Day of Vengeance

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Very well.’ I started to write. ‘Ultra-conservative about role of women in the Church.’

  ‘And in life,’ said Jane. ‘Kinder, Küche, Kirche.’

  ‘But there were no Kinder in his household. I wonder what was left for his wife to do?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Look after him,’ said Jane, and again there was that hint of a growl in her voice.

  ‘She must have had a lot of time on her hands,’ said Walter thoughtfully.

  ‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,’ said Jonathan, ‘don’t forget the woman is nearing sixty.’

  Alan, Jane, and I burst into laughter. ‘Go on thinking it, Walter! I can testify that there’s life well beyond fifty.’ And Alan winked at me.

  ‘So we need,’ I said, when order was restored, ‘to find out if there’s any hint of Mrs Brading having an affair. Given her husband’s exalted position, it would have had to be handled very discreetly.’

  ‘Somebody would know,’ said Jane. ‘No stopping talk in a cathedral town.’

  ‘Do tell!’ I grinned at Jane.

  ‘It would make for a great motive.’ Walter frowned. ‘But then the murder should have been the other way around, shouldn’t it? Husband kills lover, or wife, or both?’

  ‘Usually,’ said Alan, the expert on crime. ‘But if the lover is a robust man and the husband is not, it could end by the attacker becoming the attackee, if I may coin a word.’

  ‘All right, then, whoever gets landed with the Chelton assignments makes that gossip a priority.’

  ‘And maybe we shouldn’t forget,’ said Walter, ‘that it could have been the dean having the affair. Maybe with his attacker.’

  ‘A woman bashing someone on the head?’

  ‘Or not,’ said Walter.

  Oh. That possibility hadn’t occurred to me, though I don’t know why not. At least one English dean is openly gay and living with a partner. Why not another? ‘That would have had to be even more discreet,’ I mused, thinking aloud, ‘considering Brading’s ultra-conservatism. So you’re positing a lovers’ quarrel?’

  ‘Just thinking it might have been.’

  Jane cuffed him gently. ‘Too timid, boy. Good ideas. Stick to your guns.’

  He gave her a million-watt smile, and I could have cried. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe for all the years these two had lost, when neither knew the other existed. Maybe for all I’d lost, never having grandchildren of my own. Maybe just because I’m a sentimental idiot.

  Alan said, ‘If I may, I can perhaps speed this along a bit. I take it we’d like to work out the main points before bedtime. Dorothy, I believe we were listing Brading’s views?’

  ‘Yes, and I admit we haven’t got very far. All right. Conservative social views. Conservative religious views, extremely Low Church in all respects. I don’t know if we know his political views, or if they matter.’

  ‘Probably Tory all the way. Don’t know if it matters.’

  ‘But we’ll try to find out anyway.’ Alan made a note on his list. ‘Let’s move on now,’ he said, glancing at his watch, ‘to “Suspects”. Perhaps I should leave the room.’

  It was years before I learned to interpret that deadpan English style of humour, and I still make mistakes. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘You’re the obvious top suspect. You know a lot about murder, and how murderers evade capture. And you haven’t a shadow of an alibi.’

  ‘Motive?’ he asked.

  ‘You couldn’t bear the idea of him as our bishop.’

  Alan held out his hands, wrists together, as if for handcuffs.

  ‘Thought you wanted to speed things up,’ said Jane, with a mighty frown that deceived nobody.

  Alan shrugged comically, and proceeded. ‘Very well. I surrender. I’ll leave my name off the list. Also Dean Allenby. The day he murders someone will be the day the world comes to an end. And I presume we can rule out the two Archbishops and their secretary, and the Prime Minister’s secretary, all for want of motive. Actually, Dorothy, I think we can leave all the other members of the commission off the list for now. The police will certainly have been checking their stories.’

  ‘I’ll concede, for now. I still think we, as amateurs, might be able to find out a lot the police couldn’t, but we have enough on our plates without them. We’ll save them for later, if we don’t come up with anyone more likely in the meantime.’

  ‘And your “Other” heading can presumably be filled with our extensive catch in the net we’re spreading around his background.’

  ‘I’m not sure the metaphor works,’ said Jonathan, ‘but I agree that’s the most likely side of the boat to fish from.’ He moved restlessly in his chair. ‘Sorry. Getting a bit stiff.’

  ‘And so am I, and my only excuse is age. Or maybe two artificial knees count. I say it’s time to take a break, go for a walk, have some supper, and then resume. All in favour?’

  We deliberately spoke of other things over supper, which was informal in the extreme. I set out odds and ends of cheese that had accumulated in the fridge, heated soup out of the freezer, and made a salad. Jane the baker contributed a couple of fresh loaves of bread and another plum cake, and we all ate sitting in the parlour with plates in our laps. The two young members of the party sat on the floor. The weather wasn’t really cold enough for a fire, but Alan lit one anyway, just for the cosiness of it.

  ‘Walter, I don’t suppose you’ve had time to get that ring for Sue yet, have you?’ I said, my mouth not quite full of bread and cheese.

  ‘No, you’ve kept me pretty busy with other things,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘And now I suppose you’re going to send me off chasing possible murderers.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite that way,’ I began.

  Alan finished my sentence. ‘She never does think of it that way, you know, my boy. She calls it innocent curiosity, or perfectly safe little expeditions, or harmless questions anybody might ask – and half the time ends up very nearly in the soup.’

  ‘But never quite. I do feel guilty about keeping you away from Sue so long, though. She hardly knows me and already she has reason to find me obnoxious.’

  ‘She thinks you’re terrific. She wants you to come to the wedding.’

  ‘You couldn’t keep us away,’ said Alan. ‘Have you set a date?’

  ‘We’re hoping for August sometime. We haven’t talked yet to Dean Allenby, but we’d like to be married here, in the Cathedral. Sherebury is – well, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home.’ He didn’t look at Jane, and she didn’t look at him, lest they break that ironclad English rule about showing emotion. I’m American, and didn’t care how many people saw me blink away a tear or two.

  So the talk drifted to weddings, with the women interested in the clothes and the food, and the men trading rather mild ribaldry. I ventured at one point to ask Jonathan how Jemima was doing.

  ‘Well, I think,’ he said, looking down at his plate. ‘I … we … I see her now and again, and she’s coping quite well. She’s been assigned to work with the Royal Collection, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t! How wonderful! It’s what she’s always wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly since she started working at the Palace.’ He stopped there, and I was sorry I’d brought it up. The memories of Jemima’s job at Buckingham Palace were painful.

  ‘I hope she’ll be happy,’ was all I said. I could have added hopes about the two of them, but that was their business.

  After we’d cleared away and washed the dishes, we settled down again to our task. ‘How should we organize the search for Brading’s friends and/or enemies, Alan? You’re much better at deploying troops than I am.’

  ‘By location, I should think. That’s the most efficient. One person can talk to quite a few people in a short time, if they’re all in the same neighbourhood, so to speak.’

  ‘You’re going to have to tell us, then, what the locations are. I know you said the CV was confidential, but the man’s dead and we’re trying to find hi
s murderer. Surely that makes a difference.’

  ‘Not according to the letter of the law, but if one considers the spirit, I agree. Let me fetch the paperwork.’

  He was back in a moment with a thick folder in his hand. ‘This has everything about the appointment process,’ he explained. ‘I thought there might be other information we’d need. But here’s Brading’s CV. Where do you want to start?’

  ‘I say with his first assignment. You said he was a curate?’

  ‘Yes, but only for a little over a year. That was St Margaret’s, Godwick, in Bucks. The rector at the time was the Reverend Mr Coates. Now deceased, the file says.’

  ‘Drat!’ I said. ‘But there will be other people there who remember him. It couldn’t have been that long ago.’

  ‘Early eighties. Yes, there will still be a few. And Godwick is a village. Much easier to gather information in a place like that. His next step up the ladder wasn’t actually up, more lateral. He was asked to take over a small prep school in a nearby village, Stony Estcott. It was apparently a struggling concern at the time, and Brading was felt to have the kind of qualities needed to revive it.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Walter. ‘Rigid discipline and very little attention to the boys’ actual needs. Did it succeed?’

  ‘Seems to have done. At least, he was there for ten years. Surely they would have booted him out if he hadn’t brought the school around.’

  ‘Ten years.’ I was doing arithmetic in my head. ‘So he left there in the nineties sometime. Is the school still flourishing?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Alan. ‘I’ll find out. Should be an easy search on the Internet.’ He made a note and then continued. ‘He left the school upon receiving a call to be rector at St John’s, in Upper Longwood. That’s a fair-sized church in Oxfordshire, so this time it was definitely a step up. His stipend was just about doubled, and he had a good congregation. In time he hired a curate of his own, so things plainly went well for him there.’

  ‘Wife must have been pleased,’ commented Jane.

  ‘We have no information about that,’ said Alan with a grin, ‘but I imagine you’ll find out. At any rate, that post was beginning to look like the church where he would live out his days, until the call came from Chelton Cathedral. His wife was, in fact, pleased about that, Jane, or it seems that way. There’s an article here from the Church Times about the appointment, with a picture of the new dean and his wife, and Mrs Brading is beaming.’

  ‘And that was how long ago?’ I asked.

  ‘Just on three years.’

  ‘And we know there are plenty of people there willing to talk about him, both pro and con.’

  ‘Indeed. Now, who would like to take on his early ministry at Godwick?’

  ‘I will, if no one else wants it,’ said Jonathan. ‘I do have some training in detection, and it’s far enough back that I may have to really dig.’

  ‘And I’ll do the school,’ Walter offered. ‘I’m near enough to my own school days to make me fairly comfortable there. Though I certainly never went to a prep school; I’m a child of state schools.’

  ‘Okay, then, let’s switch,’ said Jonathan. ‘I did go to a public school, from the age of twelve. Hated it, but there you are. Not exactly a prep school – wrong ages – but close enough.’

  ‘That sounds good. Not that I have any training in detection,’ Walter said with a grin, ‘but I am trained in research, and this sounds like a job for a good researcher.’

  ‘That’s done, then. Now, there are two assignments left, and three people to cover them.’

  ‘Odd man out,’ said Jane. ‘Call me when you hit a snag, or need a follow-up. Put my network in play.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Jane!’ I exclaimed. ‘Our central research station. As for me, I’d just as soon go back to Chelton, if you’re happy with Upper Longwood, Alan.’

  ‘Hmm.’ That irritating noise he makes that can mean anything. This time I was pretty sure it was another ‘We’ll hash this out later’. The poor man does try to fall in with my fierce independence, but he’s an Englishman, trained to chivalry, and at moments like these it comes out in spots, like a measles rash.

  All he actually said was, ‘Right. Now there’s the question of expense. I’m afraid the diocese doesn’t have the funds to send us all chasing what may well be a wild goose, but I—’

  Jonathan raised a hand. ‘Stop. I know what you’re going to say. I can afford to finance my travels, and Walter’s, and Jane’s phone bill if necessary. You two are on your own.’

  There was the usual bickering over that, but in the end Jonathan won out.

  That seemed to wrap up the evening. It was still early, but we were all tired, and we wanted to get an early start in the morning. So Jane gathered up the leftovers of the food she had brought, and Jonathan and Walter were about to go up to bed, when I had a sudden thought. ‘Wait!’

  They all turned to look at me. ‘We’ve forgotten three important people: the other candidates.’

  ‘Two,’ said Alan gently. ‘Don’t forget Lovelace is dead.’

  ‘And why does that make him innocent of Brading’s murder?’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Alan smacked his head. ‘Idiot! You’d better put me out to pasture, Dorothy. I’m getting senile. How could I have overlooked Lovelace?’

  ‘We all did. And besides, we’ve been exploring the possibility that Lovelace was murdered himself. Look, why don’t you get drinks for anyone who wants them, and we can hash it out. The night is yet young.’

  ‘But, like me, getting older by the moment.’ Alan shook his head and sighed. ‘Orders, everyone?’

  I didn’t have to tell him I wanted bourbon. The two young men opted for beer, and Jane allowed as how she wouldn’t mind a tot of whisky.

  When everyone was content, Alan sat down and opened his notebook again. ‘First, does anyone have a case to make against either Dean Smith or Mr Robinson?’

  Silence.

  ‘You and I have met them both, Alan. And I have to say I absolutely can’t see either of them as a murderer. They’re devoted priests, and beloved of their congregations.’

  ‘You will remember, my love, that apparently delightful people have murdered in the past, and will again.’

  ‘I know that. But if personal attributes mean anything at all, those two aren’t murderers. Anyway, the police will have checked them out pretty thoroughly, as to alibis and so on. I don’t think there’s much for us to do there. Lovelace, on the other hand …’

  ‘The police will have interviewed him, also. If you remember, he told us they had done, when we talked to him.’

  ‘Vaguely. But that was before he died. The police are calling that a suicide, and are, I suppose, putting it down to his guilt over his thefts. But don’t you see? If it was suicide, he could just as easily be suffering the guilt of murder.’

  ‘If it was suicide.’

  ‘Yes. Alan, can you get hold of the police report on Lovelace? Both of them, I mean – before and after his death.’

  Alan shook his head dubiously. ‘That’s the Met, Dorothy. I’m not at all sure …’

  ‘I might be able to get the Met report on his death,’ said Jonathan. ‘No promises, but I still have a good many friends at the Yard.’

  ‘And do you think, Alan,’ I pursued, ‘that Derek could get you the earlier one? We are, after all, talking about a crime, or series of crimes, that directly affects Sherebury and the Cathedral.’

  ‘I can ask. No promises.’

  ‘What’s your idea, Dorothy?’ asked Walter.

  I paused a moment to formulate it clearly. ‘It begins with Lovelace’s ambition, and his vanity. He was so sure he was the right man for this job, and that it would be the stepping stone to Canterbury. Suppose he decided that his most formidable competitor was Dean Brading.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jane. That’s the kind of thing you’re good at, working out how people’s minds work. Maybe Lovelace wa
s worried because Brading was so much of a steam-roller. He might have rolled right over the commission, just by the sheer force of his convictions. Oh!’

  Everyone looked at me.

  ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute. It’s coming – yes! What if Brading really did have a meeting in London that day? A meeting with Lovelace! And Lovelace became more and more afraid that Brading would get the appointment, and so he followed him home and killed him!’

  Objections came from all over the room, and they all apologized and let someone else go first. Alan won the round. ‘Dorothy, you forget that the police checked all the candidates’ movements that day. I haven’t seen the reports, but I understand that they all had sound alibis.’

  ‘Of course they did. But who gave Lovelace his alibi?’

  ‘I don’t know. I may be able to find out.’

  ‘Because, if it was that secretary of his—’

  ‘Mrs Steele,’ said Walter. ‘And she would lie her head off for him. Would have, I mean. She thought he walked on water. If he said he was at the church all that day, she would have agreed.’

  ‘Did he have a family? Wife, children?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘That I can tell you.’ He pulled out the dossiers and glanced through Lovelace’s. ‘No. He lived alone in a flat in Chelsea.’

  ‘Long way from his parish,’ said Jane with a sniff.

  ‘Also a long stretch above the income level of the average parish priest,’ said Jonathan. ‘So we can guess where part of his embezzled funds went.’

  ‘This is all the purest speculation,’ said Alan with some impatience. ‘It’s an interesting theory, but there’s not a scrap of evidence to back it up.’

  ‘Then why don’t we try to find some!’ I was getting impatient, too.

  Again protests. This time Jonathan’s came to the fore. ‘Dorothy, if our murderer does turn out to be Lovelace, there’s really no hurry about finding evidence. He can’t be prosecuted, at least not by any court we could summon. He’s not going anywhere. If he didn’t do the deed, though, someone else did, and that person is presumably still alive and free. It seems to me that it would be best to follow up on Brading’s background, as we’ve planned, and see if that leads us in any interesting direction.’