Death Comes to Durham Read online

  Our last stop in the cathedral was the café in the undercroft, where we could sit (oh blessed relief) and enjoy coffee and a sandwich, and relaxation. Somewhat to Alan’s surprise, I resisted the temptations of the cathedral shop just across the foyer. I knew if I once set foot in there I’d spend far too much money. Later, when we were about to go home. We did stop to look and marvel at the scale model of the cathedral, some twelve feet long, built of Lego bricks, stained glass windows, landscaping, and all. It might have been cutesy and repellent, but it wasn’t; it was an amazing achievement, and we were glad we’d seen it.

  ‘Castle tour next?’

  ‘Not until I’ve had a nap. I want to see the castle and hear about its history. Just not right now.’

  We hadn’t heard from David, so we walked back to our room (through the rain that had returned with renewed enthusiasm) and rested until tour time.

  SIX

  The rain had sobbed and sniffled its way into a sulky drizzle by the time we assembled in the lobby of the university library to begin our tour. Our guide was a pleasant young man with a good loud voice, who introduced himself as Timothy, and apologized that we would begin outside in the courtyard. ‘We won’t be there long, so you shouldn’t get too wet. Perhaps those with umbrellas can share with the others? Right, then, off we go.’

  Alan and I hadn’t bothered with our brollies in such a light rain, and our jackets had hoods. We stayed well away from the potentially eye-poking implements carried by others, and kept close to the guide, who herded us to the centre of the courtyard after showing off the remarkable carving of the gatehouse archway.

  ‘Right, now I’m going to give you a quiz, just a brief one, one question. What would you say is the oldest part of the castle?’

  Nearly everyone pointed to the impressive circular keep, high on its motte, or hill. Timothy chuckled with delight. ‘Ah, I get them every time. In fact, the keep is the newest building in view.’ Startled gasps from the group. ‘Yes, I know it looks ancient, but it is in fact of nineteenth-century construction, or rather reconstruction. When the university took over the buildings from the Bishop of Durham in 1827, the keep was in such bad shape that it had to be completely rebuilt. However, the original plans were still extant, so it retained its medieval look. You don’t get failing marks for your mistake!’

  He went on to explain that, although the cathedral is built on bedrock, the castle’s foundations are much less secure, nor is the stone of which it is built very suitable for the purpose, having the propensity to weather badly. ‘Thus, although there are still bits of the original twelfth-century buildings, a very great deal of repair and reconstruction has been necessary over the centuries. I’ll point out both ancient and more modern as we go. Right, then, we can get out of the rain now.’

  ‘Can we see the keep?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. It is used entirely for student housing and is off-limits to the public. Sorry. Inside, though, it looks pretty much like any place where students live, slightly scruffy and untidy!’

  As we went inside, Timothy came over to me and spoke softly. ‘Will you be all right on the stairs, ma’am? There are a good many of them, I’m afraid.’

  I was carrying my stick, mostly for use on the slippery cobbles of the courtyard. ‘Thank you for asking, but I’ll be fine. A bit slow, maybe, but fine.’

  He cocked his head. ‘Are you American, then? Or Canadian?’

  I laughed. ‘My accent confuses people, I know. I’m American-born, but my husband is English, I’ve lived in England for a long time, and I carry a British passport. When I go back to Indiana, everyone thinks I sound English.’

  Our guide grinned. ‘Citizen of the world, eh?’ His expression told me he knew it was a cliché, and I grinned back before he returned to his spiel for the tour.

  He was good, no doubt about that. He knew the history of the castle inside and out, but didn’t bury us in facts, only enough that we could appreciate what we were seeing. He told us the legend of the ghost, the Grey Lady, who is supposed to walk the gorgeous, and famous, Black Staircase. He pointed out incredible bits of carving here and there, amazingly preserved virtually intact for all these years, but reserved his greatest enthusiasm for the Norman Chapel, a tiny room below grade level and the oldest part of the castle, dating from 1080 or so. ‘It’s been pulled about over the years,’ he said, ‘but never destructively, and now it serves its original purpose. Tunstal’s Chapel, up above, is more impressive, and it’s where people like to have weddings, but this one … well, for me, this is still a place of worship, and still has that feel.’ He grew silent, as did our small group. There was something about the atmosphere of the place, something perhaps exuding from the very ancient stone pillars or the small paving stones. Prayers had ascended from this place for well over nine hundred years. Surely some sense of them remained.

  We ended our tour in the Great Hall, our breakfast room, and stayed to talk to our guide after the rest of the party had left. ‘You are very knowledgeable about the history of this amazing place,’ I said admiringly. ‘Are you by any chance a student here, maybe reading history?’

  ‘I am a student, yes, but reading theology. I brushed up on the history in order to do the tours properly. It doesn’t pay a lot, but every little bit helps.’

  I groaned. ‘Oh, the eternal problem of how to pay for education! Eons ago, when I went to college, my parents were able to pay for it, and they were far from wealthy. Nowadays students graduate with such a terrible burden of debt, and then if they can’t get good jobs, they’re buried under that mountain for years. If you ask me, it’s a scandal.’

  ‘It’s not as bad here as in the States, but yes, it is a burden for those who aren’t wealthy,’ he said, again with that disarming grin. ‘Most of us have at least two jobs to try to make ends meet.’ He looked at his phone. ‘Speaking of which …’

  ‘Off you go, then,’ said Alan, reaching out to shake his hand.

  Timothy gave a startled look at the money left in his palm. ‘Thanks, sir, but we’re not supposed to—’

  Alan looked around the room. ‘Unless I’m missing something, there isn’t another soul around to see. Perhaps your conscience as a theology student won’t let you accept it, but I’d be greatly obliged if you would. A bright and eager young man shouldn’t have to worry about where his next meal is coming from.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much indeed! And the next time you and your lady want a meal, you might try the Court Inn. Anyone will tell you where it is. It’s where I have to go right this minute or I’ll be late for my shift!’

  ‘Two jobs, at least,’ I commented as we wandered out of the Great Hall and back up to our room. ‘While working on a degree in theology, which can’t be a snap.’

  ‘And more work at the end of it, before he can be ordained. That lad knows what he wants, and he’s going after it with everything he has. I only hope he’s making enough money not to end up with impossible debt when he’s attained his goal.’

  ‘You think he intends to be a priest, then? Or to teach theology?’

  ‘From the heartfelt way he spoke about the old chapel, I’d say a priest. It isn’t too often these days that you find young people who speak about religious matters with conviction. I wish him well, but I fear for him in today’s economic climate.’

  ‘I’m glad he accepted your tip. How much did you give him?’

  ‘A couple of twenties, and my card just in case. I wonder what’s happening with David. I expected a call by now.’ Alan pulled out his phone and called David. ‘Voicemail. He’s probably busy at the home, or else in his car. What would you like to do while we wait?’

  ‘First, have a cup of tea. Then if we still haven’t heard from him, I’d like to explore the area a little. The rain has stopped, or paused, anyway, and we haven’t seen much of the river. It’s so important to the town, I’d like to get a feel for it.’

  David finally called while I was tidying up the tea things. Alan put him on the sp
eaker. ‘Sorry to abandon you for such a long time. I’ve been trying to put together some information. It isn’t easy, since I have no official status here. The local police are courteous, but distant.’

  ‘And not only are you retired, you’re a foreigner.’

  ‘Yes, there’s that, too.’

  I gave Alan a puzzled look, but he ignored me.

  ‘And have you reached any conclusions? Is there by any chance a “man with a grudge”, as Dorothy put it, who might have acted as she imagined?’

  David’s laugh didn’t sound amused. ‘Well, yes and no. There certainly was such a person, a man who had lived at the home for about a year and was visibly displeased when Armstrong arrived. He never said much, but the staff noticed that he avoided Armstrong to the point of snubbing him, and wouldn’t talk about him.’

  ‘Oh, he sounds perfect. Was he taking sedatives? Could he have slipped some into the man’s tea or whatever?’

  ‘Again, yes and no. He was prescribed a mild sedative when the staff observed his agitation, and he certainly could have saved up enough to give Armstrong a significant dose—’

  ‘Oh, forgot to ask,’ Alan interrupted. ‘Had Armstrong in fact taken something that would have knocked him out, or at least made him a bit groggy?’

  ‘Yes, they found enough traces, even after such a long time, that they think it quite possible he was deliberately drugged. Unfortunately Robinson is out of the running as a suspect.’

  ‘But why? Surely—’

  ‘Because, Dorothy, the man suffered a massive heart attack about a week ago. He was taken to hospital and died there three days before Armstrong was killed.’

  ‘Darn it, it was such a good idea!’

  ‘It was. It was most inconsiderate of the man to die.’

  I sighed. ‘I was even beginning to picture him in my mind – a small man, stooped and grey, the sort who does hold grudges and seek revenge. Not a very nice person at all. And probably he wasn’t like that at all, and now he’s past defending himself.’

  ‘Or carrying out his revenge, if that is in fact what he had in mind.’

  ‘Oh, well. We’ll come up with something else. The one fact we have is that the man is dead, indisputably murdered. There’s that to cling to. Oh, by the way, what did you mean by calling David a foreigner? I thought he was English.’

  Alan laughed. ‘Certainly he’s English, but from the West Country. There are regional differences in England, my love, just as well-defined as your American ones, though the territories concerned are much smaller. The way people speak, the foods they eat, their political preferences, all are distinctive, just as different as, say, Georgia is from New York. A Cornishman like David is in many ways more foreign here in Durham than you are. You yourself have observed the northern accent here.’

  ‘And sometimes have a hard time understanding it. David sometimes sounds a bit odd, too.’

  ‘So you see. He’s a “foreigner” here, someone who’s different, not quite “one of us” – and therefore not taken quite seriously. Perhaps, even, not quite to be trusted.’

  ‘Why don’t they treat us that way? We don’t talk the way they do, either.’

  ‘Ah. You, of course, still sound slightly American, and Americans are largely tolerated as well-meaning, if somewhat ignorant.’ He grinned at my indignation. ‘And you’ve not dealt yet with the police here. As for me, I lost my Cornish accent years ago and speak in a bland way redolent of nowhere in particular. But I, too, will be treated by the local authorities with deference and courtesy, but a good deal of reserve. Think a New York policeman dealing with a Georgia sheriff, and you’ll get the idea.’

  We were walking by the river on a lovely path we’d discovered, just down the hill from the college buildings. I had been told that Durham University operated, like its venerable Oxbridge cousins, on the college system. The oldest of them, University College, was housed in the castle, but there were several others scattered nearby. I had given up, with my American background, on understanding fully the relationship between college and university. I think it’s like cricket: if you’re not English, you’ll never get it.

  Anyway, the river walk was close to the castle and University College, but actually belonged to the city of Durham. The walk meandered through a wooded area, at this time of year burgeoning with trees and undergrowth in countless shades of green, as well as a few daffodils and bluebells. In the peaceful setting we’d dropped the subject of crime and police investigation. ‘The plants have loved the rain.’

  ‘The river, too. Look, it’s very high.’

  The paved path ran close to the river’s edge, but there was a small area of uncultivated greenery in between. Or at least there was meant to be. With the river very high, in some places the water came right up to the path, even lapping over by a few inches.

  ‘That could be dangerous,’ I said. ‘I don’t see any lights along the path. On a dark night someone could miss their footing and fall in the river.’

  ‘You ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie, lady,’ said a voice from behind us. I was so startled by the accent and the idiom that I nearly fell into the river myself.

  ‘Heard your voice and figgered you might be American,’ went on the man, catching up with us and holding out a hand. ‘Sam Burns, from Dallas.’

  Somewhat stunned, Alan and I introduced ourselves.

  ‘I’m here on sabbatical from SMU, and havin’ a whale of a time. Not much like home, is it? But what you were sayin’, ma’am, about this path bein’ dangerous, is nothin’ but God’s truth. I’ve only been here since September, and in that time at least one student has fallen in and drowned hisself.’

  ‘No! Really?’

  ‘Really. ’Course, I won’t say he wasn’t a little lit up. Students are the same everywhere, I guess. They like their beer. But what I say is, they oughta put up a wall or somethin’. ’T’aint safe the way it is.’

  The wind was picking up; the leaves overhead shook their burden of water down on us. The sky began to look ominous, as well. It was time to say goodbye to our new friend and head back to shelter.

  We made it just before the heavens opened. By the time we had laboured up the stairs to our room, we could barely see the outside world through the rain.

  ‘Stair rods,’ said Alan gloomily.

  ‘Axe heads and hammer handles, my father used to say. That kind never lasts very long, or at least it never did back in Indiana.’

  ‘I can’t predict what it does up here in the north,’ Alan groused. ‘Especially now that weather patterns have shifted so much. And do you realize, love, that it’s dinnertime? And our next meal is somewhere out in that deluge, and I forgot to arrange for an ark.’

  SEVEN

  ‘Oh.’ I had not, in fact, considered that detail. I looked at our tea tray. Not a single biscuit left; we’d eaten them all with our tea, and they wouldn’t be replenished until our room was serviced the next morning. We sat and looked at each other glumly. Someone’s stomach rumbled.

  Alan’s phone rang.

  I could make little of his end of the conversation, which consisted of half-finished remarks. He rang off with a quizzical expression. ‘That little fool just spent every cent I gave him on a meal for us from the place where he works. He called to ask our room number and make sure we were here. I gave him the key code.’

  ‘Timothy? He’ll drown!’

  ‘That’s what I tried to tell him. He wouldn’t let me finish a sentence, just said it rains a lot here and he’s used to it, but he thought we might not want to go out, and he hoped we like burgers.’

  ‘Well, he’s studying theology, and he seems to have taken it to heart. This is certainly the act of a Good Samaritan.’

  In a very few minutes there was a knock at the door. Alan opened it on a dripping young man. His anorak and hood were streaming with water; his jeans and trainers were sodden; but his face, also dripping, wore a broad smile. He held out a large and well-used plastic bag.

  ‘Good j
ob I always carry a Tesco bag with me. I may look like a drowned rat, but the food’s nice and dry, and still warm, I hope.’

  ‘You walked through this downpour?’

  ‘Biked. Just as wet, but quicker.’

  We hustled him into the room, had him take off his anorak and shoes and socks, and gave him towels. ‘I wish we could offer you a hot bath and a change of clothes, but we have only a shower, and you’d swim in Alan’s slacks, or even mine.’

  ‘Not to worry. I’m tough!’ He opened the bag. ‘I brought some for myself as well. They’re all alike; I hope they’re okay. And there’s chips and salad and slaw and onion rings. And I brought a bottle of wine, just plonk.’

  ‘You are an angel straight from heaven,’ I said devoutly.

  ‘And,’ said Alan severely, ‘a very wicked young man to spend on us what I meant for your needs.’

  Timothy ducked his head. ‘I got paid today. And I get a discount. And I thought about you, maybe caught by the storm, and here I was with all this food around me and my shift nearly over. Not to worry,’ he said again.

  Meanwhile we were letting perfectly good hamburgers, which smelled scrumptious, cool off. I laid out tissues on the bed for placemats and fetched plastic glasses and coffee cups for the wine while Alan opened it with the corkscrew on my Swiss Army knife, and we set to.

  For the first few minutes we were all so hungry there was no conversation not related to food, but when my appetite had diminished from a roar to a whimper, I wiped my mouth, swallowed some wine (okay, plonk, but perfectly acceptable), and said, ‘Now I want to know something about you. For a start, whatever possessed you to pursue a degree in theology? Forgive me, but you’re obviously not wealthy, and you must know that such a degree and a couple of pounds will buy you a cup of nice coffee.’