Crown vs. Ducastle
by Sameer Kulkarni
Part 1 appears
in this issue.
conclusion
Graham went to Ludo’s Trattoria on the side of the river where the vicar and the chaplain had been walking. He talked to the owner after sumptuously finishing his wine and pasta.
“That fish affair was fantastic.”
“Oh, it was a simple countryside dish. I will pass on the compliments to my wife.”
“By the way, there was something I wanted to ask you. Do you know if the Pope Street bridge was closed for traffic any time last week?”
“No. Well, it is closed for ten minutes every day in the morning to let the school buses pass.”
“So nothing special about the past Tuesday then?”
“No, nothing special.”
“Thank you! I will stop for lunch tomorrow then, eh?”
When he got out, he saw that Mrs. Bong was sitting outside her shop. He decided to confirm something for his own sake. He put on his court wig and stood at the edge of the railing and hollered to Mrs. Bong. She looked up to see who it was, but she had no inkling despite Graham’s peculiar wig, which would generally be an eyesore. She relaxed again in her chair.
Graham was now furious. He stormed towards Stampers, but when he asked for the vicar a prison guard said that he had been taken to the chapel today to take some confessions, which helped prisoners clear their minds. The guard told Graham he would take him to the chapel after completing his round.
A few prison guards were waiting outside the chapel smoking cigarettes. Inside, a couple of inmates were sitting in a pew, but there was no one in the confession box.
“Forgive me, father, for you have sinned.”
“Is that you, Mr. Bailey?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. Accept no substitute. Can I swear here or are there any banned words I should know of?”
“You can say whatever you like; it’s a confession box.”
“I don’t understand you! Do you realize that you will be charged with murder if I don’t get any more information? Forget the Sermon on the Mount and side-glancing at a pretty leg in the front row in black stockings. You are going to have to pull up socks to see hairy legs for the best part of your adult life.”
“When I said you can say anything in here—”
“Oh, come on. Give me something, man.”
“There’s nothing else to say! I have told you everything.”
“What was the meeting with the trustees about? What was the chaplain charged with?”
“I told you I don’t know what the chaplain was charged with. They didn’t let me in on it.”
“Can I go and ask the Archbishop about it?”
“I doubt if he will tell you anything.”
“Jesus! Oh, sorry! All right: you have five days to decide if you want to tell me the truth so that I can try and get you back to your flock at St. Mary’s. Because as I see it, with the current situation, you will be in this chapel for the rest of your adult life listening to how old Marco decided to halve his neighbour with a chainsaw because of a disagreement with his use of binoculars.”
* * *
When Graham got out of the chapel, it was almost 12.30. He went to a coffee place in East Langdon that also served pressed sandwiches. He stood in a line waiting for his number to be called, when the TV above the cashier blared a news alert: “The Clown has struck again. Fifth murder in five weeks in Balmoral.”
Graham smirked, there were still seven people in front of him in line. But suddenly all seven people got off. It seemed that they were all together for a team lunch; only one guy needed to order and pay for all of them, but they all still managed to stand in line instead of telling him their order. When Graham reached the counter, he ordered and said, “What sort of dolts are we breeding these days?”
The murder news was still going on, and the words “The Clown” kept reverberating in the cafe and that’s when an idea occurred to Graham. The vicar kept referring to the deceased as “the chaplain” and not as “Peter Gross” or “Peter” or “Mr. Gross.” It wasn’t just one isolated instance; it was every single time. It meant that the vicar was not very keen on the chaplain; it might even have bordered on and trickled into dislike.
Had the vicar really murdered the chaplain, as Mrs. Bong kept insinuating? But introducing Mrs. Bong into his thinking made him realize that even she kept referring to the deceased as “the chaplain” and not by name. Did Mrs. Bong know the chaplain or the vicar under different circumstances?
“Finally some progress,” he said to the waitress and requested a tissue paper and pen from her. For some reason, she seemed to think he was a poet and she had been his muse; she returned with a paper torn from a waitress’s notepad and left him with a coy smile. When she retreated behind the counter, he traced her steps with his eyes and gave her a smile and raised his pen to her.
He dropped the half-eaten sandwich back into the plate and started to scratch his thoughts down. By the time he finished, the paper had an uncanny resemblance to his economics answer sheet of grade ten and there was nothing left to be read but for two points:
1. Vicar did murder chaplain.
2. It was suicide. Mrs. Bong abetted the chaplain in some crime. The vicar found out and confronted the chaplain. Now Mrs. Bong is trying to get herself off by accusing the vicar and putting him in the slammer.
Both the options were fascinating to Graham, because they presented new possibilities and a chance at unraveling the whole thing. He decided not to go back to Stampers, because the vicar was too straightforward. Rather, he decided to go back to the flower shop and see if he could get something out of Mrs. Bong.
* * *
Mrs. Bong was busy sprinkling water on some red flowers whose breed Graham had no idea of.
“You a fan of Wordsworth, Mrs. Bong?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. It’s a boyband of our fascinating times. I have another question for you, though.”
“Yes?”
“Did you know the vicar or the chaplain before the unfortunate incident?”
“What do you mean ‘know’?” she said trying to search for something in the man’s utterance that wasn’t there.
“Do you go to St. Mary’s?”
“Oh, yeah! I am an organ player there,” she said.
“Oh, an organ player, are you? And you didn’t think of mentioning this to me or the court?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Of course it’s bloody relevant! So you knew the chaplain and the vicar not just as part of their flock on Sundays but also for practice on special days?”
“Yeah, yeah! The choir is a very vibrant group—”
“Got it! Thank you, Mrs. Bong.”
Mrs. Bong’s role as an organ player added some value to his findings, but it wasn’t enough to eliminate one of the two options that had interested Graham earlier. There was still a piece missing and he needed to find it by tomorrow.
Nothing happened for the next few hours, but he received a letter in the afternoon post. It was an old envelope and it appeared as if the stamp had been put on with some sort of a sticky paste, the area around it all tacky and grey. The letter read:
Mr. Bailey,
I know you are representing the vicar in a case concerning the late chaplain. I would go and check the chaplain’s room at 1420 E. Chadwick to get the damning evidence that would set the vicar free. He is innocent, that guy. The chaplain was a swine.
It didn’t matter to Graham who had written the letter, although he probed for a moment at who might have written it: the Archbishop, Mrs. Bong, the vicar himself. It meant only that he might be able to eliminate an option and then try to present his theory in the court. He had to save his client if the vicar was innocent. But if it was a hoax, he realized he would need something else to force the truth out of the vicar. At the moment, the letter provided him with sufficient thrust.
* * *
He hurried to the given address with Therese and asked her to keep a watch while he picked the lock.
The room was minimally furnished and had a certain churchiness to it. There was a double bed next to a wall, which seemed rather extraneous in a chaplain’s room. It also seemed to have been used quite a bit. A small bookshelf stood erect on the opposite side with a guitar standing next to it. There was a big door to the right of it; Graham reckoned that it must be a walk-in wardrobe.
The wardrobe had more than just collars and cassocks, but nothing that a clergyman wouldn’t have worn. Plenty of white shirts and black jackets were arrayed on hangers. Graham noticed a small side door hidden on the left-hand side. It was visible only from the inside. Until he had seen that door, his hope of finding anything substantial had lain dormant; now it sprung back to life.
He opened the door and found a small duffel bag. Inside it were several bundles of Balmoral Green, a twenty-pound note of the local currency. The bag wasn’t the only thing inside the secret door though, there was some women’s lingerie neatly folded and kept aside on a small shelf as if it was to be used only on special occasions.
Graham’s smirk came back to his face when they both came out of the wardrobe. “Well, our dear chaplain had a few visitors, I gather. That or he himself fancied the feeling of a thong between his thighs. It’s so hard to tell these days; people’s hobbies and whims have changed. In my day—”
Therese interrupted his train of thought: “I think we should get out of here before someone else comes in.”
Graham agreed, and they got out just as silently as they had come in.
“What do you think?” Therese asked, as soon as they were on the street and walking back towards his office.
“I think you will find that the money was withdrawn from the trust’s bank account and that it was the chaplain who had withdrawn it.”
“And?”
“I think I have some idea of how to defend your dear vicar now. A signed certificate from the bank manager will just about take him out of the frame.”
* * *
“Your Honour, I have had a chance to obtain a certain piece of evidence that is very important to prove the innocence of my client in this case.
“It is an account statement of the bank that St. Mary’s Trust uses for its finances, Balmoral Mutual.” Graham passed it to the court clerk, who then handed it to Judge Grimsby. Copies were made and distributed to the jury.
“I also have a letter here from St. Mary’s Trust indicating that they had no foreseen projects with such a high expenditure and they cannot explain why the money had been withdrawn,” Graham added. More copies exchanged hands.
“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, twenty thousand pounds were withdrawn using a pin number assigned to Mr. Peter Gross, the deceased, thus indicating that the man was defrauding the trust.
“He hadn’t used the money yet, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to. The fact that he didn’t notify the vicar or anyone else he had withdrawn the money indicates he was keeping it for his own personal use, which, I should remind you, ladies and gentlemen, constitutes graft in a case such as this.
“Now, about the testimony of Mrs. Bong. Your Honour, I have vision test results for Mrs. Bong from Dr. Gerber here. He is an eminent eye specialist at City Central Hospital. They clearly indicate that Mrs. Bong is myopic.”
The test results were also passed around to the jury and the judge.
“The prosecution has no case, Your Honour,” Graham said. “The evidence is circumstantial, and there is grave danger of damaging the reputation of a good and religious man. There was no way Mrs. Bong could have seen the vicar push the chaplain over the railing, because he did not push the chaplain over the railing.
“They were both heading to the trustees’ meeting, and the vicar must have told the chaplain he knew of the chaplain’s embezzlement. Well, such things tend to remain on one’s conscience, even if one is Catholic, eh?’
“Objection, your Honour,” Mr. Holden interjected.
“We can do without your religious views, Mr. Bailey.” the judge admonished sternly.
“Very good, Your Honour,” Graham said. “As I was saying, the chaplain realized that his crimes were soon to be found out and was too afraid of the consequences. He decided to take matters into his own hand and dove into the river.” He looked at the vicar, who was standing in the defendant’s box and appeared to be thunderstruck.
“Mr. Bailey?” the judge growled after waiting for a few seconds. “Mr. Bailey?”
“Oh, yes! As I was stating, ladies and gentlemen, this is a case of pure and simple suicide as old as the Shakespearean tales.”
* * *
The jury adjourned to decide their verdict and twenty minutes later announced that they found the defendant to be not guilty.
Graham came outside the building, wondering if he should go back to the office again, when Mrs. Bong stopped by him.
“There was something I wanted to tell you.”
“About what, Mrs. Bong?”
“About the chaplain. You know, I saw him once.”
“Saw him where?”
“He was spanking a choir boy. With his bare hands, Mr. Bailey. And it wasn’t an isolated incident. I had heard several other rumors about his fondling behaviour.”
“He shipped by both sail and steam, did he?” Graham mused.
Mrs. Bong took out her glasses to see the number of the bus that was approaching. “Oh, number 26! I must take your leave, Mr. Bailey. Good day!”He turned around and, in disbelief, found that the vicar was walking towards him. “A walk, Vicar Ducastle?”
They both started walking in the direction of the main gate.
“This was just a plain, everyday, old-fashioned murder, wasn’t it?” Graham asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, come now, my dear old vicar, you must give me some credit. The twenty thousand pounds that I found at the chaplain’s residence. You made him withdraw it, didn’t you? So that you would be able to get him for graft. You planned it!
“What I love, though, is the conniving bit of triggering the suicide. The chaplain and you were going to a trustees’ meeting that day, but there was no meeting, was there? You made it up to rattle the poor bastard so that he would think his game was up and would commit his act of cowardice. All you needed was a safe witness who would allege that you pushed him and would be ready for court testimony and cross-examination.
“You have balls, I must admit, my dear vicar! I mean, there you were, looking down at the gallows, giving me no information whatsoever until the last moment and then sending the note to make sure I followed the money.”
The vicar looked straight ahead of him; he had no intention of looking Graham in the eye. It was pointless anyway. The cat was out of the bag.
“Thank you, Mr. Bailey! Please send your account to the house. I have some spare cash, too, if tax is going to be a problem.”
Copyright © 2018 by Sameer Kulkarni
