EIGHTEEN
A policewoman answered the door and showed Tennant and Potter into the living room without saying a word. The inspector didn’t know quite what he had been expecting but certainly nothing like the man who sat stiffly in a high-backed chair staring silently into space. For this was an elegant man, a grandee, with a leonine head and a long mane of silver hair. He sat bolt upright, a hand on each arm, and hardly seemed to breathe as Tennant approached. He took the inspector in with a glance from his Arctic eyes that almost sent Tennant reeling, so vivid and clear and somehow familiar were they. But he said nothing.
The inspector cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me disturbing you at a time like this, Mr Mauser, but I am afraid there are certain questions I have to ask you.’
The man made no reply but lifted one long hand as a signal that he was ready to be interrogated.
‘First of all, were you at home last night?’
The blue eyes met Tennant’s and held them in an unblinking stare.
‘Yes, of course I was. As a matter of fact I had gone to bed early and got up at five in the morning and went for a long walk. When I returned it was to find the police here.’
‘You did not notice that your wife had not come to bed?’
A humourless smile flitted across Mauser’s face. ‘We sleep in separate rooms.’
There was no mistaking it. There was the hint of an accent underlying his perfectly spoken English. Tennant took a guess at German.
Potter must have heard it too because he asked, ‘How long have you been in this country, sir?’
Mauser’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with the terrible death of my wife.’
‘Probably nothing. But tiny fragments of information help us to build the entire picture. So how long, sir?’
‘My mother and I came here in 1974. And before you ask I was thirty-five years old and I am now aged seventy.’
‘So you were considerably older than your wife.’
‘Cheryl is – was – forty-seven.’
The man had iron-like self control and Tennant could not help but feel a sneaking admiration for him. But yet again, just as he had sensed with Roseanna Culpepper, there had been something familiar about that handsome face and unnerving eyes.
He leant forward. ‘Look Mr Mauser, I have no intention of prying –’ liar, he thought to himself – ‘but I think it might be helpful if you told us something of your history.’
A slightly amused expression appeared in Michael’s eyes, though his face remained rigidly still.
‘Really? Am I obliged to do so?’
‘No, sir, you are not. But we have other methods. We shall find out one way or another.’
Mauser smiled, revealing a strong set of teeth, all his own.
‘Then I suggest you use one of those.’
Potter was slightly gobsmacked, Tennant could tell, but he merely smiled back and said, ‘Oh, we shall, Mr Mauser, don’t you worry.’
‘Now, gentlemen, is there anything relevant I can tell you further?’ He stressed the word relevant.
‘I presume you have no alibi for last night or your early morning stroll?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. When I went walking this morning I saw Giles Fielding. He was in the fields with one of his sheep.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Yes. I waved at him and he at me. And last night, when I was in bed, Dr Rudniski came to see me.’
‘And why was that, if I may ask?’
Michael steepled his long fingers and raised them to his chin. ‘Because, Inspector Tennant, I am suffering with cancer.’ And for the first time in the interview, he lowered his brilliant gaze to the floor.
‘Jesus, I didn’t see that coming,’ said Potter in the car.
‘He’s too self-controlled to be true,’ answered Tennant. ‘And I regard it as highly suspicious that he wouldn’t open up about his past.’
‘Do you know why I think he did it? To give us more work.’
‘You’re probably right. Potter, ring Dr Rudniski’s receptionist and ask him to pop into the unit as soon as possible.’
His sergeant reached for his mobile and Tennant could hear him talking, but he had switched his mind elsewhere. There were so many loose and disparate ends in this case and yet there must be some common denominator – which, of course, was the murderer himself or herself. His thoughts roamed on to the figure he had seen on the bicycle. Had that been the man? Or woman, come to think of it. He tried to envisage exactly what he had seen and recalled that the figure had been bent over the handlebars and that the upper part of the body had been covered in a waterproof oilskin with a hood which had been pulled up, concealing the face. So though those bright white trousers had made him think it was a man it could quite easily have been female. For no reason the inspector’s train of thought turned to the delectable Olivia and he wished that he could see her again.
As soon as he got back to the mobile HQ he left instructions that he wanted every bicycle in Lakehurst – and Speckled Wood – noted and examined. There had been no tyre marks left at Foxhall Farm but anything unusual at all was to be reported to him. Then he sat down to read the reports of the DNA collection team.
Most people had given a sample gladly enough but several had objected, mostly standing by their human rights. Tennant ran his eye down the list and was interested to see that Ivy Bagshot, Mavis Cox and, of course, Jack Boggis had been amongst these. Olivia and Sonia Tate had been unavailable, as had a great many other people. Of those who had given, the inspector saw that all three doctors had cooperated, as well as the vicar. Now the results would be taken to Lewes, each carefully marked, awaiting any further evidence that Tennant might produce.
He was hoping to spend a late evening on his computer, researching all the people connected, however remotely, with show business. For some deep-seated hunch told him that somehow there was a connection. But just as he was packing up his things to go Kasper came into the unit and they were obliged to retire to a question room.
‘Don’t be intimidated by this,’ Tennant said, gesturing at the general bareness. ‘I’m afraid we’re a bit limited for space.’
‘Oh don’t worry,’ the doctor answered. ‘It makes a change from visiting grumpy old patients. Now what is it you want to ask me?’
‘It’s about Michael Mauser. I believe he is a patient of yours.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Did you call on him last evening?’
‘Yes. It was about eight o’clock. He was in bed. I went to give him something to relieve the pain he was suffering.’
‘Did you see Mrs Mauser?’
The look of sheer surprise on the doctor’s face revealed that he had no idea of the relationship.
‘Who?’
‘I’m sorry. You obviously were not party to the secret. I mean Cheryl Hamilton-Harty. They were married.’
‘Good God! I had no idea.’
‘He admitted it quite freely to me.’
The doctor grinned and Tennant thought he could see why all the girls were after him. ‘Well, you are a policeman.’
‘Yes, but he clammed up about his past. He’s German, isn’t he?’
‘I believe so. He spent quite a time in Poland though. He speaks Polish fluently.’
‘Does he now? Do you know anything about his background?’
‘Only what he told me. He arrived in this country in 1975 in the company of his very elderly mother.’
‘Did he take British nationality, do you know?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t. I just presumed he had.’
‘And you think he spent some time in Poland?’
‘Judging by the way he spoke the language, the answer is yes.’
Tennant gave Kasper a very direct look. ‘Tell me, Doctor, have you any reason to believe that Mr Mauser was impotent?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you. What passes between a doctor and his patient is strictly confidential.’
‘I quite understand. But back to Mrs Mauser. Did you see her when you called last night?’
‘Yes, she let me in. Then she went back to the living room. She had the television on.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘About eight o’clock. I know that was late to make a call but I always treat Mr Mauser as an exception. You see, I rather admire him.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I think he has had a lot to cope with in his life.’
‘Such as what?’
The doctor looked vague and shrugged his shoulders and Tennant realized immediately that he was treading on tricky ground.
‘Don’t worry, Dr Rudniski, if you’d rather not say.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Thank you so much for telling me what you have. Now, can I buy you a drink?’
The doctor looked at his wristwatch. ‘Yes, I am officially off-duty.’
They walked across the road to The Great House to find that the vicar was there ahead of them talking to – lo and behold – Olivia Beauchamp. She looked a little tired but was still as beautiful as ever. The three men stood staring at her, jaws slightly dropping, and it occurred to Tennant that they must look like the Three Stooges, and wondered what she was thinking of them.
Olivia, however, didn’t seem to notice their simultaneous looks of admiration and said with a worried expression on her face, ‘Oh, Inspector, what a terrible time you’ve been having. Nick has just been telling me. We’ve had to postpone my recital in Lakehurst indefinitely.’
‘It’s been pretty grim,’ he acknowledged. ‘Most of all for the people of the village.’
‘I haven’t given my DNA yet. I’ll come to the unit tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you. If you’d like to ask for me when you arrive.’
He could feel the vicar and the doctor glancing at him and, aware that he momentarily had the advantage, said, ‘Can I buy you a drink, Miss Beauchamp?’
‘Please call me Olivia. I feel that you’re almost a resident.’
‘I’m beginning to feel that myself. Now what will it be?’
As he went to the bar he saw Nick and Kasper simultaneously make a move and couldn’t help grinning to himself at the stupidity of men. Then he thought about how many murders were caused by the crassness of both sexes, and his smile faded to nothing.
The four of them sat down at a table and were oblivious of everything going on around them when they were interrupted by a voice speaking in its usual husky tones.
‘Hello, Inspector. I hear you’ve been searching for me.’
He straightened up, knowing who it was without even looking.
‘Well not exactly, Mrs Tate.’
‘I told you it was Sonia. Do you mind if I join you?’
And she sat down at the table, shooting Olivia a dirty look as she did so.
She’s jealous, thought Tennant. Jealous as hell of youth and beauty.
‘What’s everybody having?’ asked Sonia, peering beneath her lashes at Kasper, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
‘No, I’m in the chair,’ Tennant said reluctantly.
‘Then a very dry Martini – shaken not stirred, as they say.’
She laughed in a juvenile way and tipped her head saucily at the inspector. Then she turned to Nick.
‘And how’s my favourite vicar?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ he answered, straight-faced. ‘I don’t believe I know the man.’
‘Don’t be a tease.’ She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘And how are you, Doctor?’
‘I am in good health, thank you,’ he answered, speaking very correctly and sitting bolt upright, clearly not open to flirtation.
Sonia fixed Olivia with a stare. ‘My dear, how it must take it out of you, all this travelling around. You look quite worn out.’
This was one of the unkindest things that one woman can say to another, immediately suggesting that the person concerned looked old and haggard.
Olivia countered with a brilliant smile. ‘Do you know I was thinking the same about you, Sonia. I hope you’re not overdoing it.’
Nick was dying to snigger but controlled himself admirably while the doctor stared moodily at the ceiling. Tennant, returning from the counter, just heard the tail end of it and decided to let it pass. Olivia seemed more than capable of dealing with such cattiness. He passed Sonia her drink.
‘If I may say so I think it is very foolhardy of you to wander about on your own during the hours of darkness.’
‘Well, people did during the war, didn’t they? They didn’t let Hitler ruin their social lives. I mean my mother was brought up in Brixton and she kept going out and about despite the blackout.’
Nobody answered her and Tennant thought that her mother must have had her quite young because Sonia had always struck him as being well in her sixties, despite her attempts to present an image of eternal youthfulness. He looked at his watch.
‘Well, I must be going. I’ve got a great deal to do this evening.’
‘Would you like to come and stay the night? I think everywhere else is packed with journalists,’ Nick said.
‘That would be very kind.’
Sonia said archly, ‘I’ve got a spare room available at any time.’
Everyone looked at her but nobody said a word, though eventually Tennant couldn’t resist saying, ‘Thank you, Sonia. I’ll put it on the list for the WPCs.’
She was about to make some remark but the vicar spoiled it by rising to his feet.
‘So sorry, everybody, but I have to go. Got to let the choir in for practice. Ladies, good night. Please go home with an escort.’
He gave his odd bow and almost ran back to the vicarage, where he quickly fed Radetsky, rushed up to the spare room and hastily put some fresh towels out, then hurried to the church to open it up for the choir.
Though it always gave him the creeps to enter the place at night, Nick immediately went to the light switch and turned them on. There was nothing and no one there and a few minutes later he heard the reassuring sound of several cars stopping outside and the tramp of feet as the choir approached.
The choirmaster, one Reginald Bridger, had arranged, during the present reign of terror, for those with cars to give lifts to others who had not and the first to enter the church followed by a flock of youngsters was Mrs Ely, the belting soprano with the terrible voice. She swept in like a mother hen with a brood of chicks, followed by several spotty boys, driven by somebody’s sister. Last to arrive were Reginald Bridger and Broderick Crawford, who tonight looked sicker than ever.
The vicar, who had indeed a lot to do, decided to skip his tasks rather than walk home in the dark, and sat unobtrusively in one of the pews and listened. Tonight Mrs Ely, who had niggled on about having a sore throat, was singing quite quietly and some of the sounds that the choir were making were extremely beautiful. Nick felt almost moved to tears that some evil creature was roaming the village, terrorizing the people, and yet his humble choir could produce such an exquisite sound.
At nine o’clock on the dot he moved quietly into the vestry and opened the outer door. Tennant and Sergeant Potter were standing outside and crept softly within, the inspector raising his finger to his lips to indicate that they must keep totally silent. Nick nodded and went back into the church.
As the practice ended he got to his feet.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I would request you to come into the vestry for a moment. I have something to say that won’t take more than five minutes.’
Mrs Ely said, ‘But, Vicar, my throat . . .’
‘Please, ma’am,’ he answered, ‘this will be very brief I assure you.’
They trooped into the vestry to find Inspector Tennant standing with an armful of cloaks. The sergeant had taken possession of the rest.
‘Well now, people,’ Tennant said cheerily, ‘we thought that as it was a cold night you all ought to wear your cloaks. Could you come and take them from me, please.’
In the doorway Broderick made a most terrible retching sound, so much so that several children moved away, fearful of what he might do.
‘Come along, sir,’ said Tennant, horribly bright. ‘Just take your cloak please.’
Broderick wheeled in the doorway and sprinted from the church, gagging as he ran.
‘After him, Potter,’ shouted Tennant, and as his sergeant sped away he threw the cloaks to the vicar and sped out into the night.