by David Blake
With a shrug, the paramedic said, ‘Your choice,’ and left Tanner holding a surgical pad up to the still bleeding cut to climb back inside the ambulance to dig out the necessary equipment.
Engaging Dr Johnstone’s eye, Forrester asked, ‘What sort of state is the victim in?’
‘Not a good one, I’m afraid.’
‘He’s not been nailed to a cross again?’
‘I’d say it’s probably worse.’
‘Worse?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. It looks as if he’s been impaled.’
‘You mean, as in…?’
‘As in - someone inserted a stake into his rectum, and drove it through the length of his body until it came out of his neck.’
Turning a visible shade of green, Jenny took herself around the side of the ambulance, leaving Forrester to ask, ‘But - how is that even possible?’
‘There are rope burns around his wrists and ankles. At a guess, I’d say that someone must have tied him spread-eagled to the surrounding headstones and driven the stake through him using a sledgehammer, or something similar.’
Hearing an act of depraved cruelty described in such a dispassionate medical manner left even Tanner and Forrester feeling nauseous.
Looking considerably paler than he’d done before, Forrester forced himself to ask, ‘Time?’
‘Ah, now, that’s going to be a little harder to say.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘It depends on how long it took him to die.’
‘My God! You mean being impaled wouldn’t have killed him?’
‘Not immediately, no. If whoever drove the stake through him was able to miss all the vital organs, then he could have been up there for hours, if not days.’
A sombre silence fell over them as they all considered what that must have meant for the priest.
As the paramedic returned, Tanner said, ‘It couldn’t have been days. He’d have been found before then, surely?’
‘Hopefully not, no. Given the victim’s age, I think it’s more likely that his heart would have given way during the process. I’ll have a better idea when I get him back to the lab.’
‘Would it have been possible for one man to have done it?’ asked Forrester.
‘The act of impalement, yes, but I’d have thought it would have been more of a challenge to insert the stake into the ground once he had been.’
‘So, maybe more than one person?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m a medical examiner, not a mechanical engineer.’
‘No, of course,’ replied Forrester, by way of an apology.
As the paramedic hovered, needle and thread at the ready, Tanner held up a hand to delay the start of having his face sewn back up in order to say, ‘From what I saw, a hole had been dug large enough to slide the stake into before pushing it up, and there was a block of wood wedged in behind it. So I think it would have been possible for one person to have done it, although they’d need to be in pretty good shape.’
Brushing Tanner’s hand away, the paramedic said, ‘Now hold still. It will hurt a lot more if this needle goes into your eye.’
‘No kidding,’ he said, and winced with pain as the point was inserted into the first section of skin.
‘Anyway,’ said Dr Johnstone, who’d no particular interest in watching a living human being sewn up, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to the body being taken down.’
With Johnston gone, doing his best to avoid having to look at the surgical process that was now in full swing, Forrester said to Tanner, ‘If this so-called reporter only found out who the second priest was just before you did, it doesn’t seem likely that he’d have had the time to both find him and then do what the doctor so eloquently described.’
Happy for the distraction, Tanner replied, ‘I must admit that it does seem less likely, sir, although it’s equally possible that he’d asked the bookshop owner for the priest’s name after he’d impaled him, to make us think exactly that.’
‘Could be,’ agreed Forrester. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK to interview him?’
‘Not a problem, sir,’ replied Tanner, grimacing in pain, ‘but I may need a couple of aspirin first.’
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
‘GOOD AFTERNOON,’ TANNER said, entering through the door to the first of two interview rooms at Wroxham Police Station. ‘Remember us?’
Kevin Griffiths looked up from where he’d been sitting, staring at the table. Seeing the two people he’d almost knocked over earlier, he rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘Don’t tell me you’re the police?’
‘Correct! Well done! Have a shiny gold star!’
Griffiths squirmed in his seat, evidently not sharing the humour. ‘Look, what have you got me in here for, anyway?’
‘You mean apart from reckless driving, damaging council property and almost killing a couple of tourists?’
‘Some idiot nearly drove straight into me. I had no choice but to swerve to avoid them.’
As he and Jenny each pulled out a chair opposite the supposed journalist, Tanner said, ‘According to the couple you nearly ran over, you were driving well above the speed limit.’
‘I was doing thirty! It was the other guy who was going too fast.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, it is so!’
‘Well, we can revisit that later. It’s not what we’re here to talk to you about.’
Tanner reached over to start the digital recorder, and after completing the formalities necessary to begin the interview, kicked off the proceedings by asking, ‘Are you absolutely sure that you don’t want a lawyer?’
‘What would I need a lawyer for?’
‘It’s your choice, of course, but I’d strongly recommend that you have one.’
‘Apart from driving into a bollard, which wasn’t even my fault, I can’t see what I’ve done wrong; so I don’t see why I would.’
‘As I said, it’s your choice. So anyway, shall we push on?’
Without waiting for a response, Tanner continued by asking, ‘What we’d really like to know is what exactly you were doing at St. Patrick’s church in Martham earlier today?’
‘I’ve already made a full statement about that.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Tanner, with an insincere smile. ‘I actually have it here.’
Sliding a single sheet of A4 paper from the case file he’d brought in with him, he read out, ‘“I was looking to conduct an interview with Father Michael Minshall in connection with a story I’m currently working on.”’
‘That’s right.’
Tanner allowed a moment of silence to hang over the room, before asking, ‘Where were you last night, between the hours of nine and twelve o’clock?’
‘I was at home, with my girlfriend.’
‘And the night before?’
‘The same. You’re welcome to ask her, if you want.’
‘We will, thank you. Coming back to today, I’m curious to know why you were in such a hurry to leave the church, after you’d knocked us both over.’
‘Why do you think?’
‘Because you’d just finished impaling the parish priest, and you weren’t too keen to be caught having done so?’
‘You can’t possibly think that I did - that I did - that?’
Tanner didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to glare over at Griffiths, before looking down at his file to ask, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of something called the Ecclesia Diaboli?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Does that mean that you have?’ questioned Tanner, staring back up at him.
‘Yes, but so what?’
‘I don’t suppose you’re one of its weirdo satanic worshipers?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Then how do you know who they are?’
‘Well, I don’t know, but it’s probably got something to do with the fact that I’m an investigative journalist, and that their cult lies at the centre of the sto
ry I’m writing.’
‘Ah yes, that’s right. You work for the Norfolk Herald.’
‘I submit stories to them, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Then may I ask why it is that they’ve never heard of you?’
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Griffiths replied simply by saying, ‘Because.’
‘Because…what?’
‘If you must know, they haven’t published anything I’ve sent to them, at least not yet. But they’re going to, and when they do, they’ve promised to put me on their official books.’
‘So, between now and then, you just go around telling everyone that you’re working for them, when you’re not?’
‘I’ve never told anyone I work for the Norfolk Herald.’
‘That’s not what the owner of Coltishall Bookshop says.’
‘I told him I was doing a story for them; I never said that they employed me.’
‘So they’ve commissioned a story from you, have they?’
‘No, but they will when they see it.’
‘I see. I suppose it’s another fascinating factual account of how Martin Isaac has risen from the grave to become the devil incarnate, in order to set about randomly murdering aged local priests?’
‘Not randomly, no.’
‘But it is going to be centred around Martin Isaac?’
Griffiths gave a dismissive shrug.
‘Don’t you think the story would be a little more believable if he actually had a motive for killing the priests?’
‘Who says he doesn’t?’
‘I assume you at least know who the two priests were - that they were defence witnesses at Martin Isaac’s murder trial?’
‘Of course.’
‘And that their testimonies helped him get off the murder charge.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I see. So you’re saying that your story’s going to be about how he was so looking forward to spending the rest of his life in prison, and was so furious to have been denied the opportunity, that he decided to let off a bit of steam by hanging about for forty-three years before sacrificing himself to the Devil and raising himself up from the dead, in order to seek vengeance on the very two priests who’d risked perjury in order to have him acquitted?’
With a particularly smug expression, the journalist said, ‘Something like that, yes.’
‘Well, good luck with that!’
‘That’s very kind of you. Thanks! Can I go home now, to finish my story?’
Tanner said nothing, but just stared back at him, his blood pressure steadily rising. He’d reached the unfortunate conclusion that the man was telling the truth. Kevin Griffiths was far from being the kind of demented serial killer who’d be able to crucify one priest and impale another. He was exactly as he claimed, nothing more than a wannabe investigative journalist, desperate to do whatever it took to get his first story published. And that meant Tanner wasn’t a single step closer to identifying who the real killer was, despite having not one, but two brutally murdered priests on his hands.
As his head began to pound behind the cut above his eye, and a wave of discontented exhaustion swept over him, he leaned forward to say, ‘You may, but we have your DNA and fingerprints on file now. If we find one single shred of evidence that says you’ve so much as touched the bodies of either Father Richard or Father Michael, you’ll be back here facing a conspiracy to murder charge, if not murder itself!’
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
‘DO YOU THINK it’s him?’ asked Jenny, as soon as they were back out in the corridor.
‘I doubt it,’ said Tanner, pressing the palm of his hand gently against his forehead.
‘But he looked pretty shaken up.’
‘Aren’t we all? I think he’s what he says he is: a freelance journalist looking for his first commission, which means I’m now going to have to tell Forrester that we’re back to square one again, without having a single suspect in sight.’
‘What about Birch, the bookshop owner? He doesn’t have much in the way of an alibi.’
‘He doesn’t have much of the way of a motive either. And that’s the whole problem, right there. Nobody seems to have much reason to have killed anyone: the two priests, the girl at the cemetery, Martin Isaac, any of them!’
‘Do you still think Isaac was murdered?’
‘To be honest, I’m not sure what to think anymore. All I know is that my head hurts like hell, and I can hardly walk straight.’
Watching him with concern, Jenny said, ‘I really think you need to get yourself checked over. I can drive you to the medical centre, if you like?’
‘That’s kind of you, Jen, thanks, but I expect it’s more down to being over-tired and the fact that I’ve hardly had any food all day.’
‘Then how about we go out for something to eat?’
Reaching the double door that led out into the main office, Tanner stopped to look at her. ‘Does that mean…?’
‘That means we’re both hungry, and could probably do with some food. Nothing more!’
From the fierce look she shot back into his eyes, it was crystal clear that that was all she meant. Besides, even if she was suggesting something else, Tanner knew he wasn’t up to it.
‘I would, Jenny, thank you, but I doubt I’d be much company at the moment. It’s probably better if I just tell Forrester the bad news and head straight back to my boat.’
With a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, Jenny said, ‘You’re probably right. No doubt we could both do with an early night.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Friday, 5th July
THE BRIEFING WITH DCI Forrester had been short and uneventful, with Tanner telling him that although they’d need to check his alibi, he thought it was unlikely that Kevin Griffiths had either the motive or the mental capacity to have executed the two priests in such a horrific manner. He’d gone on to suggest that he’d probably fled the scene of the most recent murder from terror at what he’d discovered, rather than for fear of being caught having committed such an atrocity.
The meeting had ended with them pinning their hopes on forensics - that they’d be able to come up with something tangible for them, but until then, there wasn’t a huge amount they could do.
Afterwards, Tanner had driven back to his boat, only stopping to pick up something to eat on the way. And having taken another couple of aspirin, he’d lain awake for an hour before eventually drifting off to sleep.
Rising early, after chasing away what was left of his headache with more pills and some coffee, Tanner was back behind his desk at just after eight o’clock, before Jenny, Forrester and the rest of the team had arrived.
Lying in bed the night before, he’d found his thoughts turning to the one event that seemed to connect everything together: the murder of the girl at the top of St. Andrew’s church tower, back in 1976. It had occurred to him that if Martin Isaac was innocent, and that he hadn’t simply been able to escape a life behind bars thanks to the dubious last minute alibis provided by the church defence team, then of course that meant that the person who had committed the crime had never been found. It was therefore a real possibility that they could have also murdered the priests; maybe even Martin Isaac as well, along with the girl at the cemetery. At least someone who was capable of raping a fifteen year old girl and throwing her from the top of a church tower would have the psychological capability for torturing to death the more recent victims.
Before asking DCI Forrester for permission to re-open the old investigation, a request that could easily be declined, especially with so much going on already, he decided to see what he could find out on his own, without anyone looking over his shoulder as he did so. That meant gaining access to the Norfolk Police Intranet when nobody else was around, hence his earlier than usual arrival.
In the end, attempting to search out the old case files proved to be a waste of time. They simply weren’t there. Tanner wasn’t sure why he thought they would be, given that the events had
taken place a good ten years before the British police fully embraced computer technology, but he’d hoped that some of the old papers would have been scanned in.
Next to arrive was Jenny, carrying a coffee and that morning’s copy of The Norfolk Herald, which she dropped down on top of Tanner’s desk with a thud, saying, ‘I think you’re going to want to read that!’
The headline screamed, ‘Dead Monk Kills Again.’
Raising an eyebrow, with a pained look he said, ‘Do I have to?’
‘I know what you mean,’ she replied, ‘but look who’s written it.’
Noting the name, Tanner said, ‘Looks like our Kevin Griffiths has finally had the break he was looking for.’
‘From what he writes there, he withheld information from us which might have a direct bearing on our investigation.’
Intrigued, Tanner returned to the article, but after reading the first sentence, he gave up and said, ‘How about you give me the edited highlights?’
‘Take a look at the next page. It says they’ve managed to unearth a letter dating back to just after the trial.’ As he turned the page, she went on, ‘It was sent to the then Cardinal, recommending that Martin Isaac be excommunicated from the Church.’
‘Yes, but we already knew that he’d been excommunicated.’
‘But look who the article says made the recommendation.’
‘Father Michael Minshall, Father Richard Illingworth, and Alan Birch!’
‘It goes on to suggest that that’s why Martin Isaac resurrected himself from the dead - to take revenge on the two priests for having had him kicked out of the Church.’
‘Even though it’s more likely that some deranged lunatic has been acting in Isaac’s name.’
After a quick scan through of the article, Tanner continued by saying, ‘Somehow we’ve got to find out who the other members of his cult are. I can almost guarantee that one of them is behind all this.’
‘What about the bookshop owner?’
‘No, I still don’t think it was him.’
‘I meant, shouldn’t we warn him that he’s been publicly named as being one of those behind Isaac’s excommunication?’