She knew that he was out there somewhere. When she peeped through the curtains in the front bedroom, Caroline Skene could see nobody in the street outside yet she was convinced that the house was being watched. Her stomach was knotted with fear and she could find no relief. Lacking the courage to go outside and investigate, she was also unable to ask her husband to do so. He knew nothing of her life beyond the marriage and she was certain that the surveillance was somehow connected with it. She was therefore compelled to suffer in silence. During the morning and afternoon, there’d been no problem. She’d been out shopping and been able to move about freely without any sense of being menaced. Now, however, he was back. What made her writhe in terror was that she had no idea of what he wanted.
Covering her trepidation as best she could, she went downstairs to the living room, ready to engage in conversation with her husband. There was, however, no call for her to do so. Wilf Skene was asleep in an armchair with a newspaper across his lap. Having worked the early morning shift at the factory, he’d come home tired. He managed to stay awake long enough to eat an evening meal with her then dozed off in the chair. Caroline looked at him with an affection shadowed by discontent. He’d been a good, loyal, hard-working husband but he was an increasingly dull companion. An industrial accident had left him with a limp and he was now having a problem with his hearing. He was starting to look like an old man. The couple hadn’t had sexual relations for years. Distressed about it at first, she’d come to see it as a blessing. It gave her a sense of freedom and allowed her to give her thoughts full rein. Only because of what she felt was a sham marriage was she able to respond to the interest shown in her by Cyril Ablatt. He’d been her redemption.
While he was still alive — and their romance had blossomed — Caroline had been happier than at any other time in her life. When they were alone, the age difference vanished. They complemented each other. He’d educated her and she, in turn, had taught him about sensual pleasure. The rare nights they’d spent together had given her a satisfaction she’d never known before. It pained her to deceive her husband and, by extension, Gerald Ablatt, but she couldn’t help herself. She was swept along on a torrent of love seasoned with a lust she’d never realised she had. It left her at once ashamed and exhilarated, guilty at what she was doing yet thrilled that she’d got away with it. She knew that the situation would soon change. Her young lover’s refusal to accept conscription would land him in prison and keep him there for some time. Caroline had promised to stand by him. No matter how long he was incarcerated, she would be waiting for him on his release.
The one possibility she’d never even considered was his murder. It had ruined her life, leaving her bereft and vulnerable. Gone was the excitement of a young lover. All that was left behind was the awful predictability of an existence with a tedious husband. At least he would never know about her adultery. She’d managed to establish that all the letters she’d written to Cyril had gone from his bedroom and she knew that the telltale photograph of her had been taken away by Inspector Marmion. She relied heavily on his discretion and understanding and wished that she could seek help from him at that very moment. But it would entail a walk to the police station to use the telephone and she was too frightened to venture outside. He was still lurking out there somewhere. If she was foolish enough to present a target, there was no telling what he might do.
It would all be different in the morning. Her husband would have gone to work and it would be safe for her to leave the house. Caroline wouldn’t just tell Marmion about the latest incident. She’d plead for protection. She couldn’t spend another evening in such a state. It was unendurable. The police had to rescue her from torment by catching the man who was stalking her. If they didn’t do so, he might tire of simply watching and move in for the kill.
It was different this time. Father Howells had actually asked to speak to Marmion. During their first conversation at the hospital, the curate had been both weary and befuddled. Marmion felt that he might also have been evasive. As he and Keedy drove to the hospital again, they allowed themselves a guarded optimism.
‘He’s had time to think things over,’ said Marmion. ‘With luck, he’s going to be more honest this time.’
Keedy smiled. ‘Are you accusing a priest of telling lies?’
‘No, he didn’t do that, Joe. He just refrained from telling the truth.’
‘Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘It depends how you look at it.’
There was another difference. When they went up to the room where Father Howells was being kept, Marmion learnt that the patient had asked to see him on his own. No nurse or doctor would be in attendance. It was promising. Marmion went into the room alone and was met with an immediate setback. The curate was asleep and there was clearly no pretence involved. Not daring to wake him, all that he could do was to watch and wait. His patience was eventually rewarded. Father Howells stirred, rolled onto his side and half-opened his eyes.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked, hoarsely. ‘Is it the inspector?’
‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘How are you?’
‘My head still hurts.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Could you …?’
He lifted a hand to indicate the glass of water on the bedside table. Marmion helped him to sit up, then held the glass while he took several sips from it. When he spoke again, the curate sounded a little clearer.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘My throat is very dry.’
Marmion sat beside the bed. ‘Why did you want to see me alone?’
‘I want to know if I can trust you, Inspector.’
‘Trust me to do what, sir?’
‘My parents must never know the full details,’ said the other, solemnly. ‘They would never understand and I don’t want them to be hurt unnecessarily.’
‘I give you my word that I’ll be as discreet as possible.’
‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘Go on, sir.’
There was a considered pause. ‘It’s … not what you may think.’
‘I have no preconceptions about the attack, I assure you.’
‘There
‘Do you know who made them?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the curate, sadly. ‘I know only too well. I didn’t take them seriously at first. In fact, I destroyed the letters.’
‘Who sent them?’
‘It was someone who was once a close friend. We studied together at theological college. He was always rather intense even then. I completed the course but he dropped out for some reason. But we always kept in touch. That’s to say,’ he added, ‘
‘What you’re saying is that the friendship was rather one-sided,’ observed Marmion. ‘Is that a fair description?’
‘With regard to the last few weeks, I suppose that it is.’
‘It sounds as if he’s possessive.’
‘He’s very possessive and prone to jealousy.’
‘What’s his name, sir?’
‘Be gentle with him, Inspector,’ urged Father Howells. ‘Strange as it may seem, I bear him no ill will. Michael misread the situation. When he saw me talking to a new friend, he thought that he was being replaced in my affections. But that’s not true at all. I never entertained the kind of feelings for Michael that he had for me.’ He looked at Marmion. ‘Do I need to be more explicit?’
‘No, sir — and you don’t need to tell me who this new friend was.’
‘He, too, saw something that isn’t there, Inspector. I don’t know why I inspire such strong feelings in other men. It’s always worried me. I’ve learnt to tolerate it. In Michael’s case, I tolerated it far too much and almost died as a result.’
‘What’s his other name, sir?’
‘Michael Goodrich. By rights, it should be the Reverend Michael Goodrich because he’s a very gifted man. And if he had a parish to look after, he wouldn’t have had time for any intense friendship. He’d have been kept as busy as I am. That’s the irony of it,’ said the patient. ‘I’m not interested in another man … in that way. What made me drift apart from Michael was the sheer volume of work I have as a curate. In the course of that, curiously enough, I deal with far more women than men. Pastoral care is very time-consuming.’
