Late of This Parish (7 page)

He sat down and thought yes, why here and not at home? Well, why not? A stroke or heart attack, which was presumably what the killer had hoped it would be taken for, could happen anywhere, and the obvious suspicion of a domestic murder would hopefully be averted. Then time and circumstance must have been propitious for the killer.

The clock in the tower was exact to the minute. It had just tolled eight and been checked by Mayo's pedantically-correct wristwatch when the door opened and an elegantly tall, silver-haired man in a long black cassock, came through the screen, genuflected towards the altar and then approached him.

‘Lionel Oliver,' the clergyman introduced himself, advancing towards Mayo with a springing step and outstretched hand. ‘I am the Rector here.' He announced the fact in a mellow and resonant voice pitched to reach the back of the church and holding more than a hint of a Celtic lilt, as though reading a first verse from
Hymns Ancient and Modern.
Lowering his tone, he added, ‘This is a very terrible thing. I shall of course be happy to help in any way I can.'

‘Thank you. If you could spare me a moment to tell me what happened when you found Mr Willard, sir.' Mayo indicated a pew and sat down with the Rector beside him.

‘Certainly.' Oliver complied and collected his thoughts for a moment. ‘He was already here when I arrived to say Evensong at six-twenty. He invariably joined me, when he was up to it.'

‘Which door did you use?'

‘Which door? Oh, I came in through the vestry, as I always do if I have to robe. I thought at first when I saw him that he was at prayer. His head was bowed but then when I got nearer, I discovered he was dead, poor fellow.'

‘How did you know he was dead? Did you touch him?'

‘I felt his pulse, certainly, though there was no need. I am not, as you'll appreciate, unfamiliar with death.' Oliver paused. ‘It wasn't entirely unexpected, you know, he'd been ill for some time. I never dreamed, however ... Surely it cannot be true that he didn't die naturally? As I said, he wasn't a well man and there were no signs of violence that I could see.' His glance strayed, with a sort of appalled fascination, to where the two medicos were bending over the wheelchair, their murmuring voices only just audible. He added, ‘The doctor didn't say how he'd died.'

One up to Dr Hameed.

‘I'd rather not say anything yet either. We shan't know for certain until after the post-mortem, but meantime there would appear to be reasonable grounds for treating it as a suspicious death. So it'll be necessary for the time being to lock up the church, at least until the Scenes of Crime people have finished.' A dismayed look passed momentarily over the Reverend Mr Oliver's face, but was quickly erased. ‘After that, we'll let you have it back as soon as possible. Also, as soon as it's practicable, I'd like you to check that there's nothing missing from the church, sir. I see the altar silver's still there. Presumably there's more – communion plate and so on?'

‘Yes, and some very valuable old books, but I can tell you now there's nothing missing. When the doctor told me of her suspicions I immediately checked both the Rector's safe and the churchwardens'. I could think of no other possible reason why the poor old fellow should have been killed, unless he'd interrupted a thief – though like everyone else we have unfortunately to keep the doors locked nowadays. Mr Willard himself had a key. I didn't like the idea of him waiting outside if he happened to arrive before I did, which was normally the case. And if 1 wasn't able to be here, he could come along and say Evensong himself, without any bother.'

Mayo could have wished that the Rector had been slightly less swift in his reactions. He hoped by what he'd done that he hadn't queered the pitch for the SOCOs. 'Who else besides yourself and Mr Willard had keys to the church?'

‘Only the churchwardens, Brigadier Finlay and George Washburn. Anyone else who needs to get in is handed a key by one or other of us. There's a notice by the gate advising anyone who wishes to look round the church where to apply. We do have a few visitors, especially in summer. The brasses, you know, the memorials ...'

‘Do you keep the belfry locked?'

‘The belfry?' The Rector looked puzzled. ‘Oh yes indeed, always. The stone steps are worn and most dangerous. I have the only key.'

‘A good many people would know it was a regular habit of Mr Willard's to come to Evensong?'

‘Everyone who knew him.' Appalled, he stopped and stared at Mayo. ‘What am I saying? Surely, no one who knew him would even contemplate such a thing!'

‘I can assume from that he was popular and got on well with everyone?'

The Rector fell silent, tracing the grain of wood along the pew rest with a long, well-manicured finger. Mayo waited patiently, gazing at the two fourteenth-century marble effigies of a knight and his lady, which the church guide had told him were of Sir William de Wyveringe and Eleanor his wife. Their hands reverently placed together in prayer, his feet resting upon his dog, they lay side by side eternally asleep on raised table tombs, their eleven children depicted along the sides. His crest had been a wyvern – a heraldic winged beast with a serpent's tail and the body and head of a dragon – in punning reference to his name. According to the pamphlet, even to this day the local pronunciation made the village ‘Wyvern'.

‘To be strictly truthful,' Oliver said at last, choosing his words with some care, ‘Cecil Willard was never a man who was universally loved, I think, but good gracious me, which among us can claim that? I must confess I've had one or two small differences with him myself from time to time. He was a little querulous and short-tempered, especially since his stroke, but that doesn't constitute a right for anyone to take his life!'

Mayo didn't doubt the Rector's sincerity, though couldn't help feeling there was something vaguely theatrical about him, as if he were playing a part, just a little too much Welsh grandiloquence about his pronouncements. Mayo suspected that he dearly loved the sound of his own voice, and nothing better than a sermon.

He was also, Mayo felt, hedging his bets, getting his oar in first in case someone else felt inclined to inform the police that he and the old reverend hadn't been the best of friends. Putting the best construction on it by admitting to a little peccadillo in case some greater one might be suspected. A perfectly natural reaction. But the question had rattled him, Mayo was sure, and he wondered why.

‘Let's begin by getting a general idea of the set-up here. Was Mr Willard your predecessor?'

‘No. He was Headmaster at Uplands House School until his retirement about seven or eight years ago, when he bought one of the houses just around the corner in St Kenelm's Walk for himself and his daughter. A very scholarly man, a historian. Working on a book. He was of course a regular worshipper and communicant here.' He paused. ‘I think you should know that my wife saw him coming into the church tonight, at about six. That was the time he almost invariably arrived, in order to spend some time in prayer before the service. I came in myself at six-twenty and found him dead, so I dare say she was the last person to see him alive. Except, of course ... Yes, well ...' The pause lengthened as he hesitated to say what he was thinking. Or had he just realized that any person who found a murdered body might naturally be the first suspect? Probably not.

‘That should make it possible to establish the time of his death fairly precisely, then. I take it she saw no one else?'

‘She was in the bedroom at the time, getting ready to go out, and happened to see him through the window – the Rectory is just opposite – but she'd no reason to stand there watching. Mr Willard going into the church was hardly an occasion for surprise. I still feel he must have disturbed or interrupted someone ...'

‘Possibly.' It was something that would be borne in mind, though as a theory it had its drawbacks, the chief being the method used to silence Willard. Far more likely, from the sort of yobs who set out to steal church silver, would have been a hefty bash on the head. ‘Is the church ever left unlocked accidentally?'

‘Not often. But I have to say that not everyone is as careful as they might be locking up before they leave so it does happen occasionally.'

‘Who would've had reason to come in here today?'

‘Various people may have been in and out. I've popped in myself several times. And of course, it's Saturday, when fresh flowers are put in the vases. Let me see, who's on the flower rota this week?' The Rector threw a quick glance towards the graceful twin arrangements set on pedestals either side of the altar. Wine-red tulips, white lilac and some frothy greenish flowers Mayo couldn't recognize. He said immediately, ‘No need to look, it will be Mrs Holden, the headmaster's wife at the boys' school, she always does them so beautifully. The school's just down the hill, Uplands House.'

‘Yes, we passed it on the way here.'

‘She would have arranged them this afternoon – but the key was dropped back at the Rectory, so she's unlikely to have left the door unlocked.'

‘What about Mr Willard's family? You mentioned a daughter, I think?'

‘Laura, yes. There's only Laura. A dear girl, a saint, really.' Mayo felt this could be a comment which perhaps told him more about Willard's character – and maybe Oliver's judgement – than it did about the daughter. ‘What I mean is,' Oliver qualified, ‘she has devoted these last few years quite unstintingly to looking after her father. She's always put him first. She was his secretary at the school before he left and continued the job under the present headmaster. They say she knows the routine inside out, which will be useful for the new, incoming Head when he takes over in September, whoever he may be.' He stared thoughtfully in the direction of the altar. ‘Unless she gets married.'

‘Is she likely to?'

The Rector said vaguely that he'd heard rumours, but couldn't be specific. Mayo closed his notebook and thanked the Rector for his help. ‘Perhaps now I could see your wife, Rector.'

But it appeared she wasn't available, having disappeared before the arrival of the police to attend some meeting apparently deemed too important to cancel, even in the circumstances.

Then the saintly Laura Willard had better be the next person he spoke to, Mayo decided, never mind Dr Hameed's warning. She would undoubtedly be distressed, but that couldn't be helped. Regardless of the fact that she might well be responsible for her father's death, despite the Rector's eulogy on her character, she would in any case have questions to answer. He must have information about Willard's life, his friends and his enemies, anything which might have relevance to the man's death. At the very least she should have some idea who her father had seen that day, who'd visited him and so on. She was the most likely person to be able to give him this information.

The Rector, handing over the church keys and with a final bemused look towards the activity in front of the chancel steps, left, followed shortly afterwards by Dr Hameed. Mayo joined Ison who was packing up his instruments and who proceeded to give him a brief resume of his findings, which did not differ from those of Dr Hameed. ‘Bright young woman, that,' he remarked. ‘Have to be a PM, of course. I'll hang around until Timpson-Ludgate arrives – not here, though, I'm off to grab a sandwich at the pub. Your boys caught me before I'd even started my soup and I'm hungry. Coming?'

‘Too much to do, Henry, sorry.'

Shutting his case, Ison paused and looked down at the body in the wheelchair. ‘Poor devil wasn't long for this world anyway, in the natural course of events, but somebody helped him on his way, take it from me. I hear there's a daughter, poor soul. Ah well,' he finished, buttoning himself into his coat, ‘tell them where they can find me when T-L arrives.'

The implication of Ison's remark about the daughter wasn't lost on Mayo. Ison's tone clearly indicated that that clinched it, and maybe it did. It was the obvious solution and the obvious solution fairly often turned out to be the correct one. Maybe this was a run-of-the-mill domestic murder after all.

But if Laura Willard had wanted to get rid of her father, why hadn't she simply dosed his cocoa with a sleeping pill before smothering him when he was asleep in bed? Trying to divert suspicion from herself by doing away with him in the church was surely being unnecessarily devious, not to mention unnecessarily risky.

'Poor Laura! All this hassle and then having to cope with the fuzz on top. Honestly. That's enough to make
anybody
throw up,' declared Phyllida Thorne. ‘Is she feeling any better now?'

‘I stopped them from questioning her.' Triumphantly her mother began slinging coffee mugs back on to their hooks, with much attendant danger to their handles. ‘Told them she'd been sick and that the young Indian doctor had given her something to make her sleep and she was already dozy and would soon be out for the count. The Chief Inspector chap wasn't very pleased but I can't help that. Anyway, she was awake enough to give him permission to go and poke around the house – though I'm not sure she should have, and what he expects to find I don't know. She'll be able to face things better after a good sleep. What she really wants is David – but he isn't due back until tomorrow evening, and she won't let me ring him to let him know what's happened.'

‘Good old Mum. I'm glad to see someone around here's capable of standing up to that lot. David – that's David Illingworth, the new man, isn't it? Bet Papa Willard wasn't very happy about that!'

He wouldn't have been if he'd known everything, thought Miriam, deciding she didn't want to discuss Laura's affairs with Philly. She was sharp and might prise out her things that Miriam herself had only guessed at, leading to an argument about Sebastian, which she didn't want. How we all keep our own secrets, thought Miriam: Laura now, normally as open as daylight. Catherine, hiding from Lionel the fact that she'd written that book. Philly, who didn't always tell her parents when she came to visit her friends in Hurstfield. Sebastian, keeping his own counsel about almost everything ...