Murder by Magic Page 3

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll make sure Fran can be here.’

  * * *

  Fran arrived just before two thirty to plan their approach.

  ‘I thought we would just ask her for her version of events,’ said Libby, surprised. ‘I didn’t know we needed a plan.’

  ‘Yes, but do we suspect her of doing the dirty deed?’ Fran sat down in the armchair by the fireplace. ‘And do we need to know her beliefs?’

  ‘Look, Fran, we’re not going into a theological discussion,’ said Libby firmly. ‘This is simply about Joan Bidwell’s murder and the events surrounding it. Not about Patti’s faith or calling. I’m still not sure what we’re supposed to do about it even if we do think there’s something in it, but we can at least stick to the brief.’

  Fran looked stubborn but merely said, ‘Could we have a fire? It’s turned chilly.’

  Libby looked at her suspiciously, and turfing Sidney off her lap, knelt down to riddle out the ashes.

  ‘What do we know already?’ mused Fran, leaning back in the chair. ‘Joan was a flower lady set in her ways. She didn’t like Patti as a vicar.’

  ‘Didn’t approve of her,’ corrected Libby, laying kindling on top of a firelighter.

  ‘All right, didn’t approve. But I don’t suppose she liked her, either. And what’s this business about reserved sacrament?’

  ‘I told you yesterday. People who are unable to get to the altar are taken the wafer and the wine to their pew by the vicar or a curate. If it’s taken to them in their home someone else can do it – like a churchwarden.’

  ‘So it was definitely Patti who went to her in her pew?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘And then there she was dead at the end of the service?’

  ‘What I can’t understand,’ said Libby, sitting back on her heels and watching the flames take hold, ‘is how it was so long before she was discovered. I mean, at the end of a normal service, the vicar would go to the door to say goodbye to the congregation, and when they’d all gone, go back through the church to the vestry. Why didn’t Patti see Joan then?’

  ‘That’s something we’ll have to ask. And was the wheelchair found?’ Fran frowned down at Sidney, who’d relocated to her lap.

  ‘It is all a bit odd,’ said Libby. ‘And why aren’t the police involved?’

  ‘We don’t actually know they aren’t,’ said Fran.

  ‘There should be an inquest, shouldn’t there?’ Libby racked her brains to remember the previous cases where inquests had been held.

  ‘If the coroner has been informed about the death, which he obviously was in this case,’ said Fran, ‘and there is no obvious cause of death. I think that’s how it works.’

  ‘But what,’ said Libby, getting to her feet, ‘about when the cause of death is known? Like a dirty great bullet hole or something?’

  ‘Well, obviously then, and they have to decide if it’s murder or suicide or accident.’

  ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ said Libby.

  Patti arrived just after three o’clock, wearing a fleece over jeans.

  ‘It’s very nice of you to take an interest in this,’ she said, accepting a mug of tea and sitting on the sofa beside Libby.

  ‘Oh, it’s just us being nosy,’ said Libby cheerfully.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Fran, noting the strained look on Patti’s face. ‘We can’t do much, but if we get any sort of inkling of the truth, we do have a sympathetic policeman we can go to who will listen to us.’

  ‘Local?’ asked Patti.

  ‘He’s based in Canterbury, so I don’t know if St Aldeberge comes under his jurisdiction, but he’d know the right person to tell.’

  ‘So tell us the whole story of the service when Mrs Bidwell died,’ said Libby, swivelling in her corner of the sofa to face Patti, who looked down thoughtfully into her mug.

  ‘OK,’ she said, looking up. ‘Well, as I told you, it was a Miners’ Reunion service. There were a lot of people there, including the colliery choir and two visiting ministers from other villages where there’d been mines.’

  ‘Did you take the service together?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I led it, but they did readings and one of them, old Mr Roberts, gave the sermon. Then he and the other minister, David Rattleby, helped me at communion.’

  ‘But you took it to Mrs Bidwell?’

  ‘Well, no.’ Patti looked uncomfortable. ‘Actually it was Mr Roberts. She asked Gavin if he could arrange that.’

  Libby and Fran exchanged glances.

  ‘Why was that?’ asked Libby. ‘Or can I guess? She’d prefer a male vicar any day rather than her own female?’

  Patti’s smile was sad. ‘Yes, that was it, I’m afraid. And she’d known Mr Roberts when he was still vicar at St Martha’s.’

  ‘St Martha’s was in a colliery village?’

  ‘Yes. The population’s less than half what it was. They never appointed a new vicar, and now it’s one of my churches.’

  ‘So after Mr Roberts had taken the – er – communion to Mrs Bidwell, what happened? She took it, I gather?’ said Fran.

  ‘Quite normally, Gavin said.’

  ‘Gavin? Was he with her?’ Libby said.

  ‘He assisted Mr Roberts, who isn’t all that steady on his feet, so Gavin carried the chalice and then swapped it for the paten –’ Patti paused and looked at Fran ‘– that’s the plate which the wafers are carried on. And he said Joan took the bread and the wine perfectly normally. And had her eyes closed when he and Mr Roberts left her to come back to the altar.’

  ‘And after that?’ prompted Libby.

  ‘The service continued until the end. After the blessing, the choir sang again and I went to the door to say goodbye, although most of them were going to the party anyway.’

  ‘And when you went back to the vestry did you notice her still in her pew?’ said Fran gently.

  ‘I didn’t go back to the vestry.’ Patti looked surprised. ‘I went in there after the blessing when the choir started singing and took off my surplice, so I had no need to go back into church. I went straight to the hall.’

  ‘Right.’ Libby frowned. ‘So what happened after she was found dead?’

  ‘We got Doctor Harrison to come and look at her. Luckily, he was in the hall for the party and was her doctor.’

  ‘And he wasn’t satisfied that it was a natural death?’ said Fran.

  ‘Not exactly. He hadn’t seen her for months. The medication she was on was keeping her stable, and she had regular blood tests to keep an eye on her diabetes, but that was it. And he said we had to notify the coroner under those circumstances.’

  ‘And did you do that?’ asked Libby.

  ‘No, he did. He knew all the procedures. The coroner’s officer came, and he arranged for her body to be taken away for the post mortem.’

  ‘And did the police look into it?’ said Fran.

  ‘They came and talked to us, but they obviously weren’t taking it seriously, and the post mortem didn’t show anything up.’

  ‘So they’ve released the body? Have you already had the funeral?’

  ‘No, there’s an inquest. And half the village are muttering about no smoke without fire.’ Patti looked miserable.

  ‘But you didn’t go near her,’ said Libby. ‘Why do you think they’re muttering about you?’

  Patti sighed. ‘Apparently I could have poisoned either the wine or the wafers because I didn’t like her.’

  ‘By magic?’ Fran laughed. ‘How could you poison just one wafer and hope Mrs Bidwell took it? Or poison the wine? Hadn’t several people already had it?”

  ‘Oh, I don’t think anyone’s really thought it through. But it’s horribly unsettling, and I’ve even had one or two anonymous letters. And emails.’

  ‘That’s disgraceful!’ Libby burst out. ‘I hope you’ve told the police.’

  Patti looked surprised. ‘No, I haven’t. Should I have done?’

  ‘Of course. Did
you get a name for any of the police who came to see you?’

  ‘No.’ Patti was now looking even more bewildered. ‘It was only two constables.’

  ‘They must have given you a card?’ said Fran.

  Patti shook her head.

  ‘Up to us, then,’ said Libby. ‘I hope you’ve kept the letters?’

  ‘No. And I deleted the emails.’

  ‘Bugger,’ said Libby.

  ‘Do you mind if we tell the police?’ asked Fran, getting out her mobile. ‘I’ll do it unofficially, of course, but I really think, if there’s going to be an inquest they should know.’

  ‘If you think so,’ said Patti, whose expression had gone from bewildered back to miserable.

  Fran left a message on Chief Detective Inspector Connell’s personal line, and put her phone away. ‘If he phones back while you’re here, all well and good,’ she said. ‘If not may I have your phone number to give him? You will talk to him, won’t you?’

  Patti nodded, and pulled a wallet out of her fleece. ‘Here,’ she said and gave Fran a business card.

  ‘Right, now we’ve got that out of the way,’ said Libby, ‘who wants more tea?’

  Fran and Patti both shook their heads.

  ‘OK, then. So, Patti. Tell us a bit more about the relationships in the village. You told us there were people who were holding out against you. Was there anyone who would be malicious enough to start to spread rumours about you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Patti sighed again. ‘All of them.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘I thought there were only a couple?’ said Fran.

  ‘Joan, Marion and the churchwardens, yes, but to be honest there were more who didn’t come right out with it. Although the congregation has increased a little, there are also a few who stopped coming, and a few who more or less sit at the back and mutter.’ Patti shifted in her seat. ‘I tried, I really did, but it just seems to be so ingrained in them that no woman should ever be allowed near the pulpit. A couple of the emails said I was a “silly little girl” who couldn’t possibly have any opinions or know anything about God, the Church or the Bible.’

  ‘That “silly little girl” approach seems to be everywhere,’ said Fran. ‘You’ve only got to look on the internet to see some of the appalling things said to female political or social commentators, and that’s one of the most frequent. But it’s not personal in those cases. Yours is.’

  ‘That’s what’s so upsetting,’ said Patti. ‘I know it’s rubbish, of course, and in general I’m probably better educated than any of these people, but it’s infuriating that they think they know better than the Church itself, and really upsetting that someone dislikes me that much.’

  ‘You did check who they came from?’ said Libby.

  ‘They were all from webmail addresses. No clues.’

  ‘Set up just for the purpose and then deleted,’ said Libby.

  ‘Did you reply to any of them?’ asked Fran suddenly.

  ‘Yes, actually, I did,’ said Patti, surprised, ‘the first one.’

  ‘And does your email programme keep your sent messages?’

  ‘Yes.’ Patti brightened. ‘But what good would it do? There are no clues to who sent it, even if we do have the address.’

  ‘But the police might be able to get hold of it. Or have an expert who could.’

  Patti shook her head. ‘I doubt it. It’s not as if it’s a huge crime.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Fran. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Several of us have to appear at the inquest.’

  ‘When is that?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Friday. In Canterbury.’

  ‘So just as well we get hold of Ian before then,’ said Libby to Fran.

  ‘He might be nothing to do with it,’ said Fran.

  ‘But at least he’ll know who is.’ Libby turned to Patti. ‘You’ve been very helpful, and I hope we can help you. It isn’t fair that you’re being victimised.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Patti gave a wan smile and stood up. ‘And thank you for the tea. I’ll get along to Anne’s now, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ Libby stood up and led the way to the front door. Patti held out her hand.

  ‘I really do appreciate this, you know.’ She looked past Libby to Fran still seated with Sidney on her lap. ‘Thank you for believing in me.’

  ‘So,’ said Libby, coming back into the room. ‘What do we think about that?’

  ‘I think it’s more about persecuting the poor woman than anything else. This Mrs Bidwell’s death has just given them an opportunity.’ Fran stroked Sidney’s head and gazed into the fireplace. ‘And people say the youth of the country are a disgrace.’

  ‘Embittered old people are the worst,’ agreed Libby. ‘Remember that woman Maud Burton we heard about last winter?’ (Murder Imperfect)

  ‘She wasn’t that old, but it was the same church-hen sort of mentality, wasn’t it? Only worse then, because it was in the 1950s.’

  ‘Was it worse?’ mused Libby. ‘At least it was current thinking, then. Now it’s only old anachronisms who think that a woman can’t be a priest.’

  ‘Or gay,’ said Fran.

  ‘Gay?’ Libby raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, I think she is, don’t you?’ Fran peered into her empty mug, and Libby stood up.

  ‘I’ll make some more,’ she said taking the mug. ‘But what difference will it make if she is gay?’

  ‘It’s another weapon in their armoury, isn’t it?’ Fran put Sidney off her lap and followed Libby into the kitchen.

  ‘That a woman can’t be gay? Or a priest can’t be gay?’

  ‘Both,’ said Fran, ‘but particularly a gay woman priest. Hellfire and damnation, I should think. And even though the priesthood has accepted some gay priests, aren’t they supposed to remain celibate?’

  ‘Don’t ask me!’ Libby poured boiling water into a pot. ‘And do you think that Patti isn’t? Celibate?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I wonder how close she is to this Anne she’s gone off to see?’

  ‘Fran! This almost sounds like prurience.’ Libby fetched the milk.

  Fran sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘It isn’t. I’m just thinking about all the reasons the village could have to hate her. And a non-celibate gay woman priest is just about as many reasons you could get.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Libby sat down opposite and poured milk into mugs. ‘So do you tell Ian all this? Patti’s not likely to, is she?’

  Fran looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t really, it’s only guesswork.’

  ‘But it does make sense.’ Libby poured the tea. ‘Except – how did that old biddy know?’

  ‘If she did. I can’t see an old biddy sending anonymous emails and hiding the ISP, can you?’

  ‘OK – how did anyone know?’

  ‘Oh, lord, I don’t know. Let’s hope Ian can pass it all on to the relevant authority and get it stopped. Patti’s life must be a living hell at the moment.’

  Libby thought for a moment. ‘There’s another thing. She said she had an interest in exorcism.’

  ‘And the village didn’t like it. I wonder why?’

  ‘Perhaps they think of it as – oh, I don’t know – the devil’s work?’

  ‘But it’s against the devil, surely? Isn’t that just what it exists for? To cast out the devil?’

  ‘Perhaps her interest goes further than that, perhaps she’s interested in finding out about the – er – alternative religions.’

  Fran looked doubtful. ‘Maybe. Perhaps we should have asked her.’

  Fran left after another half an hour and Libby turned her attention to supper while thinking over Patti’s case. It didn’t say much for the good people of St Aldeberge that they were persecuting their vicar on the basis of some unfounded gossip – whether about her sexuality, gender or the natural death of a parishioner.

  It was much later, while she and Ben were enjoying a glass
of wine in front of the television news that the landline rang. Libby heaved herself out of the sofa to answer it.

  ‘Ian just rang,’ said Fran.

  ‘And? Was he mad?’

  ‘No, he was grateful.’

  ‘Grateful? Are you sure he wasn’t mad?’

  ‘Apparently, the anonymous letters are going to the police, too.’

  ‘Oh, how ridiculous,’ laughed Libby. ‘They’ll trace them in a minute!’

  ‘They won’t. They’re hand-written in ball-point pen on cheap computer printer paper and there are no fingerprints anywhere. And the envelopes are self-seal, so no tell-tale saliva DNA. Same with the stamps, of course.’

  ‘So what does Ian say?’

  ‘Strangely enough, everything we’ve been saying. We were behind, as usual.’ Fran sighed.

  ‘No we weren’t,’ said Libby. ‘We’ve only just come into the case. So what do they say, these letters? That Patti killed Mrs Thing?’

  ‘Yes, and they give the reason that she’s a non-celibate gay female priest, which is against everything the bible teaches, apparently, and should be against the law.’

  ‘I’m not going to say a word,’ said Libby. ‘Any other reason?’

  ‘Only that Mrs Bidwell found out about it and was going to tell the Bishop.’

  ‘I wonder if that’s true.’

  ‘So Ian was very pleased that Patti had been receiving emails as well as letters and is going to try and trace the ISP at least. They’re very good at that sort of thing.’

  ‘Not very nice being pleased that someone’s being threatened,’ said Libby.

  ‘Pleased because it gives them something to work on. Also he was interested that the village seems to have turned against Patti, and wondered how that started. It couldn’t have been Mrs Bidwell spreading rumours after she was dead.’

  ‘That’s a thought. Because most of the village had been won round, she and Alice said, didn’t they? Except – who was it?’

  ‘The churchwardens and another woman,’ said Fran. ‘One of the flower ladies, probably. Didn’t they say the lady we met had taken over most of the flower arranging? That looks as though the others aren’t co-operating.’