St Benet's

by David Blake

  Still reeling from the news, Tanner asked, ‘But there was nothing about it in the newspapers.’

  ‘Which I think was about the only good thing that came out of the whole affair. Imagine being brought up knowing that your father had raped and murdered your own mother! No. They kept his birth out of the papers, and hopefully made sure that he never knew anything about it.’

  ‘So the child was a boy?’

  ‘That’s right, and a handsome one at that. I can still remember his cute little face.’

  ‘Any chance you can remember his name?’

  The nurse gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, before saying, ‘You know, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not sure he was even given one, at least not when he was here.’

  ‘And you say that they made sure he was kept out of the papers?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘May I ask who they were?’

  ‘The authorities who dealt with the case, I suppose.’

  ‘You mean, the police?’

  ‘Them and the lawyers, yes. We were told very specifically not to talk to the press about anything we either saw or heard, especially about the child. And then, when he was born, and his mother died, a group of legal-looking gentlemen arrived with a nun, and they took him away.’

  ‘You say the nun took the child?’

  ‘The nun and the lawyers, yes.’

  To Jenny, Tanner said, ‘It must have been the Church’s legal defence team.’

  ‘Anyway,’ continued the nurse, ‘I really must be getting on now. Lots to do, you know.’

  As she began rattling her trolley away, he called out after her, ‘Thank you, Nurse Peters, you’ve been most helpful.’

  Doubting she’d even heard him, he turned back to Jenny. ‘I think we’ve just discovered a really big piece to this increasingly complicated puzzle. If Claire Judson’s son had been told who his parents were, and what his father did, I think it could explain a lot.’

  As he reached for his phone, Jenny asked, ‘Do you think Alan Birch, the bookshop owner, would know anything about him?’

  ‘If it was the Church’s defence team who arranged for the child to be taken into care, then I’d be surprised if he doesn’t. I’m going to call Forrester to give him an update. Then I suggest we head back to the station and have another chat with our Mr Birch.’

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  ‘DCI FORRESTER, IT’S DI Tanner here.’

  ‘Tanner! Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Er…we’re down the road, at Wroxham Medical Centre.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing there? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for bloody ages!’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ replied Tanner. ‘I must have forgotten to take my phone off mute. We came to see if Father Thomas would be up for attending a line up.’

  ‘Fair enough, I suppose. And is he?’

  ‘Well, he’s already checked himself out to prepare his sermon for tomorrow, so I’d have thought so.’

  ‘OK, good. Anyway, I was trying to call to let you know that we’ve had news in from forensics. They’ve found Gary Mitchell’s DNA at the scene where Father Thomas was hanged. I think that gives us the physical evidence we need to go ahead and charge him.’

  Tanner relayed the information to Jenny, before replying, ‘That’s very interesting sir, but I was hoping we’d be able to delay that for a while.’

  ‘Delay?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘One of the nurses here has just told us something very interesting about Claire Judson.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing talking to a nurse about Claire Judson?’

  ‘I think her name just happened to come up in conversation, sir.’

  ‘I see, and why do I find that somewhat hard to believe?’

  Moving the conversation swiftly along, Tanner pushed on by saying, ‘We’ve discovered that Miss Judson wasn’t killed at St. Andrew’s church as we first thought. She survived the fall from the tower to be left in a coma. She didn’t actually die until nine months later. It was only then that it became a murder investigation.’

  ‘And that’s of interest, because…?’

  ‘Because, sir, she was left pregnant by whoever it was who raped her. She died during the operation to deliver the baby.’

  There was silence from the other end of the line, before Forrester eventually asked, ‘I don’t suppose this nurse you were talking to knows the name of the child?’

  ‘Unfortunately not, sir, no, but she did remember that it was a boy, and from what she was saying, we believe he was taken into care by the Church. So we’re about to head back to the station to ask Alan Birch about it. As he served on the Church’s legal defence team during Martin Isaac’s trial, we’re hoping he’ll know what happened to the child, and maybe what his name was as well.’

  ‘OK, but there’s no point looking for him here.’

  ‘Sorry sir, but why’s that?’

  ‘I gave the order for him to be released.’

  ‘You did…what?’

  ‘Excuse me, Detective Inspector, but I really don’t appreciate being spoken to like that.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but as I’m the SIO for this investigation, you should have asked me first!’

  ‘Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Tanner? You answer to me, not the other way round!’

  ‘That’s all very well and good, sir, but you’re the one who made me the SIO, which means that all decisions have to be run by me first, no matter who it is who’s having to make them.’

  ‘Then you’d better stop turning your bloody phone off, hadn’t you?’

  ‘I had it on mute, sir!’

  ‘Either way, Tanner, if your phone doesn’t ring, nobody can get through to you, can they?’

  ‘And now you’ve gone and released a key witness whose life might be in danger.’

  ‘I only released him when the physical evidence came through from forensics which proved Gary Mitchell had attempted to murder Father Thomas. And as Mitchell is still sat safe and sound inside a holding cell, I believe my decision was correct.’

  ‘But only if Gary Mitchell did it!’

  Tanner heard Forrester let out a heavy sigh, before saying, ‘Listen, Tanner, you said it yourself. The guy had been holding a torch for Claire Judson for forty-three years. If he did come to the conclusion that Martin Isaac had been guilty of raping and murdering the teenage love of his life, then it isn’t much of a stretch to see him seeking revenge on the man who he thought had done it, along with those who he felt responsible for having him acquitted, especially given his history of violence.’

  ‘And I completely agree with you, sir, but that doesn’t mean he actually did it though, does it.’

  ‘But the physical evidence forensics found does!’

  ‘Not if someone planted it there, in the exact same way they planted Martin Isaac’s DNA on the two priests.’

  There was a prolonged silence from the other end of the phone, before Forrester eventually said, ‘So, what are you proposing?’

  ‘We need to bring Alan Birch back in for questioning, not only to find out if he knows the name and whereabouts of Claire Judson’s child, but also for his personal safety. If Claire’s son does think that there was a Church-led conspiracy to have Martin Isaac acquitted, he could well have Alan Birch next on his list.’

  ‘Very well, do it; but Gary Mitchell needs to remain in custody, and we can’t hold him for much longer without charging him.’

  ‘I understand, sir. All I’m asking is for more time to track down Claire Judson’s son, and Alan Birch should be able to help us do that.’

  ‘I suppose you’d better hurry up and find him then, hadn’t you?’

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  AFTER TANNER PULLED his XJS onto the far kerb opposite Alan Birch’s Victorian bookshop, Jenny stepped out to immediately know that something wasn’t right.

  ‘Can you smell that?’

/>   ‘Smell what?’ asked Tanner, following her gaze.

  ‘Burning!’ she stated, pointing up to one of the shop’s top windows. ‘Look!’

  There, seeping out through a gap was a line of thick black smoke, steadily drifting up into the sky above.

  ‘Shit!’ said Tanner, as he flung himself around the car. ‘Call control. We need the fire brigade, and an ambulance!’

  Seeing how Jenny seemed mesmerised by the smoke as it weaved its way out from the window, he shouted, ‘Now, Jen!’ before launching himself over the road, heading for the entrance to the shop.

  Jenny delved into her handbag, searching for her phone.

  Just as her fingers wrapped themselves around it, the window she’d been staring at only moments before exploded, sending razor-sharp shards of glass spiralling out over the street like shrapnel.

  As Jenny ducked away, Tanner took cover under the alcove above the shop’s door, pressing himself against it as he did.

  With shattered glass raining down on the pavement, he glanced over to make sure that Jenny was OK.

  Relieved to see her heading for cover behind his car, he turned back to face the shop’s door to peer through its window.

  Inside, all seemed normal, until he looked up towards the ceiling. There, rippling its way over its surface like a swarm of bees was a layer of dense black smoke. As he followed it back towards the far end of the shop, just above the spiral staircase, he could see the bright flicker of orange flames.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he bellowed, ‘Mr Birch? Are you in there?’

  For a moment he thought he heard the sound of someone calling back, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Peering inside again, he scanned the shop floor, desperately searching for signs of life. But the only movement came from the smoke spreading out over the ceiling, and the flames at the back, dancing around the top of the staircase.

  Examining the door, he placed the palm of his hand flat against one of the square sections of glass. It was warm, but not hot. He tried the handle, but that was stone cold.

  From behind him he heard Jenny shout, ‘Don’t you dare go in there, John! Do you hear me?’

  Seeing her head poking up above one of the Jag’s flying buttresses towards the rear, he called back, ‘Did you get through to control?’

  ‘Fire and ambulance are on their way.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘They didn’t say, but I can hear them.’

  She was right. Now that he was listening for it, Tanner could just about make out the sound of a siren rolling in over the flat landscape, but it was a long way off.

  He had to make a decision, and he had to do it quickly. Judging by the amount of smoke, if Alan Birch was trapped inside, by the time they arrived it would be too late. But if he wasn’t inside, and Tanner had only imagined the voice, he’d be risking his life for nothing.

  Calling back to Jenny, Tanner said, ‘I think Alan’s inside. I’m going to take a look.’

  ‘No, John, please! It’s too dangerous! Wait for the fire brigade!’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘John, don’t!’

  But he’d made up his mind. He had to go now, before the whole place was ablaze.

  Pushing the door open, a wave of heat came surging out at him, searing the inside of his nostrils as he breathed it in.

  He took a step back, away from the door. The air inside was far hotter than he’d been expecting.

  Bracing himself, he forged his way through the doorway, the bell ringing above his head, but this time more like a death knell than a cheerful welcome.

  ‘Mr Birch?’ he called, as a smothering blanket of heat wrapped itself around him. But all he could hear in response was the cracking of burning timber from somewhere out near the back.

  Having taken a few cautious steps inside, he called out again, ‘Mr Birch? Are you in here?’

  Still nothing.

  He glanced back through the open doorway to see Jenny frantically gesturing for him to come out.

  After raising his hands in a bid to placate her, he turned his attention back to the inside of the shop. It was then that he thought he saw something lying over the first few rungs of the spiral staircase, some sort of beige-coloured rug, or an off-cut from a carpet. Another step forward and he realised that it was neither. It was Alan Birch, stripped naked, his hands held above his head, secured to one of the vertical steel stanchions.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Tanner tumbled his way inside, weaving his way past the many tables, all of which burgeoned with ancient books, like kindling awaiting the slightest touch of a flame.

  The further inside he went, the more intense the heat, and the closer the deadly black smoke crept towards his head.

  Keeping himself low to the floor he kept going, sucking gently at the burning hot oxygen-starved air as he did. Finally reaching the bookshop’s owner, he stared down at him. He was lying still, as if dead, his eyes half-closed with what looked to be brown packing paper stuffed into his mouth.

  Doing his best not to inhale the noxious fumes surrounding him, Tanner leant over the man’s head. ‘Mr Birch, are you OK?’

  The man’s eyes flickered open to stare imploringly into Tanner’s. Then they rolled up towards where his hands were tied to the stanchion above.

  Nodding his understanding, Tanner reached up to untie them, but instead of rope, he found that they had been bound by a thick plastic tie. He needed a knife, but he didn’t have one.

  Frantically he searched his pockets for his keys, hoping the serrated edge of one would be enough to cut the tie.

  Tugging them out, he dared to suck in some of the poisonous air through his nose.

  That was when he smelt it.

  Petrol!

  The man lying stark-naked beneath him reeked of the stuff.

  Glancing up, Tanner saw the flames above were steadily creeping their way down the staircase, their intense heat warping the air in front of them. He knew he only had seconds before the temperature reached flashpoint, and the petrol the man was soaked in would ignite.

  Using the key from his old London home he began hacking at the plastic tie. As he did, the hairs on the back of his hands began to singe, the sulphurous odour adding to the intoxicating mix of petrol and smoke. Only when he felt his skin burn did he wrenched them away.

  One last try, he thought to himself.

  Knowing it was going to hurt, he reached up again.

  Doing his best to ignore the pain, he dragged the edge of the key hard against the plastic tie until it finally came away in his hands.

  Dumping his keys back into his pocket, Tanner was about to grab hold of the man and drag him outside when it happened: the flashpoint had been reached.

  As the man’s hands burst into flames, a muffled scream tore through the paper stuffed inside his mouth.

  Expecting Birch to leap up from the stairs to try and escape the flames, Tanner pushed himself away, falling backwards as he did.

  But the man didn’t move.

  As flames ripped over the length of his body, he remained where he was, stretched out over the first few rungs of stairs, his arms still held above his head.

  Tanner stared out in horror as the motionless body began to blister and burn, all the while a deafening scream surging out through his open mouth, the inside of which was now ablaze, the paper stuffed inside burning bright.

  Tanner watched in helpless agony as the flames began peeling away the man’s lips, revealing two rows of crooked yellow teeth that seemed to grin down at him through a haze of shimmering heat.

  It was too late. There was nothing he could do for the man now other than to pray that death didn’t take long to move in to claim his mortal body.

  Feeling his own face begin to burn, Tanner frantically kicked himself away. Rolling over onto his hands and knees he pushed himself up to stand on a pair of faltering feet, only to stagger sideways, crashing back down to the floor. With his lungs burning, choking at t
he toxic air he tried again. This time he made it as far as the nearest table, before falling against it, bringing the now smouldering books thundering down on top of him.

  As his head began to spin, he stretched out his arms and tried to claw his way out. But then, from above his head came the agonising screech of twisting masonry, as it ripped and tore at the surrounding walls.

  He didn’t need to look up to know what it was. He already knew. It was the sound of the ceiling, about to give way.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  WITH THE SOUND of crashing timber and wailing sirens filling his head, Tanner could feel someone heave him up by the back of his coat and begin dragging him along the floor, through the shop’s door and out, all the way to the other side of the road. There he was dropped into the hands of a couple of waiting paramedics, who eased him down onto the back of their ambulance to begin tending to his burns.

  Tanner blinked open his eyes to see Jenny come running over towards him. As she crouched down in front of him, fighting back the tears, she said, ‘Jesus, John. I thought I’d lost you.’

  Through a rasping voice, Tanner replied, ‘Birch. Alan Birch.’

  ‘Was he inside?’

  Tanner nodded. ‘I couldn’t save him. I thought I could, but… I was too late.’

  ‘Nobody could have done any more.’

  ‘I’d cut the tie, but the petrol. It was all over him. And then - and then it caught, and I just watched him. I just sat there and watched him.’

  To the paramedics, Jenny asked, ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  ‘Looks like he’s inhaled a fair amount of smoke,’ replied the nearest. ‘He’s also sustained minor burns to the back of his hands along with lacerations to his face, but he should be fine, yes.’

  ‘And he didn’t move,’ continued Tanner. ‘Even when he was burning, he didn’t move. Then his mouth was on fire, and he grinned. He was grinning at me, Jen, as he was burning.’

  Concerned with what they were hearing, one of the paramedics said, ‘I’d better give him a sedative. Then I think it would be sensible for us to take him to the medical centre.’