'Are you asking my advice, Mr. Somerville, or do you want me to fetch him in?'
'Both.'
'But I'm not CID.'
'You're the man who visits his house for the Scrabble. Persuade him-gently. Low key, right?'
'I can try.'
'You don't sound optimistic.'
'With Otis, you can't be. Just when I think I'm way ahead of him, he comes up with a seven-letter word.'
'Like murder?'
'That's six.'
Twenty-four
George was uneasy with the assignment he'd been given. Even allowing that Otis Joy was probably a wicked and dangerous man, it was a kind of betrayal to trade on their friendship to bring him in. He wished he'd never mentioned the Scrabble evenings to Somerville. 'Low key,' they'd blithely told him, as if it was a routine matter to ask a man in holy orders to accompany you to the police station and make a voluntary statement.
So when he rang twice at the rectory door and got no response he was mightily relieved. He decided the rector was out in the parish somewhere doing his pastoral duties, sensible man.
He went home for lunch.
After lunch, he thought he'd better try again.
No one was there. A seed of uncertainty was sown. Had Otis done a runner?
He called at the shop and asked Davy Todd if he'd seen the rector.
Davy said, 'Well, he'll be at Warminster by now, won't he?'
'Will he?' George said more cheerfully, assuming that CID had come to their senses and sent someone else to pick him up.
'That's where half the village has gone today. For the confirmation service at All Hallows.'
George sighed.
'If you went to church regular, you'd know what's going on,' added Todd.
'What time is the service?'
'Three. You could get there if you want.'
George weighed his options. It was still down to him to round up the suspect. He couldn't interrupt a church service, but if he caught Otis coming out, it would be a short walk to the nick, which was just across the street from All Hallows. He was in duty bound to make the attempt.
He went back for the car.
The confirmation candidates stood in groups near the west door of All Hallows, the largest, though not the most attractive, church in Warminster. The old building had suffered badly from modern restorers, whose aim seemed to have been to remove all traces of the Norman origins, all the arches, scallops and mouldings, all the mellow local stone, and replace it with faced blocks the colour of margarine. However, it was roomy inside, which was why it had been chosen for today's service.
George spotted the Foxfora group-not quite half the village, but getting on for forty of them, including families. He went over and asked Ann Porter if she'd seen the rector. She said he'd arrived and gone into the church to get into his robes.
The question must have been overheard by Burton Sands, because he came over and said, 'Are you going to arrest him?'
'What for?' said Ann in surprise.
George raised his chin a little and said, 'That isn't the way we do things, Burton.'
'You don't do anything,' said Burton.
'What's this about?' demanded Ann, already hyped up for the occasion. 'Has our rector been up to naughties?'
George moved away, but Burton came with him. 'You know Rachel Jansen has gone? That's another one. You've got to act before he wipes out the rest of us.'
'Don't push it, Burton. Things are happening,' said George.
'Like what? You exhumed Gary Jansen and no one has heard a thing. That was over two weeks ago.'
'We had to wait for the tests,' muttered George. 'Why don't you go back to the others now?'
' 'Had to wait for the tests,' ' Burton taunted him. 'No action at all. 1 gave you enough information to put him away for the rest of his life and nothing has happened except he's claimed another victim.'
'Why don't you get your mind on what you're here for?' George told him. 'Think some Christian thoughts.'
'How can I, when he's going to join in the service? You could arrest him now.'
'I'm going to speak to him when it's over.'
'Really?'
George shouldn't have said more, but it was nice to take the wind out of Burton's sails, and the temptation was great. 'The test results came in this morning. They found a trace of poison in the body.'
People were entering the church now, and John Neary had his hand in the air, beckoning to Burton to rejoin the Foxford group.
'What poison?'
'A deadly one,' said George. 'Look, they're going in.'
He decided to go into the service and sit at the back. Why stand outside on a January afternoon when they had the heating on? He wasn't a regular church-goer, but he'd been confirmed in his teens, by the unfortunate Marcus Glastonbury, fated to be remembered as the Bend Over Bishop. George listened to the mighty organ and tried not to think about the late bishop.
The candidates from six local churches were seated in the front pews, and many relatives attended in support, so the nave was packed. Latecomers had to find places in the crosswise seating in the transepts. The clergy, when they entered behind the bishop in their glittering vestments, sat in the choirstalls. George spotted Joy looking devout and untroubled in a cream chasuble with a green and gold cross motif. In this sanctified place it was more than George could do to credit the dreadful crimes the man was supposed to have committed. It took the single-mindedness of Burton Sands to hold onto the conviction that a murderer was in their midst.
The service began with a few words of welcome from the new bishop, a short, stout man with horn-rimmed spectacles, wearing a crimson mitre. His voice was amplified, so he must have had a microphone cunningly secreted in the robes. Briefly he explained what would happen, and its significance, and that afterwards there would be tea and cakes for everyone in the parish rooms. A hymn followed, and then the bishop spoke the words of the preface in a clear, brisk, business-like fashion. No one would doze off while he was leading a service. Quite soon he had reached the main part, the questions and responses leading up to the moment when each candidate in turn went forward to kneel before him and be admitted to full membership by the hand placed on the head.
George watched the Foxford people go forward, the children first, and then the adults, including Sands, Neary and Ann Porter.
It all progressed seamlessly into the communion service when the candidates were to receive the sacrament for the first time. After the parish priests had knelt in front of the bishop and received their wafers and wine, they helped him administer it to the new communicants, who approached the altar rail. Later, the rest of the congregation would be invited to come forward.
At the back of the church, George had decided he would not join in this time. He would have felt self- conscious going up to the front in his uniform. Instead, he watched and waited, trying to work out what he would say to the rector. It would have to be over the tea and cakes. 'We're trying to clarify a few matters, Otis, and we think you could help us.' No, better still: '… we'd welcome your advice.' How about 'expert advice'? That would be overdoing it. '… welcome your input'? Perhaps not. 'We're trying to make sense of a few things and we'd welcome
