Day of Vengeance

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Oh, dear! You’ve gone to the police?’

  ‘Yes, but they’ve not come up with anything yet. I’m looking up a private enquiry agent I happen to know in London.’

  ‘Dear, dear. Well, now, you just take the directory into the staff room –’ she pointed – ‘and you can use your mobile as much as you like in there. And I do wish you luck!’

  But I had no luck. My call to Jonathan went to voicemail, which probably meant that he had silenced his phone. That, in turn, probably meant he was actively searching for Walter, but it was frustrating, all the same. I left a message saying only that I thought I knew of an avenue worth his exploring, and he should call me.

  I told Jane I couldn’t reach Jonathan, and watched her shoulders sag. ‘I’m afraid I’m out of ideas. We could go back to the BM and get the names of Walter’s other friends, I suppose.’

  ‘Ahmed said they’d gone. Go back to Sue.’

  I hated to go back to her with no news at all. The longer Walter was missing, the less likely it seemed that we would find him easily. And if Jane was worried and frightened, Sue must be nearly out of her mind by now.

  Jane was right. We had to go and talk to Sue.

  She had been sitting by the front window, watching, waiting, hoping. I was glad. If we had rung the bell unseen, she would have flown down the stairs in hope, only to have it dashed when she opened the door.

  One look at our faces told her all she needed to know. ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ll make us some tea.’

  I started to follow her into the tiny kitchen, but Jane caught my arm. ‘Better for her. Needs to keep busy.’

  I made a wry face. ‘Of course you’re right. Stupid of me.’

  The tea tray shook only slightly as Sue brought it in from the kitchen. Along with the pot and mugs and appurtenances, there was a plate of freshly made scones. I knew she had made them for Walter’s return, and I was hard put not to let my tears show as she handed them around.

  We sat and drank in silence, crumbling the scones none of us had the appetite to eat. Sue, I could tell, was afraid to speak lest she start to cry, and I would have bet money Jane was feeling the same way. As for me, I was trying to find a way to give Sue the one sliver of information we’d gained, without raising false hopes.

  ‘Sue, have you ever heard of a place, a manor house, called Ashhurst?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She looked up from the pile of crumbs on her plate. ‘Sounds Kentish. There’s Penshurst, I know. I’ve been there. Penshurst Place is brilliant.’

  ‘No, this is Ashhurst. It is in Kent, though. I thought Walter might have mentioned it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  She couldn’t dredge up any interest, but she was trying hard to be polite.

  ‘Well, you see, the thing is, Jane and I went to the BM this morning to try to talk to Walter’s friends. We found a man named Ahmed something-or-other who was very kind to us, but didn’t have much to tell us.’

  ‘Oh, Ahmed is a darling! He’s going to be our best … that is …’ Her chin started to tremble, and she looked away.

  ‘Yes, well, the thing is, we were trying to think of any place where Walter might have gone if he had to lie low for a little while. He wouldn’t have wanted to come here if there was any danger to you, nor to Jane for the same reason, so we asked Ahmed if he could think of a place. And he mentioned this house. Apparently one of Walter’s … er … acquaintances invited the two of them to come for the weekend. The house belongs to this man’s parents, a wealthy, titled family named Everidge. Ring any bells?’

  Sue tried to pull herself together. ‘I think I remember Walter and Ahmed talking once about someone named Everidge. It’s a posh name, that’s why I remembered. They didn’t seem to be terribly keen on him. I can’t imagine why Ahmed would think Walter might go there.’

  ‘Grasping at straws.’ Jane’s voice was raspy. She drank some of her tea.

  ‘I’m sorry we—’ My phone rang. Alan! I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the display. Not Alan. A number I didn’t know. I excused myself and moved to a corner of the room. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Dorothy, Jonathan. You phoned.’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you for calling back. I’m with Sue right now.’

  ‘Is there something you’d rather not talk about in front of her?’

  I didn’t want to enlarge on the Ashhurst theory, tenuous as it was. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Then let me tell you something. I’m at the church, and something very strange is going on. I haven’t quite put my finger on it yet, but the reverend gentleman isn’t here, and hasn’t been here since Friday. I need to talk to you and Alan.’

  ‘Alan’s in a commission meeting, and I don’t know when he’ll be done. He doesn’t even know I’m in London. I was told to phone him only in case of emergency.’

  ‘I believe this constitutes an emergency – for the commission, at least. Please phone and ask if he can meet us at the pub nearest the church, as soon as possible.’

  ‘Oh, my! Yes, I’ll do that right away.’ I fussed with my phone, dropped it, retrieved it, put it back in my pocket, trying to give myself time to think, time to figure out how much to tell Jane and Sue. Especially Sue.

  I decided on part of the truth. ‘That was Jonathan. He’s come across something that may be very important to the Appointments Commission. I don’t know what, but he wants Alan and me to meet him right away. So I’m going to head over to Lambeth Palace and see if they’ll let me wrest Alan away. You two hold the fort.’

  ‘But what about Walter?’ cried Sue, not bothering this time to hide her tears.

  I gave her a quick hug. ‘We’ve not forgotten him, my dear. It’s all going to tie together, I’m sure of it. And I’ll report back as soon as I know anything at all.’

  I hailed a cab, wondering as I did so if it would be quicker to take the Tube. But I’d walked quite enough for the day and my feet were hurting me. Anyway, I couldn’t use my phone underground.

  Answer, Alan. Answer! I pleaded as his phone rang and rang. At the very last moment, when I’d given up hope, he picked up. ‘Dorothy,’ he hissed. ‘What is it?’ He sounded both irritated and worried.

  I didn’t waste time with apologies. ‘Jonathan told me to tell you this is an emergency. He wants to meet both of us right away. It has to do with Lovelace, and it isn’t good.’

  There was such a long pause I wondered if my phone had died, or his had. But finally he said, ‘I’ll do my best. Where?’

  I told him, and knocked on the panel separating me from the cab driver. ‘Sorry. Change of destination, please. St Barnabas’ Church.’ I gave him the street name. He seemed annoyed, as best I could tell from the back of his head.

  ‘Not the best area, madam,’ he said. ‘Being American, you might not know.’

  I despair of ever losing my accent. If it still clings after so many years in England, there’s no hope. But I thought I knew what was really bothering him. ‘I know it’s not a good place to pick up another fare, but I’ll pay you double if you get me there as fast as you can.’

  ‘Right, madam.’ He sounded much more cheerful, and made a sharp left at the next corner.

  There was a small crowd of people, perhaps ten or fifteen of them, gathered around the iron gates in front of the courtyard at St Barnabas’. The gates were shut and, apparently, locked, and the crowd’s voices were verging on angry.

  ‘Sure you want to stop here, madam?’

  ‘Actually, no. It doesn’t appear I could get in. No, I’ll settle for that pub on the corner.’ It was The Lion, the one where Alan and I had stopped after our first visit to St Barnabas’.

  I gave the driver, as promised, double the fare, which left me with exactly fifty-seven pence. He saw me searching in my purse for more, and handed me back a five-pound note with a chuckle. ‘Don’t you worry about me, madam! Can’t leave a lady penniless, now can I? Hope somebody’s me
etin’ you in there.’

  ‘I hope so, too.’

  I hurried inside. I had tarried too long as it was. A cab in that neighbourhood attracted attention, and the people gathered outside the church were already beginning to turn and look.

  I looked around, but couldn’t spot Jonathan. Oh, dear! It had been years since I’d been in a pub on my own, and then it was in Sherebury where they knew me. A tiny panic was beginning to stir inside, when Jonathan moved out of a shadowy corner and beckoned to me.

  ‘My, I’m glad to see you! I was beginning to think … well, anyway, I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘Any word from Alan?’

  ‘He said he’d do his best to get here. It might take a little while, though. Jonathan, what’s happening at the church?’

  ‘I wish I knew. What I know for certain,’ he said quietly, ‘is that no one has seen Mr Lovelace since early yesterday morning. Mrs Steele is being typically obstructive. She says he’s away at a church event of some sort and has left orders not to be disturbed, but my friend Jed says he’s done a bunk. He missed Evensong yesterday, even though he was supposed to take the service. And Whitsun’s coming soon, with preparations to be made. They make a great to-do about Whitsunday in this parish, it seems, and he’s done nothing about any of it. And –’ he lowered his voice still further – ‘the parish account books are missing. Jed says he saw Mrs Steele hunting frantically for them for hours. When he asked her what she was looking for, she bit his head off, but the cabinet door was open, and he could see that they weren’t where they should have been.’

  ‘How did Jed know where they should have been? A sexton wouldn’t have anything to do with them, surely.’

  ‘No. But he’s been working at this church even longer than Mrs Steele, and she’s been here since the Ark. He knows where everything is. He knows a lot of secrets, too. I think he knows – ah! Here’s Alan at last.’

  ‘This had better be good, Jonathan. They’re very displeased with me at Lambeth.’

  ‘Lovelace and the account books are missing.’

  FIFTEEN

  Alan was very still. Then he shook himself, rather like Watson when he’s been out in the rain. ‘That is absolutely all I needed to put a cap on this day. Dorothy, my dear, Jonathan, what would you like to drink?’

  We all settled for beer. I would have liked a Jack Daniel’s, but this didn’t seem the sort of pub to stock it, and I know Alan was panting for a good tot of whisky, but, there again, what was available at The Lion was probably not the best single malt.

  The beer was quite acceptable, though, darkly amber, clear, and quite refreshing. We each took a long quaff, and then Alan said, ‘All right. Who’ll go first?’

  ‘I know Jonathan’s story, and I haven’t a lot to report. You start.’

  ‘Well.’ He took another pull at his beer. ‘The commission members are a bit rattled, as one can imagine. Never before in the history of episcopal appointments has a candidate been murdered. Not in recent history, at any rate. God knows what Henry the Eighth and his crowd got up to.’

  ‘I don’t think they bothered with commissions and all that. They just named people bishops and then expected them to do their bidding. The king’s bidding, I mean. Look at Becket. He wasn’t even in holy orders when Henry made him Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  ‘Different Henry, quite a few centuries earlier. All right, all right, don’t chuck your crisps about. I bought all they had. At any rate, the meeting was pretty well divided. I can speak only in generalities, you understand, but some of the members said that since there was no chance Brading would have been chosen anyway, there was no point in not continuing with the process. They didn’t put it quite that way, and they hedged it round with expressions of horror and regret, but it was apparent that was what they meant.

  ‘The other faction – the Brading supporters – claimed to be appalled by the argument. By the time they finished arguing their case, Brading was equipped with a halo and wings and was well on his way to canonization.’

  ‘I didn’t think Anglicans canonized people.’

  ‘They’re prepared to make an exception. There was a good deal of not-so-subtle finger-pointing, as well.’ He finished his beer.

  ‘Finger-pointing? At whom?’

  ‘At me, of course. “Where are the police? Why has no one been arrested for this heinous murder?” Never mind that I have been retired for a good many years and have nothing, officially, to do with the investigation.’

  ‘Oh, honestly! That’s just plain mean! They know perfectly well that you’re in no position to investigate.’

  ‘It was all politics, love. Grandstanding. But unpleasant enough. Who wants another?’

  ‘Mine this time.’ Jonathan got to his feet with only a bit of stiffness. Time was when he couldn’t walk without a cane. I was proud of his hard, painful work toward recovery.

  ‘So, are they going to postpone the process?’

  ‘I don’t know. They were getting ready to vote on it when you called me away. I gave Kenneth my proxy and escaped.’

  ‘How did you vote?’

  ‘In favour of postponement. That’ll take some sort of special dispensation from Canterbury, to let Bishop Hardie stay on past his seventieth birthday. But I can’t see how anyone can seriously evaluate the other candidates until Brading’s murder has been solved. And now, Jonathan, you tell me we may be down to two candidates!’

  ‘I’m afraid so. It looks very much as though young Walter was quite right about Lovelace cooking the books. We can’t prove it until we find Lovelace, and the accounts, but flight is pretty good evidence of guilt.’

  ‘And meanwhile,’ I said, ‘what about Walter? Everyone’s looking high and low for him, and that sweet child he’s going to marry is half out of her wits with worry. Where is he? What’s happened to him?’

  ‘The one good thing about Lovelace’s apparent disappearing act,’ Alan pointed out, ‘is that now Jonathan and I have enough to ginger up the Met. The “everyone” looking for him really amounts to a few concerned people and what police could be spared. Put the entire Metropolitan Police Force on the job, and he’ll be found. Has either of you come up with any leads?’

  ‘I have not,’ said Jonathan. ‘I do have a number of leads as to where Lovelace might have headed, and it’s not impossible to suppose that Walter is with him. I’m sorry to have to say it, but if Lovelace caught him snooping, it’s more than likely that he’d have tried to find a way to shut him up. I’m loath to suppose the worst of the man. I think he’s a snake-oil salesman of the very highest degree, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. So I think he’d have tried first to talk Walter out of his suspicions, and then, when that didn’t work, he’d have taken the boy with him.’

  Despite my worry, I had to smile at Jonathan’s references to ‘young Walter’ and ‘the boy’. The age difference between them couldn’t be much more than five or six years. But then Jonathan’s had some hard knocks in his life, and that ages a person.

  ‘I do have one thin lead. That’s why I called you earlier, Jonathan.’ I told them about the country house. ‘It isn’t very likely at all, and I do realize that, but I had to pass it along.’

  ‘It’s possible, though,’ said Alan. ‘I agree that if Lovelace caught Walter, he’d have abducted him. But if Walter got out of the church safely, with incontrovertible evidence, he’d hardly have wanted to go home, for fear of endangering Sue.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ I said eagerly. ‘And listen, Alan! That “incontrovertible evidence” might even be the account books themselves! Walter might have them!’

  Both Alan and Jonathan turned on me looks so grim my mouth dropped open. ‘What? What did I say?’

  ‘You just gave Lovelace an excellent reason to abduct Walter, or hunt him down,’ said Jonathan. ‘And if he finds the boy, with the incriminating evidence, then I might have to change my mind about his willingness to do murder.’

  ‘I think,’ said Alan, ‘that
house in Kent is sounding more likely by the moment. Who else knows about it, besides Walter’s friend Ahmed?’

  ‘You’d have to ask him, but the visit happened some years ago, and I don’t think the friendship – if you can call it that – persisted. Even Sue was vague about the whole thing, and if she doesn’t know, I can’t think it’s likely anyone else would.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it’s possible. It’s amazing how much Londoners are interconnected. Jonathan, you know more people in the Met than I do. Can you get them genuinely involved in a search for Walter? I must get back to the commission meeting, if it’s still in session, and drop this bombshell.’

  ‘I’ll do that, and then shall I go to Ashhurst?’

  ‘If you will. You’d best ring them first. I must go! Dorothy, expect me when you see me.’

  He gave me a quick kiss and was gone. I turned to Jonathan. ‘They don’t have a listed telephone number – not that I can find, anyway. The one on their website is just for tourists.’

  ‘Oh, it’s that sort of house, is it?’

  ‘More or less. Not exactly Blenheim, but quite old, very elaborate, extremely expensive to keep up, I’d have thought. Which means the family must be quite wealthy. They allow visitors only on summer Sundays, and that can’t bring in a lot of cash.’

  ‘No. But I’ll find a phone number for them. Police connections can come in handy. And speaking of police, I need to get to the chief straightaway. Would you care to share a taxi?’

  ‘I doubt you’ll find one. They’re not very thick on the ground hereabouts. I’ll gladly accept your escort to the Tube station, though. It’s not in the most salubrious of neighbourhoods.’

  It was a fair walk. We used the time on our phones. I called Sue, gave her a brief run-down, and asked her to tell Jane I’d be there in half an hour or so to head for home. Jane called back almost immediately, to say she’d meet me at Victoria Station. ‘Platform eighteen, unless they’ve changed it.’

  Jonathan called Scotland Yard. ‘My old chief is in,’ he said when he’d rung off, ‘and will see me as soon as I can get there. That’s good. I’d rather explain to him than anyone else. Meanwhile, I need to phone Sue for some basic information about Walter.’