join him at the scene.
Angel dashed out of the station, crossed the road, stepped lively along the flagstone footpath towards town for twenty yards or so, then turned left down to the church gates. Beyond the church and gravestones , he could see the bright yellow coat of PC John Weightman. The big man was stamping his feet and rubbing his hands outside the black door of the stone vicarage in the grounds of St Mary’s Church. Angel made his way through a gate and along a path towards him.
Weightman threw up a salute as Angel came up to him.
‘Anybody in there, John?’
‘No, sir,’ Weightman said. ‘Except the body of the vicar, Samuel Smart, of course.’
‘Where’s the housekeeper?’
He pointed across the graveyard. ‘She
was
in the church.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s taken it bad, sir. Real bad.’
Angel couldn’t avoid the slightest sigh. ‘Did you get her name?’
‘Norma Ives, sir.’
Angel took the short walk along a narrow path through the gravestones towards the church door. As he reached out for the handle, the door opened and a young woman came out. She looked at Angel momentarily then looked away. Her face was white and her hands were shaking in the cold.
‘Are you Miss Norma Ives?’ he said.
‘Yes. You will be the police?’
‘I am Detective Inspector Angel. I need to ask you some questions, miss. Shall we walk up to the police station? It’s only a couple of minutes away. It’ll be warm in there too.’
She nodded, and they set off towards the main gate.
Crisp was on his way down from the station when he saw Angel and Norma Ives crossing the churchyard, approaching him. He made for the gate, opened it and stood back to let them through. ‘SOCO and uniform on their way, sir,’ he said.
‘Right, lad,’ Angel said. ‘Run on ahead and organize some tea in my office. We’re perished.’
Crisp dashed off.
When the three were settled with cups of hot tea, Angel took note of her address then said, ‘Now then, Miss Ives, please tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Well, I do the cleaning, shopping and sometimes a bit of cooking for the vicar, Mr Smart. Call me Norma, by the way. Everybody does. I start at nine o’clock. I have a key, so I let myself in. The vicar has usually had his breakfast, but not always. He might be in the kitchen, finishing off. Anyway, there are pots from the previous night’s supper, so I always wash up and tidy round the kitchen first of all. Then I make him a coffee and take it to him. He could be anywhere … usually the study. Then he tells me what he wants me to do – what to shop for, what to prepare for his evening meal and so on. Well, this morning, I went in. At first I didn’t notice anything unusual, although the sliding wardrobe doors in the entrance hall were not completely closed, and the vicar never used them. He had used them in the past, but they made his clothes damp. So I thought it was unusual. Anyway, I closed the wardrobe doors and went into the kitchen. Again, most of those cupboard doors were open and the stuff inside disturbed. Again I didn’t think anything of it. I thought maybe he’d been looking for something and couldn’t find it. So I straightened them up and closed the doors. Then I washed the pots, dried them and put them away.’
‘Nothing unusual about the dirty pots?’ Angel said. ‘No signs that the vicar had had a visitor? No extra cups or glasses?’
‘No. Just the usual. Then I made his coffee and went to his study. It’s only across the hall. The door was open so I tapped on the door and went straight in. And there he was on the floor, his shirt and coat and the carpet covered in blood. His eyes were closed. His face was grey. I knew he was dead. Oh, it was awful. Awful. I immediately dialled 999. Then I noticed the mess the study was in. All drawers opened and stuff thrown about, cupboards opened and papers thrown on to the floor, all the pictures on the walls removed and dumped in a pile,
Angel dashed out of the station, crossed the road, stepped lively along the flagstone footpath towards town for twenty yards or so, then turned left down to the church gates. Beyond the church and gravestones , he could see the bright yellow coat of PC John Weightman. The big man was stamping his feet and rubbing his hands outside the black door of the stone vicarage in the grounds of St Mary’s Church. Angel made his way through a gate and along a path towards him.
Weightman threw up a salute as Angel came up to him.
‘Anybody in there, John?’
‘No, sir,’ Weightman said. ‘Except the body of the vicar, Samuel Smart, of course.’
‘Where’s the housekeeper?’
He pointed across the graveyard. ‘She
was
in the church.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s taken it bad, sir. Real bad.’
Angel couldn’t avoid the slightest sigh. ‘Did you get her name?’
‘Norma Ives, sir.’
Angel took the short walk along a narrow path through the gravestones towards the church door. As he reached out for the handle, the door opened and a young woman came out. She looked at Angel momentarily then looked away. Her face was white and her hands were shaking in the cold.
‘Are you Miss Norma Ives?’ he said.
‘Yes. You will be the police?’
‘I am Detective Inspector Angel. I need to ask you some questions, miss. Shall we walk up to the police station? It’s only a couple of minutes away. It’ll be warm in there too.’
She nodded, and they set off towards the main gate.
Crisp was on his way down from the station when he saw Angel and Norma Ives crossing the churchyard, approaching him. He made for the gate, opened it and stood back to let them through. ‘SOCO and uniform on their way, sir,’ he said.
‘Right, lad,’ Angel said. ‘Run on ahead and organize some tea in my office. We’re perished.’
Crisp dashed off.
When the three were settled with cups of hot tea, Angel took note of her address then said, ‘Now then, Miss Ives, please tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Well, I do the cleaning, shopping and sometimes a bit of cooking for the vicar, Mr Smart. Call me Norma, by the way. Everybody does. I start at nine o’clock. I have a key, so I let myself in. The vicar has usually had his breakfast, but not always. He might be in the kitchen, finishing off. Anyway, there are pots from the previous night’s supper, so I always wash up and tidy round the kitchen first of all. Then I make him a coffee and take it to him. He could be anywhere … usually the study. Then he tells me what he wants me to do – what to shop for, what to prepare for his evening meal and so on. Well, this morning, I went in. At first I didn’t notice anything unusual, although the sliding wardrobe doors in the entrance hall were not completely closed, and the vicar never used them. He had used them in the past, but they made his clothes damp. So I thought it was unusual. Anyway, I closed the wardrobe doors and went into the kitchen. Again, most of those cupboard doors were open and the stuff inside disturbed. Again I didn’t think anything of it. I thought maybe he’d been looking for something and couldn’t find it. So I straightened them up and closed the doors. Then I washed the pots, dried them and put them away.’
‘Nothing unusual about the dirty pots?’ Angel said. ‘No signs that the vicar had had a visitor? No extra cups or glasses?’
‘No. Just the usual. Then I made his coffee and went to his study. It’s only across the hall. The door was open so I tapped on the door and went straight in. And there he was on the floor, his shirt and coat and the carpet covered in blood. His eyes were closed. His face was grey. I knew he was dead. Oh, it was awful. Awful. I immediately dialled 999. Then I noticed the mess the study was in. All drawers opened and stuff thrown about, cupboards opened and papers thrown on to the floor, all the pictures on the walls removed and dumped in a pile,
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