14. A New Suspect

14. A New Suspect

DI McFyffe looked at the Reverend Stoker with a half smile on her face for a several long seconds, and then spoke.

“Reverend Stoker,” she began, “I am conducting a murder enquiry and I want to to understand that you’re here as a witness.”

“My dear policewoman, I have no idea what you are talking about, and I demand the right to inform my Bishop that I’m in the hands of a mad woman disguised as a detective,” said the vicar in the sort of voice that expected to be obeyed, or else the heavens would descend. “I don’t know who’d been murdered because I never saw anything of the murder, and anyway, I’ve never been in that blasted cellar.”

The DI smiled. “Of course you haven’t,” she said quietly, “That’s why your fingerprints are all over it! I would never expect that a gentleman like yourself would ever go anywhere near such a dismal place, and without wearing gloves!. But I reckon I can make a convincing case that through a long period of trying to either get into a young woman’s fragrant underwear for personal pleasure or maybe to drive that same young woman to the breaking point, you could be considered as instrumental in what happened the other night to your personal hero.”

“Now what are you blabbering about? And why do you think he’s any sort of hero of mine?” almost snarled the vicar, dropping out of his pulpit tones and into something considerably less sophisticated.

“The suit he was wearing. It was identical to the one you wear, even to the little Italian label. And one thing we all know about the late Mr Daniels is he was trying, albeit with very little success, to form a political union of like minded souls. It has been mooted that he said that the suit was a kind of uniform, something that cant be confirmed since he is most obviously no longer in this world. But that may just be speculation, so ignore it if you like. But Miss Scooch? Tell us about her?”

“The b***h who mouthed off at me? She’s nothing to me, just a young woman who does her best to catch my eye when I’m out ana bout.” he replied, “and as for my suit, it, was a gift. Left on my doorstep, it was. If you say it was expensive I’ll believe you, but I wouldn’t know because I didn’t pay for it.”

“Didn’t you find that very odd? I mean, an expensive Italian suit in your own size actually donated on your doorstop? And the same suit identical to the one worn by a local would be politician? One who conducts his meetings in the cellar of the local primary school? Meetings that I’ve got every reason to suspect that you are no stranger to? Was there a meeting the evening when he died??

“There might have been, how would I know?” The reverend gentleman was becoming petulant.

“And did the angel of your dreams see you there? You know, the very young Miss Scooch?”

“She’s no angel, she’s a w***e!”

“Oh dear, would you moderate the way you think of her f I were to tell you that she’s observing this interview courtesy of that camera over there?” Sheila pointed at the camera with its dimly glowing red light in the corner of the room. “Because she might not like being called a w***e by the man who has made her life less than pleasant for quite a long time. Why, when we accosted you, you were on your way to her front door, and she must have seen you coming and she expressed, rather strongly, her opinion of you… “

“And she’s listening…?”

“Would it matter to you if she was?”

“I like her. I can’t help it. She’s pretty.”

“Yes, she’s that all right. So you don’t want her to hear you calling her a w***e?”

“I didn’t mean it. It’s just a phrase, a meaningless tittle-tattle, I don’t mean anything by it. I don’t know what a w***e is. But she can’t be here? She was in her house! And you brought me straight here! You lied to me! I’ll have you done for that.”

“There was no lie. I merely insinuated that you might change your attitude if she were listening in. You’re right: she isn’t, but the camera, as you will notice, is live. So you won’t have any idea who’s privy to everything you’ve got to say. So tell me: what is your opinion of Miss Scooch?”

He shrugged. “She’s okay.” he said reluctantly, “I like passing the time of day with her.

“And were you passing the time of day with her when somebody scratched Mr Daniels with an old knife?”

“I knew where she was. I often looked at her when she was working. I didn’t do anything wrong.” He was seeming desperate for the right words, a turn of phrase, maybe, that would justify his obsession with a young cleaner.

“And you saw her when she thrust a sharp knife into the poor man?”

“Poor man? He was a charlatan! Everyone knew that! The meeting when he was stabbed had no more than three or four men there. I was one of them! And the door at the top of the stairs, the ones he used as a kind of stage or platform so that the few there could see him, it opened.”

“You saw it?”

He nodded.

“And?” asked Dave.

“And she was there. The lass, the cleaning lass. And she looked at him and turned to go as if she’d seen a ghost, she turned to close the door. She was holding a few things, probably going to tidy them away because it was just about time for her to go home, and someone came along and pushed her out of the way, and the noise made the Daniels man turn round.”

“You saw all this? So why have you kept it to yourself rather than reported what you saw to the police?” asked Sheila.

“Because I saw who did it, who grabbed the knife from the young woman’s hands and lunged at Daniels. It was Mr Foster the caretaker, and he had murder on his mind!”

© Peter Rogerson, 21.01.25