"Ah, but he is until proved guilty, and we're a long, long way from that. What's your motive?"
"Mine? It's not my motive you should be questioning. I'm doing what a responsible citizen should, informing you what I know."
George gave it to him straight. "Nothing. That's what you know. There's plenty you suspect, but I can't arrest a man on suspicions alone. A man of the cloth."
"That's the real objection, isn't it?" said Burton, flushing all over his freckled skin. "He's a clergyman, so he must be innocent."
"I never heard of one who murdered people."
"So he gets away with it, time and again."
"You're just repeating yourself," said George. "Where's the evidence? The Crown Prosecution Service would fall about laughing at what you've told me so far."
"The evidence is in the parish accounts," said Burton obdurately. "If I could get hold of the books and do an audit I'd prove he's an embezzler. He robbed the last parish he was in, and he's robbing this one."
"You don't know that."
"But I do. They had such a shortfall at Old Mordern that the bishop personally investigated."
"While the Reverend Joy was vicar there?"
"No, after he left."
"Could have been the new vicar, then. And if it was investigated, why wasn't he charged with fiddling the books-if he did?"
"Because Bishop Marcus died-or was killed-before it came out."
"Who told you this, about the bishop investigating?"
"One of the congregation there."
"Owen Cumberbatch?"
"No, a woman I met there. She was arranging flowers the day I visited."
George let his breath out slowly. "You've actually been to his last parish checking up?"
"I knew nobody else would," Burton said with a red-eyed stare.
"Don't sling mud in my direction, laddie," George checked him. "What did this woman tell you?"
"She said Bishop Marcus personally inspected the Old Mordern books before he died. And made copies of everything."
"What for?"
"She thought it was because they asked for a reduction in their quota-the money the diocese gets-but I know better. It was because the bishop was on to the Reverend Joy."
"Next you'll be telling me he murdered the bishop."
Burton looked the policeman up and down and decided the homicide of a bishop, on top of the other killings, might throw some doubt on his thesis. "He may have murdered his wife."
"Oh, come on."
Burton related the story of the fatal bee-sting and said how simple it would be to kill someone allergic to bees by using some trapped in a jam jar.
"I never heard anything so far-fetched in my life," said George. "Why would he want to murder his young wife, for God's sake?"
"If she found out too much about him …"
"So now we have three murders pinned on the Reverend Joy: the sexton of Old Mordern, the late Mrs. Joy and Stanley Burrows."
"And another."
"Who's that?"
"Gary Jansen."
George shook his head. "Lord love us, Burton, you're away with the fairies. How is he supposed to have murdered Gary? The man died of heart failure. I've seen the death certificate."
"You can induce heart failure if you know about poisons."
"Poison, was it, this time? Are you certain it wasn't the killer bees?"
"You don't have to be sarcastic," said Burton. "You ought to be making notes. Stanley Burrows was poisoned-he swallowed some sort of drug, didn't he? — and I say Gary Jansen went the same way. The rector was seen with him on the day he died."
"Where?"
"In the street, outside the shop."
"By Owen Cumberbatch, you mean? Now there's an impartial witness."
"And, more important, Jansen went up to the rectory that afternoon."
"I didn't think they knew each other," said George.
"He was seen going through the gates by Ann Porter, one of the communion class. Joy could easily have slipped something in his drink."
"Poison, you mean?"
"Of course."
George Mitchell said in a tone that showed his tolerance was strained, "And why would the rector wish to do away with Gary Jansen?"
"Because Gary found something out."
"Ah." George gave an ironic nod that was lost on Burton.
"I'm not sure what it was, but they had strong words about it in the street and my guess is that they continued the argument up at the rectory."
"You're not sure what it was," said George with contempt, "but you're willing to guess. You're willing to destroy a good man's reputation on guesswork. Well, it doesn't cut ice with me, Burton. You've told me very little I don't know, and not a shred of substance."
"You could look at the parish accounts."
"We did."
"You did?"
"In connection with Stanley's suicide, and we found nothing wrong."
For a short interval Burton brooded on that. "It's what doesn't go through the books that you have to worry about," he said presently. "Did you notice how he grabbed the carol-singing money last night? Do you think that will appear in the accounts, every penny of it?"
George said in the same tone as before, conceding nothing, "This is all speculation, Burton, and it does you no credit. Let's lay our cards on the table. Everyone knows you're bitter about being passed over for treasurer. Why don't you let it rest?"
Burton's pale skin flushed bright pink. "Cards on the table, is it? All right, everyone knows you're in Joy's pocket. You're up to the rectory every Monday playing Scrabble with him."
"You'd better get out," said George.
"You shouldn't be dealing with this. I want to speak to someone else."
George stepped to the door and opened it. "Out."
Nineteen
Two days after Cynthia went missing, Rachel asked George Mitchell if anything was being done to find her.
"She's a grown-up," George answered in his easy-going style. "She's at liberty to go off for a few days. Don't fret, my dear."
The patronising words enraged her. "I'm not fretting. I'm telling you something is wrong. It's totally out of character. Someone should look inside the house just in case-"
He stopped her. "Not much point, my dear. I looked in her garage and her car isn't inside. She's gone away for sure."
So he had taken some interest.
"I still think you should do something," she said, realising how lame it sounded. There was nothing anyone could do except wait for news of Cynthia.
A week from Christmas she felt none of the so-called festive spirit that harangued her every time she looked at the television or turned on the radio. Several people had already asked if she was spending Christmas Day in company and she said she preferred to be alone this year, which was not quite true. She had no desire to join in anyone's family party, but she was pretty certain Cynthia would have invited her up to Primrose Cottage. Cyn had been so supportive since Gary went, and she'd never spoken of her own family, so Rachel had assumed they would spend at least part of the holiday together.
Now she had to think again.
If only it could be managed without the rest of Foxford knowing, her ideal Christmas would be shared with Otis, after he'd finished his duties at the church. She didn't know his plans yet and she felt she couldn't ask.
Burton Sands was one of those dogged individuals who will not be put off. The meeting with George Mitchell had achieved little, but it had got him thinking. Maybe the policeman was right to say that clergymen didn't ever commit murder. It would make a mockery of their faith. Yet this didn't discourage Burton. Instead, it started him on a new tack, a brilliant one that would explain so much. What if Joy wasn't a clergyman at all, but a con-man who had somehow convinced the diocese he was ordained?
Lunchtime on Thursday found him in the reference section at Warminster Library, leafing through back numbers of the Wiltshire Times, trawling for information on Joy's background. Something must have appeared in the paper when the new incumbent arrived at Foxford. He found it quite soon, with an insufferably saintlike photo.