‘Thank you. Mr Rainbird and Mr Warlock, if you would care to precede DS Carmichael into the dining room, he’ll take any relevant information from you for a statement.’
The two men exited the room, followed by Carmichael, who had to duck to get through the doorways in this cottage, so low were they, and so tall was he. When he left the living room and entered the dining room with a double duck, Falconer was reminded of those lanky toy birds that used to dip backwards and forwards into a small pot of water as if drinking.
That left him with the original party of discovery and, while he waited for Carmichael to note down anything pertinent that the two men may have to tell him, he told the others the order in which he would like to speak to them.
‘I’ll speak to you first, Miss Pryor. We can use the dining room, after DS Carmichael’s finished in there. Then I’ll speak to you, Mrs Buckleigh, if that’s agreeable. Then I’d like to interview you, Mrs Buttery; then Miss Sinden, and finally, Mr Crawford.
‘You’re free to leave after I’ve spoken to you, but if anyone would like a lift, as it’s dark now, will they please wait in here, and DS Carmichael and I will see to it when we’ve finished.
There was, however, very little for them to learn, and it was only forty-five minutes later that they took their leave, everyone having left in a bunch, to drop people off on the way, even if it took them on a rather strange route home.
On the way back to Market Darley, conversation in the car was desultory, and Falconer kept his eyes front, looking at the countryside as they drove through it. The last few autumn leaves were falling from the skeletons of the trees along the sides of the road, fluttering like ghosts in the headlights of Carmichael’s Skoda, only to disappear from sight, tiny phantoms of the summer that they were, as suddenly as they had appeared.
Falconer shivered, not because the interior of the vehicle was cold, but at the thought of the dark, sunlight-starved days of the approaching winter. He didn’t mind that particular season when the sky was clear and the weather was crisp, but the dull, cloudy days that usually numbered its days made him feel both oppressed and depressed. The cloud cover seemed to him like a vast opaque glass lid that had been set over the countryside, and it always left him feeling sad and slightly out of sorts with his world.
Once back at the station, Falconer heaved a huge sigh, and stated bleakly, ‘We’re going to have to spend the whole day tomorrow interviewing that chap’s workmates, and tracing his family to inform them of what’s happened.’
‘I know, sir, but there might be a bit of luck in there, if we find ourselves a suspect,’ Carmichael comforted him.
‘Don’t hold your breath, Carmichael. I can feel it in my bones that it’s not going to turn out to be that simple. I’ve just got a gut feeling that this is going to prove a tricky one, and that we’re not finished yet: not by a long chalk.’
Chapter Seven
Monday 1st November – evening
Chris Roberts equipped himself with a notebook and pen for his first meeting with the discussion group. He also had a Black Sabbath T-shirt, its origins lost in the mists of his past, which he donned for the evening’s outing. Giving his hair a last ruffle so that it would not look too tidy and respectable, he got into his car and headed for the college.
He felt not only apprehensive, but excited as well. Would he be accepted for what he was? Would he show enough general knowledge on the subjects that would arise not to give himself away? What would happen if his cover was blown on this first evening? There were no answers to these questions at the moment, and he pulled up in the college car park a little unsure of himself, but trying to put on a confident front.
A notice in the foyer directed him to room 101. At least that was a good omen. He knew how to get there, as it was his home room. Although he was a little early, he caught up with Elspeth Martin and Antonia Knightly on his trek through the corridors, and the three arrived at the appointed room together.
There were people already assembled there, including Jamie Huntley, also in his class, Amelia Harrison, and Aaron Trussler. At the last minute, a panting Daniel Burrows took his place in the room, and at eight o’clock on the dot, Jocasta Gray joined them, appearing suddenly in their midst like a black-draped jack-in-the-box.
‘Settle down, everybody!’ she called, clapping her hands for order, and the buzz of conversation suddenly ceased. She had this lot in the palm of her hand, thought Chris. They were as obedient as Pavlov-trained dogs.
‘Tonight,’ Jocasta announced, ‘we are going to discuss the beliefs of the Strict and Particulars, with regard to punishment – law or community. Would anyone like to start the discussion? Yes! You, Elspeth. The floor is yours.’
Elspeth Martin had been waving her arm in the air like a schoolgirl hoping to be chosen as milk monitor. With a smile and a blush, she rose to her feet, came to the front of the room, and turned to face her peers.
‘The beliefs of the Strict and Particulars towards punishment were that it should take place in the community in which the offence had taken place …’
‘Or misdeed, Elspeth,’ interrupted the tutor.
‘Sorry! Or misdeed. And that the punishment should be meted out by either the person or persons who had suffered by what had taken place, the miscreant’s family, or, in extreme cases, by the entire community,’ she continued.
‘And what about more serious cases? What happened about those?’ asked Jocasta, interrupting again, in prompt.
‘More serious cases were, we believe, handed over to the appropriate authorities, to be dealt with by the law of the land. There are, however, stories that exist to this day, that this was not always so.’
‘Thank you very much, Elspeth. You may re-take your place,’ Miss Gray informed her student, then turned to the rest of those gathered there. ‘Are there any comments, questions, or areas of discussion you would like to raise?’ she asked them, scanning the room with bright eyes for volunteers. Chris put up his own hand in trepidation.
‘Yes – Chris, isn’t it? What would you like to contribute to tonight’s discussion?’
‘Only that I don’t really know anything about this Strict and Particular denomination, because I’m not from round here, and I wondered if you’d mind filling me in about exactly what their beliefs and customs were; including these stories that Elspeth alluded to in her introduction.’
‘How nice, to have a really enquiring, fresh mind in our midst. Antonia, will you tell Chris about some of the other beliefs and practices, before we go back to the stories that Chris requested be told?’
Antonia Knightly rose and went to the front of the room. ‘The Strict and Particulars dressed very conservatively, the women never showing uncovered arms, legs, or hair. They wore no jewellery, except for a plain gold band when they married, did not adorn their faces, and were absolutely obedient to their husbands, or fathers if they were unmarried.
‘They didn’t partake of snuff, tobacco, or strong drink, as these were seen as the temptations of the devil. For some time they educated their own children, the emphasis being on the teachings of the Bible.
‘Social activities consisted of Bible readings, religious discussion groups, community hymn-singing, and prayer.
‘They did not eat rich foods and banned the eating of meat on Fridays, like the Old Religion.’
Jocasta interrupted here to explain that Antonia was referring to the Roman Catholic Church when she named the Old Religion.
Antonia smiled at her tutor, and continued, ‘No work whatsoever was allowed on the Sabbath, and food had to be prepared the day before for consumption on this day. The children were not even allowed to play, but had to sit reading their Bible, the only interruptions to this activity being three church services – early morning, mid-morning, and evening: a bit like Eucharist, Matins, and Evensong now,’ she explained, ‘and the family meals, of course.
‘They wore a very limited range of colours, their clothes being black, brown, or very dark blue, the o
nly exception being when a bride was married, when she was permitted to wear cream. White was not permitted, not to cast a slur on the bride’s morals, but to acknowledge that we are all sinners, and have no right to don the purest of colours.’
‘Phew!’ exclaimed Chris. ‘Life certainly wasn’t a bowl of cherries for them, was it?’
‘It was a very hard life indeed,’ offered Amelia Harrison. ‘I’m a history student here, and I’ve done some research on the subject in the county archives. At their formation, they were shunned by the local employers because they had set themselves out as different, and that was resented by the other villagers. It took some time for them to be accepted into the local community, but they never fully integrated.
‘Some who joined the denomination left their families, and were forbidden to contact them because it was considered that the members of their family must lead sinful lives, and the new recruits just accepted this without demur. Today, with the strictness of the rules they had then, they would be referred to as a cult, but their ways did relax a little as the twentieth century dawned, and by the time the First World War had the whole country in its grip they became a little more outgoing and willing to mix. Their young men went to war as well as those from the village.’
‘What do you think about that, Chris?’ asked Jocasta, interested in his views, not only as a new member of the group, but as a new resident of the area as well.
‘I’m just glad my family’s always been C of E,’ he said. ‘Which, in effect, means that they never go to church, although both sets of my grandparents were frequent attenders at service on a Sunday. I think a lot of people got out of the habit after the First and Second World Wars, but that’s only my opinion.
‘I know my granddad said he lost his faith, seeing men die as he did. He was on the Expeditionary Force to France, and he still won’t talk about what he saw then, and his father had been in the trenches in the First World War. My late father said that no God could be that ruthless and cruel, and, therefore, there could be no God.’
‘That’s very interesting, Chris. Do any of you others have similar stories in your families?’ Jocasta asked, of the room at large.
This question produced a lot of discussion of the attitudes of parents and grandparents to organised religion, and it was half-past nine before the meeting wound up.
‘Just before you go – and I’m sorry we didn’t find time to break for coffee this evening – I’d just like to ask my advanced discussion group to meet me tomorrow morning in the refectory, before registration. Safe journeys home, you lot and, if I don’t see you in class or round the college, I’ll see you next Monday night at the same time.’
The group, which numbered about twenty-five, left in a gaggle, with only a few stragglers, which included Chris and Elspeth, the latter staying on to have a few words with Jocasta before she went home. Chris took his time over collecting his various bits and pieces together, and dawdled out into the car park. He had a reason for this, and hoped that Elspeth didn’t walk or cycle home, otherwise his cunning plot would be a complete washout.
On exiting the building, he was surprised to hear again the tinny strains of an ice-cream van, and was just able to catch sight of it, disappearing down the road and into the night. That was the second time he’d seen it near the college, but, this being Chris, he didn’t think any more of it.
He sat in his car until Elspeth appeared, exiting the building, and made noises with the car engine, turning it on, revving it, then switching the engine off as if it had cut out. About ten yards from his vehicle sat another lone car, and he hoped against hope that this would prove to be hers and not Jocasta’s. He wasn’t ready to tackle her yet, not having mastered the strong feelings he experienced whenever he saw or spoke to her.
Elspeth did indeed seem to be headed for the other car, but turned her head, as he did a particularly enthusiastic rev, then switched off the engine, and got out of the car to lift the lid of the bonnet. He hadn’t played the part of Oliver Twist in the school play in vain all those years ago, and felt that he was still a fair actor.
Yes! Elspeth was approaching his car. She was going to ask if she could help. It was working, this ruse of his.
‘Hi, Chris. You having a bit of car trouble?’ she asked, appearing at his side.
‘Certainly am,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have to get it serviced. This is the third time in a week that it’s done this to me.’
‘Do you think you can get it going again?’
‘Not tonight,’ he informed her. ‘When it’s done this before, I’ve had to leave it overnight to sort out its little brainstorm. I guess I’ll just have to walk home.’ He said this last in his ‘poor little me, whatever am I going to do?’ voice, and looked at her in mute appeal.
‘Oh, come on, you,’ she said, giving him a little smile. ‘I know you well enough to know that you’re not a serial murderer or a rapist. I’ll give you a lift home, if you tell me where you live.’
‘If you can just drop me off at the big roundabout just outside town, that’d be great. I said I’d call into a mate’s house for a coffee after we’d finished, and I can easily walk from there.’ He didn’t want her knowing where he lived. If she was at all nosy, she might ask around and find out he was a policeman, and that would never do. That’d blow his cover sky-high!
‘The passenger door’s open,’ she called, as she got into the driver’s seat. Chris opened the front door on the other side of the car, and found a pile of what looked like heavy material sitting on the seat. Unthinkingly, he pulled it out to fold it before depositing it on the rear seat so that he could get into the car.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Elspeth’s tones, normally so mild, had risen to a screech as she realised what he had found. ‘How dare you touch that! Give it to me! now!’ and she was out of the car like lightning, rushing round to the other side of it to pull whatever it was from his arms and put it in the boot, slamming the lid of the boot on her mysterious cloth-y thing.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Chris apologised. ‘I had no idea I was messing with anything private. Please forgive me.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Elspeth, calmer now that the thing, whatever it was, was out of sight. ‘I guess I’m just feeling a bit jumpy tonight.’
Changing the subject, Chris asked, ‘What was all that about an advanced discussion group at the end?’
‘None of your bloody business,’ She snapped, then looked contrite. ‘There I go again, snapping for no reason. It’s just a small group who have been together longer than the main discussion group, and we get together now and again for more advanced discussion. We’ve already covered all that stuff we did tonight, but we come along to support the newer members so that it doesn’t close from lack of numbers.’
When Chris got out of the car at the roundabout he thanked her politely for the lift, and waved as she drove off. It was only a couple of streets to his mother’s house, and he had food for thought on the short walk home. That cloth he had found hadn’t been a blanket, or anything like that. It had looked to him very much like a dark-coloured monk’s habit with a hood, and he wondered if this had anything to do with this advanced discussion group.
‘Advanced discussion group, my arse,’ he muttered to himself as he tramped through the frosty streets. ‘There’s definitely something going on, and I’m going to find out about it if it’s the last thing I do.’ He had not considered that it was never safe to challenge the gods.
For Falconer and Carmichael, it had gone exactly as Falconer had said it would. Both workmen had cast-iron alibis, and the family of the dead man proved to live in County Durham, and were as likely to have turned up in Steynham St Michael that day as pigs were to fly.
The man had had few friends, not having lived in the area for long, and there appeared to be no leads whatsoever from a hard day’s questioning. Falconer had declared that side of things a dead end, and speculated that the murderer was either someone from the villag
e, or from ‘that weird lot’ up at the college, that Roberts had been sent to infiltrate.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday 2nd November
The next morning Roberts made his first report, by telephone, to Falconer, and held the phone away from his ear as Falconer embarked on the expected bawling-out for not getting in touch the day before.
‘I couldn’t actually do that, guv,’ explained Roberts, and the tirade resumed. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I promise I’ll remember to call you ‘sir’ or ‘inspector’. But I really didn’t have the opportunity.’
‘What about the evening?’ questioned Falconer. ‘The college isn’t open till midnight, is it? You’re not up to your eyes until the witching hour, are you?’
‘Not exactly, sir,’ continued Roberts, anxious to calm Falconer’s outburst of temper, and tell him what he had discovered.
‘Go on.’ Falconer was actually expecting a taradiddle to cover up for a day mostly spent skiving.
‘When I went to have a look at the college on Saturday, I met one of the students on the same course as me, and I got talking to her. She told me a bit about the tutor, and I realised she had a schoolgirl crush on the woman.
‘I also noticed, on the noticeboard, that there was a discussion group about the history of local religious beliefs and practices, and this girl said she was a member of it.
‘I duly went in on Monday morning and met my peer group, and this mysterious tutor, whom, I might tell you, is a definite, star-quality babe, and just about the right age for me.’
‘Keep your brains in your head, Roberts, and not in your trousers. You’re undercover there, not under-bedcover,’ Falconer interrupted abruptly. He couldn’t have the man fluttering his eyelashes and flirting, to the detriment of his objective.
‘Keep your hair on, Inspector! I have no dishonourable intentions towards the woman, no matter how devastating she is. I am perfectly aware that I’ve got a job to do, and I wouldn’t even think of approaching her before the investigation is over and I can drop this ‘Chris Roberts, student’ lark.
Strict and Peculiar (The Falconer Files Book 7) Page 7