Dead And Buried

Ninety-four

‘I’m sorry to call you up here again, James,’ said Russell Goddard.

‘Rector,’ Proud replied sincerely, ‘I wish I’d come up here more often over the years. What can I do for you?’

‘You can ease my conscience, James.’

‘About Claude Bothwell? You don’t have any need to reproach yourself there. You were the key to finding him.’

‘No, it’s not about Adolf, damn the swine. This is something else; it has to do with the murder of that awful man Starr.’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Proud gazed at him, taken completely aback.

‘There’s something I should have told you before, but I couldn’t believe that it was relevant. I was sure that there must be some explanation other than the most terrible one. Also, I was expecting to be asked about it by one of your people, but none of them ever called on me.’ The chief constable thought that he detected a note of criticism.

‘I’m an old man, James,’ Mr Goddard continued, ‘but I’ve retained most of my faculties. My vision is sharp, with glasses, and I’m remarkably fit for a man of my age. One of the ways I’ve achieved that is by remaining active. I go out on my bike during the day and sometimes I’ll even go out for a walk at night, when the television starts to bore me. I did so on the night of Starr’s death, at around ten thirty. I put on my coat and hat and I went out of the back door, for convenience. It’s easier to lock and unlock and not so heavy. I was just stepping into the lane when I saw a man. He was opening the door to Starr’s back garden. He didn’t see me at all, but I got a good look at him, and in the moonlight, I recognised him. I knew him because we were reacquainted at a school reunion last Easter. . one that you missed, incidentally.’ The rector smiled.

‘Who was it?’ Proud asked, as eager as a schoolboy.

‘It was young Nolan Weston, the surgeon.’