An Unholy Shame Page 21

  ‘And then we go to Jason,’ Graham said firmly.

  Monica nodded. ‘And then we go to Jason,’ she agreed.

  Dr Simon Grade seemed to have shrunk several sizes, as he was ushered into the fast-clearing office. The files had been packed and loaded into police vans, as had the computers and most of the ugly, utilitarian furniture that came with it. Consequently, Jason was seated behind Sir Andrew’s original, handsome, leather-topped desk when Dr Grade walked reluctantly across the room to shake hands.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ he said, his voice weak and lacking in confidence. ‘I take it this is about Dr Carter’s findings?’

  ‘Yes. As I’m sure you know … please sit down, Dr Grade…’

  He waited until the museum-owner was seated, before continuing, ‘the manuscript currently displayed at your museum is a well-executed fake,’ he stated flatly.

  Simon didn’t go any paler than he already was, but his tongue flickered out to wet his lips. ‘Really, I don’t know what to say. I’m so surprised,’ he managed to gasp.

  Jason leaned back in his chair and sighed loudly. ‘I don’t think you’re at all surprised, Dr Grade,’ he contradicted grimly.

  Simon twitched in the chair. ‘Oh well … yes, I suppose, after the break-in, I might just have thought … well, suspected that I … noticed tiny differences in the lettering …’ he trailed off, as Jason was already shaking his head.

  ‘No, Dr Grade, that won’t do. How long do you think it’ll take us to do a complete financial background check on you? How long do you think it’ll take our expert accountants and fully trained fraud squad officers to find out where you have the money stashed?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Simon Grade squeaked.

  ‘It won’t even take us long to find the collector you sold the real document to, will it? I doubt there can be that many …’

  Jason stopped speaking as, before his astonished eyes, Simon Grade slowly toppled sideways out of his chair and fell gracefully onto the floor in a heap. Flora, who’d been taking notes, stared at the unconscious man, her mouth agape.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said.

  In the kitchens, the chef was preparing scallops. Lunch was to be a light but tasty salad, and the room was full of kitchen staff preparing vegetables. None of them noticed the rear door, leading onto the smaller half of the dog-legged room, open.

  They certainly didn’t notice that a sharp paring knife, left on the workspace near the storage cupboards, had been removed.

  And when the door closed quietly behind a frantic killer, nobody heard it.

  It was nearly an hour later before the last of the police equipment was finally loaded into the vans, and Flora and Jason, still in the murder room, were drinking their last cup of coffee at Heyford Basset Manor.

  ‘So, do you want to charge Dr Grade now, or to wait?’ Flora asked.

  Between them, they’d managed to manoeuvre Grade’s dead weight back into the chair, and Jason had called in the police surgeon. By that time he’d come around and had clammed up. Jason, reassured by the medic that he hadn’t suffered a heart attack or anything else serious, had allowed him to go home, knowing that they didn’t have enough proof, as yet, to charge him. Like Flora, he had a sneaking suspicion that Dr Simon Grade might just do a runner which would be a damned nuisance.

  ‘We have to wait,’ Jason said unhappily. ‘Until we can find the collector who … Yes?’ he snapped as a young police constable looked in through the open door.

  ‘He’s in here,’ the young copper said, obviously not to Jason, and stood aside. Jason saw Graham Noble enter first, and then a moment later, Monica.

  And Jason experienced an instant rush of deja vu.

  Twice before, this couple had come to him, with just these identical looks on their faces, and within minutes, had revealed the identify of a killer.

  Flora’s face went tight and hard.

  ‘Graham,’ Jason said, standing stiffly. He looked across at Monica, feeling his breathing stumble. ‘Mrs Noble,’ he added quietly.

  ‘You’ve arrested the wrong man,’ Monica said flatly. Then glanced at Graham. ‘We’ve got to be quick. Graham, I’m worried.’

  Jason felt a moment of anger – after all, no copper likes being told he’d made a mistake, but then the urgency and fear in her voice had a cold fist of fear clenching around his own innards.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ Graham said, his voice quiet and calm, but carrying the same tense urgency as his wife’s. ‘Can we please go up to the Bryces’ room? We’re … well, we need to make sure that everything’s all right up there.’

  Jason had two choices. Demand an explanation before he did any such thing, which might take time that he suddenly felt sure that they didn’t have, or take immediate action. It didn’t take him a second to make up his mind.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said tersely. ‘Flora, their room number?’

  Flora hastily consulted her memory, since all the notes were gone, and came up empty. ‘The register, sir,’ she said instead. Together, like a tense little war party, they filed into the hall and Jason enquired of the receptionist about the room occupied by the Bryces.

  ‘The Bryces are in room twenty-two, sir,’ she said, her eyes alive with curiosity and resentment. With Sir Andrew in jail, nobody who worked at the Manor House was inclined to be friendly to the police.

  Rather than take the lift, Jason strode for the stairs. Only Graham was able to keep up with him easily, matching him stride for stride. The two women, though were nearly running as they followed them along the corridor to room twenty-two.

  Jason knocked, his knuckles rapping peremptorily on the wood. Two other doors opened and heads looked out enquiringly, then, seeing the blonde-haired Chief Inspector, were hastily withdrawn again.

  Throughout the big house, conference-goers were packing. But not, it seemed, in the Bryces’ room. Jason opened the door, but as he’d half-expected, the room was empty.

  He looked questioningly at Graham.

  Graham looked at Monica, who said quickly, ‘We need to find Jessica. Jessica Taylor. She’s staying in room twenty-eight. I remember her telling me.’

  Once again they strode quickly down the corridor. Once again they knocked. Once again nobody answered.

  Monica gnawed her lip worriedly. ‘Graham!’ she said urgently.

  ‘I know,’ her husband said, then hesitated as a maid turned the corner, a pile of towels in her arm. ‘I say, Miss, you don’t happen to know where we can find Bishop Bryce do you? The good-looking, blonde one,’ he added, and watched the girl’s face immediately clear.

  ‘Oh him!’ she said, and giggled. ‘He was out on the lawns just now. A whole group of them are out there drinking Pimms.’

  Graham thought that mid-morning was hardly the time for Pimms, then wondered what on earth that could possibly matter now.

  Jason was beginning to get a little tired of all this, but already the Nobles were heading quickly for the stairs.

  ‘Sir,’ Flora said, sounding peeved.

  Jason shrugged helplessly and set off in pursuit.

  They found Arthur Bryce, not in the Pimms-drinking party, but just walking away from it. He saw the group hurrying towards him and, his eyebrows going up, he met them halfway.

  ‘Hello, you all look rather hot and bothered and …’

  ‘We need to speak to you, Your Grace,’ Graham interrupted rudely, something in both his tone and manner making the bishop give him a quick double-take. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’ Graham asked insistently.

  ‘We can go back to the office,’ Jason said, giving Arthur Bryce no option but to obey.

  Once inside the office, the bishop from Yorkshire looked from Graham to the Chief Inspector, then to Monica. Monica’s presence seemed to trouble him most of all, but it was Monica who spoke first.

  ‘Your Grace, I know this may sound very impudent, and I’m sure your first instinct will be to deny everything, but please tell us the truth and as quickly a
s possible. Did you have an affair with Jessica Taylor’s best friend?’

  Jason, who’d been wondering for some time now what she’d come up with, hadn’t expected this.

  Arthur Bryce gaped at her. He was wearing his purple-fronted best shirt and the dog-collar looked very white under his chin. ‘I’m sorry? What did you say?’ he asked tightly.

  His eyes flitted quickly to the Chief Inspector then away again.

  Monica took a deep breath. ‘Please, Your Grace, we may be running out of time. Where’s your wife?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Chloe?’ Arthur was obviously startled. ‘Upstairs packing.’

  ‘No she isn’t,’ Jason said flatly.

  Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  ‘Mrs Noble,’ Jason said, ‘I’ve been very patient so far, and I’m sure even you’ll admit, more than co-operative. Now I want to know what’s going on.’

  Monica looked at him, then at Graham, who nodded.

  ‘I think… . I think Chloe Bryce killed Celia Gordon,’ she said flatly.

  ‘What?’ it was Arthur Bryce’s voice that split the deep, sudden silence. ‘You can’t be … that’s ridiculous. Why on earth should Chloe want to kill that awful woman?’ He sounded both genuinely angry and almost amused. ‘You’re out of your mind! Look here …’ he turned to Graham, obviously about to order him to keep his wife under control, but Monica interrupted.

  ‘You’re quite right,’ Monica said, aware that every head save her husband’s had turned to look at her in astonishment, ‘Your wife had no reason to kill Celia Gordon. But then, it wasn’t Celia Gordon she’d meant to kill. It was Jessica Taylor.’

  Jason motioned impatiently to his gobsmacked sergeant to start taking notes.

  ‘I think you’d better start from the beginning,’ Jason told Monica icily.

  ‘But we’ve got to find her before she can have another go at it,’ Monica said impatiently, leaning forward urgently in her seat, frustrated worry in every taunt line of her.

  Jason shook his head. ‘Then make it quick. Convince me!’

  Monica shot a look at Arthur Bryce, who’d gone amazingly quiet. ‘You don’t seem so surprised that she might want to kill Jessica Taylor, your Grace,’ she accused softly.

  Arthur blinked. ‘Now look here, there’s nothing going on between me and Reverend Taylor, if that’s what you’re imputing …’

  ‘It’s not,’ Monica said flatly. ‘But you’re probably aware that there have been rumours circulating about you, and that they state that sometime last year you had an affair with one of your parishioners. If I’m right, that parishioner was a good friend of Jessica Taylor’s. Is that so?’

  Arthur blinked again. He was so obviously trying to think of the right route to take, the least embarrassing or compromising, that Jason barked thunderously, ‘Well, yes or no, Bryce. Is the lady right or isn’t she? Come on man, this is a murder investigation. Another person’s life might depend on it. Now’s not the time to be worrying about your PR.’

  Arthur’s face, if anything, went even tighter.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Graham said, his voice as quiet as thistledown after Jason’s bark, but somehow more compelling. ‘You’re a man of God,’ he said simply.

  Arthur, bishop and one-time hopeful archbishop, looked at the humble country parson and took a long, slow breath. ‘Her name was Debbie,’ he said quietly. ‘Debbie Rogers. But it’s all over now. Debbie moved to Portugal. She decided it was no good. The scandal if we’d been found out. She ended it, months and months ago. I haven’t seen her since. It was Jessica who told me that she’d gone abroad. Debbie had written her a letter saying that … well, that it was best. She wanted to get right away from her past sins… . Debbie was a very devout Christian, you know. Oh, I know that sounds strange but …’ his voice wavered a little with emotion.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jason put in, when it was obvious that Arthur Bryce wasn’t going to say any more. ‘How does Celia Gordon come into all this?’

  ‘She doesn’t,’ Monica said wearily. ‘That’s what’s been misleading us all this time. The way it must have happened went something like this. Everyone I’ve spoken to told me what Celia said at breakfast about being allergic to nuts, but Chloe Bryce couldn’t have been present at the time. Is that right?’ Monica, rather surprisingly, turned to Flora for help, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

  Flora nodded promptly. ‘Yes, that’s right. We know that there was talk about how fond Celia was about oranges, and that Jessica Taylor said that she had a fondness for cake. But we’ve got reliable information that Chloe had left the room before the talk turned to Celia’s nut allergy.’

  Monica let out a long breath. ‘I knew that’s how it must have happened, or else how would Chloe know which dessert Jessica was likely to choose? And, of, course, because of what happened later on, at the shop.’

  ‘The shop?’ Jason prompted, totally lost.

  ‘Yes. When I went in – and this is the Saturday morning that I’m talking about – Jessica was there and we got talking to one of the village mums. Phyllis was listening, of course, and Jessica was espousing working mums’ rights. And, well, the upshot of it was, she didn’t make herself very popular with some of the more.… traditional male clerics who were also at the shop.’

  ‘We’ve been told about that, sir,’ Flora added in an undertone. ‘At the time, it had hardly seemed relevant.’

  ‘Yes, but when I went into the shop later, Phyllis said how sad it was that the woman who’d made all the fuss about women’s rights had been killed. It didn’t really mean anything to me at the time,’ Monica confessed, ‘and all I did was tell Phyllis that she’d made a mistake. That it wasn’t Jessica who was dead, but someone else.’

  ‘I still don’t…’ Flora began, but Monica quickly held up her hand.

  ‘No, wait. I went back to the shop this morning to speak to Phyllis. I asked her why she thought it was Jessica who’d died, and she said the rumour was that it was the … how did she put it … that it was “the loud-mouthed women’s-libber vicar” who’d died. Obviously after listening to Jessica championing women’s rights and urging a mother-and-baby group on the village community, she thought that it was Jessica they were talking about. In reality of course, they were talking about Celia. But the thing is, Phyllis told me that after Jessica left, the Bryces came into the shop. And that the men outside were still full of it, and were grumbling.’

  It was Jason who caught on first, and he quickly looked at the bishop who sat slumped in his chair. ‘Bishop Bryce, did you and your wife discuss anything in the shop that morning? More specifically, did you think, when you’d heard that a woman vicar had been there before you stirring up trouble … did you think they were talking about Celia Gordon?’

  ‘Well, of course I did,’ Arthur said rather huffily. ‘That’s a natural mistake for me to have made, surely?’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Monica said. ‘But Your Grace, did you mention to your wife that the woman they were talking about had a peanut allergy?’

  Arthur Bryce went very pale. ‘I … I can’t remember,’ he said, unconvincingly.

  ‘Of course you did. You thought they were all talking about Celia Gordon, too,’ Jason said flatly. ‘A woman you had no particular affection for, since you were both competing for the chairmanship of an important committee. Oh yes, I know all about that.’

  ‘The point is,’ Monica said, agonizingly aware that time was passing far too quickly, ‘that Chloe Bryce, knowing that the mother-and-baby thing was Jessica Taylor’s particular area of expertise thought, quite rightly, that the woman who’d made the old boy’s rumble and grumble, was Jessica Taylor. She’d even seen her walking away from the shop with me. But you thought everyone was talking about Celia. So when you told your wife that “she” had a peanut allergy …’

  ‘She thought you were talking about Jessica,’ Flora finished triumphantly.

  ‘But why did she want Jessica Taylor dead?’ Jason put his
finger on the whole crux of the matter. ‘Just because she was a friend of her husband’s one-time mistress? That just won’t wash …’

  ‘Oh no,’ Monica said. ‘I don’t think that was the reason at all. It was because of what Jessica said at dinner that very first night. On Friday.’

  Jason and Flora both leaned forward.

  ‘She said,’ Monica said quietly, ‘that she was going to search for her friend who’d gone missing in Portugal. That she was going to get advice from the authorities to ask for their help in locating her. Isn’t that right?’

  Jason stared at Monica flatly. ‘But why would that throw Chloe Bryce into a murderous frenzy?’

  ‘Because I don’t think Debbie is in Portugal,’ Monica said quietly. ‘I don’t think Debbie ever went to Portugal. If she had, she’d have kept in touch with her best friend and vicar. She was a devout Christian, remember? She’d feel the need for Jessica’s Christian guidance. But she didn’t.’ Monica repeated, with emphasis. ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘Because she couldn’t,’ Flora breathed. ‘She was dead. Oh my …’

  Arthur Bryce jerked upright. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I think it’s true,’ Monica said to him helplessly. ‘And when she failed to kill Jessica with her first attempt, she tried again.’

  ‘At the swimming party,’ Graham said grimly. And to Jason, who hadn’t yet heard about it, he recited the details briefly.

  ‘Yes,’ Monica carried on. ‘When we arrived at the river, I realized that Jessica and I were wearing a very similar costume – oh, they were shaped differently, but they were both one pieces, and both the same bright shade of turquoise. And to anyone swimming underwater, with both Jessica and I having dark hair, it was easy to confuse us. I think Chloe wrapped her hands in river weed and pulled me under first before realising her mistake. I closed my eyes the moment I went under, so I didn’t see her. And I expect Jessica did the same thing. But Carole Anne, who likes swimming underwater, had her eyes open, and when she dived down to look for Jessica, Chloe had no other choice but to break off the attack and swim away.’

  ‘You were all very lucky,’ Graham said, with feeling. When he thought how close he’d come to losing his wife, he felt sick.