The Mills of God

by Deryn Lake

  ‘In answer to your question,’ Tennant said quietly, ‘I have to inform you that Richard Culpepper has been placed under arrest and is currently in Lewes.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, and sat down rather abruptly, staring at a glass of wine which she had obviously poured out before their arrival. ‘On what charge?’

  ‘Murder,’ answered Potter dramatically.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ she said. ‘Whatever gave you the idea that he could kill people?’

  ‘May we sit down, please?’ said Tennant, treating her gently. ‘You see, his wife has provided us with an alibi for him. She says that sometimes he leaves the theatre, takes a late train home, then cycles to your flat and spends the night with you. Is this true?’

  The round blue eyes turned in his direction. ‘Yes, it is, perfectly. We met in a revival of Anouilh’s Ring Round the Moon. Neither of us had very big parts so we spent a lot of time chatting and we fell in love. Truly, madly, deeply as they say. Anyway he told me all about Roseanna. How she had been a big star of the sixties and quite the most beautiful girl in the world and how he could never leave her. But that was OK with me. I didn’t want to marry him, I just wanted to go to bed with him. He’s awfully good at that, by the way. And if that sounds hard-hearted to you I think you’ll find it is the coming thing. I personally think that marriage is going out of fashion.’

  Tennant was so surprised that he burst out laughing and said, ‘Well, you’re wonderfully frank, Miss Grove.’

  She laughed prettily and he suddenly saw that this was the image she had woven. She had been given the name Titania and she had by some miracle turned herself into a little fairy. But an extremely tough little fairy for all that.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ she said. ‘Or I have beer if you prefer?’

  Potter refused, he was driving, but Tennant accepted and joined her in a glass of excellent Merlot.

  ‘Tell me, how often did you see Culpepper?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, about twice a week. The rest of the time he felt obliged to stay and take his curtain. I just want to tell you that he is a truly sweet person and I know that he couldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Tennant wondered what it was about Culpepper that attracted the most beautiful women to him. Admittedly he had matinee idol looks – ageing slightly, but still there. And, of course, he was terrific in bed, according to this young woman. The inspector dourly wished he had the same pulling power.

  He finished his wine and said, ‘Would you be prepared to come to Lewes and make a statement regarding this?’

  ‘Yes. If you’ll give me a few minutes I’ll go and get dressed and we can go straight away. I mean there’s no time like the present, is there?’

  While she was out of the room he said to Potter, ‘There was nothing to stop Culpepper taking a third night off, was there. You must go to the theatre tomorrow and see the stage manager. They presumably have a log of when people miss the curtain call.’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that, sir, but I can easily go and find out.’

  ‘Please do.’

  Titania came back into the room wearing a pair of shorts over bright emerald tights on the end of which were strappy shoes with six inch heels. On the top half she had a clinging white jumper cinched in by a black belt with gold studs. Now not looking quite so petite, Tennant supposed that even fairies must accept the latest fashions.

  She got into the car with them and they drove to Lewes both men vastly entertained by her amusing chatter. Tennant slipped in a question or two.

  ‘How old are you, Miss Grove?’

  ‘Twenty-five. And Richard was twice that, but he was lovely. Besides, he might have been able to help my career along.’

  ‘And what if he is the murderer?’

  ‘Oh nonsense. He loves Roseanna and he loves me. What would he want to go and start murdering people for?’

  As she entered the police station there was a kind of ripple of excitement. Nobody said anything but one could sense the change in atmosphere. Young constables stared, older ones looked urbane. From somewhere or other came the sound of a subdued wolf whistle. Tennant looked round but could not spot the miscreant.

  They questioned her and took a written statement which she signed but there was no getting away from the fact that she swore Richard spent two or three nights a week with her. When she’d gone, driven back by an eager young officer who had a grin on his face like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, Tennant sat very quietly, then said, ‘You think she’s telling the truth, Potter?’

  ‘I think we’re going to have to prove it, sir. Ask the neighbours and so on. Get a few witnesses.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. But with Roseanna backing up her story it’s starting to look like a cast-iron alibi.’

  ‘I know how you’re feeling, sir. Believe me. If Richard Culpepper didn’t do it – then who the hell did?’

  ‘Yes, who?’ asked Tennant, utterly miserable.

  At that moment the phone went and Potter picked it up. His face changed.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘You’d better speak, sir. It’s the Vicar. He says he’s found something on the Internet which he thinks could be relevant. Apparently he’s got the doctor with him and they’ve both seen the same thing.’

  ‘What is it, do you know?’

  ‘He says he’d rather not say over the phone. He wants you to see it in person.’

  ‘Tell him we’re on our way.’

  Thinking that the police car must know the direction to Lakehurst almost without a driver, Tennant closed his eyes and snoozed gently letting his right-hand man take over. He felt that he couldn’t exist without Potter, that the sensible young person who would have been far better off in business than in the police, for all that had qualities which made him absolutely indispensable. For a start he knew exactly how to deal with his boss, who had tendencies to be mercurial at times. Just as Tennant could achieve moments of brilliance – though not so many on this case – Potter got results by sheer plodding hard work.

  As the car turned up the road, going past the Victorian houses where Dr Rudniski lived and had his surgery, Tennant sat up and started to concentrate. They pulled up on the other side of the road leading to the vicarage. It was now nearly midnight and the village was deserted, dark and very sinister. Potter knocked at the door and as he did so the security light came on, so bright that when the door opened they could not see who stood in the shadowy hallway beyond.

  ‘Vicar?’ said Tennant questioningly.

  ‘Step inside, gentlemen,’ replied the voice of Michael Mauser. ‘The vicar is waiting for you within.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tennant stood staring for a moment then he brushed past Mauser, rather abruptly, and hastened into the vicarage’s living room. The vicar and the doctor, who were sitting side-by-side in front of the computer, looked up at him in some surprise.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ asked Potter.

  ‘Perfectly, thank you,’ Nick answered. He let his gaze wander to Mauser and he added, ‘Michael called on me unexpectedly and rather late.’

  ‘The truth is,’ said the German, ‘that I had a desperate need to talk to someone about the relationship between my wife and myself so I rang Dr Rudniski’s surgery but there was no reply. So I decided to call on the vicar instead.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’ asked Tennant.

  ‘First,’ said Kasper, ‘I think you should take a look at this.’ And he called the inspector over to the computer screen.

  He and Potter stood staring in blank amazement the minute it was pointed out to them.

  ‘What an idiot,’ exclaimed Tennant, slapping his head with his hand. ‘I’ve actually looked at this but never saw it.’

  ‘It’s very easy to miss,’ Nick answered modestly.

  ‘I don’t know that I would have noticed it until it was shown to me,’ Kasper added.

  Tennant sat down and the vicar, without being asked, produced a drink and put it in the inspecto
r’s hand.

  Potter asked. ‘Do you want me to do anything about it tonight, sir?’

  Tennant shook his head. ‘No, it’s too late. We’ll go and ask questions in the morning. Being logical, this doesn’t prove a thing though. But it’s mighty suspicious.’

  Mauser spoke. ‘Do you know there is an ancient proverb which I believe in very much.’

  ‘What is that?’ said Kasper.

  ‘It is, “The mills of God grind slowly but they grind exceeding small.” When I think of my father – who believed in Hitler as if the man were a god – how he was ground down until eventually he was no more. It has quite convinced me that evil comes back to those who perpetrate it.’

  ‘So you think the key to these murders was revenge? That this –’ Tennant waved at the computer – ‘proves everything?’

  Mauser shook his head. ‘I think it was bloodlust on the part of a diseased mind. And, yes, this proves it to me.’

  ‘I believe that is what the defence will plead,’ said Potter practically.

  ‘We’ve got to get the facts first,’ Tennant answered gloomily.

  ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult now you know who to question.’

  Tennant turned to Mauser. ‘Changing the subject. Tell me about your late wife. I’d like to know.’

  ‘Despite her outward appearance and despite her continual flirtatiousness, she had the kindness of a saint. We met in England after she came to care for my aged mother, who had senile dementia and was very difficult to cope with. I had taken a job as a translator you see – nobody questioned my origins – but it was very hard to look after her and work full time. So I took on an au pair. Then I fell in love with Cheryl and we married. All was well as long as I was able to satisfy her needs.’ He sighed. ‘Later on as I became older and less powerful – you understand me – she took lovers. Because she had need of them. I believe she was a nymphomaniac. But I forgave her because I loved her very much and understood. That is why I used to take those long walks alone, why I went away most weekends. To give her time and space for her own activities. But I do not want to devalue her goodness and kindness to me. I tell you all, gentlemen, she was a truly remarkable woman.’

  Tennant thought of the giggling creature who had tried desperately to seduce him in The White Hart and found it almost impossible to equate the two sides of Cheryl Hamilton-Harty’s personality. He said nothing. He was too wrapped up in the discovery that the vicar had made.

  Potter spoke up, saying brightly, ‘You obviously have a lot of grieving to do, sir.’

  Which Tennant thought was kindness personified when one considered that Potter’s grandfather had been killed by a German in the Second World War.

  There was silence for a moment or two broken by Michael Mauser.

  ‘I suppose it would not be possible to lay a trap for this person and catch them in that way?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Tennant.

  ‘Simply what I say. Even if you go round in the morning and ask questions, search the house, do whatever, there is still a strong possibility that you will find nothing. That the person concerned could flatly deny everything you say. That delays you, does it not?’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ the inspector asked, interested despite himself.

  ‘Lay a trap. I am perfectly willing to act as the bait. I will go with you to The Great House and make the sort of remarks that will draw the killer out. Then you can lie in waiting and pounce. It is a good idea, is it not?’

  ‘It’s worth a try, sir,’ said Potter.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s not orthodox policing but it’s worth a shot.’

  Mauser looked round the room and just for a second Tennant had a glimpse of Michael’s autocratic father, the Graf von Weisshausen, issuing orders to his Stormtroopers. But he put this thought on one side.

  ‘When do you think we should do this?’ he said.

  ‘Why tomorrow, of course. I feel there is no time to waste.’

  ‘And in that you are absolutely right.’

  Next morning, under the pretext of organizing a village meeting to discuss the situation, Tennant booked the chapel in The Great House. It had once been a place for private prayer when the Elizabethan house had been occupied by a great family, the founder of which had worked in Lombard Street and gained a knighthood by so doing. But it had long since become a room for private parties and in this way the police had managed to lure certain people, who would not normally have attended a public house, into coming.

  Tennant and Potter entered the room and ran their eyes over the assembled company. They saw that most people were present. Amongst others were Jack Boggis, Mavis Cox, Ivy Bagshot, Sonia Tate, Giles Fielding, looking very pale and with his throat bandaged up. Poor little Kylie sat next to the Reverend Nick Lawrence, while Dr Kasper Rudniski and the elegant Michael Mauser sat slightly apart from the rest. Roseanna Culpepper sat pointedly alone.

  ‘Good morning, everyone, it was very good of you to attend at such short notice,’ said Tennant.

  ‘Why are we here?’ demanded Jack Boggis. ‘And why are you still here, that’s what I want to know?’

  Both Tennant and Potter ignored this but Michael Mauser, sounding very authoritarian, said, ‘The police are doing an excellent job, I believe. Why, think, people; there has been no murder for several nights. The killer is obviously frightened out of their wits.’

  Jack mumbled ‘Nah-zee’, à la Winston Churchill, but other than for that there was no comment.

  Mrs Cox spoke up timidly. ‘What I think Mr Boggis meant was have you charged the man you arrested?’

  Roseanna went deadly still as Tennant answered, ‘No.’

  Ivy Bagshot put her oar in. ‘Well, is there any likelihood of you doing so?’

  Potter answered her. ‘Not really, madam. It seems the man in question has an alibi for some of the killings but we are looking into that carefully.’

  ‘Well, about time you did something bloody carefully.’ Boggis again. ‘It seems to me that your handling of this case has been a bloody shambles.’

  Mauser spoke up again, looking down his long aristocratic nose at Jack as he did so. ‘Well, I can’t agree. What do the rest of you think? Miss Saunters, what is your opinion?’

  ‘I think it’s all ’orrible and I would like to leave this place tonight. And I would too,’ she added defiantly, ‘if it wasn’t for our gran.’

  Sonia Tate spoke up. ‘Well, I agree with Mr Mauser.’ She gave him a lingering smile. ‘By the way, please accept my deepest sympathies on your sad loss.’

  There was a buzz of agreement above which Boggis’s voice rose with the single word, ‘Condolences.’

  ‘The reason why I called you all here,’ said Tennant, ‘is one that we have already touched on. Namely, that the man currently under arrest has not been charged until we have made further enquiries. So I warn you all to remain vigilant and be on your guard. We are far from certain that we have the right man.’

  ‘Bloody palaver,’ Boggis mouthed, going somewhat red in the face. ‘Do you mean to say you ruined our morning just to tell us that?’

  Once again Mauser spoke. ‘As you are so upset, sir, allow me to buy you a drink.’

  Boggis’s face changed visibly. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said, looking decidedly more cheerful.

  ‘Can I join you gentlemen?’ Sonia Tate asked, her voice deep.

  Mauser, who was in the act of standing up, rose to his full height and actually clicked his heels. ‘The pleasure will be entirely mine, madam.’

  ‘What a blooming smoothie,’ Potter whispered to Tennant, who merely winked his eye by way of reply.

  The rest went about their business just leaving Jack Boggis, Sonia Tate, Michael Mauser and Ivy Bagshot, who decided to stay for a brief sweet sherry. They were an ill-assorted quartet, made more embarrassing by the fact that Sonia Tate decided to make a pass – mild but for all that still a pass – at Mauser, whom she had hardly seen before.

>   ‘I do feel so sorry for you,’ she said, all eyes. ‘It must be terrible for you up there, all on your own.’

  ‘I have accepted my neighbour Giles Fielding’s invitation to stay with him. He was wounded, you know, by this killer but fortunately I saved him.’

  ‘I heard about that. So it was you, was it, who rescued him? How very brave.’

  ‘We must all be on our guard with such a dastardly murderer about.’

  His rather quaint use of English made the others smile.

  ‘I tell you,’ said Boggis, gnashing his set, ‘that if I caught the bugger I’d cut his bollocks off – begging your pardon, ladies – but that’s what he deserves in my opinion. Will you have another sherry, Mrs Bagshot?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she answered. ‘I must be off. We’ve a WI meeting at two o’clock. Goodbye all.’

  ‘I hope I didn’t cause offence,’ said Jack, as soon as the woman was out of earshot. ‘Trouble with us Yorkshire folk is we don’t mince our words.’

  ‘That is obvious,’ said Mauser.

  ‘Happen,’ said Jack, which clearly meant something to him.

  They stayed talking generalities until Mauser finally glanced at his wristwatch.

  ‘You must excuse me,’ he said, rising and bowing. ‘I promised Giles that I would meet him for lunch and I see that I am already ten minutes late. Farewell.’

  ‘Not bad for a Nah-zee,’ said Jack, when the door closed behind him.

  ‘No, I think he’s rather dishy.’

  ‘Now, now, sweetheart. I hope you’re not forgetting our little arrangement.’

  ‘Quite honestly, Jack, I’m bored with it. You’re such a fumbler. Do you mind if we call it a day?’

  ‘Well, I like that! I’ve treated you to meals and all. I think you’re heartless.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack. We’ve had some good times but now it’s over.’