Smile and be a Villain (25 page)

My knees were shaking, but I managed to get to my feet. ‘First, some computer research revealed that an elderly parishioner of Mr Abercrombie's back in Ohio had died recently, leaving her entire estate to him. It amounted to over two million dollars. Close to a million and a half pounds.' I waited for the reaction to die down and then went on. ‘Further, despite the fact that he had inherited a great deal of money and had stolen a great deal more, he still went about defrauding this church of small sums. Those of you who attend St Anne's will remember that he took up a collection to fund the purchase of new choir folders, with the understanding that if the monies collected were not enough, he would make up the difference. This was some time ago. The folders have never been ordered; we checked with the company concerned and they were waiting for payment. Finally, I have proved that he went to rather elaborate lengths to steal part of the proceeds of the recent jumble sale.'

A woman in the middle of the nave stood and said belligerently, ‘That's impossible! The money tallied with the ledger. I saw that with my own eyes.'

‘I have no doubt it did. He had repriced items. Perhaps all of them, perhaps only some of the more expensive.' Alan handed me the framed embroidery. ‘This, for example, is marked with a price of fifty pounds. It is listed in the ledger at twenty-five. It did not sell, but if it had, Mr Abercrombie could have pocketed a nice little profit of twenty-five pounds with no one the wiser.'

‘One item!' sneered the woman.

‘Not just one. I have a few more here, and if you search the storeroom for the other unsold items, I think you'll find them all marked far higher than the entries in the ledger. Now if you're going to ask me why a millionaire would find it necessary to stoop to such tactics, I fear I have no reasonable explanation.'

I sat down, feeling as if I'd run an obstacle course. There were murmurings, but no one else questioned what I'd said.

‘Thank you, Mrs Martin. Now it needs to be said that you have, I fear, heard only negative things about Mr Abercrombie. Sad as it is to tell, those things are all true, but we are not conducting a crucifixion here. We know, at least those of us here at the parish church know, that there was another side to the man. He did indeed work hard at several thankless volunteer jobs, and for that we owe him our gratitude. I knew him for only a short time, but in that time he helped me considerably with some mundane parish tasks, and for that I personally am grateful. I would like now to open up the meeting to anyone who has any comments at all to make about Mr Abercrombie.'

Dead silence. Then there was a little stir, and I turned around to see. Martha Duckett stood up. I gave a mental cheer. Brave lady!

‘I–I have to believe everything that has been said this morning. If he really did steal all that money, when he didn't even need it … but there was another side to him. There really was. He was a pleasant man, with a good word for everyone, and he really did help so much with so many small duties. I suppose I'm just old and stupid, but I–I really did like him a lot.' Her voice broke and she sat down amid soothing murmurs. I saw the woman sitting next to her pat her on the shoulder and hand her a tissue.

Then it was Rebecca Smith. ‘He supported the choir. I think we were all grateful for that. I'm not so happy about the folders. We need them badly, and no one has much money to spare. I'm still trying to deal with the idea that he took our money. I wouldn't have believed it. You're sure, Mrs Martin?'

Alan stood. ‘At my wife's suggestion, I looked up possible suppliers and phoned them till I found the right one. There's really no doubt, I'm afraid. Abercrombie had talked with them and obtained a quote for the very nice folders he suggested to you, and then nothing further was done. They have kept the order open, awaiting payment.'

Robin stood. ‘It's no secret to most of you that I disliked the man, for many reasons. He did, however, have a good idea about the folders. We need new ones, although perhaps nothing quite as elaborate as what he proposed. However, as a choir member, I will, if you will allow me, remit payment for them, if you, Mrs Martin, will give me the pertinent information.'

He sat down. A woman I didn't know spoke up. ‘I think we need to know why you disliked him so much.'

Robin stood again, looking weary. ‘It isn't my story to tell. I will say simply that I learned through a friend of a truly despicable thing he did at his old parish, something that caused a great deal of heartbreak, something wholly unworthy of a priest. After that, I could only despise him.'

Speculative murmurs, which were quelled when another voice spoke. ‘I hope you can hear me. It's hard for me to stand; my broken ankle is still somewhat painful and I'm not yet quite secure on my crutches. I would like to tell you my story.'

I
clutched Alan's hand. Mr Lewison said, ‘Mrs Small, are you sure? You are not at all well, and this will be—'

‘Painful, yes. But also necessary. It concerns my sister, my twin sister, who committed suicide because of Mr Abercrombie.'

The shock was so great that no one even gasped. The room was completely silent.

She told her story, simply, with no prejudicial remarks. When she had finished, she said, ‘I very nearly followed my sister to the grave. If I had not been found, after falling on Longis Common, I would almost certainly have died of exposure. I have been persuaded, by Mr Lewison and others, that I must forgive Mr Abercrombie, not only for the sake of my own mental health, but because I have come to believe that my life was not saved so that I could nourish hatred for the rest of my life. I have not yet been able to forgive him, but I'm trying hard, and one day I will manage it. I hope that all of you who have been disappointed by learning the truth about him, or who have actually been defrauded, will also find it in your hearts to forgive. That's all.'

I doubt there was a dry eye in the house, but through the tears there were subdued cries of sympathy and support, and the occasional ‘Well done, Alice!'

It was the equivalent of a standing ovation in America, and I was extremely touched – and extremely relieved.

I would have been delighted if Mr Lewison had chosen to end the meeting then, but he had still one thing to bring into the open.

‘I am grateful to all of you who have spoken. I know it wasn't easy for anyone. There is one matter still unresolved. We may never be able to resolve it, but we need at least to talk about it. There has been some speculation that Mr Abercrombie's death might not have been an accident, that someone, though I hate even to say it in this sacred space, might have pushed him down that hill. You have heard that there are those who might have thought they had reason for such a horrific act, forbidden by the laws both of God and of man. If there is anyone in this room who has any knowledge about this, I urge you to speak now.'

Silence. It felt as if no one dared breathe.

The priest let the silence prolong itself. At last he said, ‘Very well. If anyone has anything to say to me privately, I will remain here in the Lady Chapel all afternoon.' He gestured for us to rise. ‘And now may the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, be upon you and remain with you, now and always. Amen.'

The crowd dispersed with much less than the usual conversation. They had been too moved by Alice's speech to return right away to the everyday world. Once they got beyond the confines of the churchyard I suspect that a good deal of revisionist history would start developing. ‘You know, I always felt there was something just a bit off about him.' ‘Oh, I know. Just a little
too
nice, too smooth, if you know what I mean. I know I said to George when the man first came to town …' And so on. It was human nature. We hate to admit we've been wrong, hate especially to think we've been made to look like fools.

Alan and I didn't talk at all until we got back to our room, when Alan silently opened the bottle of bourbon and poured each of us a small tot.

I took a gulp.

‘Better than you had feared?' asked Alan after he had done the same.

‘Much better. I think even those who had loved the man came away feeling … I don't know, perhaps the word is “cleansed”. Sad, of course, but not heartbroken. More than the feet of their idol was made of clay, but there was at least a little bronze, anyway. And I think Mr Lewison handled it beautifully. There's hope now for healing in the congregation.'

‘Robin helped, with his offer to pay for the folders.'

‘He really is a good man, just a little … prickly.'

‘But,' said Alan, finishing his drink, ‘we're no closer to knowing whether Abercrombie was killed or not.'

‘No. And we're leaving on Monday. Probably we never will know.'

‘Of course,' he mused, ‘there was at least one person of interest missing.'

‘Harold Guillot. At least we think he was missing. We don't know what he looks like.'

‘True, but if he'd been there someone would have mentioned it. There's been a good deal of interest in his disappearance.'

‘You're probably right. Oh, by the way, I need to put that stuff back in the storage room. And return the ledger to Mr Lewison.'

‘I gave it to him just as we turned to leave. I left the other things on the pew; someone will look after them, I'm sure. Do you want some lunch?'

‘Oddly enough, I do. I'm starving. Stress, I suppose. But let's drive down to the harbour. I'm too wiped out to walk that far, and I'd rather not talk to anybody here in town for a while yet.'

We didn't say much as we ate our meal. There were too many thoughts we needed to sort through, conflicting ideas and emotions screaming out for dominance. I presume the food was at least acceptable, because at one point I looked down to find my plate empty. I had consumed it purely as fuel.

Alan was of two minds about returning the car, which we probably wouldn't need anymore, but decided to keep it for the Monday morning drive to the airport. ‘And you never know,' he said as he dropped me off at Belle Isle and went to park it. ‘Something might come up.'

When he got back I was waiting for him in the lounge. ‘Alan, we must go back and make sure someone's dealt with those pictures. Tomorrow's Sunday, and it would never do for the congregation to come in and find them lying there in the pew.'

‘And you didn't want to walk over by yourself.'

‘No.' I didn't need to say more. Alan understands that I hate confrontation and avoid it whenever possible.

‘We may not find anyone there.'

‘Then we'll put them back in the storage room. I know where the key is kept.'

As it happened, Rebecca Smith was there, fussing about in the choir stalls.

‘Oh, dear, are we interrupting you?'

‘No. I'm just changing the anthem for tomorrow. The one I had planned needs a strong tenor section. They know this one by heart, so they can do it at the last moment. Did you need something?' she asked. There was still some hostility in her tone. Well, I had unseated her idol and destroyed her illusions. Of course she'd still be a bit sore.

‘No, it's just that I left those pictures behind, and I need to put them back.' I looked around. The front pew was empty and clean. ‘Did you see them, by any chance? Or maybe someone else put them away.'

‘I put the embroidery away. It's a lovely piece of work. Barbara's grandmother did it, and she cherishes it. It was noble of her to donate it to the sale, and I intend to buy it, at the proper price of course, and give it back to her.'

I thought about offering to do that myself, but quickly thought better of it. No matter that I meant it as a conciliatory gesture; it might not be seen that way. No, better just to leave this island without too many hard feelings in our wake.

‘As for the pictures, here they are.' She picked them up from her music stand. ‘They ought never to have been in the sale at all; I can't imagine who put them in, or who they thought might buy them. They're terribly bad, as pictures, but they're a part of the history of this church and meant to be kept. This one is a choir picnic from last summer.' She handed it to me. ‘The only face you can recognize is Robin's; you can't miss that crooked smile.'

I glanced at it, picked out Robin, and then looked more closely. ‘And who,' I asked, my voice sounding odd even to myself, ‘is the man standing next to Robin?'

‘Oh, that's his friend, the missing Mr Guillot. When he turns up again I'm going to have a few things to say to him. Our choir just isn't big enough that tenors can come and go as they please!'

I handed it to Alan without a word; my voice didn't seem to want to function. He looked, then looked more closely, and stared at me.

‘What?' said Rebecca, looking from one of us to the other.

Alan cleared his throat. ‘Nothing, really. It's just that he resembles someone we saw once.'

‘Hmph! Don't see how you can tell. I think Martha's grandson took that picture with his mobile and didn't hold it steady. Anyway, I'll see that the pictures get back where they belong.'

‘Thank you,' I managed. ‘We'll see you tomorrow, then.'

‘Alan!' I said urgently, the minute we were out of earshot. ‘The track suit.'

‘Yes. Unmistakable, I'd say. Once seen, never forgotten.'

‘Bright green stripes. That man on the Zig-Zag.'

‘A few minutes after Abercrombie died. And now,' he said grimly, ‘among the missing.'

‘T
alk to Robin first, or the police?' I asked. I didn't want to do either.

‘It would be a courtesy to see Robin first. There may be some explanation we haven't considered.'

But we couldn't find Robin. He didn't answer his phone, and we didn't know where he lived.