Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (17 page)

Davies stood up. “Let’s go back to the Library and have a look at the desk Shipton was working at when you found him. See if it jogs any memories for you, besides the obvious one.”

They walked silently down the corridor to the Library and up the stairs to the table where Penny had found Shipton.

“I remember that the scene was so jarring because of the contrasts.” Penny gestured at the table. “I don’t know if this is the same table or not,” she said, rubbing the edge of the table with the tips of her fingers, “but when I found him, on one hand, there was the gentle appearance of someone working in a library.” She glanced up at him. “You know. Two or three books. A few papers on the desk, a couple of pens, some paperclips, I think. And just here,” she pointed to a specific place on the table, “were his glasses. He’d taken off his glasses and set them down on the desk. And in the middle of all this normalcy was his body, with blood seeping out of it. It was such a contrast between what you’d expect to find in a library and the last thing you’d expect to find.” She pursed her lips as if about to whistle and let out a long, slow breath. “But also, on the disruptive side, if you will, there were a few pieces of paper on the floor, too, as if someone had disturbed his papers.”

After one last look around, they returned to the Gladstone Room.

“Well?” Penny asked.

“I’m going to drive you to Llandudno, where I’m meeting Bethan, and we’re going on to interview the bishop and his wife. You’ll be all right to make your own way home from there?”

Penny nodded. “Yes, that’ll be fine. I’ll just go and pack.”

*

Penny gazed out the window of the automobile as green fields dotted with ewes and their newborn lambs flew by. Something at the edge of her mind, trying to creep out from the shadowy underbrush of nothingness into the light of realization, was toying with her consciousness. Whatever it was, she could not bring it into focus and make it meaningful. Was it something she’d seen on the table where Shipton had died? Was there something different about something ordinary? She let out a long sigh. Davies took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at her.

“All right?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine.” She pushed the image or idea she was struggling to retrieve to the back of her mind, knowing it would present itself when she least expected it.

Twenty-eight

“Really, Pamela. Must we have all this drama now?” The bishop set down his teacup and fixed his wife with a cold blue eye. “The police are on their way here with more questions, the archbishop is deeply concerned about all the negative publicity the deaths at the Library are attracting and, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m missing a secretary.” He gestured through his open office door at the desk formerly used by Minty, upon which unopened letters, parcels, leaflets, files, and other documents were piling up. “I have no idea what to do with any of that,” the bishop said, “I don’t like the way this place is looking. If the archbishop dropped in, as he very well might, he would find the office in a completely unacceptable state. I can’t go on like this. I must arrange for a replacement as quickly as possible.”

“Michael, would you just listen to yourself? Minty has died. She was murdered. And all you can do is go on about how messy your office is looking and moaning because you don’t have a secretary. Well, poor you. Could you be any more self-centred?”

The bishop looked surprised and shocked.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time of it, Michael,” his wife continued, her tone hard and laced with sarcasm, “and I’m sorry to add to your troubles at this time, but I can’t take any more of this, either. I’ve been unhappy for a long time. I never really wanted to marry you, you know. But first you talked me into it, and then my mother wouldn’t let me change my mind. She knew you were going places and was so ambitious for me.” She shook her head. “I was so young, I didn’t know how to say no. To you or to her. But everything would have been so much better for both of us if I had just said no. I was never cut out for this kind of life.” She gave an unhappy sort of laugh. “It’s too bad, really. You could have found yourself someone really good, who would have given you all the support you needed. Some meek little thing who would’ve seen looking after you and telling you how wonderful you are her life’s work. Someone who would’ve been good at it and found it rewarding. There are, after all, advantages to being a bishop’s wife, I suppose, if you’re cut out for that sort of thing. Which I am not.” She glanced out the window at the trees in their bright new foliage and then back at her husband. “Do you know, riding in the car with my father on the way to the church to marry you, I knew I was making a terrible mistake. I just wish I could have told someone who would’ve listened to me. We would have both been so much happier with other people.” She paused. “And maybe it’s not too late.”

“What, exactly, are you saying, Pamela?”

“I just told you, Michael. I’m saying that I’m leaving you. I’ve had enough and I’m leaving. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Please, Pamela. Don’t. Don’t do this. Don’t go. Think about what it will look like, if you leave now while I’m in the midst of all this,” he gestured helplessly around his office, “this chaos. Minty gone and police all over the place, asking the same questions over and over again.” He stood up and walked around to the side of the desk where his wife remained seated. “Look, Pamela,” he said in a softer tone, “I know I haven’t been as attentive to you as I should have been and I’m sorry. But please, don’t go. Not now. We can sort things out, I know we can.”

“No, Michael, we can’t. My mind’s made up. This has been a long time coming.” She stood up. “It’s over. I realize now that what we’ve always had was a parent-child relationship. And what happens? The child grows up and leaves home. We were never equal partners in this marriage. At this point I should probably say I don’t love you anymore but the thing is, I don’t think I ever did. Not really. Not properly. Whatever love means.”

She took a few steps toward the door before he caught her by the arm and swung her around to face him. She raised her arm and tried to pull away from him. “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”

He released his grip. “Is there someone else?” he demanded.

She hesitated a fraction of a second too long before answering. “No.”

“Who is it, Pamela?” he said, his voice trembling. “Tell me who it is.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. There was someone, but it’s over.”

“Pamela, I have a right to know. Tell me who it is.” He said the words slowly, with a slight pause between them. She glared at him, pulled her arm away, and left the room. She strode past Minty’s desk and did not look back.

The bishop returned to his desk and sat for a moment in shocked silence. A few minutes later he heard the front door close. And then he realized he had no idea where she was going.

Pamela Blaine got into her car and drove slowly away. She didn’t know where she was going, either, but she felt a strange sense of elated relief, as if a burden she had been carrying for far too long had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She’d told him she was leaving, and she was. She drove slowly through the town until she came to a popular pub situated picturesquely beside the river. She got out of her car, went in, and ordered a glass of white wine. She paid, then took it to an empty table by the window and drained it in three or four gulps. Her hand shook a little as she set the glass down. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her mobile. She wrapped her hand tighter around it and left the pub. She walked round to the back and down to the river. In one smooth motion she flung the mobile into the gently flowing water, where it landed with a small splash and disappeared. “Good-bye to you, too, Hywel,” she said. And then she got into her car and followed the signs to the motorway that led to Cardiff. She thought of the Beatles’ song “She’s Leaving Home” and laughed. “That’s exactly what it is,” she said. “I’m leaving home.”

*

The bishop sat at his desk and stared unseeing at the papers in front of him. His thoughts were in turmoil as his mind darted from one thought to another, each one darker than the last. Where had she gone? Would she be back? Surely she’d be back as soon as she’d had a chance to calm down and think things through. And the affair. Who was it? Who had she had the affair with? He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

He groaned as the doorbell rang. Not now, he thought. It rang again and with huge reluctance, he answered it.

“But I’ve already been interviewed and I’ve told you all I know. Everything.” He glared at Davies and then stood back so the two police officers could enter. Best get them inside, away from the neighbours’ prying eyes.

“Some new information has come to light. I’d like to ask you about your relationship with Reverend Shipton.”

“Shipton? My relationship with him?”

“Yes. Did you like him?”

“Not particularly. But I didn’t wish him dead and I certainly didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. How could I have? My wife and I left the Library right after the hearse went by. We did not return to the building. I wasn’t there. I’d gone home. Look, what’s all this about?”

“I’m sorry to trouble you again, Bishop, but two people who work for you were murdered. I am investigating their deaths. If I may say, bishop, you don’t seem to be as concerned about all this as I would have expected.”

“Oh, I am concerned, inspector. Murder is a very bad thing. We don’t approve of it at all in my line of work. You may recall we have a list of ten things we’re commanded not to do and number six on that list is ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ And from an organizational point of view, murder tends to attract the wrong kind of publicity. And the archbishop has been on at me like you wouldn’t believe. So for all kinds of reasons, I care very much about what’s going on.”

The bishop put his head in his hands and then slowly looked up at Davies.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said in a resigned tone. “I don’t mean to seem uncooperative. It’s just that I’m having a terrible day. The worst in a very long time, to be honest. It’s my wife, you see. She, well, let’s just say there’s been a bit of trouble on the domestic front.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve all been under a lot of stress these past few days. Your wife here, is she?”

“No, she’s, er, gone out. I’m expecting her back any time now.” He then added, “I hope. She didn’t take anything with her.”

“She didn’t take anything with her? What do you mean by that?”

“She drove off in her car, but she didn’t take a suitcase or anything like that with her, so I expect she’ll be back.” He peered at Davies. “You don’t need to talk to her, surely?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“What about?”

“I want to be able to eliminate her from our enquiry,” Davies replied smoothly.

Davies looked around the bishop’s tidy, uncluttered office and noted the stark contrast to Minty’s workspace. Files were neatly stacked on a table but there were no photos. “We’ve had a look in Miss Russell’s desk, as you know, but we’re going to need to do another search.”

“Search? In that case, I hope you’ve got a warrant.”

“Yes, sir, we do. We’ll be examining all phone records, parish reports, financial statements, everything. In fact, we’ll be taking Miss Russell’s computer with us.”

“Wait a minute, Inspector. Exactly what are you looking for?”

When Davies did not reply, the bishop continued. “Just as I thought. You’re fishing. You don’t know what you’re looking for, do you?”

“Bishop, we have two people dead. Murdered. Now quite often when two people who are connected in some way are murdered, the second murder was committed in an attempt to cover up the first. The second victim knows something and the killer believes he has to kill him, too. But in this case, we have two killers. The person who killed Minty Russell is not the same person who killed Reverend Shipton. So the murders are connected in some underlying, indirect way, because both people worked for you, but they are not connected to the extent that their deaths are the work of one person. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so,” the bishop said slowly. “It’s a lot to take in. But who killed Minty, then? Have you arrested someone?”

“We have,” Davies replied, and told him who it was.

“I can’t believe he would do such a thing,” the bishop said. “Why would he do that?”

“We haven’t finished interviewing him yet, but we should know more in a day or two,” Davies said, reaching into his coat pocket. “But it seems he lied to you about his qualifications for the job, and Miss Russell knew that.” He held out a piece of paper. “Here’s that warrant you were asking about.” He nodded at the police officers who accompanied him and, on his signal, they began disconnecting the components of Minty’s computer. “If you’ll just sign here, sir,” Davies said a few minutes later. “We’re leaving now, but we will be back. I’ll have more questions for you, and I do want to speak to your wife.” He handed the bishop his card. “If and when she returns, please ask her to call me.” As Davies turned to leave, the bishop stood up. “Inspector, what you said about Miss Russell just reminded me of something. The first night of the conference, just as the opening drinks reception was about to get started, she came to me waving a piece of paper about and asking if she could have a word. Of course, it wasn’t a good time—our guests were due any second—so I put her off. But I wonder now if what she had to say was important and connected to all this somehow.”

“What did she want to talk to you about? What was on the paper, do you know? Did she leave it with you?”

“No, she didn’t give it to me. I don’t know what was on it, but it looked like numbers on a spreadsheet. I didn’t get a close look at it.”

Davies nodded. “Thank you for that. It might help when we’re going through her computer files. We didn’t find a piece of paper like that amongst her effects at the Library.”

The bishop watched them leave, a worried frown creasing his face making him look almost angry. When the door had closed behind them, he reached for his telephone and rang his wife’s mobile. It went to voicemail. And then he thought about the seventh commandment—thou shalt not commit adultery—and took a deep breath.