Matricide at St. Martha's (19 page)

‘Stop being a wishy-washy liberal, Ellis. Romford was always useless precisely because he was blinded by a closed mind.’

‘And his stupidity,’ said Pooley, sounding almost defensive.

‘It’s not that that singles him out in your organization, Ellis.’

Pooley winced in acknowledgement. ‘Of course, he may be right. Maybe the Dykes
are
all in a conspiracy to murder their way to the bequest? After all, he’s got divine inspiration on his side. His conviction on the matter, he assured me, has been enhanced by prayer. God was apparently pretty explicit this morning to him on the subject of perversion.’

‘But from what you tell me, every woman in this institution is an abomination to Romford.’

‘Oh, absolutely. But there are, you understand, degrees of wickedness. It is obviously wrong for a woman to pretend to be a scholar and to presume to teach; but it’s decidedly worse if she’s a sexual sinner as well.’

‘I sometimes think enviously of how simple life must be if you are a fundamentalist. Imagine knowing exactly what you think on absolutely everything, never having to torment yourself with the other fellow’s point of view and feeling righteous to boot. I think I might take it up.’

Pooley poured him some more wine. ‘I can’t off-hand think of a fundamentalist religion which wouldn’t require you to give up drink, sex before marriage, reading unapproved literature and having a loose tongue. Add to that having to go to services and give up ten per cent of your income.’

‘That last requirement would be little hardship,’ said Amiss gloomily. ‘Ten per cent of fuck all is fuck all.’

He sipped his wine appreciatively. ‘I am glad you’re rich, Ellis. Don’t ever feel embarrassed about buying me superb meals. It will stand to you in heaven.’

‘You’re supposed to be earning this one,’ said Pooley sternly. ‘I’m looking for a bit of inspiration.’

‘Well, I bear with me a recommendation from the Bursar which is that someone gets in touch with Amy to find out what else was on the Mistress’s mind. Jack says that while she and Maud Buckbarrow were chums, they discussed colleagues only as much as was absolutely necessary for the “Doing Down the Dykes” campaign, for Maud was a woman of great discretion. Jack thinks that if she had any confidante it was Amy; she thinks they were lovers from way back.’

‘So Dame Maud wasn’t always celibate, then?’

‘Apparently in her young and passionate youth there was this one intense affair and afterwards nothing.’

‘Well, I’ll suggest it to Romford in the morning when he’s seen the letter. It’s going to be hard to distract him from the path on which he has embarked.’

They broke up early. Pooley was exhausted from the sheer nervous tension of dealing with Romford; Amiss, rather listless from too much hanging about waiting for something to happen.

Something happened at 11.30, when he’d just switched out the light. The door opened and shut quietly and a familiar voice said, ‘Don’t panic. This is a friendly call.’

Amiss’s conscience, faced with the temptation of a naked Mary Lou climbing into his bed, retired from active service.

22

«
^
»

‘How do we know she’s telling the truth?’

‘Who, sir?’

‘This Amy person.’ Romford jabbed his finger at Pooley in a preaching gesture. ‘She might just be trying to destroy the reputation of a fine man. For I have to tell you, Pooley, that the Reverend Dr Crowley is the only person in this establishment for whom I have any respect. A respectable widower, a man of the cloth, clean-living, decent in his language. That woman’s probably just a malicious old gossip.’

‘She’d hardly lie to her friend, sir, would she?’

‘You don’t know what these women do. Living an abnormal life makes them abnormal. Poison pen letters – spinsters are always at them. They get peculiar fancies when they don’t have a man to look after.’

He sat there irresolute. ‘What’s more,’ he said, ‘the way they carry on infects decent women. My wife…’

Pooley did not dare speak. Was Mrs Romford writing poison pen letters? Or becoming a lesbian? Finally, he broke the silence. ‘I hope Mrs Romford is all right, sir.’

‘Hah! She thinks so. I think she’s on the slippery slope. Mark my words, Pooley, when a wife goes against her husband’s express wishes it bodes no good. A wife having a full-time job is something I’ll never hold with – “Neither give a wicked woman liberty to gad about”.’

‘But she’s not a wicked woman, sir.’

‘We’re all sinners, Pooley, but “all wickedness is but little to the wickedness of a woman”. They are easily corrupted, you see. When you’re a married man you’ll understand more about that.’

Pooley’s embarrassment grew. Finally, Romford gave himself a shake. ‘I suppose we’d better see the unfortunate man. Find him, but mind you’re polite. I’m not taking any of these accusations seriously until they’re proved.’

Pooley thought he detected a certain wariness about the Reverend which vanished under the sunshine of Romford’s welcome. For instead of confronting him with the letter, Romford encouraged Crowley to dilate at some length about how he approached his ministry at St Martha’s and in Athelstan. Many judicious Romford nods accompanied Crowley’s explanation of why young people today had to be helped to cope with the damaging secular influences of the godless media, the importance of emphasizing traditional values and the deplorable decline of standards.

After about ten minutes and with visible reluctance, Romford dragged himself away from pious chit-chat and on to the path of more immediate duty. ‘I’m sorry to say, Dr Crowley, that there have been allegations made about you.’

‘Allegations? Ah, yes, of course. You must be referring to that poor deluded creature Amy Braithwaite.’

‘Could you tell us a little more, please, sir?’

‘Alas, Inspector, how can I explain this without seeming unchivalrous. But you are a man of the world. You will understand… ’ He shot a concerned look at Pooley.

‘It’s all right,’ said Romford gruffly. ‘Sergeant Pooley has to learn about these things. Go on.’

‘I fear I incurred the enmity of a lady of a certain age.’

‘Ah,’ said Romford. His nod was heavy with significance and masculine collusion.

‘You see, since my dear wife died a couple of years ago, while I have given them no encouragement, it has to be said that the occasional maiden lady, perhaps simply from a Christian desire to look after the bereaved, has been known to entertain hopes that are entirely unjustified. For I, Inspector Romford, am a one-woman man.’

‘I honour you for it, sir. I am the same myself.’

‘And I fear I was at fault in the case of poor Amy. A colleague of mine in a university abroad – and at the time of life when women’s fancies often take an unfortunate turn…’

Romford nodded vigorously. ‘She wanted me to marry her, Inspector, and although I let her down as lightly as I could… ’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You know what they say about a woman scorned.’

‘Indeed I do, sir, and have often seen it proved in the course of my work.’

‘I left there to get away from her. But at last she tracked me down in order to blacken my name.’

‘What happened?’

‘Poor Dame Maud.’ Crowley sank his head briefly on his clasped hands. ‘May she rest in peace.’

Romford bowed his head in sympathy.

‘She called me in – goodness me, it must have been the night before she died – to tell me she’d had a letter making many allegations. She was understandably perturbed.’

‘What kind of allegations?’

‘Oh, terrible things. Casting doubt on my ministry, on my scholarship. Very, very distressing, Inspector. For a man who, since the death of his dear wife, has lived solely to serve God and scholarship, it is heartbreaking to be accused of being unfit in both spheres.’

‘Did she show you the letter?’

‘No, but she told me of the contents.’

‘What happened?’

‘The Mistress was a fair woman and she had, of course, known me for some time, so she had reason to know of my dedication and, if I may be so presumptuous as to say so, my proficiency. It did not, I am happy to say, take very long to convince her that I was innocent. I would have felt terrible if she had gone to her grave thinking me an impostor and a cheat.’

‘So there was no question of your being dismissed from here?’

‘My goodness me, no, Inspector. We parted the best of friends.’

Romford’s tone was redolent of relief. ‘Well, Dr Crowley, I’m most grateful to you. You’ve been frank about what are most painful matters. I am sorry to have had to put you through such distress.’

‘That’s quite all right, Inspector. You have your job to do. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a sick parishioner to visit in Athelstan.’

With an angelic smile he got up, bowed at Romford, bowed at Pooley and oiled his way out of the room.

‘There we are,’ said Romford. ‘I knew there’d be nothing in that.’

Pooley employed the trick that had seen him through many such moments. He breathed deeply for about twenty seconds and stayed quiet until he could fully trust himself. Then he asked mildly. ‘Do you want me to run a check on Dr Crowley?’

‘What sort of check?’

‘On whether he is ordained. And whether the Canadian university backs up Miss Braithwaite’s allegations.’

‘When it comes to being ordained, I’ve no interest in that. In my church there is no need for such pernickety carry-on.’

‘But there is in the Church of England, sir.’

‘I know a man of God when I see one. And I’ve no doubt he’s a true scholar as well.’

‘Perhaps just a phone call to the head of Miss Braithwaite’s college?’

‘Now look here, Pooley. What you have to learn is that if the police were to follow every silly lead given them by hysterical women there would be no cases solved. We know who the guilty people are and that’s where we’ll be applying the pressure. Go and find that Holdness woman.’

Pooley was just about to leave the room when Superintendent Hardiman rushed in. ‘I was just passing so I thought I’d get an update. Come on Romford, summarize.’

At the best of times, Hardiman was not patient; now he was under stress. Pooley felt almost a pang of sympathy for Romford, stuttering and stumbling through a confused monologue as Hardiman’s fingers drummed on the table.

‘Hm, you’re certainly not making much progress,’ he interrupted. ‘Got to check out more of the facts. What are you doing about Crowley?’

‘Well, sir, as I’ve explained, I found his explanation totally convincing.’

‘You did, did you?’ He turned to Pooley. ‘Leave us for a minute, Sergeant.’

Pooley skipped out, closed the door firmly and applied his ear to the keyhole. ‘How long have you been a policeman, Romford?’

‘Thirty-six years, sir.’

‘And still a sucker for charlatans, eh? If Dame Maud took those allegations seriously, why don’t you?’

‘I should have thought, sir, that a man of my experience would be a better judge of character than some spinster who knew nothing of real life.’

‘Well, I’ve just been talking to the Bursar and she concurs with Dame Maud’s view.’

Romford was outraged. ‘You can’t listen to her, sir. She’s a freak and a pervert.’

Hardiman’s voice rose. ‘If you were to take the trouble to look in
Who’s Who
, you would find that Miss Troutbeck was a most distinguished civil servant of immense experience. Her private life is no concern of yours except insofar as it has a bearing on murder. I suggest that you do not lightly ignore the opinions of your intellectual superiors.’

Remembering how deliberately unhelpful the Bursar had been to Romford, Pooley felt another stab of pity for him. Romford was mutinous.

‘They’re all atheists, sir. They can’t understand the soul of a believer the way I can.’

‘You’re treading very close to the wind, Romford. Number one, your attitude to women is disgraceful for an officer of the 1990s; I do not wish my force to be accused of male chauvinism. Two, if you drag your religious beliefs into your work, I’ll have your balls. Is that understood? Three, get the facts on Crowley and do it fast.’

The squeak as he pushed his chair back was just loud enough to give Pooley time to jump away from the door and appear to be gazing intently through a window. The superintendent was breathing heavily.

‘Show me out, Sergeant.’

They sped down the corridor. ‘Is he making a complete hash of it?’

‘Er, mmm,’ said Pooley.

‘You’re not here to be loyal to Romford. You’re here to be loyal to me. Here’s my card. Ring me when you need to on my mobile phone, keep me briefed and let me know when you need me to bollock him into doing something sensible.’ He was out the door and into his car before Pooley could answer him.

When he rejoined Romford, he found him staring straight ahead of him, lips pursed. Pooley slid silently into his seat. Romford turned to him. ‘On second thoughts you’d better do a bit of checking on Crowley. You can never be too careful.’

‘Very good, sir. Is it all right if I make contact with Miss Amy Braithwaite? She might just give me a lead.’

‘Do anything you like. I’m going back to the station to see if anything’s come up.’ He gathered up his papers and left.

Pooley rushed off in search of Amiss, whom he found eventually in the Bursar’s office. They were sitting there companionably, she puffing her pipe, both of them drinking gin.

She hailed him. ‘Ah, young Pooley. Where is your master?’

‘Gone back to base for a while.’

‘Have some gin.’ She waved him to an armchair.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Troutbeck

‘Not while you’re on duty?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Well, thank God I never joined the police force.’

She poured a healthy measure into her and Amiss’s glasses and shoved the tonic over to him.

‘So what’s new? Robert has filled me in up to last night.’

As Pooley got to the end of his account of the morning’s events, she exploded. ‘He couldn’t see through shifty old Crowley even with that evidence?’