Langer nodded, sagely. “An excellent point. As long as one renders to God as well, although if you bring the truth to light, then that fulfils the brief. We are told the truth will set us free.”
“It can set other folk free, too. We’ve had cases where someone has been wrongly accused and our small efforts have helped to prevent a miscarriage of justice.” Jonty paused, trying to interpret the pained expression on the chaplain’s face. “Forgive me if I’ve got this all the wrong way. Blame my present tendency to overthink, if you wish. It just strikes me that you have something you’d like to impart, something your conscience is wrestling with.”
“Is it that obvious? Or only to a practiced investigator?”
Jonty was on the verge of arguing that he’d hardly earned that title, when he realised he and Orlando had enough cases under their belts to entirely justify the soubriquet. “The latter, I think. Your face and your words betray you, although I won’t. As promised before, you can rely on our discretion and that of the police.”
How often was he going to find himself saying that during this case?
“Thank you. It would be a weight off my mind to share what I have to say. It concerns Dr Scarrett.”
Jonty tried not to betray his excitement at the mention of the doctor. He waited for Langer to continue.
“You know how long we’ve been friends and I must re-iterate that I have the highest degree of respect for him, both professionally and personally. I don’t believe he’d ever break his Hippocratic oath.”
That was reassuring on the injured leg front, although the character reference of an old friend—and a clergyman to boot—was hardly the stuff of objectivity.
“And yet…” the chaplain continued, “and yet, my conscience forces me to tell you that he and Threlfall had an argument about a month ago. I don’t know what it concerned as Scarrett wouldn’t tell me that, only that the row had happened. I believe that’s why he was at the rugby match, this weekend. To try to talk to Threlfall and bring about a rapprochement.” Langer studied his hands. “He wasn’t successful. As he said to me, Threlfall was behaving in a way that was unusual, more than could be explained by his being simply annoyed or offhand. He would not engage in any discussion.”
Jonty could think of at least one occasion in the past when he and Orlando had been unwilling to engage in discussion with each other, but he didn’t believe that the same cause or solution—lovers’ tiff followed by lovers’ reconciliation—would apply in this instance. “Do you have any inkling what they might have fallen out about? Did it concern Mary or her father?”
“Mary?” Langer appeared startled. Did he think Jonty could be referring to Jesus’s mother? “Oh, that Mary. The one he was engaged to. No, I don’t believe so. That rather delicate situation appears to have been resolved long ago, at least as far as the Cambridge end of things is concerned. I know of no other important matter that lies between them.”
Jonty caught a hint of something in the chaplain’s words. As if he was scrupulously attempting to adhere to the truth, perhaps even attempting to get Jonty to probe deeper. If Langer were answering direct questions, then his conscience could be squared. “No other important matter? What about the trivial?”
“Once again you read me aright. Yes, there has been a small matter bubbling between then for the last few months.” Langer glanced out of the window towards the sky, maybe seeking divine inspiration. “A stupid matter. During the Easter vacation, Threlfall travelled to the Holy Land. A sort of pilgrimage.”
“Did he, indeed? Might I ask why he chose to do that?”
“You may ask, but I can’t answer. He was rather mysterious about it, which I could accept, although Scarrett was less understanding.” Langer steepled his fingers to his chin. “When Threlfall returned, he was absolutely bursting with enthusiasm over some of the relics he’d allegedly seen. By which I mean that I have no doubt that he saw them, simply that I’m not sure they were genuine. Would anyone nineteen hundred years ago have had the foresight to preserve the Virgin Mary’s milk or Jesus’s swaddling clothes?”
“I highly doubt it. Like the Holy Grail. I’m certain that the cup from the last supper was simply washed afterwards and put away with the rest.”
“Exactly. I didn’t mention my reservations to him—the experience had clearly been beneficial and why tarnish the joy he was clearly feeling?”
Jonty would have taken the same approach. “It does strike me as an odd thing to fall out with an old friend over.”
“Is it? Scarrett prides himself on his rationality and being a man who would roll his eyes at what he saw as idolatrous nonsense. Threlfall, feeling his very soul was under attack, became naturally defensive. The argument was heated. Fortunately I was present at the time, so was able to act as mediator.”
“It sounds like you managed a minor miracle if you managed to get them to see eye to eye once more.” That argument could have remained smouldering, though, to flare again at any time.
“I appealed to their academic sides.” The chaplain produced the nearest Jonty had ever seen to a smug grin on his clerical face. “Told them that they didn’t need to agree on everything, just to respect each other’s opinion. To disagree in a mature manner, if you like.”
“Very wise. I will use that next time Dr Coppersmith and I are at odds.” Jonty took advantage of the chaplain looking out of the window again to sneak a glance at the little travelling clock at his bedside. He must, as a matter of urgency, ask the nurse to send for a porter who could take a note to the police station or depute some reliable youngster to do the same. This argument may or may not be significant regarding the poisoning—would somebody really aim to harm another person because they had different views on relics and, in that case, wouldn’t it have been Threlfall targeting Scarrett, the mathematician having been the one made fun of? Still, Cohen or Wilson needed to ensure Scarrett told his side of the tale and they’d be in a better position to pressurise him into telling as much of the truth as they could winkle out.
“You see,” Langer continued, “were it not for the fact of the most recent falling out, I would struggle to see how this argument could be germane. The talk of the SCR last night was that similar instances have been occurring over the past year, so some of them must predate this argument happening.”
“A good, logical point, but you would be surprised at how things hang together. I’m not for a moment suggesting that Scarrett—or anyone else—would be aware of those earlier instances and then use them as a cover for this attack, although it must be seen as a possibility.” Jonty gave the chaplain a sympathetic nod. “Let’s leave it to the police to do the render unto Caesar bit. They can make more sense of it than we can.”
Langer sighed, then said, “I will leave it in your capable hands.”
“Thank you. Might I impose upon you to ask one of the porters to come here in perhaps ten minutes’ time to take a message to the station?”
“Of course. Do you need writing materials?”
“No, I’m well supplied with them. Just as well, as I have your excellent book to work my way through once I’ve sent my missive and will need to jot the answers down madly. Like the wildest of dunderheads.”
Perhaps a solid dose of bard-related activity would get his mental cogs rolling more efficiently than they appeared to be at present. Although quite how he was going to cope when the doctor came to check his leg later, he didn’t know. He’d have to use all his skills at dissembling, unless he took the bull by the horns and confronted the man there and then. Considering his present bed-ridden state, which made him feel unusually vulnerable, perhaps he’d settle for acting as though he knew nothing new.
As his nephew used to say, “That thing being the better part of that other thing,” might be the order of the day.
And a contemplation of Orlando’s mysterious note. If the poisoning of Threlfall had anything to do with whatever it was that Panesar was secretly involved in and that Jonty suspected was espionag
e related, then they’d surely find themselves booted off asking any further questions, as would the police.
With the words When sorrows come, they come not single spies sounding in his brain, he picked up his book and tried to concentrate on it.
***
Orlando had felt less tired when he woke on Monday morning, the fine weather and a good night’s sleep working their wonders on him. While his degree of bafflement was no less than the previous day, he had resigned himself to it. The case was no different to an abstruse mathematical problem that at present defied solution: all it needed was patience and the application of thought.
After seeing Claridge, the man who had hosted the meal at Assumption, Orlando’s spirits were on the wane once more. Notwithstanding Threlfall being poisoned or any of the other possibly related incidents, Claridge was not convinced that the dinner he’d given—or the diners who’d attended—had been specifically targeted.
Why had he gone along with having the student held to be responsible sent down when he believed nothing had gone on? Because, he said, the lad concerned had been living on borrowed time and it had been as well to rid the university of such a malign influence.
What about the laxative which had been found in the pudding? Claridge showed his opinion of that with a snort. Laithwaite was an excellent man, but gullible, especially if a woman was involved. He’d have believed anything he was told and Claridge could imagine the friend who’d performed the chemical test making game with him, perhaps aware of the similar incident at the school.
Orlando held his counsel on that. Although he didn’t know Laithwaite well, the man struck him as nobody’s fool, although it had to be admitted that Orlando found himself naturally biased against anything Claridge said, given his college’s rivalry with St Bride’s. The only point of real note was discovering that Sibley was a fellow of Peterhouse, although that might be of little significance, given that it was Jones the student from that college had sent the threatening note to. Eventually Orlando decided that nothing was else to be gained in questioning Claridge further, so he set off to see Jones, who had promised to squeeze him in between two supervision sessions.
The meeting proved to be slightly less frustrating. Jones recognised something strange had gone on and that while the threat he’d received and the subsequent action didn’t match up, a genuine attempt had been made to cause harm to the diners. He was also ready to accept that the student who’d been sent down was most likely to have perpetrated the offence, given that he was in Assumption at the time. As for the incident with Threlfall, Jones said that he felt it was sufficiently different to suggest it was unrelated. The laxative had surely been meant to cause distress and embarrassment, but in this case the harm was more serious.
Orlando came away pondering how three men, all of them respected in their academic fields, could have such differing views on an incident they’d all been involved in. Sibley’s opinion would form an interesting counterpoint although Orlando wouldn’t hear that until the afternoon, which, so the man had told him over the telephone, was the first mutually convenient time they could meet. The fifth viewpoint—and potentially the most valuable—would not be available until the point Threlfall regained consciousness. Assuming he ever did.
***
Dr Panesar set off for Trinity, where Welbourne was to be found, with a spring in his step. He’d acted before as advisor to his college’s famous investigational pairing, most recently using his connections to advise whether someone had been involved in espionage, but this was the first time he’d been allowed to interview a witness. A natural belief in his own abilities mingled with trepidation. What if he made a mess of things, missing a vital clue and muddying the investigational waters? Would he be banned from helping in future?
No, that was defeatist talk and he’d not countenance it on a glorious day like this one was proving to be. He’d take all his relevant experience and apply it.
That positive attitude was enhanced when he found himself welcomed into Dr Welbourne’s set of rooms with a hearty, “I was wondering if someone was going to interview me. I was expecting the police or one of your two colleagues from St Bride’s, but I suppose you’re all a bit stretched.”
“Very perspicacious.” Panesar attempted to recover his composure—not quite the start to the interview he’d expected. He’d anticipated having to give a long and perhaps persuasive explanation, but that would now all have to be discarded. Perhaps this sort of welcome came naturally to those from north of the border. The man’s Scottish brogue, while gentle, was unmistakable. “Word does spread like wildfire and I suppose that any college fellow who has suffered a major gastric upset in the last year will be wondering if he too had been targeted.”
“Indeed. Or one of his fellow diners was the man targeted and the other chap suffered incidentally. I’m afraid we’ve discussed such possibilities at high table. It’s a nasty business.” Welbourne indicated a chair. “Fancy a sherry? And any news of this chap Threlfall?”
“No thank you to the first and no change to the second.” Panesar took his seat, though. “You specialise in geographical studies, I believe. Were there any mathematicians at your dinner?”
Welbourne wrinkled his brow. “No. Singh and Pope are both specialists in anthropology. Sibley’s a classics man.”
“Sibley?” Surely that was the man who’d been roped in to the Assumption meal or was it simply somebody with the same surname?
“Yes. Splendid chap. Loves his speciality but is equally interested in hearing others talk about theirs. We had a very enjoyable evening which, alas, passed into an uncomfortable night.” Welbourne grimaced. “I will spare you the details.”
“Thank you. Did you suspect at the time that mischief might have been afoot?”
“No, not at all. We’d had shellfish with the meal and one always runs a risk with them. We all partook and all succumbed. You can imagine how conservative we were in our choice of food the next time we convened. At a different establishment, I hasten to add.”
“You meet regularly?”
“Yes. We all attended the same school, although not in the same years or house, so we keep up the connection.”
“I see.” Panesar made a careful note, but none of this seemed relevant. “Two further questions. Was there opportunity for someone to have introduced a noxious substance into what you ate?”
Welbourne shrugged. “If they’d been determined to, then yes. In the Blue Boar kitchen or en route to the table. Unlikely to have been a student, although that wouldn’t have prevented them slipping one of the staff a hefty douceur.”
“Did any of you receive a threat at any point before or after?”
Welbourne shook his head. “I can only speak for myself, on which point I offer a definite no and all I can say for the others is that they’ve never mentioned such a thing.”
Panesar glanced at the sparse notes he’d taken. “It would help expedite matters if you could tell me what colleges Singh, Sibley and Pope are members of.”
“Glad to help. Singh’s a Caius man, Pope’s at Assumption—your old rivals—and Sibley’s down at Peterhouse.”
“Peterhouse?”
“Yes. Is that important?”
“It might be or it might not. We are looking for meaningful links, although some will surely turn out to be coincidental.” Panesar was rather pleased with that turn of phrase. He would hold fire on trying to talk to Sibley on case it was the same man that Orlando would be interviewing.
“I fear that coincidence may well be at play here. I hosted the meal outside of college, the other dinner said to be targeted was at Assumption and Threlfall lives at St Thomas’s. It beggars belief to think that someone could pop up in all three places without raising suspicion. Unless the culprit is the vice-chancellor, of course. He’d have a legitimate reason to visit all the places, although his presence would surely be noticed in the kitchen of the Blue Boar.”
“Indeed. Perhaps there may be some specific conn
ection given that Dr Pope is at Assumption.” Panesar’s voice betrayed his lack of belief in that hope, though. It was beginning to feel horribly like coincidence was going to win the day and that a student prank and a case of shellfish poisoning were hampering their thinking on whatever had happened to Threlfall.
He couldn’t shake that feeling off after his interview with Singh, whom—thanks to an obliging porter—he managed to catch just as the don was leaving Caius, heading for a meeting at Pembroke. They walked together, Panesar trying to both keep pace and ask questions at the same time, but he might as well have not wasted his breath. Yes, Singh had heard about the possibility dons were being targeted. No, he didn’t think he and the others had been attacked at Welbourne’s meal. He’d had shellfish poisoning on a previous occasion and the symptoms had been identical. As a parting shot, at the point he turned into Pembroke, he’d observed that someone as intelligent as Panesar shouldn’t be wasting his time with such nonsense, because even Sibley couldn’t be stupid enough to believe in the indiscriminate poisoner theory.
“If the collective police and university mind is running along the lines of some madman slipping chemical substances into all our food then I fear for the future of both institutions, I really do.”
“Now, Dr Singh, what sort of rational thinking is that?” Panesar managed to get out, after a brief stunned silence, but the moment had passed and Singh was out of earshot.
As Panesar trotted back towards Assumption, to see Pope or arrange a meeting with him, Singh’s words rang in his ears. While it had been pleasant to be complimented on one’s intelligence, the compliment had been barbed, reinforcing the idea that this was a wild goose chase. The fact that the high tables of Cambridge were clearly theorising in all directions couldn’t dispel that notion, given that speculation without sufficient fact wasn’t unknown in that setting. People liked to make connections, even if no connection was there to be made.
Lessons in Following a Poisonous Trail: A Cambridge Fellows Mystery novella (Cambridge Fellows Mysteries) Page 7