A Dead Man Out of Mind (36 page)

There was a long pause. ‘And how do you expect me to produce these keys?'

‘I've thought it all out,' David explained. ‘You're the Archdeacon. You have the right to make a visitation to any church at any time, don't you? Just ring the Vicar, or the Administrator, or one of the churchwardens, and say that you're coming this afternoon, to inspect the terrier. It's within your rights, Gabriel. They may think it's odd, but they can't really say no.'

‘That's true,' Gabriel admitted cautiously. ‘And then what am I supposed to do?'

‘Pocket the keys somehow, when they're not looking. I know that you can do it,' he wheedled. ‘And if you can get me those keys this afternoon – and a key to the church itself would be a great help, by the way – by tomorrow I ought to be able to tell you who killed the two curates and Vera Bright, and why.'

‘Can't you tell me
now
?'

‘I'm afraid that I won't know until I've been able to get into that sacristy. That's where the answer is to be found.'

‘Well,' Gabriel capitulated. ‘If it's that important, I'll see what I can do. I'll ring you later.'

‘I won't leave my desk until I hear from you.' He gave Gabriel the number, adding, ‘You promised, remember?'

As soon as she heard the click to show that the connection had been broken, Ruth put down the phone. Her mind worked furiously as she made the promised tea for David; she tapped on his closed door and, when he invited her to enter, delivered the tea with a smile.

‘Thanks, Ruth,' he said abstractedly, then looked up at her. ‘Do you have anything to do? I know that it's your last afternoon here – you could leave early, if you wanted. I could ring and ask your Aunt Lucy to come for you. I may have to stay a bit late today.'

‘Oh, no. That's all right,' she assured him. ‘Since it's my last day, everyone has come up with plenty of photocopying for me to do. Next week there won't be anyone here to do it!'

She was taking it in remarkably good spirit, he grudgingly admitted to himself. ‘Well, if you'll be all right . . .'

‘Yes. Don't worry about me. I'll be in the photocopier room.'

She went back to Mrs Simmons's desk, picked up the phone, and rang Directory Enquiries, asking for the number for St Margaret's Church. She wasn't sure whether there would even be a phone, and if there was, who might be there to answer it, but in due course it was answered. ‘St Margaret's Church,' came a voice down the phone.

‘Is this the Vicar?' she asked.

‘No, this is the Administrator.'

‘Oh, well, you'll do just as well,' she said sweetly. ‘My name is Ruth Kingsley – I think that you know my aunt, Lucy Kingsley. You see, I'm doing a project at school for RE. We have to visit a church, and write something about it. And I'm afraid I've left it rather late. It has to be handed in next week. So I was wondering if it would be all right if I came to your church this afternoon.'

‘Well, I don't know. I'm awfully busy. Isn't there any other church you could visit instead?'

‘But your church is so beautiful,' Ruth said, though she'd never been inside it. ‘I can't think of any other church that I like nearly so well as yours.'

The flattery was not without effect. ‘What, in particular, would you like to see?'

She tried to think what was kept in the sacristy. ‘The . . . um . . . silver,' she said. ‘I'm sure that you could tell me some interesting things about it. My aunt says that you know ever so much about everything in the church.'

He sighed heavily. ‘I'm a very busy man, young lady. The Archdeacon has just rung to say that he's coming by later to inspect the silver.'

‘But if you have to get it out for him anyway,' she coaxed, ‘it won't be any trouble for me to have a look at it as well.'

‘All right, then,' he gave in. ‘Perhaps the sacristan will be in a bit later, to change the frontals for the weekend, and he might be able to spare rather more time than I can. Will you be coming soon?'

‘Oh, yes. Right away. I'll see you in a little while, then.'

Ruth put the phone down and turned to find Mrs Simmons looking at her, hands on ample hips. ‘What do you think you're doing?' she demanded.

‘Oh, I was just talking to Aunt Lucy.' Ruth gave her an innocent smile. ‘Uncle David has said that I can go home early, as it's my last day, and I just wanted to tell her that I was coming.'

‘By yourself?'

‘Oh, yes.' Ruth waved her hand dismissively. ‘He doesn't mind. He knows that I'm not a baby. I'm perfectly capable of getting to South Kensington by myself.'

‘Well, if you're sure . . .'

She was already on her way. ‘It's been nice knowing you,' she said over her shoulder. ‘And remember – he's busy. Don't bother him.'

Half an hour later, Lucy rang David. As Mrs Simmons put the call through, she asked, ‘Has Ruth made it home safely, then?'

Lucy was puzzled. ‘Ruth? Why, no. She wouldn't come home on her own.'

‘But she set off about thirty minutes ago. She said that Mr Middleton-Brown had told her to go home early. And she rang you to tell you that she was coming – I heard the end of the conversation.'

‘No,' said Lucy, beginning to be alarmed. ‘She
didn't
ring me. You'd better put me through to David right away.'

He sent for Mrs Simmons a minute later. ‘Would you mind telling me what this is all about?' he asked. ‘Where is Ruth?'

‘She's gone home,' she repeated. ‘She said that you told her to go.'

David frowned. ‘Can you remember her exact words?'

‘She said, “Uncle David said that I can go home early, as it's my last day.” Or something quite close to that.'

He groaned. ‘Are you sure that she said “Uncle David”?'

‘Oh, yes. I remember that, because I've never heard her call you that before.'

Into the phone he said, ‘Now I
know
that she's up to something, love.'

‘You mean that you didn't tell her to go home?' queried Mrs Simmons, only beginning to understand.

‘No, I didn't.'

‘Then perhaps I should tell you that I thought it was a little strange. She said that she was talking to her Aunt Lucy on the phone, but part of the conversation was about churches and silver. She mentioned St Margaret's Church.'

‘Good Lord.' David spoke into the phone again. ‘I think that she's gone to St Margaret's. I'll go after her, Lucy. She'll be all right.'

‘I'll meet you there,' she said immediately.

‘I'd rather you didn't,' he protested, knowing that it would make no difference.

It should be all right, he thought as he walked rapidly to High Holborn and the tube station. Ruth wouldn't really be in danger, no matter how idiotically she had behaved. She didn't really know anything, and surely no one would harm her in a church, in daylight. There would be people around. Then he remembered who those people might be, and he quickened his pace. For a moment he considered whether it might not be faster to take a taxi, but decided that afternoon traffic in London would make the Underground the wiser choice, if speed were important. It wasn't just Ruth – Lucy was on her way as well, and no matter how quickly he managed to travel she would get there before he did. And he hadn't had the opportunity to tell her of his conclusions about the murderer. She'd be arriving at St Margaret's with only slightly more knowledge, and more wariness, than Ruth.

Would the Vicar be going to St Margaret's later to say Evensong? Or would he go to St Jude's, which was nearer the vicarage? And what time was Evensong, anyway? It could be important. David thought about the notation in Father Julian's diary, and he went suddenly cold as the last piece fell into place. He knew with a grim certainty who had killed three people – Father Julian had told him.

Would it be enough to convict? Probably not: they would need the evidence from the sacristy as well. And of course the testimony of Mr Atkins, who should be able to identify the seller of the chalice. As he hurried down the steps into the tube station, he remembered something that Mr Atkins had told him only that morning. It hadn't registered as significant at the time, but now it provided all the confirmation he needed to be sure that the information in Father Julian's diary was relevant. And that he didn't have any time to lose.

After her visit to the Toppings, Ruth had no difficulty in locating the neighbouring St Margaret's Church. The church was unlocked and seemingly empty, but after a brief exploration of the building Ruth found Stanley Everitt waiting for her in the sacristy. She had never met Stanley Everitt, though she'd seen him at Rachel's funeral – his death's head face was unmistakeable – but she wasn't sure whether he remembered her or not. ‘Hello, Mr Everitt. I'm Ruth Kingsley,' she said with the ingratiating smile that she'd used to such good effect on Dolly Topping. ‘I really do appreciate you taking the time to show me your silver.'

His peeved expression softened a fraction, and he unbent sufficiently to say, ‘You're very fortunate that you came today. Friday is the only day I'm at St Margaret's – the rest of the week I'm at St Jude's.'

‘Oh, what a lucky coincidence,' she gushed.

Everitt cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Well.'

She saw that he had already taken the silver from the safe and set it out on the top of a vestment chest. That was a disappointment; she'd hoped to get a peek inside the safe when he opened it, but he had forestalled her. But she injected great eagerness into her voice as she said, ‘So is this your silver, then?'

‘Yes. I assume that what you're interested in for your school project is its liturgical use rather than its artistic qualities.' His tone was schoolmasterish, and indeed he had been an RE teacher himself before being made redundant and taking on the Administrator's job. ‘This, of course, is a chalice. It is used to hold the wine during the Mass, referring to Our Lord's last supper.'

‘Oh, so you have another chalice,' Ruth blurted out without thinking.

Everitt looked at her. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Oh, um,' she faltered. ‘I just meant that of course everyone knows that the chalice was stolen in a robbery, when Father Julian was killed.'

‘That was a terrible thing,' he intoned, furrowing his brow and wringing his hands. ‘I was the one who found his body, you know. On the Saturday morning when I came in to prepare for a wedding. A great shock, it was.'

‘Oh, it must have been.' She gained confidence in her information-gathering techniques. ‘And an even greater shock to have another curate killed so soon after,' she added boldly.

The Administrator put the chalice down and took a closer look at Ruth. ‘You were at the funeral.'

‘Yes.'

‘And at the vicarage after.' He leaned down and brought his face close to hers. ‘You were a friend of Miss Bright, were you?'

‘That's right.'

His voice was soft; it had lost its customary pedantic, self-important edge. ‘You said that she knew who had killed Rachel. She didn't happen to tell you who it was, did she?'

Ruth decided to be cagey. ‘Maybe she did, and maybe she didn't.'

He stared at her for a moment, as if weighing up her words, and she returned his stare coolly. It was at that moment that she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a green and gold carrier bag on the table in the corner, and she knew that she was confronting a murderer. ‘It was you, wasn't it?' she said slowly. ‘You killed Miss Bright. You killed them all.'

Things happened very quickly after that. Stanley Everitt reached for a penknife, left carelessly behind by the sacristan after cleaning the lumps of melted incense out of the thurible. Lucy appeared at the door, and Ruth screamed. ‘Run, Aunt Lucy,' she shrilled. ‘He killed them. Go and tell David. Tell him—'

Her shout was cut off by a hand over her mouth, and the knife blade was pressed to her throat. ‘I don't think you'll want to do that, Miss Kingsley. Not unless you relish seeing your niece's throat cut.' His voice was chillingly calm; Lucy was transfixed with horror just inside the door.

It was only a few seconds later that David arrived, winded, having run from the tube station. He took in the situation instantly, pushing Lucy behind him and bursting into the sacristy.

‘Stop right there,' Everitt warned. ‘Don't come any closer, or I promise you that I'll kill her.'

All other circumstances aside, David was at a physical disadvantage, his heart pounding as he gasped for breath.

They were at an impasse. Everitt and his hostage, frozen in terror, faced David across the sacristy. ‘Come inside away from the door,' Everitt commanded. ‘You and the girl's aunt both. I don't want either one of you thinking that you're going to go for help. Over there.' He gestured with his head to the corner farthest from the door.

David knew that they had to obey. He took Lucy's hand and moved slowly around the circumference of the sacristy; Everitt backed round towards the door, continuing to watch them warily. ‘Don't try anything, or I'll kill her,' he repeated.

‘You would, too, wouldn't you?' David spoke at last. ‘Just like you killed the others.'

Ruth gasped in pain as he nicked her throat with the knife. ‘What do you know about that?' Everitt asked softly.

‘I know that you killed them, and I know why.' David's voice sounded calm. ‘But I'd like to know one thing. Why did you steal the marriage certificates? Was it just for the money?'

‘Just for the money?' Everitt laughed. ‘It was a great deal of money. More money than
you'll
ever see.'

‘How did you get involved in it, then?'

‘Do you really want to know?'