Death in Holy Orders (26 page)

He ended his quick but thorough search and went back to the two seated figures. He said, “It’s all right, there’s no one here but us. Is the sacristy door locked, Father?”

“Yes. Yes it is. I locked it after me.”

“Will you give me the keys, please.”

Father Martin fumbled in the pocket of his cloak and handed over a bunch. It took a little time for his shaking fingers to find the right keys.

Dalgliesh said again, “I won’t be long. I’ll lock the door behind me. Will you be all right until I come back?”

Emma said, “I don’t think Father Martin ought to stay here long.”

“He won’t have to.”

It should, thought Dalgliesh, take only a matter of minutes to fetch Roger Yarwood. Whichever force took on this investigation, he needed help now. There was, too, a question of protocol. Yarwood was an officer of the Suffolk Police. Until the Chief Constable decided which of his officers should take over, Yarwood would be temporarily in charge. He was relieved to find a handkerchief in his dressing-gown pocket and used this to ensure that he made no print on the sacristy door. Resetting the alarm and locking the door behind him, he plunged through a mush of fallen leaves, now inches deep in the north cloister, and hurried back to the guest apartments. Roger Yarwood, he remembered, was in Gregory.

The set was in darkness, and he passed by the light of the torch through the sitting-room and called up the stairs. There was no reply. He went up to the bedroom and found that the door was open. Yarwood had gone to bed, but now the bed-clothes had been thrown back. Dalgliesh opened the door to the shower and found it was empty. He switched on the light and quickly checked the wardrobe. There was no overcoat, and he could see no shoes other than Yarwood’s slippers by the bed. Yarwood must at some time have walked out into the storm.

It would be pointless for him to start searching alone. Yarwood could be anywhere on the headland. Instead he went back at once to the church. Emma and Father Martin were sitting just as he had left them.

He said gently: “Father, why don’t you and Dr. Lavenham go to her sitting-room. She can make some tea for you both. I expect Father Sebastian will want to speak to the whole college, but you could wait there quietly and rest for the time being.”

Father Martin looked up. His eyes held something of the piteous puzzlement of a child. He said, “But Father Sebastian will want me.”

It was Emma who replied. “Of course he will, but hadn’t we better wait until Commander Dalgliesh has spoken to him? The best plan is to go to my sitting-room. There’s everything there for making tea. I know I should like it.”

Father Martin nodded and got up. Dalgliesh said, “Before you leave, Father, we must check whether the safe has been tampered with.”

They went into the sacristy and Dalgliesh asked for the combination. Then, with his handkerchief covering his fingers to preserve any prints which might be on the knob of the combination lock, he turned it carefully and opened the door. Inside, on top of a number of documents, was a large drawstring bag in soft leather. He took it to the desk and opened it to reveal, wrapped in white silk, two magnificent pre-Reformation jewelled chalices and a paten, a gift from the founder to St. Anselm’s.

Father Martin said quietly, “Nothing is missing,” and Dalgliesh returned the bag to the safe and turned the combination lock. So the motive wasn’t robbery; but he hadn’t for a moment supposed that it was.

He waited until Emma and Father Martin had left by the south door, then bolted it behind them and went out of the sacristy into the leaf-covered north cloister. The storm was beginning to spend its force and, although its devastation lay about him in snapped boughs and fallen leaves, the wind was abating now to little more than strong gusts. He let himself in through the north-cloister door and made his way up two flights of stairs to the Warden’s flat.

Father Sebastian came quickly to his knock. He was wearing a wool plaid dressing-gown, but his tousled hair made him look curiously young. The two men gazed at each other. Even before he spoke, Dalgliesh felt that the Warden knew the words he had come to speak. They were stark, but there was no easy or gentle way of giving this news.

He said, “Archdeacon Crampton has been murdered. Father
Martin found his body in the church immediately after half-past five this morning.”

The Warden put his hand in his pocket and drew out his wristwatch. He said, “And it’s now just after six. Why wasn’t I told earlier?”

“Father Martin rang the church bell to raise the alarm and I heard it. So did Dr. Lavenham, who was first on the scene. There were things I had to do. And now I must phone the Suffolk Police.”

“But isn’t this a matter initially for Inspector Yarwood?”

“It would be. Yarwood is missing. May I use your office, Father?”

“Of course. I’ll put on some clothes and join you. Does anyone else know of this?”

“Not yet, Father.”

“Then I must be the one to tell them.”

He closed the door and Dalgliesh made his way to the office on the floor below.

T
he Suffolk number he needed was in the wallet in his room, but after a couple of seconds’ thought, he was able to recall it. Once his identity was established he was given the Chief Constable’s number. After that it was quick and simple. He was dealing with men not unused to being woken with the need for decision and action. He reported fully but briefly; nothing needed to be said twice.

There was a silence of some five seconds before the Chief Constable spoke: “Yarwood disappearing is a major complication. Alred Treeves is another, but less important. Still, I don’t see how we can take this on. We can’t waste time. The first three days are always the most vital. I’ll speak to the Commissioner. But you’ll want a search party?”

“Not yet. Yarwood may just have wandered off. He may even have returned by now. If not I’ll get some of the students here to search at first light. I’ll report when there’s any news. If he’s not found you’d better take over.”

“Right. Your own people will confirm, but I think you’d better assume that the case is yours. I’ll discuss details with the Met, but I imagine you’ll want your own team.”

“That would be simpler.”

It was only then that, after pausing again, the Chief Constable said, “I know something of St. Anselm’s. They’re good people. Will you give Father Sebastian my sympathy. This is going to hurt them in more ways than one.”

In another five minutes the Yard had rung with the details which had been agreed upon. Dalgliesh would take the case. Detective Inspectors Kate Miskin and Piers Tarrant, with Sergeant Robbins, were on their way by car, and the supporting
team, a photographer and three scene-of-crime officers, would follow. Since Dalgliesh was already there, it wasn’t considered necessary to incur the expense of a helicopter. The team would arrive by train at Ipswich and the Suffolk Police would arrange transport to the college. Dr. Kynaston, the forensic pathologist with whom Dalgliesh usually worked, was already at a crime scene and likely to be tied up for the rest of the day. The local Home Office pathologist was on leave in New York but his substitute, Dr. Mark Ayling, was on call and available. It would seem sensible to use him. Any urgent material for forensic examination could go either to the Huntingdon or to the Lambeth lab, depending on their workloads.

Father Sebastian had tactfully waited in the outer office while Dalgliesh was telephoning. Hearing that the conversation seemed finally to have ended, he came in and said, “I should like now to go to the church. You have your responsibilities, Commander, but I have mine.”

Dalgliesh said, “It’s urgent first to get a search started for Roger Yarwood. Who is your most sensible ordinand for this kind of job?”

“Stephen Morby. I suggest he and Pilbeam take the Land Rover.”

He went to the telephone on his desk. It was quickly answered.

“Good morning, Pilbeam. Are you dressed? Good. Would you please wake Mr. Morby and both of you come to my office immediately.”

The wait was not long before Dalgliesh heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs. A pause at the door and the two men came in.

He hadn’t before seen Pilbeam. The man was tall, certainly over six foot, strongly built and thick-necked with a tanned and rugged country face under thinning straw-coloured hair. Dalgliesh thought that there was something familiar about him, then realized that he was remarkably like an actor whose name he couldn’t recall but who frequently appeared in war films in the supporting role of the inarticulate but dependable NCO who invariably died uncomplainingly in the last reel to the greater glory of the hero.

He stood waiting, totally at ease. Beside him Stephen
Morby—no weakling—looked a boy. It was to Pilbeam that Father Sebastian spoke.

“Mr. Yarwood is missing. I’m afraid he may have gone wandering again.”

“It was a bad night for wandering, Father.”

“Exactly. He may return any minute, but I don’t think we should wait. I want you and Mr. Morby to take the Land Rover and look for him. Your mobile phone is working?”

“It is, Father.”

“Ring at once if there’s any news. If he’s not on the headland or near the mere, don’t waste time going further. It may then be a matter for the police. And, Pilbeam …”

“Yes, Father.”

“When you and Mr. Morby return, whether or not with Mr. Yarwood, report at once to me without speaking to anyone else. That goes for you too, Stephen. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Stephen Morby said, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Something more than Mr. Yarwood wandering off.”

“I shall explain when you return. You may not be able to do much until full light, but I want you to get started. Take torches, blankets and hot coffee. And, Pilbeam, I shall be speaking to the whole community at seven-thirty in the library. Will you ask your wife to be good enough to join us.”

“Yes, Father.”

They went out. Father Sebastian said, “They’re both sensible. If Yarwood is on the headland they’ll find him. I thought it right to delay explanation until they return.”

“I think that was wise.”

It was becoming apparent that Father Sebastian’s natural authoritarianism was quickly adjusting to unfamiliar circumstances. Dalgliesh reflected that to have a suspect taking an active part in the investigation was a novelty he could well dispense with. The situation would need careful handling.

The Warden said, “You were right, of course. Finding Yarwood has priority. But now, perhaps, I may go where I should be, at the Archdeacon’s side.”

“Some questions first, Father. How many keys to the church and who holds them?”

“Is this really necessary now?”

“Yes, Father. As you said, you have your responsibilities and I have mine.”

“And yours must take precedence?”

“For the present, yes.”

Father Sebastian was careful to keep his impatience out of his voice. He said, “There are seven sets comprising the two keys to the sacristy door, one a security Chubb and one a Yale. The south door has bolts only. Each of the four resident priests holds a set, the other three are in the key cupboard next door in Miss Ramsey’s office. It is necessary to keep the church locked because of the value of the altar-piece and silver, but all ordinands may sign for the keys if they need to go to the church. The students, not the domestic staff, are responsible for the cleaning.”

“And the staff and visitors?”

“They only have access to the church when accompanied by a key-holder except during the times of the services. As we have four services a day—Morning Prayer, the Eucharist, Evening Prayer and Compline—they are hardly deprived. I dislike the restriction, but it is the price we pay for keeping the van der Weyden over the altar. The problem is that the young are not always conscientious about resetting the alarm. All the staff and the visitors have keys to the iron gate leading from the west court out to the headland.”

“And who in college will know the code for the alarm system?”

“I imagine everyone. We are guarding our treasures against intruders, not against each other.”

“What keys do the ordinands have?”

“They each have two keys—one to the iron gate, which is their usual mode of entrance, and one to the door either in the north or south cloister, depending on the situation of their rooms. None of them has keys to the church.”

“And Ronald Treeves’s keys were returned here after his death?”

“Yes. They’re in a drawer in Miss Ramsey’s office, but he didn’t of course have keys to the church. And now I wish to go to the Archdeacon.”

“Of course. On the way, Father, we can check if the three spare sets of keys to the church are in the key cupboard.”

Father Sebastian didn’t reply. As they passed through the outer office he went over to a narrow cupboard to the left of the fireplace. It was not locked. Inside were two rows of hooks holding named keys. There were three hooks on the first row labelled
CHURCH
. One was empty.

Dalgliesh said, “Can you remember when you last saw the church keys, Father?”

Father Sebastian thought for a moment and said, “I think it was yesterday morning, before lunch. Some paint was delivered for Surtees to paint the sacristy. Pilbeam came in to collect a set of keys and I was here in the office when he signed for them, and still here when he returned them less than five minutes later.”

He went to the right drawer in Miss Ramsey’s desk and drew out a book. “I think you’ll find here that this was the last entry for the keys. As you see, he held them for no more than five minutes. But the last person to see them would have been Henry Bloxham. He was responsible for making the church ready for Compline last night. I was here when he collected a set of keys and in my office next door when he returned them. If there had been a set missing he would have said so.”

“Did you actually see him return the keys, Father?”

“No, I was in my office, but the door between the rooms was open and he called good night. There will be no entry in the key book. Ordinands who collect the keys before a service are not required to sign it. And now, Commander, I must insist that we go to the church.”