The Killer in the Choir

NINETEEN

Carole also tried the direct approach. She rang Ruskin Dewitt and said she wanted to talk to him about Heather Mallett’s death. He welcomed the idea enthusiastically. ‘I have felt rather out of the loop up here in Fedborough, and then I’ve been away,’ he said, ‘missing all the gossip which I am sure is swamping Fethering like a tsunami.’

Carole confirmed that the village had indeed been full of criminal conjecture.

His house was one of those neat little Victorian cottages by what used to be the Fedborough Wharf on the River Fether. They were still sometimes referred to as ‘workmen’s cottages’, which was rather ridiculous, given the amount of renovation they had undergone, and the prices they now commanded.

The interior was tiny. The book-lined study into which he ushered her had an attractive view, through small wood-framed panes, on to the river. Carole didn’t know whether Ruskin had ever been married, or was a widower, but she thought the place lacked a woman’s touch. She respected tidiness, but she didn’t feel even High Tor boasted this same level of military precision in the way the bookshelves were stacked and the furniture aligned. On one table, she noticed, was a regimented pile of guidebooks to the Holy Land.

She accepted his offer of coffee, and the efficiency with which he produced it also suggested someone who was used to fending for himself. While occupied in the adjacent tiny kitchen, he kept up a monologue, describing his life in Fedborough. She hadn’t asked for the information, but she got the impression that anyone who visited him would be subjected to the same litany.

‘I’m very involved locally,’ he said. ‘On the committee of the Fedborough Museum; was very instrumental in all of the fundraising when we moved it from the High Street premises to the riverside. And I’m getting increasingly busy doing stuff for the church. All Souls it is – not to be confused with All Saints in Fethering. As you know, I used to go there, but I find the Fedborough set-up more congenial. More High Church, apart from anything else, and I’ve always had a natural tendency in that direction. Even considered converting to Catholicism at one point, but decided against. Found transubstantiation a bit of a stumbling block. Anyway, I’m involved at All Souls as a sidesman – and in the choir, of course, and in the Friends of All Souls’ fundraising activities. Then, there’s the Local History Society …’

As he went on, Carole recognized, from her own experience, what Ruskin Dewitt’s secret was. He was lonely, desperately lonely. That was why he had so avidly to fill his time. He didn’t dare to be alone for a moment. That was, without doubt, why he had agreed so readily to see her. Any human contact was preferable to being on his own.

When they were settled with their coffees in a pair of chintz-covered campaign chairs either side of the window, Carole used the opportunity of Ruskin Dewitt taking a breath to interpolate, ‘As we discussed on the phone, Fethering is a hotbed of gossip about Heather Mallett’s death.’

‘I’m sure it is.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, give me all the dirt.’

‘I’m not sure there is much real dirt. Plenty of speculation, of course.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I was just wondering whether you had seen Heather Mallett, you know, since that last choir rehearsal you went to?’

‘Oh, I know when you mean. It was just round that time that I was deciding I really did prefer the All Souls style of worship to that of All Saints. So, it did turn out to be my last rehearsal in Fethering, as it happened. And, of course, resigning from the All Saints choir did cut down on the driving, particularly at night. I’m afraid the old eyesight isn’t so good after dark these days; the oncoming headlights are so bright. Do you find that?’

‘Not yet,’ said Carole with some asperity. She didn’t like being bracketed in the same age group as him. He had a good twenty years on her.

At the same time, she was mildly amused by the narrative that Ruskin Dewitt had created to explain his leaving the All Saints choir. Now it was being presented as a considered decision, nothing to do with his being banned from singing at Alice Mallett’s wedding. From the confident way he spoke of it, Carole felt sure he now regarded his version of events as the truth.

‘But had you seen Heather since that rehearsal?’ she asked.

‘No. No reason why I should. I didn’t know her outside the choir.’

‘Of course not.’ Carole trod delicately. ‘I wasn’t at that rehearsal …’

‘You wouldn’t have been.’

‘No, I regret that choirs are not for me. Tone deaf, I’m afraid.’ She could never resist saying that when the subject came up.

‘Your loss, Carole. I don’t know where I’d be without my choral singing. Been doing it all my adult life. I find singing with other people is a wonderful emotional release.’

Even if you’re always out of tune, thought Carole uncharitably. ‘And do you find you have a lot of emotion to release?’

‘What do you mean?’ His affronted response made her realize how clumsy her change of direction had been. Jude, she felt sure, would have done it better.

She tried to lighten the atmosphere by saying, ‘I just meant, we’re all up against the frustrations of daily life, aren’t we? The continual stresses of disturbing news bulletins, the general state of chaos that seems to be everywhere in today’s world. I’m sure we all need some means of, I don’t know … counteracting that stress. You’re lucky that choral singing does it for you.’

‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he said, somewhat mollified. ‘And what is your means of release, Carole?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘What do you do to stop yourself from being uptight all the time?’

She wondered, for a moment, if he was making a joke. She knew a lot of people in Fethering would be of the view that she was ‘uptight all the time’. But she countered the insinuation with an airy, ‘Oh, I find a walk with my dog on Fethering Beach usually sorts me out.’

The statement wasn’t true, but he didn’t seem interested enough to challenge it. Instead he said, ‘Talking of Fethering Beach … you haven’t heard any talk of reviving the Preservation of Fethering’s Seafront committee since Leonard Mallett died, have you?’

‘I haven’t heard anything, no.’

‘It was a good initiative, but like all these things, it needs someone dynamic and proactive to make anything happen. I considered reviving it myself but, quite honestly, I’m so busy with the various other committees I’m on … and the church, of course. Leonard’s set-up was trying to get local people to form a rota of clearing plastic from the beach, that kind of thing.’

‘I know,’ said Carole icily. ‘I was actually on the committee.’

‘Were you?’ He looked at her in amazement, before saying, ‘Oh yes, of course you were.’

She didn’t now think his earlier lack of recognition was caused by failing memory or rudeness. She had come to the conclusion that Ruskin Dewitt was just one of those men who was so involved in his own ego, that he really didn’t notice other people.

Carole moved her investigation forward. ‘I gather that you and Jonny Virgo taught at the same school for a while.’

‘Yes. Ravenhall. For our sins.’ He let out the meaningless laugh that always accompanies that meaningless expression.

‘And did you get on well?’ Again, it was a very direct question, but Carole reckoned Russ was so caught up in himself that, so long as the conversation centred on him, he didn’t mind too much what he was being asked.

Her instinct proved right. ‘Well, we sort of rubbed along, as you do in a school staff room. We’re very different people, though. I was always more active, setting up new initiatives for the sixth formers, that kind of thing. Jonny had less natural empathy with the boys. Only really interested in his own music. And his mother, even back then. Devoted to her. Bit of an “apron strings problem”, but he’s always had that.’

‘And did you ever have any trouble at the school?’

‘Me? Why should I have trouble?’

‘I gather you sometimes had a problem with controlling your temper.’

That really did catch him on the raw. ‘I have never in my life had problems controlling my temper!’ he bellowed in a voice which immediately gave the lie to what he was saying. ‘And if someone has been spreading rumours about me, I demand to know who it is! What have you heard?’

‘Just that you once lost your temper so badly that you assaulted one of the pupils.’

‘That is a downright lie!’ Quickly deciding that bluster was not going to be his best way out of this situation, he took on a more conciliatory tone. ‘Oh, I think I probably know the incident you are referring to. And I bet you heard it from bloody Jonny, didn’t you?’

Carole neither confirmed nor denied this.

‘Very well, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Yes, one of the boys did accuse me of hitting him, I don’t deny that. But the fact was that the boy in question was a fantasist. He was from a very unsettled background – his parents were going through a sticky divorce at the time – and the boy expressed his mental turmoil by spreading mendacious rumours about his classmates. Presumably getting some kind of kick out of this, he decided to move up the food chain and spread a rumour about a member of staff. I got the short straw of being the one he chose. The boy said I had hit him over the head with a dictionary.

‘The headmaster of Ravenhall at the time was not very bright, but he knew what was required of him in such circumstances. Very rightly, he took the accusation that had been made against me seriously. And it’s always difficult in such situations to be certain of the truth. It was basically the boy’s version of events against mine. Fortunately, in the end, wiser counsel prevailed, and I was exonerated. I agreed not to seek any apology, or indeed to ask that the boy should be punished. It was an unsavoury incident, but one that is a hazard of choosing schoolmastering as one’s profession. I imagine the risks of such unwarranted accusations are even greater now in the days of social media. At least, thank goodness, I was spared that.

‘But even though I was completely cleared by the in-school enquiry, the fact that Jonny Virgo still remembers the incident shows just how firmly mud sticks.’

Carole couldn’t be certain, but she suspected that Russ’s explanation of this incident had as much relation to the truth as his narrative of why he left the Fethering church choir. He had the skill of finessing history into a version that he found acceptable. That did not mean, though, that he didn’t believe it.

Anyway, the demonstration of his temper was not going to deflect Carole from the course on which she had set out. ‘Going back to the question of whether you’d seen Heather Mallett since you left the All Saints choir …’

‘I’ve already answered that. I …’ He stopped himself, and a new knowingness came into his eyes. ‘Oh, I see. The amateur sleuths of Fethering have been putting their heads together, haven’t they? Examining the evidence, and coming up with their solution to the whodunit mystery? And I am being honoured with the role of perpetrator, am I?’

‘No. There is just a natural concern about—’

‘Natural concern my foot! Natural nosiness more likely! Natural suspicion of the outsider, of anyone who doesn’t fit the box of neatly married conformist!’

His anger was revealing more of his self-image than he probably wanted to give away. Carole found it interesting that both Ruskin Dewitt and KK Rosser, coming from such different directions, shared contempt for the safely married archetype.

‘I’ve had to put up with this kind of discrimination right through my life,’ he went on, ‘particularly when I was teaching. Why can’t people understand that there are some of us who are self-sufficient, who just get on with things, who don’t need to be part of some bloody community?’

Though Russ wasn’t, Carole was aware of the contradictions in what he was saying. His claim to self-sufficiency was nonsense; rarely had she encountered someone who seemed more desperate to be part of a community, any community. He was one of those deluded individuals who saw himself as the life and soul of the parties he never got invited to.

But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. Ruskin Dewitt was in full flow.

‘Well, in this case, you can gossip as much as you like, but you’ll never pin the crime on me. Heather Mallett was murdered last weekend, right?’

‘Yes. After her stepdaughter’s wedding.’

‘And do you know where I was last weekend?’ He rose suddenly from his campaign chair and picked up the neat pile of guidebooks. ‘Have you ever been to the Holy Land, Carole?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe you should try it. Concentrating on spiritual matters might possibly cure that nasty suspicious mind of yours. It’s a very inspiring place, you know, the Holy Land. I helped to organize a trip there for the Friends of All Souls Fedborough. A trip from which we only returned on Monday. So, at the time when Heather Mallett was strangled, sixteen High Church Christians from Fedborough can vouch for the fact that I was in a hotel near the Mount of Olives.’ He grinned without humour. ‘Well, Carole, would you like to withdraw your unfounded accusation?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘I’m glad to hear it. I think, in the circumstances, it would not be appropriate for me to offer you any more coffee.’

‘No, probably not.’ She picked up her handbag and rose from her chair. In the small space, Ruskin Dewitt seemed to loom over her. ‘I’ll be on my way then,’ she mumbled.

He stood back to let her pass. But he didn’t stand back far enough to cease to be threatening. As she got to the front door, his voice arrested her. ‘Would you like to know where I think you should look for Heather’s murderer?’

‘I’d be very interested, yes.’

‘I’m sure you would. And what would you say are the usual motives for murder?’

Carole stayed silent. He might want to play games. She didn’t.

‘Sex, financial gain, fear of exposure. I reckon that covers most of them. You know, for a long time, until I decided to give it up, I sang with the church choir of All Saints Fethering.’

‘I know you did.’ She didn’t like being toyed with. She wanted just to walk out. But, on the other hand, if he did actually have a useful suggestion for where she should next direct her investigation …

‘So, I know the individuals involved pretty well. Given their age and character, I think we can forget the motivations of sex and financial gain. But fear of exposure …’

‘You mean, having a secret that you don’t want to have exposed …?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. So, which of the All Saints choir members do you think might have such a secret?’

‘I don’t know all of them.’

‘But, come on, Carole, you know who they are. You live in Fethering, for God’s sake. Everyone there knows who everyone else is.’ She didn’t argue. ‘Who’s concealing what then? Could it be that Shirley and Veronica Tattersall are incestuous lesbians …?’

‘If you’re just going to be stupid, I’ll—’

‘No, don’t go. I know you don’t want to … till you’ve heard my suspicions.’ Once again, he was right. ‘So, let’s ask ourselves, who might have a secret that Heather could have found out about, a secret so shaming that he or she would resort to murder to prevent it from being disclosed?’

‘Jonny Virgo?’

Ruskin Dewitt chuckled. ‘No. No, much as I would like to have my revenge on the little creep for fingering me, I’m afraid that just wouldn’t stack up. Jonny’s made a kind of fetish of keeping his nose clean. No dirt clings to Jonny. Come on, Carole, who else?’

‘As I said, I don’t know them very well.’

‘What’s that old saying …?’ He was clearly having fun teasing out his narrative. ‘“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.” Now who would you say was the quietest member of that church choir?’

‘I don’t know … unless it’s that woman with dyed red hair.’

‘Ah,’ said Ruskin Dewitt, ‘now you’re talking. Yes, Elizabeth Browning.’

‘So, what was her secret?’ asked Carole. ‘The one Heather found out about?’

And he told her.