Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

‘Ah,’ the vicar said, now understanding why Pyke had asked the question. Later Pyke realised he hadn’t actually given an answer.

Pyke found Adolphus Wynter taking tea with Matilda Guppy in the drawing room of the rectory. The December sunshine was streaming through a window at the front of the room and the archdeacon seemed relaxed. When Pyke entered, closely followed by one of the servants, who needlessly introduced him, Wynter was stirring his tea with a silver spoon.

His face immediately tightened. He glanced over at Matilda Guppy and rose to his feet.

‘Archdeacon,’ Pyke said, nodding once. Wynter simply stood there and didn’t offer Pyke his hand.

‘Mrs Guppy here was informing me about this felon, Hiley.’ Wynter’s eyes were as grey as slate. ‘I’m told that a man matching his description was seen standing over Reverend Guppy’s body.’

Pyke’s expression gave nothing away. ‘I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions about the roles Guppy performed as rector here and in the wider church.’

Wynter looked over at Matilda Guppy and said, ‘Perhaps you might excuse us, my dear. I shouldn’t like to bore you with our conversation.’

Only when she had left the room did Wynter turn his attention back to Pyke. ‘So what exactly do you want to know?’

‘I’m told St Botolph’s is a wealthy parish. By implication, that makes or made Guppy an important man. I’d like to inspect the parish accounts, for a start.’ Pyke stopped himself before he drew a comparison between the rectory and Wynter’s impressive home on Red Lion Square, which he’d found out, to his great disappointment, had been purchased with his wife’s inheritance.

Wynter adjusted his cassock while he considered this request. ‘Reverend Guppy is the victim here, Detective Inspector. I think you would do well to remember that fact.’

Pyke had hoped that he wouldn’t get riled by the archdeacon’s manner but already he could feel his stomach knotting. ‘I don’t need your permission to consult the parish accounts. Nor to conduct a search of Guppy’s study and private papers.’

Wynter wetted his lips. ‘Then why are we having this conversation?’

Pyke met his stare and held it. ‘I have to say I’m surprised to see you back here so soon after last night.’

‘If I didn’t know you already, Detective Inspector, I would be deeply offended by your peculiar insinuation. A highly respected and much loved man of God has been murdered in the most ghastly of circumstances. I’m simply trying to do what I can to bring comfort to those he cared for.’

‘You’re quite right about the circumstances. Someone didn’t just kill the rector; they decimated him. It’s my guess that whoever picked up that hammer believed that Guppy had done him a great wrong.’

‘That may turn out to be true, sir, but our city is a dangerous and violent place.’

‘So you think this might have been a random attack?’ Pyke didn’t bother to hide his scepticism.

‘What I think, Detective Inspector, is that you should establish some facts before you jump to any conclusions.’

‘Perhaps you’re correct, Archdeacon, in which case I’ll offer you my humble apology. Perhaps an escaped Bedlamite took a hammer to the poor rector for no ostensible reason. But in my experience the way someone commits a murder tells us something about their reasons for doing so. This attack suggests, to me at least, a great deal of anger.’

Wynter eyed him cautiously. ‘I am just as keen as you are, sir, to see the monster who perpetrated this act facing justice in a court of law.’

Pyke waited for a moment. He still didn’t understand why the archdeacon had returned to the rectory, having been there only the previous night. ‘I’m intrigued, Archdeacon. What was the precise nature of your relationship with the rector?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘Reasonably well.’

‘As I understand it, you occupy the second-most important position in the Church hierarchy after the bishop. The rector of a parish like St Botolph’s is an important man in his own right but I would imagine there would be canons, sub-canons and deans to deal with such lesser mortals?’

‘The rector of St Botolph’s is an important post in our Church family, sir. Perhaps you didn’t know that our much-beloved bishop once occupied this very office?’ Wynter allowed himself a faint smile. ‘I have liaised closely with Guppy on matters relating to the administration of this parish.’

‘So you would consider him to be a friend?’

‘In my capacity as archdeacon I know him well, in his capacity as rector.’

Pyke nodded. He had to admit it was a good answer; slippery but good. ‘But what does a rector actually do?’

‘How long do you have, Detective Inspector?’ Wynter offered him a patronising smile and Pyke had to suppress an urge to slap his face.

They talked like this for another five minutes but Pyke learned little or nothing that he didn’t already know or couldn’t have worked out for himself. Then, for the following hour, Pyke conducted a fruitless search of Guppy’s study and sought in vain to make head or tail of the parish accounts that Wynter and the churchwarden had set aside for him.

To his surprise, Wynter was still there when Pyke emerged from the study.

‘Your dedication to the pastoral needs of your flock knows no bounds,’ Pyke said to Wynter, while one of the servants fetched his greatcoat.

The archdeacon smiled, aware that Pyke had been trying to mock him. ‘I hope you don’t feel that your time here was wasted, Detective Inspector.’

The servant appeared and Pyke took his coat. ‘Tell me. Did your crucifix ever turn up?’

Just for a moment the archdeacon seemed thrown by this sudden shift of focus. ‘Sadly I think it’s lost to the Church for ever.’

Mayne kept Pyke waiting for about a minute or two. There was no chair for him to sit on, so he stood, looking around the room, while the commissioner attended to the papers on his desk.

‘I believe you went to the rectory at St Botolph’s today and exchanged words with the archdeacon.’ Mayne put down his pen and looked up at Pyke.

‘The archdeacon was there and yes, we had a conversation. But I went to St Botolph’s to conduct a search of the dead man’s study.’

Mayne nodded, as though he already knew this to be true. ‘Would I be correct in assuming you don’t much care for the established Church?’

‘Whether I care for the Church or not is beside the point. I’m investigating a murder.’

Mayne glanced down at the pile of papers on his desk and then back up at Pyke. ‘I’m just asking you to treat men like the archdeacon with some sensitivity.’

Pyke didn’t want to give Mayne any indication of the anger he could feel building inside him. ‘Are you telling me, Sir Richard, that the affairs of the deceased are somehow not relevant to this investigation?’

‘There are ways and means, Pyke, ways and means,’ Mayne said, not bothering to hide his frustration. ‘If a high-ranking figure in the Church is displeased, his displeasure will be made clear to figures who, in turn, have dominion over my operations here at Scotland Yard. Do you understand my predicament?’

‘Some might understand that as interfering with an official police investigation,’ Pyke said, perhaps too quickly.

Mayne’s expression remained distant but Pyke could tell from the hardness of his mouth that he was disappointed. ‘It isn’t often a member of the clergy is murdered, and in such dire circumstances. More particularly, the public’s appetite has been whetted by reports of the manhunt conducted yesterday in Whitechapel and Bethnal Green.’