The Gospel Makers

by Anthea Fraser

  She did so.

  ‘What time did you actually arrive at the hotel, Mrs French?’

  ‘Quarter to one. I’d just flown back from Scotland and the shuttle was late.’ She paused. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘It hasn’t been established yet. I’m sorry to press the point, but he didn’t say where he’d come from, who he was meeting —? A pity Mr Derringer claimed you so quickly.’

  She’d thought the same herself, Christina remembered. And now the man was dead.

  Webb rose, signalling to Jackson. ‘Well, thank you for your help. Oh — one further point. He didn’t happen to have a briefcase with him, did he?’

  ‘Yes, he had. It was propped against his seat. Surely there’ll be something in that to identify him?’

  ‘Except,’ Webb said deliberately, ‘that there was no briefcase in his room.’ And leaving her staring after them, he and Jackson took their leave.

  *

  When they arrived back at Carrington Street, it was to find a commotion going on in the foyer. The desk sergeant and two other officers were attempting to deal with a couple who appeared on the verge of hysteria.

  Webb hesitated, then, catching Andy Fenton’s eye, went over to the desk. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

  The woman spun to face him. ‘They’ve stolen my baby, if you call that a problem!’ she cried. ‘And what’s more, you won’t do anything to stop them!’

  Visions of kidnapping flashed through Webb’s mind but Fenton interposed quickly, ‘It’s not quite what it seems, sir. This lady says a religious sect has alienated her son. I’ve tried to explain it’s a matter for the Special Branch —’

  ‘Which sect would that be?’ As if he didn’t know, Webb thought resignedly. He’d been waiting for something like this.

  ‘The Final Revelationists or something. They ought to be locked up, poisoning a child’s mind against his parents.’

  ‘How old is your son, ma’am?’

  ‘Just had his sixteenth birthday.’ It was her husband who replied.

  ‘And they’ve abducted him?’

  ‘Oh, not physically,’ the man said with bitterness. ‘He’s still living at home, going to school and so on. It’s his mind they’ve got at. Turned him into a zombie.’

  ‘He was such a bright boy!’ the woman sobbed. ‘Good at games, played the drums in the school band, lots of friends. Now he just shuts himself away in his room reading their pamphlets and listening to their cassettes, and as fast as I take them away, he gets more. And he tells us the food we eat is “unclean”!’ she added, indignation creeping into her voice. ‘He won’t touch meat or fish any more. I’m at my wits’ end, wondering what to get him.’

  Webb said gently, ‘It’s really not a matter for the police, ma’am, not if they haven’t physically abducted him. But there are organizations who deal with this. Ask the Citizen’s Advice Bureau, they’ll tell you about them.’

  She was about to argue further, but Webb nodded and walked firmly to the security door, leaving Fenton and the others to get rid of the couple.

  ‘There was something on the Intelligence Bulletin about that lot,’ Jackson remarked as they started up the stairs.

  ‘Yep. WDI Petrie went to suss them out last week and didn’t like what she saw. It mightn’t be a bad idea to have another word with her. Ask her to come to my room when she has a minute, would you, Ken? And get young Marshbanks to go through the telephone directory and list all two-syllable names beginning with K that have an upper-looped letter in the middle.’

  ‘He’ll love that,’ Jackson said with a grin.

  ‘Then he can take it round to Samantha at the King’s Head and see if any of them rings a bell. And I want the hotel guests and staff to identify their cars, so we know if any are unclaimed. Organize it, will you?’ And Webb turned into his office and shut the door.

  *

  Nina received Webb’s message with mixed feelings. She’d heard about the scene in the front office and was in no doubt what he wished to speak to her about. The trouble was that she didn’t know whether or not she wanted to continue investigating the Revvies. Ever since her visit to Victoria Drive she’d been aware of a niggling wish to return, and the words love, trust, salvation still drifted disconcertingly in and out of her mind.

  The leaflet she’d been handed on leaving had posed more questions than it answered, but it had sounded the usual dire warnings about the end of the world. Only the Revelationists, it seemed, had any chance of survival. Which, Nina thought with a shrug, was what they all said.

  All the same, she’d underestimated the Reverend Noah Bellringer. Whether or not he’d used subliminal means, his message had lodged in the consciousness of a hard-bitten policewoman and, priding herself on her strength of will, the fact both annoyed and intrigued her.

  But Webb did not resolve her choice for her. He motioned to her to sit down and said abruptly, ‘Nina, I’ve a lot on, and strictly speaking this Revvie lot is not our concern. But they’re on my patch and I imagine we’re going to get an increasing number of people coming to complain about them. Can I hand them over to you — unofficially, of course? I want to know what makes them tick, and if we’ve any excuse for moving them on.’

  He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Or would you rather not?’

  ‘Quite frankly, sir, I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m a bit apprehensive; they’re a persuasive lot, and the last thing you want is a WDI ranting and raving about the end of the world.’

  ‘You think you might be susceptible?’

  ‘Not in the normal way, but if they’re using subliminal means, they could convince anyone.’ She met his eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right. Put like that, the threat’s obvious. I’ll go back.’

  ‘When’s the next meeting?’

  ‘Tomorrow evening.’

  ‘You are sure? I don’t want to push you into anything you might regret.’

  ‘I’m sure. They need sorting, and I’m in as a good position as any to do it.’

  ‘Well, watch yourself, and if you feel you’re getting in over your head, cut and run. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Guv.’

  ‘Keep me briefed as to how you get on.’

  She nodded, and as he gestured in dismissal, left the room. So, one way or another, the die had been cast. She would attend an instruction session and see what that led to. And, she thought before she could stop herself, she would see Daniel again.

  Webb’s phone rang and he reached for it absent-mindedly. It was the editor of the Broadshire Evening News.

  ‘Yes, Mike, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Just wondering if you’ve any titbits about the stiff at the King’s Head?’

  ‘There’s a press conference at five.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Dave! I’ve got an evening paper to get out!’

  ‘Actually we know very little — not even who he is. No papers on him, and all we’ve got is that although he himself was English, his clothes were made in France. Appeared at the King’s Head out of the blue, didn’t check in because of the crush at the desk, and popped his clogs before he’d a chance to remedy it. Oh, and he went to the bar, and was seen leaving with a man and a woman.’

  ‘Who you’re hoping will come forward?’

  ‘We should be so lucky.’

  ‘It wasn’t a natural death, then?’

  ‘I’m off to the PM now, after which I hope to know more.’

  ‘Well, thanks. Oh, and while you’re on, any cartoons for me?’

  Webb grimaced. ‘If you’re going to start nagging, I’ll hang up.’

  ‘Come on, it’s months since we had any. Someone even wrote in asking what had happened to them.’

  Webb’s gift for drawing pungent cartoons was a well-kept secret, since he signed them merely with an S in a circle — symbolizing a spider in a web. More importantly, he used his knack of caricature to depict suspects in his inquiries. By setting out his players on the stage of his canvas, he could place them where they st
ated they’d been at a crucial time, and seeing the overall picture in black and white showed up inconsistencies which sometimes proved vital. On other occasions, the amazingly life-like figures alerted him to some trait of character which he’d initially registered only subconsciously.

  ‘There are probably some in my drawer,’ he said resignedly.

  ‘Good lad. Let me have them, then. And we must have a drink sometime.’

  Webb grunted noncommittally, put down the phone and, with the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, set off to attend the post-mortem.

  *

  Hannah sat at her desk at Ashbourne School, gazing meditatively into space. She really couldn’t delay speaking to Miss Hendrix any longer; she was looking more and more threadbare, and at lunch-time Hannah had overheard two of the girls giggling about her in the corridor.

  The worry was how to broach the subject without hurting her feelings. Still, things wouldn’t improve by any further delay — she’d procrastinated long enough. Sighing, she reached for the telephone, and as she did so it started to ring.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr Frobisher is here, Miss James. Could you spare him a moment?’

  Relief flooded over her. Charles Frobisher, Chairman of the Board of Governors, was an old friend. He’d a sensible head on his shoulders — she could discuss the problem with him.

  ‘Of course, Amanda. Show him in — and would you bring us some tea?’

  When the secretary had closed the door, Charles came over and kissed Hannah’s cheek. ‘How are you, my dear? The trappings of power going to your head?’

  ‘Far from it. It’s good to see you, particularly as I could do with some advice.’

  ‘Always glad to help, you know that.’

  Hannah, feeling better already, regarded him with affection. Twelve years a widower, he was, she knew, fond of her. There had been a time when she’d contemplated marrying him — and she could have done a lot worse. But when it came to the point she’d been unable to dismiss David Webb from her life, flexible though their relationship was.

  Charles was watching her, his lean, clever face speculative, and she felt herself flush, wondering how many of her thoughts he’d been able to read. Fortunately, Amanda Grant came to her rescue with the tea, and in the business of pouring it, any remaining tension was dissolved.

  ‘First though, tell me to what I owe this honour,’ she prompted, handing him a cup and saucer.

  ‘When we last met, if you remember, I invited you to the Golf Club Dinner. You were going to let me know if you could make it.’

  Hannah was overcome with guilt. He had indeed mentioned the dinner, several weeks ago, and she’d delayed giving him an answer partly because she was unsure what lay behind the invitation. Was it, as it seemed on the surface, quite straightforward with no strings attached? Or had Charles decided it was time to renew his attentions, as he’d warned her he would?

  She looked up, catching his eye, and again had the impression he knew what she was thinking. ‘I’m so sorry, Charles. I have to confess it went straight out of my head.’

  Which was hardly tactful, as she immediately realized. However, he merely smiled and said, ‘Well, time’s moving on; it’s a week on Friday, the 22nd. I think you’d enjoy it; John and Beatrice will be at our table — and it would do you good to be seen about more socially.’

  ‘You make it sound as though I’m in purdah,’ she protested, but she knew what he meant. During their time together, she had enjoyed the dinners, concerts and theatres to which he had escorted her. It was a style of life to which David, with his erratic work schedule, seldom managed to conform, and with Gwen now abroad and Monica married, most of her social activities consisted of dinner or the theatre with Dilys which, much as she enjoyed them, had their limitations. If Charles would only accept a platonic basis, she’d be delighted to accompany him more often.

  In this instance, though, she now had no choice. ‘I’m so sorry not to have come back to you, but I am free that evening and I’d be delighted to go.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled, then. Now, what was this advice you were after?’

  Hannah switched her mind from personal to professional problems. ‘It’s about a member of staff.’ And she explained about Mattie Hendrix.

  ‘She goes round looking like a tramp,’ she ended, ‘and I can see no possible reason for it. She’s on a good salary and has no dependants.’

  Charles thought for a moment. ‘How long has she been here?’

  ‘Since September last year.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘St Anne’s, Erlesborough.’

  ‘You know their headmistress, don’t you?’

  ‘Marion Bowles? Yes, of course.’

  ‘Why not give her a ring and ask in confidence if she noticed anything odd about her?’

  ‘That might be an idea.’

  ‘If she didn’t, you’d have to look for a more recent cause. You say this woman has no dependants — where does she live?’

  ‘I think she has a bedsit somewhere.’

  ‘Does she share it with anyone?’

  ‘Not that I know of, though it’s possible — I did see her with a woman in town the other day. I’m ashamed to say, Charles, I know very little about her. She’s not forthcoming, and there’s a limit to the casual questions you can ask.’

  ‘Any complaints about her work?’

  ‘Positively not. She’s an excellent teacher.’

  ‘Does she drink?’

  Hannah looked startled. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It would account for shortage of money, that’s all. Booze or drugs.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t —’ Hannah began, then broke off. Now that she thought about it, there was sometimes an unfocused look about Miss Hendrix, and as she’d remarked to Dilys, she was a bundle of nerves. ‘Oh Lord, I do hope not. That I could do without.’

  ‘What age is she?’

  ‘Late thirties. It was Gwen who engaged her, of course, which is why I don’t want her taking offence and waltzing off while I’m holding the fort.’

  ‘If you think she’s bringing the school into disrepute, you’ve no option but to say something.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a bit strong,’ Hannah demurred. ‘No one seeing her round town would know she teaches at Ashbourne.’

  ‘But there are Parents’ Evenings, concerts and so on. And what impression would she make on prospective parents being shown round the school?’

  Hannah sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. She’s becoming an embarrassment, and the girls are starting to make fun of her.’

  ‘Which last, I imagine, is an occupational hazard,’ Charles commented drily.

  There was a scratching at the window, and Hannah went to let her cat in. Purring loudly, he proceeded to wind himself round her legs, impeding her return to the desk.

  ‘He knows when it’s tea-time,’ she said, taking a dish from a drawer and pouring milk into it. She set it on the carpet and the cat walked casually over, then settled on its hunkers and began to lap delicately.

  Charles watched it for a moment. ‘Well, I must be on my way and let you get on with your work. I’ll phone nearer the time about arrangements for the 22nd.’

  ‘Right.’ She walked with him to the door. ‘Thanks for your advice, I’ll let you know how I get on.’

  All the same, she wished Gwen were here. Dear Gwen: Hannah conjured her up in her mind, the earnest brown eyes, the tall, gauche frame and untidy hair. Only those who knew her were aware that the diffident exterior concealed a brilliant academic brain.

  Hannah stood for a moment watching the cat who, having finished the milk, was engaged in a full-scale washing operation. She’d have a word with Miss Hendrix first, she decided. Then, if things didn’t improve, she’d phone Marion Bowles. But Charles’s visit had delayed her; it was now after four, school was over for the day and everyone would be going their separate ways. It would after all be necessary to hold it over for another day.
<
br />   *

  Across the town, Webb pushed his way into his office and flopped into his chair. DI Crombie surveyed him over the top of his spectacles.

  ‘Fresh from the abattoir?’

  ‘Too right. I’ll never get used to it — the smell of that disinfectant gets right up my nose.’

  ‘Better than other smells,’ said Crombie judiciously. ‘And what did old Stapleton come up with?’

  ‘I knew this was going to be stinker, Alan, right from the start. It has to be a fatal injection, but there are no traces of poison in the body.’

  Crombie raised an eyebrow. ‘You found the puncture mark?’

  ‘Only by the grace of God, because the bloke bruised easily. There was a tiny purple mark on his upper arm. Since he would hardly have let them undress him, it must have gone through his clothes.

  ‘Stapleton’s reluctant to commit himself, as always, but he’s leaning towards curare, which is quickly broken down and leaves little or no evidence. There was petechial haemorrhaging, which seems to support it. Anyway, tests are continuing.’

  ‘Well, it makes a change from the old blunt instrument,’ Crombie commented.

  ‘True; we have all the signs of premeditation and not a suspect in sight. What’s more, we’re still no nearer finding out who he is. Let’s hope the telexes produce some result.’

  Chapter 6

  ‘Chief Inspector Webb?’

  ‘Speaking.’ Webb recognized the voice of the hotel manager.

  ‘Jeffrey Diccon here. Something has come up which might interest you. Now that we can get into 251 again, the chambermaid has checked the mini-bar and some bottles are missing.’

  Webb frowned. ‘What exactly are you saying, Mr Diccon?’

  ‘Well, Maggie — the chambermaid — said you asked if there were glasses on the table and she said no. But they must have had drinks after all, and someone washed the glasses and put them back in the bar.’

  Webb pursed his lips. A cool customer indeed. ‘There’s no possibility of a mistake?’

  ‘No, sir. The bar is checked each morning, and any used items are entered on the guest’s bill and replaced.’

  ‘What bottles are missing?’