Free An Act of Evil by Robert Richardson Page B

asked. “Rebecca heard you.”
    “ Oh, you know me. The bad thoughts just got too much.”
    “ Come on, she’s just mysteriously vanished. It’s all this police activity that makes it seem worse. And this morning’s papers didn’t help.”
    Faced with the standard problem of having to fill space with little sensational material, Fleet Street had practised its customary excesses, with each paper trying to outdo its rivals in imaginative headlines, eye-catching design and impact vocabulary. Diana’s irrelevant nude appearance featured prominently in all the stories and her disappearance was variously a mystery, a riddle or a fear. The police in turn were baffled, concerned or involved in a search of international proportions. Maltravers usually observed such antics of newspapers obeying Frayn’s Law — that journalists write for other journalists — with detached amusement, but his personal involvement on this occasion made him acutely aware of the distress such insensitive behaviour could cause.
    “ I know I’m being silly,” said Melissa. “I’m just trying to keep busy and not think about it. What are you doing today? I’m taking Rebecca to some friends for lunch and we’ll probably be there most of the afternoon. Can you amuse yourselves? Don’t forget it’s the cathedral concert this evening.”
    “ We’ll find something to do,” he said. “We’ll have lunch out and be back later.”
    Maltravers and Tess spent the rest of the morning buying presents for Rebecca and their hosts, then went to a pub called the Saracen’s Head where a Crusader’s lunch was the alternative title of the standard ploughman’s. They were discussing the previous night’s Mystery Plays when Jeremy Knowles approached their table bearing food and drink and asked if he might join them.
    “ Talk of the Devil,” said Maltravers as he shuffled along the dark oak settle to make room for him.
    “ It’s odd I should run into you,” said Knowles as he sat down and arranged his lunch on the table. “Canon Cowan was telling me last night about the theft of the Latimer Mercy and this morning I had a very strange letter in the post. Here, have a look.”
    He produced a pale blue envelope, addressed to him at his office, which had been posted in Vercaster the previous day. It was marked “Strictly Personal” and was typed, unsigned and without any address shown at the top. While Knowles began his lunch, Maltravers began to read, passing each sheet to Tess as he finished it.
    “ For reasons that will become obvious,” he read, “this letter has to be anonymous. It concerns the theft of the Latimer Mercy Bible from the cathedral which I read about in this morning’s Times . The police seem to think it may have been taken abroad, but I suspect it is much nearer home. For personal reasons which I cannot go into, I do not want to approach the police directly as any information I give might be traced back to me. Of course, they will take no notice of an anonymous letter, but if you, as a local solicitor, were to approach them it would be a different matter.
    “ I would suggest that the Bible was stolen by (or at least for) Councillor Ernest Hibbert who, as you probably know, is a great collector of antique books. Most of them are on display in the library at his home but I happen to know that the corner cupboard in that library, which he always keeps locked, also contains a number of books which he never shows to anybody. It does not matter how I discovered this but you can take my word that it is true. I would most urgently suggest that the police search that cupboard. If Councillor Hibbert objects to such a search, it will indicate his guilt.
    “ I have been a worshipper at Vercaster Cathedral all my life and am outraged and disgusted at this theft, particularly if, as I strongly suspect, it has been carried out by a man who considers himself a paragon of virtue in our community.
    “ I apologise for involving you in this