by K. J. Frost
“None whatsoever. I’d always thought she was a quiet, innocent type… but now I’m starting to wonder.” There’s a lewd expression on his face, which is particularly unpleasant and I get to my feet, leaning over him.
“Do you know anything about the postponement of Mildred and Sam’s wedding?” I ask.
“Only what she told me. Although why the girl thought I’d be interested in her personal problems, God knows. That’s the sort of thing my wife should be dealing with, and I told Lucy that when she got home that evening. Still, looking back, I suppose it’s not surprising Sam wanted to postpone the wedding is, is it? If he’d found out what she’d been up to.”
“We don’t believe he did.”
He shrugs. “Well, maybe her conscience got the better of her, and she didn’t want to admit that to us, so she said the postponement was Sam’s idea,” he muses. “Or perhaps she found she preferred the other man. Sam’s a bit on the dull side, you know… wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t a little disappointing in the bedroom department.”
His tone and attitude don’t compare well with those of his wife, and make me wonder even more about his old school friends’ interpretation of both himself and Lucy Wharton, who seems by far the nicest person of the group.
“Do you have any idea why Miss Ryder chose to talk to you about her wedding plans being postponed, rather than waiting for your wife?” I ask.
“No.” He waves his hand as though he couldn’t care less. “It was bloody annoying though. I missed the end of a really good detective play on the wireless, so I never did find out who did the murder.” I’m starting to know how he feels. “And in any case, I don’t have time for domestic issues. That’s meant to be Lucy’s department. I’m very busy with this new contract now. Even when I’ve finished here, my evenings and weekends are mostly spent in my study, catching up.”
I nod my head, replacing my hat and wondering to myself why his wife puts up with him. But, as we take our leave, I remember her saying that you can’t help who you fall in love with, and I’m overwhelmed with pity for the woman.
“That was quite impressive,” Thompson says once we’re back in the car. “Even I believed you for a while.”
“I assume we’re talking about Ethel’s make-believe boyfriend?” I enquire, just to make sure we’re both on the same topic.
“Of course.” He smiles across at me.
“I’ve never liked lying, as you well know,” I explain, “but Ethel told me that, even though today is her first day there, Mr Wharton has been rather fulsome with his attentions.”
“So his wife’s suspicions were justified?”
“It looks that ways, yes.”
“And you decided to create a fake boyfriend for Ethel to throw Romeo off the scent, did you?”
“Yes. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Until she lets slip that he doesn’t exist,” he remarks.
“Oh, she won’t do that.” I shake my head. “I told her what I was going to do… after I’d explained why she didn’t want to get involved with the likes of Norman Wharton.”
“I’m surprised she needed telling,” he points out.
“She’s young and impressionable, and I suppose he’s a handsome enough chap.”
“In a creepy, overbearing kind of way, yes. What do these girls see in men like that?”
“God knows, but then we’re not women, so their charms are probably wasted on us.”
“Thank heavens for that,” he replies, laughing, with a mock shudder, and I join in.
Mildred’s diaries are still lying on my desk and, as I sit down, I pick up the one on top, which is for 1939, and thumb through it.
“We need to find out who all these people are,” I say aloud to Thompson, who has followed me into my office, having left his hat and coat on his desk in the main office, which is deserted, partly because of the fact that so many men are still off sick, and also because it’s now lunchtime, when the station always quieter anyway.
“Which people?” He sits down, leaning back and crossing his legs.
“The people Mildred Ryder listed in her diary.” I turn the opened book around and he leans forward again, squinting at the page, then nods his head.
“Oh yes… we’d rather forgotten about them, hadn’t we?”
I hand him the book, pushing the others across the desk as well. “Yes, we had, but we still need to know if they’re significant… especially the men.”
“The men?” He glances up at me.
“Well, we are looking for someone who may have fathered Mildred’s unborn child, so at the moment, I’m more interested in the men than the women.”
“There are a lot of them,” Thompson replies, flipping through the pages himself now. “And and they’re all just listed by Christian name. Where on earth do I start?”
“Mrs Wharton didn’t seem to think Mildred had many interests outside of the church, so I’d suggest starting there. You could try the parish office, or the church warden, perhaps, being as the parish office might be a little too closely connected to the vicar.”
“And that’s a problem, is it? I mean, wouldn’t it just be easier for me to pop back to the vicarage and ask the reverend himself?” he asks, settling back in his seat, but still thumbing through the diary, his face darkening as the enormity of his task seems to dawn on him.
“It might, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Because you suspect him?” He looks up.
“Yes.”
He puts the diary down on top of the pile and folds his arms across his chest. “Hang on a minute,” he says calmly. “I know you’ve been saying you think it’s either the vicar or his wife almost since the beginning, but you need to remember that he’s a man of God…” His voice fades, presumably at the look on my face, which I imagine to be one of pity, bordering on incredulity.
“So? You think vicars don’t commit adultery, don’t get their mistresses pregnant, and then murder them to cover it up?”
He stares at me, then shakes his head. “It would be a first in my experience, but is that the way your mind is going?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. As you said, I’m fairly convinced that it’s one or other of them, even if I can’t put my finger on exactly how or why at the moment. The point at present is that I don’t want you to ask him about those names… because I don’t trust him, and I don’t like him.”
“And is there anyone else you don’t like in this case?” he asks. “Just so I know who else I shouldn’t be talking to?”
“The vicar’s wife, obviously,” I reply seriously, even though Thompson’s trying not to smile.
“I suppose I should have expected that, especially given her attitude earlier on.”
“Hmm… and then there’s Mr Wharton.”
“I can understand that,” he says thoughtfully. “So, is there anyone you do like? I think at the current rate of knots, it might be quicker to start there.”
“I feel sorry for Mrs Wharton, if that counts.”
“I suppose it does. Why do you feel sorry for her?” he asks.
“Because she obviously loves her husband very much, and I’m not sure he even notices her. We know from what happened with Ethel that he’s open to having an affair, if he isn’t already having one, and I don’t think Mrs Wharton deserves that.”
“I suppose it’s difficult to know what goes on in someone else’s marriage. She might be completely different with her husband to how she is with us.”
“I hope she is,” I reply. “And I agree with you about marriage being private, but at the same time, I think we both know Mr Wharton isn’t faithful, don’t we?”
“Yes. Still… it’s nice to know you like someone.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t say I liked her; I said I felt sorry for her. There’s a difference.”
“Heavens,” Thompson retorts, smiling. “Is there anyone you do like on this case?”
“Yes. I like
Mildred Ryder.”
He sighs and looks down at the closed diary for a few moments, and then raises his head. “Being as we’ve got a few minutes, why don’t you tell me what it is you don’t like about all these people?”
“Why?” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Is this just an excuse to delay starting work on those names in the diary?”
He smiles. “Yes, and no.” He pauses. “You said this was a case that revolved around personalities and, before I get started, I just thought it might be wise to get an idea of what you think of the main characters.”
He has a point and, regardless of his motives, taking a few minutes to sum up our potential suspects is a good idea.
“So, tell me what you think about Mrs Hodge,” he says.
“She’s one of those women who like to tell everyone else how to live their lives,” I remark. “She’s interfering and bossy.”
“You mean she’s exactly what I said she was the first time we met her?” he replies. “She’s a typical vicar’s wife.”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. There’s something fanatical about her as well.”
“Fanatical?”
“Yes, and I’m not talking about avid knitting, or manic cake baking.”
He chuckles. “You think she’d lose control?”
“I think she might claim to have lost control in certain circumstances, yes.”
“Such as, if she’d just murdered someone?”
“Yes… but I think in reality, she knows exactly what she’s doing, and that anyone who underestimates her could be in real danger.”
He raises his eyebrows for a moment, but doesn’t comment. “What about her husband?” he asks eventually. “You think he might have been sleeping with Mildred?”
“I don’t know. I doubt he’d have said ‘no’, given the chance. But I’m not sure Mildred would have slept with him. To be honest, I doubt she’d have slept with anyone – other than Sam, perhaps, in the right circumstances, such as after their marriage, for example. From what we’ve learned, she just doesn’t seem like that kind of girl.”
“And yet she was,” he muses.
“Was she?”
“She was pregnant, Rufus.” He sounds exasperated, which isn’t that surprising, really. “Do you still need me to draw you a diagram, even though you’ve been married for over a week now?”
“No, of course not. But how do we know she was a willing participant?”
His face pales and he frowns. “You mean you think she was raped?”
“Well, if she wasn’t willing, then that’s the only other conclusion we can draw.”
“Are you actually suggesting that the vicar might have raped her?” He sounds even more disbelieving now.
“I’m suggesting that someone did… because the more we talk, the more we learn, and the more I think about it, the less I’m inclined to believe that Mildred Ryder would have voluntarily had sex with anyone.”
“But the vicar?”
“Stop saying that as though vicars aren’t also people… Underneath his cassocks, Reverend Hodge is a man, just like you and me.”
“I know, but you’re talking about rape here, Rufus. Not everyone is a potential rapist. We’re not, are we?”
“No, I know… and I’m not saying for certain that it was him. It could have been Norman Wharton, or even someone else that we don’t know about yet.”
“Are we including Laurence Conroy on your list of suspects?” he asks.
“We’re including everyone, except possibly Sam Higgs. I don’t think he’d do that.”
“No, neither do I.” He shakes his head slowly. “But everyone else?”
“Yes. Even the people she named in her diaries. She obviously knew them in some capacity, even if we don’t understand what it is yet.”
“In which case, I suppose I’d better get on and find out who they all are,” he says, standing and looking down at me.
“Yes, and we should also perhaps go over to the Conroy house.”
“You want to talk to them again?” he asks. “Because Laurence Conroy won’t be there, will he? He’s gone back to his base… and possibly over to France by now.”
“I know, but I don’t want to talk to him – or her, for that matter. I want to carry out a small experiment.”
He leans on my desk. “Oh yes?”
“Yes. I want to see how long it takes to get from their house to the place where Mildred was killed, and back again… and whether it’s possible to reasonably smoke a cigarette in that time.”
“You’re thinking of Norman Wharton?”
“Yes… or his wife.”
“I thought you liked her?”
“No. I said I felt sorry for her.”
“Oh yes, so you did.” He stands again. “But if we’re talking about rape…”
I shake my head. “We are, but it may not be the rapist who killed her. Mildred was three months pregnant, remember? We’re not talking about the act of rape having taken place a few days ago and the man lashing out in remorse, or regret, or even anger. We’re talking about the act having taken place a long time ago, and perhaps only recently having been discovered… along with her pregnancy. So, while it could be him, covering his tracks, it could equally be his wife.”
“You mean, if she found out what he’d done?”
“Yes.”
“But would she kill to protect him? Surely any right-minded woman would be appalled and would hand her husband over to the authorities. They wouldn’t commit murder…”
“She might. If she had the right kind of temperament, she might kill to protect herself, or her way of life, or to avoid having to face the fact that her marriage is a sham and having to go home and admit as much to her family.”
“So you think it’s Mrs Wharton now?” He sounds confused.
“No… I still favour Mrs Hodge. But there is one problem with that.”
“Oh?”
“Think about it, Harry… If she was waiting outside the church for the end of choir practice, either ready to ambush Mildred, or because she was the person who Mildred had arranged to meet, how did she manage to be at home when the reverend got back?”
“Because he went back for his sermon,” Thompson says reasonably.
“I know. But how did she know he’d do that?”
“She didn’t,” he replies, slowly, taking in the problem that’s been nagging at me for some time.
“No.”
“So it can’t be her.”
I smile, just briefly. “I didn’t say that, did I? I think I actually just said that I still favour Mrs Hodge.”
“But…?”
“That’s where her personality comes in. She’s fanatical enough to have taken the chance, to have risked everything to get what she wanted. The fact that her husband was delayed was pure good fortune on her part. I think that – if it was her – she planned on carrying out the murder and getting back as quickly as possible, in the hope that she could make up an excuse about checking the blackout, or putting out the rubbish, or something…”
“That would have been highly dangerous,” he mutters, as though he doesn’t quite believe me. “Why couldn’t it just be one of the men? What’s wrong with the theory that one of them raped her – which is bad enough in itself – but somehow managed to persuade her to keep quiet about it…” His face brightens for a moment. “And in that instance, I think Norman Wharton is our most likely candidate, because let’s face it, he could have threatened to sack her if she spoke up, couldn’t he?”
“Yes… he could,” I allow.
“In which case, he’d feel fairly safe, until Mildred found out she was pregnant that is, which we can assume was what her doctor’s appointment was about, and then she’d presumably have told him, and possibly have wanted some money from him… and he’d have arranged to meet her and would have killed her to save his marriage, and his reputation.” He stops talking, taking a breath. “That scenario works for both the vicar and f
or Wharton, and probably for a lot of other men in the village. But reputation would matter a lot to both of our leading men… although I prefer Wharton myself.”
“Why? Because he’s not a ‘man of God’?” I borrow his phrase.
“No… because, as I just said, he had the best opportunity to threaten Mildred if she spoke out about being raped… assuming that she was raped, of course.”
I nod my head. “Now that we’ve brought it out into the open, I’m going to treat the rape element as a working hypothesis for the time being, just because it’s the only thing that fits with Mildred’s personality. But as for one of the men having killed her…”
“You’re not convinced, are you?” he interrupts.
“Not entirely.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“Of course.” I sit back and look up at him. “Think about the way in which she was stabbed. The first wound was quite high up on her abdomen.”
“Yes…”
“But the second wound was aimed much lower, as though the murderer intended to kill her unborn child.”
“I know… but just killing Mildred would have done that. The unborn child couldn’t have survived, and they’d have known that.”
“Obviously… but that’s what I’m trying to tell you. There was no need for that second wound. There’s something about this crime, Harry… something obsessive and cruel and bitter.”
“Like a woman wronged?” he suggests.
“Very possibly.”
The sound of voices, followed by a peal of laughter, intrudes into our conversation, making it clear that at least some of the men are returning to the office.
“I think that’s my cue,” Thompson says, picking up the 1939 diary again.
“You’re going to enlist some help, are you?” I ask.
“Of course. I think the sooner we can get through these names, the better, don’t you?”
“Yes. You have my permission to delegate,” I remark and he smiles.
“I wasn’t aware I was asking for it.”
Chapter Nine
He’s spent the whole afternoon in his study, doing paperwork. At least that’s what he told me he was doing. Whether he is or not, I don’t know… and I’m not sure I care anymore either, not after what he’s done.