‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘If they get wind of the fact that anyone’s goin’ to be in their flats they’ll all have a massive tidy-up, and we don’t want that, do we? If they’ve become slap-happy since the police looked around, then we want them to stay that way. One of them might have got careless.’
‘Hmm,’ Kate said. Then, after a minute, ‘All right, I’ll do it. Leave the keys for me somewhere when you leave in the morning and make sure they all have a sticker or something on them indicating which flat they’re for. I don’t want to be jingling keys around, trying various ones in the doors, when David Courtney could be around.’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘In the residents’ lounge there’s a little table in front of the window with a drawer in the top. I’ll leave the keys in there and the outside door will be open.’
Twenty-Eight
With every passing hour Kate was regretting more and more her decision to snoop. Five flats full of drawers, cupboards and goodness-knows-what. How thorough could she be?
In the evening Stan phoned. ‘We’re all set for the outin’ tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ve even been able to persuade bloody Cornelius to come as well.’
‘What about David Courtney?’ Kate asked. ‘Do you think he’s likely to show up?’
‘Well, he’s back in Exeter most of the time although I think the cops are keepin’ an eye on him. He’s very unlikely to be puttin’ in an appearance but I’ve had a good nosey round Edina’s flat anyway, so you just concentrate on Cornelius’s, Edgar’s and the ones downstairs.’
‘And what about the policeman who’s normally on duty at the gate?’
‘Oh, he comes and goes. Now I come to think of it, he’s not normally there on a Thursday. They’ve a weekly meetin’ at the station or somethin’.’
Five flats, Kate thought. Spend an hour and a bit in each; start at ten, finish at four, allow an hour after they leave and before they come back…
She was feeling increasingly nervous about this whole thing, aware that she was stepping into very dangerous territory here. She’d be very glad when it was all over.
On Thursday morning, having ensured the policeman was not on duty, Kate found the keys in the drawer and made her way nervously upstairs, brandishing a duster and a mop. She closed Edgar’s door quietly behind her.
The place was a lot tidier than it had been on her first visit, but where to start? There was a bureau in front of the window which was probably as good a place as any. In the first drawer she found a collection of what appeared to be old sermons, along with a couple of Bibles and hymn books. There was a drawer of photographs, all higgledy-piggledy: Edgar with presumably his wife at some sort of official function. She appeared satin-clad, with a corrugated-iron-type perm and didn’t look at all pleased at being there. There were dozens of photos, all featuring the same lady. He should put them in an album, she thought, then remembered her own random snaps lying around in boxes and drawers. Funny how you never got round to putting the things in order.
Another drawer full of more sermons, hymn sheets, letters from grateful parishioners: ‘Dear Reverend, Thank you so much for the beautiful service you conducted for my husband last Tuesday…’; ‘Dear Rev., Thanks for doing my daughter Kaitlin’s wedding last Saturday. It was lovely…’
Notepaper, envelopes, paperclips, elastic bands – the Reverend had the lot.
Kate made her way to the kitchen. A recipe book lay on the table top, Cooking for One. Poor Edgar. There was also the usual quota of cutlery and crockery, nothing sinister there. Edgar appeared to have a penchant for spaghetti hoops in tomato sauce, these outnumbering baked beans by two to one. He was keen on tinned sardines too. And tinned custard, rice, prunes. The fridge was no more exciting: two Fernfield Farm meals – one cottage pie, one shepherd’s pie – both intact, no pinpricks. He liked cheese, bacon and sausages. The bedroom was next. Edgar did not appear to have many clothes; those he owned were well worn: jackets patched at the elbows, shirts with frayed cuffs, scuffed shoes. Were vicars paid so badly? How come he could afford to live here? And then she recalled that he’d told her that his wife had bought the flat.
A drawer full of vests and Y-fronts, another full of dog-collars, socks (mainly black), a few cufflinks. Few personal possessions compared to most people she knew.
Kate took a deep breath. This whole exercise was ridiculous! No one in their right mind would leave any evidence lying around after five weeks. Rubbish would have been collected at least twice and, according to Woody, that would have been searched anyway. So, where else would someone hide a phone and a syringe?
Kate closed Edgar’s door quietly behind her and headed across to Cornelius’s flat. She had, of course, already been in this creepy abode once before, and was not relishing the prospect of visiting again.
As before, the heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, dimming the interior. She pulled them open, reminding herself to close them again when she left. The effect was instantly brighter but scarcely more cheerful; the posters on the walls looked more lurid than ever and the clutter more apparent. There was a shelf housing hundreds of DVDs which she’d not noticed before. No surprises there; they were practically all horror films. And another shelf with all his books. She hadn’t realised he’d written so many. What a disturbing world this man existed in!
Kate hadn’t noticed the metal filing cabinet before either. It was next to the table where the laptop and the anglepoise lamp were. Inside were files packed with correspondence (mainly with his publisher), insurance documents, brochures, computer supplies and all the normal paraphernalia of everyday living. Only one piece of paper, with very little
