Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death (32 page)

Sidney climbed the three steps into the pulpit to give his address. He preached about the sin and darkness of the world and the need for light in that darkness. Claudie Johnson had been one such light.

‘Amen,’ a man called out.

Sidney told them how Claudette was a girl who carried her goodness into the lives of others; and that this was the task of all us, no matter how weak or strong our faith. We needed to try and leave a better world than the one into which we were born.

This was a moment for reflection, he said; for patience and silence and time. We must be ready not only to offer words of comfort but also to listen to words of grief. Not even the firmest faith was enough to insulate us from the pain of loss, or from the sense that, with the death of someone dear to us, our own life had lost its meaning. Time had to take its course, and in that time we should recognise that where there is sorrow there is holy ground.

Claudette was too soon returned to earth, he continued, but she would live on both as a memory and as an example to all who had known her. There is always a future for our deepest loves.

He ended by quoting Byron’s poem ‘To Thyrza’:

‘I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;

The night that followed such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:

Thy day without a cloud hath past,

And thou wert lovely to the last –

Extinguished, not decayed,

As stars that shoot along the sky

Shine brightest as they fall from high.’

There was a silence and then, after the final prayers, Gloria moved to stand by the piano. Jay Jay Lion accompanied her as the coffin disappeared behind the curtains.

She began to sing.

‘Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen

Nobody knows but Jesus’

Sidney had never heard the song sung so slowly or with such intensity. There was a terrible truth in Gloria’s singing that seemed to stretch back over a life. Every phrase was considered; each word could be taken out and understood on its own as well as within the unfolding story of the song. The pauses between the phrases were held longer than Sidney had ever imagined possible. The song defied time and place. It was a blazingly honest performance: a lament for a life and an emphatic statement of readiness for death.

When Gloria had finished, there was silence, shock, applause and then, finally, a loud whistle. The brass band was back and it struck up a boisterous rendition of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. The sadness was over. The congregation was expected to clap and dance its way out of the building, to thank God for the joy of a life rather than the fact of a death.

Phil did not join in. There was going to be a wake, he told Sidney, in a nearby boozer, and then they were going to have a memorial concert in the club in a few weeks’ time. All the jazz musicians in London were coming. ‘Just as long as we find the bastard who did this.’

Johnny Johnson shook Sidney’s hand and thanked him for the service. His sister kissed him. His brother offered to accompany him to the reception. ‘You may feel a bit out of your depth,’ he explained.

‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘That was quite a change from the usual Church of England service.’

‘Everything about today has been disorientating, Matt. I sometimes feel that I am living in a different world.’

‘I don’t think that’s unusual,’ his brother replied. ‘Isn’t that your job?’

‘It’s not what I was expecting.’

‘You did well. It was a fitting tribute. Everyone loved Claudie.’

‘The whole thing is a mystery, Matt. Who do you think could have done such a thing?’

‘Jenny told you about Sam?’

‘You knew?’

‘I saw them together once. I didn’t like to say anything. But it all looked pretty innocent. And I can’t believe he was capable of violence.’

‘Neither can I. But we have to find someone who was.’

‘I hope you’re not going to get dragged into the whole investigation.’

‘I’ve done a bit of digging around but I haven’t really found anything. And I’m worried about Jennifer.’

‘You don’t think she’s in any danger?’

‘No, it’s not that. I rather like Johnny. I just don’t want her to expect too much. I’m not sure how well she knows him.’

‘It’s early days. You can’t expect everything to happen at once. But they’re a decent family once you get over the fact of her father’s past.’

‘He’s done his time.’

‘Unless, of course . . .’ Matt stopped in the street. ‘Someone thinks he hasn’t.’

‘I am afraid we have thought of that.’

‘A vendetta?’

‘If you think Claudette was not murdered by a lover or because she was a witness to a crime then it’s one of the few explanations left.’ Sidney replied. ‘But it seems such a warped way of thinking.’

‘But that is how anyone investigating the crime has to think if they want to find out who did it.’

‘I realise that it’s necessary to get inside the mind of a murderer. However, it’s not something I ever considered doing when I decided to become a priest.’

‘You don’t have to get involved, you know. The police are dealing with the case.’

‘But they don’t appear to be making much progress.’

‘You think you can make a difference?’

‘I have to offer to do what I can, Matt.’

‘Even if it’s not your job?’

‘When I was ordained, I studied the ordinal. It told me what priests are called to do. “They are to resist evil, support the weak, defend the poor, and intercede for all in need.” My job is to do the right thing.’

‘Even it overturns your life?’

‘Even so.’

On the train home Sidney thought over all that had happened. Perhaps his brother was right. There was only so much a priest could do. And he had begun to become embarrassed about his love of jazz. He had to admit that it was a bit of an affectation. He was an English parish priest who had been brought up in North London rather than the hot streets of Harlem. He was never going to be a hipster or a hepcat.

It was also becoming increasingly hard to convince himself that any of the work that he was doing for the police was of any benefit. He had found out about Phil ‘the Cat’ Johnson’s previous crimes, but there was nothing concrete to link any of them to the death of his daughter. When he got back to Grantchester he would have to stop these activities and concentrate on his duties in the parish: chairing a meeting about the church maintenance fund – the winter heating bills had been enormous –  discussing the forthcoming music for the choir, as well as organising the teams of volunteers to clean the church and do the flowers. He sometimes thought that being a vicar was a bit like being the managing director of a business in which no one was paid.

He also had to write his next sermon. Although he was tired after his funeral address he was pleased that it had gone well. Perhaps he could use that success to drive his thoughts forward to next Sunday. He would talk about love and time, he decided; human time and God’s time; earthly love and divine love; the gulf between the transient and the constant.

The writing would require a great deal of concentration and Sidney was relieved to find a vacant compartment. The freedom from interruption was such an unexpected luxury that he imagined he was travelling in first class. That was what bishops did, he thought to himself, together with successful City types, Amanda Kendall and probably, Gloria Dee. They were not only seeking extra comfort by travelling in such seclusion, they were also desperate for a life without interruption. The main attraction in first class, he realised, was the avoidance of other people.

He began to make notes for his sermon but his thoughts on love and time were interrupted at Finsbury Park when Mike Standing boarded the train. A small, balding man with a prodigious appetite and a heart condition, Mike was the treasurer of Grantchester’s parochial church council. No one quite knew what he did for a living but he had a sufficient number of ‘business interests’ to give him a public confidence with financial matters that he lacked in other forms of social interaction. His wife, Angela, had left him after three years of marriage. No one had quite known why, but Sidney suspected that it was because he did not have as much money as she had first thought.

After an exchange of pleasantries, during which Mike Standing struggled both to regain his breath and find a comfortable position in the otherwise empty carriage, both men settled down into what Sidney hoped would become a companionable silence. Mike Standing took out his copy of
The Times
. Within its pages a party of Italians were climbing Mount Everest, Pakistan were playing Northamptonshire at cricket, and Donald MacGill, the publisher of saucy seaside postcards, had been found guilty of breaching the Obscene Publications Act. It was all rather tame in comparison with Sidney’s exploits.

Mike Standing began the crossword while Sidney continued to martial his ideas. His thoughts, however, kept returning either to jazz or to crime. Furthermore, Mike had begun to mutter. In fact, he could not seem to complete his crossword without providing a running commentary of his progress:

‘A blank T blank blank O . . . yes, I see, that must be ANTELOPE . . . but what about three across . . . if that is antelope then this must be RELIQUARY . . . gosh, oh no . . . eight down . . . help . . .’

He turned his attention to his companion. ‘You’re an educated man, Canon Chambers. Perhaps you could help me with this clue? ‘‘No tame Judge for Bacon’’: two words. The first word has four letters, the second has seven. The first letter of the first word is probably “W”.’

Sidney paused for a moment as the train pulled in to Stevenage. Such an unpromising town, he thought. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

‘ “No tame Judge for Bacon”. Two words.’

Sidney stopped.  A chill ran through his body. ‘Good heavens,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’

‘What’s it?’

‘I have to get off the train . . .’

‘Why? I thought you were going home to Cambridge?’

Sidney gathered his papers and his suitcase. ‘I must telephone the police at once and return to London.’

‘But you’ve only just left.’

‘Amanda may be in danger. How could I have been so dim? I knew there was something wrong . . .’

‘My clue!’ Mike Standing called, but Sidney had already alighted and was making his way purposefully towards the stationmaster’s office.

He was convinced that the murderer had been working under an assumed name. He telephoned Amanda to test his theory and matched it with a newspaper report from Colindale that he’d made a note of, checking that the dates tallied. Then he telephoned Inspector Keating and persuaded him that an arrest needed to be made. The easiest place to do so, he informed Keating, would be at Phil Johnson’s jazz club in Soho that evening.

Inspector Williams was far from impressed that a clergyman had come up with a theory that might threaten the conviction of Sam Morris, but he was sufficiently fair-minded to agree to bring the suspect in for questioning. As a result, the forces of the law gathered together at 9 p.m. Officers in civvies mingled amongst the punters, uniformed police took up positions both at the front and in the back alley, while Keating and Sidney enjoyed a ginger ale at the bar.

Gloria Dee was in the middle of her first half. Sidney had persuaded the men to wait until she had finished as there would be less disruption and the arrest, provided there was no kerfuffle, could be made discreetly in the interval. She ended the session with ‘Aint No Grave’, accompanied by one of the finest jazz piano accompaniments Sidney had ever heard.

‘When I hear that trumpet sound

I’m gonna rise right out of the ground

Cause there ain’t no grave

Gonna hold my body down’

In the gaps between the verses, Jay Jay Lion let rip on the piano, with Gloria shouting out the odd ‘
Hey
’, as he went into free improvisation. As soon as they had finished, and before the band could get off the stage, four men moved to the green room while two others covered the back stairs. Liza had one hand on a bottle of beer and another on a towel ready for Gloria Dee’s exit. Justin Wild was reading a copy of
Melody Maker
and smoking a roll-up. He looked unsurprised at the arrival of the police and made no attempt to escape.

Chief Inspector Williams made the announcement. ‘Justin Templeton, I am arresting you for the murder of Claudette Johnson on the seventh of May 1954. You do not have to say anything now, but anything you do say . . .’

‘Justin
Templeton
?’ Liza asked. ‘I thought your name was Wild . . .’

Gloria Dee burst into the room, gathered her towel from Liza and was about to down her beer but stopped when she realised something was going on. ‘What the hell are you doin’?’

Inspector Williams explained. ‘I am arresting your driver on suspicion of murder.’