Tangier by William Bayer Page A

person, and we count ourselves fortunate that he is a member of our little church."
    "Yes, Vicar, we know all of that. Now please get to the point."
    "I'm getting to it, Inspector, if you'll just let me tell this my own way. At our Sunday worship service there comes a time when we collect money from our parishioners. For the maintenance of St. Thomas, of course. Mr. Barclay, as one of our members, always takes charge of the plate. After the service he counts the money and enters the amount in our books."
    Hamid nodded. Aziz, whom the Vicar couldn't see, looked at Hamid and rolled his eyes.
    "Yesterday, Inspector, we had our service, and as usual there were a number of envelopes on the plate. I should explain that we provide them for people who wish to remain discreet. Discretion, you see, is most necessary, since the plate is passed hand to hand."
    "Yes, I see that. Yes."
    "Well, yesterday after the service Mr. Barclay began his usual accounting, and among the envelopes he found this."
    The Vicar reached into his breast pocket and extracted a piece of paper wrapped in the cellophane from a package of cigarettes. "I took the precaution of putting it in plastic. Mr. Barclay and I both touched it, of course, but the culprit's fingerprints may be on it as well."
    Hamid looked down at the item on his desk. "What is it?" he asked.
    "It's a note, Inspector. A note. Without doubt the most malicious note that I have ever read. A note the likes of which has never before been handed to anyone in our church. A note which says things I cannot bring myself to repeat."
    Hamid raised his eyebrows. "What does it say?"
    "Please, sir, read it. Read it for yourself. In the strictest confidence, of course."
    The Vicar glanced at Aziz, who was wincing with disappointment, while Hamid spread the paper out. The note was written in a violent shade of red ink; the handwriting was even, full of carefully modeled loops.
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    YOU DEFILE THIS HOUSE OF THE LORD, PETER BARCLAY. A GOOD THRASHING IS WHAT YOU NEED. YOU'RE A PEDERAST, A TWO-FACED HYPOCRITE, BUT OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST CANNOT BE DECEIVED. LEAVE TANGIER, YOU SWINE, OR BE STRICKEN DOWN. THE LORD'S HOUSE WILL BE CLEANSED.
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    Hamid read through it quickly, then read it a second time with care. He wanted to be certain he understood all the nuances of the text. "It seems quite straightforward," he said finally, looking back at Wick. "Tell us what happened next."
    "Nothing happened. This excrescence was simply read. The evidence before you speaks quite plainly for itself."
    "Hmmm. Well, I'm afraid something is escaping me if this, in fact, is all."
    "All! But don't you see? The most distinguished Englishman in Tangier, a man who but for the grace of God might have been a duke, is insulted in the British church by an anonymous note full of calumnies and threats."
    "Yes, I see all that. What does Mr. Barclay have to say?"
    "The poor man's been quite brave about it. He pretends to laugh it off, though of course he's deeply hurt. You see the gravity, Inspector? We simply must find out who wrote this and expel him before others are similarly attacked." He lowered his voice to a shaking whisper. "Oh, how I would love to know who among us has done this thing. With such a maniac in our midst we may all be driven from our church."
    Hamid sat back. "All this is very interesting, Vicar, and I certainly understand your concern. But there's nothing we can do for you here. This isn't a matter for the police."
    The Vicar sat up straight, angry and amazed. "Not a matter for the police! What else are the police for, may I ask, if not to solve cases such as this?"
    "There's been no crime, Vicar. At least not under Moroccan law. No criminal act has been committed, so we're powerless to intervene."
    Wick grasped the note, smudging any fingerprints that might have been left. "But the threats!" he said, shaking the paper in Hamid's face. "The threats! 'Stricken down!' 'A good thrashing!' These are violent threats."
    "I