The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) Page 9

  Jim Postlethwaite was standing in front of her looking quizzical. He didn’t take his eyes from her face. She thought she must be covered in dust. Jim lifted the weight of the box from her head with ease.

  “Impressive,” he said.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Sue, Clarisse and Fred spirited the box of decorations off to the other end of the church, corralling Pat as they went. Faith shifted her gaze from their studiously turned backs. Casual in denim jeans and black peacoat, Jim Postlethwaite looked more like a dock worker than a choirmaster – a rather attractive dock worker. She pushed the unprofessional thought aside.

  “Had a spare couple of hours and thought I’d drop by to see the church – I did leave a message…” He looked over at the group shaking creases out of the Spicer wedding decorations. “You’ve got something on tonight?”

  “A civic carol service. It doesn’t start until 6:30 p.m. Glad you could come by. Let me give you the tour. I was hoping the choir might be able to sing from the gallery.” She led him away from the others, round to the curved wooden steps leading up to the gallery above the main door. She started up ahead of him. The treads were narrow and steep. Faith suddenly became conscious that her jeans fitted her rather snugly. She tugged her jumper down at the back. “It’s a bit cramped,” she said hurriedly, “but the effect will be dramatic, especially for the Midnight Mass.” She glanced back over her shoulder. Jim lifted his eyes up to hers and grinned. She reached the gallery and stood back against the wall feeling flustered.

  “The idea is to start with a solo voice singing the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City…’” he said.

  The gallery ran along the front wall of the old church. It only had room for two rows of chairs. When it was built in the early 1800s, the church band had played from here. Jim stood at the rail and looked out at her church.

  “I know just the girl.” He turned back to her. “Nice,” he said.

  “Our organist is very good.” She was speaking too fast. She took a breath and deliberately slowed herself down. “Paul is studying music at the Royal College – an organ scholar. He plays for us when he comes home for Christmas. We’re very lucky.” She turned back to descend the steps. “The vestry is going to be a bit compact, given fifteen in the choir, I think you said?” Detail. Concentrate on detail.

  He wasn’t following her. He had taken the second seat in on the front row.

  “I’m sure the vestry will be fine. Can’t we sit? The view from up here gives me a good idea of the layout. Besides, your people look busy down there.”

  She sat down in the end chair, keeping her legs swung away toward the exit. It really was rather cramped up here.

  “Numbers will be a bit down, what with Lucas and all that…” he was saying.

  “Of course.” She examined his face, full of concern. “Can they manage this? I will quite understand if you need to withdraw.”

  “No. It’ll be fine,” he said. “It is better we carry on – better for the kids.”

  “If you’re sure…” His eyes were locked on hers. She noticed something shift, as if he was pulling her in, keeping her in place, looking at him. “You and the investigating officer – it seems like you know each other pretty well?”

  A rather direct question, she thought. How to answer? She fancied he was judging her thoughts with every nanosecond that passed. She put a smile on her face and pretended to watch Sue and Clari fixing the decorations on the pew ends below.

  “We both grew up around here. I used to know Ben Shorter pretty well some time ago, but we lost touch. I met him again when I moved back here, earlier this year.”

  There was nothing precisely untrue in that – though it hardly qualified as the truth.

  “So you’re friends?”

  “Mmm.” She made the noise as non-committal as possible. This was getting much too personal. What should she say? We used to work together in another life when I thought we would be together forever, but I was wrong. No. Evasive is better.

  Jim was no longer looking at her. He sank his chin on his folded arms, gazing out over the rail.

  “Do you know how the investigation is going into Lucas’s…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging: death or murder? She glanced at him surreptitiously. Was he pumping her for information? Or maybe he was offering some?

  “Not really,” she replied, cautiously. “As far as I know, the investigation has only just got started. You knew Lucas. What do you think about it all?”

  “It’s shocking,” he said simply. “You don’t expect to come up against a murder, not in ordinary life.” She wished she could say the same; but her life hadn’t turned out that way.

  “How are the choir coping?” she asked.

  “It’s been a bit hairy. Lucas’s death has caused ructions – especially for V.”

  “V?” queried Faith.

  “Lucas and he hung out together. Unlikely mates, in a way – but they were tight, even with the Dot in the middle.” Faith wrinkled her nose.

  “The Dot…?” She couldn’t help smiling. Jim’s face reflected her amusement, wryly.

  “I know. The names they give themselves. The Dot is V’s girl – at least, I think she is. It’s hard to tell; one of those teenage group relationships. I get the sense V only joined the choir for her – though his voice isn’t bad. The oddball trio.”

  Faith thought of the girl with the curls and the boy in the woolly hat at the cathedral; the short girl with the golden hair the PC had called Ben over to talk to – was that the Dot, maybe?

  “So what happened?”

  “Some nastiness – one of the lads in the choir – made a bad joke about V killing Lucas, over the Dot; typical teenage insensitivity. V took it to heart and socked him. Had to separate them. The verger was in a tizzy – fisticuffs in the chancel. The youth choir isn’t very popular. We’ll be lucky to see the week out.”

  “Not really?”

  Jim shrugged. For the first time, she noticed the drawn look about his eyes. “Maybe. I guess; so long as it doesn’t happen again… It was probably more cathartic than anything. A release of tension. They don’t really have the emotional equipment to deal with death at that age. Especially when it comes so close – to one of their own, you know.”

  Down below, the Spicer wedding decorations were already up on half the pew ends. Fred and Pat, Sue and Clari were moving in pairs down two blocks of pews at a time. They worked well together.

  “Do you do all this by yourself?” His question surprised her. “Well, there’s just me at the vicarage – but the congregation are very involved. We have a marvellous PCC, as you can see.” She waved a hand at the team down below. Sue caught sight of her and waved back. She really ought to be down there helping, but she found herself curious about the man beside her. Well, if he was going to be personal…

  “What about you? Do you have family?”

  “Was married, once. My wife came from Edinburgh. She’s gone back home.”

  Gone back home. Ambiguous. Divorced, maybe? She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. Of course he was going to have relationships. He was in his thirties.

  “Any children?” she asked. He was looking right at her and she saw something freeze. Only for a split second. He looked away.

  “One. She lives with her mother. She’s nearly ten now.” His body language said clearly that the subject was closed. Faith watched Sue and the others, trying to think of something to say to dispel the tension. They were clustered together as if preparing to go off for a tea break. Perhaps she should take Jim down to join them. She caught the tail end of a look as his eyes flicked back to the church. He shrugged.

  “Sorry – it’s not something I talk about.”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s…” he hesitated, looking off into middle distance. Faith chimed in softly, their voices blending, “… complicated.” His lips quirked up. “And lonely, sometimes,” he said, eerily e
choing her thoughts.

  This was too intimate ground. She should suggest tea. He tilted his head on his arms, crinkling his eyes at her.

  “You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”

  The compliment warmed her. “It comes with the territory,” she said, absently gesturing to her neck before realizing the dog collar wasn’t there.

  They were alone in the church. The others had disappeared, leaving the purple ribbons with their frothy cream accoutrements dressing the pews. Her church looked good. This could work.

  “There’s something about the space in these old churches.” He spoke quietly. “Don’t know why, but somewhere deep down in your psyche – it moves you. Doesn’t it?” She watched his profile. At that moment she sensed no defences between them, just honest communication. “Do you…” He hesitated. He watched her with narrowed eyes, glinting through his lashes. “Do you ever doubt? Do you always just trust this?”

  She tilted her head, considering. It felt important that she give him an honest answer.

  “Well, life is complex and challenging. There’s no denying that. But I think, in the end, I put my trust in love – and God.” He stared back at her, his eyes willing her to go on. She attempted to elaborate. “Look at all your work with these kids. They’ve no connection to you; no rational call on your time. Yet you go out and you find them and you get them to sing with real joy – isn’t that a material form of love?”

  He laughed abruptly as if she’d startled him. “Thank you for that,” he said after a moment. “You seem to think the best of people.”

  “I’m not naive, you know,” she protested. He looked down his nose at her, unconvinced, the way Ben would do.

  “I like that about you. But…” He looked away, articulating his words as if this was something he really wanted her to understand. “I am a sinner; I am no saint.”

  “So are we all,” she answered.

  “Hi – Faith!” Sue called up to her from the vestry door. “What do you think?” She waved her hand at the transformed church. “Fab or what?”

  “Definitely fab!” Faith called back.

  “We’re off to have something to eat – see you at six?” Sue waved backwards over her shoulder and was gone.

  “I should go too.” Jim unfolded himself from the chair. Faith stood up to give him room. They moved to the stairs inches apart.

  “You doing anything tomorrow night?” His voice came from behind her as he followed her through the dusk of the narrow stairs. “I’ve got the evening off.”

  They’d reached the brighter light of the ground floor. He responded to the doubt in her face. “You’ve seen the kitchen in those lodgings they’ve got me in. I have to eat out.” He tilted his head, looking down at her with a tentative smile. “It would be good to have company for a change.”

  He is a newcomer here, in a strange place at Christmas, she argued with her better self. You saw those barely furnished lodgings he’s in. That mini microwave would hardly heat a cup-a-soup. He is a guest of the church; what’s the harm?

  Her lips were parting to answer him when she remembered supper with Peter and Sandy; that was tomorrow night.

  But then, Sandy had said she was welcome to bring a guest. Why not? Why shouldn’t she bring a church colleague to a friendly supper at the home of members of her own congregation?

  “As it happens,” she heard herself saying, “I am supposed to be having supper with friends – but perhaps you can come with me? Peter Gray and his wife – they’ll be here at Midnight Mass…”

  “They won’t mind?”

  “They told me to bring someone – come and meet some more people.” There. That was just friendly – meet more of the congregation. Not a date at all.

  “Cool,” he said.

  Jim rode a motorbike. He drove off, looking as if he was meant to be on it. She suppressed the urge to grin like an idiot after him. They were two professional colleagues and she had work to do. St James’s was ready for tonight’s invasion; the orders of service were laid out on the pews. She had nearly an hour before she had to be back in the church – time to put her feet up a moment, to turn herself around, grab something to eat and think about what had just happened.

  As she locked the vestry door behind her, her mobile rang. Ruth! Oh dear, she had forgotten her sister again. She pressed the button without looking at the caller display, her mouth preparing apologies.

  “Heard you’ve been to see Adam Bagshaw…” It was Ben. Disorientated, she struggled to adjust to the thought.

  “Have you?” she responded, blankly.

  “You left him your card.” Amusement coloured the words. Faith grimaced, remembering.

  “A pastoral visit,” she said, a tad defensively. What did Ben want? And why just now, the instant after Jim Postlethwaite’s unexpected visit?

  “Got time for a coffee? Maybe we could swap notes.”

  Why did he do this? Ben was the one person with the ability to spring things on her, catching her off guard time and again. She scrabbled for her wits.

  “Well…” She checked her watch. Now she had fifty-four minutes before she had to be back in the vestry. “There’s a carol service at the church tonight. I only have half an hour or so.”

  “You’ve got coffee, haven’t you?”

  Yes. She did. For some reason she still kept a stock of that strong filter coffee Ben drank, even though she didn’t like it herself.

  “It will take you twenty minutes to get here from Winchester, and like I said, I’ve only got half an hour,” she objected.

  “Good thing I’m parked in your drive, then,” he said, and rang off.

  Ben was parked in the vicarage drive? Did that mean he’d seen Jim’s motorbike leave?

  Her heart rate had gone up, Faith noticed crossly. If Ben had driven up on the vicarage side, there was no reason for him to be aware of Jim departing from the church gate. And, besides, so what if he knew? It was perfectly legitimate that the choirmaster should come and check the layout of the church where his choir was due to sing. This was ridiculous! It was her vicarage, her church, her life. She stomped toward home feeling militant.

  Ben was waiting in his long black coat by the kitchen door, his hands buried in his pockets. He tilted his head at her in acknowledgment.

  “It’s still cold.”

  “Isn’t it,” she snapped back. She unlocked the kitchen door and he followed her, looking irritatingly entertained.

  “Coffee?”

  “Thanks.”

  Ben was in her home. She turned her back on him, grateful to have something to busy herself with. He had sprung this visit on her without a by-your-leave. He could start the conversation. She opened cupboards and assembled the coffee machine. She was making herself a mug of tea when he finally spoke.

  “You left the interviews at the cathedral early.”

  “I wasn’t needed.” I am not going to discuss Jim Postlethwaite, she added silently. She could feel his gaze on her back. “I had other things to do,” she added hurriedly.

  “Like sniffing around Bagshaw’s place?”

  “I’ve told you, it was a pastoral visit.” She meant it as a statement; instead, the words came out defensive. Ben grunted. She plonked the mug of dark coffee in front of him. She’d made it extra strong. “The man’s a wreck. He needs support.”

  Ben tensed and she winced deep in her conscience. She hadn’t meant to reference that old business; perhaps the reason for their slow and painful split, perhaps a symptom of her emerging faith. Richard Fisher was the past, and should be left there. She didn’t mean Adam was on the edge of suicide. She caught sight of the clock. No time to go into all that now. She fetched her tea.

  Ben took a sip of the coffee. It was so strong it would have choked her. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Did you get much from the interviews?” she asked. He rubbed a long-fingered hand across his face. His five o’clock shadow stood out against his pale skin. He looked overworked.

  �
�Teenagers aren’t known for cooperating with the police these days.” His bright blue eyes touched hers, reminding her of how close they used to be. She took her mug of tea and sat down across the table from him. She wondered if he had spotted the footprints outside and considered briefly mentioning them. Only pride prevented her from doing so. She didn’t need looking after, and she didn’t need Ben thinking he was the one to do it.

  “Did you come across any particular friends who knew Lucas?” she asked.

  “There’s a couple, a girl and a boy. They weren’t offering much, but I would guess the three of them hung out together more than most.”

  “The short girl with the golden curls and the tall boy – brown hair and a woolly hat?”

  “That’s them.” His mouth curved in fleeting respect.

  “V and the Dot,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “V and the Dot, I think that’s what they go by. He’s V, she’s the Dot.”

  “Not the names they gave the PC.”

  “Probably not.”

  Lucas in a triangle with V and the Dot… how very Dawson’s Creek, the girl between two boyfriends. Could that have anything to do with how Lucas got to the river? She thought of Jim’s report about the fist fight in the choir. Could Lucas’s death be the result of a territorial dispute between teenage boys?

  “Come across anything else of interest?” Ben asked.

  Her guard went up. This time she must keep her distance. She wasn’t part of the police investigation. Clari’s revelations about Pat’s problems still stung. Her parishioners deserved her full attention.

  “Not really.”

  He leaned in toward her, his eyes playful. She could feel the electrical tug between them.

  “But you’re developing sources?” he coaxed. She tried to stop herself smiling.

  “Maybe,” she said crossly. “Have you found out much about Lucas’s movements yet?” Ben sat back and sighed.