‘How long did you speak to Palmer?’ Greenwood said.
‘Ten minutes, no more. I had to get back to the house, prepare for Sunday’s sermon, not that many turn up these days. Are you a religious man?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Not many are, but I think they’re missing something good in their lives. It’s not only about money and power, is it?’
‘I try to live a good life,’ Greenwood said. ‘Sometimes a few too many drinks, and maybe my language is a bit colourful. But I’m a police officer, and sometimes we see things we’d rather not. Shakes your faith, the inhumanity.’
‘Sin, the work of the devil.’
‘That’s not why I’m here, is it?’
‘No, I suppose it isn’t. You want to talk about Mr Palmer. You want to find out who killed that poor woman and to punish the person for their crime.’
‘My job is to find and arrest the person.’
‘What goes through the minds of people who do such things?’ the vicar said.
Jim Greenwood thought the man should get out and about a bit more. Naivety, a belief in the meek inheriting the earth, the good ensured of a place in heaven, was alright in the church, an admirable sentiment. But he knew that evil abounded in the most unlikely of places. It had even come to a small village by the sea.
‘That’s not my concern. And as to the woman’s punishment, that’s up to a judge and a jury to decide, not me.’
‘Mr Palmer told me about the dead woman. He spoke about his brother, but not as much as he did about her.’
‘I spoke to him the next day after the murder. Told him to leave well alone, but I don’t trust him. I’m convinced he’s going to do something.’
‘You spoke to him out of a feeling of goodness in your heart?’
‘I think you’re putting too fine a point to it, Vicar,’ Greenwood said. ‘I don’t want another dead body, and I don’t want to have to arrest the man. Quite frankly, he’s plain stupid.’
‘He spoke about the other two women at the funeral. He said he knew one, Bec Johnson.’
‘I’ve heard that name mentioned before.’
‘It was the other one he was more concerned about, the woman with the hat.’
‘We know who the woman is, but we can’t prove she committed the murder. Palmer, who hasn’t found out who she is yet, believed she was Liz Spalding’s rival for Stephen’s affections.’
‘A married woman, he believed.’
‘He was unable to give us much in the way of information, only that she wore a wedding ring.’
‘He questioned me about her. He didn’t know about the tattoo.’
‘What tattoo? It’s not been mentioned before.’
‘I shook the woman’s hand, offered a few words of consolation. She thanked me, made a few remarks about what a sad occasion it was, the usual stuff.’
‘The tattoo?’ Greenwood asked again.
‘On her right hand, just above the wrist on the inside, a small butterfly was tattooed there. Is it important?’
‘I’d say so, Vicar.’
Jim Greenwood knew what he had was dynamite. ‘Thank your wife for the tea and scones, they were delicious. I have to make a phone call.’
‘I can’t think of anything else. If I do, I’ll give you a call,’ the vicar said.
Greenwood walked around the house, opened the garden gate and moved over to near his car. He took out a cigarette and lit up. His phone, last year’s model, was in his inside jacket pocket. He took it out and made a call.
***
Armstrong considered his options. If he were intent on seizing Hamish’s criminal empire, it would mean the man’s daughter had to be out of the way.
So far, he had been honest with his boss, telling him what Wolfenden had said. He had even looked around the area, visiting the pub in question, checking out the alley where Palmer had accosted Wolfenden.
Armstrong knew that he did not have the innate street cunning of Hamish, nor the intellect of his daughter. But what he had was a lot of time in prison, contacts, people who owed him a favour, or would do anything if the money was right.
In the mansion, Samantha was nowhere to be seen. Hamish, freed from discussing business-related matters with his daughter, was back in the conservatory tending to his orchids.
‘I’ve got feelers out,’ Armstrong said. ‘I need to take off for a few days, check out a couple of addresses. The man doesn’t appear to be in London at this time.’
‘Four days, no more. I want to know where this man is. See if Wolfenden has been discreet. I don’t want my daughter open to ridicule and innuendo.’
‘Wolfenden?’
‘What does he know?’
‘He knows the reason Palmer’s asking questions. He knows your daughter.’
‘I gave my word that he was safe,’ Hamish said. ‘If the police talk to him?’
‘Who knows with people like him? Decent, honest, credit to his neighbourhood.’
‘Naive and stupid, you’re right, Gareth. If his freedom is on the line, he’ll talk. And once the police make the connection…’
‘There’s still no proof.’
‘It may be best to nip it in the bud. Are you up to it?’
Armstrong knew what McIntyre was intimating. He’d held up a few places in his time, threatened people with guns, but the man was suggesting murder. He wasn’t sure how to reply. He took a couple of minutes to think it over.
‘I’ll do it,’ Armstrong said. If he did this for Hamish, he knew that his position would be more
