‘Are you crazy?’
‘Never saner.’
Gloria turned to Justin. ‘I thought you just met her? What the hell were you playin’ at?’
‘I wasn’t playing,’ Justin replied.
‘What you talkin’ about? You killin’ people random style?’
‘It wasn’t random,’ Sidney interrupted.
Gloria Dee turned to confront him. ‘Jeepers, it’s you. What you doin’ now?’
‘I have been helping the police.’
‘You fingered my driver? How did you figure that one?’
‘I looked to the past, what might have been a motive.’
‘How far back do you go?’
‘Nearly ten years.’
‘You mean this has been planned for a decade? Holy moly.’
‘I had to look for an underlying reason for the crime.’
Gloria Dee thought for a moment. ‘I see. Goin’ for the chords rather than the melody.’
‘I think that’s what Charlie Parker does, doesn’t he?’ Sidney replied, unsure whether he should expose his scanty knowledge of bebop. ‘The improvisation on the chords of “Cherokee”?’
‘You’re on the trolley, man.’
Chief Inspector Williams interrupted. ‘If I could just make this arrest?’
Gloria Dee turned to Justin Wild. ‘I never had you down as an ice-man. She was just a baby. Shame on you.’
Justin Wild said nothing. The police led him away.
Sidney held back to apologise to Gloria. ‘I am sorry we had to step in. He had been recognised. He could have struck again.’
‘You mean he could have killed
me
?’
‘No, another woman.’
‘That broad you were with?’
‘Indeed.’
‘You sure attract trouble.’
‘I don’t mean to, Miss Dee.’
‘You may be a preacher-man but I can’t see how any girl can be safe with you around. What got you into jazz in the first place?’
‘It’s a long story.’
Gloria looked at him straight. ‘I’ve got all night.’
‘I’m not sure I . . .’
‘Why don’t you buy me a beer, Sidney?’
‘You remember my name?’
‘Sure do. Let’s ball a little.’
It was nearly eleven o’clock before Sidney was able to extricate himself from the club and he wondered whether he would be able to take the last train home or if he would have to wait for the first in the morning yet again. Mrs Redmond had been prevailed upon to take Dickens in his absence but he couldn’t expect her to look after the dog much longer.
However, Sidney also wanted to ascertain that the case that he had presented was watertight. He therefore asked if he could visit Justin Wild in his police cell. Chief Inspector Williams thought it curious that Sidney should want to do this but recognised the work he had done and could see no harm in such a visit from a clergyman while they were waiting for a lawyer.
‘What do you want?’ Justin Wild asked. ‘You can’t have come to give me the last rites. I haven’t been sentenced.’
‘But you will plead guilty?’
‘I will, Canon Chambers. I am proud of what I have done.’
‘All I want to know is why? Not “how”, because I know that: but “why”? I imagine it is a form of revenge.’
‘It is. But you know this. The girl’s father . . .’
‘Robbed your mother.’
‘The burglary took place during my father’s funeral. It was 1944. Crime doesn’t stop, even in wartime. The usual things were stolen: the silver, an antique clock, a few items of value that had been inherited and that no one really liked; but as you will know, Canon Chambers, Johnson was a jewel thief and he took my mother’s most prized possessions . . .’
‘I understand.’
‘No.’ The word came out of Justin Wild’s mouth like a gunshot. ‘You don’t “understand”. Those jewels may have been valuable, but they were far more than that. They told the story of my mother’s life. The police asked if she had insurance or if there were any photographs of the jewellery but of course there were not. Whoever heard of anyone photographing their own jewellery? But do you know what my mother did?’
Justin Wild did not wait for an answer.
‘She drew them and she painted them: the sapphire brooch, the pearl necklace, the diamond earrings; everything she had owned. Then, when she had finished, she handed them to the police and started drawing them all over again. She couldn’t stop drawing them. After she died I found hundreds of drawings of the same piece of jewellery. The theft made her mad.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Sidney quietly.
‘My father had died months before and she was still grieving; not that grief ever stops. They say that love can last beyond the grave but so of course can grief. They had been married for forty-three years.’
‘And you were their only child?’
‘I was.’
‘And you had no one to talk to?’
‘I had my mother. Then, because of that man, she was gone.’
‘You blame Mr Johnson for your mother’s death?’
‘I do.’
‘Not directly, surely?’
‘People don’t think enough about the victims, Canon Chambers. At the end of my mother’s life her doctor told me that it was possible to go mad with grief. It was a condition. That was the phrase he used. “Mad with grief.” The loss of her husband followed by the theft of her jewellery meant that she could not go on. She did not know who she was any more. It may seem a small thing, a luxury even, to have jewellery and then to have it taken away, but it wasn’t the objects or their value that mattered.’
‘It was what they represented,’ said Sidney.
‘They were her past. Each ring, every brooch and necklace carried a memory: her mother’s wedding ring, the confirmation cross from her father, earrings from her sister. When they disappeared, her memories went with them. By the end she hardly recognised me. As I sat at the end of the bed I thought: I will kill the person that has done this. I will devote my life to finding the man responsible.
‘How did you do it?’ Sidney asked.
‘I started with second-hand jewellery shops and antique dealers. I watched people come and go. I sat in cafés for hours. I read the papers for news of burglaries involving jewellery. I attended court cases. I harassed the police to see if any crimes might be connected to the case involving my mother. And then, in 1949, I found him. Philip Johnson a.k.a. ‘the Cat’. He was sent to prison for five years, even though I knew that he would be out in three. It wasn’t long enough. My mother could have lived for another twenty years.
‘When that thought came to me I realised that I could do much more damage if I
didn’t
kill him. I would make him suffer in the way that my mother had suffered. If he died it would all be over too quickly. I wanted his pain to last. So I thought about his family and then, when I saw the way he looked at his daughter, I knew that she was the one who had to die. If I killed her then he would never forget it. It would ruin his life; and he would live with the grief my mother had known.’
‘But Claudie was an innocent child . . .’
‘She was his daughter. That was all I had to know. It was then just a question of timing.’
‘So you found out that he had booked Gloria Dee. You knew the drummer in her band . . .’
‘I know plenty of drummers.’
‘And you managed to get a job as their driver. That was something that gave you away. You told me that you were not so interested in the money. I thought at first that you might have meant you were receiving something else in return . . .’
‘Drugs or favours. I don’t think so . . .’
‘And neither did I. What she gave you was not money but an opportunity.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And a club full of criminals, any one of whom might be blamed? How did you do it? It was very risky. You could have been seen at any moment.’
‘If you do not care whether you are caught in the end or not, and if you have no fear of retribution, it gives you more courage. You don’t have to worry about covering your tracks. We’d already done several nights at the club and so I had established a routine. Miss Dee likes a little junk between sessions and we hid a supply in the store cupboard by the Ladies.’
‘You mean drugs?’
‘You don’t think I’m just a driver, do you? I got hold of the drugs and we kept them in the first aid-kit. Claudette Johnson had the key to the cupboard.’
‘Did she know what was in there?’
‘She knew not to ask. I don’t think there was anything she hadn’t seen before. Of course I told Claudette it was all medication on prescription and it had to be kept away from Miss Dee in case she took an accidental overdose. We’d go in the big number before the interval, when everyone was concentrating on the music. After three or four days it became a routine. Claudette knew exactly when to expect me and what to do.’
‘And so she was at ease with you.’
‘One of a murderer’s best weapons is charm. The girl didn’t expect anything at all. Why should she? By the time we were used to each other it was easy. All I needed was opportunity and surprise.’
‘You strangled her in the store cupboard.’
‘It didn’t take long; consciousness goes after ten seconds, the brain after three or four minutes.’
‘Why didn’t you leave her there?’
‘Because I wanted to see the look on her father’s face when they found her. I wanted to watch his public despair. That’s why I went to the funeral. The sadder it became and the more people grieved, the more I enjoyed it. I had to witness that suffering. I needed to know what that man was feeling, even if it was only a fraction of what my mother went through.’
‘Phil Johnson did not kill your mother.’
‘I believe he did.’
Sidney could see that there was no persuading him.
‘How did you discover it was me?’ Justin asked. ‘I suppose it was Amanda Kendall.’
‘You recognised her straight away?’
‘We were children, and it was a long time ago, but she’s hard to forget. She’s cleverer than people think.’
‘You also took on an assumed name. That was another, minor mistake.’
‘I didn’t think anyone would notice.’
Sidney looked at the man opposite. He seemed both determined and careless, unconcerned about anything that might happen next. ‘ “Revenge is a kind of wild justice.” ’
‘That’s Francis Bacon: from
The Essays
.’
‘Just- in- wild,’ said Sidney. ‘Wild justice. Revenge.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘A combination of luck and memory. But it did seem an unusual name.’
‘It’s not that unusual. There are plenty of “Justins” about. It will be the death penalty, won’t it?’
‘Most likely,’ said Sidney. ‘Unless you plead insanity or show a considerable degree of remorse.’
‘I have no remorse. I am glad that I did what I did.’
‘Then I’m sorry,’ said Sidney.
‘On the contrary. I suppose it is I who should apologise. I feel no guilt. If I did it would make it easier for you.’
‘There are very few things about my job that are easy,’ Sidney replied. ‘I’m only sad that someone of your intelligence should have such a distorted sense of justice.’
‘I’m sad too. I’ve been sad for quite a few years now.’
‘There is a different way of thinking.’
‘A Christian way? I don’t think so.’
Sidney stood up. He had thought that he should stay and try to find some repentance in Justin but he knew that it would take longer than a single evening to seek out the remains of his conscience. ‘I’m afraid I must go,’ he said. ‘It’s already late.’
‘Not too late for a night hawk like you . . .’
‘There is my job.’
‘I wonder how you find the time.’
‘I will pray for you,’ said Sidney.
‘I don’t think your prayers will make much difference, Canon Chambers.’ Justin Wild appeared to hesitate. ‘But thank you all the same.’ He gave a nervous smile.
Sidney gave a little bow. It had become a custom, a signal that the conversation was at an end.
He walked through Fitzrovia to Kings Cross. There was a clear sky of midnight blue with a three-quarter moon. Sidney wanted to enjoy the stillness of the night. For some moments in a life, he thought, perhaps no recovery was possible. A life could be stained, as simply as surely as that, and no amount of peace or prayer could provide lasting comfort. He remembered the words of George Herbert: ‘Living well is the best revenge.’ That may have been wise advice, but for Justin Wild it had proved impossible. Forgiveness was, Sidney knew, far harder to reconcile than vengeance.
As soon as he returned to Grantchester, he poured himself a large whisky and lay down on his none too comfortable sofa. His Labrador snuggled up beside him. As he did so, Sidney patted him on the back and began to talk to him. Dickens yawned, stretched and laid his head on Sidney’s knee. He told him how it had been a testing few weeks and now, surely, he could return to his vocation. He ought to give jazz and crime a rest. It was hard enough doing one job in which he was never off duty; but to combine it with investigations on behalf of Inspector Keating was another matter entirely.