‘Correct. He’s a serious player in the game.’ He drew the outline of a stamp around the name of Fenwick, and filled it in with cross-hatching. ‘I know him by sight, but I’ve never been to his house. You’re privileged, if you’ve been invited in. It’s a rare bird that gets invited there. He’s really at a national level in the stamp world, not like me or Logan. He goes to the national shows, writes learned articles on rare stamps, occasionally reviews the design of new stamps, that sort of thing. Retired, no job.’ He flicked away with his pencil, covering the margin with a lattice of lines.
‘Surely you don’t like him for it?’
‘No.’ He leaned back in his chair, twirling his pencil in his fingers. ‘I agree with you. He’s totally single-minded. Tunnel vision. He eats, drinks and sleeps stamps. He was married once I believe, but his wife went off and I can’t say I blame her. His whole life revolves around stamps.’
He laughed. ‘I remember Logan trying to show him photos of his latest production – why, his youngest must be nearly three months now – Fenwick wasn’t interested. Fenwick was quite annoyed with him. But there, we come in all shapes and sizes, don’t we? That leaves Cunningham. Have you visited him yet?’
‘No, he’s the last on my list. What’s he like?’
‘Colonial stamps. Lives in the past. Retired major type, into Saga holidays. Wife is a watercolourist, not bad. Grown-up children, grandchildren come to stay. Writes letters to the local paper and sometimes even gets them printed in The Times. A disciplinarian with a soft centre. I can’t see him abusing children, myself. He’s a – er – bum-and-tits man.’
‘You mean he likes buxom wenches?’ Ellie was not at all shocked.
The Reverend Greenway laughed and drew a drum round the retired major’s name then crossed it through with a double line.
‘Forgive me,’ said Ellie, ‘but would you recognize a child abuser if you met one? My friend Liz Adams talked to me about them – she’s an experienced counsellor – and said they could be all sorts.’
He gazed out of the window. ‘I was abused myself as a child. A family friend. I told no one and after going through a bad patch, I decided I wasn’t going to let it ruin my life. But when I grew up and was called to the ministry, I read up on the subject. I was afraid I couldn’t be objective if I had a parishioner who was a paedophile, you see. I wanted to understand them as best I could without being one. But the subject is so vast … I can only generalize.
‘Yes, I’ve had contact with one or two in the line of business. One was just a miserable misfit, anxious to please. A tentative groper, you might say, easily discouraged, hooked on the Internet porn sites. The other appeared normal but was abusing the younger members of his extended family, which was fairly horrible. He was into girls. It seems they don’t usually mix girls and boys. One or the other. I did come across a man once who was obsessed with young boys. He used to take jobs which brought him into contact with them, professionally. He’s still in jail.’
‘None of those I’ve seen fit the bill.’
He concentrated on the point of his pencil. ‘Well, there is Armand himself. I know he gave you some names and seems anxious to help, but that might be a cover and he does have access to children.’
‘The children are of the wrong age,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ve thought it through, and it’s not him. No opportunity, nowhere to abuse the boy in safety and just, well, not the type.’
He wrote Armand’s name at the bottom of the sheet. After a moment he put a large tick beside it. And then crossed it out. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I really don’t see it, either. And that leaves Pearsall, whom you say can’t have done it.’
She looked at the paper. He’d drawn wriggly lines all round Pearsall’s name but hadn’t crossed it through.
She frowned. It couldn’t be him. She said, ‘What does he buy?’
‘Canadian, very high-powered, which doesn’t fit. Again, someone who uses stamps to attract boys’ attention would want to buy large packs of stamps, cheap. He doesn’t.’
‘He could get them on the Internet, couldn’t he? Then no one would know. Why do you think it’s him? Nobody else does.’
‘Who said I thought it was him?’
‘Your doodles do. He’s the only name that you haven’t crossed out.’
He met her eyes squarely. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t like him.’
He spread his hands wide. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you don’t.’ He didn’t reply. Well, she hadn’t liked him, either, but …
She said, ‘Liking or not liking is no grounds for thinking him guilty. He was once in a position where he could have had his pick of children to abuse, but apparently he didn’t. Though I suppose the pupils at the High School might be too old for him, if his tastes run to young boys. And of course his wife was alive till eighteen months ago and he might have started after that. He does live alone and he does have a big detached house, where nobody could hear if anything were to go on. I haven’t uncovered any link between him and Tod except stamps, and that’s not reason enough to suspect him.’
He looked out of the window. ‘Sometimes grief over one’s partner’s death can drive you in on yourself, make you reserved, sound cold, even.’
‘Yes.’ That hadn’t been her experience but everyone was different.
He pushed the paper towards her. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. We have absolutely no proof. Having a feeling about somebody isn’t proof. If I told the police I’d a feeling about Pearsall, they’d laugh themselves silly. I’ll try to warn Mrs Coppola. And I’ll pray.’
‘I will, too, if you like.’
‘Thanks. All contributions gratefully received.’ She might make a joke of it but she would definitely value his prayers.
He got to his feet. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get to Tesco’s … Can I give you a lift anywhere? When I tell my wife I’ve spent the morning talking to a five times millionairess …’
‘But I’m not,’ said Ellie, at last finding the right words. ‘Reports of what I am about to receive under my husband’s will have been greatly exaggerated. It’s getting difficult. People seem to think I can give them anything they ask for, but I can’t. I will have a trust fund for charities in due course, but I haven’t got that set up yet.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. And he obviously did. He laughed. ‘What a shame. There was I going to touch you for some new wiring for our church.’
She liked him enormously. ‘Why don’t you write in to the trust when it is set up and we’ll see if we can manage something towards it?’
Seventeen
The Reverend Greenway drove an ancient estate car with a rattling exhaust. He dropped her off by the police station and she went in to see if they had managed to rescue her silver christening cup and vase. They had. The cup and vase looked slightly tarnished, even insignificant, laid out like that. She signed a statement confirming that they were hers, and was told they’d be returned to her in due course but at the moment they were evidence. There was no news of Gus. She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry about that.
She walked slowly along to Aunt Drusilla’s. It hadn’t rained for almost twenty-four hours – a minor miracle. The forsythia was brilliant this year. Some crocuses were still around; just. Someone had a bush of witch hazel in full flower – a lovely sight.
Aunt Drusilla’s front garden looked as dreary as usual. What would she do with it, if it were up to her? Tear all the laurel out and plant beds of polyanthus, perhaps? Mixed with forget-me-nots?
A mother’s-union conference was taking place in the hall. There was Aunt Drusilla enthroned in a big, high-backed chair and there was Rose, darting about with a pad of paper and a pencil. There also was Mrs Dawes, massive in a tartan poncho, and Rose’s haughty daughter, Joyce. Surprise, surprise! They were discussing arrangements for the wedding reception.
‘Our largest flower arrangement … here.’ Mrs Dawes indicated
the foot of the stairs. ‘Then you can have the reception line in front of it.’
‘I’d prefer it in front of the windows.’ Joyce was frowning, discontented as usual.
Rose darted at Ellie and gave her a kiss. ‘Isn’t this fun?’
Mrs Dawes inclined her head graciously in Ellie’s direction and Ellie realized that Mrs Dawes was sending her a signal. Mrs Dawes was going to overlook her friend’s recent flightiness and poor judgement because Mrs Dawes had been invited to create flower arrangements in this big house.
‘Who’s going to pay for such large arrangements?’ asked Ellie, knowing how little Rose had to live on.
Mrs Dawes and Joyce both looked at Ellie, clearly thinking that she ought to offer to do so. Ellie smiled blandly back. ‘Oh, I remember now. It’s the groom’s privilege, isn’t it?’
‘Ellie, my dear,’ said Aunt Drusilla, lifting her cheek for a kiss. ‘Joyce reminds me so much of your Diana. Shall we go into the sitting room and leave them to it?’ She got to her feet with only the slightest of assistance from her stick and led the way to the sitting room.
‘The room looks different,’ said Ellie.
Aunt Drusilla gestured to two large bowls of flowers, which contrived somehow to lift the heavy magnificence of the room into splendour. A cafetière and all the trimmings for making coffee were on a table nearby. ‘That girl Rose was up at the crack of dawn, bringing me a cup of tea. I’d forgotten to ask her to fill up the Teasmade, so it was most welcome.’
‘She didn’t wake you?’
Aunt Drusilla chuckled. ‘No, no. I don’t usually sleep after six o’clock. It was delightful. She wanted me to have breakfast in bed but I struck at that. My father always said it was a sign of moral weakness to have breakfast in bed. I never understood his reasoning, but that doesn’t matter. Rose is going to do me a power of good. I shall have a little nap after lunch – which she’s promised will not be out of the frozen-food cabinet – and then we’ll be ready for the electrician at five, and the man to see to the gutters at six.’
Ellie sat down with a thump. ‘Electrician? Gutters? You’re never going to do something about the state of this place, are you?’
‘Yes, dear. Don’t you think I should?’
‘You are a wicked old woman. You’ll wear Rose out and then what will we both do?’
‘I’ll see she doesn’t do too much and she’ll see I don’t do too much. Thank you, Ellie. Pour yourself out some coffee. It’s freshly ground. Rose went to the shops for me first thing this morning, though I understand I can now order on the Internet, which may be more convenient in the long run. Now how are you getting on?’
Ellie had nothing to do but put up her feet and obey …
‘Sad for you about little Tod,’ said Aunt Drusilla, unerringly putting her finger on the sore spot. ‘I hope the lad pulls through.’
‘Yes. Aunt Drusilla, I have a meeting with the curate this afternoon about the money they want for rebuilding the church hall. Any advice?’
‘Show them Frank’s will and leave it at that.’
‘I thought I might make it up to a thousand.’
‘I don’t see why you should but if you do, count me in for another five hundred. I haven’t attended church for years and I don’t intend to start going now, but I wouldn’t mind them putting a plaque up somewhere with Frank’s name on it.’
Ellie took the dirty coffee cups out to the kitchen. Mrs Dawes and Joyce had disappeared and Rose was busying herself in the kitchen, preparing lunch. As always, Ellie was depressed by the gloom in the kitchen.
‘Rose, are you sure you can put up with this?’
Rose had seen the Promised Land. She led Ellie over to the window overlooking the garden. Ellie saw what she always saw: a large square of grass surrounded by some unremarkable shrubs and a few mature trees.
Rose saw something different. ‘Look! Trees! I used to dream about trees when I was up in my little flat. Look how they’re all coming into leaf! And there are birds nesting in them! It’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘But Rose, this house is …’
Rose returned to peeling potatoes.‘It needs new electrics, new gutters, a couple of new bathrooms and this kitchen refitted. After that Miss Quicke is going to bring in some decorators, but she’s going to let me choose all the wallpapers and new carpets for my own rooms. She’s been so good about letting Joyce have her wedding reception here.’
‘She’ll wear you out.’
‘I’ll see she doesn’t. We two old ladies will have little naps when we need them, and she’s going to pay me an enormous amount of money, just for the pleasure of being able to live in this lovely big house and look after her. And stuff Madam at the charity shop!’
Stuff Madam, indeed, thought Ellie as she did a little shopping in the Avenue. Paying off old scores was delightful. She considered the windows of the charity shop and made her way in. There was a rail of curtains for sale at the back – perhaps she might find something there to replace her torn ones, just till she could get new ones made.
There were no curtains there in the green that she fancied, though she lingered for a while considering a pleasant oatmeal-coloured fabric that might do. Unfortunately it was neither wide nor long enough.
‘Well, look who’s here!’ demanded Madam. ‘What’s the millionairess doing, slumming?’
Several shoppers looked round to see who was making the fuss and Ellie steeled herself to face their curiosity. The words slid into her mind and she let them fly out of her mouth.
‘Oh, I’m back to being the poor relation again, you know. Everything is to go into a trust. I daresay I shall be looking for a job soon.’
‘What?’ Madam gobbled in her annoyance. ‘But I thought, we heard that …’
‘Rumours.’ Ellie sighed and shook her head. There was a creamcoloured duvet cover with Disney characters on it, plus pillowcase, which she rather fancied. She pulled it out to check that there were no stains on it. There weren’t. It would do nicely for the little bedroom now baby Frank was growing so fast. ‘I’ll have this, I think. Any reduction for past staff?’
‘I – er – no, of course not.You won’t be coming back here to work, I can tell you that.’
‘Of course not.’ Ellie opened her eyes wide. ‘I did enjoy working here once in the days when I didn’t have to earn money. But that was a long time ago. I’ve just heard that dear Rose has got herself a nice little job looking after an elderly lady, with board and lodging included. I suppose I must look around for something like that myself.’
Madam went a most unbecoming scarlet. The other staff and the shoppers remained as if frozen, listening hard.
Ellie brushed past Madam with the duvet and paid for it at the till.
Giving Ellie her change, the woman behind the till whispered, ‘Is it true, then? Well, best of luck, Ellie. You deserve it.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Ellie, and swanned out of the shop, trying not to giggle. Their faces! It would be all over the parish within an hour. With luck.
At five to three the doorbell rang and there was Timothy with Archie Benjamin. Timothy said, smiling, ‘The architects are out of the office today and couldn’t be reached, so I haven’t been able to get them to come earlier. They should be here at four as arranged. Hope this doesn’t put you out too much.’
Archie showed his glinting gold tooth. ‘Hope this won’t take long. I promised to take the little woman out this afternoon.’
Ellie smiled, appreciating that they were laying down their battle lines. ‘Do come in. I won’t offer you tea or coffee because this is just a business meeting, isn’t it? I apologize for the noise – the tiler is working in the new conservatory – an extravagance which I really can’t afford, but there … the mortgage company were happy to oblige with a little extra. Won’t you be seated?’
Two pairs of eyes opened wide at this reference to the mortgage company. Timothy shot a worried look at Archie, who frowned and loo
ked down at his fingers.
‘Now,’ said Ellie, taking the initiative. ‘Archie, I understand that you had an interesting talk with my husband just before he died. I was there every day with him in hospital and I didn’t see you. Perhaps this conversation took place before he went into hospital?’
‘Poor fellow. Nasty business. Best leave him alone with his family at the end. We were talking, just in general terms, about his health. As old friends do.’
‘Of course. And that’s when he said that he was leaving me well provided for …’
‘And that he was doing something big for the church.’
‘Of course. He’d worked so hard for the church, hadn’t he? It was very much on his mind. But he didn’t mention an actual figure, did he?’
‘Well, yes. Of course he did.’ He produced a triumphant smile for her. ‘A million pounds.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I couldn’t be mistaken about that. I was quite taken aback at first. I mean, I had no idea he was such a warm man. He must have been worth, well, three million at least to make such a donation.’
‘Can you think which day of the week it was?’
‘Probably the Sunday before he went in. I could look it up in last year’s diary, but I think I can safely say it was the Sunday before he went into hospital. Over coffee, after church.’ Archie fingered the buttons on his waistcoat and looked smug.
Timothy looked bewildered, his head turning from side to side as if he were a spectator at Wimbledon.
‘Dear me, what a tangle,’ sighed Ellie. ‘I really don’t know what to think. Frank wasn’t the changeable sort, was he? He made up his mind and then he stuck to it.Yet his will doesn’t say anything about leaving a million pounds to the church.’
Timothy bit his lip. ‘It doesn’t?’
Archie smiled fatly at her. ‘I know what he promised. I expect this was an old will …’
‘He gave the instructions to our solicitor in writing during his last illness, and the will was signed while he was in hospital. He sent me out of the room while the solicitor was in with him and I knew nothing about it until afterwards.’
Murder of Innocence Page 24