‘He must have. I’m counting on it.’
‘Then there’s a question of motive, sir. Just because he had that NCF leaflet in his pocket, it doesn’t mean that he supports their cause.’
‘There’s no other conceivable reason why he should have it.’
‘I can think of one,’ said Marmion. ‘He wanted to use it as the basis of a sermon. That’s what the vicar of our church did. He stood in the pulpit a couple of Sundays ago and denounced those who refused to take part in what he called a holy crusade against the Germans. The Reverend Howells may be of the same view.’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘You’re resorting to guesswork, Superintendent.’
‘The facts speak for themselves.’
‘Well, they don’t convince me,’ said Marmion, as they turned into the office. ‘The two incidents could be entirely unrelated.’
‘But the second is a mirror image of the first.’
‘I dispute that, sir. What we have now is an ambush in a dark lane. Whereas, in the first instance, we had someone killed elsewhere then dumped during the night. That’s a critical difference.’
‘You may be forced to eat your words, Inspector.’
‘Then I’ll do so in all humility — but only if I get concrete proof.’
Chatfield was peevish. He hated it when anyone challenged his theories. He had a particular aversion to being contradicted by Marmion. Walking around his desk, he lowered himself into his chair.
‘Do you recall the visit you made to Ablatt’s father?’ he asked.
‘I recall it very well, sir.’
‘He talked about his son’s passion for religion and you saw all those books about Christianity in his room. It was in the first report you gave me.’
‘I tried to be as comprehensive as possible.’
‘Did you ever ask which church Ablatt and his father attended?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t. Sergeant Keedy and I just let Mr Ablatt talk.’
‘Take a look at a map of Shoreditch, Inspector. The most likely church would have been the closest to the house. Do you agree?’
‘Yes,’ said Marmion. ‘That would be logical.’
‘Then he was a member of the congregation at St Leonard’s,’ said Chatfield with the deep satisfaction of someone who’d just made a decisive point in a debate. ‘It therefore follows that Ablatt must have known the curate very well. My feeling is that they were birds of a feather.’ He bared his teeth at Marmion. ‘Do you still think there’s no connection between the two crimes?’
Ellen was thrilled to see her daughter for the second time in a week. She liked to think that Alice had come specifically to see her, even though her daughter went straight upstairs to her bedroom to retrieve various items she needed. Alice didn’t even have time for a cup of tea. She bundled the things into a bag.
‘Have you ever thought about having a lodger?’ she asked.
‘I feel as if I already have one, Alice — it’s your father.’
‘I’m serious. We’re always looking for accommodation for refugees. Most of them come with families or friends but we do get the occasional person on their own. All they want is a roof over their head.’
Ellen was upset. ‘I’d never let anyone have your room.’
‘But I don’t need it any more.’
‘You may want it back one day when the war is over.’
‘No,’ said Alice, firmly. ‘I’ve moved out for good, Mummy. That’s no reflection on you and Daddy. I loved it when I lived at home. But everything has changed now and you’ll have to get used to it.’
‘It’s too early to be so certain about that.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Ellen refused to accept the inevitable. She still nurtured the hope that her daughter would, in time, begin to yearn for the comforts of home and return to live in the family house. She put a maternal hand on Alice’s shoulder.
‘Let’s talk about it properly when you’re not in such a rush.’
‘There’s no point. My mind is made up.’
‘Where will you live after the war?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll find somewhere. For the moment, I’m happy enough with the place I’ve got, even though the landlady is very strict. However,’ she said with a laugh, ‘I’m much better off than Vera. Her landlady is a real dragon.’ She gave her mother a peck on the cheek. ‘I must be off. Goodbye.’
Ellen eyed her shrewdly. ‘Has something happened, Alice?’
‘The war has happened. Our lives can never be the same again.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ said her mother. ‘Ever since you’ve been in the house, you’ve been smiling to yourself as if you have some sort of secret. It reminds me of the time when you were at school and had your first boyfriend. You came home with a grin on your face but you wouldn’t tell us why.’
‘That was years ago,’ said Alice, ‘and it never lasted, anyway. I soon lost interest in him. As for boyfriends, the only young men I get to see are terrified refugees from Belgium. I just don’t have time for a social life.’ Picking up her bag, she went to the front door. ‘Give my love to Daddy.’
Ellen went to wave her off. ‘Take care, darling. Bye.’
She stood and watched as Alice got into the lorry and drove off. Ellen was both hurt and curious. She wondered why her daughter had just lied to her.
The first person Marmion spoke to at the hospital was the doctor in charge of the case. James Howells had had an emergency operation but was still in a coma. All that the medical staff could do was to wait and watch. The doctor promised that he would get in touch with Scotland Yard the moment that the patient was conscious again, though he warned that Howells might not be able to remember what had happened. In cases of brain damage, it was impossible to predict the outcome. Marmion thanked him and went into the waiting room where the Reverend Simon Ellway was sitting with his eyes closed as if in prayer. The old man’s shoulders sagged wearily. Marmion waited until the vicar’s eyes opened before introducing himself. Ellway was distraught.
‘Where will it end, Inspector?’ he asked in despair. ‘Only yesterday, I had to comfort the family of a parishioner of mine, Cyril Ablatt, who was murdered. Last night, someone tried to kill my curate.’
‘It’s not impossible that the two cases are related,’ said Marmion. ‘I’m here because I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder as well. Cyril Ablatt worshipped at St Leonard’s, then?’
‘Oh, yes. He and his father attended services regularly.’
‘Tell me a little about your curate.’
The vicar spoke warmly. ‘James is a delightful young man. The moment he arrived, he seemed to fit in perfectly. He is indefatigable. Nothing is too much trouble for him. He took a huge load off my back. We had our differences, naturally,’ admitted Ellway. ‘He didn’t entirely share my passion for the Old Testament and, by the same token, I was rather resistant to some of the modern ideas he tried to press upon me. In truth, I suppose, I’m a hopeless traditionalist. But none of our differences get in the way of our friendship. James is like a son to us.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘We offered him a room at the vicarage but he preferred to be out in the community he served. He has digs within walking distance of the church.’ He smiled fondly. ‘James is single but I don’t think he’ll remain a bachelor for long. He’s very handsome and sets many a female heart aflutter. My wife used to tease me about it. When James took a service, she said, there are always more young ladies in the congregation than when I’m on duty.’
‘Given his popularity, why should anyone wish to attack him?’
‘It was more than just an attack, Inspector. It was a case of attempted murder. If someone hadn’t, mercifully, come along when he did, James would be dead.’
‘Did he ever talk about enemies that he had?’
‘No,’ replied Ellway, ‘because there weren’t any. Everyone liked him.’