Missing pieces, p.10
Missing Pieces, page 10
The two detectives sat on an old-fashioned, high-backed sofa. The floral pattern of red and white roses could hardly have been more out of keeping with modern tastes, and in itself revealed plenty about the vicar – furniture is a frivolous business, after all, though some of us take it very seriously. Gregory Gray positioned himself facing them in a wing-backed chair, his hands resting on the arms, and Waters had the impression that though their visit wasn’t particularly welcome, neither was it entirely unexpected.
Gray said, ‘My name has “come up”. Might I ask where? Or perhaps more accurately, from whom?’
Waters told the story of their visit to see George Saberton but did not mention that they had been told about a confrontation between Gray and one of the festival-goers.
‘Saberton? That’s still a local name. I christened a child two years ago – Ella May. She was a Saberton. The family aren’t among the congregation but I never see that as a reason not to welcome a new soul into the church.’
Serena said, ‘Yes, it’s that family. The gentleman we spoke to today was present. He thought it was done properly.’
Gray looked at her oddly, and she went on, ‘He said he thought you were a proper sort of vicar. He didn’t think there were many left.’
Gray said, ‘Others would say outdated, old-fashioned, past his sell-by date.’
Somewhere, in another room, there was the sound of a clock ticking – something you just don’t hear often nowadays. Waters allowed a few more ticks to pass, portioning out the silence in the house.
Eventually the vicar said, ‘Look up the meaning of christening and you will read that it says “to christen” is to name. I have always believed that what we do in the Christian church’ – and he emphasised the adjective a little – ‘is more than simply naming a child. Think about that word, christening – it can also mean, to make like Christ. There is no better way for a child to begin their time in this world than to be made – if only for a brief moment – more like Christ.’
Waters was an experienced interviewer by now, but he couldn’t recall being confronted with theological instruction before – the chances of it were pretty slim with most of their Kings Lake clientele. People try all sorts of things but in the case of Gregory Gray he doubted whether these were tactical moves; they were, he provisionally concluded, dealing with a singularly devout man.
He said, ‘Mr Saberton was working as head gardener on the Wissingham estate in the year the young woman’s body was found, sir. There was a sort of pop festival taking place in the week before. I don’t know whether you recall any of that yourself…’
Leaving an opening, giving the interviewee an opportunity to walk through it and to carry on the conversation. What they choose to say can be as revealing as their answers to your questions.
‘Yes. I do.’
For different reasons, of course, not everyone takes such opportunities. The vicar left his elbows on the arms of the chair but linked together the fingers of his hands across his middle. That’s a gesture we make when we are feeling comfortable and composed.
Waters said, ‘Mr Saberton also recalls that he saw you at the festival. Not attending as a music-goer, sir, but in conversation with some people there.’
‘Mr Saberton’s memory isn’t at fault. I was there, on more than one occasion.’
Serena Butler had taken out her notebook discreetly, but not so discreetly that the vicar didn’t notice – it was plain he had no concerns about her recording what he was saying. Waters asked whether Gray would mind explaining exactly why he had gone to the Wissingham Hall pop festival.
Gray said, ‘I don’t know how much you know about this, detective sergeant. I should make one thing clear, however. Pop festivals are bad enough in my view – I won’t bore you with the reasons why I believe that. But what had been going on at Wissingham for some years prior to my arrival was something entirely different and much worse. You are both relatively young. What do you know about New Age ideas? I use the word “ideas” in the loosest possible way because it implies at least some foundation in rational thought.’
Waters and Serena exchanged glances before admitting they didn’t know much about the matter – they had found the vicar of St Mary’s more willing to talk than they had expected, and saw no reason not to let him do so. Gray continued, ‘The Age of Aquarius. It became a popular idea. There was a musical and a catchy song in the 1960s. Out of those times grew the hippie counter-culture, which in itself was merely a front for what was called a sexual revolution. All this meant in reality was sexual licence – the abandonment of moral codes which have acted as an anchor for humanity since the writings of St Paul.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Waters could see the expression on Serena’s face – slightly glazed, perhaps, as she stared at her angry little guinea pig and tried to conceal her surprise at the turn things were taking.
‘Of course,’ said Gray, ‘the irony is that they called it New Age, because it wasn’t new at all. There have been countless attempts to undermine – literally to weaken the foundations of – the Christian church. To offer easy and tempting alternatives to the one true God and the narrow way. Think about Moses and the golden calf, fashioned by Aaron, his own brother!’
Yes, thought Waters, I must look that up… He was trying to picture the arrival of a much younger Gregory Gray at the festival site twenty years ago. George Saberton said they ended up having a bit of a row. That might have been something of an understatement.
‘… essentially the Age of Aquarius is claimed as the coming of age of Man, in which he takes control of his own destiny. Consciousness will expand and Man becomes god-like in his own right. It was hubris and it was blasphemous.’
Waters nodded respectfully but Gray saw through him and smiled, suddenly and unexpectedly. He said, ‘Fear not, detective sergeant. I know exactly how I sound to you. One of my many roles is to be a defender of the faith. I’ve always taken that one seriously. You asked why I went to Wissingham. At that time in this parish were a number of devout and simple people – I hope you understand how I am using the word “simple” in that context. They had heard stories and rumours of what was taking place there, what had happened in the years before my arrival. They brought their concerns to me, and I promised them I would go to the Hall and express those concerns to the people responsible for them. I did so, and no doubt that was when your George Saberton saw me there. I visited the Hall on, I believe, three occasions.’
Waters said, ‘Thank you, Reverend. We’re not here to ask you to account for your own movements at the time but that gives us some useful background. Our purpose in these inquiries at present is to locate some of the people who were there and who might remember the young woman who was found’ – and then he recalled what Greene had said about the way this case had been handled originally – ‘who was found dead on the Wissingham estate. Our other lines of inquiry might give us her name, and perhaps a picture of her to show to those people. You say you went to the festival site three times. Presumably you spoke to some of those present?’
Gray said, ‘I did so. I made a point of talking to some of the young men and women there. In particular I was asking that they respect the local community – if not their beliefs then at least their right to peace and quiet.’
‘And so it’s possible you might recognise a photograph?’
The fingers opened and made a gesture of resignation, as Gray answered that – ‘It was twenty years ago. I suppose it is possible.’
Waters and Serena had worked together on a number of investigations; he didn’t need to signal that this was a good time to ask any questions she might have. She said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir, George Saberton told us you were arguing with someone. Would you recall that person’s name?’
A pause then and, if Waters was not mistaken, a controlled breath or two, before, ‘Indeed I would. He told me his name was Seth.’
As she wrote that down, Gray said, ‘I doubt it was genuine. It was probably a name he had taken for himself.’
The two of them looked up at Gray. He glanced from one to the other before he said, ‘Seth was the third son of Adam. In Hebrew it means “appointed” – this man had appointed himself as some sort of leader of those gullible young people. Seth’s older brothers, of course, were Cain and Abel.’
Serena nodded as if she had, of course, known this but then commented that that was a cold case they wouldn’t be looking into: as far as the Reverend Gregory Gray was concerned, it would be fair to say her bon mot fell on stony ground. Waters asked whether he could recall any other names.
Gray said, ‘There were two of them – “Seth” and his brother, Saul. As you can see, there was a sacrilegious element to it all. It was more than some foolish young people having a party. They were being manipulated by forces they did not understand. When I asked that the local people’s beliefs and rights be respected, they began to mock the church, publicly, making a spectacle of it. It did become heated on one occasion.’
Gregory Gray had a certain odd dignity. Waters remembered George Saberton’s words – a proper old-fashioned vicar, not many of them left – and wondered whether there had been many like this one in the first place. He asked about any contact with members of the Leadsom family in view of the trouble the pop festival was causing locally.
‘Indeed, yes. I had met James Leadsom previously but he was nowhere to be found. I spoke to his younger brother but to no avail.’
‘This was Ronnie Leadsom?’
‘Yes. Another lost soul…’
Waters was aware of DI Greene hovering in the background – this was all very well, all very interesting, but it’s hardly progressing the case. They had found out a couple of names that might not be genuine, and that was all. On the other hand, his instincts were still telling him that ‘Rose’ had been there at the festival, and that Gregory Gray was the nearest thing they had to a witness. He said, ‘How did the young woman come to be buried in Stone Warren, sir?’
There was no immediate answer. In the space, they heard the church tower chime one o’clock, a single toll of the bell. Greene had asked them to be back in the office by two. Eventually the vicar said, ‘Where else did she have to go to find her rest?’
Waters was silent, and once again the doing of nothing brought something. Gray said, ‘We talked about the matter in the parish. A collection was held and we said we would pay for her funeral and her coffin if she were to be buried here at St Marys. Whoever decides such matters agreed. I believe they were guided by the Lord in that.’
He seemed quite sincere in this, and Waters glimpsed the reason why Gregory Gray had become so angry at the exhumation. He looked directly into the face and wondered whether it was right to invite the man’s speculation, to ask that other question; Freeman and Greene would almost certainly not ask it but his first and most original mentor might have done so.
He said, ‘You think that the young woman was at the Wissingham festival?’
‘I am sure of it.’
‘And that she died because she was there. That her death was connected to something which took place there?’
It was fleeting but there was a momentary look of relief on Gray’s face – as if he had said the same thing many times and no one had ever believed him. He said, ‘I am sure of that, too. I have said, they were involved in matters they did not understand – or at least, the majority did not. My parishioners had heard stories, rumours were circulating. Chanting, music at all hours, lights in the woods… And you are not the first policeman who has been told this. We mentioned it all at the time. It was never taken seriously.’
On the drive back to Lake, Serena said, ‘Where I grew up we had a spiritualist church in the next street. My mum always reckoned most of them were nut-jobs.’
Waters wasn’t driving quickly. When they arrived back, it would be desk-work again – something he was more than capable of doing but which he did not always find interesting. And driving was a good thinking opportunity, keeping the hands and the semi-automatic part of the brain occupied but leaving enough space for speculation and debate.
He said, ‘I’m sure your mum was an intelligent woman. I mean, she had to be, didn’t she?’
He glanced at Serena, who had detected the ironic ambiguities immediately, and continued, ‘But having a religious faith doesn’t on its own make someone a nut-job.’
She said, ‘No. But it probably helps. Think about it. There are plenty of religious fanatics in the world but I’ve never heard of an atheist fanatic. It’s when they believe in something it goes wrong – if you don’t believe in anything, it can’t go wrong, can it?’
There was a kind of logic in this. Waters considered it before he said, ‘A world in which no one believed in anything could go wrong in all sorts of ways. Gregory Gray would say that’s exactly what’s wrong with the world. Too many people have no belief in anything.’
Serena was always ready for an argument, and not just with her boss – he therefore never took it personally. She said, ‘No, he wouldn’t, actually. He’d say that what’s wrong with the world is that we don’t all believe what he believes.’
Waters nodded and said, ‘Fair point. What about you? What do you believe in?’
‘Easy. Holidays in hot places. Anything designed by Stella McCartney. Dunlop squash rackets. Robbie Williams. And Cadbury’s chocolate.’
You had to smile. This was Serena’s Essex girl act – the fact that she grew up in the Midlands mattered not at all. He said, ‘That’s a pretty materialist sort of creed.’
‘If you say so, boss. I’m a material girl, I expect, like Madonna. But that’s all there is. That’s what I believe – it’s a material world, it’s all we’ve got and we’d better make the most of it. You don’t get two rides on this roundabout.’
Waters said, ‘So what about this case? You don’t buy the vicar’s idea that there was something sinister going on that led to Rose’s strange demise?’
‘Demise? That’s a DC word for it if ever I heard one! No, I’m not saying that. You asked me what I believe – other people believe all sorts of weird stuff and do horrible things as a result. But there’s nothing behind all that but the usual suspects – as he used to say, ninety-nine per cent of the time, it’s sex or it’s money. She was wearing cheap high street clothes, so it was about sex, one way or another.’
It is important to understand one’s weaknesses as well as one’s strengths. Waters knew he was inclined to overthink, to lose himself in analytical mazes of his own making; in meetings it had become a standing joke that sometimes others had to wait for him to stop day-dreaming and get back into the room. This was why a team-member like Serena was important – she was the perfect antidote to that. He said, ‘There are possibilities between the Holy Ghost and Cadbury’s chocolate. What about believing in… I don’t know. Justice. Fairness. Retribution for people who hurt others. That’s why we do the job, isn’t it?’
Serena said, ‘It’s why some of us do it.’
‘But not you… You do it because?’
‘I just like nailing the bastards.’
He laughed and said, ‘See? Calling them that means you’re making a moral judgement. Making moral judgements implies you have an ethical framework. Gregory Gray would argue that his God has given you that framework. How else do you explain…’
It was one forty in the afternoon. It was a two thousand-year-old question and they probably couldn’t answer it in the next twenty minutes but it was worth a go. And in one of the many backrooms of his mind, Waters was busy rearranging pictures on an invisible desk, trying to get them into the order that made the most sense: he had images of a man who called himself Seth, and another named Saul; there was the faint outline of someone called Ronnie – “another lost soul” – and a still of the young vicar of St Mary’s defending the faith against a laughing, jeering mob. To the side was George Saberton witnessing it all but mostly worried about the state of the lawns. Somewhere in the crowd was the girl. She had to be there. To believe otherwise was to believe that the discovery of her body less than a mile away from Wissingham Hall less than a week later was entirely unrelated to the story the vicar had just told them. It was to believe in coincidence.
Chapter Eleven
Waters’ expectation that days of deskwork lay ahead proved correct. Freeman’s approach seemed to be that everyone should have read everything, including the summaries from the previous senior investigating officers. The number of files and documents involved grew, sometimes by the hour, and DI Greene set up tables in the small office adjacent to the one they used every day. On the Tuesday morning Waters noticed that an old-fashioned whiteboard had also appeared in there. Someone – not Greene himself – had written ‘Rose” in capitals at the top, but the rest of the board was still blank when he went in again on the Wednesday. Or so he thought, but later in the morning, during a break for coffee, he and John Murray noticed some faint letters in the bottom right corner. At first they seemed indecipherable but then Murray made it out and said, ‘You know who wrote that, don’t you?’
Waters said, ‘I can take a good guess, John.’
‘He loved a whiteboard and squeaky markers,’ said Murray.
Smith must have used this one in a past investigation, and at the bottom he had written “Please Leave!” The board had subsequently been cleaned but the traces of that instruction had been left behind, like the ghosts of lost words on an ancient scroll.
Waters said, ‘Did he ever work on cold cases? I’ve never heard him mention it.’
Murray said, ‘Not in my time. When we didn’t have a body, we’d do other stuff. Seems to me that’s one of the downsides of being in a specialist squad. We did some good work on people-smuggling once…’
Now that he had begun to think about it, career direction was on Waters’ mind often; he wondered whether spending too long in a specialist squad might eventually limit his options in the future. Two years ago, what he was now doing would have been his dream job but perspectives change, even when we’re not looking. Perhaps that’s when they change most of all.
