Evil Intent (16 page)

She was young – just a girl, really – and with her spiked orange hair and nose ring, not at all what one might have expected to find in a church. Perhaps she was just the cleaner, then, Lilith concluded with
disappointment.
Churches probably had to take what they could get these days, like everyone else, even if they sported nose rings and green fingernails.

Changing direction, the girl spotted Lilith and switched off the hoover. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you. Can I help?’

Lilith had read, as had everyone, that Adimola’s body had been found by the church’s sacristan. She hadn’t even been sure what a sacristan was,
but had looked it up in the dictionary, and found that it was a ‘person in charge of a sacristy’. Scarcely more enlightened, she had looked further to discover that a sacristy was ‘the room in a church where sacred vestments and vessels are kept’. The sacristan had not been named; Lilith assumed it to be a man.

‘I was looking for the sacristan,’ she said.

‘That’s me.’ The woman shoved the hoover into the corner. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m Lilith Noone, and I was wondering if you’d possibly have a few minutes to join me for a coffee.’

The sacristan wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and shook the hand which Lilith extended. ‘Willow Tree,’ she introduced herself. ‘Please don’t laugh.’

‘It’s a lovely name,’ Lilith assured her.

The girl smiled, but warily. ‘Thanks. You wanted to see me about …?’

‘About the terrible thing that happened here the other night.’

Willow’s face clouded. ‘I’m not sure that I should. You’re not police, are you?’

‘Not police, no. Someone who is as concerned as you are that justice should be done.’ She smiled her most ingratiating smile, followed by her favourite ‘crusader for truth’ expression.

‘Well …’

‘I’m dying for a coffee, actually,’ Lilith added. ‘Is there a proper coffee shop round here?’

Willow succumbed to her charm. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I was just about to make one for myself. I suppose you could join me, if you’d like.’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘It won’t be very upmarket,’ Willow said, leading her out of the room and locking the door behind her. ‘No cappuccino or latte. In fact, it’s
pretty
foul. But it’s fair traded, at least.’ They went through to the church hall, which boasted a small kitchen, and Willow set about making the coffee. Lilith leaned against the counter, pondering her next step.

‘I was actually here the other night,’ Willow confided. ‘Serving coffee
before the meeting.’

‘The meeting?’

‘You know. The Deanery Clergy Chapter meeting. The…um,
murder
… happened after the meeting.’

‘And you were here.’ Lilith modulated her voice to conceal her
excitement.

‘Yes, though I left before the row. I didn’t hear about that till
afterwards.’

‘The row?’

Willow looked slightly abashed, as if she’d betrayed something. But she continued. ‘Father Jonah and Frances Cherry, apparently. She’s a hospital chaplain. It must have been quite a barney – she threw a glass of wine over him.’

Lilith’s fingers itched for her notebook.

‘That’s why he was in the vestry,’ Willow added. ‘He needed to get cleaned up.’

‘Any idea what this row was about?’ Lilith asked casually.

Willow shrugged. ‘The usual, I imagine. Women priests – he just
couldn’t
cope with the idea. I don’t get it, myself. What possible reason is there why women shouldn’t be priests?’

‘I can’t think of one,’ said Lilith, who had never given the subject so much as a passing thought.

She accepted a cup of coffee from Willow and sipped it. ‘Mmm. That’s just what I needed.’

‘Things are getting better in this deanery, though,’ Willow added
conversationally.
‘There’s a new woman curate at All Saints. She was here the other night, as well.’

‘Was she involved in the row, then?’

Willow shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. As I said, I didn’t actually see it.’

Feeling a bit bolder, Lilith said, ‘That room that you were hoovering just now. Was that …’

‘It was where I found him. Yes.’ Willow’s voice held a slight tremor. ‘The police have finished in there now. So I was cleaning it up. They made a frightful mess, with fingerprint powder and all of that. They took my
fingerprints,’
she added, looking at her green-nailed fingers as if there might be some residue remaining on them. Then her voice changed and she said briskly, ‘I don’t have to be at work till noon today, so I thought I’d pop in this morning and deal with it.’

‘Would you mind terribly if I had a look round there?’ Lilith asked.

Willow hesitated. ‘Well, you’ve been in there already,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t suppose it would do any harm for you to see it.’

‘I know this must be difficult for you, but if you could just show me where …’ she paused delicately.

‘All right, then.’ Willow checked her watch, finished her coffee, took Lilith’s empty mug, and washed up before leading the way back to the vestry.

‘Is the room usually locked, then?’ Lilith enquired as Willow fished the key out of her pocket.

‘Not usually. The sacristy is locked, because that’s where the silver is kept. But there’s mostly just vestments in the vestry.’ She shoved the door open and indicated the large chests along the wall, fitted with shallow
drawers.
‘The chasubles and other flat bits are in the drawers. The copes are hung on hangers in the wardrobe, along with albs and surplices and cottas. It’s part of my job as sacristan to keep everything tidy and in good
condition
and put away properly.’

Lilith scanned the room. Evidently Willow had just about finished cleaning up after the police; the tops of the chests were dust-free and all of the drawers were neatly shut. The only thing which seemed out of place was a long white garment draped over a chair in the corner. ‘What’s that?’ Lilith asked. ‘I’m so ignorant about these things. I don’t even know what it’s called.’

‘Oh, that’s a cassock alb.’ She picked it up and held it against her. ‘I just left it there because I don’t know who it belongs to. It’s certainly not Leo’s.’

‘Leo?’

‘Leo’s the rector. And he’s…well, he’s huge. This is tiny.’ Lilith saw that there was a small case on the chair which had been
hidden
by the garment. She went over to examine it, and discovered that it had a luggage label attached to the handle. ‘The Reverend Frances Cherry,’ she
read aloud. There was also an address, which she didn’t vocalise but
committed
to memory with a facility born of long practice.

‘Oh! She must have left it the other night,’ Willow said. ‘She was doing the service with Leo.’ She stopped suddenly and put her hand over her mouth.

She’d gone very pale, Lilith observed; her kohl-rimmed eyes were wide with shock. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

‘It’s just…oh, I’ve just realised.’ Willow took a deep breath as she dropped the white garment back on the chair. ‘He…Father Jonah. He was strangled with a stole. A blue and white stole. I didn’t think about it at the time – I was too … shaken up.’

‘Didn’t think about what?’ Lilith moved closer, put a hand on the girl’s arm.

‘It was
her
stole. Frances Cherry’s. I should have realised. I should have told the police.’

‘Never mind,’ said Lilith, her soothing voice masking her triumph. She wanted to shout; she wanted to crow. Instead she soothed. ‘Never mind, Willow. I’m sure the police have figured it out by now.’

Friday was Callie’s official day off. Her first week in the job had been so full of experiences that it seemed strange to her to have a whole day ahead of her with nothing in the diary. She spent the first part of the morning perusing the newspapers, then decided that she needed to distract herself by going out.

The shopping she’d done the day before had been a stop-gap measure. Now, she realised, was her chance to do a proper, planned shop. She checked the contents of fridge and cupboards and made a list. Callie liked being
organised;
a well-stocked kitchen would help her to feel more in charge of her life.

There was a mini supermarket in the neighbourhood which would have most things she needed, so she headed there first. She pushed her trolley up and down the aisles, trying to stick to her list and avoid impulse
purchases
– all of those things like biscuits and chocolate bars which the
supermarket
planners seemed determined to tempt her with at every turn.

She was in the bread department, trying to decide between a wholemeal loaf and a granary one, when she heard someone call her name.

Callie turned, a loaf in each hand, to face Adam.

‘Hi, Cal. Fancy meeting you here,’ he said, grinning at her.

‘Day off,’ she stated, as though she needed to explain why she should be in a supermarket on a week day. How inane she sounded, she berated herself as soon as she’d said it.

‘Me, too. How about that?’

‘Brian’s day off is Saturday,’ she heard herself saying. ‘So he suggested that I should take Fridays.’

‘What a great coincidence to run into you.’ Adam turned away from her and beckoned to a girl who was just coming round the end of the aisle, pushing a trolley. ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ he addressed the girl. ‘There’s someone here I want you to meet.’

Callie’s first thought was that she was very young; she looked scarcely out of her teens, though she must have been a bit older than that. She was also very blond. Her silver-gilt hair was fine and wispy, cut short in a sort of pixie style which added to the impression of extreme youth. And she was thin, with that model-like adolescent scrawniness so much coveted by the young – long legs, narrow hips, and scarcely any chest at all. She wore a pale blue shift dress, the exact colour of her eyes, and a lacy cardigan. Looking at her, Callie felt old, frumpy and overweight. She wished she’d put on make-up; she wished she hadn’t worn her oldest and most comfortable pair of jeans.

Adam draped an arm round the girl’s shoulders and smiled down into her face. ‘Darling, this is Callie Anson. My friend from theological college.’ He raised his head, meeting Callie’s eyes. ‘And this, you’ve probably guessed, is Pippa. Pippa Fairchild. My fiancée.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Pippa with a seemingly genuine smile,
putting
her hand out. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Callie was still holding the bread. Feeling foolish and clumsy, she put it down and took the thin, cool hand which Pippa offered. ‘Good to meet you,’ she murmured.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ Adam said heartily. ‘Listen, Cal. Do you have plans for lunch?’

‘No.’ The word was out before she’d had time to think.

‘Great! You can come to my place, then. You can see my new flat. And the two of you can really get to know each other.’

She collected herself, realising it was probably too late to escape, but needing to try. ‘My shopping,’ she protested. ‘I have to finish. And I have to take it all home and get it put away.’

‘That’s all right,’ Adam assured her, looking at his watch. ‘We’re not quite finished, either. Shall we say three-quarters of an hour? Half-past one?’

‘All right,’ Callie capitulated.

‘You know where it is? Just across from Christ Church, on the corner. Number 63. The ground-floor flat.’ With a wave, he and Pippa disappeared round the end of the aisle.

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Callie muttered to herself. How could she have been caught off guard like that? She grabbed a granary loaf and tossed it in the trolley, then went straight to the till.

Fifteen minutes later she was home, shoving her perishables into the fridge. This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her afternoon off – not at all. She’d thought she would organise the fridge, rearrange the cupboards, get everything in order. She’d thought she would make herself a sandwich, listen to
The Archers,
go for a walk in the park, maybe even read a novel. Later she would prepare a nice meal for herself, ring Frances and have a long, luxurious soak in that wonderful Victorian claw-foot bath.

But now …

There was just about time to take a quick shower. ‘Damn,’ she repeated again as a jet of cold water caught her unprepared.

Rummaging in her chest of drawers, she found a colourful jumper, which she pulled on over a clean pair of khaki trousers. Why was she
bothering?
she asked herself, even as she applied lipstick and blusher. Why was she doing this for Adam, when he had Pippa? And besides, she had begun to stop loving him.

At least she thought she had.

Lilith Noone went straight from St John’s Church to the address she’d memorised, which turned out to be a vicarage in Notting Hill. She took a
taxi: after all, it was a business expense. The boss didn’t like them to avail themselves of taxis on a regular basis, but Lilith told herself that in this case, time was of the essence. If she didn’t get to Frances Cherry soon, someone else was bound to do so.

She rang the bell, waited a moment before ringing it again, and had just about given up when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

The man who opened the door blinked at her in the sunlight, as if he were emerging from some dark cave. He wore a clerical collar and had
spectacles
and a tidy beard. ‘Yes?’ he said.

Lilith made a guess. ‘Are you Reverend Cherry?’

‘That’s right. Can I help you with something?’

‘I was wanting a word with your wife,’ Lilith said. ‘Frances Cherry.’

Now he was looking at her with sudden suspicion. ‘You’re not from the police, are you? She’s already talked to the police. Twice. And if you’re from the press, she has nothing to say to you. And neither do I.’

‘Just a moment, Reverend Cherry.’ She spoke quickly, before he had a chance to shut the door in her face. ‘I’m here because the press has got hold of the story about your wife’s altercation with Jonah Adimola.’

He looked stricken, and his exclamation was involuntary. ‘Oh, no!’