An Act of Evil Page 7

  “I have been a worshipper at Vercaster Cathedral all my life and am outraged and disgusted at this theft, particularly if, as I strongly suspect, it has been carried out by a man who considers himself a paragon of virtue in our community.

  “I apologise for involving you in this matter but I have indicated my reasons above. My only connection with you is that some years ago you acted in a legal matter for me and I was impressed by your efficiency, courtesy and integrity. I regret that I now have to be discourteous and not add my name to this letter, but I am sure you will readily appreciate the position I am in.”

  “Any idea who it’s from?” asked Maltravers as he finished reading.

  “Not in the least,” said Knowles through a mouthful of lasagne. “I’ve been in practice here for more than fifteen years so it could be any one of hundreds of people.”

  “Who’s Ernest Hibbert?” asked Tess.

  “Ernie Hibbert?” Knowles wiped the remains of the sauce off his lips. “Of course, you’re not from Vercaster. The Hibberts are arguably the leading family in this city. Made their money in greengrocery, with property as a very profitable sideline.”

  “I bought some avocados from them the other day,” Maltravers recalled. “They have a shop in the High Street.”

  “They’ve got about a dozen shops all over the county,” said Knowles. “Plus owning several old Victorian houses which have been converted into very expensive flats. Ernie Hibbert is possibly the richest man in Vercaster. He was mayor a few years ago and his father and grandfather held the office before him.” He indicated the letter. “If what that says is true, it’s going to be a massive local scandal. Another drink?”

  While Knowles was at the crowded bar, Maltravers read the letter again. It resurrected the nagging thought that the Latimer Mercy theft and Diana’s disappearance might be connected but he shook his head as the idea disintegrated the more he considered it.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked as Knowles returned.

  “I’m not quite sure,” he said, resuming his seat. “Those are serious allegations about a serious crime but, frankly, it’s dynamite in Vercaster. If the police obtain a search warrant on the strength of that letter and the Latimer Mercy isn’t in Hibbert’s secret cupboard heads will roll all over the place. It won’t do my practice any good either if it’s traced back to me in any way. Perhaps you could let Canon Cowan see it.”

  “Do you know David Jackson?” Maltravers asked. “He’s a fairly new sergeant here.”

  “Name rings a bell, but I haven’t met him.”

  “Let me show it to him. If you want, I won’t say it came from you, which will keep you out of it.”

  Knowles shrugged. “As long as you tell Canon Cowan as well. Personally, I’ll be happy to be rid of it.”

  Their conversation moved back to the Mystery Plays and other aspects of the festival until Knowles had to return to his office.

  “There’s something bothering you,” Tess said after he had gone.

  “I haven’t the remotest logical argument, but I still keep wondering if there’s some sort of connection between the Latimer Mercy and Diana. Both happened at the weekend, both connected with the cathedral. But that’s all. Anyway, I’ll try and contact Jackson. Wait here a minute.”

  Maltravers rang the police station from the pub’s public telephone and was put through to Jackson who listened to the news about the letter.

  “Can you bring it over?” he asked. “I’d like to have a look at it.”

  While he was waiting for them to arrive, Jackson checked on what progress had been made in the Latimer Mercy inquiry but found that nothing had materialised. At the same time the two South coast reports he had been waiting for came in; there was no record of Diana Porter or anyone like her having been through those ports. When Maltravers and Tess arrived, he took them into an interview room and read the letter for himself.

  “Where’s the envelope?” he asked.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather hang onto that. The person it was sent to would rather his name were kept out of it.”

  Jackson sighed. “For an intelligent man, you can be remarkably stupid at times, Mr Maltravers. We’re not playing games, this is a serious matter. Come on.” He held out his hand, adding as Maltravers hesitated, “We can be discreet.” Maltravers handed over the envelope.

  “Thank you. We’ll have a chat with Mr Knowles and for the time being we’ll check this for fingerprints to see if anything emerges. If this is true, it gives a motive for the theft.”

  “I understand that Councillor Hibbert may be very heavy going,” said Maltravers.

  “Leave us to worry about that. Incidentally, I’m afraid there’s still no news on the more important matter of Miss Porter. Obviously you’ve heard nothing?” They shook their heads. “All right. Thank you for bringing this in. Let me show you out.

  “I shall probably see you tonight,” he added as they reached the police station entrance. “I assume you’ll be at the cathedral concert.”

  “You’ll be there as well?” said Maltravers. “Duty or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure. The programme looks very good. Of course, it all depends on nothing dramatic happening but I certainly hope to make it.”

  *

  Goldman phoned just before they set off that evening, his agitation giving way to fatalistic resignation.

  “So she blows it,” he said. “Zabinski finds somebody else and her career nosedives. You know the rules, Gus. Breaks like this only happen once.”

  “That’s the last thing on my mind at the moment. I just want Diana found.”

  As the four of them walked round the outside of the Chapter House on their way to the West Door entrance of the cathedral, they met the Dean, his wife and Webster walking up from Cathedral Close. The Succentor was carrying a green leather music case.

  “Of course, you’re playing the organ tonight,” said Melissa. “I would have thought you knew it all by heart by now, Matthew.”

  “Just about,” he said. “But I’m not so good that I can rely completely on memory.”

  After they had entered the cathedral, Webster went off to the organ and the rest made their way to their reserved seats. Maltravers spotted Jackson arrive and beckoned him to a spare seat next to them and, as they waited, listening to Webster’s playing, he pointed out various members of the audience.

  “That’s the Bishop and his wife with one of the other residentiary canons. Forgotten his name but he shares the duties with my brother-in-law. Oh, and there’s the Dean. Do you know him?”

  “Yes. In fact I took his statement about the garden party. And his wife’s.” Jackson looked rueful.

  “The Vercaster galleon,” Maltravers grinned. “I’m afraid I don’t know most of the lesser clergy, but I recognise them from the party. Oh, and there’s Knowles, the solicitor who received the letter about Hibbert. Have you spoken to him yet?”

  Jackson looked across the aisle to where Maltravers was indicating Knowles, engrossed in his programme.

  “I don’t know. I’m not handling that.” Jackson regarded Knowles with interest. “That’s not a face I’d relish confronting across a courtroom,” he added.

  “It’s a face that only a mother could love, isn’t it,” Maltravers replied. “But he’s perfectly amiable when you meet him. I’ll introduce you later if we get the chance.”

  After a few moments Jackson stood up and gazed around, then resumed his seat.

  “Where’s the organ?” he asked.

  “You must have seen it. It’s against the south wall near where they kept the Latimer Mercy.”

  “That’s what I thought but they’re obviously going to have the choir and soloists in front of the choir screen and I can’t see how the organist can see the conductor.”

  “Ah, modern technology,” explained Maltravers. “Look at the right hand end of the top of the choir screen. See it? It’s a closed circuit television camera. When the choir is in its traditional place behi
nd the screen, the organist can see the choirmaster through a mirror, but when they’re on this side they use the camera. All highly ingenious.”

  The lights in the nave were dimmed as the four guest professional soloists — soprano, alto, tenor and bass — took their places in front of the assembled choir and the conductor raised his baton towards the camera. The organ paused, then crashed in again on the conductor’s beat and all the voices burst into “Zadok the Priest” from Judas Maccabeus and the concert was under magnificent way. The programme, which ran without any interval, combined expressions of religious belief in superlative music, using the individuals, choir and occasionally the congregation, who were all in the nave. The transepts and back of the cathedral were closed for the evening. The moment that caught Maltravers’ delight was the soloists’ unaccompanied singing of “God so Loved the World” from Stainer’s Crucifixion, the four voices woven in perfect harmony; as they finished the organ returned with the opening bars of “Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven” in which everybody joined. Finally, choir and soloists sang the “Hallelujah Chorus” in a great shout of triumph and adoration that soared through arcade, triforium and clerestory, filling the entire building with exultant sound, the repeated words interlocking in a passion of glorification. The applause rose as they finished and the conductor beckoned through the camera for Webster to join the singers in acknowledging it.

  “Who said the Devil has all the best tunes?” Maltravers remarked to Jackson.

  Melissa leaned across him and invited Jackson for coffee just as Maltravers noticed Jeremy Knowles leaving. Jackson stayed with them and they were among the last to leave the cathedral, accompanied again by the Dean, his wife and Webster, who all declined a similar invitation. The two groups parted by the Chapter House and, as they entered Punt Yard, Maltravers, uplifted by the music and slightly light-headed after gins in the evening following wine at lunchtime, began to sing.

  “And He shall reign for ever and e-ever! And He shall reign for ever and e-ever!” His voice echoed about the high walls of the silent yard.

  “Be quiet!” snapped Michael, who disliked any excess.

  “God save the King!” Maltravers blithely ignored him. “God save the King! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” He stepped in front of them and onto the doorstep.

  “Augustus, shut up!” laughed Melissa.

  Maltravers raised his voice in one more “Hallelujah!”, then made a ridiculous bow. Michael looked irritated but the others joined Melissa’s laughter as he produced a key from his pocket and made an extravagant gesture of welcome.

  “Allow me!” he cried and turned dramatically towards the door, with the brass key glinting in his hand. Then his body suddenly froze.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  The shocked and horrified tone was more shattering than the blasphemy. The rest of them instinctively followed his transfixed stare to the front door, which stood in deep shadow, until they could make out what he had seen.

  There were a few seconds of silence then Melissa screamed a terrible scream. Over the lock was nailed a severed human hand. Tess retched.

  Chapter Six

  “STAND STILL!” JACKSON’S shout had an imperative edge as Maltravers instinctively moved back in horror towards the door. He stopped and then Melissa screamed again.

  “Rebecca!” She leapt forward but Jackson grabbed her fiercely by the arm.

  “It’s all right Mrs Cowan. It’s not a child’s hand.” She struggled frantically but he dragged her back. “Canon Cowan. Would you help here, please?” Michael, his face stunned, obeyed automatically and put his arm round his sobbing wife.

  “That door must not be touched,” said Jackson. “Is there another way into the house?”

  “There’s the garden gate. We’ve just walked past it,” said Michael. “We can get in through the kitchen at the back.” Still holding Melissa, he fumbled in his pocket and held out a key to Jackson.

  “Right. Come along.” Jackson firmly shepherded all of them towards the gate. “I presume there’s somebody else in the house. You have a babysitter of course?”

  “Yes,” said Michael. “She’s probably watching television,” he added irrelevantly.

  Once inside the house Melissa rushed upstairs to the sleeping Rebecca.

  “You’d better go with her, Canon,” said Jackson. “Miss Davy, will you go to the babysitter please? Just tell her there’s been an accident and we want her to stay here for a while. Mr Maltravers, you check through the house — don’t go near the front door — and see if there’s anything untoward. If there is, don’t touch anything. I’m going to phone for a Panda car immediately but then I’ll have to wait outside until they arrive.”

  Tess visibly pulled herself together and went through to the living-room.

  “It’s a woman’s hand, isn’t it?” said Maltravers.

  “I didn’t have time to see,” Jackson replied briefly. “Where’s the phone?”

  Punt Yard was empty as Jackson returned to the front door and examined the grisly object upon it. The hand was fixed palm downwards with a six-inch nail penetrating between the metacarpal bones into the green painted wood; most of the nail was still protruding. There was surprisingly little evidence of blood. Anyone could have walked past the door without necessarily noticing the hand in the shadow, but its position over the lock made it impossible for anyone entering the house to miss it.

  Only a few minutes passed before he heard an approaching police siren whose notes rose in intensity before the vehicle, its light flashing, appeared round the corner into the yard. The two officers told Jackson that Madden had been informed and was on his way. He left them on guard at the door then returned into the house where the others had gathered in the lounge with Jenny, the babysitter, an overweight and vacuous looking teenager whose face was fighting a scattered and spasmodic battle with acne. Jackson spoke first to Melissa.

  “Is your little girl all right?” She nodded. “Did you find anything, Mr Maltravers?” He shook his head. “I imagine you all need a drink. I can’t because I’m now on duty. Detective Chief Superintendent Madden is on his way. As this will be Mr Madden’s inquiry, we had better wait until he arrives.”

  Jenny’s startled and inquisitive eyes were scanning them, picking up the vibrations of their shock.

  “What’s goin’ on?” she demanded. “I told me mum I’d be straight home and she’ll be gettin’ worried.”

  “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” said Jackson.

  “That’s what Miss Davy said. What sort of accident?”

  “Did you hear anything during the evening?” Jackson asked. “A bang or something?”

  Jenny shook her head slowly. “No. What sort of a bang?”

  “As though somebody knocked hard on the front door.”

  “No.”

  “The television was on, of course?”

  “Yes. That was all right wasn’t it Mrs Cowan?”

  “Of course it was Jenny,” said Melissa. “This gentleman is a policeman. He just has to find certain things out.”

  “Surely we can tell Jenny what’s happened,” said Michael.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sir,” said Jackson.

  “Good God, you’re not suggesting…?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, sir, but this is a police matter and I must ask you for your complete co-operation. Perhaps you could telephone this young lady’s mother and say she’s all right and you will get her home as soon as possible. Just say there’s been an accident. Nothing more.”

  “As you wish,” said Michael tersely. “I’ll use the phone in the study.”

  “Mr Maltravers, would you come through to the kitchen with me for a moment please?” said Jackson. “I’d just like a private word.”

  “I’m coming as well,” said Tess firmly. Jackson glanced at her for a moment then nodded his agreement.

  “I think it’s only fair to tell you,” Jackson began when they had left the living-r
oom, “that as far as I can make out it appears to be the hand of a young woman.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Tess.

  “I know what you must be thinking,” Jackson continued. “All I can say is that it would be premature to jump to any conclusions before we have some definite evidence. I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait until Mr Madden arrives. Until he’s here my hands are tied…” Jackson stopped suddenly and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry… that wasn’t the best way of putting it. You know what I mean. Let’s just go back and join Mr and Mrs Cowan.”

  They all sat in uncomfortable silence for about ten minutes before they heard another car draw up and the sound of a voice directing someone to the garden gate.

  “That’s Mr Madden,” said Jackson. “Just wait here for a moment.”

  Jackson met Madden in the kitchen and explained what he had done. Madden listened without making any interruption.

  “Very well,” he said finally. “I collected the police surgeon on the way here and he’s outside at the moment. You noticed that it’s a woman’s hand I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So it looks as though we might have found at least part of Miss Porter.”

  “That’s the obvious conclusion, sir.”

  “I’m glad you agree with me this time,” Madden said tersely. “I’ve told the car to radio for every available man to start house to house inquiries. Neale is on his way here as well and can help take statements. Where are the others?”

  Madden glanced disapprovingly at the drinks when he entered the living-room. He was brusque, efficient, cold and detached and they were too shocked to protest. It was the start of a growing nightmare and they were all being helplessly swept into it.