Horton thought he could hear the church creaking and groaning as if in sympathy with Gutner's words. One part of him said, the old man is mad; it was a natural death. And yet Horton's instincts were screaming the opposite. Why had Gilmore written Horsea Marina on his blotter? Why had Brundall come here? And why had both men died on the same night?
'What time was this?'
'The service started at six o'clock with a procession of adults and kiddies holding candles as they walked to their seats. The candles were extinguished, the congregation sat and the Reverend began the service at about six thirty. He was taken to hospital just on seven o'clock. The verger stepped in after that and we carried on with our worship, but nobody's heart was in it.'
The fire on Brundall's boat had started at seven thirty, forty-five minutes after Gilmore's collapse. If Gilmore's death was suspicious, and it was a big if, then it was certainly possible for the killer to have had time to get from here to Horsea Marina. Yet how could someone have killed the vicar in full view of the congregation without anyone seeing him?
'I believe you saw a man called Tom Brundall talking to the Reverend-'
'Yeah, and that's another thing, why did his boat catch fire the day he visited the vicar?'
Gutner might be elderly, but there was no fooling him.
Horton said, 'It could be a coincidence.'
'Since when have the cops believed in coincidence?' Gutner scoffed.
He was right. With admiration for the man's intellect, which hadn't diminished with age, Horton said, 'OK, tell me what happened.'
Gutner settled back in his seat. He paused. Horton could tell it wasn't for effect but that he was marshalling his thoughts to give as accurate and concise an account as possible. He would have made a good copper.
'St Agnes's is a great big barn of a church, as you can see. The lights were on; it was a grey, miserable Tuesday, with a heavy blanket of cloud closing in on you. Even with the lights on though there are places in this church that are still dim; it has a hundred nooks and crannies. I came up here to practise the organ and heard the door open and footsteps below-'
'The time?'
Gutner puffed out his cheeks and thought. 'About three thirty, give or take a minute. I thought it was the vicar at first but then realized it didn't sound like his tread. I looked in my mirror, here above the organ, and saw a man walk towards the nativity. It was that man whose picture was on the television, Brundall you said his name was. Then the vicar came out of the vestry. I didn't even know he was in the church. I came in that way, and didn't see him, there's a door that leads up from there to here. He saw this stranger and looked as if he'd seen a ghost.'
'Was he pleased or afraid?' Horton asked sharply.
'Afraid,' Gutner replied instantly. 'Vicar went white and staggered back. Brundall moved forward as though to help the vicar, but he waved him away. 'I'm all right,' the vicar said, then, 'What are you doing here? We swore never to see one another again. I've made my peace with the Lord and tried to put right what we did wrong all those years ago.''
Horton felt a thrill run down his spine. What had they done wrong? Did this have anything to do with Brundall's death? Horton wouldn't mind betting on it.
'Go on,' he encouraged, not that he really needed to; Gutner was enjoying this despite mourning his vicar.
'Brundall said, 'I'm dying, cancer. I haven't got long. I want to confess and I want you to hear my confession.' Vicar went even paler, he said something but I couldn't hear what it was because he spoke so softly. Then I heard Brundall say, 'Did you know that Jennifer Horton's boy's a policeman, a detective inspector here in Portsmouth?' Hey, that's you, I bet it is.'
Horton tensed. He felt the breath being sucked from his body. First Gilmore and now Brundall, and now they were both dead. Jesus! What the hell was going on? Desperately he tried to keep his face expressionless but his head was swimming with this information, and his heart was pounding as though he'd just run a marathon. He hoped he sounded neutral when he asked, 'What else did he say?'
Gutner didn't seem to notice anything untoward with him. Easily, the old man continued. 'The vicar said, 'Leave it, Tom. It's over, done with.' Brundall replied, 'Not until I make my confession. If you won't hear it, Rowley, then I will have to find another priest,' and then they moved out of earshot and sight. Brundall followed the vicar into the vestry.'
'Do you know if the vicar heard his confession?'
'No. I waited for a while before starting to play the organ. I didn't want them to think I had been eavesdropping, but they didn't come out of the vestry. Not then anyway. I started playing and didn't see the vicar until the candlelight service on Wednesday night and then he died.'
'Have you any idea what the Reverend Gilmore was referring to when he said he'd tried to put right the wrong?' Horton asked more in hope than anticipation.
'No, but it can't have been much because the vicar didn't have a bad or wicked bone in his body. And now the other man is dead too and I know for definite his death wasn't natural no matter what some smart arse doctor says.'
And Horton was inclined to agree with him. He wondered what the post-mortem on Reverend Gilmore had shown; there would have been one. If it had confirmed that the death was suspicious then he would have heard, so he assumed one hadn't been conducted yet.
Had Brundall killed Gilmore? Was there time? The answer was yes. Just. After killing Gilmore, Brundall could have returned to his boat, where he was immediately accosted by his own killer who threw the match on to the gas-filled boat. But how had Brundall killed Gilmore in full view of a congregation? No, it didn't add up. Then a thought struck Horton. Brundall had visited Gilmore on Tuesday at three thirty and had then called Sherbourne at about four fifteen the same afternoon summoning him to Portsmouth. Had Brundall wanted to write down his confession to give to Sherbourne to read out on his death? Yes, that was possible. And someone hadn't wanted that confession heard, which meant there was a third person involved in this 'wrong' that Gilmore had spoken of and to which Brundall had wanted to confess before dying. And that third person had killed Sherbourne in Guernsey to prevent the truth from being exposed. Horton felt his heart racing with this new information. But where the blazes did his mother fit into all this? Horton certainly couldn't remember either Brundall or Gilmore.
He thanked Gutner and made to leave when the old man said eagerly, 'Don't you want me to come to the station and make a statement?'
'Later,' Horton said hastily, thinking that was the last thing he wanted. If Gutner made his statement then everyone would learn about Jennifer Horton and until Horton knew just how deeply his mother was involved in whatever had happened to Brundall and Gilmore, he wanted to keep it quiet. He could report Gutner's conversation without mentioning the bit about Jennifer Horton. He knew he shouldn't and that he was withholding vital evidence from Uckfield, but the way he saw it he had no choice. He needed more information before he was ready to expose his traumatic childhood for all and sundry at the station.
'I'll send someone round later,' he said.
Gutner seemed satisfied with this. Then he frowned. 'But you will look into the Reverend Gilmore's death, won't you?'
'I most certainly will,' Horton reassured him.
'Good.' Gutner started to pump the organ. 'It's been nice meeting you.'
And you, thought Horton, glad to escape the gloomy atmosphere of the church, and pleased to see that his Harley was still outside and in one piece. He climbed on. It was time to find out more about Reverend Gilmore and he'd start by visiting the diocesan offices.
Eight
'I was just going to lunch,' the deputy diocesan secretary grumbled, waving Horton into a seat opposite his modern desk complete with a state-of-the-art computer. Horton had been surprised to find the Diocesan offices had
