Edward Marston - Inspector Colbeck's Casebook

‘Then we could be looking at the punishment for his sins.’

Colbeck knelt down to examine the corpse. Around the mouth were traces of vomit. He searched the man’s pockets but they were empty. He then gently pulled back the sleeves of Exton’s jacket.

Leeming was perplexed. ‘What are you looking for, Inspector?’

‘Something I expected to find,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you can still see traces of the marks on his wrists. As we’ve heard, Exton abhorred churches. He’d never have come in here and stood obligingly in front of the altar so that someone could bludgeon him to death. I think that he was knocked unconscious elsewhere, tied up and gagged, then brought here to be killed.’

‘Then we’re looking for a strong man, sir. Exton was heavy.’

‘Let’s get him out of here,’ said Colbeck, standing up. ‘He’s defiling the church. Tell the vicar to summon the undertaker and ask that constable to frighten the crowd away. We don’t want an audience when we move him. However much of a rascal he was, Exton is entitled to some dignity.’

Simon Gillard was propped up in his armchair with bandaging around his head. Still shocked by the ghastly discovery in the church, he was in a complete daze. When his wife admitted Colbeck to the house and took him into the parlour, her husband was staring blankly in front of him.

‘This is Inspector Colbeck from Scotland Yard,’ she explained. ‘He needs to talk to you, Simon.’ There was no response. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ she went on. ‘He’s been like this for hours.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Colbeck. ‘Perhaps you can help me instead.’

‘It was my husband who found the body.’

‘Does he enjoy being a warden?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, ‘he loves it. Since he retired, the church has taken over his life — both our lives, in fact. I’m one of the cleaners and I organise the flower rota.’

Winifred Gillard was a short, roly-poly woman with grey hair framing an oval face that still had traces of her youthful appeal. She talked fondly of her husband’s commitment to the church since his retirement from the railway, and she spoke with great respect of the vicar.

‘Does your husband ever lend the key to the church to anybody?’

‘Only to me,’ she replied. ‘Simon guards his bunch of keys like the family jewels — not that we have any, mind you. When he first became warden, he used to sleep with them under his pillow.’

Colbeck smiled inwardly. The vicar’s earlier comment had some truth in it.

‘So nobody else would have access to the keys?’

‘Nobody,’ she insisted, ‘nobody at all.’

Victor Leeming was asking the same question of the other warden, Adam Revill, an emaciated man in his sixties with a few tufts of hair on a balding head. He was patently unwell and sat in a chair with a blanket around his shoulders. Every so often, he had a fit of coughing.

‘No, Sergeant,’ he asserted. ‘I never lend the key to the church to anybody. If I’m not using it, it stays on a hook in the kitchen. Maria will tell you the same.’

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘Uncle Adam takes his duties seriously. It grieves him that he’s been unable to carry them out for a while. The doctor told him to stay indoors and rest.’

‘I’d be lost without Maria,’ said Revill, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘She’s been a godsend. Since my wife died, I’ve had to fend for myself. The moment I was taken ill, Maria began popping in to look after me.’

‘I only live four doors away,’ she said.

Maria Vine was an attractive woman in her thirties with a soft voice and a kind smile. Fond of her uncle, she wanted no thanks for keeping an eye on him.

‘I take it that you both knew Claude Exton,’ said Leeming.

‘Yes, we did,’ replied Revill, curling a lip. ‘We knew and disliked him.’

‘That’s not entirely true,’ said his niece.

‘He was a good-for-nothing, Maria.’

‘I know — and he was a nuisance to everybody. But he wasn’t that bad when his wife was alive.’ She turned to Leeming. ‘She was killed in a railway accident, Sergeant. It preyed on Mr Exton. That’s when he took to drink.’

‘He seems to have had a lot of enemies,’ observed Leeming.

‘I’m one of them,’ said Revill.

‘Yes, but you didn’t hate him enough to kill him, sir. And even if you did, you’d hardly do it inside a church.’

‘That’s true, Sergeant. A church is sacred.’

‘I feel sorry for Mr Gillard,’ said Maria. ‘He actually found the body.’

‘Yes,’ croaked Revill, ‘I pity Simon. But don’t ask me to shed any tears for Claude Exton. He’s gone and I’m glad.’

‘That’s a terrible thing to say,’ chided Maria. ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’

The rebuke set Revill off into a fit of coughing that went on for a full minute. Leeming waited patiently. Maria was embarrassed on her uncle’s behalf.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea,’ she announced. ‘Would you like one, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Leeming.

As soon as she went out of the room, Revill stopped coughing. He crooked a finger to beckon Leeming closer.

‘Don’t listen to Maria,’ he said. ‘She always tries to think the best of people.’

‘That’s a good attitude to take, sir.’

‘What she told you about Exton’s wife is not true. It may have looked like an accident but we know the truth.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She committed suicide.’

When they met up outside the church, the detectives were pleased to see that the body had been removed, the crowd had vanished and the door was locked. As a result of their interviews, both had acquired the names of people with a particular reason to detest Claude Exton. They compared their notes.

‘Let’s start with the people who appear on both lists,’ suggested Colbeck.

‘The man that Mr Revill kept on about was George Huxtable. He and Exton came to blows once,’ said Leeming. ‘Exton was bothering Mrs Huxtable.’

‘She wasn’t the only woman who caught his eye.’

‘He seems to have been a menace.’

‘What would you do if someone made a nuisance of himself to Estelle?’

‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ said Leeming, forcefully. ‘I’d have a quiet word with him and, if that didn’t work, I’d punch some sense into him.’

‘That might render you liable to arrest.’

‘I wouldn’t care, sir. Whatever it took, I’d protect my wife.’

‘And I’d do the same for my wife,’ said Colbeck. ‘Yet neither of us would go to the lengths of killing the person inside a church. The very idea would revolt us.’

‘It didn’t revolt the man who murdered Exton.’

‘How can you be sure it was a man, Victor?’

‘No woman would be able to carry his weight, sir.’

‘Two women might,’ argued Colbeck. ‘And one woman might move him on her own if she used a wheelbarrow. I’m not claiming that that’s what happened. I just think we should keep an open mind. A woman would have been capable of luring Exton into a position where he was off guard. No man could do that.’

‘Could any woman hate him enough to smash his head open?’

‘Why don’t you put that question to Mrs Huxtable?’

‘What will you be doing, sir?’

‘I’ll be talking to Harry Blacker. He’s the gravedigger.’

Anthony Vine more or less carried him up the narrow staircase. Revill protested but he knew that they were right. He was better off in bed where he could drift in and out of sleep. Maria was waiting in the bedroom to help her husband lift the older man into position. She plumped the pillows to make him comfortable and drew the bedclothes over him. After stifling a cough, Revill managed a smile of gratitude.