Country Pursuits (25 page)

‘No ex-wives with a grudge, or anything?' asked Powers hopefully. Clementine shook her head. ‘The Reverend was married to the church, Detective. It was what he lived for.' Her voice wobbled but she fought to maintain her composure. ‘It's simply too awful for words. Here, in Churchminster!'

Next, the two policemen spoke to a hysterical Dora and Eunice Merryweather, and were stuck in their sitting room for nearly two hours. Clutching embroidered hankies to their bony chests, both sisters were convinced the Reverend had been killed by devil-worshippers.

‘It's happening all over the place!' cried Dora, her sister nodding in fervent agreement as she offered them another slice of dried-up fruitcake. Powers got quite excited until he realized the Merryweathers didn't have one shred of evidence to back up their theory, it was just that Dora had
been reading a similar plot in one of her sensationalist crime novels.

‘We've wasted half the evening listening to them prattle on,' complained Powers when they finally managed to escape from the suffocatingly hot cottage.

‘Aah, they're harmless,' said Penny. Dora and Eunice had reminded him of his great auntie Betty, who had always spoiled him with her homemade farmhouse fruitcake. Powers looked at him like he'd lost his marbles.

Subsequent calls at Camilla's, Babs Sax's and the Jolly Boot disappointingly yielded nothing. At Benedict Towey's the lights were off and no one was home. The village shop had also been closed as a mark of respect, so there was no Brenda to stir up gossip and just maybe give Penny and Powers something to work with.

It was gone eight by the time they had reached the Maltings, and both were feeling dispirited. House-to-house calls were notoriously long and laborious, but so far they had
nothing
that gave any clue to the Reverend's death. The general consensus was that he was a kind, friendly man, committed to his job and the parish. No one could think of anyone who would want to harm him. ‘The man's so squeaky clean, he makes Mary Poppins look like a bleedin' crook!' exclaimed a frustrated Powers as they parked up.

A shaken-looking Freddie welcomed them in. ‘Can I get you chaps a drink?' he asked, showing them through into the living room.

‘No thank you, sir, we're on duty,' said Penny,
looking around enviously at the expensive silk curtains and thick carpets you could sink ankle-deep in. What a pad!

Angie was curled up on one of the huge sofas, with one of Freddie's Arran jumpers wrapped around her shoulders. Even though it was the height of summer, ever since she'd heard the news of the Revd Goody's death she just hadn't been able to get warm. Now she was staring into the bottom of a huge G and T, still trying to take it in.

‘We're trying to build up a picture of the victim's last movements,' explained Powers, trying not to stare at Angie's chest, impressive even hidden under a layer of wool. ‘Can you tell us if you saw anything out of the ordinary, anyone suspicious hanging around?' he asked ponderously. They both looked at each other and shook their heads.

Then Freddie suddenly spun round to face them. ‘Hang on a tick, there was something!' he exclaimed. Both policemen sat up alert in their seats and leaned forward, listening.

‘Yah, it was actually a few weeks ago, which is why it didn't spring to mind immediately,' continued Freddie. ‘I was driving back from an evening out in Cirencester—'

‘What time was this, sir?' asked Powers, as Penny scribbled away.

‘About midnight. I remember listening to the news on Radio 4. Anyway, I was just driving home on the Bedlington Road, when I swear I saw a hooded figure standing by the wall outside the rectory.'

Angie looked horrified. ‘Darling, why didn't you tell me this?'

‘Oh, I don't know, I thought I was imagining things,' replied Freddie. ‘You know how badly lit it is along there. But when I stopped and pulled over, there was no one to be seen.' He looked at the police officers.

‘Height, age, weight?' asked Powers.

Freddie screwed up his brow in concentration. ‘He – or she – had this hooded black top on so it was hard to say. But they reached the top of the wall, so they must have been about six foot. Not fat either, they had quite a long, lean outline. But hell, I don't know if it was just the light playing tricks on me.' He turned to his wife. ‘You know how you're always badgering me to get glasses, darling.'

Powers sank back in his seat, deflated. Still, it was better than nothing. Freddie couldn't give them any more than that, so the officers thanked the couple and left. They walked over to the patrol car.

‘So we're looking for a tall, thin apparition, answers to the name of Lord Voldemort,' said Powers sarcastically.

Penny let out an excited squeak. ‘I swear I could smell marijuana in there,' he said.

Powers snorted with laughter. ‘As if you'd know what that smelt like! Besides, I can't really imagine those two sharing a joint over
To The Manor Born
of an evening, can you?'

‘I have smelt it before, when we did that raid on the youth club,' protested Penny indignantly. Just then his mobile started to ring. He pulled it out of his coat pocket; it was another PC back at the station. Penny listened and rang off, his eyes shining. ‘Just got a call in from a Mrs Caro Belmont, Mill House. Says she might have seen a suspicious
vehicle.' He turned on the ignition and they headed back towards the village.

‘I
thought
it was funny at the time,' said Caro ten minutes later. She was making both policemen coffee in the kitchen while they sat on high stools at the breakfast bar. Powers's libido was going into overdrive – another great pair of hooters! What, did they stand the women in this village in special nork fertilizer or something? He chuckled at his own joke. Pity his own wife Janet was as flat as her beloved ironing board.

‘It was about ten days ago,' Caro continued, spooning freshly ground coffee into the cafetière, blissfully unaware of the lustful glances her bosom was receiving. ‘Milo – he's my son – had been having a difficult night, so I was in the nursery trying to get him back to sleep. Anyway, his room looks out on to the green, and as I was standing there cuddling him, I glanced out the window and saw this black car driving around the other side, near my sister's cottage. That's No. 5 The Green. Anyway, I had to really look, because it didn't have any lights on. Like it didn't want to be seen, you know?'

Penny nodded violently. This could be their first break! ‘Did you get a registration, madam?' he asked in his most efficient tone.

‘Fraid not, it was too far away,' said Caro. ‘It had blacked-out windows though, I think.'

‘Model?' asked Powers. Caro shook her head, looking extremely flattered. ‘No, I'm a housewife. I used to work in human resources but . . .' Seeing their nonplussed faces, she cottoned on and flushed
bright red. ‘Oh! I see what you mean. I haven't a clue. As my husband will tell you, I'm hopeless with cars. It was quite sleek and low though. Maybe a sports car? Ooh, it really was rather creepy.' As much as they could see Caro wanted to help them, ‘creepy' was not going to find the vehicle. Their spirits quickly deflated again.

It was ten o'clock by the time the two policemen got back to the station. Rance was still in the incident room, going through the Reverend's phone records. His face was grey and there were violet shadows under his eyes. ‘You look how I feel, Guv,' yawned Powers, and relayed both Freddie's and Caro's stories. Despite the gloomy report, Rance was pleased by the news. ‘A car
and
a suspect. They'll both need following up. Great start, lads, well done.'

‘Can we knock off now?' asked Powers, slightly mollified by the praise.

‘Yes, but I need you back in here at eight tomorrow morning,' said Rance, going back to his paperwork.

‘Bloody murders, I might as well kiss goodbye to any beers down the pub,' said Powers as they walked out of the building. Penny was still full of energy, and Powers felt even more weary as he watched him skip off across the car park to go home and watch his
Police, Camera, Action!
DVD for the fifty-third time.

THE NEXT MORNING
DI Rance was at home in Bedlington, shaving in the bathroom, when he heard the heavy thud of the Sunday newspapers landing on the doormat. He wiped his face clean, let out the water from the sink and headed downstairs.

It was worse than he had thought. There had been a little bit in the papers on Saturday, but now it was front-page news. ‘Country Vicar Slain!' screamed the
Sunday Mirror
. ‘Dead In His Bed!' gasped the
News of the World
. Rance exhaled heavily; public hysteria was all they bloody needed. Flicking through the coverage in the second tabloid, he noticed a small sidebar on how Churchminster was also under threat from a big property developer called Sid Sykes. Carve it all up and build the bloody houses, thought Rance uncharitably. Would stop those bloody rich gits running around like they owned the place. Which most of them probably did.

Rance wasn't a big fan of the countryside. An Ealing boy born and bred, he had joined Hendon police training college at eighteen, and six months later was patrolling the mean streets of Ladbroke Grove and the less salubrious side of Notting Hill
as a fledgling member of the Metropolitan Police. He met a girl called Susan at a pub on the Portobello Road, and two years later they were married and living in a poky flat somewhere behind Paddington train station. For eight years, they existed fairly peaceably together, then all of a sudden Susan started swapping her copies of
Grazia
and
Marie Claire
for
Country Living
and
Homes and Gardens
. Against his better judgement, they found themselves living in a little cottage on the outskirts of Bedlington, Rance with a new job at Bedlington CID. Susan was blissfully happy. Rance couldn't stand it. God, he missed the action of living in a city. And all this fresh air made him feel ill, having been quite happily brought up on a cocktail of traffic fumes and pollution.

‘I'm off, love,' he shouted up the stairs to his wife. ‘It could be a long one.' He realized he hadn't said that in a long time, and left the house with a spring in his step. He might be going to work on a Sunday, but at least he wasn't going to be dragged around a garden centre looking at sodding petunias.

Later that evening, a predatory darkness fell over the village. Caro had just finished watching one of her old
Sex and the City
box sets, at about 10 p.m., when the doorbell rang. She sat up nervously – who could it be? Sebastian was away on a work conference in Italy (which actually translated as shagging Sabrina's brains out in a very expensive villa next to George Clooney's place on Lake Como). For the first time in the house, she was feeling very nervy. Switching on all the lights as she went, she made her way to the front door and
looked through the spy hole. To her surprise, it was Benedict Towey. Caro unlocked the door and pulled it open. Benedict was standing on the doorstep in a light grey suit, blazer slung casually over his left shoulder, a crumpled white linen shirt encasing the muscular contours of his chest. His blond hair was ruffled, and there was a five o'clock shadow starting to appear on his chin. He looked like a Greek god.

‘Er, hi,' she said awkwardly. Was he going to have a go at her about something again?

Benedict shifted on the step. ‘I've just got back from work and I heard about the Reverend's death. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.' As usual, his tone was flat and unfriendly. Caro had to let his words sink in for a moment.

‘Oh, I'm fine,' she told him. ‘Of course it's been a dreadful shock to the village and . . .' Stop wittering, she thought as she gushed on about what a lovely long service there had been that morning, conducted by the Revd Brian Bellows from Bedlington. A bored expression flickered across Benedict's handsome face and he started backing down the path again.

‘Give me a shout if you need anything,' he said gruffly, making it sound like it was the last thing on earth he wanted her to do.

‘Er, I will. Thank you,' Caro called after him as he disappeared into the gloom at the end of the path. She closed the door gently behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Was that his half-hearted attempt at being a friendly neighbour? She wasn't sure why he'd bothered, he clearly couldn't stand the sight of her. She checked the answering
machine in the hall as she went upstairs. No red light flickering, which meant Sebastian still hadn't called her since she'd left a tearful message about the Reverend on his voicemail yesterday. ‘Probably hasn't had time to charge his phone,' she thought, trying to convince herself.

Around the village, others were preparing to go to bed. Without telling her sister, Camilla double-locked the back door for the first time. Calypso noticed when she tried to go outside for her last fag of the night. She went to unlock it, thought for a second, and decided to smoke out of her bedroom window instead.

After an intense discussion at the Maltings, Freddie and Angie decided to get a guard dog. Their own dog, an adorable fox terrier called Bella, was more likely to lick an intruder to death than anything else. Up at Clanfield Hall, Harriet's parents had insisted that, after their usual Sunday night dinner, she stay in her old bedroom in the west wing of the house. For once, Harriet didn't protest.

The Revd Goody's untimely demise had got the village very jittery. Although no one had dared bring it up after the service that morning, the same question could be seen in the eyes of each of the Churchminster residents.

Was there a killer among them?

IT WAS A
week of heightened emotions in the village and several people were about to do things they shouldn't.