by David Blake
Digging out some loose change from his pocket, Tanner placed it on the counter to say, ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re ruling it in, either. I don’t mean any disrespect to the Norfolk Herald, or the local news, but I’d have thought that if a girl was unfortunate enough to find herself standing next to a building when it was struck by lightning, I suspect there’s a slightly more obvious explanation as to how she died, other than being murdered by a black monk rising up from the ashes. No doubt such a story would help to sell a lot of newspapers, but honestly!’
The lady gave Tanner a look of irritated condescension. It was clear that she’d not taken at all kindly to his reproachful remarks. ‘Anyway, I’m still surprised you’ve not been told about it,’ she continued. ‘You are still working for the police, I take it?’
Tanner paused. To the best of his knowledge he’d never told her what he did for a living.
His surprise only lasted a moment. He already knew what a small community the Broads was, and juicy titbits like a local detective living on board a boat of all things, who’d just been suspended for having upset the Bishop of Norfolk, would no doubt be just the sort of story to set tongues wagging. For all he knew, both stories had been featured in the local news. The latter may have even made it into that day’s edition of the Norfolk Herald.
Checking to make sure it was still tucked under his arm, he said, ‘Which is why I doubt there’s anything more to the girl’s death than a tragic act of God, but I’ll certainly let you know if I hear otherwise.’
With a forced smile, he took the bag she was offering and headed for the door.
The moment he stepped outside, he realised he should have bought some paracetamol. The conversation had left his head thumping, and he’d used his last two pills the morning before.
He kicked himself for having been quite so judgemental towards the woman and her laughable news story; after all, it was only a headline from a local newspaper. He knew their job was to entertain more than inform, and her life was probably so dull that she needed such stories in her life, just to give her a reason to get up in the morning. His comments also meant that he wouldn’t be able to turn around and go back inside; his pride wouldn’t allow him to. He’d just have to put up with the pounding in his head. It was his fault, after all. The conversation may have brought it on, but it had been the volume he’d drunk the night before which had been the cause.
Once back on board Seascape, he put the kettle on, poured out a bowl of cereal and sat down to read through the Herald’s front page news.
He concluded that a good part of the story was probably true, which meant that the lady behind the counter was at least half right. He’d suspected as much when she’d said that the police were calling for witnesses. They wouldn’t have bothered had her death been a so-called act of God. However, the second part of the story was pure fiction, based on what an eye witness had said he’d seen, someone who in Tanner’s opinion must have been on drugs; either that or he’d been watching too many horror films. The hooded black monk he claimed to have seen rise up from what was left of the mausoleum beside which the girl was found was more likely to have been someone simply wearing a waterproof coat. The fact that the person had their hood up was hardly a surprise, given the intensity of the storm. Had they been seen using an umbrella, instead of a hood, the witness would have probably said it was an evil Mary Poppins, or the return of Penguin, from the Batman comic book, such was the quality of the reporting.
Assuming the girl had been murdered, one thing he did know was how much pressure DCI Forrester would be under. With Tanner on suspension, Forrester’s most senior staff member was young Cooper, who’d been a detective inspector for all of three days; two if you didn’t count the current one.
He pulled out his phone to check to see if he’d missed either a call or a text, asking him to come in.
There was nothing.
The last message he’d had was from Jenny, on Saturday afternoon. His phone had been idle since then. If Forrester wasn’t going to bring him back after someone had been found murdered, when would he?
A wave of depression drifted over him. He checked the time, wondering if it would be too early to start drinking again. Then he realised he’d run out of that as well.
He momentarily entertained the idea of going back to the shop to buy a fresh bottle of rum, along with some coke to go with it, and some paracetamol. But he could already see the look of disdain the lady would give him as he placed the items on the counter. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to make the effort to climb into his car and drive around to find a shop where there’d be zero chance of anyone recognising him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thursday, 4th July
TANNER WAS ENTANGLED inside a dark incoherent dream when he heard a distant phone begin to ring. Attempting to answer it, he turned towards the sound, but found himself trapped underwater, unable to breathe.
His mind focused on the familiar call of his phone. He knew that was real. Everything else wasn’t.
By sheer force of will, he pushed himself towards a fractured light shining above his head. Bursting through the surface of an endless blue ocean, he gasped for air to find himself awake, his face buried deep within his pillow.
Lifting his head, he sucked air into his lungs to begin scrabbling around for the phone. Eventually finding that it had somehow slipped underneath his bedsheets, he reached inside to grab hold of it, but the moment he did, it rang off.
‘Shit!’ he said, falling back onto the bed.
Flipping over onto his back, he lifted the phone above his head to check the time. It was nearly ten o’clock.
He was about to look to see who’d been trying to call him, when it rang again, making him jump.
It was DCI Forrester.
Before answering, he swung his legs off the bed and sat there for a moment, rubbing the web of sleep from his eyes. Blinking them open, he swallowed, and then took the call.
‘Tanner, it’s Forrester!’
‘Good morning, sir,’ he replied, doing his best not to sound like he’d just woken up. ‘Sorry I missed your call earlier.’
‘Don’t worry. How are you doing?’
Surprised to have been asked, Tanner answered, ‘Er…OK, thank you, sir.’
‘That’s good, because I need you back at work.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, a relieved smile creeping over his face.
‘Are you able to come in today?’
‘What time?’ he asked, feeling the three days’ worth of stubble that he’d allowed to grow over his chin.
‘As soon as you can.’
Knowing he’d need time to make himself presentable, and to down at least two cups of coffee, he replied, ‘I can be there in an hour, sir.’
‘I suppose that will have to do.’
‘Is it the girl at the cemetery, sir?’ asked Tanner, keen to show that he’d been keeping up with the news.
‘No. I’ve got DI Cooper working on that.’
With begrudging ambivalence that Cooper had been given the investigation instead of him, Tanner asked, ‘Then may I ask what I’m to be working on?’
‘It’s something far more serious. We’ve got a dead priest on our hands, and the manner in which he’s been killed is, well, it’s disturbing, to say the least.’
Tanner allowed a moment of silence to fall, before asking, ‘Where do you want me?’
‘St. Mary’s Church, in a town called Acle. It’s about a twenty minute drive from Wroxham, so probably only about ten minutes from where you are.’
Sensing the urgency, Tanner said, ‘I’ll aim to be there within half an hour, sir.’
‘OK, good. I’ll have Jenny text you the address.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ABOUT FORTY MINUTES later, Tanner was turning his XJS off the road that led from Ranworth to Acle and into an unkempt gravel car park. Up ahead was what Tanner considered to be a typical English village church, perhaps olde
r than most, with crumbling moss-lined walls and a short, rounded tower, encircled by a jumble of ancient dilapidated gravestones.
Judging by the number of vehicles parked there, it was clear that he was somewhat late to the party. Out of all of them, there were two he recognised instantly; DCI Forrester’s black BMW, and of more interest, Jenny’s silver VW Golf.
Since he’d been told to report for duty, he’d been wondering if she’d be assigned to the same investigation. When Forrester had said that Jenny would be texting him over the directions, he’d assumed she would have been. Seeing her car parked there only served to confirm it. It also made him realise that he was having mixed feelings about having to work alongside her again.
Over the past few days it had felt like their relationship was about as dead as the people buried underneath all the gravestones. He’d even found himself resenting her for not having bothered to call him since his suspension, which he honestly thought she should have done, even if it was only to ask if he was OK. After all, she must have known how difficult such a reprimand must have been for him; but then again, maybe she didn’t? Maybe she thought he was the type who got suspended all the time, and had come to accept it as part of the job, or at least the way he went about doing it? Worse, maybe she just didn’t care. At that stage, he’d no idea, and not being able to talk to her meant that it was going to be difficult for him to find out.
As he climbed out of the car, he could see two uniformed police officers guarding the entrance to the church.
Making his way towards them, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jenny still had feelings for him, or if she’d already moved on. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. There must have been a long line of men waiting to take his place; no doubt all considerably younger than he was as well.
Just the idea that she may have already started to see someone else began to upset him, and he made a mental effort to push such negative thoughts to the back of his mind. In their place, he forced himself to consider the case in hand, in particular, what could have happened to the priest inside that had given Forrester reason to use the word disturbing to describe it.
Recognising both police constables, he nodded at each as he approached.
‘Morning, sir,’ they replied.
Tanner wasn’t sure, but hiding behind their eyes seemed to be the merest hint of a smirk. If there was, it was hardly surprising. No doubt they knew about his suspension, along with the reason behind it. They’d probably also found out about the argument he’d had with Jenny, leading them to discover their relationship. If they did know, they weren’t making it obvious, which was something for him to be grateful for.
The inside of the church was much like any other, with rows of pews lined up on either side of a central aisle, flanked by large arched windows that would have been graced with brightly coloured glass when the church had first been built, but which were now just dull and lifeless, their jagged lead frames making them look like the barren branches of decomposing trees.
The only sound other than his own footsteps came from the far end of the church, where a large white plastic sheet hung down from the rafters. He watched as it lifted and moved in an unfelt breeze, like a ghostly apparition, waiting to fall on an unsuspecting congregation with a deadly embrace.
To the right of the sheet he could see DCI Forrester, deep in conversation with someone, but he couldn’t see who, as they were hidden behind the plastic.
As he began heading down the aisle, Forrester glanced up to beckon him over.
Rounding the front right-hand pew, he saw the two people with whom Forrester was speaking: the Medical Examiner, Dr Johnstone, and Detective Constable Jenny Evans, who he couldn’t help but notice was looking paler than normal.
‘Welcome back, DI Tanner,’ said Forrester, with a grim smile.
‘Sir,’ said Tanner, in acknowledgment, nodding from Dr Johnstone to Jenny, who looked away the moment he caught her eye.
Inside his head, Tanner shrugged. Her reaction made it obvious that she was still upset with him, which was fair enough.
Knowing that there was nothing he’d be able to do about it, at least not then, he turned to face Forrester to ask, ‘What have we got, sir?’
‘Nothing good, I’m afraid,’ Forrester replied, before guiding Tanner’s eyes upwards.
Seeing what he was being led to look up at, Tanner stopped, the blood fast draining from his face.
Against the church’s far wall stood a large wooden cross, and nailed up to it was the body of a man, stripped of all clothing, gaffer tape flattened over his mouth.
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Tanner.
‘Actually, we think it’s Father Richard Illingworth,’ responded Dr Johnstone, the unintended irony of Tanner’s remark having not being lost on him. ‘He’s the parish priest, or at least he was.’
They stood transfixed by the macabre but iconic scene, all apart from Jenny, who began flicking through the pages of her notepad instead.
‘Whoever did it certainly knew what they were doing,’ continued Johnstone. ‘They drove the nails in through his wrists, not the palms of his hands, as is the popular misconception.’
‘What difference would that have made?’ questioned Tanner, still staring.
‘It’s unlikely that the full weight of a man could be supported by a single nail driven through each of the palms, especially as whoever did this gave the victim nothing to use to help support his weight.’
As Tanner gazed into the man’s face, where a pair of dark brown eyes stared vacantly back at him, he asked, ‘How would he have died?’
‘An interesting question. Assuming his heart held out, respiratory failure is believed to be the most common cause. It takes a surprising amount of effort for the body to be able to inflate its chest when held in such a position. As the victim’s strength ebbs away, it’s thought that they eventually die through lack of oxygen. It’s basically a very slow and painful form of asphyxiation.’
‘How long would it have taken?’
‘Not that long, I wouldn’t have thought. According to historical accounts, they used to provide a platform for the victim to stand on, which is thought to have extended the time it would have taken by up to three or four days. At that point, if they felt it had gone on long enough, out of kindness they’d break their legs. However, in this case, with his legs hanging suspended as they are, I’d say that he’d have lasted no more than a few hours.’
‘Any idea of a time of death?’
‘Not a clue. Sorry. And I won’t until the body’s been taken down.’
‘Do you at least know if he was killed by having been nailed up there? He wasn’t dead beforehand?
‘Judging by the amount of blood he’s lost from his wrists, I’d say he was alive at the time.’
Tearing his eyes away, Tanner glanced around the otherwise empty church to ask, ‘Does anyone know who found the body?’
Entering the conversation, Forrester replied, ‘It was a lady who helps out with the flowers.’
‘Is she still here?’
‘No, she was given a sedative and taken home. Understandably, she was very upset, but she was at least able to give a brief statement before she left.’
‘Which was?’
‘That when she couldn’t find the priest at his home, she came up here, looking for him.’
‘Do we have forensics over there?’
‘We do. They’ve found what they believe may be traces of trichloromethane on his bedding, and there’s evidence to suggest that the place had been broken into. So at the moment it looks like the priest was drugged when he was asleep, stripped, and then dragged over here and…’
Instead of finishing the sentence, Forrester gestured up at the horrific scene hanging over them.
The conversation came to a standstill, until Forrester broke the silence by saying, ‘Admittedly, there’s not a lot to go on at this stage, but hopefully forensics will come up with something. Anyway, Tanner, I’d like you to wor
k with DC Evans on this one. I trust that’s OK with the both of you?’
‘OK by me,’ muttered Jenny, under her breath, as she continued to stare down at her notepad.
‘I’m sure that will be fine, sir,’ replied Tanner, with a little more professionalism.
After giving each of them a look of stern reproach, Forrester said, ‘I’ll leave it with you two then.’
As he turned to head out, Tanner asked, ‘What about the other body?’
‘You mean, the girl?’ he replied, looking back at Tanner.
‘Yes, sir. May I ask what happened to her?’
‘It would appear that someone decided to drop a large slab of masonry on top of her head.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘The newspaper said that there was an eye witness?’
‘Just some spaced-out junkie, I’m afraid. Nobody we were able to take seriously.’
‘And was it true that she’d been taking shelter under Martin Isaac’s tomb at the time?’
Scowling over at him, Forrester said, ‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Tanner.’
‘I was just wondering if a link has been established between what has happened here, and what happened to the girl.’
‘No, and I don’t see why there should be.’
But Tanner considered the fact that two people had been murdered in almost as many days, three if he was allowed to include Martin Isaac, was more than enough. And given how one had been killed directly outside Isaac’s tomb, someone who used to be a priest, as was the man nailed to a cross behind them, he honestly thought that a five year old would have been able to see the connection.
However, being all too aware that he’d only just been brought off suspension, as tactfully as he knew how, he said, ‘Just the religious aspect, sir.’
Narrowing his eyes at Tanner, with his jaw set, Forrester said, ‘I sincerely hope that you’re not going to attempt to drag the Church into this, again?’
‘Not at all, sir, at least not intentionally. But we are standing in the middle of a church, with a crucified priest staring down at us.’