The Mills of God (24 page)

‘Thank you, Mr Mauser. You did a public service in rescuing Mr Fielding.'

‘I wish I'd killed the bastard,' Michael said matter-of-factly.

Tennant let that remark go, instead he asked, ‘You didn't by any chance notice what direction he or she ran off in?'

‘I can tell you that,' Giles croaked. ‘Ran towards Lakehurst and a minute or so later I heard a car start up.'

‘I too heard that sound,' said Mauser.

‘Just as a matter of interest, sir, where do you go on those long walks of yours?'

Mauser drew himself up in an elegant move. ‘Different directions. Sometimes I walk as far as the moated manor, sometimes to the deserted orphanage. I like to be alone with my thoughts particularly since the death of my wife.'

‘We are doing everything in our power to catch the perpetrator of these crimes,' Tennant said determinedly, but even as he spoke the words a feeling of defeat came over him and he knew that if he had got no further by the end of this week he would resign from the investigation and let someone new take over the case. He looked at Giles.

‘I'm going to post officers to watch your house night and day, Mr Fielding. And yours too, Mr Mauser.'

‘I think I am capable of looking after myself,' the man answered proudly, staring at him, though Tennant could see that behind that handsome face and autocratic bearing, Mauser looked very grey.

‘I am sure you are, sir, but it would make me happier. Speckled Wood is very remote after all.'

Mauser gave him a deep look down his long and aristocratic nose. ‘Perhaps some of us prefer that,' he said.

Nick had just put the kettle on for his mid-morning coffee when there was a ring at the vicarage door. He opened it to see a small collection of villagers standing there. Jack Boggis was leading a party that consisted of Sonia Tate, Ivy Bagshot, Mavis Cox and Kylie Saunters.

‘Morning, Vicar,' said Jack, who appeared to be the self-appointed spokesman. ‘May we have a few minutes of your time?'

‘Certainly, come in,' Nick replied, half-guessing what they had come about.

They trooped into the living room and sat down in a semicircle.

‘Would you like coffee? I was just going to make myself a cup.'

‘I'll get it Vicar,' said Mavis. ‘Shall I use the cafetière?'

‘Yes, if you would. The coffee's in the blue tin.'

She bustled out importantly and Nick took a seat in his usual armchair.

‘How can I help you?' he said.

‘It's about these damn murders,' said Jack, his dentures gleaming in the pale autumnal sunshine. ‘We don't think that policeman's any good.'

‘It seems to me he's working very hard,' Nick answered.

‘But the killer is still at large,' Mrs Ivy Bagshot said, stating the obvious, ‘and none of us feels safe. It truly is a ghastly situation.'

‘That's right,' Kylie put in. ‘Our gran is terrible. She just sits in a chair and weeps all day long. I feel like moving out but it wouldn't be fair to leave 'er.'

‘So what,' said Jack importantly, ‘are we going to do about it?'

‘Have a cup of coffee,' Mavis called brightly as she staggered in beneath a tray laden with mugs.

‘I don't mind if I do,' Jack answered. ‘Have you got any of them biscuits?'

‘I'll get you some,' and Mavis pattered out to the kitchen once more.

‘Nick, please help us,' said Sonia Tate, fluttering her eyelashes wildly.

The vicar made an excuse of sipping his coffee before he made any answer. Then he asked, ‘Do you wish me to make a formal complaint to Lewes?'

The females chorused, ‘Yes,' while Jack said, ‘Aye, I agree.'

‘Well, I don't think I am prepared to do that. I believe that an arrest is imminent and if it is not then I suggest Mr Boggis should go to Lewes himself and tell the Chief Constable of his concerns.'

Jack eyed him over a ginger nut which he was attacking with some difficulty.

‘All right by me,' he said in a muffled voice.

‘But wait a few days more please,' Nick said with a great deal of calm which he did not actually feel.

‘Yes, but in the meantime one of us could be murdered,' Mrs Bagshot answered him.

‘I don't believe that will happen.'

‘It's all very well for you, Vicar. You've got a constable hanging round your door.'

‘And so have all of you, I expect.'

‘Don't worry, ladies, I will take care of you,' stated Boggis expansively.

‘What a good plan.' This from Nick with a smile. ‘I'm sure your house is big enough to put everybody up and then you could stand guard while they sleep.'

‘Well I couldn't go,' said Kylie, taking him literally. ‘I've got to be at home with Gran.'

Nick remained silent, aware that Jack was glaring at him, and wondered if the murderer sat in this very room. He looked from one to the other. Miss Saunters he ruled out but Boggis, Mavis, Ivy and Sonia all had definite possibilities. He wondered what the motive could possibly be unless, of course, one of them was completely deranged. Which wouldn't be difficult, he thought uncharitably.

Jack spoke angrily. ‘That might be what you women wanted – for the vicar to go – but I've a tongue in my head and I'm perfectly capable of using it, thank you very much. So I say that at the end of this week and no longer,' he added menacingly, ‘if the villain hasn't been caught, I'll make an appointment with the chief constable and go and see him myself.'

‘Thank you for that,' Nick answered soothingly. ‘It's just that I believe the inspector is up against somebody almost impossible to find.'

‘Why?' asked Sonia sharply. ‘Does the murderer wear protective clothing and gloves?'

‘Yes, I believe so.'

‘Then clever old him, says I.'

There was a slight silence which Nick filled by saying, ‘Then that's settled then. At the end of the week Mr Boggis will make a protest on your behalf.'

He stood up and the others took the hint and started to make their leave. Jack Boggis turned in the doorway.

‘Don't worry, Vicar, you can rely on me to make my point.'

‘I'm quite sure I can,' said Nick, as he thankfully closed the front door behind them.

On a whim Tennant drove himself down to Oakbridge Station and wandered round the car park looking for bicycles. There were several parked in a rundown shelter close to the booking office. The inspector walked in to find a strange-looking individual with what appeared to be a horn growing out of his forehead manning the ticket booth and simultaneously having an animated conversation with an extremely fat girl who had her face pressed close to the glass.

‘Excuse me,' Tennant said politely.

She gave him a dirty look from heavily outlined little eyes and swung her large behind to one side.

‘Police,' said Tennant abruptly. ‘Would you mind coming out for a minute. I want to talk to you.'

The man grunted and reluctantly got off his stool and after a great deal of key rattling appeared in the front office.

‘Yes?' he said truculently.

‘I am making an enquiry about a bicycle,' the inspector said in his most authoritative voice.

The horned man glanced at the plump lump, who had now taken a seat on one of the benches, watching avidly. He seemed undecided whether to be cocky or cooperative.

‘Would you prefer to come to Lewes to answer some questions?' Tennant asked.

This seemed to settle the matter. ‘No, I'm very busy here, Inspector.'

As the station was utterly deserted except for the fat girl, with whom, Tennant decided, the ticket man was having an affair, he could see no sense in this, but he didn't argue.

‘It's a particular bicycle I'm interested in. One that stands outside most of the time but is occasionally used late at night and returned early in the morning.'

‘Trouble is that this booking office closes at nine o'clock and doesn't open again till seven.'

Tennant paused, he hadn't consciously thought of that.

The girl spoke up. ‘But remember the night we . . . you . . . was here late and we saw somebody get off the train and take a bike. I can recall it because you said he was in something you'd watched on the telly.'

‘That's right, Demi –
Genie in the House
, it was.'

‘Go on,' said Tennant. ‘This is extremely interesting.'

‘Well, I was working late . . .'

Actually having shenanigans in the ticket office after hours, thought Tennant, though his face remained impassive.

‘. . .  about ten forty-five it was. Anyway, this bloke stood underneath the lamp while he unlocked his bicycle and I saw him clear as day. It was either that actor or his double. I'd seen him that very afternoon while I watched a bit of telly.'

‘And would you be prepared to pick him out in an identity parade?'

‘Yes. Why? What's he done?'

‘I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that.'

‘Never mind that. Is there a reward?' asked Demi, heaving to her feet and looking interested.

‘No, I'm afraid not on this occasion. Now, Mr . . .? Could you give me your full name and address please?'

‘Shanks. Travis Shanks. Number three, Scrag Road, Oakbridge, East Sussex. 'Ere, as this got anything to do with the lunatic killer in Lakehurst?'

‘Yeah, has it?' echoed Demi.

‘Possibly,' answered Tennant, giving them a crumb to please.

‘Blimey,' said Travis, and winked his eye meaningfully at his girlfriend.

Tennant drove straight to Lewes and went into consultation with the superintendent.

‘It's pretty flimsy,' said his boss, having heard the story.

‘But, sir, it's the only lead I've got. Let's have him in for questioning at least.'

‘Very well. He's either guilty or up to something immoral or illegal. Let's see if you can break him down.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

Tennant reached for his mobile and gave very clear instructions to Sergeant Potter.

‘I feel I can't do it after having seen him so recently. I'm afraid it's going to have to be you. And confiscate all the bicycles at Oakbridge Station and bring them carefully to the laboratory at Lewes.'

‘It'll be a pleasure, sir. And it'll give the citizens of Lakehurst some peace at last.'

But that night, after it became public knowledge that Richard Culpepper had been removed from his house in police custody and the general rejoicing was at an end, there was one figure who walked home alone and late and who, in the darkness, smiled.

TWENTY-TWO

W
hy was it, Tennant wondered, that actors could never be natural, could never be themselves whatever the circumstances? He sat silently for a moment trying to picture Richard Culpepper having a bath, making love, on the lavatory, and wondered what sort of person he might be in those circumstances. But though the thought both annoyed yet fascinated him, he could find no answer to it. Richard sat on the other side of the interview table exquisitely portraying a man both indignant and hurt that he should have been placed in such a position. He raised a weary eyebrow.

‘Could you tell me please, Inspector, exactly with what I am charged.'

His voice was gentle, soft; the sort of voice that one would use when dealing with someone suffering from senile dementia. Tennant decided to emulate it.

‘You are not charged with anything, Mr Culpepper. We are merely asking that you assist us with our enquiries. That is all.'

‘And how may I do that? How may I assist you? Because you can believe you me that I will move heaven and earth to unmask the cruel creature who is stalking the village of Lakehurst at present.'

That speech, thought Tennant, was slightly overdone, said, as it was, in Henry V's ringing tones before Agincourt.

‘Well, that's jolly kind of you,' he answered enthusiastically, as if he, Tennant, were sitting by the River Cam and someone had just offered him a cucumber sandwich.

‘Anything I can do, and I mean that.'

‘Now, Mr Culpepper, we have reason to believe that you did not always take your curtain call but sometimes caught the nine forty-five back to Oakbridge and after that got on a bicycle that you kept permanently at the station. Did you then, I wonder, go back to the village and commit murder.'

Richard literally blanched and the inspector wondered whether he had learned the trick in repertory or films. Now he turned into the deeply offended man of impeccable breeding.

‘How dare you suggest such a thing? How dare you?'

Very quietly Tennant heard Potter, who was sitting beside him, give a concealed giggle.

‘I dare,' said the inspector, ‘because it is my duty to dare.'

Is this thing catching? he thought to himself.

‘Then if you don't go off to murder someone where do you go? And before you start protesting we have checked with your theatre company, Charing Cross station – who have CCTV footage – and various other relevant witnesses who have all seen you doing this on a fairly regular basis.'

Culpepper gulped and turned back into a gangling youth caught drinking or smoking or something or other, for the first time.

‘How confidential is this?' he asked, going from ashen-cheeked to flame impressively fast.

Tennant sighed. ‘It all depends which way the case against you goes.'

‘Case? What case? You have no case.'

‘Not at the moment we haven't, sir,' put in Potter, who had been dying to get a word in. ‘But much depends on what you tell us now.'