04 - Carnival of Criminals (13 page)

“You said they found the body? Where is it?”

Clara glanced up, surprised by the question.

“I couldn’t say.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Briefly.”

“Was it wearing anything?”

Clara narrowed her eyes.

“Grimes was unfortunately quite naked, what is your
interest Mr Patterson?”

Patterson shook his head.

“I’m merely curious.” He gave a smile, “Would you ever so
mind if we ended our chat now? I do feel rather tired and I must get my supper
on. You are always welcome to return.”

“Thank you Mr Patterson if I think of anything else…”

“Don’t hesitate to call, good day Miss Fitzgerald.”

Clara found herself back on the Brighton high street, a
deep sense of unease stirring in the pit of her belly.

The following Sunday Tommy was surprised when Clara
insisted on attending church, though not just any church, but St Andrew’s Old
Church in neighbouring Hove.

“Why? Not that I’m not delighted you are taking an
interest in religion, you understand.” He asked.

“I want to look at the crypt and thought it best to catch
the vicar while he was about.”

“I should have known it was all to do with dead people.”

“Isn’t everything?” Clara asked in surprise.

St Andrew’s had been built in the Twelfth century, which
meant by the nineteenth it was in serious need of renovation. Its tower had fallen
down in 1801 and by 1833 it was in serious danger of being completely
demolished. But Hove residents could not quite resign themselves to seeing the
old church gone forever, so it was repaired and in parts rebuilt until the
glorious edifice, with turreted Gothic tower, reopened in 1836. It looked a
strange collaboration of old and new as Clara and Tommy approached, but the
ancient stonework had accepted its modern square tower with grace and the whole
seemed to have settled into the landscape. It certainly seemed a peaceful
place.

“Stop right there!” Tommy cried to Clara as she pushed
him up the path, “Look at that grave.”

Clara glanced to the side and spotted a headstone.

“George Everest.” She read out loud.

“Sir George Everest, you know who he was, yes?”

“Of course Tommy, he was the first person to determine
the exact height of Everest, hence its name.”

“Precisely. Who would have imagined he was buried here?”

“I hope Mervin Grimes was not attempting to view
his
dead body. Seems rather sacrilegious.”

“That’s a strong word from a heathen like you.” Tommy
grinned at his sister.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

They had timed their arrival to coincide with the end of
the service and the congregation were streaming out into the warm sunshine,
shaking hands with the vicar as they went past. Clara waited until it seemed
almost everyone was gone then approached the priest.

“Reverend Hancock?” She enquired.

The reverend was an older man who had the appearance of a
benign vulture. He was a man who had settled into the routine of his duties at
St Andrew’s very much as the church had settled into its footings. Outside of
his pastoral and spiritual duties very little troubled him, in fact he was proud
to declare to anyone who cared to listen that he only had a vague idea of who
was now leading the country, though he could list the complete and current
hierarchy of the Church of England, alphabetically. He gave a smile to Clara
which provided her a glimpse of his rather large over-bite.

“Good morning, I’m afraid you have missed the service.
There is another this evening at seven o’clock.”

“Thank you, actually I wondered if I might ask some
questions about the church?”

Reverend Hancock took a good look at the new arrivals, he
was not a man for history and considered the one penny guidebook available at
the back of the church an adequate way to answer such questions. He was about
to mention it, when Clara added.

“In particular I wanted to ask if your crypt is
accessible to the public?”

Hancock gave her a strange look.

“Your interest is?”

“It’s rather peculiar, but I am investigating the death
of a young man who apparently was fond of visiting a particular church. I
believe it was St Andrew’s, but it will depend if you have a crypt. You see
this young man was fond of going down into it.”

“That sounds very odd.”

“Doesn’t it? He was an odd man. Tragically he was
murdered.”

“That is deeply distressing, but sadly the crypt beneath
St Andrew’s has been inaccessible for several decades.”

“Oh.” Clara was thrown, she had been certain St Andrew’s
fitted the bill perfectly.

“There must be somewhere else.” Tommy said, “Unless Penny
Patterson was telling her husband lies about visiting a church.”

“Penny Patterson?” Reverend Hancock had given a start,
“This is connected to Penny Patterson?”

“Yes, rather it is.” Clara saw she had gained the vicar’s
attention, “I take it you knew her?”

“Penny was one of my regulars, until her unfortunate
passing.” Hancock looked uncomfortable, “Exactly who has been murdered?”

“His name was Mervin Grimes, before she married he was
Penny Patterson’s boyfriend.”

Hancock gave an understanding nod.

“Oh, I have heard that name before.” He rubbed at his
vulpine chin, “Perhaps you would come inside and we might have a chat? Perhaps
I was too hasty earlier.”

Reverend Hancock helped Clara pull Tommy’s wheelchair
over the step that led into the church and found them a quiet spot in a pew to
the far side to talk. There were still a handful of people in the church
putting hymn books back in their places, tidying the flowers and generally
tending to the orderly appearance of the building. Hancock placed his guests as
far away as possible so they would not be overheard.

“Would you mind telling me what you know about Penny
Patterson?” He asked.

“As I said before she used to walk out with Mervin
Grimes. Then he disappeared, or rather, as we now know, he was murdered, and
she married Gregory Patterson the shopkeeper. Other than that she was a typist,
I know very little about her.” Clara explained.

“Penny Patterson was one of those people you have a
feeling about.” Hancock perched himself in the wooden pew, facing Clara and
Tommy, “The sort of person you know is not going to have a happy ending.”

“From what I gather she was a very unhappy soul.”

“Unhappy, self-destructive, you name it.” Hancock shook
his head, “I dare say her husband tried to help her, but he was not very
effective. Though I suppose in the long run, nor was I. She sometimes cleaned
the church, it was almost like a penance to her. She told me once how she used
to come to this church in the evenings with Mervin Grimes. They would act rather
disgracefully in the graveyard, sometimes in the church too, if it was open.
She regretted that, felt she had committed a dreadful sin.”

“Did she tell you about Mervin Grimes?”

“She told me he was a bad lot, but she loved him too much
to care. They had made all sorts of plans together, all Mervin had to do was
make his money. She never forgave him for disappearing.”

“Did she say what she thought had become of him?”

“She had been told he went to Newcastle. She said at
first she refused to believe it, but as the years went by it started to seem
more likely. To the very last she imagined he would come back for her.” Hancock
leaned back in the pew and reflected mournfully on the past, “I never expected
her to kill herself, at least, that’s what I have told myself all these years.”

“Did you ever learn why she did it?”

“I imagine it was a combination of things, she was very
depressed those last months. She could see no future for herself, just an
endless existence of working in her husband’s bookshop. She never had any
children. As I said before she was riddled with guilt, some days she was
convinced Mervin had vanished because of something she had done and nothing I
said could change her mind.”

“What had she done that could drive him away so
dramatically?”

“Penny used to drink, I say used, I suspect it was still
a problem for her, but she concealed it well. Once, when she was drunk, she
told some of Mervin’s friends, or rather, members of his gang, about a stash he
kept. She told them it needed a special key to find it. It was a big secret and
she always felt revealing it had forced him to leave. Her logic on the matter
was rather tenuous, admittedly.”

“Mervin Grimes did store his money somewhere,” Clara said
carefully, “And money is a powerful motive for murder.”

“Then, perhaps that is why Penny blamed herself for his
disappearance?”

“I have to ask, Reverend Hancock, but in your opinion
could Penny have killed him?”

The reverend gave a slight laugh, tossing back his head
and exposing his ill-fitting jawline.

“Penny was no angel, but she would never harm anyone.”
Hancock paused, “You mentioned Grimes’ fascination with the dead? I want to
show you something.”

He led Tommy and Clara back outside to an old stone
vault. A statue of a weathered knight with a shield stood guard at the front,
while the rear portion of the tomb had almost vanished into a dense bank of
ivy.

“This is the family vault of the Seylons. I am reliably
informed the first Seylon came over with William the Conqueror. The tomb is not
as old as that, more seventeenth century. The last Seylon was buried in it in
1883. I want to show you this.” Reverend Hancock pushed his way into the ivy
and indicated that Clara should follow. Tommy sat in his wheelchair,
indignantly looking on, “When the last Seylon was interred, Joshua Romulus was
his name, it came to the attention of my predecessor that the family vault had
not withstood the test of time as well as it might.”

Hancock pushed back the ivy in handfuls and revealed what
at first appeared to be a darker patch of stone, but resolved itself into a
large, vertical hole in the back of the vault.

“When the vault was opened it was discovered that the
rear slab had almost completely crumbled away. It looks like shoddy
workmanship, or perhaps the stone used here was of an inferior quality. In any
case, by the time of Joshua Romulus’ death the Seylon family fortunes were in a
dire state, there was barely enough to bury him, let alone carry out repairs.
The church made enquiries of his nearest relatives, but they showed no
interest. The decision was finally made to allow this ivy to encase the tomb
and so hide the fallen wall. But as you can see, a person could enter if they
so chose.” Saying that Hancock stretched out an arm and hauled himself into the
gap. He vanished in a rustle of ivy.

Clara stared at the space where the reverend had been,
knowing full well she had to follow. She took a deep breath and thrust herself
into the vault. The space inside was far from huge, a little too tight for two
people and almost completely dark. Clara had to bend over to avoid cracking her
skull on the roof. As her eyes adjusted to the light, what little there was,
she made out the remains of coffins sitting two abreast and stacked one on top
of the other. The lower coffins, presumably the oldest, were bulging and
broken. Their sides falling apart and bones protruding, the weight of those on
top crushing them down. The most recent coffin was a mahogany one with gold
fittings, sitting across two other coffins at a right angle. Clara assumed this
was the coffin of Joshua Romulus.

“If, as you say, Mervin Grimes came to St Andrew’s to
look at the dead, then this is where he would come.” Hancock said.

Clara found the whole idea appalling, but then again she
was not a gangster. With some difficulty she found the hole again and dragged
herself out. Hancock followed. He pulled the ivy back into place and the hole
vanished once more.

“Penny always showed an interest in this tomb, which is
why I thought of it.” He said as he rearranged the tendrils of ivy.

Clara returned to Tommy.

“So, does this help us at all?” He asked.

“In terms of finding Mervin’s killer, not really.”

“Had you noticed that?” Tommy pointed at the knight on
the vault. It held a large shield that was clearly once painted, but time had
worn the colour almost completely away. Still, there was the faintest of hints
of blue on the stone. Right in the middle of the shield was a stylised S.

“Remind you of anything?” Tommy remarked, “It does me,
but then I’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”

Clara pulled Mervin’s ring out of her pocket and looked
at it.

“Oh don’t tell me…” She held up the ring next to the
shield, “Oh lord, he did! He stole it off a corpse!”

“It bears the insignia of the Seylon family.”

“Probably came straight off Joshua Romulus’ dead finger.”
Clara felt disgusted, “Mervin Grimes was a very disturbed young man.”

“You could always return it now?” Tommy suggested.

Clara admitted that would be the sensible and decent
thing to do, but something made her hesitate.

“There is more to this ring than just that it came off a
corpse.” She said, “Someone tried to cut it off Mervin while he was still alive
and those thieves at the fair were after it. It means something, or at least they
think
it means something. So I’ll hang on to it until I figure out what
exactly that is.”

Tommy gave a nod and then his stomach grumbled and his
thoughts turned to more practical matters.

“Fancy seeing if that pub we passed on the way here does
lunch?”

“I don’t think I could eat after what I saw in that
tomb.”

“A missed meal will do you know harm.”

“What are you implying Thomas Fitzgerald?”

“Nothing, dear sister!” Tommy grinned, “Just maybe you
should lay off Annie’s puddings for a while.”

“Just remember who is pushing your wheelchair.” Clara
said with a mock scowl.