Sidney Chambers and The Problem of Evil (The Grantchester Mysteries) (26 page)

‘It looks like the coat has been mended recently, perhaps since the drowning.’

‘Well then, this really is a job for Keating’s boys. I would guess a good many people have handled it since the accident.’

‘I’d like you to take a look inside,’ Sidney asked, ‘where perhaps only one person has looked before. Because I believe that this coat is nothing less than the murder weapon itself.’

‘Unless, of course, we are dealing with an elaborate case of suicide,’ Derek Jarvis answered.

Sidney was perplexed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

The next few days were awful. Dickens was immobile, his face a mask of canine despair. Sidney and Hildegard took it in turns to massage his legs every few hours but he was pitifully lethargic, his paws were deathly cold, and he had difficulty breathing.

The vet made a further visit and confirmed that Dickens had had a stroke. There was no hope. He had been a jolly good dog, but he’d had his innings. The kindest thing was to put him to sleep.

Sidney took time to pause. He remembered his Labrador’s first arrival as a puppy ten years previously, scampering between Mrs Maguire’s legs, confused by the stairs, with the
Church Times
littered across the kitchen floor in case of accidents, and his new basket by the stove. After his owner’s initial misgivings Sidney had come to depend on this splendid animal; grateful, appreciative and seldom tired, eager for activity, always enthusiastic for the next adventure. Dickens had been Sidney’s daily companion on walks through the town, along the river and across the meadows. He had eaten cake at every fête, been made drunk on beer by mischievous students on Guy Fawkes Night, and once he had somehow managed to drape a bra over his head. On another occasion he had stolen an entire Cheddar from Hildegard’s Women’s Institute picnic; and, on a different summer afternoon, he had run off with a cricket ball as it rolled across the boundary rope to end the match. He had discovered crucial evidence, been a silent presence at murder scenes, had nearly been poisoned and, most recently, almost drowned. His amber eyes were the windows of expectation, his waving tail eternally optimistic. Most importantly he had been Sidney’s friend, teaching him more about loyalty, fidelity, patience and trust than any human being he had known.

Now it was over.

The vet positioned the syringe over the dog’s leg and slid the needle into the vein. Sidney stroked his beloved Labrador for that last moment, easing him into the next world.

‘Farewell, old man,’ said Sidney. ‘No one could have given more than you have done. What a joy you have been.’

Hildegard laid a hand on Sidney’s shoulder and wept with him. ‘He changed your life, my darling, and he made me welcome too.’

Sidney wondered where in the garden to dig the grave and if the earth would be warmer now that spring was here.

He recalled Kipling’s lines:

Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart for a dog to tear.

For the next few days, Sidney’s sorrow could not be alleviated; either by compassionate friends, cheerful company or the warmer change in the weather. His return to daily duties did nothing to improve his mood and the sympathy of his parishioners only made him feel his grief for the loss of Dickens more keenly. Despite the undoubted love of his wife, and his popularity in the village, Sidney felt lonely and restless.

He returned to the Coroner’s Office and Derek Jarvis confirmed that the remains of several hydrating crystals had been discovered in the lining of the coat worn by Robert Vaizey.

Sidney asked, ‘You mean there’s a way of making the coat suddenly heavy in the water?’

‘Very heavy, yes,’ Derek agreed.

Sidney remembered the film sequence in the river and Robert Vaizey calling out.

‘The active agent in those crystals is an absorbent polyacrylamide; a polymer that expands when in contact with water.’

‘How does it work?’

‘It’s called sodium bentonite: it swells up to eighteen times its dry size when saturated.’

‘And it could have been stitched into Vaizey’s coat?’

‘Quite possibly.’

‘How quickly does it work?’

‘With that amount of water it would have been a matter of moments. As long as the man was wearing that coat he didn’t have a chance. It would be relevant to know who supplied the coat, who last had it, and why the actor needed to wear it.’

‘May I then suggest that this coat is, in fact, a murder weapon?’

‘You may.’

‘And is it easy to get hold of these crystals?’

‘It’s used as a sealant in the building trade to absorb damp; and gardeners are starting to use hydrogels that swell to many times their original size in order to retain moisture which is then slowly released. It works particularly well in hot weather, not that we have very much of that round here at the moment.’

‘And so anyone with connections to the building or gardening trades would be able to access these chemicals?’

‘Exactly. But not anyone in the film business. Unless, of course, they took a particular interest, or had relations in those trades.’

‘So a special-effects man might know about it?’

‘It’s possible. Or a farmer. Didn’t one of your actors play a rustic?’

‘I don’t think his research would have gone as far as investigating bentonite.’

‘There are different kinds, of course. Calcium bentonite is an active ingredient in Fuller’s earth. It’s also used as a solvent purifier in the dry-cleaning industry.’

‘Dry cleaning! Ray Delfino’s father is a tailor.’

‘Sidney, I think you may be pushing things a bit, even by your standards.’

‘But surely tailors know all about dry cleaning?’

‘I thought they disapproved. A gentleman never has his suit cleaned; only aired and brushed. Those dry-cleaning agents damage the fabric.’

‘But Delfino could have done some research? And he would be able to access the chemicals.’

‘I’m not sure, Sidney. You’d better talk to Keating about this. It’s a long shot but the way you’re going you certainly seem on form. I would never have thought to look at the clothing rather than the man. I presume you are thinking that the murderer removed the swollen crystals from the coat after the deed had been done and re-stitched the lining.’

‘Yes, and thank goodness Daisy found it.’

‘And who is “Daisy”, might I ask?’

‘A very nice make-up artist.’

Derek Jarvis smiled. ‘Really, Sidney, you are incorrigible. By “nice” I presume you mean attractive?’

‘Extraordinarily so, but please don’t tell my wife I said that.’

‘The sooner you get out of this film business, the better. You know how fast those people can be.’

‘The situation is under control, Derek. Daisy is almost young enough to be my daughter. She is simply an invaluable aid who will be leaving the vicinity in the very near future.’

‘And I assume Hildegard has not met her?’

‘Oh but yes! She has indeed. Although it was not a success.’

‘You surprise me, Sidney,’ the coroner answered drily. ‘As you always do.’

For once Geordie Keating needed little persuasion to act and Sidney joined him when they confronted Ray Delfino at his lodgings in Mrs Maguire’s house. The facts of the case were presented to him along with the raincoat.

‘We know your father runs a business in the tailoring, altering and maintenance of high-quality clothing,’ Keating began. ‘We have checked and discovered that he also deals in dry-cleaning techniques. I assume that you yourself know about the chemicals involved and traces of bentonite have been found in Mrs Maguire’s house where you have been lodging for the past month.’

‘Then surely she must be the person who acquired them and used them for her own purposes, I would think.’

‘The traces were found in your room.’

‘You should have got a warrant. It is my room.’

‘It is not. You are merely renting it. We did not need a warrant. Mrs Maguire was happy to allow the search.’

‘You are linking the discovery of bentonite with Robert Vaizey’s death?’

‘The same chemical that was found in the raincoat involved in the drowning.’

‘Then why was it not heavy afterwards?’

‘Because you removed the bentonite from the lining and sewed it back up again. Only a few traces remained.’

‘But enough for you to come up with this ludicrous theory, I imagine.’

‘You admit that you supplied the coat.’

‘It came from Angels. And I did not murder Robert Vaizey.’

Faced with this outright denial, Keating paused in his questioning. Sidney had been watching in silence but now found himself asking: ‘Why should we believe you?’

‘Let me tell you another version of the story. It’s about an unhappy man who takes his own life. He knows his wife is about to leave him and he can’t bear to live without her. He hates her lover. And so he arranged his own death in such a way that her lover would be blamed. He dies knowing that Andy Balfour will be found culpable and will spend the rest of his life in prison. This is his revenge; to remove both men from the life of Veronica Manners and leave her with her fading beauty and her failing career.’

‘There is no evidence that Robert Vaizey was unhappy,’ Sidney said.

‘He was an actor. How can you tell? Actors can deceive most people; even you, Canon Chambers.’

‘His wife says she loved him,’ Sidney replied.

‘And you believe her?’

‘I do. She may once have been a great beauty but I don’t think she’s ever been a good liar. I do believe her, as a matter of fact; and I don’t believe you, Mr Delfino.’

Ray Delfino turned to Keating. ‘I don’t know how you are going to prove anything at all.’

A few hours after they had left, and after a lengthy consultation, Veronica Manners found her way to the very same lodgings in Barnton Road. She asked Mrs Maguire if she could talk to the dresser.

Ray Delfino was surprised by the visit. ‘I thought you had gone back to London. We have wrapped.’

Veronica spoke with a determined calmness of tone. ‘I am aware of that but I just hoped to go over a few things. I know you were close to Robert and I wanted to thank you for all that you have done for him.’

‘It has been a terrible tragedy.’

‘It has indeed, Ray. What are your plans for the future?’

‘I was thinking that I might work for you.’

‘That might be possible but I would like to know why. There are so many up-and-coming actors and actresses you could work for instead of me. Talent with the future all before them. You don’t want to hitch your wagon to a falling star.’

‘You will never fade, Miss Manners; and you will always be a star.’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘It’s what I believe.’

‘And I am grateful. But something puzzles me, Mr Delfino.’

‘And what is that?’

‘It’s about my husband’s coat.’

‘What about it?’

‘You removed it after his death.’

‘I returned it to Wardrobe, as was my duty.’

‘But there was a delay
.
.
.’

‘No more than usual.’

‘But I have a problem, Mr Delfino, and it’s a very grave one.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I think that coat may have killed my husband.’

‘I don’t know how you can say such a thing.’

‘It was all arranged to look like an accident.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘And it could have been someone like you that did it: someone who treated the coat and weighed it down.’

Veronica Manners held her gaze and waited for Ray Delfino’s reply.

‘If I did such a thing, and I am not saying that I did, then it was for you, Miss Manners.’

‘And why would anyone do that?’

‘Because you were not, and are not, happy.’

Veronica bristled. ‘Who are you to tell me whether I am content or not?’

‘You were having an affair. That means your marriage was unhappy.’

‘Having an affair and being in a happy marriage are not necessarily contradictory, Mr Delfino. A woman can be merely bored or lonely.’

‘You didn’t love Mr Balfour?’

‘Of course not. Although it’s no business of yours.’

‘I saw the way that you looked at each other.’

‘You are a very naive young man. Passion generally dwindles. Some of it is fantasy and that, too, goes all too quickly. Mr Balfour made me feel alive at one transient moment in time; he let me believe that I had retained my
allure
. It never meant that I wanted to leave my husband.’

‘But by your actions
.
.
.’

‘What are actions, Mr Delfino? What do you think we mean by the word? It is mostly impulse. I’m sick of the word “action”.’