The Claresby Collection: Twelve Mysteries (11 page)

“What was that about?” asked Rupert, coming up behind with a couple more boxes.

“Martin has disappeared,” hissed Laura, as they joined the others in the church.

There were flowers all over the place, but nobody seemed bothered about arranging them. Veronica was sitting in a pew looking anguished, Frank was hovering around looking anxious, and Wendy and Bill Smith, the new churchwarden, were looking bemused.

Veronica looked up with an almost panicked expression on her face, but relaxed just a little when she saw Laura and Rupert.

“I suppose you’ve heard? We’ll have police all over the place again soon. Unfortunately word is that Martin was heading for the church last night before he disappeared, so one way or another I will be implicated.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone will blame you,” Frank put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Martin was a bad lot; he must have had plenty of enemies.”

Veronica gave a wan smile but said, “Of course people will blame me – I know that there were rumours about us having an affair, but there was no truth in it. He did try to flirt with me once or twice, but he was experienced enough to know a gentle but firm rebuff when he met one.”

Frank was shaking his head. “Martin was not one to give up; he was too sure of his own charms.”

“Why would he be at the church yesterday?” asked Laura.

Veronica shook her head. “I don’t know. It was Good Friday, so we held a vigil between twelve and three, but there was nothing happening after that.”

“Was that what Gordon came for?”

“No; it wasn’t well attended to be honest, and Gordon definitely wasn’t there.”

“Gordon had a bit of a reputation with the ladies – isn’t it possible he just spent the night with one of them and mentioned the visit to the church as an excuse,” suggested Rupert.

Wendy shook her head. “I spoke to Kim myself; she knows what Martin’s like, but he never spends the whole night away even if he has been known to turn up in the early hours of the morning from time to time. Anyway, he might be an unreliable partner, but he is a very reliable landlord and he missed a Friday evening – that is unheard of. Kim had to get a couple of the girls in from the village at short notice to help her out.”

“Did she say why he might be visiting the church?” asked Laura.

“She said he had talked a lot about his singing recently and she thought it might have been something to do with the choir.”

“We don’t have a practice in Easter week,” Frank said quickly. “We have a very full Sunday tomorrow, so we miss our Saturday practice out. Anyway, Tuesday evening is our weekday evening practice – Gordon knew that.”

“Has anyone checked the church and grounds yet?” Rupert asked sensibly.

They hadn’t, so everyone apart from Veronica, who seemed too upset to function, searched up and down the church, in the churchyard, in the bell tower and around the James Mortimer Rooms. It seemed as if there was nothing to be found until Bill Smith, who was searching near the chancel, let out a little cry. They all flocked to him to see what he had discovered.

“It was on the floor just under the edge of the piano,” he explained, holding up a small, red, shiny object between finger and thumb.

“That’s one of the badges that Martin wore on his jacket,” exclaimed Wendy.

“What exactly is it?” asked Laura. “It looks like a red mouth and tongue.”

“It is the Rolling Stones’ logo,” said Bill knowledgeably.

“Well, it was certainly Martin’s,” mused Rupert. “Anyone who spent any time in The Claresby Arms would recognise it. So... Martin was here...but where is he now?”

“Yes, another church-based disappearance,” considered Laura. “We all expected Monty to be here – he spent half his life here – but we couldn’t find him. Martin was definitely here and we can’t find him. I’ve never heard of any hiding places in Claresby Church, despite its age and history, but we might be missing the obvious.”

For a while Laura poked around the walls of the church paying special attention to the plaques and memorials on the walls. Rupert sat with his head in his hands, apparently thinking, and Veronica and the others started to decorate the church with flowers. After a while Laura gave up and came and sat next to her husband. He raised his big, plain face with its strong features and large nose and looked at her thoughtfully.

“The only real building work in centuries has been the James Mortimer Rooms?”

“Yes,” confirmed Laura.

“What do you remember about it?”

“Just that a feasibility study was done, the PCC was in favour and father had left the money for funds, so it went ahead. There were some archaeological investigations in the area where the extension was going to be built, just because of the age and history of the church, but nothing was found. The building work was undertaken by local builders: George Bowler – Frank’s brother. He’s dead now.”

“Hmm,” said Rupert. I wonder if a little look around the extension might pay.”

The James Mortimer Rooms had been built at the northern corner of the church and the flints of the north side of the nave had been left as an exposed internal wall. The rooms were accessed from the eastern end of the church where the font stood. On entering, the first door was to a storeroom, the second to the toilets. Once in the main meeting room, which was on the other side of the wall to the nave, the kitchen could be accessed. The unit of the toilets, store and kitchen were at the eastern end of the extension. All this Rupert examined, pacing up and down and tapping walls. The storeroom, which he examined carefully, was clean and tidy and contained shelves of hymn and prayer books as well as such items as an old tea urn and a box of decorations for Christmas and props for the annual nativity play. As well as the internal door from the church a passage extended to make an entrance to the rooms by the east doors of the church itself – this enabled the place to be used even if the rest of the church and internal door were locked.

After a while Rupert came and gently touched Laura on the shoulder. She had been arranging a large vase of flowers to go on the entrance table. He led her outside through the porch on the south of the church. Turning right, he walked her around to the eastern end of the church, past the oak double doors to the little entrance of the extension. All the time he was guiding her insistently by the elbow. Straight in at the entrance, the first door on the left was the storeroom door and they went single file through the entrance and into the storeroom.

“What do you notice?” asked Rupert, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Ah, nothing,” said Laura, looking around the clean, tidy little room.

“Yes, that is what is so clever about it. Because no one is looking for anything, no one sees it – and yet it is blindingly obvious. Walk in and out again.”

Laura obliged, wondering what on earth it was that Rupert was expecting her to see. Rupert was grinning at her as if almost pleased by her obtuseness.

“If you can see something I can’t, you’d better tell me,” said Laura with a hint of irritation.

“Well, when you enter the storeroom you see a couple of feet of wall on your left before you reach the room. Why? The external wall of the storeroom is in line with the rest of the eastern wall of the church, with just the external door in it.”

“So I should walk through the door straight into the room. This wall on the left isn’t the external wall.”

“Exactly! Between the external wall and the doorway is an unexplained space – and nobody has noticed.”

“And Frank’s brother built this. Why would he want a concealed space?”

Rupert shrugged. “Who knows; maybe he had a sideline in stolen goods, maybe it just amused him. But what’s the betting that Frank knew about it?”

“Frank! – Organist Frank?

“Yes. And I reckon if I take a close look at the wall in the storeroom that encloses this interesting space I’ll find...”

“Monty and Martin? Oh, Rupert, for once I really hope you are wrong!”

Rupert moved the couple of boxes of Christmas things that were against the wall. The wall exhibited a panel painted the same magnolia shade as the rest of the room and about four foot square. It was fastened at each corner by a flat topped brass screw which sat flush to the surface. A casual observer might well have assumed that this was an access panel to electrics or some other area that only needed to be reached for maintenance. Laura waited whilst Rupert went to fetch a screw driver from the car. When he returned she moved back and waited with wary anticipation as he removed the panel. Some part of her had been expecting two bodies to come tumbling out, so it was with some sense of anticlimax that she saw another tidy space, about three feet deep and four feet wide with carpet tiles at the base. Two boxes of wine were stacked there: one stated that it contained twelve bottles of Fair Trade white altar wine, the other a pale red, fortified sweet Communion wine. Undeterred, Rupert lifted these boxes out and removed the carpet tiles. Underneath was a well sealed, large steel manhole cover. Standing to one side in the cramped space, the large limbed Rupert was just about able to lift the cover and rest it against one wall. Below was a concrete lined chamber about ten feet deep containing two large bags such as might have been used in the delivery of mattresses. The bags contained bodies.

The final post-mortem, if not of the bodies at least of the whole affair of the missing parishioners, took place at the home of Dr Lowe. Those in attendance were Rupert and Laura Latimer, the Reverend Dahl and Dr Lowe himself. The table was littered with the remains of a magnificent Indian takeaway and three bottles of wine, two of which were already empty. It was one of the joys of Claresby village that you could dine with a friend and home was within walking distance, so wine could be provided liberally and conscience free.

“So has Frank actually confessed to anything?” Laura asked, nibbling at a remaining poppadom.

“Apparently not,” said Keith Lowe, absentmindedly caressing the back of Veronica’s neck as he spoke. “But once they found all the pictures of Veronica on his computer, they knew there was something odd going on: he was obviously obsessed. He had been taking pictures on his mobile phone at every opportunity. Unfortunately some were taken through the vicarage window.”

“They think that he killed Monty in a deranged attempt to help me,” said Veronica. “There was paint on Monty’s hands, so the police think that he had gone in to write some other abomination on the church walls – he knew I had a wedding rehearsal the following day. It seems likely that Frank was on the lookout and attacked Monty. He was strangled, as was Martin.”

“Yes, that’s what I was told,” said Laura. “What a pity the police didn’t make a better job of searching the church at the time; it might have saved Martin’s life.”

“Well, these are the same police who arrested poor Arthur because he looks odd,” said Veronica, bitterly.

“And I suppose he killed Martin out of jealousy?” said Rupert, “There were some people who were saying that you were having a relationship with him?”

“Well, there I am guilty,” said Veronica. “I actually felt a bit insulted that people thought I would fall for someone like Martin, but of course it suited me for them to be following this red herring, because it meant no one thought to suspect Keith – not that there is any reason why we shouldn’t have fallen in love – it’s just that with so many rumours already flying around, I didn’t want to provide any more fodder. And I didn’t want Keith to have to suffer. The only person who seemed to have guessed the truth was Wendy and she was kind enough to keep it to herself.”

“It doesn’t worry me,” said Keith. “I think we should be quite open about our relationship.”

Veronica gave him a loving smile and continued, “It is also possible that Frank thought he was protecting me from Martin. My guess is – and it is only a guess – that Frank told Martin that he wanted to test him out for a solo and got him up to the church on some such pretext.”

“But Martin was a fit man,” said Rupert. “You would have thought that he could fight Frank off.”

Keith shrugged. “Frank had the advantage of surprise, attacking from behind. And Frank was a well built man too, if older.”

“I feel quite sorry for Martin,” said Laura. “Monty was playing dangerous games, but the thought of Martin coming to the church with hopes of a nice singing part makes me sad.”

Rupert put his arm around his wife. “Well, it is all over now. Hopefully we can settle down to a quiet year in Claresby. Everyone is glad you have decided to stay, Veronica.”

“It was Keith who convinced me. As well as the obvious advantage of being near him, I will have to get over the shock of all the things that have happened wherever I go. And if I start in a new parish, all the gossip will still follow me and I will be back to square one. I might as well stay here and deal with those who still insist on seeing me as the root of the trouble.”

“There can’t be many,” said Laura.

“A few, but I’ll cope.”

Keith, looking at Veronica, glowed with admiration.

Making the walk back to Claresby Manor arm in arm an hour later, Rupert and Laura had moved on from the repercussions of recent events. Laura was gently suggesting plans to landscape the Claresby estate and Rupert was wondering if his wife was so tired that she would want to go straight to sleep. With his arm slipped comfortably around the gentle curve of her waist, he had other ideas.

The Claresby Ghost

In the twenty-first century people tend not to talk in terms of “heirs”; unless they happen to be referring to Prince William on the eve of his wedding to Kate Middleton and contemplating the future of the British monarchy. Laura Latimer (née Mortimer) was an exception to this rule. Her family had held the title of Lord of the Manor of Claresby in a succession far more direct than that of the royal family and without any member of the line ever having had their head cut off. Admittedly the fortunes of the family had fluctuated from the time Claresby Manor was mentioned in the Domesday Book in 1086, but the recent discovery of family treasure lost since the time of Oliver Cromwell saw the house refurbished and the family flourishing in the year 2011. The term flourishing related mostly to the fact that Laura was eight months pregnant with the child she and her husband, Rupert, tentatively referred to as Humphrey, without any firm evidence as to whether the expected child was actually a girl or boy. Gently feeling the lusty kick of the unborn baby one morning as he sat beside his wife Rupert commented,