'The constable says there's been a fire in the vestry and I can't go in to practise the organ,' Gutner said, puzzled.
'Not at the moment. It's a crime scene,' Horton answered.
Gutner looked surprised and then triumphant. 'I told you there was something funny about Reverend Gilmore's death, didn't I?'
'It's not-'
'What's wrong with your voice, Inspector? You got a sore throat? And what have you done to your hands?'
Horton could see the thoughts running through the old man's mind. Gutner was definitely not senile, as Yelford, the Diocese administrator, had implied.
They were getting drenched and they'd all end up with sore throats if they stood out here for much longer.
'Let's get out of this rain.'
He steered Gutner to the church door and stepped inside.
'Blimey, looks like you've got Fratton Park lights on loan.' Gutner blinked, dazzled by the unaccustomed brightness of the usually gloomy interior.
Horton smiled at the reference to the football club. Ahead, around the altar, he could see a couple of scene of crime officers. He gestured Gutner to take a pew and the elderly man removed his cap and sat down awkwardly. Horton slid in beside him whilst Cantelli slipped into the pew in front and swivelled round to face them.
Horton introduced Cantelli and then said, 'I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, Mr Gutner. The Reverend Anne Schofield was attacked and killed last night.'
Gutner made to smile as though Horton was telling him a joke, then the truth of what Horton had said dawned on the old man. His skin paled and his eyes widened with surprise. 'You're serious?'
Horton remained silent as Gutner looked from him to Cantelli and back to Horton.
'But who…? Why…? Bloody hell!' breathed Gutner.
'Did you see Anne Schofield yesterday?'
'Yes. I came over in the afternoon to practise for the carol service tomorrow. We ran through the order of the service together. And now you say she's dead too. I can't believe it. What's going to happen about the carol service? Will it still be on?'
'No. I'm sorry. You'd better check the arrangements with the Dean. How did she seem? Was she worried or preoccupied by anything?'
'No. She was fine.' Gutner ran a hand over his eyes as though wishing to blot out the thoughts that were running through his mind.
'What time was this?' Horton asked gently.
'About four o'clock. We stayed chatting until just after six when I went home for my tea. I can't believe this.'
Horton had received Anne's call at seven fifteen, and he'd arrived at the church at seven thirty-two and by then she was dead. So what had Anne Schofield done between six o'clock and seven fifteen? If she'd been praying then it hadn't done the poor woman much good. More to the point though: who had she been talking to? And he didn't mean God.
Gutner was saying, 'First the Reverend Gilmore and now her. Has someone got it in for us? I bet it has something to do with that man who came to see Reverend Gilmore, the one who mentioned-'
'Did you see or hear anyone else in the church or outside?' Horton swiftly cut him off and avoided looking at Cantelli.
But Gutner was shaking his head. 'Not a soul.'
'Was anyone parked outside when you left?'
'No.'
Cantelli said, 'Did you see any cars that aren't normally around this area?'
'No.' Gutner eyed each of them in turn. His wrinkled face was solemn and his eyes were full of sadness. 'You think someone killed her like they killed the Reverend Gilmore, don't you?' His gaze rested on Horton and then fell to Horton's bandaged hands. 'You were here? They tried to kill you too?' he said in a flat tone.
Horton knew he was dealing with no fool. Would Gutner suddenly blurt out, 'This has something to do with Jennifer Horton'? Horton held his breath as he asked, 'Did the Reverend Gilmore ever speak to you about his past?'
Gutner eyed him keenly, then after a moment he gave a slight nod of his head and said, 'OK. I understand. No, the Reverend never spoke of the past. Too painful I guess.'
Horton breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 'Have you ever been inside the vicarage?'
'Of course I have!' Gutner exclaimed, eyeing Horton as if he'd suddenly gone mad.
'You've seen the air-raid shelter then.'
'Yes.' Despite his distress Gutner chuckled.
'What's so funny?' Horton asked, with that prickling sensation that he was about to discover something useful.
'The vicar couldn't bear to look inside it, but I told him there wasn't any bogeyman there. Me, Jimmy Tomas and his sisters used to muck about in it when we were kids. Of course, the house wasn't a vicarage then. It was an old ruin. We had a lot of fun in that old air-raid shelter.'
Horton caught Cantelli's glance and said, 'When was this?'
'You're asking something now! Let me think. It must be near on sixty years ago. The late 1940s.'
If their victim had been killed in the war, was it possible that Gutner and his young friends failed to see the human remains whilst larking around?
Horton asked, 'Have you been in it since?'
'I don't think… hold on a mo, yes. It wasn't long after the vicar arrived. I called on him and after we had a chat, he asked me what was in the shelter. I said nothing, but he asked me to take a look. He didn't like closed-in spaces.'
'And?'
'Same as it always was, full of dust, dirt and spiders, though it brought back some memories.' Gutner gave a grotesque wink which made Horton think of those sisters of Jimmy Tomas.
'Why do you want to know?'
Horton rose and stretched out his hand. 'You've been very helpful, Mr Gutner.'
Gutner took it, eyeing him sceptically.
'We'll run you home,' Horton said. 'It's a nasty day to be out in.'
'No. Thanks, Inspector, but I need a walk.' At the door Gutner pushed his cap down on his white hair. 'You will get whoever is doing these dreadful things, won't you?'
Horton nodded.
'Good. Go careful, Inspector, and good luck.'
'Nice old man,' Cantelli said, starting up the car and pulling away from the church. Horton flashed him a look, but saw nothing in the sergeant's expression that betrayed his curiosity about that last remark of Gutner's. The old man would have made a good police officer; he seemed bright, observant and curious to Horton. But he was also small. Too small in his day to be allowed into the police service when there were height restrictions. What a waste.
He said, 'I still think the skeleton is connected with Gilmore.'
'Those bones were well tucked away; maybe Gutner and his friends failed to spot them when they were larking around in there, and Gutner probably only stuck his head round the door when the vicar asked him to.'
Horton grunted an acknowledgement, then said, 'Gutner's sharp, though. We'll take 1995 as a starting point until SOCO or Dr Clayton tells us otherwise.'
'Can you really see Rowland Gilmore killing someone?'
Horton thought about it. 'No, I can't, though we don't really know him. Maybe Brundall killed this person and hid him in the air-raid shelter. Perhaps Rowland Gilmore didn't even know the body was there. Mr Gutner said the vicar didn't like closed-in spaces.'
'That could be a lie.'
