The Mills of God

by Deryn Lake

  Olivia turned to Kasper with a laugh. ‘Surely that is a very unprofessional remark, Doctor.’

  He looked stricken. ‘I merely made an observation. I know nothing of the man medically.’

  ‘Did you like your poem, Father Nick?’ asked Giles, approaching and looking roguish.

  ‘Er hum. Yes. It was very interesting.’

  ‘Happen,’ said Jack Boggis, coming upon them suddenly and taking the smallest fragment of ham and half a tomato on to his plate.

  ‘Spoken like a true gentleman,’ said Gerrard nastily, and wandered away to talk to Ivy Bagshot.

  The evening wore on in its inevitable way. Boggis hit the beer and became slightly incoherent – which was just as well – while others began to drift homewards. In the end everyone had left with the exception of Kasper and Olivia, whom Nick had persuaded to stay on and have a nightcap. Frankly he could have done without the doctor but for the fact that Kasper was giving the violinist a lift home.

  ‘I have drunk little, you see,’ he said somewhat mournfully.

  ‘Whereas I,’ Olivia put in, ‘have had more than my fair share.’ She changed the subject. ‘Tell me, Nick, is this house really haunted?’

  ‘Yes, I think it is. Mind you, I haven’t seen William – that’s the ghost’s name by the way – but I’ve certainly heard him.’

  ‘This is very interesting,’ said Kasper, leaning forward, reluctantly sipping a mineral water. ‘I was brought up in a haunted house, you see. I personally saw nothing but my sister did. In fact she insisted on having another bedroom because an old lady used to come and stare at her in bed – or so she said.’ He gave his handsome grin. ‘It could have been because she wanted a larger room, however.’

  ‘Clever girl,’ said Olivia. She stood up and held out her hand to Nick. ‘Thank you so much for a wonderful evening. It really has been good fun.’

  ‘Must you go?’ he asked, not meaning to say that.

  ‘Yes, I must. I’m off to London tomorrow and I’ve an early start. Kasper, are you ready?’

  ‘Of course. Goodbye, Father Nick. It has been a great pleasure.’

  His English was excellent but had the slightly mannered tones of someone speaking a foreign tongue. He held out his hand, bowing slightly. Nick shook it.

  ‘Goodbye, Doctor. I shall make a point of signing up with you tomorrow.’

  ‘I look forward to that.’

  The vicar gave his odd little bow as the couple disappeared through the front door. Radetsky came through the cat flap, purring happily now that he was certain everyone had gone. Nick stooped down to stroke him, gave him a slice of ham which the cat attacked with gusto, then went upstairs to bed, feeling tired and more than a little miserable. It seemed to him that Olivia and Kasper had a special something between them, that the handsome doctor was probably going to spend the night with her. But then, Nick thought, he was the interloper after all.

  William, God be praised, was quiet tonight, presumably showing his approval of the party. Nick got into bed and fell asleep only to be awoken again by the sound of a siren, wailing its way through the night. He sat bolt upright, wondering what it meant. Then he put his head back on the pillow and was just dozing off again when another siren sounded. This time he identified it as a car rushing past. Wondering where the police could possibly be going at this hour, Nick hesitated about getting out of bed but thought better of it and promptly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

  SIX

  He was awoken some hours later by a thunderous knocking at his front door. Glancing at the alarm clock which stood beside the bed he saw that it was nearly eight o’clock and that he should have risen an hour ago. With his hair standing on end and pulling a dressing gown on, Nick went downstairs to open it. Mavis Cox stood there.

  ‘Oh, Vicar, Vicar,’ she burst out hysterically. ‘Something terrible has happened. I think you should come at once.’

  He led her into the hallway.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s the Patels. They’ve been murdered.’

  ‘You mean the supermarket man?’

  ‘Yes. The police have closed the shop so none of us can buy anything.’

  ‘Oh, how terrible. I mean about the murder not the shop.’

  Mavis looked pained. ‘Quite. But actually it is a shocking thing for the village. I know they were foreigners and all that but they were very well liked.’

  ‘I’ll get some clothes on and go up there though I doubt I can be of any help.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think you should put in an appearance.’

  Despite the terrible circumstances Nick could not resist a smile. It was perfectly obvious that Mavis was making a bid to rule the roost. He gave one of his jerky bows.

  ‘I shall do as you say, ma’am.’

  Ten minutes later, dressed but not shaven, Nick walked up the road to see a hive of activity round the supermarket. The police had cordoned it off with their official tape and there were several police cars parked outside. A clutch of people dressed from head to toe in white were going in and out about their business. In fact, the vicar thought grimly, Ali would have considered it a day of extremely good trading.

  He came to a halt by the police barrier where a young constable addressed him.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, would you mind moving on.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind at all. I just thought I might be of help. Talking to the relatives or something.’

  The constable stared at him and saw Nick’s dog collar. ‘Oh sorry, Vicar. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get along.’

  Nick turned to go but at that moment the barrier was lifted to allow a newcomer and his assistant in. They were both dressed in blue protective clothing and Nick guessed that they must be some high-ups from the Sussex police.

  One of the men was saying, ‘Sorry I’m late. Had a long rehearsal. Where are the bodies?’

  ‘In the upstairs bedroom, sir.’

  ‘Anyone else been on the scene?’

  ‘Only the girl who found them.’

  ‘Right.’ The man made eye contact with the vicar and gave him a brief smile. ‘Morning, Vicar.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you later. Get your view on things.’

  ‘Certainly. Meanwhile is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Why don’t you pop along to the local church hall or community centre and administer kind words to the parishioners.’

  ‘Thanks very much. I’ll do that.’

  The man turned away and went into the supermarket and Nick was left with a vivid impression of unusually bright green eyes which radiated intelligence.

  Halfway down the High Street stood a Georgian house which was used as a general meeting place for the community. Nick made his way there and found Sonia Tate already ensconced, looking wide-eyed over a cup of tea.

  ‘Oh, Father Nick,’ she said, her voice husky, ‘what a ghastly thing to happen. I’m so glad you’re here to give support.’

  ‘Who found the bodies, do you know?’

  ‘It was the girl who works for them on the early shift. Apparently she had a pass key to the shop and went in and when they weren’t down by six she started calling out. The rest I leave to your imagination.’

  ‘Poor woman. What a horrible shock.’

  ‘I wonder if you know her. Her name is Kylie Saunters.’

  ‘Does she by any chance serve in The White Hart in Arrow Street?’

  ‘Yes, she does. Common little thing but she’s a hard worker for all that. There are no jobs in Lakehurst so she does any little bits she can to make ends meet.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she go to the nearest town for work?’

  ‘She lives with her grandmother, who dotes on her of course. Her and her brother.’

  ‘What happened to their parents?’ asked Nick.

  Sonia gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Who knows?’

  At this moment they were interrupte
d by the arrival of a woman that Nick did not recognize. She was tall and absolutely striking, with the beautiful heavy-lidded eyes of Greta Garbo and the same full drooping lips.

  Sonia stood up and said, ‘I must be going,’ banged down her mug of tea and left without another word. Nick stared after her and the stranger gave him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ She held out her hand and said, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Roseanna Culpepper.’

  Nick thought as he shook hands that the name became her. She looked rather like a rose that is just beginning to lose its first radiant beauty. Indeed the more he stared into her face the more he could see evidence of just how lovely she must once have been. Her scent, too, spoke of another era. Sniffing it delicately Nick thought he could detect Mitsouko by Guerlain, a perfume beloved of his mother.

  She was smiling at him, a delicate, questioning smile. ‘What is all the fuss that is going on in the High Street?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘No. My husband is away, doing a play in London. He usually brings me the news.’

  ‘There’s been a murder, I’m afraid. The Patels who ran the supermarket.’

  ‘What? Both of them?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘How dreadful!’ Roseanna’s hands were raised to her mouth and she looked at the vicar piteously. ‘But who could have done such a terrible thing?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have no idea. It must have been a burglary that went wrong.’

  But he didn’t believe that. Surely no burglar, no matter how high he might have been on drink and drugs, could have taken the lives of two people in cold blood.

  Roseanna shook her head. ‘Well, I must be on my way. I have one or two bits to buy.’ She turned her glorious eyes on him. ‘But with the supermarket closed I’d better get the car out and go to town.’

  Nick stood up. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Culpepper. It’s been so nice to meet you.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  She wafted out, her dress catching in the autumn wind which forced her to hold her slouch hat to her head. Nick stared after her with a kind of fascination. Then turned and made himself a strong black coffee.

  News that he was in Cheltenham House doling out cuppas must have spread amongst the onlookers at the scene of crime because a steady stream of parishioners made their way in and, as if speaking in one voice, asked him about the murder. And despite his protests that he knew as little as they there was an air about them that he was withholding information on the instructions of the police.

  Eventually they dwindled away and Nick was on the point of leaving when footsteps in the hall told him that somebody else was coming in. He looked up and into the interesting face of the senior policeman, this time dressed in a formal suit and tie, devoid of his protective clothing.

  He was not a notably tall man, of average height, about five foot eight or nine, and slim of build. But his features were most arresting. A mass of black hair, longish and inclined to be wavy, the man had a pixieish look about him, caused, Nick thought, by those great brilliant eyes of his, the colour of gooseberries in a sun-ripened garden.

  The detective held out his hand. ‘I’ve caught up with you at last, Vicar. Sorry to be so long. There was rather a lot to see to.’

  ‘How do you do?’ Nick answered, clearing his throat. ‘Nick Lawrence, newly arrived in Lakehurst. Terrible business this. The villagers have taken it extremely badly.’

  The quizzical eyes flashed in Nick’s direction with an unreadable expression. ‘I’m sure they have. Particularly with their local shop out of bounds. Now, tell me what you know about it.’

  ‘Not much, really. As I said, I’m newly arrived.’

  ‘Quite so. Did you manage to find anything out whilst chatting this morning?’

  ‘Nothing that would interest you, I’m afraid. Everyone seemed very upset – genuinely so – at the deaths.’

  The pixie-face pulled a wry expression. ‘I see. I believe you gave a party last night which a great many of the churchgoers attended.’

  ‘Not only them. I asked everyone I had met locally.’

  ‘I wonder if you’d be kind enough to let me have a list of those who attended.’ The man beamed a sudden smile and said, ‘But I haven’t introduced myself. How remiss of me. My name is Dominic Tennant. Detective Inspector,’ he added by way of an afterthought.

  Nick shook hands solemnly.

  ‘I can certainly give you a list. Is there anything more, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes. Can you tell me what time the party ended?’

  ‘About ten thirty. The last to leave were Olivia Beauchamp . . .’

  ‘The concert violinist?’ Tennant interrupted surprisingly.

  ‘Yes. And Dr Rudniski – he’s one of the local GPs.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘And can you tell me where you were at around midnight last night, Vicar?’

  ‘At home in bed.’

  ‘Alone?’

  For some ridiculous reason Nick felt himself going red. ‘Yes. I’m not married, Inspector.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think you were.’

  Tennant grinned and after a moment so did the vicar.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to ask me?’

  ‘Not at this time. But I’ll be in touch should anything arise. I take it you are living in the vicarage?’

  ‘Yes. It’s in the High Street. May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘How did the Patels die?’

  ‘They were stabbed as they slept in their bed. Several times.’

  Nick looked a little sick. ‘How ghastly. Who could have done such a thing?’

  ‘I don’t know but I fully intend to find out,’ Tennant answered. He looked at his watch. ‘Well, I must be off. No doubt we shall meet again.’

  ‘No doubt,’ answered Nick, as the Inspector made a somewhat dramatic exit from the room, whirling his longish coat with a flourish.

  An hour later the vicar was just finishing a late breakfast when the phone rang.

  ‘Nick, it’s Olivia. I just wanted to thank you for the party last night.’

  ‘Oh hello. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.’ He paused, then said, ‘Did you leave early this morning?’

  ‘Very. I caught the seven twenty-seven. Why?’

  ‘Because there’s been a murder in the village. The Patels were killed during the night.’

  There was a shocked silence, then Olivia said, ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Yes. According to the police they were stabbed in their bed. Around midnight, I believe.’

  ‘Oh God, how awful. Do they know who did it?’

  ‘Well, not yet. There’s a very on-the-ball inspector though. I’m sure he’ll crack the case if anyone can.’

  ‘Did you give him my name?’

  ‘Well, yes, I had to. I told him that you and Kasper were the last to leave my party.’

  Olivia suddenly gave an unexpected laugh. ‘I said goodbye to the good doctor outside your front door. He walked home. I should have done but I risked driving. So I have no alibi.’

  Nick suddenly felt immensely cheered. ‘That makes two of us.’

  There was a silence before Olivia said, ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’m being called for a rehearsal. Goodbye, Nick. Keep me posted about what’s going on.’

  ‘I don’t know your mobile number,’ he said before he realized that she’d ended the call. Replacing his receiver, the vicar slowly dialled 1471 to be informed that the caller had withheld their number.

  SEVEN

  Inspector Tennant sat in his office at police headquarters in Lewes, moodily staring out of the window and slowly chewing a peppermint, a habit he had taken up when he stopped smoking some seven years ago. At that moment he was not thinking of the murders in Lakehurst but instead about his ex-wife, who had gone off with her leading man after playing Eliza Doolittle to his Professor Higgins in an amateur production of My Fair Lady. It still grieved Dominic that she ha
d taken with her his highly prized collection of Staffordshire pottery and had then proceeded to sell the lot on. Mind you, he had managed to replace some of the pieces but the rarer figures – some of which had been left to him by his parents – were irreplaceable.

  ‘Bitch,’ he muttered under his breath.

  He had had several associations with women since his marriage had ended three years earlier but none of them had been of any lasting nature. He supposed that he had become warier, more suspicious of the female sex. In other words when it came to the time when he should have made some kind of commitment, he had shied away. This had not always been easy, for Dominic Tennant was a keen amateur actor himself and so mixed with a fairly tight-knit bunch of people. He was keenly aware that amongst the women he was labelled as being bad news and as a result had thrown himself into his work as the only alternative. Reminding himself of this, he pulled the report of various interviews he had had with the inhabitants of Lakehurst towards him and started to study them.

  They were a strange lot, Tennant reckoned. From the totally eccentric to the bad and scheming. In the first category he placed Ceinwen Carruthers, in the second Sonia Tate. However, their stories were almost identical. It seemed that almost the entire village had gone to the vicar’s party in the evening and had left in a body at ten thirty or thereabouts. All of them – and this included everyone with the exception of Dr Rudniski and Olivia Beauchamp, both of whom the inspector had yet to interview – had apparently gone home to their beds where they had snuggled down like good Christian souls.

  Tennant looked at the list of names and pictured each one. Ceinwen Carruthers, dirndl skirt and glasses; Mavis Cox, picture of respectability; Ivy Bagshot, he couldn’t see her stripping off to do a calendar; the woman in the post office, village gossip; Jack Boggis, dour Yorkshireman but fancied himself with the ladies. That left him with Giles Fielding, apparently likeable, and poor little Kylie who had discovered the bodies and been in a state of shock ever since. Left to track down were the Culpeppers, Kylie’s brother Dwayne, together with the doctor, the violinist, Gerrard Riddell and Cheryl Hamilton-Harty. The inspector sighed and drew towards him something found at the scene of the crime.