by David Blake
They stood for a moment longer before Tanner stared up at the church. ‘Do you feel brave enough to go inside yet?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Come on then. I doubt if anyone’s around at this time anyway, not on a Monday evening.’
With her arm still encircling his, she led the way past the rows of misaligned gravestones, following the narrow path that led up towards the church’s entrance.
As they approached, they heard the sound of iron rattling against wood as the door began to open.
‘I assume they’re not expecting us?’ queried Tanner.
A grey haired middle-aged man dressed in the familiar attire of a priest emerged from the church squinting at the brightness. Holding tight to Tanner’s arm, Jenny wondered if it was too late for them to turn around and head back in the opposite direction.
It was. He’d already seen them.
‘Good evening!’ he called out, raising a hand to shade his eyes from the sun.
‘Hello!’ replied Tanner, with a friendly wave, as Jenny tugged at his arm like a rider pulling a horse back by the reins.
Tilting his head towards her, Tanner whispered, ‘Don’t worry. He won’t bite.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
As they came closer, the priest gave them a welcoming smile. ‘Are you looking for a wedding venue, by any chance?’
After a brief exchange of embarrassed glances, Tanner returned the smile. ‘Actually, no. We just came to have a look around.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly picked the perfect evening,’ replied the priest, gazing at the surrounding trees, the tops of which swayed gently in the warm summer breeze.
Feeling brave, Jenny decided to ask, ‘I don’t suppose Father Jeffrey is still here?’
‘Father Jeffrey?’ he said, as if he’d not heard the name in years. ‘I’m afraid he passed away some time ago. I take it you knew him?’
‘He was my parish priest when I was growing up. You probably know my parents. Francis and Sarah Evans?’
‘Yes, of course!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now that you mention it, the resemblance is rather obvious. You’re the spitting image of your mother.’
‘A little younger, I hope,’ Jenny said, with a wry smile.
‘Slightly,’ replied the priest, displaying a mischievous grin all of his own.
Even though it was obvious that she had taken the comment in the light-hearted manner in which it was intended, the priest scolded himself, saying, ‘I do apologise. That was quite unforgiveable. For some unknown reason, God bestowed on me a rather odd sense of humour, which has proven to be a heavy burden over the years.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jenny, taking an immediate liking to him. ‘My mother does look young, but only because she wears so much makeup.’
The priest extended his hand. ‘I’m Father Thomas. Very pleased to meet you.’
Taking his hand, Jenny returned the smile to say, ‘I’m Jenny, and this here is John.’
‘Jenny and John. That has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’
Jenny found herself blushing slightly. He must have realised that they weren’t married, since neither of them were wearing wedding bands, and she suddenly felt consumed by guilt for standing side-by-side with a man she was sleeping with out of wedlock.
Keen to move the focus away from herself, and her relationship with the man nudged up against her, she said, ‘We actually came to pay our respects to someone who’s buried here. Claire Judson?’
The priest smiled back at her, but with no sign that he’d recognised the name.
‘She was the victim of an unfortunate incident here,’ continued Jenny, ‘back in 1976.’
His smile fell away to be replaced by a look of sorrowful remembrance.
‘Claire Judson, of course. Poor girl. To have passed away at such a young age, and in such an appalling manner.’
Jenny switched naturally into work mode. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about what happened that day?’
‘I’m afraid it was a little before my time. But I’ve heard the stories, of course.’
‘There’s a flower beside her grave. Do you have any idea who may have left it there?’
‘Oh my! Aren’t you the inquisitive one?’
‘Sorry,’ she apologised, a look of embarrassed guilt passing over her face. ‘I’m afraid I’ve always been far too nosey.’
‘I take it you’re a reporter?’
‘Worse, I’m afraid. I work for Norfolk Police. Actually, we both do.’
‘Right!’ stated the priest, standing to attention. ‘I suppose I’d better tell you then, hadn’t I!’
After they’d all exchanged mutually amused smiles, gazing over towards Claire Judson’s grave, the priest continued by saying, ‘Nobody I know, although I’ve often thought I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I’ve never been able to recollect from where.’
‘But it is a man, though?’
‘A fairly senior one, yes.’
‘It could be one of her old friends,’ Tanner said. ‘They would all be in their late fifties by now.
‘Or someone from her family?’ suggested Jenny.
With his eyebrows knitting together, the priest replied, ‘I’m not sure she had any.’
‘Parents?’
‘They passed away some years ago now, within a few months of each other, if memory serves. You’ll see their headstones alongside their daughter’s. But I was fortunate enough to get to know them, before they passed. They attended every Sunday. It was through my conversations with them that I was able to find out what had happened to her. They missed her terribly. Even after all that time, she was all they ever talked about.’
The three of them shared a moment of respectful silence.
As the priest’s look of prayerful remembrance faded to be replaced by his former more cheerful countenance, he returned his attention to the couple standing before him. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are one or two things I must attend to. But do feel free to have a look around.’
‘I don’t suppose we’d be able to go to the top of the tower?’ asked Tanner, as he leaned back a little to take it in.
‘I’m afraid it’s closed off to the public now. It has been since the incident. I suspect it was considered to be too dangerous. But the rest of the church is open.’
As he turned to leave, Jenny said, ‘Thank you for your time, Father.’
‘Maybe we’ll see you in church one day?’ he called out, over his shoulder.
Watching him ambling down the path that led around the side of the church, Jenny called out, ‘I’m sure you will,’ which was an answer she felt was ambiguous enough to make him think that he would, without actually agreeing to.
‘He was pleasant enough,’ observed Tanner, as they watched him wander away. ‘How does he compare to your old priest?’
‘Father Jeffrey? Oh, he was lovely, but then again, I think he had to be.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because of who he had to replace.’
‘Of course, yes. Martin Isaac. I’d almost forgotten he used to be the priest here.’
‘My parents always said that they thought there was something odd about him.’
‘They were coming here, when all that was going on?’
‘They grew up here, like me.’
‘Did they know Claire Judson?’
‘Not that they’ve ever said.’
‘It was interesting to hear what Father Thomas had to say about the man who he’s seen attending her grave,’ he said, looking back to where she was buried. ‘And that he thought he knew him from somewhere.’
Following his gaze, Jenny said, ‘It was, yes, but whoever it is, there’s not a whole lot we can do about it now. Not with Forrester having handed the investigation over to the coroner’s office.’
‘I suppose not,’ he said, and they turned to head back to the car, their conversation naturally moving on to whe
re they were going to eat dinner that night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Saturday, 29th June
JENNY NUZZLED UP to Tanner, seeking the comfort and warmth she always found from resting her head against one of his solid, well-developed arms.
After glancing briefly round at the hundred or so people chatting quietly together as they took their seats, confident that there was no one else from work there, Tanner placed one of his arms over her shoulders to draw her in towards him. The wooden pews were hard and cold, like the surrounding ornately decorated pillars and arches of the church, and in their light summer clothes they were both feeling the chill in the air.
It was Saturday, nearly two weeks since the body of Martin Isaac had been found in the ruins of St. Benet’s Abbey. The coroner’s inquest had concluded the Wednesday before, the verdict being death by misadventure, not suicide as Tanner had expected. Having read the report, he’d learnt that they’d reached that conclusion due to Isaac’s strong belief in the occult, and although their investigation had discovered that he had indeed known about his advanced atherosclerosis, the report felt it was more likely he’d taken his life as part of his religious ideology than because he’d become depressed over his illness, or anything else.
When Tanner and Jenny heard the surprising news that his funeral was going to be a public affair held at Norfolk Cathedral, the cathedral church of St. Barnabas of all places, a vast gothic edifice that lay at the heart of the city, it was he who suggested that they go along. He used the excuse that it would be an opportunity for them to dress up and visit the city, and, more importantly, to see who, if anyone, would show up.
After glancing around again, Tanner leaned in towards Jenny, and in a voice barely loud enough for her to hear, said, ‘Who on earth are all these people?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said, having a look herself. ‘Judging by what some of them are wearing, they must be members of his religious cult.’
As many of the people in attendance looked as if they’d just stepped off the set of some sort of gothic horror film, Tanner agreed.
His wandering attention focused on the interlinking beams of wood that made up the ceiling, some two hundred feet above their heads. ‘What I’d really like to know is what Isaac is doing having his funeral in this place? I thought he’d been excommunicated?’
‘I think anyone living within the cathedral’s diocese is permitted to have a funeral here,’ she told him, glancing down at the order of service they’d been given on the way in.
‘But doesn’t this sort of thing cost money?’
‘He may have been saving up - preparing for the event.’
‘Not using his bank account, he wasn’t.’
‘Maybe he had a trust fund.’
‘If he did, how come we didn’t find it?’
Their conversation faded into silence, as Tanner once again looked around at the faces of some of those in attendance.
A moment later, Jenny gave him a prod with her elbow, leaning in to whisper, ‘Have you seen who’s giving the service?’
Looking down at the Order of Service in her hand, Tanner read out, ‘The Bishop of Norfolk. Isaac must have been more popular than I thought.’
‘Maybe he presides over all the cathedral’s services?’
‘Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you, though?’ continued Tanner. ‘That a man who was excommunicated by the Church, and who went on to found a satanic cult of all things, is being given an almost regal send-off by none other than the Bishop of Norfolk?’
‘As I said before, it’s anyone’s right to have their funeral here, anyone from within the diocese.’
‘Hold on. Doesn’t the Catholic Church think that anyone who commits suicide goes straight to hell, and subsequently isn’t allowed a Christian burial?’
‘I think the rules for that changed a few years ago.’
‘So they don’t go to hell anymore?’
Choosing to ignore the comment which was about as sarcastic as it was agnostic, Jenny said, ‘Suicide is still considered to be a sin, but I suppose the Church had a change of heart about them being allowed a Christian funeral.’
‘Well, anyway, I’d certainly be very interested in speaking to the bishop afterwards.’
‘If you mean about hiring the venue, you haven’t even proposed to me yet,’ she said with a smirk.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of asking him about Martin Isaac.’
Pulling back with a look of absolute horror, she said, ‘Please, tell me you’re not being serious?’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for a start, he’s the Bishop of Norfolk!’
‘He’s still a human being, though, right?’
‘Only just!’
‘And what was the other reason?’
‘Same as the last one.’
‘That he’s the Bishop of Norfolk?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’m not sure you can use the same reason twice.’
‘I think in this instance I definitely can.’
‘I really don’t see the problem,’ continued Tanner, looking away casually. ‘I’d only like to ask if he knew Isaac.’
‘But the case is officially closed.’
‘I know, but I still can’t help think there’s something odd about the whole thing.’
‘So what are you proposing to do - go up to him, shake him by the hand and say, “Sorry to bother you, Mr Bishop, but I don’t suppose you know anything about the death of the guy whose funeral you just presided over?”’
Tanner thought about it for a moment, before saying, ‘You’re right. It would probably be better if I formally introduced myself first.’
She looked at him in amazement. ‘If Forrester finds out that you’ve shown up at Martin Isaac’s funeral in order to formally question the Bishop of Norfolk, for a case that doesn’t even exist, he’ll have you kicked off the Force!’
‘I doubt it, and anyway, who’s going to tell him?’
‘The Bishop of Norfolk, for a start!’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘But what if he does?’
As the sound of uplifting organ music began filling up the church, and with muted conversations being brought to rapid conclusions, Tanner said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be the soul of discretion. I promise.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN THE SERVICE came to an end they remained seated, while the bulk of the congregation shuffled towards the exit at the back of the Cathedral. There they could see the bishop taking people’s hands, presumably thanking them for coming.
Tanner watched everyone as they filed slowly past, wondering if they’d all known Martin Isaac through his cult, or through some other connection, either business or social.
When he felt confident they’d be the last to leave, he stood up and led Jenny over to the central aisle, tagging on to the back of the queue.
After a few minutes, as they drew ever nearer to the bishop, Jenny pulled at Tanner’s arm, and in a low whisper, asked, ‘Are you still intending to speak to him?’ with the clear hope that he’d changed his mind.
‘If I can, I’d like to try.’
‘OK, but if you do, remember, you must be discreet!’
With only one couple remaining ahead of them, Tanner began to have second thoughts; after all, he’d never met a bishop before, and he didn’t strictly speaking have the authority to approach him. He reminded himself that underneath all the robes and the ceremonial hat was just a man like any other, the only difference being that this one was supposed to be more spiritually-minded.
He studied the bishop’s face, trying to get the measure of the man. Although heavily lined, his skin was bone white, without so much as a hint of a tan, and he was grossly overweight. Watching the way he was interacting with the departing congregation, his smile seemed to come naturally, and his pale blue eyes sparkled with cheerful warmth, leaving Tanner with the impression that he was pleasant enough, and that he wouldn’t mind b
eing asked a couple of quick questions.
Jenny was first to take hold of his outstretched hand to say, ‘Thank you, your Grace. It was a lovely service.’
‘Wasn’t it?’ agreed the bishop, as his benign gaze met hers.
Standing beside her, Tanner contributed to the sentiment. ‘And it was good to have so many people in attendance.’
Regarding them both, the bishop said, ‘Martin was a good person, one who will be sorely missed.’
‘May I ask, your Grace,’ continued Tanner, ‘if you knew him personally?’
‘Are you a friend, or a relative?’
‘Neither. My name’s John Tanner. I work for Norfolk Police.’
The moment he said that, Tanner could feel Jenny’s eyes boring a hole into the side of his face.
Raising a grey unkempt eyebrow, and standing just a little taller, the bishop said, ‘I must admit to having heard about the unfortunate manner of Martin’s passing, but I wasn’t aware that there were any criminal proceedings surrounding it.’
‘The coroner reported a verdict of death by misadventure,’ Tanner said, ‘but there still remain a few unanswered questions.’
‘I see! Well, no doubt the answers will be made clear in due course.’ With that, he turned to look outside, where a group of priests could be seen waiting for him.
Before he was ushered away, Tanner decided to have another go at his original question. ‘Excuse me, your Grace, but did you say that you did know Mr Isaac?’
‘Hardly at all, I’m afraid.’
‘Was that when he was the parish priest at St. Andrew’s?’
‘It was probably around that time,’ he replied, glancing back towards the waiting priests.
‘I don’t suppose you know anything about why he was excommunicated from the Church, after he’d been exonerated for the crimes of which he’d originally been accused?’
‘Sadly, no.’
‘So you weren’t included in that decision?’
Returning his attention to Tanner, with an amused smile the bishop said, ‘At the time I was nothing more than a humble altar boy. I doubt I was included in any decision, let alone one of such magnitude. But let’s not forget that ultimately all decisions belong to God. In Martin’s case, I was pleased to see that he was eventually led towards his own path. Despite it not being one that the Catholic Church could have ever condoned, his teachings were at least spiritual in nature. And judging by how many people attended his funeral today, he had evidently touched a number of lives, hopefully helping to elevate them beyond the material shackles which so often seem to bind us to this mortal existence of ours.’