‘Well, of course.’ He was still mildly amused by her, still instructive. ‘That’s just what I’d told him to do. I met him, you see, the day before Gillian’s funeral. It was just a casual encounter and he offered his condolences.’
He smiled with remembered satisfaction. ‘It was all beautifully planned. Gillian was becoming impossible and Colin was getting greedy, demanding a bigger cut. He said he had to take all the risks, set up the deals, see the contacts and that was worth more money. He did a lot of sailing, you see, so he took care of that side of the operation in Jersey and across the Channel. I wondered if I could get rid of the pair of them at the same time and for a while I toyed with the idea of the poor, tormented vicar suffering the ultimate humiliation of having his wife decamp with a toy boy, but I decided it was a bit contrived. It was easy to work out what to do about Gillian, but solving the problem of Colin’s “disappearance” took more thought.
‘I thought about scuttling his boat with him aboard, somewhere mid-Channel, but the practicalities were against it. How could I have got back myself, for a start? I could have staged an “accident” and been washed up, but it was too risky and I didn’t want anyone to sniff out a connection between us.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘I was quite keen on the idea of disposing of him at the pig farm just up the road, but again it simply wasn’t practical. I made some enquiries when I was away from home, but although pigs are omnivorous, you’d actually need to dismember a body before getting it into the mincer and I’m much too squeamish, I’m afraid. No, the solution I came up with was absolutely foolproof.’
He was rummaging around in the cavity, reaching right back into the little wall safe. ‘Ha! What’s this?’ It was a small wallet of rotted leather and when he gently pulled it apart a tiny bundle wrapped in waxed silk was revealed. Delicately inserting his knife he sliced through the covering and a ring tumbled out. It was the ring Dame Margery was wearing in her portrait.
He stared down at it with surprise and pleasure and glanced across at the picture. ‘Oh well, not all a waste of time, then.’ Looking at Harriet, he stuffed the ring in his pocket and smiled ruefully. ‘Where was I? Bit of a classic, this, isn’t it? The murderer’s confession; but luckily for me, you’re no Miss Marple. Oh yes, once I’d decided how Gillian was to meet her end it was beautiful, I could kill two birds with one stone.’
He started to prowl round the gallery again, restlessly fingering the little emerald ring, the gun swinging nonchalantly from his fingers. Harriet moved slightly so that she was still in his line of sight; Rory leaned back in his chair looking exhausted but not, she narrowed her eyes, not quite as ill as he had appeared ten minutes or so ago. They were both carefully avoiding the window.
‘It was brilliant, you know, bloody brilliant.’ The carefree laugh rang out, striking chill into his listeners’ bones, and reminding Harriet once more of Avril and her list of characteristics of a charismatic psychopath. You got it right, Avvie, she thought with a sigh. No mistake about this one.
‘I played the grieving widower to the hilt and alternately wept manly tears or displayed an even more heroic stiff upper lip, according to my audience or comforter. Then, as a way of paying my last respects, I insisted on having her coffin at home the night before the funeral. Oh, they argued against it, said it would be too upsetting, but no-one could quite bring themselves to say outright that it was morbid, and not one of them felt able to deny a grieving husband, and him a clergyman, the privilege of a last vigil. It made it so easy.’
He hugged his memory to himself exultantly, straying perilously near to the window. Harriet moved casually in the other direction and, as she had hoped, his eyes followed her, anxious to tell her how clever he had been. It made frightening listening; this detailed confession didn’t bode well for herself and Rory for surely there was only one conclusion to draw when John had told them everything.
‘Our unexpected meeting was a blessing,’ he continued, still in that cheerful, conversational manner. ‘There were a few errands I had to do in Winchester and while I’d planned to ring him, it was safer this way. I told him I’d had a tip-off that Interpol were onto him and he was to get over to Locksley so I could help him get away. He was agreeable, a new start suited him and he’d no family and no real friends, only pub acquaintances, so I told him to wait in the church till the old biddies had stopped turning up at my door with their quiches and cakes and casseroles. There’s a path between the vestry door and the back door to the vicarage, so he slipped in unnoticed as I was seeing off the last couple of sympathizers. I’d told them I wanted to be quite alone, you see, and they were all pussy-footing around, respecting my grief.’