Appointed to Die (32 page)

‘I have been to see my husband,' she began in her clipped voice. ‘It is his wish that you should represent him. He has been advised by the Bishop on this matter.'

‘And you don't agree?' he blurted out without thinking, and immediately regretted his rashness; although he didn't really want the case, he found to his surprise that he was disappointed at the prospect of losing it.

She shot him a look which might have been interpreted as congratulation on his perspicacity, or censure at his presumption. ‘Not really,' she allowed. ‘I told him that my father would be able to find someone suitable. Someone from London, with a national reputation in criminal law.' David said nothing; Anne Latimer appraised him for a moment before going on. ‘The Bishop seems to feel that your inside knowledge of Malbury Cathedral and the inhabitants of the Close give you a real advantage in this matter. My husband agrees with him. I have spoken to my father, and he is willing to concede the point. So I am asking you, now, if you would be willing to undertake my husband's defence.'

Did
he really want it? ‘Very well,' David heard himself saying.

‘There is one condition.' Anne Latimer took a sip of sherry, regarding him over the rim of her glass. ‘When the case comes to trial, my father would like to choose counsel. He has someone in mind already, I believe – an eminent QC.'

Though stung by her evident distrust of him, David smiled. ‘Of course. Though if I do my job properly, perhaps it won't come to that.'

She looked at him with something approaching pity, and her voice dripped chill scorn. ‘Don't be ridiculous. Of course it will come to trial.'

Hurt, once again he found himself opening his mouth without thinking. ‘Does that mean that you think he's guilty?'

‘What I think doesn't matter.' Dispassionately, Anne Latimer inspected a pale pink fingernail. ‘What does matter is that I will stand by Stuart. And that you will do your best to get him off.'

Later that evening, while David was at the police station with his new client, there was an unexpected visitor at the Bishop's House. Pat ushered Inspector Mike Drewitt into the kitchen as he explained, ‘I've been taken off this case because of my connection with the cathedral. But Bishop George asked me to keep him up to date, on an informal basis, about what is happening, and I thought you'd like to know what we've found so far.'

‘It's very kind of you to come,' said Pat. ‘Would you like a drink? Coffee? Something stronger?'

‘Whatever you're having.' The Inspector greeted John Kingsley and the Bishop, and gave a special smile to Lucy. They were sitting around the kitchen table with mugs of coffee; Pat poured one for the Inspector.

‘So what do you have to tell me?' Bishop Willoughby asked. ‘We haven't been given any information – only that it was poison.'

Mike Drewitt pulled up a chair and joined them. ‘This is strictly off the record, you understand,' he began. ‘But the poison was administered in that Turkish Delight. Or should I say
on
it – it was sprinkled on top like icing sugar. That's why the Dean wasn't affected – he didn't eat any of the Turkish Delight.'

They received the information in silence, too stunned to react. Lucy spoke at last. ‘What sort of poison was it? Do they know where it came from?'

Drewitt nodded. ‘It was a fairly common mouse poison. An empty – or nearly empty – container has been found.'

Pat was almost afraid to ask. ‘Where was it found?'

He hesitated for just a moment before replying, ‘In Evelyn Marsden's garden shed. She claims to know nothing about it, of course, though she admitted that it was hers. And anyone in the Close might have had access to it, including the Dean, who lives next door. Neither the gate into her garden from the Close nor the shed is kept locked, and the poison had been there for quite some time.'

‘Arthur Brydges-ffrench lived next door, too – on the other side,' Pat pointed out. ‘Could he have taken the poison himself, before he went to the Deanery?'

‘No, it was definitely administered in the Turkish Delight,' the policeman explained. ‘And he was there for several hours before he was taken ill – even if he'd taken it himself, beforehand, it would have acted more quickly than that. No, when I said that anyone might have had access to the poison, I wasn't thinking of the victim.'

‘Does that mean . . . there are other suspects?' Lucy queried.

Drewitt stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Not at the moment. Let's just say that it is considered that there is sufficient evidence to charge the Dean.'

‘He's going to be charged, then?' put in the Bishop. ‘With murder?'

It was the first time the word had been uttered. ‘Yes. He'll be charged tonight. In the morning they'll take him to Shrewsbury magistrates' court to be remanded. And bail won't be granted. Not on a murder charge.'

John Kingsley sighed, ‘How dreadful.'

‘But thank you for telling us, Mike,' the Bishop said. ‘We really appreciate being kept informed.'

‘Yes,' his wife added. ‘Feel free to drop in any time that you have some news.'

The policeman looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Not at all. But if anyone asks, you didn't hear anything from me.'

‘He swears he didn't do it.' It was hours later, and David and Lucy were alone at last in the guest room, but David was far too keyed up to sleep. He moved to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked out at the cathedral, a dark shape against the faintly moonlit night.

Lucy came to stand beside him. ‘How is he?'

Abstractedly he put an arm around her shoulders. ‘About what you would expect of the Dean. Peevish, ungracious, even rude. Underneath it all, frightened witless, of course. But he swears he didn't do it.'

‘And you believe him?'

‘I'm inclined to, in spite of everything. But the interesting thing is – I get the distinct feeling that his wife's not at all sure that he's innocent.'

‘Hm.'

‘But if he didn't do it,' David thought aloud, ‘then who did? And why? I mean, he was such an inoffensive old man. The Dean was the only one with a very good reason for wanting him dead. Let's be realistic – the Dean was a far more likely candidate for murder than poor old Canon Brydges-ffrench.'

Lucy turned to him, struck with a new idea. ‘Is it possible that it wasn't meant for him at all? That someone was trying to murder the Dean, and killed the Canon by mistake?'

He considered the possibility. ‘Then why,' he said at last, ‘poison the Turkish Delight? Everyone, apparently, knew that Canon Brydges-ffrench was the only person in Malbury to eat crème de menthe Turkish Delight.'

‘You're right,' she admitted, deflated. ‘It was the one way to be sure of killing him, and no one else. It's quite clear that he was the intended victim. But who could have done it?'

‘There are a quite a few things that I'd like to know,' David stated. ‘Starting with who has bought crème de menthe Turkish Delight recently.'

‘The Cathedral Shop is the only place in Malbury that stocks it, so that should be quite easy to find out.'

‘You're brilliant, my love!' David tightened his arm around her shoulders. ‘Then that's where I'll begin tomorrow, after I get back from the magistrates' court. And after that perhaps I'll have a little chat with Evelyn Marsden. Find out what she knows about the mouse poison in her garden shed.'

‘And I'll ring Todd. He knows something about Evelyn Marsden that he hasn't told me – and it might be important.' Gazing down into the cloister, Lucy shivered slightly.

‘Are you cold?' he asked, concerned.

‘A bit,' Lucy admitted. ‘And . . . well, I just remembered something that Jeremy told me. The cloister is supposed to be haunted, by Brother Thomas's ghost.' David frowned and was about to say something; she forestalled him quickly. ‘But let's not stand here all night talking about it, David darling. Come to bed.'

His frown relaxed into a smile. ‘If you think you're making me an offer I can't refuse,' he murmured into her ear, drawing the curtain, ‘you just may be right.'

CHAPTER 32

    
I have watched, and am even as it were a sparrow: that sitteth alone upon the house-top.

Psalm 102.7

Stuart Latimer's appearance before the Shrewsbury magistrates was a formality, lasting but a few minutes. He affirmed that he was The Very Reverend Stuart Latimer, of the Deanery, the Cathedral Close, Malbury, Shropshire, and when informed that he had been charged with the murder, on 19 November, of the Reverend Arthur Brydges-ffrench, he stated his innocence in a firm voice. Nevertheless bail was denied and he was remanded in custody, to await committal for trial.

Naturally enough, the case had garnered a great deal of national notice; after all, Stuart Latimer was a prominent churchman with, if not national fame, at least a position sufficiently exalted to attract attention when associated with such a grievous crime as murder. So David, when he came out of the courtroom, had to run the gauntlet of bristling microphones. He made a brief statement, which managed to say very little but which would appear on the evening news in any case, and made his escape back to Malbury.

Lucy and Pat were waiting for him in the kitchen of the Bishop's House. Pat made him coffee while he told them about the morning's events. ‘I'm very much afraid that it will be in all the papers, and on the telly. The press love this sort of thing, and you must admit that it's fairly out of the ordinary for a cathedral Dean to be charged with murder. There were dozens of cameras – it was just a good thing that I'd prepared something to say.'

Lucy's face shone with pride. ‘You mean that you're going to be a television star?'

‘My few seconds of glory,' he admitted with a self-deprecating smile.

‘That's all very well, but what do you do now?' asked Pat, practical as ever. ‘Lucy's been telling me about that other business that you were involved with earlier in the year – how the two of you managed to uncover enough evidence so that the case never made it to the committal stage. Is that what you have in mind doing here? A bit of independent investigation?'

‘Well, I suppose I was thinking of something like that,' he admitted. ‘As you said yesterday, if Stuart Latimer didn't poison Arthur Brydges-ffrench, then someone else in the Close did. Perhaps I can talk to a few people and see what I can find out. If you don't think it would be overstepping propriety?'

‘I think it sounds like a very good idea,' Pat assured him. ‘You've already met everyone in the Close, and you'll be able to talk to people without arousing too much suspicion. Where will you start?'

‘I thought I'd start at the Cathedral Shop – find out who has bought crème de menthe Turkish Delight recently.'

‘I've already done that for you,' said Lucy with a smile. ‘I went this morning while you were in Shrewsbury, and had a word with Victoria and Albert.'

‘And what did they say?' He turned to her eagerly.

She shook her head. ‘They were very cut up about Arthur Brydges-ffrench – they had a real soft spot for him. And Victor was feeling particularly distressed because he'd parted from him on a rather bad note on Monday, before it happened.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, apparently the Dean had just told them that morning – Victoria and Albert, I mean – that he didn't intend to renew their lease for the shop. And when Canon Brydges-ffrench came in later, Victor more or less went for him, accused him of being in league with the Dean. He said that Canon Brydges-ffrench was quite upset, and now he feels very badly about it.'

‘That's very interesting,' David said. ‘Especially the fact that the Dean had alienated them just that morning. But I'm not sure that it actually has any bearing. What about the Turkish Delight? Did they remember who had bought it recently?'

Lucy smiled. ‘You don't know Victoria and Albert very well if you can even ask a question like that. Of course they remembered.' Echoing Victor, she ticked them off on her fingers. ‘Evelyn Marsden on Saturday morning. Rowena and Jeremy each bought a box on Saturday afternoon. On Monday morning the Dean bought his box, and Canon Brydges-ffrench came in to replenish his supply a bit later. That, Victor said, was their last box. They're still waiting for a new delivery.'

‘Though of course they won't need it now,' Pat put in pragmatically.

‘No, of course not. Victor had tears in his eyes when I pointed that out to him.'

David drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. ‘But do you realise what this means? Assuming the police are correct and the poison was administered on the Turkish Delight, it practically had to be one of those people who poisoned him!'

‘I don't think that really follows.' Lucy frowned thoughtfully. ‘I mean, even if someone else had some Turkish Delight which they'd poisoned with the mouse poison from Miss Marsden's garden shed, how could they have administered it? Are you suggesting that someone broke into the Deanery, or entered by some more straightforward means, and swapped their doctored box with the box the Dean had bought?'

David rubbed his forehead. ‘I'm not really suggesting anything so concrete as that. It sounds far-fetched when you put it like that, though it's a possibility, I suppose. But I just have a feeling that if I could figure out how it was done, I would know who had done it. And it must have been one of them. Or,' he added, struck by a sudden thought, ‘it might have been Victoria and Albert. We have only their word that they sold all the Turkish Delight – they may have kept a box for themselves, for just such a purpose.'

‘Surely you couldn't think that Victoria and Albert would have poisoned Canon Brydges-ffrench!' Lucy protested.