Kith and Kill (7 page)

Chapter 14

Amos asked Luke Wilson if he could make a call to his sister Ruth’s school to warn her that it would be the next port of call. It was approaching lunchtime and Amos reckoned that this was the best chance to catch her without upsetting the school timetable. She would also be less distracted.

“I can save you the trouble,” Luke said cheerfully. “As it happens, I rang the school first thing this morning and they told me she was taking today off as compassionate leave. I don’t think they were best pleased after she’d had yesterday off for the funeral.

“Nor was I, as a matter of fact. I’m pitching for the school accounts and was hoping she would get me in.”

Amos refrained from saying that Ruth’s absence from duty suited him rather better than it did the school or Luke. There would be no intrusion, no distractions.

The inspector did not bother to ring Ruth at home from Luke’s office. He preferred to arrive unannounced if possible, though it was highly unlikely that Luke would resist the temptation to alert his sister while the detectives were en route.

Ruth looked distinctly unwelcoming as they pulled up to the house.

“This is beginning to look like harassment,” she said coldly, keeping them on the doorstep. “You talked to my kids last night behind my back, then you send a constable round to grill them this morning and now you show up again. Is this really necessary? Or are you just trying to justify your preposterous theory that Matthew was poisoned?”

Amos realised he had blundered. He had been so keen to harness the youthful enthusiasm of Detective Constable Susan Smith that he had completely overlooked the duplication.

“I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid it is necessary, Mrs … er … er …”

Amos stumbled. Four children were still called Wilson and one more, Esther, had been negotiated smoothly with Amos retaining the upper hand. He had been too busy working out whether there would be any further overlap with Smith to think the sentence through fully.

“Denton,” Ruth supplied the surname. Coldness had given way to frostiness.

“Mrs Denton,” Swift came to the rescue. “Detective Constable Smith is talking to the younger generation of the family. We thought they would feel more comfortable talking to someone nearer their own age.

“We do understand how distressing this is but we have to treat your brother Matthew’s death as suspicious and we must investigate it thoroughly. If we talk to you today, at least that keeps it away from your school and that has to be better for all concerned.”

Ruth Denton weighed up whether this was a genuine concern or a piece of moral blackmail. Unable to decide, she reluctantly allowed the two detectives into her home.

When they were settled, Amos attempted to get back to details.

“How did Matthew seem at the funeral?” he asked.

“Full of his own self-importance, as usual, but I suppose you know that already.”

“He made the arrangements, I gather.”

“Yes, but at least Mary dug her heels in for once and made him have a service at the Chapel. It was the least he could do for her. She had stayed at home and looked after Mum and Dad while we went off doing our own thing. Poor Mary.”

“Why do you say that?”

Ruth was gazing into the distance, not paying attention to this diversion from the death of her brother.

“She picked up all the pieces and now she’s left with nothing. Life can be so unfair.”

“Nothing?” Amos asked in surprise.

Ruth suddenly came back to the here and now.

“What’s this got to do with Matthew’s death?” she demanded. “Matthew was fine, right to the end when he got a bit wobbly. It was nothing much.”

“Did you see how much he drank? Could someone have spiked his drink?”

Ruth thought for a few moments.

“He had a drink. A pint, I think. Or was it wine? Yes, I’m sure I saw him with a glass of white wine. Or was that Mark? No, Mark always drinks scotch. It must have been Matthew. I don’t know how many drinks he had but he wasn’t drunk if that’s what you’re implying.

“And no,” she went on forcefully, “no-one could have spiked his drink. There was no-one there apart from family.”

Ruth was starting to look very upset. Grief seemed to have divorced her from the possibility that a family member could have been responsible for Matthew’s demise.

Amos judged that it was worth pushing his luck while she was not thinking straight.

“Luke tells me that he and Agnes discussed your father’s will with Matthew. Did you hear any of that? Did he talk to you about the will?”

“The will?” Ruth replied sharply. “That’s news to me. And no, I didn’t bother asking about it. It was neither the time nor the place. In any case, Matthew would not have talked about it without all the brothers and sisters being present. I’m absolutely certain of that.”

“Did you see what Matthew ate?”

“No, I can’t remember. I just had a couple of sandwiches because I was starving. And before you ask, I just had an orange juice because I was driving.”

“Was your husband at the funeral?”

“No, he was working abroad. He didn’t get back until back last night. He’s a geologist working in oil exploration so he has to be away a lot. We didn’t see the need for him to come back for the funeral. He didn’t see much of Dad when he was alive so there seemed no point in him being there when he was dead.”

Chapter 15

“Let’s have a coffee and an iced bun,” Amos said as they got back to the car. “I noticed there was a coffee morning on at the Methodist church round the corner. If we hurry we might just make it before they shut up shop. I assume it is the church that the Wilsons attended for various lengths of their mortal lives.”

The coffee morning was indeed coming to an end but half a dozen people were lingering and a couple of cups of coffee and iced cupcakes were readily extracted for the latecomers. Amos paid £1.40 and looked around. There was only one man present with a dog collar. The inspector took him tactfully to one side.

The Rev John Newbiggin had lasted longer than most Methodist ministers. Amos was well aware that the initial stay at any one church was three years.

The congregation could request that a popular incumbent should remain for a further three-year term and, in exceptional circumstances, for one more year after that but seven was the maximum. The egalitarian Methodist church wanted to ensure that everyone got a fair share of the rough and the smooth.

Newbiggin was into his seventh and final year but, even so, to ask about the Wilson children as attendees of the church in their younger days meant finding an older member of the congregation to talk to Amos and Swift.

In response to Amos’s request, Newbiggin obligingly lined up Maud Sparey, a sprightly octogenarian who had retained all her marbles.

“I take it you’ve attended this church for many years, Mrs Sparey,” Amos said pleasantly.

“Call me Maudie,” the woman said cheerily. “Everyone else does, don’t they John?”

Amos would not have dreamt of doing so unbidden. Older people, in his experience, usually hated the newfound presumptuous familiarity preferred by younger people.

However, the minister concurred. “She’s a treasure,” he added.

“Tell me, Maudie,” Amos butted in before Newbiggin had chance to launch into a eulogy about his star worshipper, “did all Mr and Mrs Wilson’s six children attend this church?”

“They did indeed,” Maud Sparey said, beaming with memory. “Such lovely children. They all came to Sunday school when they were little and then to morning service when they got into their teens. “Joseph and Judith – that’s Mr and Mrs Wilson, the parents – took a real pride in them as well they might. The youngsters were a real credit to them.

“Not that they were always little angels,” she lurched on in full flood. Amos decided not to interrupt. You never knew what might come out inadvertently and it all helped to build up a picture.

“But that’s only natural,” Maud continued. “None of us are perfect. They got up to mischief like all children do but there was never anything malicious. Except Mary. I don’t mean she was malicious. Quite the opposite. She was the one who never got into trouble and always owned up for what the others had done, which was never anything much anyway.

“No, they were little darlings really. It’s a pity they had to grow up.”

Maud went all dreamy-eyed at this vision of a lost golden age.

“Why do you say that, Maudie?” Amos prompted her.

“You know how it is,” she went on reluctantly. “One by one they all went off to university and drifted away. All except Mary,” she added, regaining the enthusiasm that had been lost to nostalgia. “Mary never left us. She’s stayed with us to this day.”

“Is she still a regular attender?” Amos addressed this question to Newbiggin.

“Yes indeed,” he replied with gusto. “She is one of our most faithful members. She brought her parents every week until Mrs Wilson died, and then just her father. They didn’t live far away, which is just as well because Mary never learnt to drive.

“She had to support her father towards the end. He was getting very frail. I don’t think he ever got over Judith’s death.”

“We all assumed he would go first,” Maud said. “It was a real shock when it was Judith. I said to Joseph, when I told people that she had died several of them said ‘Don’t you mean Mr Wilson?’

“I told him he’d have to go into a home but Mary didn’t like it. ‘Over my dead body,’ she said.”

Maud chuckled at the recollection.

“Mary was an example to us all,” Newbiggin said, taking the opportunity of cutting Maud off from what he judged was an irrelevant rehashing of history. “I can’t speak for the other children because I don’t really know them.

“Ruth did come with her parents and Mary at Christmas. We always put on a rollicking good carol service and some of her pupils form a choir for it – she’s a teacher, you know. Ruth and the other sister – what was she called?”

Here he turned to Maud for guidance and she supplied Esther’s name.

“They came once or twice but by the time I arrived here they had both got married. Time moves on,” he ended with a sigh.

“Did any of the three sons ever come?” Swift asked.

Maud shook her head sadly.

“I’ve not seen them here in years,” she said. “Not except for their parents’ funerals. They get married and are so busy with their families they don’t have time for God, but God never forsakes them.”

Swift suppressed a desire to ask if God had perhaps finally forsaken Matthew.

Maud turned to Newbiggin and said: “I don’t suppose you know them, John, do you?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them except for actually at the funeral services. Mary made the arrangements with me for both funerals.”

“You conducted the service for Mr Wilson here, I take it?” Swift said. “And at the cemetery?”

“Here, yes. The cemetery, no. Mary said that only the family were going to the graveside. Between us, I think there was a bit of disagreement over the funeral, and the arrangements were a compromise.

“I accepted their decision. I tried to talk Mary into letting me come to the grave but I could see that it was distressing her so I didn’t press the matter. At least I’d got to know Joseph well over the past seven years so I was able to pay the fulsome tribute that he deserved without any input from the rest of the family.”

“So you wouldn’t be at the wake either?” Swift concluded with obvious disappointment.

“No. I didn’t even know there had been one.”

“It’s Mary I feel sorry for,” Maud took up her theme. “She’s lost her parents and now a brother in the space of two years. She did so much for the chapel – arranging the flowers, seeing the place was kept clean, helping to organise the bring and buy sales. But I saw her yesterday and she seems stronger than ever in her faith. God moves in mysterious ways.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed with all religions,” Amos commented, “the women do all the work and the men have all the authority.”

It was a tactless and inconsiderate remark to two people who had willingly helped.

“I think you’ll find that we Methodists have led the way in the ordination of women,” Newbiggin said tartly.

Amos would not have made his remark had he not felt that they had reached the natural end of the interview and he regretted letting Maud’s reference to God’s mysterious ways annoy him.

“Many thanks for your time,” he said.

Newbiggin and Maud looked miffed and did not reply.

Chapter 16

Detective Inspector Paul Amos and Detective Sergeant Juliet Swift returned to Lincolnshire police headquarters to ascertain what progress, if any, had been made in determining the cause of death and whether any new leads had emerged.

Amos’s heart sank when he saw David, the Chief Constable’s press officer and general factotum, waiting in his office in a highly agitated state. David’s presence meant only one thing: a summons from on high from Chief Constable Sir Robert Fletcher himself. The more agitated that David was, the worse mood Sir Robert would be in and the worse the tongue lashing would be for some perceived but not necessarily warranted shortcoming.

However, David sank into a relaxed equilibrium the moment he saw Amos, which was undoubtedly a good sign. The inspector had found favour for once in his last case, which had been settled to the Chief Constable’s satisfaction with no adverse publicity for the police. Even so, he approached David cautiously. Interviews with Fletcher had a habit of backfiring.

“Ah, Inspector Amos,” David exclaimed with a beam as his quarry was still only halfway across the CID room. “Out doing more sterling work, I understand.”

This was meant to be friendly and ingratiating; Amos found it patronising and irritating. David either ignored or failed to see the inspector’s look of disdain. All that mattered to the press officer was the approval of the hard-to-please Chief Constable, and that was clearly forthcoming at the moment.