The Woman In Blue: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 8 (23 page)

‘Oh, I think they’ve all guessed,’ says Tanya. ‘Apart from you and Clough.’

The rest of the journey passes in silence.

It’s nearly two o’clock when they arrive in Walsingham. The Passion Play is due to start at two and people are pouring through the main gates into the abbey grounds. Nelson parks on a double yellow line and hurries to join them. Like Ruth, he is slightly thrown by the number of people in costume. He’d assumed that only the participants would be dressed up, and that it would be easy to spot Hilary as one of the disciples. But almost everyone seems to be in robes and some sort of headdress. They are all moving in the same direction, so Nelson follows, feeling uneasy. He hates crowds. So much potential for crime in a crowd – even a holy one like this.

Tanya veers off and comes back with a printed sheet. ‘Apparently we walk around the grounds for the different scenes,’ she says. ‘It’s called the Stations of the Cross. Does that make sense to you?’

‘I think so,’ says Nelson. He remembers walking in a procession around the sooty church where they had worshipped in Blackpool. A prayer at each station, wood-carvings so crude that it was hard to tell which was Jesus and which was the cross. A swing of the thurible, a bit of chanting. He thinks of Stanley Greenway saying, ‘I always use incense in my services. The smoke rising up, like our prayers rise up to God.’ There’s something here that he’s not quite getting. What is it?

‘I think the first one’s over here,’ says Tanya. ‘Where the platform is. It’s called “Jesus is Sentenced to Death”.’

‘How many stations are there?’ It’s quite a few, he remembers that much.

‘Fourteen.’

A large crowd has already gathered around the raised platform. It’s very near the site of the holy house, notes Nelson, and close to the giant cross where – presumably – the procession will end. Tanya and Nelson stand at the back, Tanya on tiptoe, anxious not to miss anything, Nelson looking around for potential murderers.

‘After this,’ he tells Tanya, ‘you move on with the rest of the crowd. I’ll stay here.’

‘OK, boss.’

He has told Clough not to let Hilary out of his sight, so, if she tries to slope off for her assignation, Clough should be close behind. Tim won’t be far away either. It’s hard to see how anyone can manage to have an assignation in the middle of such a crowd, but Nelson doesn’t want to take any chances. He texts Clough: ‘
R u in place?
’ In a few seconds he gets a text back: ‘
Yes. Feeling holly
.’ He hopes this is a predictive-text misspelling of ‘holy’.

He scans the crowd, searching for familiar faces. He thinks he sees Father Bill, the custodian of the Slipper Chapel, as well as people he vaguely recognises from his daughters’ schools and Michelle’s work. Then, standing on the very edge of the crowd, he sees a tall grey-haired figure. Father Hennessey. Is Fiona McAllister with him? It doesn’t seem so. The priest appears to be on his own; his face is sombre, deep in thought.

‘Nelson!’ Nelson swings round to see two very familiar, but definitely not welcome, faces. Cathbad and Ruth. Cathbad is wearing a purple robe, but, of course, in this setting he blends in nicely. Ruth is wearing jeans and an embarrassed expression.

‘I thought I told you two to keep away.’

‘We’re not living in a police state yet,’ says Cathbad serenely. ‘We’re here to see the Passion Play.’

‘Bollocks. You’re interfering in my investigation.’

‘We felt compelled to be here,’ says Cathbad.

‘Bollocks,’ says Nelson again. A mother with two young children gives him a reproving look. ‘Stay away from Hilary Smithson or you could ruin everything. I’ve got it covered.’

‘Yes, we know,’ says Cathbad. ‘We’ve seen Clough in costume.’

Nelson turns to Ruth. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that this was your idea of a fun day out, Ruth.’

Ruth raises her eyebrows, but her retort is silenced by a sudden blast of trumpet music. ‘Shh,’ says the mother with the children, ‘it’s starting.’

The music stops and the crowd parts to allow a group to pass through. ‘The disciples,’ says someone. The disciples pause near Nelson and Peter and John start speaking. You can tell who the professional actors are. John, dressed in pinkish robes, is almost ridiculously handsome, and Peter is emoting away as he denies Christ three times. The extras are less convincing. They include Hilary Smithson and Robin Rainsford, as well as Clough and Tim. Nelson also spots Freya Drew-Hayes, the woman who received a poison-pen letter yesterday. Obviously, this is a progressive group of disciples that admits women. Freya looks grim, but Nelson suspects that this is her usual expression. Does the fact that she received a letter – hand-delivered, no less – mean that the writer is very close, amongst this crowd in fact? After all, he or she is planning to meet Hilary Smithson in less than an hour’s time.

Nelson does a quick disciple count. Why are there only eleven of them? Oh yes, Judas must already have betrayed Christ and deserted the cause. He commits suicide, Nelson seems to remember. Sister Anthony used to say that Judas’s worst crime was not believing in the possibility of forgiveness. But then she said a lot of things. The loudspeakers blare out with the sound of a cock crowing. Peter falls to his knees. John turns away, covering his face. The other disciples attempt to look concerned/frightened/sad. All except Clough, who is grinning and has his mobile out. Still, at least he is still close to Hilary. Tim, in dark robes, looks the most serious of the lot. Pity he’s not playing Judas. Now that would be good casting.

Peter, his big scene done, disappears into the crowd. The other apostles process to the platform and arrange themselves on the steps. Only John, his face anguished, is still acting. Hilary is smiling at someone in the crowd, and Clough is taking pictures with his phone. A trumpet blast, and a man in purple appears on the stage and takes his seat. It’s a few seconds before Nelson recognises Justin playing Pontius Pilate. There’s a moment’s silence, and then a man in white robes steps onto the stage. This must be the actor playing Jesus. Nelson is too far away to hear the words, but he’s surprised at how effective it is: the man in white standing in front of the seated Roman prelate, the crowds, the birds singing.

Then Pilate points, and Jesus is led away. He walks back through the crowds between two Roman soldiers. The apostles follow, and then, at a discreet distance, the audience. On to the next station, where it says: ‘Jesus Is Given His Cross to Carry’.

Tanya, Cathbad and Ruth all move away, but Nelson stays where he is. He doesn’t want to leave the holy house site. It feels oddly peaceful now that the crowds have gone.

‘Hallo, DCI Nelson.’ Nelson turns and sees a woman with a pushchair. She has a dog on a lead and is accompanied by another robed man. Daisy and Larry Westmondham.

‘Hallo,’ says Nelson, bending to pat the dog. He turns to Larry, who seems uncomfortable in brown robes that look like they were meant for someone bigger. ‘Aren’t you part of this affair?’

‘I’m Joseph of Arimethea,’ says Larry. ‘I don’t come in until the end.’

‘I love the Passion Play,’ says Daisy. ‘Becky, our oldest, is in the children’s choir, but I thought I’d better keep my distance. Samuel can be a bit noisy and Lulu gets overexcited in crowds.’

Lulu’s the dog, Nelson remembers. She always seemed slightly mad to him and is now panting enthusiastically, straining at her leash.

‘Why are you here, Inspector?’ asks Larry. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing.’

This is effectively what Nelson has just said to Ruth, but that doesn’t stop him feeling obscurely offended. ‘I thought it would be worth seeing,’ he says. ‘I was brought up a Catholic.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I’m going to catch them up,’ says Daisy, ‘I don’t want to miss the singing. You won’t forget to bring Becky home, will you, darling? I have to leave early to collect Lizzie and Victoria.’

‘I won’t forget,’ says Larry. Nelson thinks that he wouldn’t bet on it.

Daisy says goodbye and sets off, bumping the pushchair over the grass, the panting spaniel at her side.

‘Your wife,’ says Nelson, ‘is a very nice lady.’

‘Yes,’ says Larry, ‘she is. Funny thing, she reminds me of my mother sometimes.’

Larry hurries off after his wife, his brown robes billowing, leaving Nelson wondering why he finds this last remark quite so unsettling.

As he watches the vicar rounding the corner by the trees, Nelson’s phone rings. It’s Michelle.

‘Harry! Please come home. I think he’s back. The man who attacked me.’

Chapter 27

Good Friday, afternoon

It’s half an hour’s drive from Walsingham to Nelson’s house on the outskirts of King’s Lynn, but he does it in twenty minutes, siren on, lights flashing. He screeches to a halt outside his house to find Michelle waiting in the doorway.

‘What is it? Have you seen someone hanging around the house?’

As he speaks he scans the cul-de-sac. It’s a sunny afternoon, so several of his neighbours are outside, mowing their lawns and getting barbecues out of garages. It’s hard to see how any sinister stranger could infiltrate this cosy, suburban scene.

‘Look at this.’ Michelle is holding out her phone. There’s a message on the screen. ‘
I’m coming back for you
.’

‘Who’s it from?’

‘Caller unknown.’ Michelle, who was so brave about an actual physical attack, is white and shaking.

‘I can trace the number,’ says Nelson. ‘Mobile phones have a unique number that they send out when they make a call. I’ll be able to trace it to its local base.’ He’s already dialling the station.

‘He’s coming back for me.’ Michelle grabs his arm. ‘I’m sure it’s the man in the graveyard.’

‘It’s OK, love.’ Nelson steers her to the sofa. ‘I’ll look after you. I’ll get someone to stay with you.’

Michelle grabs hold of him again; her eyes look almost wild. ‘No! I want
you
to stay.’

Nelson is talking to Tom Henty. ‘I need a trace on a phone. Here’s the number . . . and I need someone to come here and guard my wife. Really? Are you sure? There’s no one else? OK. Send him at once.’

Nelson crouches down in front of his wife. ‘I’m getting a policeman to come and stay in the house.’

‘Why can’t you stay?’

‘I’m in the middle of an undercover operation. But I won’t leave until he gets here.’

Michelle seems to accept this. She leans back against the cushions, her eyes closed.

‘I’ll make you some tea,’ says Nelson. ‘A proper cup, not that crap you like.’

Michelle smiles faintly. ‘Just some water would be nice.’

In the kitchen Nelson checks that the back door is locked. Then he goes upstairs and does a quick sweep of all the rooms, shutting all the windows. Going back into the kitchen, he pours water from the purifier into one of Michelle’s favourite glasses. When he comes back into the sitting room, Michelle is replaiting her hair. He takes this to be a good sign. Her face has lost some of its pallor too.

‘Who’s coming from the station?’ she asks. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘Roy Taylor.’

‘Is he the one you call Rocky?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Isn’t he meant to be stupid?’

‘No,’ lies Nelson. ‘That’s someone else.’

Thank God Michelle never pays attention when Nelson talks about work, otherwise she would have heard him describe Rocky as ‘proof that evolution works both ways’. Nelson just prays that he’s smart enough to watch a house.

*

After her initial doubts, Ruth is surprised to find herself enjoying the Passion Play. It is pleasant to walk through the abbey grounds with Cathbad at her side. It’s nice to be with such a good-natured, friendly group of people, moving back to let children get to the front, listening to the actors in respectful silence. And, though this is harder to admit to herself, she is finding the play itself rather moving. It’s one thing to hear – in her parents’ Nissen hut, for example – that Jesus carried His own cross, quite another to see the actor lifting the heavy piece of wood and carrying it, with obvious difficulty, through the watching crowds. When Simon of Cyrene steps forward to help him bear the weight, an audible sigh runs through the audience. And when the actor takes his place in front of the cross, arms uplifted, and the children’s choir sings ‘There is a green hill far away’, their voices sweet and fragmented in the open air, she has to turn her head away so that Cathbad won’t see the stupid tears in her eyes.

They are nearly at the end now. She looks at her watch. Ten to three. Saint John, the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene (Cassandra, wearing a dress that owes much to the character’s origins as a prostitute) stand at the foot of the cross. The actor playing Jesus still has his arms outstretched, and the choir sings something about Jesus remembering us. Ruth looks across at the apostles standing a little way away. Although the gospels tell a different story, in this version Jesus’s followers are all present at His death. Clough is easy to recognise in his red headdress. He’s also the only disciple looking at his iPhone. Tim is there too, in dark-green homespun, his eyes downcast. What is he thinking? wonders Ruth. Is he regretting everything that has happened with Michelle or is he just concentrating on the job in hand? Tim is hard to read at the best of times. She suppresses the ignoble thought that it’s hard to see what two complex, intelligent men can see in Michelle. She must have hidden depths, that’s all. Ruth sometimes suspects that she, herself, has hidden shallows.

Hilary is standing near Clough. As Ruth watches, she too glances down at her wrist. Then, with a quick look around her, she starts to walk away.

‘Jesus remember me,’ sings the choir, ‘when you come into your kingdom.’

Ruth looks at Cathbad, and they start to make their way out of the crowd. It’s hard to do this surreptitiously. The play is nearing its climax and people are standing, or kneeling in prayer. Ruth apologises as she trips over one pair of legs after another. She hears someone say ‘Jesus!’ in a distinctly unreligious way. When they are finally free they hurry to the place where the holy house once stood. It’s only a few hundred yards from the main stage, but the neat square of grass is completely deserted.

Clough runs towards them, holding up his skirts. ‘Did you see where she went?’

‘No.’ Ruth looks around helplessly, but they are in the open, there’s nowhere to hide.

Suddenly a bell rings and people in the crowd start to fall to their knees. Three o’clock. The bell continues to toll, and, appropriately enough, a cloud passes over the sun. Tim appears from a southerly direction. ‘She was seen going out of the gate,’ he says.

‘Which way did she go?’ says Clough.

‘She turned left, they thought.’

‘Come on!’ Clough pulls off his headdress and starts towards the exit.

‘Hang on,’ says Cathbad. The bell stops suddenly, and his voice carries further than he intended. Several of the crowd look round disapprovingly.

‘The holy house,’ says Cathbad, in a lower voice, ‘it could be somewhere else.’

‘Where?’ says Clough. ‘Almost everywhere in this bloody place is holy.’

‘I remember Justin saying something to me about his cottage. You know, the place next to St Simeon’s. “This is a holy house,” he said.’

‘Justin?’ says Tim. ‘The man who owns the cottage? Isn’t he in the play?’

‘He was here at the beginning,’ says Cathbad. ‘He’s not here now.’

Ruth looks back towards the stage. The characters are still frozen in tableaux. Pontius Pilate is nowhere to be seen.

‘Do you really think it could be Justin?’ says Ruth.

Cathbad nods. ‘That was the thing that really disturbed me about the letters. They sounded like they were written by someone I knew.’

*

Nelson reaches Walsingham just as the bell starts ringing. The high street is deserted, but, as he parks, he sees a woman with a pushchair hurrying up the road, tugging a reluctant spaniel behind her. Daisy Westmondham, obviously late for her two younger daughters. As he watches, she takes the track by the farm shop. Nelson has a ridiculous urge to call after her, to tell her to be careful. Why? It’s broad daylight in a Norfolk village. Anyway, she has the dog to protect her. Not that Lulu seems much of a guard dog. As he thinks this, another dog approaches, a small furry creature barking angrily. Francis, patron saint of animals, taking Bella Hendred for a walk. Anxious to avoid talking to her, Nelson hurries towards the abbey entrance. With any luck, Clough will have intercepted the letter-writer by now.

But, as Nelson passes the gift shop, he sees his two sergeants, still in their robes, running through the archway. They are followed by Cathbad and Ruth.

‘What the hell . . .?’

‘St Simeon’s Cottage,’ says Clough, not breaking stride.

‘Where’s Hilary Smithson?’ says Nelson. But the three men have run past him, and he is forced to address the question to Ruth.

‘She got away,’ pants Ruth. ‘Cathbad thinks she might be at the cottage. With Justin.’

Nelson opens his mouth to speak, but, thinking better of it, turns and follows his officers. Ruth trots after him.

In the background the crowd are chanting the Lord’s Prayer.

*

Daisy doesn’t know why she is so worried. Lizzie and Victoria are spending the afternoon with their friends Grace and Ella and won’t mind at all if she’s a bit late. Grace and Ella’s parents are the laid-back type too. They are probably all out in the garden, enjoying the bank holiday sunshine. There’s a treehouse and a swing; Lizzie and Victoria won’t be in any hurry to leave. In fact, last time Victoria had said, embarrassingly, ‘I wish our house was like yours.’ Grace’s mother had been understanding: ‘All children say things like that. I’m sure you like your home best.’ Daisy wouldn’t bet on it. Victoria’s views on lifestyle are already diametrically opposed to her mother’s. Victoria announced the other day that, when she was grown up she was going to have a ‘flat with glass all round and no children in it’.

So why is Daisy hurrying along the lane behind the farm, bumping poor Samuel over the ruts and potholes? Partly because she doesn’t want to hear, as she hears so often, ‘Daisy’s late again’, or see the look that goes with this statement, half-affectionate, half-irritated. She’s going to be the kind of calm, composed mother who’s always first at the school gates and always has plasters and wet wipes in her bag. She stops because she’s lost a shoe. Lulu whines and pulls at the lead. Daisy would like to let her off the lead, but, last time, Lulu ran four miles across country and had to be brought back by a farmer in his trailer.

‘Stop it, Lulu. We’re nearly home.’

She gets her shoe on and looks at her watch. Ten past three. Damn, she told Victoria that she would be there at three, and, even if Victoria is enjoying herself in the treehouse, she’ll still have one eye on the clock.

‘Come on, Lulu.’ At least Samuel has, miraculously, fallen asleep. Daisy opens the gate to the field and shoves the pushchair through. Then she follows with Lulu and turns to shut the gate. As she does so, she sees a figure hurrying along the path by the farm. Nothing strange in that – it’s a public footpath, after all – but for some reason the approaching figure makes Daisy feel uneasy. She watches as the person (it’s too far away to tell if it’s a man or woman) skirts the farm buildings and continues on the track she has just taken, moving quickly. Daisy grips the wooden bars of the gate, the clouds are scudding over the grass, giving her the odd feeling that the world is moving and she is standing still.

She takes hold of the pushchair. This field is full of rapeseed, stinging yellow against the blue sky. But, there’s a path running through it and, at the far side, she can see the back of her house and, further up the hill, the palatial garden belonging to Grace and Ella. She can even hear children’s voices, very clear on the still air. It reminds her of the choir, earlier. ‘There is a green hill far away, without a city wall.’ How beautifully they had sung. She sets off again, almost running now, Lulu silent at her side.

*

Ruth knew she should have carried on going to the gym. There’s a slight hill towards St Simeon’s, but even that’s enough to make her slow to a walk. By the time she gets to the cottage the door is swinging open and all four men are inside. She has no idea whether Clough and Tim kicked the door down, but, as she stands for a second on the doorstep, she can hear raised voices and a rather sickening thump. She dreads what she will find inside.

What she finds are Clough, Tim, Cathbad and Nelson standing almost helplessly as Hilary kneels in front of them, pinning Justin’s head to the floor. On the sofa a black cat is washing itself, oblivious.

‘You see,’ Hilary says, when she sees Ruth, ‘I told you I was a black belt in taekwondo.’

‘I think you might be killing him,’ says Ruth.

‘No. He can still breathe.’

Ruth is not so sure about this. Justin’s face is turning blue. Nelson obviously thinks the same thing because he says, ‘Let him go now, Doctor Smithson. We’ve got this.’

With obviously reluctance, Hilary loosens her grip and stands up. Justin remains on the floor, gasping and choking. Tim kneels beside him and helps him onto the sofa. Cathbad disappears and comes back with a glass of water.

‘Now, Doctor Smithson,’ says Nelson. ‘Perhaps you could tell us what’s happening here.’

Hilary sits on an armchair, looking perfectly composed. She holds out her hand for the water, although Ruth is pretty sure that Cathbad meant it for Justin.

‘I had a letter asking me to meet the writer at the holy house at three,’ she says. ‘I was pretty sure that meant here. It’s often called the holy house in medieval records. But I let Ruth and Cathbad think that it meant the site of the holy house in the abbey grounds. Sorry,’ she says to Ruth.

‘You could have been killed,’ says Ruth.

‘Oh, I was almost certain that he wouldn’t kill me,’ says Hilary. ‘When I got here, Justin was sitting in this chair. I asked him if he wrote the letters, he said yes, and I got him in a headlock.’ She smiles sweetly, smoothing out her robes.

Nelson turns to Justin. ‘Did you write the letters?’

Justin massages his throat for a minute, and then he says, ‘It’s sacrilege for a woman to call herself a priest. Women are called to motherhood, not the priesthood.’

‘The Church is our mother,’ says Hilary. ‘A loving, gentle mother.’

‘With a black belt in taekwondo,’ suggests Ruth. Nelson gives her a look.

‘You should be at home with your child,’ Justin tells Hilary, still rubbing his neck.

‘I’m called to serve God,’ says Hilary, ‘why can’t you understand that?’