met in the corner of a pub. The place was empty and the night was drawing in. Outside a mist was starting to roll in, as it did most nights. A stream ran along the other side of the road from the pub. It was cold and uninviting and devoid of life, as was the village. Once the village had been a thriving settlement, but that was a long time ago in the past when they had discovered a vein of gold, English gold, in a mine that had been cut out of the rock by men with picks and shovels. They had been looking for tin, but they had found none. A small boy, one of those employed to remove the rock, had found the vein. He had not known what it was, but he had received extra rations of gruel, the only payment the boys received. The boy was illiterate and knew no better, but those who controlled the mine did. They exploited the children of the settlement through illiteracy and tyranny, taking what they wanted from the land and the people.
The two men, one descended from that small boy, the other a descendant of one of the tyrannical landowners, sat deep in conversation. Time had moved on, and no longer would a child work for food. No longer did the landed gentry ride on the backs of magnificent horses while the peasants walked half-starving back to their squalid huts. Now the workers lived in substantial houses and drove decent cars and sent their children to school in Salisbury. No longer did they doff their hats and lower their gaze for fear of receiving a swipe across the face from a horsewhip. Times had changed, but some values in the remote village, only a few miles from the normality of the twenty-first century yet holding on to values steeped in time and fear, had not.
Within that community fear and knowledge of a secret so terrible that it had remained guarded for centuries kept them bound as one. A secret so terrible, yet modern technology and the ease of communication and the inquisitiveness of the police was threatening all that they had kept hidden for so long. The two men, one a doctor, the other a farmer, talked.
‘The task has been done,’ the doctor said.
‘Then all is well,’ the farmer replied.
‘She is troubled.’
‘But she understands why she had to kill Mavis Godwin?’
‘That she does,’ the doctor replied.
***
Reverend Harrison arrived at Bemerton Road Police Station within the hour. Clare had collected him at reception and escorted him up to the second floor and the interview room.
Tremayne was to be in charge of the interrogation. Clare sat on his le
ft side. The vicar sat on the other side, facing Tremayne.
‘Sorry about this,’ Tremayne said. ‘It’s a murder enquiry now, so we need to follow this by the book.’
‘That’s understood. The poor woman, a good servant of the Lord.’
Tremayne cleared his throat, hoping to distract the man from going on about the Lord and the woman’s devotion to the church. As far as Tremayne was concerned, the woman had been murdered, and no amount of praying or sanctifying was going to change that fact. He didn’t need a lecture on the benefits of religion, he needed what the man could tell him.
‘Reverend Harrison,’ Clare asked, ‘when did you last see Mavis Godwin?’
‘Yesterday morning. She came to put a few flowers in a vase on the altar. She often did, but in the last few days it’s been for her husband.’
‘We believe him to be dead,’ Tremayne said.
‘So did Mavis,’ the vicar replied.
‘And you?’
‘Mavis would have known the truth. If she said he was dead, then he is.’
‘But how?’ Tremayne asked.
‘There are forces,’ Harrison said. Clare could see the man retreating into his shell.
‘What forces?’ Tremayne asked. He was exasperated with the talk of the supernatural.
‘I’ve seen something,’ Clare said.
‘Then you need to be careful.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tremayne asked. ‘I’ve had Mavis Godwin, you and now my sergeant talking about evil. What does this all mean? The woman was murdered.’
‘That person would have been commanded.’
‘Reverend Harrison, am I meant to believe there are forces out there that are not of the God you serve?’
‘You ask me to speak of matters I cannot.’
‘Will someone talk some sense here. You are the vicar of St Lawrence, a church dedicated to God and his son, Jesus Christ?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Are you telling me that the one God you recognise is not the only one?’
‘My faith has been shaken.’
‘By what?’
‘By events that have occurred.’
Death Unholy Page 5