The Mills of God (19 page)

‘Who is it?' she asked, disconcerted.

‘Don't you know me?' continued the unearthly voice, neither male nor female.

‘No, I don't,' she answered.

‘Perhaps this will refresh your memory,' it said.

And the whip snaked out and tightened round Cheryl's neck until everything went dark and her body fell silently to the ground.

SEVENTEEN

I
t was the postman who found her when he eventually arrived in Speckled Wood shortly before twelve noon. He had a package to deliver – a package that would not fit through the front door – and when he knocked the door swung open.

‘Cheryl,' he called out. ‘Where are you? I've got a parcel for you.'

There was no reply and he heard his voice echoing through the silence of the big house that she shared with old Mickey, her lodger, though the exact nature of their relationship was still a subject for village gossip.

He turned away towards his van and then he heard an unaccustomed kicking from the stables. He thought this highly unusual because, say what you like about her, Cheryl was good with horses and would have turned them out to pasture by this time. Calling her name, the postman made his way in there.

It was dark inside and the kicking was coming from the horses who were knocking the walls of their loose boxes as a sign that they wanted attention. He took a couple of steps into the dimness and then he saw her, lying in a crumpled heap, with something obscene and black coiled round her neck like a snake. He took one nervous step closer, saw that it was a whip that had ended her life, saw something pinned up on the wall but did not stop to read it. He fled out and into his van, reversed in the stable yard and headed at top speed for Lakehurst.

Tennant had spent a most uncomfortable night – what there had been of it – trying to snatch a few hours sleep wedged in a chair in the mobile headquarters. He came to full consciousness at about six o'clock and forced himself to wake up completely by imbibing a great deal of black coffee. But his mind was full of Jack Boggis. To say he disliked the man would have been an overstatement but there was something in Boggis's basic character that quite offended him. Whether it was the tremendous conceit, whether it was his blustering manner, or whether it was his ill-fitting false teeth that added the final insult, Tennant could not be sure. But the truth was that the less time he spent in his presence, the better.

On the previous night he had questioned him closely about being in The Dell and about his relationship with Mrs Tate. Boggis had given a self-satisfied smile and had almost rushed the information at him that he and Sonia were having ‘a bit of a fling'. Tennant had allowed his tiny wince to show, as this was carefully added to Boggis's statement. Eventually, with the statement typed out and signed, he had released Jack to walk home through that most inclement of nights at one o'clock in the morning.

At eight thirty a.m. the DNA teams set forth to take samples from the entire village, and Tennant decided – having ascertained that Sonia Tate was up and about – to make his weary way back to Lewes to see his superintendent. He just had time, he realized, to go back to his own flat and have a shower and change his suit before going into the office. But he made the mistake of stretching out on his bed and when he woke up it was two and a half hours later.

Jumping to his feet, Tennant threw on his clothes and ran down the street still knotting his tie. When he walked into his office the clock on the wall was pointing to noon. In as nonchalant a way as possible he went to the superintendent's door and knocked on it.

‘Come,' said Miller grandly.

Contorting his features into what he hoped was a confident smile, Tennant made his way in.

Miller glanced up and immediately looked down again. ‘Any progress?' he said bluntly.

‘Oh quite a bit, sir.'

And Tennant went waffling on about the cloak he had found being the offending garment and how the DNA samples were being taken this very day.

‘And?' said Miller pointedly.

At that very moment Tennant's mobile rang and he raised his eyebrows at the superintendent, who nodded briefly. The inspector took the call outside and retrospectively was glad that he did so.

‘The postman found who?' he asked, the line having crackled at that important point.

‘Miss Hamilton-Harty, sir. She's been strangled with a whip. Forensics are there now.'

‘Was there anything written on the wall?'

‘Oh yes, the usual type of thing, signed by the Acting Light of the World.'

‘God damn the bastard to hell. I'll come straight back.'

He popped his head round Miller's door and said, ‘Sorry, sir. I've been called back to Lakehurst. I think we're on the point of a breakthrough.'

Why he said that he couldn't possibly explain, even to himself. But the superintendent had to have some kind of encouragement or he might easily put somebody else on the case. And that would be too much to take.

He drove back to Lakehurst very fast and stood silently in the mobile unit while Potter gave him the bare outline. Tennant actually hissed between his teeth as he listened.

‘And I thought it was Sonia Tate who was going to be the next victim,' he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘What a fool.'

‘You weren't to know, sir. I thought she would be the obvious person too.'

‘And all the while poor Cheryl didn't have a copper in sight down at Speckled Wood when the Acting Light of the World came to call.'

‘Let's get down there.'

They drove at a great rate, as if the turn of speed would relieve their feelings, and reached the farmhouse, behind which stood the stable block, about ten minutes later. The usual white clad figures were crawling all over it and something stirred in Tennant's memory as he saw them. He turned to Potter.

‘Do you know I think my guess was right, the killer has got himself some protective clothing.'

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because the other night when I went down to Sonia Tate's there was a cyclist out and I noticed he had very white trousers on. I think they were protective gear.'

‘But they themselves must be corrupted now if he commits murders wearing them. I mean he has to get to and from the locations somehow, even when he's walking.'

‘And now I've seen a suspicious cyclist. I want every bicycle in Lakehurst examined.' Tennant lowered his voice. ‘Potter, I'm determined to get this bugger, whoever he – or she – might be. I've told you all along that I don't believe the religious maniac theory. That I think someone or other is busy working out their own sadistic fantasies and trying to tie us up with some religious waffle.'

‘Well, I'll not rest until I see him behind bars. He's been walking all over us long enough.'

‘Come on, let's go in.'

They marched up to the stables and a young male SOCO handed them protective clothes. Duly clad they entered the stables. Poor Cheryl Hamilton-Harty, looking quite elderly without her make-up, was lying on the floor, a long whip wrapped round her neck and then knotted by means of twisting the lash round the handle. Hardly daring to raise his eyes Tennant looked up to see the message.

‘Number Five. Thou shalt not commit A. Take great care. The Acting Light of the World.'

‘He's actually mentioned the ten commandments, the bastard,' said Tennant.

‘But if Cheryl was just enthusiastic about sex—' Potter didn't finish.

‘Maybe her fellow riders –' Tennant allowed himself a hollow laugh – ‘were all married men.'

‘Maybe she's been married.'

‘Maybe she still is.'

At that moment the police doctor arrived and began his examination, talking over his shoulder to Tennant.

‘Strangled to death with the whip exerting so much force that the vertebrae were snapped. She would have died within a few minutes. Whoever did this must have used enormous pressure.'

‘Could it have been a woman?'

‘A strong woman in a frenzy – yes.'

Potter turned to Tennant. ‘Oh my God, sir. Where does this leave us?'

‘Determined,' said Tennant, standing upright as a small female member of the forensics team, at a nod from the doctor, delicately began to unpick the whip from around Cheryl's broken neck.

Peeling off his protective garments he said, ‘This business has gone on long enough. Now we solve this case.'

Ten minutes later he was back at the mobile headquarters and on the phone to the vicar.

‘Hello, Reverend Lawrence. I have some news for you. The cloak which once belonged to Turner – an ex-member of the choir – has been identified as the one worn by your assailant. I wonder if you would mind doing me a favour. When's the next choir practice?'

‘Tonight as it happens.'

‘Good. Would you ask them to stay on at the end of it, just for a short while. Then I want everyone in the vestry to identify which cloak is theirs. And, Vicar . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘Don't give them any warning at all of this. It's very important that we keep this utterly to ourselves.'

‘I understand.'

‘Good. What time do you usually finish?

‘About nine thirty.'

‘Will you let me into the vestry at nine?'

‘I most certainly will.'

They hung up and Tennant stepped outside to meet a barrage of cameras and reporters. They'd got wind of the fact that there had been another murder at Speckled Wood and the postman had already been bought by the
Sun
. The inspector assumed his ‘everything is under control' face.

‘Got a statement for us, Dominic?' asked an old hand who had met Tennant before on several cases.

‘Only that we are proceeding with our enquiries,' he answered, smiling urbanely.

‘Is there going to be an arrest?'

‘I'm afraid I can't comment on that.'

‘Does that mean you haven't a clue?' shouted some cheeky young Johnny-come-lately.

‘We have several clues, thank you,' Tennant answered crisply, then he began to elbow his way through the crowd, most of whom were taking photographs right in his face. Potter, who was gallantly pushing through behind him, murmured, ‘Where to, sir?'

‘The White Hart,' Tennant muttered back. ‘I need somewhere quiet to think.'

Ten minutes later they had reached their destination, having roared off in the opposite direction to put the press pack off the scent. Kylie, looking woebegone, served them.

‘How's Gran bearing up?' asked Tennant.

Kylie paled visibly.

‘She won't go out, no more. She just sits at 'ome all the time, watching telly.'

‘Oh dear, that can't be very good for her. Doesn't she have any hobbies?'

‘Well, she goes to the WI. With an escort.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘A lady with a torch comes and fetches her. But they cancelled the last meeting so now she don't go nowhere.'

‘Tell her I'll pop in soon.'

‘Ta, I will.'

As soon as she had left them alone together, Tennant leant forward over his pint of beer.

‘What have we got, Potter?'

‘A lot of loose ends, sir, as far as I can see. Do you still think the case is somehow connected with showbiz?'

‘I don't know. I'm going to sit down with my computer tonight. But first of all I'm going to interview old man Mickey Mauser.'

‘Are you serious? Is he really called that?'

‘Yes, apparently. He's shared Cheryl's house for the last few years.'

‘And her bed?'

‘According to village gossip. Apparently the postman . . .'

‘Not him again!'

‘Peered through the window and saw something or other.'

‘Talking of Speckled Wood, where's Giles Fielding got to?'

Tennant put his finger to his lips, motioning the other man to be quiet.

‘Shush. He's sitting over there looking decidedly moody.'

Potter gave a discreet glance over his shoulder and sure enough there was Giles, looking very red about the eyes. Tennant got up and went to sit opposite him.

‘I suppose you've heard the news?'

Giles nodded glumly. ‘I was fond of her. I know she was a bit wild, like. But she had a good heart, for all that. I feel as if I've lost a friend with her going.'

Tennant made a sympathetic noise and Potter said earnestly, ‘We're going to catch him, you know.'

Giles looked up. ‘They came to my house and took my DNA this morning. I gave it gladly. The sooner that lunatic is caught the better.'

‘Did you see Cheryl at all yesterday?' asked Tennant.

‘Yes, I drove past when she was getting the horses in. I waved at her and she waved back. Then I went home. Strangely enough I didn't go out again. I stayed in and watched television.'

The inspector nodded. ‘Tell me what you know about Cheryl's lodger.'

Giles chuckled. ‘Old Mickey Mouse? That's not her lodger.'

‘Well, who is he then?'

‘Her husband.'

Tennant and Potter stared at one another.

‘Her husband?'

‘That's right. They've been married a half dozen years that I know of, though they kept it very secret mind.'

‘Why for heaven's sake?'

Giles winked one of his red but sparkly eyes. ‘I think you'd best ask him that.'

‘This case gets weirder by the minute,' said Tennant, as they drove for the second time that day to Foxhall Farm in Speckled Wood.