Chapter 6

We spent the rest of the week walking the moors, visiting the tourist traps, seeking out country pubs serving good food and making love every night.

Prudence and Verity kept in regular contact and there was a steady flow of illicit bulletins about the state of the forensic investigation of Emily’s body. Because Walter had wrapped it in thick plastic and buried it in the cool, dry earth underneath the pond, the remains had been remarkably well preserved. Examination showed that Emily had been raped quite forcibly and the forensic technicians were confident that they’d retrieved DNA that could be used to identify the perpetrator. They had somehow managed to get hold of Emily’s dental records and they were a good match to the body, although they were hoping to find a close living relative for DNA confirmation.

On Sunday, Prudence and I had the ‘church’ discussion. She was ambivalent about attending and my view was that you could pray to God at any time and place and the Sunday ritual was largely for show and fundraising. Since the only local church, St Peter’s, was Anglican, we decided not to bother.

Monday morning, before Prudence and I had decided how to spend the day, we had a visitor.

“Hello Reverend,” I said to the visitor at the door, on noticing her dog collar.

“Father O’Malley?” she asked.

“Seamus O’Malley, yes, but no longer ordained I’m afraid. Please come in.”

“Thank you. I’m Janice Lowery, the Vicar at St Peter’s. A recent transfer. I haven’t been in Coombe Ottery long.”

I showed Janice into the kitchen where Prudence was sitting at the breakfast bar, nursing a coffee.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” I asked, after introducing the two women.

“Tea please, with milk and one sugar,” said Janice.

I furnished Janice a mug of tea to her prescription and we joined Prudence sitting at the breakfast bar.

“I’ve heard strange stories about you from my parishioners,” said Janice. “Apparently you found the body of Emily Vickers buried under the garden pond.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Prudence. “Dental records are a good match but they’re hoping for DNA corroboration. It’s thanks to Father O’Malley here: he has a very unique talent.”

“Forgive me Father O’Malley, but I thought you said you were no longer ordained,” said Janice.

“I stopped an...” air-quote, “ ... exorcism...” air-quote, “ ... and called an ambulance when I realised the subject was having a serious epileptic fit. The Vatican didn’t like that one little bit.”

“That’s not a problem for the Church of England,” said Janice. “Exorcisms are not something we officially sanction.”

“The Vatican promised reinstatement to Father O’Malley if he carried out a successful exorcism for my sister’s family,” said Prudence. “The demon was banished but the Vatican went back on their word because they disapproved of his methods. Father O’Malley deserves the honorific even though it’s not official.”

Janice gave a wry smile. It was obvious she didn’t believe in the need for exorcisms. “I have to admit my parishioners told me a very strange tale, something about you talking to the dead girl.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Prudence. “He even got Emily to make the fountain spurt to prove where she was buried. Father O’Malley was in my presence the whole time and there wasn’t a timer on the fountain and that clinched it for me. There’s still the pile of rubble in the garden from when we dug up her body.”

I hadn’t known that Prudence had checked for mechanical trickery, but I was glad she had. It added credence to her testimony.

“Well I’m glad the poor girl now has a chance for a proper burial,” said Janice. “The Vickers family was staunchly Anglican and they have a family plot in the St Peter’s graveyard. Normally I’d be the logical choice to conduct Emily’s funeral service but my parishioners said you wanted to do it yourself.”

“No,” I replied, “and since the family was Anglican that would be quite wrong of me. However I would appreciate the opportunity to offer a prayer at her interment in the hope that it will help her on her way to the afterlife.”

“In the circumstances, I was going to bend the rules and offer to let you co-officiate at her funeral,” said Janice, “and that’s still open if you change your mind, but I’m quite happy for you to offer a prayer at her interment. And I’m glad we’ve come to an amicable arrangement.”

“There is one request I want to make,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Under no circumstances should Walter Vickers be buried in the same graveyard as Emily.”

“Why not?”

“Emily told me that Walter raped and murdered her.”

“That explains some of the other comments my parishioners made. It’s probably moot because nothing has been heard from any of the Vickers family recently. I’ll make a record of the request but it may depend on how long I’m here and whether my successors decide to honour it.”

“I thought you hadn’t been here long,” said Prudence. “Are you planning to move again already?”

“Coombe Ottery is very conservative,” said Janice. My predecessor was a happy-clappy type who alienated most of the congregation. Instead of making a nice, safe appointment to replace him, they chose a woman. It’s been very hard going, trying to win people back, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be given.”

“Although the family hasn’t been around for a long time, I suspect a good send-off for Emily would go a long way to winning back the congregation,” I said.

“I certainly hope so,” said Janice.

By the time the conversation had frittered out and Janice had taken her leave, the morning was virtually over. Prudence and I had sandwiches for lunch, by which time it had started raining. Although we’d had no specific plans for the day, most of the options were stymied by the weather. We were talking them through when Prudence’s phone rang. As usual, I left the room to give Prudence some privacy, picking up a book to read in my bedroom.

When she came to find me later, Prudence had a grim look on her face. “That was Verity passing on some news from Richard,” she said. “The local Chief Superintendent, who’s a shameless glory-hound, has taken a personal interest in Emily’s case. He’s preparing a press briefing for tomorrow morning about Emily’s body having been found. This time tomorrow, Coombe Ottery will be knee-deep in journalists.”

I knew that our holiday had to end sooner or later. I’d done the job I was asked to, and both Prudence and I had lives to go back to. “Do you think we should leave tomorrow?” I asked.

“First thing,” she replied.

We made tender, poignant love, a first time for us in the afternoon, then we cuddled and caressed until early evening. After hurriedly packing, we braved the rain and headed for the Poacher’s Arms. Even Tom the barman seemed pleased to see us.

“Could I have your attention please. I’ve got an announcement to make,” called out Prudence.

Conversations stopped in mid-sentence.

“The police are confident that it’s Emily’s body, and they’re announcing the discovery to the press tomorrow. I’m afraid Coombe Ottery is about to become a focus for public attention, and you can expect a lot of journalists to crawl out from under their rocks. Father O’Malley and I are both leaving first thing tomorrow morning and we’d like to show our appreciation for your hospitality by buying you all a drink.”