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Authors: Anthea Fraser
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Philpott worked â what was it called?'
'Ward and Johnson.'
'That's right. It'll be interesting to know if anyone there knew of his peccadilloes.'
'But you don't want to go there now, surely? It's a hell of a round trip â a good hour from here to Oxbury, and the best part of two from there back to Ashmartin. Won't your wife be expecting you?â
'I didn't put a time on it, but I'll phone and let her know what we're doing. In the meantime, we'll have some lunch before we set off. There's a pleasant place in Monk's Walk, I remember.'
The cathedral and metropolitical church of St Benedict in Broadminster, commonly known as Broad Minster, lay at the heart of the town, a glorious Gothic extravaganza soaring upwards into the summer sky. Having of necessity parked their car some distance from the centre, they came upon it suddenly as they turned into Monk's Walk which fringed the green in front of it, and as always Frederick felt his heart lift.
'A wonderful sight, isn't it?' he said, stopping abruptly on the pavement the better to gaze, and causing some muttering among the people directly behind him. 'I used to sing in the choir there as a boy.'
'The sight on the green isn't quite so inspiring,' Paul commented drily, nodding across the road. On this Saturday lunchtime the grass was covered with families enjoying picnics, children playing, and sunbathers, their clothes inelegantly bunched up or pushed down, making the most of the sunshine.
Frederick laughed. 'Good luck to them. Now, if I remember correctly there's an excellent wine bar along here which will do us nicely.'
As they sat over poached salmon and salad, Paul said curiously, 'Do you think this story of Philpott's playing around really has a bearing on his death?'
Frederick refilled his glass. 'All I know is that a motive was never discovered, and we might now have unearthed one. Or even two, come to that; the homosexual angle might bear looking into.'
'Surely not; from the sound of it, it was only a drunken insult.'
â In vino veritas. If he really considered them "bloody perverts", it might have come out again, with more serious consequences. Still, I tend to agree with you; I think it's the women who will prove to be more pertinent.'
'What about Judd?' Blake asked after a moment. 'Are you hoping to suss a motive from his photograph?'
'Possibly,' Frederick replied imperturbably, 'but that's not all we have to go on. You're forgetting that in each case the most conclusive evidence could be the voice of the murderer on the telephone. And voices, like faces, give away more than their owners realize.'
He reached for his wallet and extracted a newspaper clipping from it. 'I cut this out of the News the other evening.' He unfolded it, fumbled on his glasses, and read aloud: ' Diane Pearcy, 32, the receptionist at the Department who took the call, described the speaker as sounding nervous. Pressed further, she stated that the voice was male, light in tone, with a local accent. He asked for Mr Judd by name, and she assumed he was a client. '
If you're hoping to compare that with Philpott's killer,' Paul said, 'there was no description of his voice in any of the papers I went through.'
Frederick refolded the clipping, put it back in his wallet, and removed his glasses. 'I know,' he said, picking up his knife and fork again. 'I went through them, too. But with luck, whoever received the call might still work at the firm.'
'The police will have checked it out, surely.'
'I don't doubt it, my boy, but they're unlikely to pass any information on to me. I'm not working for the police. I'm working for myself and my book.'
To which Paul could find no reply.
The town of Oxbury was noted firstly for its boys' public school, Greystones College, and secondly for being built on the Kittle, one of Broadshire's most attractive rivers.
Again they had trouble parking, and again people were out in their hundreds along the river banks. Having circled a multistorey
'Ward and Johnson.'
'That's right. It'll be interesting to know if anyone there knew of his peccadilloes.'
'But you don't want to go there now, surely? It's a hell of a round trip â a good hour from here to Oxbury, and the best part of two from there back to Ashmartin. Won't your wife be expecting you?â
'I didn't put a time on it, but I'll phone and let her know what we're doing. In the meantime, we'll have some lunch before we set off. There's a pleasant place in Monk's Walk, I remember.'
The cathedral and metropolitical church of St Benedict in Broadminster, commonly known as Broad Minster, lay at the heart of the town, a glorious Gothic extravaganza soaring upwards into the summer sky. Having of necessity parked their car some distance from the centre, they came upon it suddenly as they turned into Monk's Walk which fringed the green in front of it, and as always Frederick felt his heart lift.
'A wonderful sight, isn't it?' he said, stopping abruptly on the pavement the better to gaze, and causing some muttering among the people directly behind him. 'I used to sing in the choir there as a boy.'
'The sight on the green isn't quite so inspiring,' Paul commented drily, nodding across the road. On this Saturday lunchtime the grass was covered with families enjoying picnics, children playing, and sunbathers, their clothes inelegantly bunched up or pushed down, making the most of the sunshine.
Frederick laughed. 'Good luck to them. Now, if I remember correctly there's an excellent wine bar along here which will do us nicely.'
As they sat over poached salmon and salad, Paul said curiously, 'Do you think this story of Philpott's playing around really has a bearing on his death?'
Frederick refilled his glass. 'All I know is that a motive was never discovered, and we might now have unearthed one. Or even two, come to that; the homosexual angle might bear looking into.'
'Surely not; from the sound of it, it was only a drunken insult.'
â In vino veritas. If he really considered them "bloody perverts", it might have come out again, with more serious consequences. Still, I tend to agree with you; I think it's the women who will prove to be more pertinent.'
'What about Judd?' Blake asked after a moment. 'Are you hoping to suss a motive from his photograph?'
'Possibly,' Frederick replied imperturbably, 'but that's not all we have to go on. You're forgetting that in each case the most conclusive evidence could be the voice of the murderer on the telephone. And voices, like faces, give away more than their owners realize.'
He reached for his wallet and extracted a newspaper clipping from it. 'I cut this out of the News the other evening.' He unfolded it, fumbled on his glasses, and read aloud: ' Diane Pearcy, 32, the receptionist at the Department who took the call, described the speaker as sounding nervous. Pressed further, she stated that the voice was male, light in tone, with a local accent. He asked for Mr Judd by name, and she assumed he was a client. '
If you're hoping to compare that with Philpott's killer,' Paul said, 'there was no description of his voice in any of the papers I went through.'
Frederick refolded the clipping, put it back in his wallet, and removed his glasses. 'I know,' he said, picking up his knife and fork again. 'I went through them, too. But with luck, whoever received the call might still work at the firm.'
'The police will have checked it out, surely.'
'I don't doubt it, my boy, but they're unlikely to pass any information on to me. I'm not working for the police. I'm working for myself and my book.'
To which Paul could find no reply.
The town of Oxbury was noted firstly for its boys' public school, Greystones College, and secondly for being built on the Kittle, one of Broadshire's most attractive rivers.
Again they had trouble parking, and again people were out in their hundreds along the river banks. Having circled a multistorey
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