The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) by Rebecca Shaw Read Free Book Online

warrant card and then asked if she was Mrs Patrick Meadows.
‘Yes, lam.’
    ‘May we come in?’
    ‘Yes.’
    They stood looking at one another in a group in the hall.
    Finally the policewoman said, ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mrs Meadows. It’s your husband. I’m sorry to say he has died.’
    ‘ Died? You must be mistaken – he’s in America. No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. It must be another Patrick Meadows. My husband is giving a paper to the Commission. He’ll be home tomorrow – won’t he?’ Her voice trailed off as she recognised the embarrassed sympathy in the faces of the officers.
    The policewoman took her into the sitting room and helped her to a chair.
    ‘I’ll go and make a cup of tea for you, Mrs Meadows. Where are the children?’
    ‘How do you know I’ve got children?’
    The policewoman pointed to the bottom bookshelf where the children kept their books.
    ‘They’re at my mother’s for a couple of days. I’ll make the tea.’ She started to get up out of the chair but the WPC gently pushed her back down again and disappeared into the kitchen. The two detectives stood in front of her. The younger one was looking about the room as though expecting clues to come leaping out of the walls.
    Suzy managed to find some words to say. ‘How did he … how did … what happened?’
    ‘He died in his car.’
‘You mean he had an accident?’
    ‘Well, no, it appeared to be intentional.’
    ‘Intentional? What do you mean, “intentional”?’
    ‘He used the exhaust pipe and a piece of hose.’
    ‘You mean suicide ? Patrick wouldn’t commit suicide. He’s not that kind of person!’
    ‘In view of the top secret job he was doing, Mrs Meadows, could we be allowed to look through his papers and belongings to see if we can find a reason for what has happened? If not today, perhaps another day when you’re feeling more able to cope.’
    ‘Where was he when he … he … did it?’
    ‘He was found this morning at first light. He’d parked his car on the cliffs near Flamborough Head in Yorkshire.’
    ‘Oh well, it definitely isn’t Patrick then, because he went to America three days ago. I packed his case for him.’
    ‘He never actually left the country, Mrs Meadows. He had no passport, no currency, no ticket – nothing to indicate that that was what he intended to do.’
    ‘He said he was going. He never told lies – he was scrupulously honest.’
    ‘Had he been behaving oddly recently?’
    ‘He always behaved oddly. Everyone thought he was odd, but it was normal for him. His mind was always preoccupied with his work; he didn’t socialise or bother with the children. There was nothing different about him that day he left.’
    ‘We found this letter addressed to you. I’ll put it here on the mantelpiece and then you can read it when you feel ready. If there is anything in it that might throw light on his state of mind or why he did it we’d be glad to know.’
    ‘Thank you. That’s his desk over there. You can look in it if you wish.’
Suzy laid her head back, unable to grasp what had happened. Her mind was racing over the happenings of the last few weeks before Patrick had left for America. Had there been some clues which she’d failed to recognise? Suddenly she shot bolt upright. ‘However am I going to tell the children? Oh dear God, what am I going to do?’
    The matter-of-fact voice of the policewoman broke in with a kindly, ‘Here’s your tea, Mrs Meadows.’ She didn’t notice that the tea was scalding hot, she was so thirsty. The senior one of the two detectives had begun searching Patrick’s desk: methodically, drawer by drawer, file by file, letter by letter. His filofax was in the top drawer. Suzy knew when she saw the detective begin to look through it that Patrick had never intended to go to America. He took the filofax with him whenever he left the house. It was filled with names, addresses and messages, all necessary to his work. So he