The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  He left where he had been sitting and climbed the five steps up to where the Bible was kept. He opened it to the correct page. He stood there for a moment, awed by the significance of the occasion. He started to speak. Whatever the reason, it was not the Bible text that emanated from his mouth; it was the engraved words on a wall inside a burial mound, one of many in the area.

  The squire initially thought that his son was nervous, but the priest reacted with alarm. ‘He is summoning the ancients. Stop him,’ he shouted. He attempted to run across to where the boy stood reciting over and over again the ancient texts. The doctor remembered the story as he stood in front of the group in that very same church, separated by hundreds of years.

  ‘’I didn’t want to kill her,’ Mavis Godwin’s murderer said.

  ‘We honour you for what was necessary,’ the senior elder said. ‘And yet, there are others who still threaten.’

  ‘Say the word, say the word,’ the assembled people said.

  ‘The time is not yet.’

  ***

  Clare had already conducted an unofficial door-to-door of her own on the day Mavis Godwin’s body was found, but Tremayne had been in such a mood with Hughes that she had not mentioned it. Not that it mattered, as she had rounded up six of Salisbury’s finest police officers, namely cadets and uniforms. The weather was mild, and no one would complain too much. ‘We’re looking for a woman, height about five feet nine inches. She would have been wearing boots. Apart from that, there’s not much to go on. Oh, just one other thing. We believe she may have been a friend of the deceased. You have an approximate time of death, and we think the woman entered Mavis Godwin’s cottage about one hour before she died.’

  ‘Sergeant,’ one of the cadets said.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Clare replied. At least someone’s keen, she thought.

  ‘There was no moon. It may be possible no one saw the woman.’

  ‘I realise that. Just knock on doors. We’ll meet up in two hours down the road. There’s a café there.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ one of the cadets said.

  ‘I’ve got to go and see someone local. Constable Oldfield, you can come with me.’

  Clare knew why she had chosen the constable. He was the tallest and strongest person in the group.

  ***

  It was not far from Mavis Godwin’s house to the church; Clare chose to walk.

  ‘What’s the Reverend Harrison got to do with the case?’ Oldfield asked.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I’ve seen the name on the reports, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve been keeping up to date with the deaths?’

  ‘I’m hoping to get transferred to Homicide. It’s not much fun in uniform.’

  ‘I’ll have a talk to DI Tremayne if you’re interested.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate that. What do you want to see the priest about?’

  ‘He’s holding back. He knows more than he’s telling. We believe that he could bust this case wide open. He keeps giving us tales about other gods.’

  ‘And you don’t believe him?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Clare said, to calm her nerves and to gain moral support from the man who walked alongside her. ‘What’s your take on the supernatural?’ she asked.

  ‘I have a healthy respect for things I don’t understand.’

  ‘Which means you believe in the possibility?’

  ‘Not really. It’s a bit like believing in aliens. One part of you says it’s nonsense, the other keeps an open mind.’

  ‘If you want to join Homicide, don’t tell DI Tremayne you’re on the fence on this one.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  The two police officers arrived at the church. ‘After you,’ Constable Oldfield said. He turned the large wrought iron handle to open the door and let Clare through. ‘It’s locked,’ he said.

  ‘Unusual,’ Clare replied. ‘We’ll go around to the back. If he’s not in the church, he’ll probably be in the rectory.’

  Clare looked up at the sky; there was not a cloud to be seen. No matter how much Harry and Tremayne told her that she was foolish, she could not shake her fear of the unknown. And now she was coming to meet with a man who had told both her and her DI that his knowledge would condemn them.

  Oldfield tested the door at the rear; it opened. He entered first, moving through the vestry.

  ‘Reverend Harrison. It’s Sergeant Yarwood. Are you there?’ There was no answer.

  A mouse scurried along the floor. The vicar’s robes were hanging up on a hook on the back of the door into the church. A note was on the table. Clare picked it up and opened it. She read the first line.

  ‘Constable, he’s in the church,’ she shouted.

  Oldfield quickened his pace and opened the door into the church. A pillar that had been erected centuries before obscured their view.

  ‘He’s here,’ Clare said.

  ‘What was in the note?’

  ‘His suicide.’

  As Oldfield rounded the pillar and reached the central area of the church, he looked up. ‘Don’t come in here, sergeant.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The man’s hanging from a rope.’

  ‘Good God,’ Clare said as she looked upwards. ‘Get him down from there.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Oldfield said. ‘There’s nothing we can do for him. You’d better phone DI Tremayne.’

  Chapter 10

  Detective Inspector Keith Tremayne was the angriest man at Bemerton Road Police Station, although not at others, only himself. He had had Reverend Harrison in the interview room and had let him walk out of there. At that time, it was evident the man was not going to talk, and Tremayne had thought that after a day to cool off the priest might open up. And now what did he have? A man swinging from a rope.

  Jim Hughes had arrived at the church within the hour, to be met by Clare. Tremayne was out the back reading the suicide note.

  ‘Another one, sergeant?’ Hughes said casually.

  ‘There’s a note. It’s suicide,’ Clare said.

  ‘Understood. We’ll need to go through the formalities.’

  Clare left the CSE and walked through to the vestry. She averted her eyes as she passed the dead vicar.

  ‘Rum do,’ Tremayne said, using a phrase long out of fashion.

  ‘If you mean it was unexpected, then yes.’

  ‘I thought the man was half crazy, but I didn’t see this coming.’

  ‘There were no gods involved here,’ Clare said.

  ‘As I’ve told you. People make out there are evil spirits and God knows what else, when it’s only the wind or fog or a man dead in a chair. There’s always a logical explanation. Have you read the letter?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Not fully.’

  ‘Then you can read it out loud, and we’ll see if we can make any sense of it.’

  ‘What do you hope to gain? The man is hanging from a rope.’

  ‘I’m looking for anything cryptic.’

  ‘He was trying to protect us. That’s why he never told us what he knew,’ Clare said. ‘You can see that the man came back from our interview and hanged himself.’

  ‘Yarwood, you need some time off. Firstly, there’s a thirteen-hour time difference between when he left Bemerton Road and when he threw a rope over that beam. I can’t see that we’re involved, just because the man jumps off an altar to his death.’

  ‘But in a church?’

  ‘I suppose that means it’s no longer consecrated,’ Tremayne said. Clare noticed that the man was not moved by the death. She imagined that the reverend must have suffered a great dilemma in the hours leading up to his death. She sat down on a chair close to where the note had been placed.

  I, the Reverend Jonah Harrison, a man who has dedicated my life to the glory of God and his only son, Jesus, am forced to take the only option possible to save others.

  ‘He’s referring to us.’ Clare temporarily stopped reading and looked at Tremayne.

&nb
sp; ‘He wasn’t half crazy, he was one hundred per cent certifiable,’ Tremayne said.

  There are those who will criticise me for my actions, others will say that I have taken the house of the Lord and turned it into a place of death, but those people will not understand. And for them, I am pleased.

  The condemnation of me will save them, and my death is a small price to pay to ensure that others shall live, replete in the knowledge of the one true God.

  Blessings be on you,

  Jonah Harrison.

  ‘Wordy for a suicide note,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You’ve read a few?’ Clare sat still, emotionally distraught.

  ‘Normally, it’s a few words: farewell cruel world, that sort of thing.’

  ‘The man believed he was doing it for a reason.’

  ‘Same as you.’

  ‘Are you discounting all that you have seen? Clare said. ‘You saw the clouds over Mavis Godwin’s cottage. You felt the tension in this church that time. If it can be explained away, it’d have to be damn good.’

  ‘I’ve not much hope for you, Yarwood. You're too susceptible to be a good detective.’

  ‘What do you mean? I need to be a cynical old bastard whose only joy is a few beers and a few old nags only fit for the knacker’s yard.’

  ‘Careful, Yarwood. You’re looking for a reprimand.’

  ‘I’ll apologise when you accept the possibility.’

  ‘That’ll be a long time. I suggest you meet up with Harry Holchester, get yourself laid. Tomorrow, you and I will have a long talk about your attitude,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You’re a miserable old sod,’ Clare replied.

  ‘Of course I am. That’s what makes me a good detective. Look, Yarwood, you’re a decent person, but murder is foul and dirty. The Reverend Harrison hanging from a rope may have unnerved you, but I need you on board, focussed, and not looking to the supernatural. Real people have committed real murders and if the vicar was deranged and believed in the occult, or whatever it was, so be it, but you’re a police officer, not an exorcist or someone who dances around an ancient stone at midnight with no clothes on. From here on, no more talk of gods, and no more talk of mysterious happenings. Is that clear?’

  ***

  It had taken Clare two hours before her anger had subsided, but Harry had told her later that the man was right. ‘Clare, the man’s only doing it for your own good. I’ve known him a few years, and he doesn’t rile people without reason. If he wanted you out, he would have dealt with you through Human Resources.’

  As angry as she had been, she listened to reason. Tomorrow, she would apologise, but for that night, she had Harry.

  ‘I love you,’ he had said that night, the first time he had uttered the words that she felt for him. They had not known each other long, and already they were making plans for the future. He wanted to sell the pub and take up another career. She pleaded with him not to. She loved the old pub with its chequered history. She had sat where Churchill and McArthur, or was it Eisenhower, the history books weren’t sure who it was, had met to discuss the D-Day invasion. She had seen the mummified hand of an eighteenth-century card player who had supposedly been caught cheating, but as with so many things about the pub, the name of the player was lost in time.

  Regardless of the history, she had spent the night in Harry’s arms, the confrontation with Tremayne forgotten, the death of Mavis Godwin a mere memory, and as for the Reverend Harrison, he was no longer in her mind.

  Tremayne had been right about one thing, she had needed to get laid.

  ***

  The next morning at seven Clare was in the office. ‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said as Tremayne walked in the door.

  ‘Forget it. I like someone with spirit. They’re the best people to get the job done. I’ve no time for sycophants, and judging by your tongue yesterday, you’ll not qualify. We could always kiss and make up, but I’m sure Harry dealt with that for you.’

  ‘DI, I’ve said it before, you’ve got a foul mouth.’

  Both police officers smiled at each other. Tremayne knew he had the best person for the team; Clare realised that with Tremayne her future was secured.

  ‘Anyway, what’s the agenda for today?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Reverend Harrison died with a secret.’

  ‘Don’t mention ancient gods again.’

  ‘I won’t, but he may have known more about the woman who visited Mavis Godwin.’

  ‘No luck with the door-to-door?’

  ‘Nothing. There was no moon that night, and there’s a blind spot outside Godwin’s cottage.’

  ‘What’s it with the moon?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just a fact.’

  ‘Good. You had me worried there.’

  ‘Don’t worry, guv. You’ll not hear a peep from me again on that subject.’

  ‘Harrison was going to identify Mavis Godwin’s body, correct?’

  ‘I’ll have to do it,’ Clare said.

  ‘No relatives?’

  ‘None that we can find. We know she came from the West Country and that she was the only child of a shopkeeper and his wife. Apart from that, nothing. We’ve got the local police checking further, but her parents are dead, and there’s no one else.’

  ‘What about Trevor Godwin?’

  ‘A neighbour two doors down said that he was a strange character in that he never acknowledged anyone else’s presence other than with a nod of the head. The neighbour thought he was not all there.’

  ‘Not all there?’

  ‘Loose in the head, mentally deficient.’

  ‘Was he?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘The only time Trevor Godwin had spoken to him, he had had difficulty communicating.’

  ‘You must have checked with other people he worked for.’

  ‘Not really. We know Godwin used to work for other people on a casual basis; Mavis Godwin told us that.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘We’ve never found any of those people.’

  ‘Was he bringing money into the household?’

  ‘According the Mavis Godwin he was,’ Clare said. ‘How about you, guv? What about Superintendent Moulton?’

  ‘He’s keeping a watch, but I can handle him.’

  ‘What do we know about Trevor Godwin? Are we still working on the assumption that he’s dead?’

  ‘His wife thought he was. So, did the Reverend Harrison. And now they’re both dead. What do you reckon?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Too many coincidences,’ Clare replied.

  ‘That’s how I see it.’

  ‘The neighbour couldn’t tell the constable any more, and none of the others could ever remember speaking to him.’

  ‘A mystery man, is that it?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘This is not over.’

  ‘We’re in full agreement there. We’ve four deaths, one confirmed as murder, another one as a suicide and that’s suspicious.’

  ‘Suspicious?’

  ‘Of course it’s suspicious. The man may have been certifiable with his fanciful tales, but he still committed suicide. Why not just shut up? We had nothing against him, and personally he looked harmless enough to me. We could have grilled him some more, but if he’d kept quiet, there wasn’t much we could do.’

  ‘He said he was protecting others,’ Clare said.

  ‘I know,’ Tremayne said. He had stopped leaning back on his seat, the four legs of the chair firmly on the ground. ‘But why? He was an educated man. At least, I assume he was.’

  ‘He was. I saw the degree certificates up on the wall in his vestry.’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘You know why,’ Clare said, not willing to receive an earful if she mentioned it again.

  ‘I’ve had a bellyful of that nonsense,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Calm down, guv,’ Clare said, exerting her new-found strength in dealing with the man.

  ‘I’m calm. Keep that up, and you’ll be out of here soon enough,’ Tremayne
said. Clare knew he did not mean it. She had come into his office that first day demure and subservient to the older man, but now she knew she was his equal, not in rank or experience or age, but as a team member. Tremayne knew it as well, but he was not going to say it.

  ‘I’m your sounding board,’ Clare said. ‘What you believe is irrelevant. It’s what the man believed, what Mavis Godwin believed, what…’

  ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘I was going to say what I had believed in. Mavis Godwin was killed by another woman and no one else threw that rope over the beam.’

  ‘Proven?’

  ‘Jim Hughes’s team found enough fingerprints to confirm that Harrison had put the rope up there.’

  ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘It was an old rope used for the bell in the past.’

  ‘I didn’t know they had a bell.’

  ‘There’s one there, but the belfry needs restoration. You must have seen the signs outside looking for donations, the thermometer showing how much they had received, how much they needed.’

  ‘I didn’t study it. How far had they got?’

  ‘The donations?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just above freezing.’

  ‘Coming back to what I was saying.’ Tremayne sat down again. ‘We have an educated man who feels the need to kill himself to prevent others knowing the truth. But why? Surely a religious man cannot believe Mavis Godwin’s story.’

  ‘Apparently he did. The question, as you said, is why.’

  ‘And how.’

  ‘You said it before: clouds in the sky, rattling doors, unexplained phenomena. It’s easy for the susceptible to see those as sinister. Mavis Godwin entered his church, gave him a long story about evil.’

  ‘Yarwood, you’re missing the point.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes. The priest was a man of God, not a simpleton. He must have known it was nonsense. Have you checked the Godwins’ cottage?’

  ‘With a fine-tooth comb. Nothing there apart from crucifixes, though none in Trevor Godwin’s bedroom.’