Dead Money (A Detective Inspector Paul Amos Lincolnshire Mystery) (9 page)

"I shall send it to you at the station here first class. It will be in tonight's post. Your sergeant has my address."

With that Mrs Jones rose to her feet and stretched out her hand. Amos took it, shook it, and opened the door. Mrs Jones sailed through serenely and off out into the street.

Chapter 16

"The vicarage," Amos remarked casually. "It's time we had a word with the vicar."

"You won't find him at the vicarage," Swift returned. "It isn't a vicarage any more."

"Good Lord!" Amos exclaimed. "I thought it was only in the rural parishes that the vicarages were redundant."

"It was a damp, rambling old place with dry rot," Swift explained. "Thornley refused to move in when he took over the parish. He persuaded the Church of England to buy him a smaller place that didn't take as much heating. There's only him and his wife. His family are grown up and have left home. The Church was only too happy to agree to his request as it sold off the old vicarage for a tidy sum. It's been done up."

"A bit like Killiney Court," said Amos. "How come you know so much about Thornley? You didn't say you went to his church."

"I don't. But I did make inquiries when this case blew up. It's quite a large church with a decent sized congregation. And yes, it is like Killiney Court - same development company bought the vicarage."

Swift paused in the conversation as she turned the wheel. The church was already in sight. As the two detectives drove down the street Amos glanced up and spotted the house sign The Old Vicarage. It showed the unmistakeable marks of a modern makeover.

Swift carried on past it, past the church and past the road junction just beyond. She took the next turning on the left and pulled up in front of a non-descript terrace house on the right hand side of the road.

As she and Amos got out of the car, a man wearing a dog collar and accompanied by a woman emerged from the house. They were in their mid 50s and were showing the first signs of approaching old age. Both were greying and they moved at no more than a moderate pace, so Swift, whose door was next to the kerb, had no difficulty in stepping out of the car and intercepting them.

"Mr Thornley?" she inquired of the man.

"Yes. Is it urgent? My wife and I are off to the Mothers' Union meeting," the object of her question replied anxiously. "Can it wait until I've done the opening prayers?"

Amos was alongside them now. He showed his warrant card and was about to request an immediate interview when Thornley turned to his wife and informed her: “Could you explain, dear, and take the prayers? I'm sorry, but it is a long time since I missed.”

Mrs Thornley sighed. The corners of her mouth turned up in a waspish gesture rather akin to a petulant shrugging of the shoulders.

“They won't be pleased,” she snapped. “You now how much they enjoy having you there.”

Thornley made no reply. His wife, seeing that further entreaties were pointless, turned and walked off up the street and round the corner as hastily as her years would allow.

“At least I won’t have to put up with that ghastly dirge they always want to sing,” the

vicar suddenly blurted out. The vehemence took Swift aback.

“Make Me a Channel of Thy Peace,” the vicar explained, now speaking more in sorrow than in anger. “They’re nearly all old and they act old even if they’re not but they think they are trendy singing a supposed hymn that doesn’t scan, let alone fit the supposed tune. Mrs Price can’t play the piano properly.

“It’s bad enough with a proper accompaniment. You can’t imagine the discordant chaos without one.”

Only now did Amos fully recognise the careworn look in the vicar’s face and the hunched shoulders that seemed to carry all the sins of the world upon them.

“Come inside,” Thornley said resignedly as he took out his key and opened the front door. He stepped inside and then flattened himself as best he could for a man of middle-aged stomach dimensions to let the other two through.

They completed the manoeuvre with some difficulty. Amos and Swift moved down the passageway while Thornley closed the front door. The officers were hesitating between two doors, one on the side of the passage and the other at the far end.

“Through here,” said Thornley as he squeezed himself between the officers and a row of coats on a rack to reach the front of the line again. He opened the far door and led the way into a small kitchen-diner.

“Then they will want a consoling prayer to end so they can all go home feeling warm and smug,” Thornley suddenly remarked bitterly.

The vicar hastily gathered up various religious texts from a couple of chairs and dumped them onto the table. The three occupants of the room sat down on the newly freed kitchen chairs round the now encumbered table.

“Sorry about the mess,” Thornley suddenly bumbled. Then, half rising, he added: “I'd better clear this up.”

“Sit down, Mr Thornley,” Amos said politely but firmly. “We don't need the table. Tell us about Raymond Jones. Who did he know at church?”

"Who didn't he know? Some were friends, some were business contacts. He must have been acquainted with just about everyone in the congregation to a greater or lesser extent."

"How well did you know him?"

"He was a parishioner and a regular churchgoer. He helped with various functions from time to time. I can't say he was a close friend, but he was steadfast and reliable. Those are rare virtues these days."

"Did he know anyone in particular? Who did he talk to after the service?" Amos persisted. He was starting to get exasperated and it was beginning to show.

"Well, he knew Sarah Miles, the organist," Thornley responded. "She was the one who found him, you know. Well yes, of course you know. She was always fussing round him.

"They talked a lot - when they were on speaking terms, that is, which was about half the time. He used to go up to the organ after services and talk to her when he wasn't scurrying off to avoid her. They met occasionally for coffee or afternoon tea at a café in the town, I believe."

Thornley had a sudden thought. "I don't believe there was any impropriety in their relationship. In fact, I'm sure there wasn't. Anyway, I don’t listen to idle gossip."

 "You seem to know an awful lot about their ..." Amos hesitated for half a second "... friendship."

"I should do. I heard enough about it. On the days when Mr Jones was out of favour with Miss Miles she came to me. I heard all about it. At length."

"It sounds like a very close relationship," suggested Amos with a slight emphasis on the word close. "Was it a romantic, albeit chaste, attachment?"

"It was hardly romantic." The response came almost in an explosion. "Love-hate, maybe, but there was nothing romantic about it. Ray was hardly the romantic type and Sarah was well past the age of fairy tales.

“I doubt if she'd ever been taken out by a man - not on a proper date. She was hardly likely to expect a Prince Charming to come riding over the hill on a white charger. "

Now that it was too late to sally forth to save the souls of the local mothers, Thornley had time on his hands and he was gradually getting quite voluble.

"Sarah saw the chance of a comfortable life, being a respected member of the community instead of a lonely old spinster with people sniggering behind her back about her not being able to get her man."

The vicar checked himself, realising that he was becoming rather careless in what he said.

 "You seem to feel very strongly about it," Amos remarked dryly. He saw that the vicar was hesitating and hoped to provoke him into indiscretions.

Thornley spoke more slowly now.

"It saddens me greatly," he said with a sigh, "that people who profess to be Christians can be rather unfeeling. Sarah has been a great servant of God and this church. Heaven knows where I would get another organist from if anything happened to her."

Amos saw to his regret that the clergyman was going to be more discrete with any further insights into Sarah Miles's character.

"How did she get to know Ray Jones so well? Was it through mutual faith?"

“They met originally at church, I believe. It was before I became vicar here. But it went beyond that. Mr Jones helped her out when she was in financial difficulties.

"She paid him back as soon as she could," Thornley answered hastily. "Sarah was extremely grateful. It was fine until Mrs Jones left him. Then the roller coaster began."

Thornley again checked himself.

 "Where was the roller coaster in the last two weeks of Mr Jones's life? Up, down, or somewhere in between?"

"I really don't know. It hardly matters. Ray was talking to his wife about getting back together so it was all immaterial. I didn't want to get involved so I kept well out of it."

"You knew Jones was in contact with his wife?" Amos asked in surprise.

 "He saw her the Sunday before he died and he was going to see her the following Sunday."

 Amos was incredulous. "You knew he had seen his wife days before he died? Why on earth didn't you come forward straight away to tell us?"

"Nobody asked me," Thornley protested self-righteously. "You knew where I was if you wanted to talk to me. Is it important that Mr Jones was seeing his wife? It isn't a crime."

Amos saw little point in stating how keen he had been to know Jones's movements so he contented himself with asking: "How did you know?"

Thornley raised an eyebrow to indicate that he did not know what all the fuss was about.

 “Sarah Miles told me a couple of days ago.”

“And how did she feel about it? From what you have told us she can hardly have been best pleased.”

“I don't suppose she was. I really don't know. After she told me I kept well clear.”

“How was she on the Sunday - the Sunday Jones was supposed to see his wife again?”

“A bit distracted. She played one or two wrong notes, which wasn't like her at all. But otherwise she seemed quite calm.”

“And at the end of the service?”

“I assume she went home. She left immediately after playing the recessional.”

A sudden thought struck Amos.

“Your wife,” he asked. “Is she by any chance called Joan?”

“Well, yes,” Thornley replied cautiously. “Is that relevant to anything?”

“It may be,” Amos said enigmatically. “Do you by any chance know Kate Leach? Is she a member of your congregation?”

“No,” Thornley said perfunctorily. “I know all my congregation personally.”

“You would know this woman,” Swift ventured. “She is in her early 20s, unmarried and heavily pregnant. She lives in Killiney Court.”

“Still no,” Thornley replied easily.

Swift persisted: “Perhaps Mrs Thornley knew her. Maybe visited her to offer support. Could she have gone there last Friday when Miss Leach was very close to going pop.”

Thornley ignored the crude euphemism for giving birth.

Instead he replied with the hint of a wry smile: “Supplying succour to an unmarried mother who wasn’t even a parishioner? I somehow doubt it. Anyway, she certainly didn’t visit her on Friday. We were together all day. My wife helped me with my sermon for Sunday in the morning and we visited hospital in the afternoon. Visiting genuine deserving cases,” he added with a hint of sarcasm.

Amos rose. "Thank you for your time - and for sacrificing your moments with the ladies of your parish," he remarked.

Thornley looked without success to see if Amos was genuinely thanking him or being sardonic.

 As the officers were leaving, Amos turned suddenly and inquired: "Is the church left locked?"

Thornley looked lightly apprehensive. He clearly did not know quite how to take Amos.

"Yes, usually," he replied. "The key is at number 75, the house next door."

 As they got into the car, Swift also looked slightly puzzled. "What do you expect to find in the church, sir?" she asked.

"Nothing in particular," came the reply, "but Jones was a regular churchgoer and so might his murderer have been. It would be rather remiss not to take the chance of looking inside when we are so close. Besides, Thornley seemed to clamp up suddenly and I wanted to unsettle him."

Chapter 17

Swift drove the short distance back to the church while Amos mused silently. She pulled up outside the caretaker's house but there was no need to go in search of the key, since the church door was ajar.

“Do you think that Thornley was telling the truth about being with his wife all day Friday?” she asked. “I took it you were working on the similarities of the two surnames.”

“Bit of a coincidence, Thornton and Thornley,” Amos responded. “But no, I don’t think that Mrs Vicar was the mystery visitor to Killiney Court on the fateful evening.”

The two officers nonchalantly covered the few yards of pathway from the church gate and walked in. There was no obvious sign of life despite the perceived need to keep the church locked when it was empty. The women’s group were keeping their disappointment at the non-appearance of their beloved vicar private behind one of the doors leading off from near the rear of the church.

Amos and Swift strolled up the aisle in conversation.

 "The thing that keeps coming back to bother me," Amos remarked as he gazed round, taking in the surroundings so familiar to the murder victim, "is why Sarah Miles waited until Tuesday before going round to Jones's flat. If she was so concerned about him, why didn't she check out the apartment on the Sunday?"