With A Heavy Heart

Reginald looked over a blurry sea of pious faces. Blurry because his glasses had slipped down his nose again. Somewhere, out there, a killer was looking back at him.

Reginald knew who it was. At least he thought he did.

If he was wrong, more people would die.

Reginald’s floor-length cassock and surplice were black and white. Tackling a murderer would pose a challenge. It’s not what choir uniforms were designed for.

Singing in church was.

Reginald just hoped the killer wasn’t sitting next to the heavy oak door, leading out of the church. Into the leafy graveyard and the sleepy village, which was quieter than normal. Most of the villagers were in the church.

And the graveyard was becoming crowded.

Reginald pushed his small round spectacles up his nose. Blurs became faces again.

A sound disrupted his train of thought. A high-pitched hum. It was the signal to alter his hearing aid. He switched the frequency. A booming voice rolled towards the choir stalls. Reginald was with the Tenors.

What was left of them.

‘…and it is with a heavy, heavy heart. That we are gathered here today, to commemorate the tragic demise of Miss Esther Donaldson. Dearly-dearly-dearly-‘ Reginald tapped his hearing aid. ‘-dearly…dear to this Parish. And deeply involved in this community as a church warden for many…many years.’

Father Briar was a stout man, with expressive arms and a languid demeanour. No one liked to listen to Father Briar’s recycled jokes and theatrical cues as much as Father Briar did.

A sea of nodding heads rippled like the tide.

There were twelve members of the choir. There used to be sixteen.

Which left notable gaps along the choir’s benches. Two pews on either side of the main aisle, which ran the length of the church - a figure of speech. Reginald had no intention of running after anyone. Not at his seventy-two years of age.

Esther Donaldson was the latest victim. Found at home, bludgeoned with a brass candlestick. With enough force to hit a cricket ball for six: the police detective's words, not Reginald’s.

A vicious whisper right in front of Reginald caught his attention. When Reginald’s hearing aid was working, he could hear a pin drop.

Diedre said, ‘She was a busybody!’

Carol replied, ‘Shh! People will hear you.’

Diedre responded, ‘I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. And never in tune. Esther couldn’t sing for toffee.’

The Altos liked to improvise. In more ways than one.

Diedre giggled sharply, ‘Who’s gonna be next then?’

‘Don’t say that! I don’t wanna think about it…’

‘Someone out there really doesn’t like our singing.’

Carol replied, ‘No one likes our singing. Neil the organist says we’re always ruining his solos...’

Father Briar faced the congregation. Robes cascading to the floor in waves. Arms splayed out wide, face tipped to the tall ceiling. Summoning his flock.

‘We shall now sing our first hymn,’ cried Father Briar. ‘One of Esther’s favourites: Be Thou My Vision! ALL RISE.’

The choir stood in unison. Reginald’s glasses slipped. He adjusted them again. The organ began to blare. And they all started to sing.

‘Be thou my vision…O Lord of my heart…’

‘Raise thou me Heav'nward, O Pow'r of my pow'r…’

The choir’s singing appeared to be landing in its usual fashion. Judging by the contorted faces of the congregation.

Reginald’s gaze found the man sitting opposite. On the conductor’s seat: Arthur Stamper. Who towered over the rows of sopranos and Altos. Even when sitting down. Arthur was mouthing something at Reginald. Pointing a long finger at him. Arthur Stamper was as direct and fierce as Father Briar was listless and drawn out.

Reginald leaned forward. Squinting behind his glasses. Reginald knew what Arthur meant.

Flat! You-are-flat! Again!

Sorry, Reginald mouthed, with a tip of his head. Reginald gestured apologetically to his hearing aid. His usual method when the singing was not up to scratch.

Often in this choir.

Arthur scowled hard and fumed in silence.

Reginald returned his attention to the funeral service.

He never considered himself an armchair detective. He never considered himself an armchair anything. The first three murders left him as nonplussed as the next person.

Susan Brett, Soprano: run over.

Gerald Swanson, Tenor: poisoned.

John Price, Bass: drowned.

And, Esther Donaldson, Alto: knocked for six. The police detective’s words, not Reginald’s.

It would have likely stayed that way. With Reginald in the dark, along with everyone else. Resigned to suffer from village gossip and the Daily Mail.

Except for one key thing.

Esther had already told Reginald who was responsible. For the first three murders.

She’d revealed everything. Esther and Reginald were friends. Which is why he was reading at her funeral. And why he would tell everyone who was responsible.

Today.

For Esther.

Reginald’s hearing aid started to hum. He switched the frequency. Father Briar was speaking, once again.

‘...and now,’ Father Briar called out loudly. ‘We sing another one of…dearest…Esther’s favourites. JERUSALEM! And, do not forget to stick around after the service. We love having you here! Oh yes…so did…Esther. Our congregation could do with a boost...’

The choir stood to attention. The congregation roundly obeyed. And the singing began.

‘And did those feet, in ancient times. Walk upon England’s mountains green…”

*

‘Heavens, Esther. What do you mean? Are you quite sure?!’

‘Positive, Reginald,’ Esther replied. ‘It is just as Sherlock Holmes said: Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable…’

‘...must be the truth.’

‘Precisely, Reginald,’ Esther said with a wink. ‘You can hear me after all.’

Her prim demeanour was offset with sparkling, intelligent eyes. And a thick head of silver hair which was curled at all times. Just like her wicked smile.

Esther took a sip from her cup. There was always a tea pot on the go in Reginald’s bungalow - just for her.

‘Remind me how you know this?’

‘Fortuitous timing,’ Esther replied. ‘For me - not for them! I was at the church. Doing the rounds. Locking up. I had taken my shoes off as my feet were sore. I was as quiet as…’

‘A church mouse?’

‘Precisely, Reginald. Needless to say, they didn’t hear me creeping around.’

‘Pray, remind me who…’

‘Father Briar. Diedre Collins. And…’

‘Arthur Stamper.’

‘Yes. So your mechanised ear is working.’

‘Pardon?’ he smiled.

‘Very droll, Reginald,’ Esther replied. ‘Amusing. It’s actually your tone deafness that’s why you’re next. It’s why they bumped off Susan, John and Gerald. They think the choir is responsible for the Parish’s dwindling congregation. They’re peeved.’

‘You can’t be serious?!’ Reginald exclaimed.

‘I heard their whole conversation. Clear as day. Although there was a voice I didn’t recognise. Someone who doesn’t do a whole lot of talking.’

‘Esther. We must go to the police with this. If you are right it is too dangerous.’

‘I’ve tried! They find this theory baffling. Police don’t understand criminals in our part of the world: ones that hide in plain sight. Wedded to the village and each other. The fanatics. They’re still looking at poor old Bob Hackett.’

‘Bob the butcher?! But that’s ridiculous.’

‘Now you see why we have to act ourselves.’

‘What do you plan on doing?’

Esther set down her cup and saucer. Steam still rose from the vessel.

‘Leave it with me, Reggie,’ Esther replied, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Just distract the three stooges. For an evening. I will have convinced Surrey’s finest to resume their enquiries. Trust me - we have right on our side! We cannot fail….’

That evening Reginald entertained Arthur Stamper, Diedre Collins and Father Briar. In his own living room. With a dozen other villagers. They all played scrabble, ate mince pies and talked into the early hours of the morning.

The same evening Esther was murdered. Knocked for six in her own home.

Someone must have heard Esther creeping around the church after all.

*

‘Bring me my bow of burning gold…bring me my arrows of desire…’

As the hymn started on its final verse, Reginald closed his hymn book, steadily rising to his feet. The speakers’ lectern stood between the choir pews. The Holy Bible rested on a solid brass stand shaped like an Eagle. With sharp eyes and sharper talons.

Reginald shuffled past the only other Tenor left, who meekly gave way. Reginald’s steps echoed along the floor.

‘Bring me my spear - O’clouds unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire…’

Diedre’s eyes darted mischievously from Reginald to the congregation and back. Arthur Stamper’s narrow gaze tracked Reginald like a hawk.

‘I will not cease, from mental fight…nor shall my sword sleep in my hand…’

Reginald placed a hand on one of the Eagle’s talons. He used it to pull himself up onto a raised box. He adjusted his glasses. Father Briar was standing with his eyes shut and strong arms splayed wide.

Reciting from memory.

‘Till we have built Jerusalem! In England’s green and pleasant…land…’

The organist sounded the hymn’s finale. Pausing on the final note; rounding off with a flourish - which he always did. Feet dancing fluently across the pedals.

Everyone except Reginald fell noisily into their seats.

Then silence descended on the church.

Reginald stared out at the congregation. Stained glass windows lined the stone walls. Deep blues, sharp reds, and iridescent greens splashed freely across the thick glass. The large organ sat at the very end. Its black pipes crawled up to the ceiling.

Reginald said, ‘We are here to remember Esther’s life. To pay tribute to a woman who poured energy, happiness and love into everything she did. She had a forensic mind and an insatiable appetite for solving the impossible. But she was also my friend. And I will always miss her.’

Reginald nodded at Esther’s family, who acknowledged him kindly. Their tears slid down pale, sombre faces. The sea of nods carried on as before. Like a gentle tide dressed all in black.

‘However,’ - sharp intakes of breath were audible behind Reginald. Father Briar’s eyes snapped open - ‘we cannot forget about Susan Brett…Gerald Swanson…and John Price. Taken far too soon. They had many years of scrabble - and singing - ahead of them. Of that I am sure.’

Murmurs and whispers began to spread.

Reginald continued, ‘Who ran over lovely Susan on her own driveway? Who poisoned dear Gerald at supper’ - the sound from the crowd grew louder. Reginald’s voice grew with them - ‘who drowned poor John in his own pond? And who killed my friend Esther…in her home?’

Someone stood up: Bob, the village butcher.

Bob called out, ‘What’re you on ‘bout, there, Reggie?! We dunno who it was, yet. Police’re having a think and what not. They’ll find the bastard - oh, erm, forgive me -’ Bob made the sign of the cross ‘- the murdering psycho what did this.’

Bob sat back down, his input met with nodding heads.

Reginald said, ‘You’re quite right, Bob. They may have an inkling as to one of the murderers. But not all of them…’

A lone voice shouted out, ‘Man alive! You sayin’ there’s more than one killer?’

‘Yes,’ Reginald replied. ‘There’s more than one killer…And they’re with us, here. Today.’

The congregation gasped. Reginald cleared his throat as Father Briar burst out of his chair.

‘Reginald!’ he hissed, making his way over to the stand. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself. Your games are over! Come down this instant, or -’

Flashing blue lights poured through the stained glass windows. Casting the church in a dazzling glow. Covering the vicar’s face. Stopping him in his tracks. Reginald knew that the police had arrived. They’d finally listened to Esther’s warnings.

Reginald pointed at Father Briar from the lectern. ‘No - your games are over. I know what you did!’ Father Briar’s hand flew to his heart. As if struck by a burning arrow.

Reginald turned to face Diedre: ‘Diedre Collins. I know what you did!’ Diedre gripped the pew, her knuckles turning white.

‘And you. Arthur Stamper. I know what you did…I know what you all did. To Susan Brett. Gerald Swanson. John Price…’

Bob Hackett stood back up. ‘Oh my goodness. But, Reggie. What ‘bout poor Esther?’

Reginald’s smile disappeared. He bowed his head.

‘Truthfully,’ Reginald replied. ‘I don’t know. Esther was the thinker…she didn’t tell me…’

Reginald closed his eyes tightly.

Esther’s voice rang in his head. More vibrant than ever before.

Remember, Reginald. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable…

…a fourth person…a fanatic…

…doesn’t do a lot of talking…

…always ruining his solos…

‘Must be the truth!’ Reginald called out with a gasp. His eyes shot open.

Reginald looked up at the dark pipes which towered over the church. His gaze moved down towards the organ’s manuals and stops.

And the empty wooden bench in front of it.

Reginald cried out, ‘Stop the organist! Where’s Neil?!’

Neil was hidden amongst the congregation. He suddenly darted at the large oak door - which led to the leafy graveyard - and threw it open.

Uniformed police swarmed into the church, roughly seizing Neil.

The congregation sprang to their feet.

Father Briar collapsed on to the floor, entangled in his own robes. Diedre Collins cried into Carol’s rigid shoulder. Arthur Stamper stood up to his full height, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the police to take him.

Esther’s family in the front row looked at Reginald.

He could see Esther’s daughter mouthing something. As she dried her eyes. Reginald leaned forward as far as he could go. Squinting tightly.

Reginald guessed the sentiment.

Thank you.