Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (7 page)

On the afternoon of Wednesday 11th March, after a lengthy conversation with Josef Madara in which it was firmly suggested that he remain in police custody to avoid further distress, Geordie Keating, Sidney and Helena made their way to Thaxted in Essex. They had discovered that Sophie Madara had been brought up in the small market town and that her parents still lived in a timber-framed Tudor house just beyond the famous windmill. It was easy enough to track down.

‘You know what I’m going to say if we don’t find anything,’ the inspector warned.

‘Please don’t take the name of the Lord in vain,’ Sidney asked.

‘I think he’s probably used to it by now.’

‘That doesn’t make it any more forgivable.’

They came in two cars, with a police officer in attendance, and parked some way away in order to avoid suspicion. It was a crisp spring day, the first time in four months Sidney had been optimistic that it might actually get warm, and the church bells rang in celebration at the news of Prince Edward’s birth. Listening to them, he wished he could have been there to take a wedding rather than conduct an inquiry.

They were greeted by a handsome woman in her early sixties. After Keating had told her the purpose of their visit, she admitted that she was Mrs Rimkus, Sophie’s mother. The door to the sitting-room was open and inside sat a frailer man with a rug over his legs by an open fire. He was sorting through a butterfly collection. The sound of a cello came from upstairs.

‘She still has her room,’ Sophie’s mother explained. ‘She comes back to us when she is unhappy.’

‘And how often is that?’ Sidney asked.

‘Every other year or two. Have you come to help her?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Is Josef with you?’ she asked.

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Good. He upsets her father. He thinks she should have done better with her marriage. But Josef is very musical. We admit that.’

‘If we could see her . . .’ Inspector Keating took a step forward.

‘SHUT THE DOOR. THERE’S A DRAUGHT. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, WOMAN . . .’

‘That’s Gordon. He gets in such a state. It’s where Sophie gets her moodiness from. Mind you, musicians can be very temperamental. I don’t play myself.’

‘If we could . . .’ Sidney began.

‘I’ll show you upstairs. It’s nice to see a vicar. We don’t go to church very much any more. It’s such an effort and the new one, well . . .’

‘I understand.’

‘He keeps changing things when most of us would like everything to stay the same. We like to know where we are. That’s why people go to church, don’t they? Sophie’s room is at the end on the left. Just give a little knock. She could do with a visitor.’ Mrs Rimkus stooped to pick up a breakfast tray that had been left outside the room. ‘She doesn’t come out much.’

The cello music stopped.

Keating knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a reply. A pale woman was sitting at the window wearing a long-sleeved evening dress so worn it looked like a housecoat. The bow in her left hand was half raised.

Once they had explained themselves, Sophie Madara said: ‘I wondered when someone would come. It’s been a long time.’

‘You were reported as missing.’

‘But I wasn’t.’

‘Nobody knew where you were.’

‘I knew where I was. So did my parents. I have made no secret. Where is my husband?’

Keating was not prepared to provide an easy answer. ‘Why didn’t he come and find you?’

‘Have you asked him?’

‘He thought you were dead.’

‘You can tell that I am not. Is that all you want to see me about?’

‘You had an argument.’

‘You could say so.’

‘The quartet?’ Sidney asked.

‘Oh, them.’

‘Do you know where your husband is now?’ Keating asked.

‘I am not his keeper.’

‘But you are his wife.’

‘That is true.’

She picked up her instrument and began to play one of Bach’s cello suites. It had a simple, sparse serenity and Sidney wondered how there could be such grace and peace after the chaos of recent events. How could a woman who had provoked such violence be in so different a world?

Helena continued to write in her notebook, describing the scene rather than taking it in. There were times when Sidney wished she would wait and see how things developed rather than rushing to judge and jot down.

When the music stopped, Sophie Madara looked up. ‘You are still here? I hope you liked that. Would you like me to play some more?’

Keating repeated his question. ‘I just want to know why your husband thought you were dead?’

‘He imagines things. Sometimes I think he would believe anything. For a man with such gifts, he can be very naive.’

Sidney could still hear the music in his head. ‘Perhaps that is what you were able to do, Mrs Madara. Make him believe anything.’

‘I didn’t have to try very hard.’

‘But why go to all that trouble?’

‘And what trouble would that be?’

‘Disappearing. Faking your own death.’

‘I will admit to leaving him, if that’s what you want me to say. I wanted him to miss me; to realise what it might be like if I were dead.’

‘But there was another reason . . .’

‘Which was?’

‘You wanted him out of the way.’

‘Tell me, Inspector, where did you find this clergyman? I don’t think I like him.’

‘Many people think the same way when they have a guilty conscience,’ Sidney observed.

‘I have no guilt. My husband does.’

‘And why would that be?’

‘I am sure you know. That must be why you are here. A policeman and a clergyman.’ She looked at Helena. ‘Are you a doctor? That would make everything complete.’

Sidney did not let the journalist answer. ‘Your husband was in police custody at the time of Natasha Zhirkov’s death.’

‘Natasha dead? I didn’t know.’

‘I think you do.’

‘I have been here. Who would have told me?’

‘Did you kill Natasha Zhirkov?’ Keating asked.

‘I haven’t seen her for a long time.’

‘Since you left Cambridge?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And do you have an alibi for her death?’

‘When did it occur?’

‘February the twenty-first.’

‘I was here. My parents will confirm that.’

Helena interrupted. ‘Natasha Zhirkov had an affair with your husband.’

‘Does everyone know that?’

‘They soon will.’

Sidney took over. ‘It must have made you angry.’

Sophie Madara put her cello down. ‘Do you know what it is like to hate, Canon Chambers? To be so full of fury that you cannot think of anything else?’

‘No, I try not to think like that.’

‘But that’s what I felt for Natasha Zhirkov. Every time she looked at me I could see her thinking: “I have made love to your husband and you can do nothing about it.
”
’

‘So you wanted to prove that you could?’

‘Without committing a crime.’

‘But . . .’

‘What? I have done nothing. I have been here, Josef was in safe custody. Now Natasha is dead and Dmitri will take the blame. All’s fair in love and war, don’t you think?’

‘No,’ said Sidney. ‘I don’t. Morality is absolute.’

‘Is it really?’ Sophie Madara asked. ‘I thought there were certain circumstances. Killing for the greater good: the lesser of two evils. Did you fight in the war, Canon Chambers? If you did, then you must have killing on your conscience.’

‘That has nothing to do with it,’ Keating shot back. ‘Does your husband know you are here? Has he been part of this all along? Is he just pretending to be mad? I don’t understand you people.’

‘I am sure he will come soon enough. He has nowhere else to go. And he will guess I am here.’

‘He hasn’t done that so far. He is distraught.’

‘Then he might learn something,’ Sophie continued. ‘Penitence is good. A man can’t be pardoned unless he is penitent.’

‘And do you think he will forgive you?’ Keating asked.

‘For what? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who needs to do the forgiving.’

‘You faked your own death. You may have murdered Natasha Zhirkov.’

‘I think you will find the evidence points to her husband.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You told me.’

‘I don’t think I did. Perhaps you
arranged
the evidence to make it look like Dmitri Zhirkov killed his wife.’

‘I did no such thing.’

‘Or you persuaded him to do it?’

Sidney took over the questioning. ‘Did you tell Dmitri Zhirkov about his wife’s affair with your husband?’

‘I might have done.’

‘He didn’t know? He hadn’t guessed?’

Sophie Madara smiled. ‘Men are easily persuadable. It’s not hard to make a man think the worst of his wife.’

‘When did you do this?’

‘The night of the last concert. I wanted him to know what his wife had done; seducing Josef.’

‘It may have been the other way round.’

‘Never. I know my husband. Nobody understands him as well as I do.’

‘Which meant that you knew he would believe you were dead,’ Sidney checked, ‘when you staged your own death.’

‘I know how he panics, yes. And I wanted to frighten him. It wasn’t hard.’

‘And what did you say to Dmitri Zhirkov to make him kill his wife?’ Inspector Keating resumed.

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t worry about me and concentrate on bringing him to justice. After all, he killed Natasha. What have I done? Nothing. Only a little stagecraft. I am the wronged woman, remember? You ought to be sympathetic. You should celebrate the fact that, owing to my ingenuity, a couple who made their vows before God and who have been so estranged are about to be reunited.’

‘There’s nothing to celebrate,’ Keating replied. ‘Nothing at all.’

And he was right. There was little joy when the couple met once more. Josef Madara was confused and angry. He could not believe what his wife had done. ‘Why did you do this to me?’ he asked. ‘You have made me mad.’

Sophie put her hands on her husband’s shoulders but he was not a man who wanted to be touched. ‘You see how I have loved you,
Josef. Natasha is dead, her husband is to blame, and neither of them need trouble us any more.’

‘But they do. Our memories. It has all been wrong.’

‘And now it is right. We can forgive each other.’

‘I know I did the wrong thing . . . but when I was with Natasha . . . it was an accident . . . it wasn’t any danger . . . It was nothing . . . and it was over . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘But you did. And you had to understand that.’

‘I did.’

‘Not enough.’

‘What is enough?’

‘I wanted to make you suffer. I wanted you to feel grief. How can we learn without suffering?’

‘And so you punished me.’

‘Of course.
Crime and Punishment
. Isn’t that your favourite novel? It is a pity you did not learn from that.’

‘I have not killed anyone.’

‘You killed my heart.’

‘I used to wonder how I ever found and married you,’ her husband replied. ‘What a miracle it was, how lucky I was to be with such a beautiful, talented, creative woman.’

‘You are.’

‘Now I almost wish I had continued with Natasha. Even though we deceived you it was more honest than this. Do you have no guilt?’

‘None.’

‘You have become so cold. Natasha is dead. Dmitri is in prison. They were our friends.’

‘Forgive me, Josef, just as I have pardoned you.’

‘How can I? You have no shame. How can I forgive without penitence? We can never be the same.’

‘We can start all over again.’

‘No, Sophie, it is ruined. Everything is finished.’

On Easter Day Sidney preached on guilt, conscience and the forgiveness of sins. His argument was to build the rationale for Christ’s death and the necessary fact of the resurrection. He thought once more about the Madaras’ empty hotel room, and planned an impromptu peroration on the literary tradition of abandoned graves and people faking their own deaths: Juliet in
Romeo and Juliet
, the false execution of Claudio in
Measure for Measure
, Troy’s drowning in
Far from the Madding Crowd
. But in the unique case of Jesus Christ, Sidney affirmed, there was no trickery. The truth of the resurrection was not fiction.

He referred back to Christmas. Once the child had been born, there was no going back to the womb. Now there was no return to the grave. It was as empty as the womb had once been. It could not be reoccupied. This was the nature of Christ’s triumph over death. It was a rebirth that could not be unborn.