'Do you know if the vicar heard his confession?'
'No. I waited for a while before starting to play the organ. I didn't want them to think I had been eavesdropping, but they didn't come out of the vestry. Not then anyway. I started playing and didn't see the vicar until the candlelight service on Wednesday night and then he died.'
'Have you any idea what the Reverend Gilmore was referring to when he said he'd tried to put right the wrong?' Horton asked more in hope than anticipation.
'No, but it can't have been much because the vicar didn't have a bad or wicked bone in his body. And now the other man is dead too and I know for definite his death wasn't natural no matter what some smart arse doctor says.'
And Horton was inclined to agree with him. He wondered what the post-mortem on Reverend Gilmore had shown; there would have been one. If it had confirmed that the death was suspicious then he would have heard, so he assumed one hadn't been conducted yet.
Had Brundall killed Gilmore? Was there time? The answer was yes. Just. After killing Gilmore, Brundall could have returned to his boat, where he was immediately accosted by his own killer who threw the match on to the gas-filled boat. But how had Brundall killed Gilmore in full view of a congregation? No, it didn't add up. Then a thought struck Horton. Brundall had visited Gilmore on Tuesday at three thirty and had then called Sherbourne at about four fifteen the same afternoon summoning him to Portsmouth. Had Brundall wanted to write down his confession to give to Sherbourne to read out on his death? Yes, that was possible. And someone hadn't wanted that confession heard, which meant there was a third person involved in this 'wrong' that Gilmore had spoken of and to which Brundall had wanted to confess before dying. And that third person had killed Sherbourne in Guernsey to prevent the truth from being exposed. Horton felt his heart racing with this new information. But where the blazes did his mother fit into all this? Horton certainly couldn't remember either Brundall or Gilmore.
He thanked Gutner and made to leave when the old man said eagerly, 'Don't you want me to come to the station and make a statement?'
'Later,' Horton said hastily, thinking that was the last thing he wanted. If Gutner made his statement then everyone would learn about Jennifer Horton and until Horton knew just how deeply his mother was involved in whatever had happened to Brundall and Gilmore, he wanted to keep it quiet. He could report Gutner's conversation without mentioning the bit about Jennifer Horton. He knew he shouldn't and that he was withholding vital evidence from Uckfield, but the way he saw it he had no choice. He needed more information before he was ready to expose his traumatic childhood for all and sundry at the station.
'I'll send someone round later,' he said.
Gutner seemed satisfied with this. Then he frowned. 'But you will look into the Reverend Gilmore's death, won't you?'
'I most certainly will,' Horton reassured him.
'Good.' Gutner started to pump the organ. 'It's been nice meeting you.'
And you, thought Horton, glad to escape the gloomy atmosphere of the church, and pleased to see that his Harley was still outside and in one piece. He climbed on. It was time to find out more about Reverend Gilmore and he'd start by visiting the diocesan offices.
Eight
'I was just going to lunch,' the deputy diocesan secretary grumbled, waving Horton into a seat opposite his modern desk complete with a state-of-the-art computer. Horton had been surprised to find the Diocesan offices had been relocated to a modern office building at the entrance to the continental ferry port. He'd always assumed they were near Portsmouth Cathedral and had lost precious time trying to locate them there before someone had directed him here.
Horton didn't warm to the burly man in front of him in the dark suit and pink shirt. And he was wearing a cravat, a form of neck gear that Horton always viewed with suspicion. Yelford was in his early fifties with pockmarked skin and remarkably prominent ears. His light brown hair looked as though it was a toupee, but Horton guessed it was just the way he combed and plastered it down with lotion, which smelt of bluebells and vinegar.
'Why do you want to know about the Reverend Rowland Gilmore?'
Horton heard the defensiveness in Yelford's question. 'Just routine, sir,' he replied, drawing a sceptical look and a pursing of lips from Yelford. 'I understand the Reverend Gilmore was a very popular vicar.'
Yelford looked alarmed. 'You've been talking to his parishioners?' He ran his fingers over his cravat as if to check it was still there. 'I hope you don't think there was anything suspicious about his death.'
'There are just a couple of things we need to check, Mr Yelford.'
'Kenneth Gutner's been talking again, hasn't he? Just because he was an ambulance man he thinks he's an expert on all matters medical.'
'He's expressed his unease about the vicar's death to you then, sir?' Horton asked, injecting his tone with surprise and concern.
Yelford looked annoyed that he'd risen to the bait. 'He's an old man. He gets confused.' He gave a condescending smile that set Horton's teeth on edge. He made sure not to return the smile and was gratified to see a faint flush creep up Yelford's face.
'Mr Gutner seemed in full grasp of all his faculties when I spoke to him.'
'That was probably for only a few moments,' replied Yelford uncharitably. 'Reverend Gilmore had a stroke. No doubt it is very upsetting for Mr Gutner to lose his vicar, and the bereaved often try to find a reason for death, or someone to blame. It's a natural reaction. No one else has come forward to claim that Gilmore's death was anything but a natural one.'
No, thought Horton, noting that the Reverend had now become merely Gilmore, but that's because no one else saw Brundall visit the church and talk to the vicar. And no one else knows of the connection between the two men, except their killer. If Gilmore was killed.
'Of course, he will be sorely missed.'
To Horton's ears Yelford's remark sounded insincere, as if the man had spent years perfecting a soft quiet tone designed to make people think he cared when Horton could see that his eyes lacked any genuine sympathy.
Yelford continued as Horton remained stoically silent, 'Gilmore was a generous and devoted man and he had such a difficult parish. He could have gone far, you know. He was an extremely intelligent man, but sadly not ambitious.'
Yelford made it sound as if this was some kind of mental deficiency. Time to be firmer with this slimy toad.
'I'd like to see his file please,' Horton announced curtly.
Yelford bristled and raised his eyebrows. 'I'm not sure about that.'
Horton rose. 'Very well, I'll speak to the Bishop and return with a warrant.'
The threat worked. 'That's not necessary,' Yelford said hastily, rising. 'But I only have the briefest of details for administrative and personnel needs.'
'That will do, for now,' Horton said portentously.
Yelford frowned with irritation before turning to his computer keyboard. 'What do you want to know?' he demanded. Horton noted the silky whisper seemed to have evaporated into thin air, and in its place was a harsh, abrupt tone.
'When was the Reverend Gilmore ordained?'
'In 1985.'
Horton made some rapid mental calculations from what Anne Schofield had previously told him. 'He would have been thirty-two then. Isn't that a little late to find his vocation?'
'It's never too late,' Yelford rejoined like a true sycophant. 'Gilmore didn't have a theology degree, in fact he didn't have any qualifications, but he trained for two years before becoming ordained.'