A Taste for Death (58 page)

But before they could reach the door his telephone rang.

Fie went to answer it then held out the receiver to Kate. 'It's for you.'

Kate took it from him, listened in silence for a ninute then said briefly:

'All right, I'll come now.'

Watching her face as she put down the receiver Mas� singham asked:

'What's the matter?'

'It's my grandmother. She's been mugged. Theft was the hospital. They want me to collect her.'

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He said with easy sympathy:

'That's tough. Is it serious? Is she all right?'

'Of course she's not all right! She's over eighty and the

bastards have muwed her Sh , . . . , .. o, � c not seriously hurt if that's what you re asnng, tsut she's not fit to be alone. I'll have to take the rest of today off. Probably tomorrow, too, by the sound of it.' 'Can't they get someone else to cope?' 'If there was anyone else they wouldn't be ringing me.' Then she added more calmly: 'She brought me up. There is no one else.' 'Then you'd better go. I'll tell AD. Sorry about the drink.' He added, his eyes still on her face: 'It's not going

to be convenient.'

She said fiercely: 'Of course it's not bloody convenient. You don't have to tell me. When would it ever be?' Walking beside him down the corridor to her room she suddenly asked: 'What would happen if your father fell ill?' 'I hadn't thought. I suppose my sister would fly home from Rome.' Of course, she thought. Who else? The resentment against him which she had begun to think was fading spurted into angry life. The case was at last beginning to break and she wouldn't be there. She might be away only for a day and a half but it couldn't be at a worse time. And it could be longer, much longer. Looking up at Massingham's carefully controlled face as they parted at her door she thought: He and AD are on their own now. It'll be like the old days. He might be sorry about our missed drink. But that's all he's sorry about.

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Thursday was one of the most frustrating days that Dai-gliesh could remember. They had decided to give Swaying: a rest and there was no further interrogation, but press conference called for the early afternoon had be particularly difficult. The media were getting impatier , not so much with the lack of progress as with the lack information. Either Sir Paul Berowne had been murdert or he had killed himself. If the latter, then the family art the police should admit the fact; if the former it was time for the new squad to be more forthcoming about their progress in bringing the murderer to book. Both within and outside the Yard there were snide comments about the squad being more noted for its sensitivity than for effectiveness. As a super in G1 muttered to Massingha: in the bar:

'It'll be a nasty one to leave tlnsolved, the sort that breeds its own mythology. Lucky that Berowne was on the Right, not the Left, or someone would be writing a t.ook by now to prove that MI5 slit his throat for him.'

Even the tidying of loose ends, although satisfying, hadn't lifted his depression. Massingham had reported on a visit to Mrs Hurrell. He must have been persuasive; Hurrell had admitted that her husband, in the before his death, had confided in her. There had bcc' small bill for posters overlooked when the final accou:'s were prepared after the last General Election. It have put the Party's expenses over the statutory limit a;d invalidated Berowne's victory. Hurrell had himselfcover d the discrepancy and had decided to say nothing, but it had been on his conscience and he had wanted to conl to Berowne before he died. What purpose he thougit would be served by the confession was difficult to envisa.:. Mrs Hurrell wasn't a good liar and Massingham report that she had been rather unconvincingly insistent that 1: husband hadn't at any time confided in Frank Musgra t. But it wasn't a path they needed to explore. They w

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investigating murder not malpractice and Dalgl iesh was

convinced that he knew his man.

And Stephen Lampart had been cleared of an,rpossible

part in Diana Travers's death. His two uests on;V/the night

� and his

of the drowning, a fashionable plastic surgeon

young wife, had been seen by Massineham The/y appar ently knew him slightly, and betwee Iresine '.. rink on

...... ntances

him and the gratifying discovery of shared ,,, '

-- av-----h

had confirmed that Stephen Lampart hadn't left tt e tame

during the meal and had spent less than a cd'�.uple. of

minutes fetching the Porsche while they waited . clattlng

with Barbara Berowne at the door of the Black S4wan'

But it was useful to clear this detail out of the v..ay as it

was useful to know from Sergeant Robins's inqui)nes tha!

Gordon Halliwell's wife and daughter had been 'd. r.ow.neo

while on holiday in Cornwall. Dalgliesh hadt>neny

wondered whether Halliwell could have been Theresa Nolan's father. It had never seemed very likely alblUt the possibility had had to be explored. These were , . loose ends neatly tied up but the main line of the inqv;,lry was still blocked. The words of the AC rang in his ti?rain,as insistent and irritating as a television jingle: 'Find 1 me the physical evidence'.

, tditional Strangely, it was a relief rather than an act .ed while

irritation to hear that Father Barnes had telephone

he was in the press conference and would like to s see him. The message was somewhat confused but hardly more so than Father Barnes himself. Apparently the pri}}t ; wanted to know whether the Little Vestry could not be tnsealed and brought into use and when, if at all, the chugrch was likely to get back the carpet. Would the police arr,'ange for it to be cleaned, or was that a matter for him> W,v)uld they nave to walt until it had been Produced at the tri,IaI' was there a chance that the Criminal Iniuries Comree.n.sat!�n Board might pay for a new carpet?-It seemed'oO�cIO, ta,a

snoul(l

even someone as unworldly as Father Barnes to in

s.eriously expect the statutory powers of the CICI

. clude supplying carpets, but, for a man beginning soen�usly to fear that a murder case might never be brought to trial,

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this innocent preoccupation with trivia was reassuring, almost touching. He decided on impulse that he might as well call on Father Barnes.

There was no answer at the vicarage and all the windows were dark. And then he remembered from his first visit to the church that the noticeboard had shown Evensong at four on Thursdays. Father Barnes would presumably be in church. And so it proved. The great north door was unbolted and when he turned the heavy iron handle and pushed it open he was met by the expected waft of incense and saw that the lights were on in the Lady Chapel and that Father Barnes, robed only in his surplice and stole, was leading the responses. The congregation was lar,r than Dalgliesh had expected and the mutter of voices cae to him clearly in a gentle, disjointed murmur. He seat:d himself in the front row just inside the door and sa! to listen in patience to Evensong, that most neglected

aesthetically satisfying portion of the Anglican liturgy, l:or the first time since he had known it the church was beig used for the purpose for which it had been built. But it seemed to him subtly changed. In the branched candle-holder where, only last Wednesday, his single light had burned, there was now a double row of candles, sc

newly lit, others flickering with their last tremulous fla'. He felt no impulse to add to the glitter. In their light Pre-Raphaelite face of the Madonna with her flar of crimped and yellow hair under the high crown

glossily as if newly painted and the distant voices cam' to him like the ominous premonitory mutterings of success.

The service was short; there was no address and no singing and within minutes Father Barnes's voice, ts if from a far distance but very clear, perhaps because the words were so familiar, was speaking the Third Collect for aid against all perils: 'Lighten our darkness we beseech Thee, O Lord; And by Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night for the love of Thine only Son, our saviour Jesus Christ.'

The congregation murmured their amens, got t their feet and began to disperse. Dalgliesh stood up an{! :oved

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forward. Father Barnes came briskly up to him in a flutter of white linen. He had certainly gained in confidence, almost, Dalgliesh could believe, in physical stature since their first meeting. Now he looked cleaner, more tidily dressed, even plumper as if a little and a not unwelcome

notoriety had put flesh On his bones.

He said:

'How kind of you to come, Commander. I'll be with you in a moment. I just have to clear the offertory boxes. My churchwardens like me to keep to schedule. Not that we expect to find much.'

He took a key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the box attached to the votive candlestand in front of the statue of the Virgin, and began counting the coins into a small leather drawstring bag. He said:

'Over three pounds in small change and six one-pound coins. We've never done as well as that before. And the ordinary collections are well up too since the murders.' His face might make an attempt at solemnity but his voice was as happy as a child's.

Dalgliesh moved with him down the nave to the second candlestand in front of the grille. Miss Wharton, who had finished hanging up the kneelers and straightening the chairs in the Lady Chapel, bustled up beside him. As Father Barnes unlocked the box, she said:

'I don't expect there will be more than eighty pence. I used to give Darren a tenpenny piece to light a candle, but really no one else uses this box. He loved stretching his hands out through the grille and striking the match. He could just reach. It's funny, but I'd forgotten about that until now. I suppose it was because he didn't have time to light the candle that dreadful morning. There it is, you see, still unlit.'

Father Barnes's hands were busy in the box.

'Ordy seven coins this time, and a button - rather an unusual one. It looks like silver. I thought at first it was a foreign coin.'

Miss Wharton peered closer. She said:

'That must have been Darren. How naughty of him. !

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remember now, he bent down by the path and I thought he was picking a flower. It really was very wrong of him to steal from the church. Poor child, it must have weighed on his conscience. No wonder I thought he was feeling guilty about something. I'm hoping to see him tomorrow. I'll have a little word about it. But perhaps we should light the candle now, Commander, and say a prayer for

the success of your investigation. I think I have tenpence.' She began rummaging in her bag. Dalgliesh said quietly to Father Barnes: 'May I see the button, Father.'

And there at last it was, resting on his palm, the piece, physical evidence they had been seeking. He had seen sm a button before, on Dominic Swayne's Italian jacket..\ single button. So small a thing, so commonplace, but vital. And he had two witnesses to its finding. He stod looking at it and there came over him a feeling not t excitement or of triumph, but of immense weariness, of

completion.

He said:

'When was this box last cleared, Father?'

'Last Tuesday, it must have been the seventeenth, morning Mass. As I said, I should have cleared it Tuesday but I'm afraid in all the excitement I forgot.'

So it had been cleared the morning of the day Berow,e was murdered. Dalgliesh said:

'And it wasn't in the box then? Could you have mis,'d it?'

'Oh no, that really wouldn't have been possible. It c talnly wasn't there then.'

And the whole west end of the church had been cio: after the finding of the bodies until today. In theory, course, someone in the church itself, a member of e congregation or a visitor, could have put the button in box. But why should they? The obvious box to use, e for a practical joke, was the one in front of the statue the Virgin. Why walk the length of the nave to the b:k of the church? And it couldn't have been put in the I,,x by mistake for a coin. No candle had been lit in this sta

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But all this was academic. He was countering arguments like a defence counsel. There was surely only one jacket from which this button could have come. It was too great a coincidence to suppose that someone connected with St Matthew's Church other than $wayne should have

dropped it outside the south door.

He said:

'I'm going to place this in one of the envelopes from the Little Vestry and I shall then seal it and ask both of you to sign across the flap. We can unseal the room now, Father.'

'You mean this button is important? It's a clue?' 'Oh yes,' he said, 'It's a clue.' Miss Wharton said nervously:

'But the owner, do you suppose he'll come looking for it?'

'I don't think f6r one moment that he's missed it yet. But, even if he has, no one will be in any danger once he knows that the police have it. But I'll send a man round to stay in the church, Father, until we pick him up.'

Neither of them asked whose button it was and he saw no reason to tell them. He went outside to the car and rang Massingham. Massingham said:

'We'd better pick up the boy now.'

'Yes, at once. That's the first pi'iority. Then Swayne. And we shall need the jacket. Check the lab report on it will you, John? There were no buttons missing when we saw Swayne at Campden Hill Square. This is probably the spare. The lab will have noticed if there was a tag on the hem. And see if you can get proof of sale to Swayne. We need the name of the importers and the retailers. But

that will probably have to wait now until tomorrow.'

'I'll put it in hand, sir.'

'But we need a duplicate button now. I'm going to get this one sealed and certified and I haven't a transparent envelope. You recognized the jacket. I suppose it's too much to hope you've got one.'

'Much too much. Three hundred-odd quid too much. My COusin has one. I can get hold ora button.' He added:

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'Do you think there's any danger to Miss Wharton or Father Barnes?'

'Obviously Swayne either hasn't missed the button or has no idea when he lost it. But I'd like someone here in the church until we lay hands on him. But first get hold of Darren and quickly. I'm coming straight back and then I'd like you to come with me to 62 Campden Hill Square.'