by Marian Phair
“What y’all call a holiday.”
“I like vacation better. If you’re retired, that means you’re old. How old are you?”
At her last question, Scott laughed out aloud. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out, young lady.”
“What did you do before you got too old to work?” Sally persisted with her questions.
“Who said I was too old to work?” he laughed. “I was a Criminal Profiler; I helped the police catch the bad guy’s.”
“Is that like forensics?” she asked him. “I know about forensics.”
“You do?”
“Yes, the word forensic means ‘legal’,” Sally informed him proudly.
“Yeah, way to go, Sally. Yep, forensics is the science in the service of the law.”
“People, who do forensic things, when somebody dies, aren’t police people you know.”
“Really, who are they then?” Scott pretended not to know, and saw the earnest look on her face as Sally tried to explain things to him.
“They are just ordinary people, like us, who have to have special training to collect things, that are experimented on to catch bad people. Usually criminals.”
Scott resisted the urge to laugh at her explaination. Instead he acted surprised.
“Wow! Did your mom teach you this?”
“Oh no, I learned it on my computer. My mum bought me one last Christmas.”
He didn’t bother to correct her speech. Her revelation stopped him.
“You can use a computer, but how…?
Sally cut him off before he could finish asking his question.
“Just ‘cus I’m blind, don’t think I can’t do stuff.”
Scott noted the indignation in her voice. He was curious to know more, but remained silent. Sally giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “Whoop’s I said ‘cus again. My mum hates it when I don’t say ‘because.’ She’s so old-fashioned.”
“You think so, eh? I think your mom’s pretty cool.”
“That’s because you fancy her,” she stated.
“What? Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me, I can tell by your voice, it changes when you speak to her, it gets softer somehow. She fancies you as well. Her voice gets all gooey when she say’s your name. Its ‘Scott, this,’ and ‘Scott, that,’ ‘Scott’s so clever, and so handsome’ she mimicked. Scott had never felt so embarrassed, and was amazed at her insight.
“I think we’d better change the subject young lady. So, you have a computer; how does it work?” he asked, trying to throw her off the track about his feelings for her mother.
“It has special things, so I can learn stuff. If you like, I can show you.”
“Some other time, honey, I’m busy right now, I’ve gotta go. Your mom sure is one clever lady to teach you all these things.” His voice was full of admiration.
“My mum didn’t teach me, she’s not good on a computer, not like me. Father Patrick taught me. I love Father Patrick, he tells really exciting stories and stuff.”
“Father Patrick taught you, but I thought he couldn’t work a computer?”
“Father Patrick can do anything!” Sally told him. “He’s a genius.”
Scott was silent. He recalled a conversation way back when he and Father Patrick O’Connor had first become friends. Father Patrick had told him, he didn’t even know how to switch a computer on. So his friend had lied to him. Scott wondered what else Father Patrick had lied about.
“I have to go honey, I’ll stop by later, and I’ll teach you a neat trick.”
“Where are you going? Can I come with you?” she asked.
“I’m going to see a man about a dog, and I can’t take you with me, Sally.”
“What sort of dog?”
“A ‘seeing-eye’ dog,” he replied. “What y’all call a Guide Dog, over here.”
As Scott closed the door he heard Sally‘s, “WOW!”
CHAPTER 28
St Mary’s Church, in Buxton, had a larger than normal turnout for a Saturday morning.
They had all come to hear the stand-in priest give his sermon. Father Patrick’s fame as a priest, and a healer, preceded him. Everyone it seemed wanted to receive a blessing from the renowned, Father Patrick O’Conner. Whilst the man himself wondered what all the fuss was about, and secretly wished his own parishioners were as devoted to God, as the congregation gathered there, that morning, appeared to be.
He was starting to get another one of his headaches. Not what he needed when he had mass to conduct, and confessions to hear. He entered the body of the church along with his helper. Facing the alter, they genuflected, formed the sign of the cross, and the service began.
“In Nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen,” he began.
The congregation blessed themselves, and joined in the prayer.
“In troilo ad altare Dei” the priest chanted.
“Ad Deum qui lactiticat juventutem meam,” (To god who giveth joy to my youth), they answered. During the acts of Faith, Hope, and Charity, as the congregation’s heads were bowed in silent prayer, a man entered on tip-toe, and slid onto a pew, un-noticed by everyone, save the ever- watchful, Father Patrick. The man sat in quiet contemplation at the back of the church.
After the prayers, Father Patrick gave his sermon. Those who had never had the pleasure of hearing him preach the gospel before, were in for a pleasant surprise. Interspersed with the message he was reading from the bible, were his own little anecdotes, taken from his youth. His call to the faith, and his finding of God; his personal struggle along the path to Priesthood; you could have heard a pin drop.
He had the entire congregation in the palm of his hand, they were hanging onto his every word, and they were absorbing the message given in the gospel, like never before. The man sitting alone, at the back, expected the congregation to applaud when the sermon ended, and was mildly surprised when they didn’t.
The bread and the wine had been blessed and were in readiness for the Eucharist. The congregation stood for the final hymn.
Soul of my Saviour, Sanctify my breast!
Body of Christ, be thou my saving guest,
Blood of my Saviour, bathe me in thy tide,
Wash me with water flowing from thy side.
Father Patrick smiled broadly as he recognised the dulcet, bass-baritone, which could be heard above the rest of the singers, as Scott joined in with gusto.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Father Patrick asked, shaking Scott’s hand, when mass had ended, and he had the chance to greet him.
“I thought you could use these.” Scott slipped a bottle of pills into the priest’s hand.
“That was some sermon you gave today, my friend. You had them eating out of your hand.” Scott smiled broadly, showing white, even teeth.
“Yes, I certainly did; literally. Apart from your good self, and one or two other’s that didn’t take communion.” Father Patrick chuckled.
“You know what I mean, Patrick. You would make one hell of a salesman. I’ll bet you could sell Holy Water to the devil himself.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, and I’m hoping I don’t get the chance to find out. Thanks for bringing me my medication, I don’t know how it got left behind.
I wouldn’t have made it through the weekend without it. Will you excuse me while I go and take a couple of these, my head is aching, and I still have to take confession? If you can wait awhile, we could grab a cup of coffee somewhere, when I’m through.”
“I’ll do that, Patrick. I need to talk to you anyway.” Scott sat down on one of the pews.
The priest started to walk away, then turned and came back to where Scott was sitting quietly, gazing at his surroundings.
“I was hoping to hear your confession,” he said smiling.
“Did you know, I’ve finally had the lock fixed on the bathroom door? I forgot to tell you it was broken. Dear me, I’m getting so forgetful these days.” He winked at Scott,
and grinned when Scott’s face reddened. “Oh my, I thought only ladies blushed.” he said, as he walked away laughing.
Moment’s later, Father Patrick was ensconced in the confessional. The tablets started to take effect almost immediately. He heard their confessions, one by one, dealing out suitable penances for the ‘sins’ committed, barely aware at times what they were confessing to. He was almost dozing off, when he heard the door open again, and shifted his position, willing his eyes to stay open. The door clicked and...silence!
He peered through the grid, and saw a dark-haired young man sitting quietly, with his head bowed. For reason’s he couldn’t quite fathom, he could sense the young man’s anguish. “I’m ready to hear your confession,” he told him.
Another minute passed before the young man spoke. In a voice, barely above a whisper, he said, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been four years since my last confession.”
“What is the nature of this sin, my child?”
“I took drugs and alcohol at a party for my seventeenth birthday. The youth went quiet.
“Is that it? Is that your confession?”
“No Father. I…I got into my car with two of my friends. I dropped them off at the corner of their street, and before I drove off, I finished off the bottle of whiskey one of my friends had stolen from his dad’s shop. Then when I was going back home, it happened.” Again there was silence.
The priest was so drowsy now, he could barely keep his eyes open. He tried to hurry the young man through his confession.
“Then what happened? You said you were going home and ‘it happened.’
“I was driving too fast and I lost control of the car, I hurt some people. I killed a man, Father.” He broke down, sobbing.
Father Patrick sat bolt upright in his seat, suddenly wide awake.
“Where was this? Here in Buxton? Tell me where this happened,” Father Patrick said, encouraging him to continue.
“No Father, it was in Abbeville. I never meant to hurt anyone, it was an accident.
I didn’t know what I was doing, it’s tormented me ever since. Forgive me, Father,”
he pleaded, between sobs.
Father Patrick had a feeling when he heard the young man confess to taking drugs, and alcohol, and then driving, that the hit-and-run- killer of Jack Ferguson and the cause of Sally’s blindness, was sitting on the other side of the screen, but he still needed to hear it. Then having it confirmed, he knew he didn’t want to hear any more from this young man. He suppressed an urge to berate him, to make him realise just what pain and suffering his selfish acts had caused. It wasn’t his right to do that, he was a priest. His job, having heard the confession, was to deal out acts of contrition, according to the severity of the sin committed, and then say the prayer of absolution.
“Say the prayer of Contrition, followed by ten ‘Hail Mary’s’ and ten ‘Our Father’s’.”
The young man began to pray, still weeping copiously. “Oh my God, I’m heartily sorry for having offened you, and I detest all my sins.”
Father Patrick didn’t hear the rest, he was reliving the day that Ruth and Sally had come into his life. Followed by Sally’s ‘eye’s,’ her young friend, Liam Findley.
The happy times, they had shared, and the sad times. Eventually there was silence on the other side of the screen and he realised the young man had finised his penance. He didn’t say the set prayer of absolution. Instead he said in Latin, as he formed the sign of the cross. “Ego te absolvo,” Then getting up from his seat he left the confessional.
Scott was talking to one of the churchgoer’s, a small plump woman who was removing dead flowers from the floral display near the lectern, replacing them with fresh ones, when Father Patrick joined them. The young man passed them on his way to the door.
“Do you happen to know the name of that young man?” Father Patrick asked her.
“Yes, Father, that’s Nathan Walker. He lives just two doors down from me. He used to do a bit of painting and decorating for Timothy Simpson, you wouldn’t know him Father. Timothy, had a paint and wall paper supply shop here in Buxton.
Poor Timothy Simpson was murdered and so was his wife. It was Nathan that found them, poor lamb. He’s such a nice boy.”
Father Patrick didn’t wish to hear any more.
“Come, Scott, I’ll let you buy me a drink, and I warn you now, it won’t be coffee!”
CHAPTER 29
DCI Fletcher felt nauseous as he spread out the photographic evidence taken by the Scenes of Crime officer’s, who had processed the Bradley’s home, several hours earlier. The crime appeared at first sight, to be the work of a schizophrenic killer.
It looked as if Evelyn Bradley had been cut up, like a beast at slaughter, but the body according to the M.E. Dan Carter’s report, had been cut to pieces by someone skilled with knives. This made the hunt for Lucas Bradley, all the more urgent. There was no apparent motive for the killing, no signs of a struggle, and he didn’t need the ex- Criminal Profiler, Scott Holden, to tell him that Evelyn Bradley had been killed by someone she knew, and trusted; someone she didn’t perceive as a threat!
The M.E. had discovered during his examination of the body, that both kidneys, and part of her liver was missing. What Jake found to be truly sickening was the fact that poor, Evelyn Bradley, had been pregnant at the time of her murder, and her killer had cut her unborn child from the womb and placed it on her chest.
Jake dispatched Sergeant Colin Harris and Officer Pete Morgan to check out the Bradley’s Butcher shop, which still remained closed. Then had Constable Tom Holmes, going through Evelyn’s diary, and following up any leads he could find there. Scott Holden sat opposite Jake, studying the evidence gathered from the crime scene, as they discussed the case.
“I’ve always considered murder to be the most serious of crimes,” Jake told Scott.
“Simply, because, if you steal a person’s money, or belongings, it’s possible to repay it, but when you rob them of their life, it’s impossible to give it back. Evelyn Bradley’s murder, is one if the most sickening I have ever come across, and to think, this happened in our backyard.” Reaching for his cigarettes, he lit one up, and blew out a cloud of smoke.
Scott put the file he had been studying on the desk, yawned and stretched his muscles.
“Well, I guess we’ll find out more when your guys report back from the butchers. I’ll go grab us a cup of coffee.”
The two officer’s sent to Bradley’s Butcher shop, let themselves in, using the spare keys found at their residence. The smell of rotting meat greeted them, and several, large, bluebottle flies, could be seen crawling over the containers, in the window display, where the stench was coming from. They had a quick look around the room and everything, as far as they could tell, was all in order, and the place appeared deserted. In the back room, a large walk-in freezer unit was humming quietly in one corner. The chopping blocks were scrubbed clean and showing no visible signs of blood, as were the various tools of the trade laid out here and there ready for use. Going over to the freezer, the Sergeant checked the dial by the door, and made a mental note of the inside temperature. He was about to undo the latch handle holding the heavy door closed when his companion spoke, asking him what he was doing.
“I’m going to play snowballs with Father Christmas,” he replied. “What the hell do you think I’m doing? ‘Fletch’ told us to do a through search, and that’s what I intend to do. You know what he’s like for following the procedure.” He turned back to the door.
“Yes, but there’s no need to take things ‘too’ far, everything looks in order. Anyway, this stench is starting to turn my stomach, and there’s more damn flies buzzing around now. I suggest we head back and make out a report.” Pete Morgan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose.
“You can wait outside if you like, you wimp. I’ll just have a quick look in here and then we can be on our way.” The Sergeant opened the freezer door and stepped ins
ide. It was so cold, he started shivering, before he had gone three paces. Carcasses hung from the large hooks, attached to ceiling rails, all ready to be cut up into the various joints.
“Well?” The impatient voice of his partner reached the officer’s ears.
“Yeah, everything’s fine in here, just the usual meat you’d expect to find in a butcher’s freezer.” He turned to walk out, and felt his heart start pumping faster.
“Oh! Sweet Jesus,” he exclaimed, as his eyes fell on the frozen form, hanging from a hook. Partly hidden by the carcass of a pig, hung Lucas Bradley. His dead eyes stared down at the officer, from frost, rimmed lashes. Lucas’s features were frozen in icy perfection.
The phone rang on Jake Fletcher’s desk, interrupting his conversation with Scott Holden. Picking up the receiver, Jake listened for a few minutes, and barked a few orders into the phone, before hanging up. Scott looked up at him enquiringly.
Sighing deeply, Jake told him what the officer’s had found. “You’re not going to believe this. They have just found Lucas Bradley, hanging from a meat hook in his own bloody freezer. There’s no way he could have hung himself up on a meat hook. We’re not looking at suicide here, but another murder. When will this madness end?”
The ex-criminal profiler looked perplexed, as he studied the detective’s face. “Things sure do seem to be getting way out of control here in Abbeville. I’ve never come across so many murders all taking place, with what appears to be, no connection. I’ll need to know if anything is found on his body, when he’s brought in.”
“Like what? Do you expect to find something?”
“Not expect exactly, but I have a few thoughts of my own about these cases.”
“Care to share these thoughts with me?” Jake asked.
“I will, when I have gathered a few more facts. I’m still kinda fitting pieces together.”
Jake reached for the phone, and hit the re-dial button against one of the numbers.
Within seconds, the phone at the other end was picked up, and he heard the M.E. Dan Carters voice. Jake lost no time in telling him there was another body waiting for him to investigate; and to expect a call from Scott Holden when the body was in the mortuary.