The Gospel Makers

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The Gospel Makers Page 8

by Anthea Fraser


  ‘A whisky, a white wine and a beer.’

  ‘But there were no empties in the bin?’

  ‘It seems not. Maggie certainly didn’t remove any.’ He hesitated. ‘I thought maybe if — if he was poisoned —’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Good of you to let me know. The maid didn’t touch any of the glasses?’

  ‘No, but they were all there.’

  With no glasses out, the SOCOs wouldn’t have bothered with the mini-bar. A return visit was called for, though if the murderers were that careful, they were unlikely to have left fingerprints.

  ‘Excellent. Then would you lock the room again till someone can take another look? And many thanks for your help.’

  He was about to replace the phone, but the man was still speaking. ‘I saw the item in last night’s News. Has anyone rung in to identify him?’

  ‘There’ve been several suggestions, we’re still sorting through them. Thanks for calling, Mr Diccon.’

  If the poison had been ingested, Webb reflected, the information could have been crucial. At least it explained the lack of glasses, which had puzzled him at the time; if K and the others left the bar to go to his room, the natural thing would have been to have drinks there. But why had they gone upstairs? At that time of day the restaurant would have been a more natural venue. Had K something to show them? If so, it wasn’t in the missing briefcase — he’d had that with him in the bar.

  There was a knock on the door and DC Marshbanks put his head round it.

  ‘Have you got a minute, Guv?’

  ‘Of course, Simon. What is it?’

  ‘I went through the Ks yesterday, like you said, but when I got to the King’s Head Samantha wasn’t on duty. So I’ve just been back now.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, she hesitated for a while over Kirby and Kerley but now she thinks it might have been Kershaw.’

  ‘Hardly a positive ID.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. The best she could come up with.’

  ‘All right, Simon, thanks.’

  Webb stared down at the papers in front of him, mentally ticking off each action taken. A dental chart of the deceased had been telexed to all UK dentists and a copy sent to Interpol for circulation in France. His full description had gone to all police stations in the UK and also to Interpol, and a mug shot was already up in the foyer downstairs, below the caption DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? Meanwhile the support group were still working their way through the hotel guests.

  They were due for a break, he thought, and as if in answer the phone rang again. It was the Met.

  ‘Regarding your telex, sir, we’ve had a call from a local wine company reporting a missing employee, and the description seems to fit. They held a conference during the weekend which this man attended, but he’s based in France and their French office has been on to them to say he’s not returned home.’

  ‘Have you a name for him, Inspector?’

  ‘Philip Kershaw.’

  ‘Bingo! That was one of the options we came up with. Right, now, if you can give me the name and address of the wine company, I’ll send someone along.’

  He wrote it down, the phone cradled under his chin. ‘That’s our first break, Inspector. I’m much obliged.’

  Dropping the phone back on its hook, he strode to the door and yelled ‘Don! In here at the double!’

  Sergeant Partridge was in the room before Webb regained his desk. ‘Yes, Guv?’

  ‘We’ve had a break from the Met. One Philip Kershaw, working for a wine company and based in France, gone AWOL. He attended a conference in London over the weekend, and I want you to get up there and interview as many of his colleagues as you can trace. Take John Manning with you. We want anything you can get — contacts, habits, hobbies, state of his marriage, the lot.’

  He tore the top sheet off his pad and handed it over. ‘Here’s the address. Report back as soon as you have anything.’

  Partridge nodded and hurried out of the office. Webb glanced at his watch. Getting on for midday. He’d collect Ken and go along to the hotel. With luck the interviews might have turned up something interesting.

  *

  Hannah sat at her desk gazing helplessly at Miss Hendrix’s bent head. The woman seemed positively cowed, she thought. On this bright autumn day she was dressed in a dusty-looking black skirt with an uneven hemline and a cable-knit maroon sweater of uncertain years. The front of it was matted with too much washing and the sleeves, obviously too long, had been turned back to form unwieldy cuffs.

  But quite apart from her clothes, the woman looked ill, Hannah thought with consternation. Had she always been so pale, with such dark shadows under her eyes, her cheeks so hollow and her chin so pointed?

  ‘Miss Hendrix,’ she said gently, ‘is anything troubling you?’

  Mattie looked up, startled. When summoned to Miss James’s study she had anticipated a discussion on the progress of her pupils, or some news about the proposed end of term readings. She was not prepared for a personal interrogation.

  ‘How do you mean, Miss James?’ she stammered.

  ‘Well, you seem so — pale, and I noticed in the dining-hall the other day you scarcely ate anything. I know you don’t take meat — are you sure you’re getting enough protein?’

  Mattie Hendrix forced a smile. ‘My diet is perfectly adequate, thank you, Miss James, and nothing is troubling me. In fact,’ she added for good measure, ‘I have never felt happier.’

  Hannah was slightly taken aback. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ She paused, wondering how to raise the subject which really concerned her. ‘Forgive me, but are you finding it difficult to manage on your salary? Because if so, I’m sure —’

  ‘Why should you think that?’

  To her annoyance, Hannah felt herself flush. ‘Well, I —’

  But her glance had been more eloquent than she realized. Mattie looked down at her skirt as though noticing it for the first time. ‘I see,’ she said, under her breath. ‘I’m sorry, Miss James, I hadn’t realized. I’m not interested in clothes, but I try to keep neat and tidy. Obviously I haven’t succeeded.’

  ‘It’s just that when parents come —’

  ‘Of course. My appearance reflects badly on the school. It was thoughtless of me and I apologize.’

  ‘But if money’s a problem,’ Hannah began, while wondering how it could possibly be, ‘we could discuss —’

  ‘I have enough for my needs, thank you. You won’t have any further cause for complaint.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hannah said weakly, balked in her attempts to find the cause of such apparent poverty. Mattie Hendrix rose to go and Hannah said on impulse, ‘There is one thing you could help me on, if you would. Two of the girls came back from exeat saying they’ve become vegetarians. Could you perhaps guide them into eating the right things to keep up their strength? I’d be so grateful. They’re —’

  ‘Stephanie French and Marina Chase.’

  Hannah looked up in surprise. ‘You’ve noticed already?’

  ‘No, but I guessed,’ Mattie replied inscrutably, and left the room leaving Hannah frowning after her. What did she mean, she’d guessed? How could you guess a particular girl had turned vegetarian?

  Hannah sighed. Well, at least she’d broached the subject of Miss Hendrix’s clothes, apparently without giving offence. She hoped fervently that that would be the end of the matter.

  *

  The headquarters of the wine company was in south-west London, off the Old Brompton Road. DC Manning parked directly outside on the yellow line, propping his log book on the dashboard for any marauding traffic warden.

  They got out of the car and stood looking up at the imposing building. ‘Reckon we might get a free sample to take home, Skip?’ Manning asked with a grin.

  ‘Doubtful in the extreme,’ replied Partridge. ‘But at the moment I’d settle for a cuppa.’

  They went up the broad steps into the foyer of the building, and minutes later were shown into the office of Mr Ray, the
managing director. He was a small, round man with an entirely bald head which distractingly mirrored the overhead light.

  ‘This is a great shock, gentlemen,’ he greeted them, shaking them gravely by the hand. ‘A great shock. Please take a seat and tell me how I may help you.’

  ‘Well, sir, since we’ve only just been able to identify Mr Kershaw, we know nothing whatever about him and would be grateful for anything you can tell us.’

  ‘Let me see, then. He’s worked for us for about fifteen years now, a very able, conscientious man and a leading authority on Loire wines. He married a French girl — in fact, the daughter of one of our suppliers — and lives — lived in the Loire valley. He comes to London every three months or so.’

  ‘When did he arrive on this latest visit?’

  ‘Friday evening. The usual reservations had been made for him and several other overseas staff who were attending the conference.’

  ‘Have you any idea how he spent the evening?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. My staff might know.’

  ‘Were you aware of any family problems — marital difficulties, things of that kind?’

  Mr Ray shook his head. ‘To the best of my knowledge he was happily married, with a young daughter.’

  ‘When did the conference end?’

  ‘At lunch-time on Sunday.’

  ‘So when would you have expected him to return to France?’

  ‘I should have thought that evening, but I was speaking to one of my managers, who said Kershaw told him he was staying on a couple of days to attend to some family business.’

  ‘Did he say where that was?’

  ‘In your neck of the woods, I believe.’

  Partridge said diffidently, ‘Someone will have to identify him, and it seems hard to bring his wife over from France. Do you think —?’

  The man’s ruddy cheeks paled slightly, but after a pause he nodded. ‘Yes, of course; it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll be in touch to arrange a convenient time.’

  There was little more he could tell them, and his secretary escorted the detectives down the corridor to another office where two men awaited them with obvious apprehension. Jack Spedding and Rick Burgess had spent some time with Kershaw during the conference and were clearly shaken by his death.

  ‘How did he seem?’ Partridge asked them when they had seated themselves and Manning had fished out his notebook again.

  ‘Fairly cheerful,’ Spedding replied. ‘He was an affable chap, though unforthcoming on personal matters. Would tell a story with the best of them, but never exchanged confidences, the way a lot of the lads do after the odd bottle of wine.’

  ‘Was he happily married, would you say?’

  ‘Oh, no doubt of that. You could tell by the way he spoke of her. Cracker of a girl she is, too. And he thought the world of his daughter.’

  Not much to go on there. ‘What about his interests outside work — hobbies and so on?’

  The two men looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Played a bit of golf, I think,’ Spedding said.

  ‘And a mean hand of poker!’ Burgess added with a grin. ‘Many a night I’ve sat up with him after a dinner, and it never did me any good.’

  ‘Did you on Saturday?’

  ‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact, with some of the other lads.’

  Did he win?’

  ‘I’ll say. Hands down.’

  ‘Anyone lose heavily to him?’

  Burgess met his eyes. ‘Not heavily enough to kill for.’

  ‘Was he a serious gambler, would you say?’ Partridge’s mind was on moneylenders.

  ‘I couldn’t say, with him being over in France, but he certainly liked his game.’

  ‘He told you he was staying on to attend to family business?’

  ‘That’s right. His mother died a few weeks ago and there were things to see to at the house.’

  ‘Which was where, Mr Spedding?’

  ‘In Shillingham, I think. He wasn’t looking forward to going through her things, and said that rather than spend the night in the cold house he’d book into an hotel.’ He made a grimace. ‘Seems he chose the wrong one.’

  ‘Can you think why anyone should have wanted to kill him?’

  ‘Lord, no! I mean, he wasn’t likely to have been messing round with anyone’s wife, or anything like that. And our line of business doesn’t usually bring out the long knives.’

  ‘Do you know how he spent Friday evening?’

  ‘With the other overseas chaps, at the hotel. They all had dinner together.’

  ‘Which hotel was that?’

  ‘The Commodore, in Cresswell Gardens — just round the corner.’

  Which was their next port of call. In response to their inquiries, they learned not only that Kershaw had made a phone-call from his room, but also, thanks to the hotel’s call-logging equipment, the number dialled, which was a Shillingham one. For the rest, he had left the hotel soon after breakfast on Monday morning and the hall porter, who had seen him into a taxi, heard him ask for Paddington Station.

  ‘Right, John, let’s head for home,’ Partridge said. ‘With luck we’ll just miss the rush-hour.’

  *

  Nina was unprepared for the warmth of her welcome when she returned to Victoria Drive that evening. Again, it was Sarah who opened the door, and her sombre face lit up.

  ‘Nina — how lovely!’ she exclaimed, stepping aside and gesturing her in. Top marks for remembering her name, at any rate. ‘We’re just having coffee before we start.’

  Here we go again, thought Nina as she smiled noncommittally. No pomegranate seeds, that was the rule, though it would be difficult to fend off the repeated offers. A pretended allergy to tea or coffee, perhaps. But then they’d offer soft drinks — even water, probably, if they were determined to entrap her.

  ‘Nina!’ Daniel came hurrying along the passage, and thoughts of entrapment seemed all at once far-fetched. ‘How are you? I’m so glad you could come.’

  Perhaps, Nina thought drily a moment later, their pleasure in seeing her was due to the fact that not many people had turned up. There were only about twenty in the back room, standing in the usual awkward little groups with their polystyrene cups.

  ‘Are you expecting any more?’ Nina asked Daniel, shaking her head as he tried to hand her a coffee.

  ‘It depends. There’s always a fall-out after the initial meeting, which is as it should be. Some people come simply out of curiosity, others feel unable to make a commitment. That’s fine. The ones we want are those who’ve had time to think things over and decide to come back and learn more. I hoped you’d be one of them.’ And he smiled warmly into her eyes.

  He reminded her of her ex-husband, Nina realized with a slight sense of shock. Ross, too, possessed that easy charm, that way of looking at you as though you were the only woman in the world. Perhaps that’s why Daniel attracted her. It was an uncomfortable thought, and she was pleased when someone called her name and she could turn away. It was Pam, with whom she’d sat before.

  ‘Hello, Nina, I was hoping you’d be here!’ And she came over to join her.

  ‘Did you tell your husband you were coming this time?’ Nina asked her.

  ‘No fear, I’d never hear the end of it. I waited till he went to the pub, and just slipped out. I’ll be back before he is, but even if he finds out, I’ll still come. I’ve been looking forward to this ever since Friday.’

  If Pam’s welcome had been as warm as her own — and she didn’t doubt it — it was no wonder she felt at home. Probably more notice had been taken of her by these relative strangers than her family had shown in years. Which, Nina thought, looking round the room, was probably true of most of them. She’d read of this technique the cults adopted — love-bombing, wasn’t it? — whereby everyone was made to feel wanted. Well, it seemed to work. She’d even proved susceptible herself.

  Although there were several faces she knew from Friday, Nina was relieved tha
t the schoolgirls were not among them. Perhaps their interest had been only a flash in the pan. There were also some people she’d not seen before, among them a tall, broad-shouldered man with an attractive craggy face and an air of authority that aroused her interest.

  ‘Who’s that, do you know?’ she asked Pam, unconsciously interrupting her flow of chat.

  ‘Brad Lübekker — I was introduced to him a few minutes ago. He’s an American, from London. One of the group, and quite high up, I think. No doubt come to give us the once-over!’

  Daniel clapped his hands and the chatter died away as they turned expectantly towards him. The tall American moved to his side. ‘Hello, everyone, it’s great to see you again. I’d like to introduce you to Brad Lübekker here. He is an Elder in our Movement, in charge of all the units in the south-west of England. During the evening he hopes to have a word with everybody.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ whispered Pam in Nina’s ear.

  ‘In the meantime, we’re going through now for another short talk by Captain Bellringer, after which we’ll divide into groups and begin to get to know each other. So if you’d like to come along, we can get started.’

  Obediently they filed into the corridor and through a door they hadn’t used before which led into the platform end of the meeting room, where the screen was set up. This time, however, the divider had been drawn across the large room, making two smaller ones.

  As they settled in their seats and the lights went down, Nina tensed. After the disillusionment of listening to Bellringer’s speech with her mother, she was determined not to be hoodwinked again. But the minute the kindly face appeared on screen and the slow, soothing voice flowed over her, she relaxed in spite of herself.

  ‘Hi there!’ he began, setting the informal tone of the evening. ‘Good to see you again. This evening is a momentous landmark in your lives, my friends, for together we are going to take the first, tentative steps towards salvation.’

  Nina made a heroic effort to free herself from the soporific effect of his words but her mind was filled with images of deep, crystal-clear pools, of running water, wooded pathways. Relax, a voice said insistently inside her, there’s nothing to worry about. Everything is taken care of.

 

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