Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (21 page)

Thomas rubbed his hands nervously together. As he stood on the stone step of the rectory, the wind gently lifted the green stole embroidered with a gold Celtic cross that he wore on top of his white surplice. A few moments later, Danuta emerged from the door behind him, walked onto the grass, and lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply several times, blowing smoke out her mouth and nostrils, then dropped the cigarette and ground it into the dirt with a dirty gold strappy sandal. She brushed wordlessly past Thomas and returned to the anteroom.

As Thomas stood watch on the doorstep, a black car stopped in front of the river entranceway and two men got out of the back seat. The first, whom Thomas supposed to be the unfortunate bridegroom, had short, very black hair and wore a business suit with a bow tie. The second man who looked very much like the first, chattered away to his charge in a foreign language. Thomas surmised this was his translator. The front passenger door opened and a pair of highly polished black brogues emerged, belonging to a heavyset black man who showed very large white teeth set in a wide, easygoing smile as he caught sight of Rev. Thomas Evans.

“Good afternoon,” said Thomas. “Right this way. If you would, please, go into my study. You will find a gentleman there waiting to speak to you.” The translator said something, and the bridegroom looked around him uneasily. But the third man, who seemed to be in charge, said nothing, and confidently led the way down the hall in the direction Thomas had pointed. His expression changed when he entered the rector’s study and saw Davies. He turned and tried to push his way past the bridegroom and best man behind him, but the short hallway that led to the open door through which he had just come was now filled with uniformed police and UK Border Agency officers, all wearing black tactical vests.

Seeing that he could not escape, the man stopped and turned around. Davies was waiting for him. “Azumi Odogwu, I am DCI Gareth Davies of the North Wales Police and I would like you to come in and sit down.”

“Why? Who are you? What have I done? What do you want with me? I haven’t done anything. You have no reason to keep me here.”

Handing the bridegroom and his translator over to the nearest police officer, Davies closed the door and again told Odogwu to sit down. The man sank slowly into a chair in front of the desk and refused to make eye contact with either Davies or Constable Chris Jones, who stood nearby with his back against the wall.

“Now then. First, I want to confirm that you are in fact Azumi Odogwu. Is that your name?”

The man said nothing.

“Very well,” said Davies. “We’ll come back to that. Let’s move on. Did you arrange the marriage that was to take place here today?”

“No, no! It was nothing to do with me.”

“Well, we’ll all be going down to the police station in a few minutes to sort everything out,” said Davies, “but I should warn you those people out in the corridor there,” he said, gesturing at the door, “are with the UK Border Agency and they’re going to start by taking a very close look at your passport. If your passport proves to be a forgery, you will be charged with possession of a false passport. And if our investigation shows that you have been involved in arranging sham marriages, you will be charged with conspiracy to assist unlawful immigration.”

“No, no,” Odogwu repeated, “I haven’t done anything. I live here simply and quietly.”

“Do you, Mr. Odogwu? Do you really? Where do you live?”

Odogwu did not reply. “Abergele, isn’t it, Mr. Odogwu? You were a good friend of Nigel Shipton, I believe?”

“I don’t know any Shipton,” he said.

“Well, that’s strange, because I have at least twenty witnesses, including a bishop, who can testify that you recently attended a party with Mr. Shipton at Gladstone’s Library. And at that party he introduced you as his friend, Azumi Odogwu.” Davies made a display of consulting his notes.

Odogwu’s dark brown eyes widened. “Look, Mr. Odogwu,” said Davies, “you could be in a lot of trouble here. You’re looking at several years in prison if you have broken British immigration laws.” Odogwu struggled to get to his feet but Jones placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “But the UK Border Agency will take care of all that. There’s something else, another matter, that you and I have to talk about Mr. Odogwu. Do you know what that is?” Odogwu shook his head.

“We need to talk about the murder of the Reverend Nigel Shipton. What can you tell me about that?” Odogwu did not reply. “Right,” said Davies with a nod at Jones. “Mr. Odogwu might be more forthcoming at the station. Constable Jones, please arrest him and we’ll bring him in for an interview.”

In the small anteroom where Penny and Bronwyn sat with the bride, as the time for the wedding came and went, the tension became unbearable. The woman sat with one leg over the other, jiggling her foot up and down. As the annoyance factor increased, Penny glanced at Bronwyn, who gave a worried shrug. Both turned to Sgt. Bethan Morgan, who gave a noncommittal shake of her head. The bride looked at her watch, coughed, and stood up. She said something in a language no one understood. Bethan motioned for her to sit down and the waiting resumed. A few minutes later, when Penny thought she couldn’t take one more second of the irritating foot jiggling, the door opened and Gareth Davies stuck his head in. If he was surprised to see Penny, he did not show it.

He made eye contact with Bethan, then tipped his head at the bride. “We’re ready for her now,” he said. Bethan tapped the woman on the shoulder, made a small “get up” gesture with her hand, and then ushered her from the room. Davies came in and closed the door.

“Thank you, Bronwyn,” he said, and then turned to Penny. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” she replied. “Bronwyn asked me to come along today, so here I am.” Davies looked puzzled but said nothing.

“What will happen to the bride?” Bronwyn asked.

“The Border people will look into her history,” said Davies, “and try to determine if she is who her passport says she is and, depending on what they turn up, she may or may not be charged. She was probably paid a couple of thousand pounds to marry that guy. So sad and pathetic that women are willing to go with through with a sham marriage for what doesn’t amount to a whole lot of money. I expect it gets used up pretty quickly and then she’s saddled with a man she doesn’t even know.”

“And what about the bridegroom?” Penny asked.

“He paid someone a huge amount of money, probably upwards of ten thousand pounds, to arrange this marriage for him,” Davies said. “We want to find out if that someone was Mr. Odogwu. And then we’ll want to know if Mr. Odogwu is the orchestra leader or if he’s just the page-turner for somebody else.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the murder of Shipton?” Penny asked.

“He may be connected to it in some way, but I don’t know yet how deep his involvement was. But let’s hope he’ll be able to tell us something.”

PC Chris Jones stuck his head in the door, acknowledged Bronwyn and Penny, and then spoke to Davies.

“We’re leaving now, sir. We’ll see you at the station.” Before he left, Davies gave Penny an odd look that she could not read. She felt an uneasiness and turned to Bronwyn, who returned her unspoken concern.

“I wonder what they’ll get out of Odogwu,” Bronwyn said.

“It’s about the money,” Penny said in a low voice. “It’s got to be about the money.”

“But why would they kill Shipton?” Bronwyn asked. “Wouldn’t that be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs? He performed the marriages for them. Without him, everything fell apart and that’s the end of the money.”

Penny nodded and looked thoughtful. “I wonder.” She straightened up and prepared to leave. “Anyway, I hope they get some useful information out of Odogwu.”

“I bet he sings like a canary,” said Bronwyn grimly. “He looks the type.”

“Sings like a canary?” Penny laughed in spite of herself. “Have you been staying up late again watching old Humphrey Bogart movies?”

Thirty-six

“Do you want to have lunch?”

Victoria had popped into Penny’s manicure room just as Penny was tidying up after the morning’s appointments. She gathered up two or three white towels and tossed them into a laundry basket, then set the used tools aside ready to be packaged for the sterilizer.

“Oh, thanks, Victoria, but not today. I’ve got an errand to run. There’s someone I want to see.” Penny picked up a bottle of nail varnish remover and a small glass bottle of cotton balls.

“Where are you going with those?” Victoria asked.

“I’m going to make a house call.”

“We make house calls now?’

“Not really. But this is a special case.”

“Is Mrs. Lloyd ill and unable to make her appointment this afternoon?”

“No, it’s not that. I want to check up on Ros Stephens. It’s been over a week since she was in here for her manicure and I doubt she’s been out of the house since. If she doesn’t have any nail varnish remover in, her nails will be chipped by now and looking really dreadful. I always think that look is so demoralizing. Can’t stand it.”

“But Penny, it’s not up to you to follow our clients around and go to their homes to make sure their manicures are looking good.”

“I know it isn’t, but she’s been through a terrible time. That awful business with her husband and the loss of her father.”

“Her father died?”

“Didn’t you know? No, of course you didn’t. I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Ros’s father was Nigel Shipton.”

Victoria looked puzzled.

“The Reverend Nigel Shipton. The body in Gladstone’s Library.”

“Oh, I see.” She considered this for a moment. “I did not know that. Still, Shipton wasn’t from around here, so I doubt many people will know he was her father.”

“Well,” said Penny settling her bag over her shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

The day was clear and warm, with soft clouds swirling playfully around the hilltops in a sky of unusually bright azure blue. It was a day to be outdoors, with a pair of comfortable walking boots on your feet, a light jacket on your back, and all the time you needed to enjoy wherever you were going.

Penny walked along the river, past a renovation building project that was seeing an empty warehouse turned into expensive flats with river views and turned up Rosemary Lane, a small street of solid, detached houses. The house at the end of the street was slightly larger than the others. As she approached the front door she took in the closed curtains. She looked for a doorbell, and not seeing one, lifted the metal flap that covered the letter slot and banged it two or three times. A moment later a disembodied voice called from inside the house. “Who is it?”

Penny bent over and spoke through the letter slot.

“Ros, it’s me, Penny Brannigan from the Llanelen Spa.”

A moment later the door was opened, cautiously and slowly.

“Oh, Penny, come in. I was afraid you might be a reporter. I’ve had a couple of phone calls. I don’t want to talk to them.”

Penny stepped into the small entryway and bent to take off her shoes. “No, leave them,” said Ros. “I haven’t been about to bring myself to get out the Hoover since … well, never mind.” She gestured toward the sitting room. “Come through.”

“I expect you’re surprised to see me,” said Penny, “and I do apologize. I should have rung you first.” She reached out to Ros and with a “May I” look, loosely picked up her hand and examined her fingernails. The gleaming, carefully applied coral varnish was now chipped. A sliver of pink nail at the top of the nail showed where the nail had grown and the polish at the tip was jagged and unsightly. “I was afraid of this,” said Penny. “It doesn’t do good things for your state of mind when your nails look like this. I brought the remover. Would you let me take this off for you? You’re much better off with no polish than this.”

Ros looked at her nails in a curious way as if seeing them for the very first time. “I hadn’t even thought about them but you’re right. They do look awful.”

Her mouth trembled as she sank into the sofa. “You came over here to do this for me?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to do this one very small thing in case it helps you feel better.” Penny dabbed some remover onto a cotton ball and began swiping at Ros’s thumb nail.

“And because I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, please, don’t ask me anything about him.”

“No, it’s not him, Ros. It’s your father, Nigel Shipton. You see, I was there. In fact, I was the one who found his body.”

Thirty-seven

“You found his body? You were at the Library?”

“Yes, I was. I did. And I wanted to come and see you in case you have any questions. And speaking of questions, have the police been to see you yet, by the way?”

Ros shook her head.

“No, well, you might want to prepare yourself for a visit,” said Penny.

“Not too many people know that we’re related,” said Ros. “How did you find out, by the way?”

“I had an opportunity to go through the Register of Marriages from your father’s church in Abergele,” said Penny. “And I spotted your name. I thought it was rather charming that your father married you. That must have been a lovely moment.”

“Well, yes and no,” said Ros. “My father couldn’t stand Hywel. Oh, he respected him professionally, but didn’t like him personally. Daddy thought there was something dangerous about him. He wasn’t keen on my marrying him; he thought I was letting myself in for more than I bargained for.” She gave a sad little snort of belated understanding. “And as it turned out, he was right.”

She reached up to refasten her honey brown hair with the large clip that held it on top of her head and then peered at Penny. “You heard all about Hywel and the Spanish woman?”

Penny nodded.

“Yes,” said Ros. “Of course you did. Everyone’s heard about it. That’s why I haven’t been out of the house in days. I can’t bear to have anyone look at me with their terrible pity.” She looked at her fingernails, now free of the chipped polish. “It was really good of you to stop by to sort out my nails. When Daddy left us, my mother didn’t want to go out of the house, either. She moved away. She’s been very supportive of me in all this. She understands exactly what I’m going through.”