Shaping the Ripples (20 page)

I tried to speak calmly to them. “I had no reason to want either Jennifer or Christopher dead. I saw them both as friends and my life is poorer because they are dead. If I had known about Christopher’s problem, I’d like to think that I would have tried to help him, not condemn him.”

“Let me tell you what I think happened.” Michael Palmer offered. “You killed Jennifer Carter in anger. Then you realised that you needed to steal your file because of what she had written about you. While you were doing that, you pulled a lot of files out to confuse the scene, and noticed the one with Christopher Upton's name on it."

I was shaking my head furiously as he continued. “You read his file, and were shocked to discover that he too had let you down. You sent a note to scare him. Your unusually regular contact with him over the following weeks was to enjoy watching as he slowly fell to pieces. After a final gloat on Christmas Day, you decided it was time to kill him.”

“You’re completely wrong,” I said firmly.

“What was it?” he demanded angrily. “Did it drive you mad that you’d looked up to him, when he was just a sick pervert? Did you get angrier and angrier and decide that he had to be punished – that everyone had to know what he really was?”

“No.”

“Was it because of how he’d betrayed you that you cut off his penis and stuffed it in his mouth while he was still alive?”

It took a moment for these words to sink in. As they did, I felt the blood rush away from my face, and I convulsed forwards and threw up on the floor.

“I’ll get you some water and some towels to clear this up.” DI Smith said, jumping to her feet and glaring at Michael Palmer before she rushed from the room.

He reached out and turned off the tape machine and then leant forwards so that his had was close to my ear.

“I meant what I said at your flat,” he said. “This is personal between you and me. And I never lose.”

He straightened up and turned the machine back on. Almost immediately DI Smith was back, handing me a glass of water. She was followed by a cleaner with a mop and bucket who began to clear up the mess I’d made. I suppose it was fortunate that I hadn’t had time for breakfast.

Once the cleaner had gone, I stared at Michael Palmer’s expressionless face.

“Is that true?” I asked. “Did someone really do that to him?”

“It is,” Laura Smith answered. “Although we’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet. No-one is supposed to know the details.” She shot another pointed glance at Michael Palmer, who ignored her.

“I think that’s all for the time being,” he said. “I would however like you to remain here until the paperwork comes through to allow us to search your flat. We wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble cleaning up before we got there.”

“Are you holding me here then?” I asked.

“No, not at all,” he answered smugly. “You came here of your own accord and you’re perfectly free to leave whenever you wish. I was just suggesting that if you have nothing to hide, it might look better if you waited here and then escort me back to your flat when we do the search.”

I was angry enough to walk out immediately. But I reminded myself that I had nothing to be afraid of. Besides, he already seemed so certain that I was guilty, I didn’t feel I could afford to do anything that would make it even harder to change his mind.

I waited in the room on my own for another hour, before he returned.

“We’re all set,” he announced cheerfully.

He placed the paperwork on the table for me to inspect. I glanced at it and then stood up.

“Let’s get on with it then,” I suggested.

For the second time that morning, I had a silent journey in the back of Michael Palmer’s car. This time, we had an escort of two squad cars. I was sure speculation would be rife among my neighbours about all these policemen visiting me.

Having your home searched is a peculiarly unsettling experience. Strangers go through all your possessions, making judgements about you from what they find. They pulled all the books down from their shelves, making a careful note of what sort of things I read.

One policeman turned on the computer and asked me for my password. Once I’d supplied it, he began working through all the files on it, downloading some, and making notes on others. Some of the team were collecting fibre samples from my carpets, furniture and clothes, while another pair were carefully playing all my videos and DVDs, presumably to check that the contents matched up with the labels on them.

Large parts of the living room were covered in dust, poured out in a search for fingerprints. Another uniformed policeman emerged from the kitchen, holding my kitchen knife carefully in a large evidence bag.

“It looks clean, but we may as well run it by forensics,” he said to Michael Palmer, who was surveying the devastation with an undisguised smirk. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said to me. “We’ll get it back to you within a day or so.”

Finally they were gone, leaving me to clear up all the mess they had left. It was well into the afternoon before I had finished, and I felt completely drained.

The red message light was flashing on my telephone. I reached across and pressed the play button. Katie’s happy voice filled the room.

“Happy New Year, Jack! I was just ringing to say that and to see if you fancied getting together today. I’d really love to see you. I’m at home all day, so just give me a ring when you can, OK?”

There was silence for a moment, and then the second message played. Her voice came again, sounding slightly more concerned;

“Jack, you must have really had a good time last night if you’re still in bed. Ring me when you get up or in. Please.”

I reached out and picked up the telephone to ring her. Then I sat with it in my hand, unable to make myself dial her number. Finally, I replaced the phone, and sat immobile.

Part of me just wanted her with me, to cling on to. But the last thing I wanted was to have to go through all that had happened that day. As well as that, I wasn’t sure how wise it would be for her to get more involved with me while I was at the centre of such a destructive storm.

All the hope and optimism of the previous evening seemed a very distant memory. It even occurred to me that the police might have done me a favour by taking the carving knife out of harm’s way.

The phone rang several more times during the course of the evening but whoever was calling hung up once they heard my recorded message.

Chapter Twenty-one

Yorkshire Evening Post

Wednesday January 2nd

LOCAL VICAR SLAIN IN SEX SCANDAL

An Evening Post reporter discovered the body of prominent local vicar, Rev. Christopher Upton in his Vicarage on New Years Eve. He had been murdered.

Rev. Upton, 39, had been vicar of St.Thomas’s, York for three years. He lived alone. His mutilated body was found in his study, surrounded by obscene images of hard-core pornography. Police believe that he had been dead for some days, but refused to speculate on whether there was a sexual motive to his killing.

“It’s possible that this was a sex game gone wrong,” said a senior officer. “But the nature of the crime suggests that the motive was punishment, not lust.”

There are suggestions that the murder could be connected with the killing of Jennifer Carter, a York therapist who was killed and mutilated in November. Rev. Upton was one of her patients.

Police detained a local man for questioning, but he was later released without charge. “We don’t currently have enough evidence to make an arrest,” the police spokesman admitted. “We are appealing to the public to come forwards with any information, no matter how small, relating to these crimes. The perpetrator is clearly very unstable and extremely dangerous”.

I put the paper down next to me on the couch. I supposed that I ought at least to be grateful that the paper didn’t have my name. All I could feel though was a sickening numbness. My conversation with Christopher on Christmas Day made perfect sense now. I just wished that I’d been a bit more perceptive or insistent. Maybe if he’d been able to tell me about the note he would still be alive.

I’d rung George that morning and briefly explained what had happened. I’d said that I needed a few days off to get my head together. He’d been very understanding and supportive, but I don’t think he really knew what to say. Once I’d finished speaking to him I unplugged the phone. I figured that if anyone really needed me they’d come to the flat.

When the buzzer did sound, it made me jump. I want across to the microphone. “Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s Katie. Can I come up?”

I pressed the button, and went across the room to open the front door. When Katie appeared, she enveloped me in a crushing hug. We stood for some time, until the scream of my lungs for some air made me loosen her arms. We walked into the flat together.

“I was starting to think I’d frightened you off when you didn’t return my calls,” Katie began. “And then George told me this morning what had happened.”

“It wasn’t that,” I said. “I was just so stunned by what had happened that I didn’t feel up to talking to anyone.”

“It must have been dreadful,” she said. “Did you know him very well?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “I just liked what he was trying to do at the church, and then worried when he seemed so unwell. I went back to his house on Christmas Day for a while. He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t get him to really open up.”

“Is it true what they said in the papers?” she asked. “About the pornography and so on?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It seems he did have some problems with sex. Of course, in his job, that meant he couldn’t talk to anyone about it.”

“Except the counsellor who was murdered,” Katie said. “Is that why they’re linking the two murders?”

“It’s a bit more than that, I’m afraid,” I answered, and went on to tell her about the note that Christopher had received.

“So you think that that’s why he seemed so ill through December?”

“It must be,” I agreed. “He knew someone had found out his secret and was probably going to use it to hurt him. I don’t think he had any idea that it might be a killer. If he’d just told me about it, we might have realised in time.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Katie said loyally.

“It might be,” I answered. “The note I got suggests that whoever it is killed Christopher to get at me.”

“What would be the point of that if you weren’t that close?” Katie argued. “Whoever it is, we know that they like making people afraid. Couldn’t they have just put that in the note to make you feel responsible, or to confuse the police?”

“Well, they’ve certainly managed that. As far as the police are concerned, thanks to the notes, I seem to be their main suspect. In case you hadn’t worked it out, I’m the one they don’t yet have enough evidence to charge.”

“They’ll soon realise that you couldn’t have anything to do with it,” Katie said with more confidence than I felt. “I’m more worried about you. Are the police sure that it’s this same lunatic who is sending the notes to you?”

“That seems fairly certain,” I told her. “The notes are in the same sort of type face, and mine seemed too accurate a prediction of what he did to Christopher for it to just be a hoax.”

“But he threatened you in the last letter. What are the police doing about that?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Like I said, they think that I’m the author so there’s not much chance of my being in danger.”

“So he could be planning to attack you, and no-one’s going to take that seriously until it happens?” Katie said, increasingly frantic.

“In his letter, he said that he planned to kill me,” I said, trying to sound very matter of fact about it. “So far he’s been very good at keeping his promises. The difference is that neither Jennifer nor Christopher was aware of the danger. I am. I’m just going to be extra careful for a while.”

“Why don’t you come and stay with me and Rebecca?” Katie suggested suddenly. “If you didn’t want to be in the same room as me, I could move into Rebecca’s room.”

“What, and put the two of you in danger as well?” I answered. “It’s a really nice offer but I don’t think so.”

“Why would anyone want to do this to you?” Katie asked.

“I don’t have any idea,” I said. “Clearly they’re not exactly rational, but it would still have to be someone who felt I’d really crossed them in some way.”

“Perhaps if we could work out who it might be, it might help keep you safe,” Katie mused. “Would you say you have any enemies?”

“Not really. The only thing I wondered about was someone from work. One of the husbands who blamed me for the way things had worked out.”

“What about that man who threatened you when I came into the room because of the noise? He seemed really angry.”

“Ryan?” I said thoughtfully. “He was angry, but I see him as being more direct. The thing he’s desperate to do is find his wife. I could see him exploding and trying to beat me up to get her address, but I don’t really see him as a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Someone else then,” Katie persisted. “Has anyone else threatened you in the last few months?”

“No,” I shook my head, “Ryan’s the only one.”

“There’s got to be something,” she continued, before a thought struck her. “What about the story you told at the dinner? The husband who you helped sent to prison. Is he still inside?”

This was a thought that hadn’t struck me, so I took a few moments to consider it. “No,” I said eventually. “He came out a little while ago. Adam Sutton’s certainly a very nasty piece of work. I could see him wanting revenge on me and on Jill, his ex-wife. But he must literally have only just got out of prison when Jennifer was killed. If it was him, I can’t see how he would have picked on her, or why he’d come at me in such a roundabout way. Why wouldn’t he just come and try and kill me straight away?”

“I don’t know,” said Katie. “But I still think you should tell the police about him, and about Ryan. If nothing else it will give them someone else to investigate, instead of wasting all their time on you.”

I promised I would, and we agreed to stick to more cheerful subjects for the rest of the evening. I cooked some tea for us both, while Katie scanned through my DVD’s trying to find something that she wanted to watch. The rest of the evening was spent cuddled up together on a settee watching a couple of Nicholas Cage action films.

Katie’s company, and some mindless escapist cinema proved to be exactly what I needed. By the time she left I couldn’t exactly claim to be feeling happy, but I was certainly the best I’d been in a couple of days.

Chapter Twenty Two

Yorkshire Evening Post

Thursday January 3rd

ARCHBISHOP TO SNUB FUNERAL OF PERVERT VICAR

In a break from usual tradition, the Archbishop of York has announced that he will not be conducting the funeral of disgraced vicar, Christopher Upton.

The funeral of Rev. Upton is to take place tomorrow at St. Thomas’s church, where he was vicar for three years.

A spokesman for the Archbishop said, “Although the Archbishop usually presides at the funeral of any serving clergy of the Diocese, in the light of the particular circumstances of Rev. Upton’s death it was felt that it was not appropriate for him to be present.”

A junior member of the cathedral staff will take the service. Police continue to investigate the murder, but no arrests are thought to be imminent.

I’ve been to a clergy funeral once before. The church was packed with almost all the clergy of the diocese, the vicar’s current congregation, and crowds of people from churches that he’d worked at previously. Perhaps more than any other funeral I’ve ever been to, it felt like a real celebration of the person’s life and of the hope that death is not the end.

Christopher’s funeral was nothing like that. My first reaction on walking into the church was that I must have got the time wrong. There were odd people scattered about the pews, but very few. The only clue that I was in the right place, was the lady at the door, solemnly handing out service and hymn books. Presented by such a choice of places to sit, I stood for a moment in indecision. A hand from behind clasped my arm, startling me.

I turned around to face Samuel and Ruth Kondo.

“Hello Jack,” Samuel said quietly, glancing around the church. “Not what you’d call a good turn out is it?”

“I don’t think people know how to react,” I said. “It’s all come as such a shock.”

“That poor man,” Ruth said, her eyes filled with tears. “Trying to cope with his troubles all by himself, and then to be killed.”

We decided to go and sit a few rows back from the front, in case there were a lot of people coming with the coffin. In the event, it meant we were the ones closest to the front.

The organ music sounded a loud note, and we stood up. The priest led in four of the staff of the funeral directors, carrying a large coffin on their shoulders. There was no-one else in the procession. I glanced around the church, counting about a dozen people all together. Even Michael Palmer seemed to have decided not to bother.

The priest began. “We come here with a strange mix of emotions. We remember a dedicated priest, who gave a great deal to others. We come in anger and sadness that his life was ended so brutally and prematurely. And we come confused by what we have learned about his personal life, uncertain how it all fits together.”

He looked around the church. “I’m sure that it’s because of that confusion that so many people have stayed away from this service. But those of us who are here remember the whole person, and look to God for some words of comfort.”

He said a few prayers, and then stopped. “I had only met Christopher on a few occasions,” he admitted, “at clergy gatherings where you only get the chance to exchange a few brief words. I will talk later about God and His love, but I don’t feel I am in a position to talk much about Christopher himself. I wonder if anyone here feels able to say a little about him. It doesn’t matter how short it is.”

I was as surprised as anyone to find myself getting to my feet. I walked to the front of the church and turned to look at the expectant faces of Ruth and Samuel.

“I came to this church because of Christopher,” I began. “From the first time I met him, I was impressed by his openness and sincerity. I liked what he was trying to do in the church and I was drawn to the God he talked about with such a clear faith and enthusiasm. He struck me as someone who genuinely tried to live what he preached.”

“In the last month, I was worried about him. He didn’t seem his normal self, as if something unbearably heavy was pressing down on him. Now we know what it was. He knew that someone had discovered the problem that he struggled with each day, and believed that they were going to try and damage him by revealing it. He didn’t realise that they were going to do it in such an evil way.”

“Christopher talked to me on Christmas Day. Although he didn’t tell me what was troubling him, he was very anxious. The question he kept asking was whether people are judged solely by their worst moment. Now I understand what he meant. He was asking if the public knowledge of his dark secret would invalidate all the good he had done in his life.”

“If you look at the press – the permanent label of “pervert vicar” – or at what the Archbishop said, or at how few people there are today, you might think that the answer to his question was yes. That all Christopher will be remembered for is the manner and circumstances of his death.”

“But I stand by what I said to Christopher then, that the answer is no. That despite the current shock of what we’ve learned, it in no way takes away from all the good that was in him. All the people’s lives who he touched are still just as blessed by him, no matter what was going on in the most hidden parts of his head.”

“Most of all, I hope that if Christopher has now come face to face with the God he tried so hard to serve faithfully, he has learned that the answer to his question was no. That God loves him, weaknesses and all.”

Suddenly there was a lump in my throat, and I couldn’t carry on speaking. I looked apologetically at the minister, and fortunately he took the hint, and stepped forwards to take over. The walk back to my seat seemed an age, but as I squoze past Samuel and Ruth, they each took my hand.

“Good words, Jack,” Samuel whispered. “You really did him proud.”

The rest of the service was a bit hazy. I was glad though that I’d managed to say something. It felt as if it was something I owed him after I hadn’t managed to help him on Christmas Day. Eventually we stood to sing “Thine be the Glory” and followed the coffin out of church.