by Joyce Cato
‘Yes. But luckily, Carole Anne was able to save Jessica, and with the two of us on either side of her, Chloe didn’t dare try again. But the point is, whoever tried to drown her had to be a good swimmer, being both strong and at home in the water. To be that confident, and to be able to stay underwater as long as the killer must have – well, it struck me that your average person wouldn’t have been able to do it. That’s when I remembered that silver medallion Chloe wore that had a figure of a swimming female figure on it. Your Grace,’ she turned to Bishop Bryce. ‘Is your wife a champion swimmer?’
‘Yes. Yes she is,’ David Bryce confirmed, his voice hollow and hoarse.
Jason got up. His face was shuttered and grim. ‘We’ve got to find Chloe. Or Jessica. Sergeant, have the men still here rounded up and then call for reinforcements. I want them found. NOW!’
CHAPTER 16
They found a prelate in the conservatory who told them that he’d heard Jessica Taylor saying to one of the staff that she was going for a walk by the river before packing.
Bishop Arthur Bryce retired to the bar, where he began to drink heavily. The thought that Debbie Rogers might be dead had seemed to take all the life out of him. The barman kept him supplied with whisky, and gloomily wished that he could join him. With Sir Andrew arrested he wasn’t sure how long he’d have his job.
The police teams outside had already divided into pairs and were setting out to search, sectioning the village in neat squares. They were on the lookout for either Jessica Taylor, who, if found, was to be escorted back to the Manor immediately, or, alternatively, Chloe Bryce, who was likewise to be escorted back to the Manor, and kept under guard.
Jason was unhappily aware that he was in a tricky position. Monica Noble’s theory might well be right, but they would need reliable proof and solid evidence before his superiors would charge the wife of a bishop. Still, he wasn’t going to take any risks with another person’s life.
Flora, Jason, Monica and Graham were walking in a tight-knit group towards the Manor’s big double gates. ‘We’ll try the river,’ Jason said, indicating himself and Flora. ‘Would you two please go home and stay there.’
Monica opened her mouth rebelliously to say they’d do no such thing even as Graham nodded and murmured, ‘Of course’.
He slipped his hand into Monica’s, both as a warning and as a comforting gesture and Monica felt her tension slowly subside. Graham was right. There was no reason for them to be mixed up in this anymore. It was up to Jason now.
Jessica Taylor had found her walk along the banks of the river wonderful. It was a warm morning and she’d seen the dippers, so beloved of one of her fellow clerics, as well as a pair of pretty yellow and grey wagtails. The grass was dry, and the smell, sights and sounds of a glorious English summer had put her in a good mood.
She came to a narrow footbridge, and crossing it, fetched up in a narrow lane. Slightly lost, she turned right and, to her surprise, found herself back in the village square. She contemplated the shop, but there was nothing she really wanted in there. She noticed several villagers watching her surreptitiously, and headed back towards Church Lane. She could understand their unfriendly scrutiny, of course.
Everyone at the manor had been stunned to learn of the arrest of Sir Andrew Courtenay. Obviously, there was a lot of talk about it, but no one had yet come up with any reason why the squire, of all people, should have been taken in. Still, it meant that it was over, and Jessica for one, would be glad to get back to Birmingham and her husband and kids, and the duties and routines of her church.
Next year, she’d give the conference a miss.
As she passed the entrance to the big old vicarage, now turned into twelve flats, Jessica smiled and veered inside. It would be nice to say goodbye to Monica and Graham.
Chloe Bryce watched from the bend in the wall as Jessica Taylor walked towards her. She carefully stepped back onto the grass verge bordering the road and pressed her back tightly against the stone wall that marked the boundaries of the old vicarage. Clutched tightly in her hand was a small but deadly paring knife. Her knuckles were white.
This time there would be no mistake. This time another woman wouldn’t die in her place. This time there would be no mother-and-daughter rescuers to save her.
She strained her ears for the sound of her victim’s footsteps, but could no longer hear them. She glanced around but there was no passing traffic and, so far, not a soul in sight.
But where was Jessica?
Chloe, dressed in a svelte slate-grey skirt and neat white blouse, risked a quick glance down the road.
It was empty.
Monica and Graham passed through the manor gates, heading down Church Road and the entrance to their own home. Behind them, came a gasping voice. ‘Eh, vicar … Reverend Noble.’
They turned and saw one of the gardeners, employed full-time at the manor, hurrying to catch them up. His normally content and well-fed face had a shocked, haggard look. ‘Is it true, Mr Noble, about Sir Andrew?’ he asked anxiously.
Monica, sensing that now would be a good time to leave the two men alone and let her husband do what he did best – namely soothe and reassure – briefly touched Graham’s hand and whispered, ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
Graham nodded and turned to the old man. He reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Jessica turned away from the door to flat one feeling a keen sense of disappointment. There’d been no answer, and she was reluctant to leave, but she had nothing on her with which to write even a little goodbye note. She sighed and turned away from the door, hearing a rustle in the laurel bushes down the pathway in front of her. No doubt caused by a blackbird or some other creature, turning over the dead leaves that always accumulated under such shrubbery.
She began to walk back down the gravel path towards the gate.
Hidden in the dense evergreens, Chloe Bryce watched her coming closer. It was going to be crude – very crude. And risky. A stabbing, in broad daylight! But luck was with her.
When she’d discovered the empty road it, had been obvious that there was only one place that Jessica could have gone – namely, into the grounds of the old vicarage. These were off the road and hidden behind walls and greenery. It couldn’t have been better. There was not a sound to be heard anywhere, except Jessica Taylor’s shoes, step, step, stepping, closer and closer.
Chloe felt a wild sob build up inside her and ruthlessly pushed it back. It was all Jessica’s fault anyway. Why hadn’t she forgotten all about that worthless friend of hers and let it rest?
Then none of this would be happening now.
But no. She’d had to go digging around. Threatening to rouse the authorities in Portugal, looking for a woman who’d never even crossed their borders. How soon then would suspicions have been raised? And how long before they realized that a woman was missing, and had been since last February? And once the authorities started asking questions the trail would lead them straight back to the Bryce household. To Arthur. And herself …
The steps were closer now, almost on top of her, and through the foliage she could see the salmon-pink of the lightweight jersey that Jessica was wearing. The moment was upon her. It had to be done now.
She felt her heart leap, and quickly raised the knife …
Monica turned into the gate and heard the crunching of gravel. Looking up she was just in time to see Jessica rounding the bend. Jessica saw her at the same time, and a relieved smile lit up her face. She was just about to call out a greeting, to say how glad she was that she hadn’t missed her after all, when suddenly something erupted from the bushes.
Jessica just had time to see a blob of white and grey hurtle into her peripheral vision before something hit her, knocking her to the ground.
Monica, after one horrified, frozen second, screamed at the top of her lungs, ‘Chloe, NO!’
She dashed forward, startling the bishop’s wife who was standing over the stunned Jessica, the knife rai
sed in her hand, for all the world a caricature of Norman Bates, knife raised and poised as in the infamous shower scene from ‘Psycho’.
Chloe spun around. Her mouth and eyes were open wide in surprise.
Out in the street, both Graham and old Tom heard an indistinct cry, but Graham at least had no difficulty in recognizing his wife’s voice. He started to sprint for the vicarage, thinking just in time to call over his shoulder to the startled gardener, ‘Get the police!’
Lying sprawled halfway on the path, halfway on the lawn, Jessica looked up at the vengeful figure standing over her and gasped. Her arm was bleeding and she was vaguely aware of the stickiness and warmth of her own blood running down her side.
Had she been stabbed?
Shocked, stumbling for answers, her eyes went to the knife in Chloe’s hand. It looked shockingly red.
But Chloe was stood with her face turned away from Jessica, zeroed in instead on the woman running towards them. Chloe thought she vaguely recognised the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman but what…?
‘Chloe, put the knife down,’ Monica panted, drawing to a near comical, staggering stop just a few yards away. Her first instinct had been to help Jessica, but now fear for her own safety lanced through her. She tried to tell herself not to be a coward, but Monica was very well aware of how suddenly, sickeningly afraid she felt. Chloe was looking at her with such a wild look in her eye.
‘No, you won’t stop me this time,’ Chloe suddenly hissed. And moved. She almost tripped over Jessica’s foot, which only sent her staggering that much faster towards Monica, who instinctively raised a hand to her face, trying to ward off the blow.
And she screamed the first and only thought that came into her head.
‘Graham!’
Jason and Flora, having found no sign of Jessica Taylor at the river, had returned to the manor to see if any of the others had reported in. But they hadn’t even reached the big impressive front doors before the sight of an old man, running staggeringly towards them, a hand raised in appeal and such a look of fright on his old face, had them tearing down the pathway to meet him.
Tom was so out of breath he could barely get the words out. ‘Vicarage. Hurry. Someone … trouble,’ he gasped.
Flora and Jason didn’t wait to hear any more.
Graham was just rounding the bend of laurels when he heard his wife’s terror-stricken scream. The sound of his shrieked name made the blood turn cold in his veins, even as he rounded the bend and saw …
His wife and Chloe Bryce, struggling together, the flashing silver glint of a knife flickering between them as they seemed to dance together in some macabre waltz. Monica had managed to reach out and halt the downward slice of the knife as Chloe had lunged at her, but now she couldn’t let go.
Chloe was snarling and cursing, very low under her breath, for all the world like some kind of animal, instead of a rational human being. Except of course, she wasn’t rational. She wasn’t rational at all.
Jessica Taylor was trying to get to her feet in order to help her friend, but her injured arm was hampering her, as was a frightening, creeping kind of lassitude. She knew that she was losing blood and going into shock, but she had to get up … but she couldn’t get up.
‘Monica,’ she called desperately.
Graham was almost on top of them before Jessica saw him and collapsed back against the grass in relief.
Monica’s back, though, was to her husband, and the first she knew of his presence was when she felt Chloe’s fiercely squirming weight and appalling strength, suddenly lessen. Then, miraculously, she heard her husband’s voice and saw his hand reach out beside her.
‘Let go of it,’ Graham yelled, his own hand now on Chloe’s wrist, just above Monica’s own, adding his strength to hers, and he tightened his grip painfully. Chloe screamed in frustration, but still, maniacally, refused to let go of the knife.
Jason, who’d gained a few good yards of advantage on Flora, sprinted up the path, taking in the scenario at once.
Monica, shunted and shoved in the three-sided struggle, fell away onto the grass, leaving Graham grappling with a fierce madwoman on his own.
Chloe began to screech, a sound so inhuman that it made Jessica want to clamp her hands over her ears. But it seemed to be coming from so far away now …
‘Chloe, stop it,’ Graham said desperately, beginning to pant. When he’d seen her and Monica together, his sole thought had been to save Monica. Now he knew that he had to stop the struggling woman before someone else got hurt. But he was hampered by his reluctance to hurt a woman physically. He couldn’t just hit her.
‘Chloe, let go …’
Then, suddenly Jason was there, and Chloe’s knife-arm was ruthlessly clenched and thrust back up and behind her. Chloe screamed in pain and instantly released the knife.
Flora, panting and fumbling for her handcuffs, appeared beside her boss and, between them, and with some considerable difficulty, the two police officers managed to get the cuffs on the screaming, abusive, sobbing, wild Chloe Bryce.
Monica stared at the woman in amazement for a moment. It was incredible. Her cool outfit was blood spattered and creased, her chic hair a wild tangle, her face contorted, her make-up running … She looked like something out of a Victorian horror show. There was something almost primitively frightening in watching a well-groomed, elegant woman turn into such a monster.
Then she saw Jessica, who was lying weakly on the ground, and crawled across to her. The amount of blood seeping into the ground scared her. ‘I’ve got to call for an ambulance,’ she told the pale-faced woman, who nodded feebly.
Monica scrambled towards her handbag, which had been discarded in the struggle, and reached for her mobile.
It was evening before Monica and Graham drove back from the Headquarters of the Thames Valley Police, where they’d given a full and complete statement.
Jessica Taylor had been rushed to the John Radcliffe Hospital, having been given a blood transfusion in the ambulance on the way. She’d been operated on, and was going to be fine. They’d got to her just in time. Her husband had arrived from Birmingham, and was staying the night at her bedside.
Chloe Bryce had been booked and charged, primarily with assault and causing grievous bodily harm. It was an easily provable charge, given the witnesses and circumstances, and would give the police the time and leverage they needed to hold her and build up a case against her on other, more serious, charges.
The clock in the hall was chiming eight when the doorbell rang. The Nobles were sitting, exhausted, in the kitchen, a mostly untouched meal of salad and cold ham in front of them.
‘I’ll get it,’ Graham said wearily, and came back a few moments later with Jason.
The Chief Inspector looked as tired as they did, but there was an edge of satisfaction in his voice and manner that was lacking in his companions.
‘Well, she’s confessed to everything,’ he said, his words bringing a palpable sense of relief and closure into the room. ‘And you were right on all accounts.’
As Graham put on the kettle for more tea, Jason sat at the table. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, his tie was stuffed into one pocket, his hair was tousled and a sheen of gold on his chin indicated that he needed a shave. He looked fantastic.
‘She killed Debbie Rogers all right, sometime last February. She was almost triumphant about it. She’d heard the rumours and knew all about her husband’s affair, apparently. To hear her talk, it was the crime of the century,’ Jason said disgustedly. ‘I don’t know what outraged her the most – that Arthur Bryce would risk his career and his shot at becoming an archbishop all for the sake of a paltry little affair, or that he should choose someone so … how did she put it, “ordinary and dirty”.’ He shook his head helplessly.
Wordlessly, Graham put a mug of tea down in front of him, and took a seat next to Monica.
‘How did she do it?’ Monica asked, wanting to know, even whilst she felt sick inside.
&nb
sp; ‘She gained access to Debbie’s house and turned on the gas.’
‘But surely the police must have suspected …’ Graham began then shook his head, ‘no, I’m not thinking straight. They never even found her body, right?’
‘No. Chloe was too clever for that,’ Jason said. ‘She faked a letter on the victim’s own computer, supposedly from Debbie to her best friend Jessica Taylor. The Reverend Taylor, of course, knew all about the affair and had been trying to talk Debbie into ending it for some time. So of course she was quite glad when she got a letter, supposedly from her friend, saying that she was getting away from all her past sins by moving to Portugal.’
‘It’s hard to think Chloe could get away with something like that,’ Graham said, ‘surely someone was bound to question it?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Debbie had no family. The house was rented on a month-by-month basis. Her own sense of guilt seemed to have turned her into something of recluse, it seems. None of the neighbours commented much on her sudden absence. A sign of the times, I’m afraid,’ Jason said grimly. ‘Men and women disappear in this country all the time.’
Monica shivered. ‘Did Chloe say what she did with the body?’
‘Oh yes. She told us she went back to the house again the next night, when it was dark, and parked right outside the back fence. Then she moved the body and put it in the boot. She’s a very fit woman, you know, and surprisingly strong. And from what we’ve learned about Debbie from Arthur Bryce, she was a petite sort of woman, and very lean. Chloe told us she drove to a disused canal near Bristol and weighted the body down and dumped it. We’ll get divers out there first thing in the morning, but I’ve no doubt that she was telling the truth. They do that sometimes. Get caught, and then can’t wait to boast about it. She keeps referring to Debbie Rogers as “the whore” or the “enemy,”’ never by her name; it’s part of the dehumanizing that killers practise on their victims …’
Monica shuddered and held up a hand. ‘Enough,’ she said quietly.