The Cloned Identity (7 page)

I looked at Joe. “Well, what did I tell you? What would an unmarried vicar want with condoms?”

“Search me, boss.”

“Good work, Joe. Get this stuff over to Mel and ask her to work her magic. Tell her that if she gets an answer to me this afternoon, she can have me as a slave for a day.”

“I don't think you would last a day – not with Mel, boss.”

Joe grinned as he left and I smiled to myself. I was feeling quietly confident. A few minutes after Joe had left, Bert Sole rang me. He told me the vicar wanted to give his bishop a ring to arrange a relief for some of his duties. He was also worried about his dog. I told Bert to tell the vicar I would inform the Bishop. There was no way I was going to let him talk to the Bishop. I didn't want him pulling any strings. I asked Bert if he could arrange to have the vicar's dog collected and looked after. I asked the switchboard to get me Bishop Woodley. A few minutes later the phone rang and he was on the line. I was going to enjoy this – spoil my day off, would you!

“Sorry to bother you. DI Watson. I am in charge of the Miss Wood case. Yes, sir. I've just called to let you know that we have made an arrest and the suspect is in custody now.”

I listened as he heaped on the praise – how wonderful the British police were, etc., etc.

“Oh, by the way, I have a message from the Reverend Thomas Wright. He asks if you could arrange for someone to stand in for him at his parish. Oh – didn't I say? – he is the one we have arrested in connection with the attack on Miss Wood. No, sir, I can assure you we haven't made a mistake.” There was a few minutes' silence at the other end of the phone. “I am sorry, sir, but the Chief won't be back until sometime next week. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down. Oh, boy, did I enjoy that! Revenge definitely is sweet. I sat there for a few minutes gloating in my glory; then I suddenly had a thought. I got up from my chair and went out into the main office. Good – Joe was there.

“Joe, where does the Bishop live?”

“He's got a big place out at Wemsly, boss.”

“How long would it take him to get here?”

“Thirty to forty minutes, I should say.”

I stood there thinking.

“Can you let Custody know we will want to interview the vicar in about twenty-five minutes?”

“OK, boss.”

I went back to my office and sank down in my chair. I was feeling smug, to say the least. If the Bishop did turn up, as I thought he might, he wouldn't be able to see the vicar until we had finished our interview, which could take a long time. A masterstroke, eh!

When it was time for the interview, I collected Joe and we made our way downstairs. I filled Joe in on my thoughts regarding the Bishop, and Joe, being Joe, pointed out that the Bishop could turn up with a solicitor for the vicar and get to see him that way.

We collected the vicar and returned to the interview room. Joe loaded the tape machines and explained their use to the vicar. I reminded the vicar that he was still under caution and asked if he would like a solicitor present.

“No, Inspector. I have no need for a solicitor, because I am totally innocent of these preposterous allegations – a fact that will soon become crystal-clear, even to you, Inspector.”

The vicar sat back in his chair, arms defiantly folded. I looked at him. The spell in the cell seemed not to have had the effect on him that I had been hoping for. He looked confident and composed.

“Let me assure you, sir, that the reason we are here is to establish the truth. Now, I want to go over the facts we have established so far so that they can be recorded. If we seem to be asking the same questions as before, please bear with us.”

The vicar sat there, unmoved by my words.

“Now, you have told us that the last time you saw Miss Wood was on the afternoon of the 12
th
at about two o'clock. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” the vicar answered abruptly.

“You also told us that later that same day at about 7 pm you called at her house.”

“Yes, but she wasn't in.” Again the vicar spoke abruptly.

“You then carried on to the park in Jacks Road and stayed there until after eight o'clock.”

“Yes.”

“You say you then returned home, walking past Miss Wood's house, but although you could see that she was in you did not call on her.”

“Yes.”

The vicar just sat there, displaying no emotion, as though he was conducting a funeral service. I hoped to God it wasn't mine.

“About what time did you arrive home?”

“I am not sure. Probably about a quarter to nine.”

“So you passed Miss Wood's house at about eight thirty?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Did you notice anybody while you were walking?”

“No.”

“When you got home, did anyone call on you or phone you?”

“No.”

“What was the first thing you did when you got in?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, did you turn the light on, put the cat out, phone somebody, check for messages… ?”

“No. The light was already on, the cat has a flap in the back door, and I didn't call anyone.”

“You say the light was already on?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always leave the light on when you go out?”

“No, of course not – only if it is dark.”

“But when you went out it wasn't dark. You said you were in the park when it started to get dark.”

“No – yes, that's right. Perhaps I was getting confused. Perhaps the light wasn't on.” He looked a bit flustered and fidgeted in his seat.

Seeing he was losing his composure, I pressed home my advantage: “Could I suggest that you are not confused, and that when you saw Miss Wood was home you rushed home, putting on the light as you entered? You then left the dog and returned to Miss Wood's house, and she, trusting you as a friend, let you in, and you repaid her trust by attacking and raping her!”

“No! No! I didn't go out again. I stayed in. I keep telling you.”

The vicar's face was crimson with the frustration and effort of trying to make us believe him. I allowed him time to calm down before I continued. I didn't want to have to explain a suspect dying of a heart attack while being questioned.

“Reverend, have you ever been married?”

“No, Inspector, I have not.”

“Have you ever visited prostitutes for sexual reasons?”

The vicar went a bright shade of red. “Are you mad? How can you suggest such a thing! For God's sake, remember who I am.”

“I know who you are. You are man, just the same as me and Joe, with the same natural urges.”

“No, I am a vicar.”

“That's just your job, like Joe and I are policemen, but first you are a man, with normal man desires. Your job means you are surrounded by all these unattached women, like Miss Wood. Is that what happened at Adwell with Miss Cook? Did the temptation get too much, the urges too strong?”

“No! I told you that was all a misunderstanding.”

“I know what you told us, but we know the reality is something different, don't we?”

The vicar looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with them. I picked one of the plastic bags up from the floor where Joe had placed them and tossed it on to the desk in front of the vicar.

“Are these yours?” I asked. “For the tape, I am showing the Reverend Wright a bag containing two magazines of naked women and a mail-order catalogue for sex aids.”

The vicar's face went back to condition red. “You've been to my house. It's an outrage. You've no right – no right at all.”

“We have every right. We are investigating a very serious crime; and, I might add, if Miss Wood should die, then it will become a murder inquiry!”

The vicar's face changed from the red of anger to the white of fear.

“Now, are these yours?”

“Yes – I mean no. I found them.”

“You found them? Exactly where did you find them?”

“In the church – in the choir's changing room.”

“So why did you keep them? Why didn't you destroy them? Why did you keep them in the drawer in your bedroom?”

“I was going to destroy them, but I forgot.”

“Now, you have stated that you are not at present having any sort of sexual relations. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Reverend, can you explain these?”

I reached down and picked up the other bag and dumped it in front of the vicar on top of the first bag.

“For the tape, I am showing the Reverend Wright a bag containing two packets of condoms. One packet is complete and unopened; the other packet is opened and two of the three condoms are missing.”

I sat and watched the vicar – clearly a man having a crisis with himself. He was staring down at his lap, his shoulders visibly sagging. He looked a beaten man – a wreck of the person we first brought in. “Well, Reverend, I am still waiting for you to explain why we should have found these condoms in the same drawer as the magazines in your bedroom!”

Still the vicar didn't reply.

“Do you understand the question?” I asked.

“Yes,” the vicar answered softly.

“Can you speak up, please, for the tape?”

The vicar, still looking down, said, “Yes,” louder this time.

“So can you answer the question?”

“No.”

“Are you saying that you are refusing to answer the question?”

“Yes.”

I sat back in my chair and looked at the vicar sitting there, head bowed.

I glanced sideways at Joe, who took my hint and said, “Do you realise, sir, that if you refuse to answer the question we must draw our own conclusion?”

The vicar looked up from his lap, first at Joe and then at me. “Inspector, I couldn't care a damn what conclusion you wish to fabricate, because the truth of the matter is that I'm innocent, and as far as I am concerned that is the end of the matter. I refuse to say anything else.” With that, the vicar sat upright and folded his arms.

I looked hard at him but he avoided any eye contact, so I instructed Joe to terminate the interview and return the vicar to the cells.

Joe took the vicar and I sat there thinking until Joe came back.

“Were you guessing about the dog, boss?”

“Yes, Joe, but, if you remember, Forensic found no dog hairs anywhere, so I reckon when he saw she was in he rushed home to get rid of the dog (he wouldn't want the dog leaping around and barking) and, most importantly, a condom. He wouldn't want to put her in the club – there's no way he could cover that up. Perhaps he thought he was on a promise. He might have misread the signs, as I am sure he did in Adwell. Who knows? Anyway, there's a special sitting at the magistrate's court in the morning. Get him remanded into our custody – no bail, interfering with witnesses, own protection, the usual.”

“Right, boss, I'll sort the paperwork.”

We both went back upstairs. I struggled to close the damn door; then I picked up the phone and made a call.

“Hi, Sam. Roger Watson. Long time since we spoke.”

Sam was a reporter I had known for a long time. We helped each other from time to time.

“Look, Sam – we are putting a body up in court tomorrow morning. Yes, I know it's Saturday. It's for the Susan Wood rape. Yes, that's right. Guess who, Sam? It's the local vicar. Yes, I thought that might interest you. Reverend Thomas Wright. That's right – charged him myself this morning. No, we are going for remand in custody and no bail. And, Sam, I never told you – OK? You owe me.”

I made a couple more calls to other reporters I knew. There's nothing like a bit of publicity and reporters in court to shake the bastards up a bit! By the time I left for home the Bishop still hadn't arrived. I must say I was disappointed, but then again he probably wanted to make sure he didn't catch any of the mud when it started to fly.

The next morning I was sitting in my office when Joe got back from court.

“How did it go?” I asked as he came into my office.

“Fine. We got a remand till Wednesday. Oh, and by the way, when we got there the place was crawling with press. The vicar wouldn't get out of the car until I put my coat over his head. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you, boss?”

“Who, me, Joe? No, of course not. I expect the press bung one of the court clerks to tip them off if anything juicy comes in.”

“Well, I can tell you the vicar wasn't very pleased.”

“Well, that is a bloody shame – don't you think so, Joe?” I looked at my watch: twelve thirty. “Joe, I want to have another go at him before we knock off. Perhaps the court experience has made him see sense.”

“I wouldn't bet on it, boss. He was pretty mad when we banged him up.”

Thirty minutes later the three of us were back in the interview room, the vicar sitting there in his defiant mode: bolt upright, arms folded across his chest. I went over the previous day's questions again, but with no response. I tried a few new questions, but failed to get an answer.

Finally I said, “Reverend, I don't think you are helping yourself with this attitude.”

“Helping myself! I came here – no, was tricked into coming here – and I have been treated like a common criminal, locked up in a filthy cell, paraded in court for everybody to see, chased by reporters – and God knows what lies they will be printing! – and you say I am not helping myself. You're mad – crazy. The world's gone mad. I am innocent,
innocent
.” The vicar's eyes wildly blazed hatred at me.

“Well, sir, the evidence we have seems to prove otherwise. As you know, you have been remanded into our custody until Wednesday; then you will appear in court again, only this time it will be a committal hearing. That means you will be committed for trial at a Crown Court, so I strongly advise you to treat this matter seriously. I also advise you to contact a solicitor.” I paused to let what I had said sink in. “Now, is there anything else you wish to tell us?”