Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death (30 page)

The inspector took another sip of his pint. Their game of backgammon had been abandoned. ‘Have you got any other ideas? Williams doesn’t seem to be getting very far and if I tell him anything about Sam Morris he’ll pull him in.’

Sidney wondered whether to offer his friend another drink. This meeting was not going as well as he had hoped. In fact he was troubled by Inspector Keating’s aggression. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘I’ll have to. I can’t withhold evidence.’

Sidney was alarmed and disappointed. This was surely a breach of trust. ‘I told you about Sam in confidence.’

‘I know that, and I won’t tell Williams right away. But if, in the course of the investigation I am asked, then I cannot tell a lie. I hope you understand that, Sidney.’

‘Not entirely.’

‘You should have anticipated this. You know me well enough.’

‘I am not sure I do.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Would you like another drink?’

‘I am not sure we have time.’

‘I’ll get you a swift half.’ The inspector signalled to the barman. ‘The thing is, that, in future, you should probably think a little bit more about exactly what you want to tell me. Priests and doctors believe in the ethics of confidentiality. I, unfortunately, do not. So I think, at the very least, I will have to suggest your boy is questioned again, if only, perhaps, for his own protection.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If he committed the crime then we will have our man. It probably won’t take much to get him to confess.’

‘But he didn’t do it.’

‘You say so.’ Keating picked up the two half-pints from the bar and then continued. ‘However, if the boy is innocent then whoever killed Claudette may be out to get him as well.’

‘Unless he is trying to implicate Sam.’

‘That is a possibility. But if Sam is in custody then at least he will be safe.’

‘You are suggesting he is arrested?’

‘I am suggesting he is questioned. In my experience a clandestine relationship is never a secret. There are always people who know. We just need more information: about Sam Morris, Claudette, her father and his associates.’

Sidney still could not understand the need to concentrate on a boy who was surely innocent; unless, of course he had misread him completely. ‘If that boy is arrested because of what I have said my sister will be furious.’

‘I think there are more important things than your sister’s anger. Besides, if he is guilty, and he killed the girl out of jealousy, or because she wouldn’t have him back, then the case is closed. Your sister can hardly complain and Williams might even thank you.’

‘Sam Morris can’t have done it.’

‘He can, Sidney. You have to leave your feelings out of this.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Well, if you don’t then we need to discover far more than we know already. That’s where you can help.’ The inspector finished his drink. ‘As long as you don’t mind acknowledging that we sometimes have to trample over people’s feelings. We can’t always behave in a Christian way, Sidney. You may find that this conflicts with your principles.’

‘I will not let it do so. I will try and bring a moral purpose to any investigation.’

Inspector Keating stood up and put on his coat, signalling that their time together was at an end. ‘I don’t mind what you bring, Sidney, as long as it leads to a conviction. That’s all I care about. I’ll let you finish your drink.’

The half-pint the inspector had bought Sidney remained untouched. There was nothing left to say.

The following morning Sidney took an assembly at the local primary school and held a meeting to discuss plans for an elderly people’s luncheon club. Although he undertook these tasks with his customary authority and charm, he did not feel that he was giving either of them his full attention. Behind the mask of priestly professionalism was a worried man. He felt that he had betrayed the trust of Sam Morris and that his friend Geordie Keating had ridden roughshod over his careful revelation of the facts.

The feeling of unease now crept into his work as a priest. He had lost confidence in his instinct and he was overwhelmed by the work he had neglected. Sidney had never been very good at differentiating between tasks that were urgent and those which were important, and often those tasks that seemed urgent, but were not important, took precedence over the duties that were important, but not urgent. As a result, the constant, serious business of being a priest was displaced by distraction. He needed time, space and silence in which to reflect on the things that mattered and the things that did not. It also did not help when Mrs Maguire kept interrupting him with news of Dickens’s latest misdemeanours.

The two of them were, Sidney decided, mutually exclusive. In the kitchen Mrs Maguire would move Dickens’s basket to wash the floor and attempt to mop the dog out of the way. Dickens would then dash round her back and give the ankle of his persecutor a playful nip. If successful, Sidney would then hear his housekeeper cry out: ‘Rabies. He’s given me rabies, Canon Chambers.’

‘Dickens is a puppy, Mrs Maguire.’

‘He’s a dog. And a ruddy big one too. What are you feeding him?’

‘Winalot.’

‘I don’t know how you can afford it.’

‘It’s not easy.’

Mrs Maguire gave him one of her looks. ‘I should have a word with the butcher’s if I were you, Canon Chambers. I am sure Hector can give you some scraps. Especially now meat’s off ration.’

‘Miss Kendall says he needs more than scraps.’

‘Then why can’t Miss Kendall pay? After all, she brought him here.’

‘Amanda has other concerns.’

‘Then lucky her.’ Mrs Maguire began to walk up the stairs with a change of linen. ‘I notice she hasn’t paid a visit for a while.’

Sidney tried to defend his friend. ‘She has her work at the National Gallery. She also has quite an active social life.’

His housekeeper was already on to the next task. Even so, Sidney distinctly thought he could hear her mutter, ‘A bit too active if you ask me.’

Sidney sat at his desk and tried to get on with his paperwork but found it even harder to concentrate on his clerical duties than he had done before. He could not get excited either by the annual scouts trip to Scarborough or by the plans for the upcoming summer fête, and they had still not found a suitably famous person to open it. He wondered if he could ask Gloria Dee. That would certainly liven things up a bit.

He turned on the wireless and listened to the Light Programme, hoping that there might at least be some jazz to lighten his mood. He managed to find the Charlie Parker Quartet playing ‘Moose the Mooche’, but it made him feel uneasy. He knew that he was supposed to ‘get with’ this freer form of jazz and appreciate both its speed and artistry, but he could not find it relaxing. In fact, it made him rather tense. To make matters worse, Mrs Maguire was banging about upstairs, and Dickens was pawing at his shins, keen to get outside. Then the telephone rang.

It was Inspector Keating and he was in no mood for chitchat. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he began. ‘When are you next going to London?’

Sidney reached for his pocket diary. ‘Tuesday, I think. There is a meeting of the Church Assembly.’

‘The what?’

‘Think of it as the Annual General Meeting of The Church of England.’

‘Never mind that. I’ve had an idea. Have you got any time?’

‘How long do you need?’

‘I thought you could look into Phil Johnson’s past: old cases, former crimes. We’ve got the details here, and I’m sending them round to you. They are as long as your arm but some of them are too sketchy. I was hoping you could do some digging around. There’s a newspaper library in Colindale. We’ve got the dates of the trials. You just need to see how they were reported at the time and whether any of the victims said anything; who gave interviews to the press, that kind of thing.’

‘You should get that new reporter from the local paper to do it.’

‘Helena Randall? I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. No, Sidney, it needs to be someone who is discreet, who can read between the lines and who knows about people. In short, Sidney, it needs to be you. Perhaps you could combine it with seeing Miss Kendall?’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘Don’t be daft. I’ve given you a perfect excuse. And Gloria Dee is still playing. Take Miss Kendall as your cover story. I’ll even pay for the tickets. That lot are worth another look . . .’

‘They certainly are.’

‘Not for the music, Sidney. Because if Sam Morris didn’t do it, as you have suggested, then they, like everyone else, are suspects. We’re going to have to go back to the beginning and start all over again.’

‘So you want me to look for links?’

‘I do.’

‘In that case, I’ll need a list of the names of everyone who was in the room at the time.’

‘I’m sending you that too. But don’t let Williams catch you with it.’

‘I don’t have any intention of seeing him if I can help it.’

‘Make sure everything goes through me, Sidney, because if you want to save that boy you had better start making some connections. Williams is seeing him today.’

‘They’ve arrested him?’

‘No, they are bringing him in for a few questions. It’s routine at the moment but you know how these things can develop. So you should get a move on. Have a sniff around. Look like an ordinary member of the public and see what you can find out. I want your report first thing Wednesday morning. Leads, trails, anyone we should chase up or have followed. You know the kind of thing . . .’

‘But Geordie . . .’

‘No time to argue. See you Wednesday.’

Sidney sighed. He looked at the notes he had made for his sermon and realised that, although he had made a start, he had so much more to do. He had been called out into the wider world.

It was going to be a long way back to God.

The police records revealed that most of Phil Johnson’s crimes had taken place in London: a jeweller’s in Hatton Garden, an antique shop in Kensington, a flat in Harley Street, a retired ambassador’s house in Mayfair. Johnson would generally access buildings via roofs, upper windows and skylights and sometimes, in the richer neighbourhoods, he even worked in a dinner suit so that he would not arouse suspicion on his departure. His two accomplices were a safecracker and a getaway driver, but he often acted alone and he had clearly managed to squirrel away thousands of pounds’ worth of goods in the gaps between his prison sentences. He had gone straight either because he had become bored of prison or because he was no longer as agile as he once had been.

What these factual accounts needed was a bit of psychological background, and Sidney recognised that his task was to fill in the gaps with human detail. If Claudie Johnson’s death was an act of revenge then Sidney needed to find out more about the victims of these crimes. He wondered how many of them were still alive, what kind of insurance they had taken out – could some of them have been inside jobs, perhaps? – and whether any of them had criminal records themselves. He was going to have to look for inconsistencies, coincidences, potential patterns and unusual details.

He met Amanda for an early lunch on the second floor of the J. Lyons Corner House on the Strand. Sidney had been looking forward to trying the self-service cafeteria, where he would place his tray on a moving conveyor belt and choose the items from the hot cabinets as they moved past, but Amanda instantly dismissed the idea. They were going to have the table d’hôte waitress service and that was that: farmhouse pie with parsnips in a cream sauce followed by either a sponge Neapolitan or a meringue
glace
.

Amanda had been appalled by the murder of Claudette Johnson but intrigued by her father’s burglaries. ‘Your man was a bit of a Raffles, I imagine. I wonder if he ever met Daphne Young?’

‘It’s possible. He certainly knew where the rich pickings lay. Some of his crimes were quite close to your parents’ house.’

‘Belgravia? I can imagine. Lots of antiques round there, and that’s just the people.’

‘Were any of your parents’ friends ever burgled?’

‘I should say so. One of them even went mad. A bit like Juliette Thompson, only worse.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There was a woman. What was her name? Mrs Templeton, I think. It was after her husband had died. He knew my father, and the burglary took place during his funeral. Can you believe the nerve? Her husband had been an ambassador and so the service was announced in
The Times
. They might as well have added: “We will not be at home for several hours.” The thieves just went in and took the lot.’

‘
Templeton
, you say, Amanda? That was one of our man’s jobs. What happened?’

‘As I said, she went mad; she never recovered from the shock of the burglary. They were both gone within the year. Terrible really.’ Amanda finished her sponge Neapolitan. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘I’m going to Colindale, to the newspaper library, to look through the old crime reports. Then I have to attend a meeting at the Church Assembly.’