Murder Club - Mark Pearson [57]
‘Jack,’ said Diane as he approached. ‘This is the Reverend Leslie Hynd. She’s the vicar here.’
‘Was the vicar here,’ she corrected her. ‘The church is deconsecrated, remember.’
‘Detective Inspector Jack Delaney.’ He shook the vicar’s hand.
‘Are we any further forward in finding out who the unfortunate man might be?’
‘No. Which is why we wanted to talk to you.’
‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’
Delaney nodded and turned to his boss. ‘Could I get one of those, Diane?’
‘Thought you’d given up?’
‘New Year’s resolution. It’s not the New Year yet, is it?’
‘Not unless I missed Christmas.’
Diane tapped out a couple of cigarettes, lit one from the dying embers of her own and handed it to Delaney. Then lit herself a fresh one.
The vicar gestured towards the church. ‘Why don’t we talk inside,’ she said.
‘You go ahead. We’ll finish these and catch up with you.’
‘As you wish.’ The Reverend Hynd headed off towards the church.
Diane looked at Delaney for a moment. ‘Are we any the wiser, Jack?’
‘A day older nearly, no wiser.’
‘I hear you talked to Michael Robinson.’
‘Yes. And Stephanie Hewson.’
The deputy superintendent blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘At the risk of sounding like John Le Mesurier in Dad’s Army, “Do you think that wise?”’
‘The man served a civil suit on me.’
‘I know.’
‘So I’m entitled to prepare my side of the case.’
‘That’s what you were doing, was it?’
‘No. I had his balls in my hand and told him that he ever went anywhere near Kate or Siobhan I’d tear them off.’
‘I imagine that got his attention.’
‘The cockroach is guilty, Diane.’
‘Yes.’
‘Stephanie Hewson is absolutely terrified. Someone has got to her.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.’
‘She didn’t say?’
‘She’s not saying anything.’
‘But she talked to you.’
‘I promised her I’d take care of things, whatever it took.’
‘You make a lot of promises, cowboy.’
‘Only ones that I can keep.’
‘Good,’ said Diane Campbell, grinding the cigarette butt under the heel of her boot. ‘Make sure that you do.’
Delaney didn’t reply, just flicked his cigarette away, watching the trail of tiny sparks as it wheeled through the air, the light winking out as it hit the snow-covered ground, then followed Diane into the church building.
The Reverend Leslie Hynd was closing her mobile phone as they both walked in.
The church was a shell, stripped of pews, altar, decorations. A vast, empty hall of a room now. The last of the day’s light came weakly through the stained-glass windows, but electric lighting had been set up. And a kettle, mugs and the fixings for cups of tea were on a side-table near the entrance door.
‘Sad to see the place like this,’ said the vicar, gesturing at the dust-covered floor of the church, broken tiles scattered here and there. ‘So many services, wedding, funerals, baptisms, Easters, Christmases. So many years, so many people.’ She sighed. ‘So many stories. It seems criminal.’
‘How long were you the vicar here?’ Delaney asked.
‘Not long. About three years.’
‘And before you?’
‘The Reverend Patrick Hennessy.’
‘And how long was he here?’ asked Diane Campbell.
‘About sixteen or seventeen years, I believe.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘He is doing missionary work in the People’s Democratic Republic of the Congo.’
‘And can he be contacted?’
‘Not easily. But I have put a message out for him to get in touch.’
‘And who was in charge here before then?’ asked Delaney.
‘My assistant is looking into it, Detective. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’
‘Thanks. Do you have any idea who the person might be that we found in your grounds?’
‘Absolutely none, I’m afraid. I understand he has been there for quite some time.’
‘About twenty years, we think.’
‘And the cause of death?’
‘This is a murder investigation, Reverend. He was shot in the head.’
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s terrible. Why would they bury him here?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Sally Cartwright.
‘If we knew that, then maybe we’ll know why he was killed, Reverend,’ said Delaney.
41.