by Marian Phair
“I never killed anybody, you can’t pin this on me. There’s a serial killer out there, go and find him!”
“Are you referring to the White Rose killer, Roger? We did find a white rose with Lucas Bradley’s body, that’s true.”
“Well, there you are, then. Can I go now?” Roger Green went to get up.
“Not yet, Roger, when you leave here you won’t be going home,” Jake told him. “Because it wasn’t the White Rose killer’s DNA we found on the chain mail gloves you used, when you carved up Evelyn Bradley, and killed, and hung up her husband, in his own chiller unit. It was yours!”
“Now I know you’re bluffing, because I burn’t them in…” Rogers’s voice trailed off.
Jake picked up the file, ‘give a man enough rope, and he’ll hang himself,’ he muttered, as Colin Harris walked in. Going over to the slumped figure in the metal chair, he handcuffed him, and as Jake left the room he heard the officer say,
“Roger Green, you are under arrest for the murders of Evelyn and Lucas Bradley. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand the caution?”
CHAPTER 39
The two men sat in silence in the rectory kitchen, a mug of coffee in their hands as they listened to the voice of Clive Marston reading the daily news.
“A forty-one year old man will appear in court today, charged with the murders of Evelyn and Lucas Bradley. The distressing events surrounding the murder of Evelyn Bradley was made even more poignant when the suspect, Lucas Bradley, was found murdered a few days later in his Butcher’s shop. Basil Roger Green, will be taken to Buxton crown court later today for sentencing, where the case will be heard by Judge Louis Jenkins. Lucas Bradley will be sadly missed in a county emerging through weeks of death and mayhem. Murder squad detective, Chief Inspector Mike Robbins, of Buxton police, told a reporter, that they too have been experiencing the wrath of the White Rose killer. This killer struck again yesterday. His victim was a twenty-one year old local man, Nathan Walker, who witnesses say, came staggering from St Mary’s church into the path of an oncoming articulated truck. Nathan Walker died from his injuries at the scene. The serial killer’s signature, a strange, white rose, was later found in his jacket pocket. The M.E. dealing with the autopsy, Dr Leo Jackmann, reported traces of a plant know as, Daphine, was found on a partly digested communal wafer in the victim’s stomach. It had been ingested shortly before his death. This plants flower, impacts a person’s vision, causing temporary blindness. I guess we will never know the reason why the killer chose this young man as his next victim. This is Clive Marston bringing you the daily news to your doorstep.
Stay safe, and remember, the White Rose killer is still out there!”
Father Patrick switched off the radio and turned to face his friend, a worried look on his face. Scott had noticed a change in him these past few days. The priest appeared to be withdrawn, tired looking, and dark shadows were forming under his striking eyes.
“What’s troubling you, Patrick, I can tell something is bothering you? If there’s anything I can do to help, you only have to ask,” Scott told him.
“With all these murders, parents are concerned for the safety of their children
whenever they are outside, or travelling to and from school. Ruth voiced her concerns over Sally just the other day, but you can’t expect children to be shut up in the home indefinatly, and you can’t watch over them all the time. Everyone in the county is wary of their neighbour now; the situation here in Abbeville is dangerous Scott.
I worry about Ruth, and I don’t know what I can do about it. I’m sure someone is watching my every step, but I don’t know why, and I don’t know who. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I have been having terrible nightmares lately, and I’m on medication for these headaches, which my doctor put down to lack of a good night’s sleep, but it’s more than that to be honest. Sometimes, Scott, I think I’m going mad.”
“What makes you think that, Patrick? You’re intelligent, talented, charming, and one of the sanest people I know. I think you are letting these murders play on your mind far too much, and that’s the root of your problems.” Scott poured them both another coffee.
They heard the tap, tap, of Sally’s cane as she came down the passageway to the kitchen.
“I smell coffee,” she said, as she came into the room. “Who’s here?”
“Scott is here, Sally. We’re just having a cup of coffee together, have you had your breakfast yet?” Father Patrick asked, as he pulled a chair out for her to sit on, and helped her get settled. Sally thanked him politely.
“No, I haven’t eaten yet. I think mum was having a lie-in Father.”
“She’s not ill is she, Sally?” Father Patrick asked her, immediately concerned.
“No, Father, she’s just tired, and didn’t want to get out of bed. I told her you would be waiting for your breakfast. She was having a shower when I came down. I think it’s Scott’s fault mum’s so tired this morning.”
“My fault? What makes you think your mom’s lying in bed is down to me, Sally?”
Scott raised quizzical eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders, aware of the priest’s eyes on him, and wondering just what was going through that pretty little head of hers.
Sally’s head turned in Scott’s direction.
“Well, if you hadn’t sneaked into her bedroom last night, and kept her awake talking, she wouldn’t be tired this morning.”
“What do you mean, Sally, I never sneaked into your mom’s room?” Scott’s face turned scarlet, and he couldn’t meet the priest’s eyes.
“I forgot to ask her something important. I was being quiet so as not to disturb anyone.” Scott said, aware that he and Ruth had been caught out. He’d felt guilty, about making love to her under his friend’s roof, especially with her daughter sleeping in the next room, and had told her so. Ruth said the thought of them getting caught in the act only added to the excitement for her. Now he was beginning to wonder what he had unleashed in this refined, sweet creature that drove him wild in bed.
“This is disgraceful Scott. Did you really sneak into Ruth’s room and keep her awake last night?” Father Patrick asked, in a feigned shocked voice, for Sally’s benefit.
“There will be no shenanigans under my roof, so don’t let this happen again! And another thing, we like our breakfast on time, don’t we, Sally?”
“Yes, Father.” Sally giggled. “That’s you told off, Scott, you won’t do that again.”
In his head, Scott, was thinking, ‘you’re wrong, honey, I’ll do it every chance I get.’
The priest knew only too well that Scott had stayed the night. The couple were still talking when he’d retired, and he could plainly see how they felt about each other. Scott had already spoken of his feelings for Ruth. He wanted to marry her when he felt the time was right, but he had yet to propose, fearful of rejection, due to his age.
Sally’s mind hopped immediately onto another subject, as children’s minds often do.
“What were you talking about when I came in?” she asked.
“Oh, just this and that, nothing of real importance, Sally,” Father Patrick told her.
“To Sally, knowledge is a powerful thing, Scott, she is constantly asking questions, some of which I find difficult to answer.”
“Yeah, I’d figured that one out for myself, Patrick.” Scott smiled at him.
Sally posed a question to no one in particular as she sat between the two men.
“Did you hear on the news about the White Rose killer? My friend, Ruben Taylor, says he’s an avenging angel, and that he’s making sure that bad people pay for their crimes.”
“Why are you children frightening each other with tales of this wicked man?” Father Patrick asked. Sally turned her head towards the sound of the priest’s voice.
“We’re not frightened by him Father, he’
s not hurting children. He killed Percy Grimes for hurting Liam, and that was good riddance to bad rubbish, Ruben said.”
“Methods that harm people, Sally, are never justified,” Father Patrick told her.
“So why does God allow bad people to go around killing?” she asked him.
“He’s God, he can do anything, and he could stop this killing if he wanted to.”
Father Patrick sighed. He thought for a moment or two before answering her question. “The conflict between good and evil goes on daily, all over the world, child. The bible tells of the good and evil in each one of us. But God wants us to do well, and to love one another, just as he loves all of us, his children,” Father Patrick explained.
“Yes, I know that, Father. Jesus said, ‘Love one another, as I have loved you.’ Sally quoted, remembering this from her bible studies.
“So, if we love one another, as brothers, like it says in the bible, why did Cain, kill his brother, Abel?” Sally sat waiting for the priest’s reply, but it was Scott who said. “There are good people Sally, and bad people, but sometimes even good people do bad things. Does that answer your question, honey?”
“Do you think the police will ever catch this White Rose killer, Scott?” Sally asked.
“Yes, I do. The white roses are this killer’s signature, and are links left by him, that will help the police in their investigation. Eventually, he will be caught, and made to pay for his crimes. But like Father Patrick said, you children shouldn’t concern yourselves with these matters.”
“Why shouldn’t we talk about him, everyone else is?” Sally said, disgruntled.
Not usually at a loss for words, when talking to children, Father Patrick realised he was out of his depth when it came to answering questions from Sally, who at age of nine, showed a wisdom beyond her years, so he to spoke to her as an equal.
“As priests, we try to guide and help our fellow man along the right pathway, as God intended, worshiping the Lord, and doing good deeds by helping our neighbour.
The priesthood is primarily concerned with the fight against good and evil, Sally. This is the natural part of the worship of God,” he explained.
Scott looked at his friend, and with a sake of his head, said, “From where I’m sitting Patrick, it looks like the Devil is getting the upper hand.”
CHAPTER 40
Sadness hung like an oppressive cloud over the town of Abbeville the day that Lucas and Evelyn Bradley were laid to rest. For even in death they would not be united.
Evelyn, who had been raised a Catholic - although not as devout as some of her neighbours - was to be buried in St Mary’s churchyard, with Father Patrick conducting the service, whilst Lucas, a Methodist, would be buried in All Saints, the Wesleyan Church on the opposite side of town. The whole town was closed down for their funerals, due to take place within an hour of each other, the townsfolk divided according to their religious beliefs. In Catholic homes, mirrors were covered or turned to the wall. Curtains were drawn across windows of homes that were on the pathway the funeral processions would pass by, a mark of respect for the dead. The mourners attending Lucas’s funeral, could hear the tolling of St Mary’s bell as they made their way into All Saints Church, barely a mile away across the town.
The Vigil over, Evelyn’s body was taken to St Mary’s Church. Father Patrick dressed in a white Alb and a black cope, greeted the coffin at the door. As he sprinkled the coffin with Holy water, he intoned the relevant psalms, and asked God to give her eternal rest, and deliver her soul. The congregation sat quietly through the reading from Thessalonians, and the offertory prayer, as Father Patrick’s clear tones filled the church. “Jesus Christ, King of glory. Deliver the souls of the faithful from Hell; and let St Michael lead them into the holy light.”
Ruth whispered in Sally’s ear, explaining what Father Patrick was doing as he stood at the foot of the coffin, and granted Evelyn’s corpse absolution. Then sprinkling it with Holy water, he circled the coffin twice. It was at this point, Ruth, and Scott who had been sitting at the back of the church with Sally in between, rose to their feet and quietly left the church, to pay their respects to Lucas,. His smiling face, and witty remarks were already missed by the townsfolk.
When they arrived at All Saints Church, Lucas’s funeral service was over, and the mourners were gathered at his graveside. The Minister stood on the far side of the grave reading from the bible in his hands. Mourners stood with heads bowed.
Martha Higgins wept copiously, dabbing at her eyes with a white linen handkerchief as the Minister read from the scriptures.
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me. Though he be dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Lord, we commend our brother, Lucas Bradley, to thy love and mercy. We now commit his body to the ground: Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. Amen,”
It was only Scott, standing close beside Sally, who heard her uttering her own ending, as she intoned. “Dust to dust, in the sure and certain knowledge, if the Lord doesn’t get you, then the Devil must!”
Then followed the time honoured custom of scattering a handful of earth onto the coffin. Sally insisted on playing her part in this, and Ruth held her hand as they both reached down and took up a handful of the earth piled at the graveside. Ruth threw the earth onto the coffin and said a goodbye to Lucas, and as Sally went to do the same, she missed her footing and fell forward into the grave, the weight of her body snatching her from her mother hand. Ruth stood shocked, unable to save her.
Sally landed heavily on the coffin with a loud thud, where she lay, her eyes closed, and unmoving. For a few seconds, everyone stood dumbstruck, horrified by what they had just witnessed. Then Scott rushed over and took command of the situation.
He shouted to a mourner who was sending a text on his mobile phone, to quit what he was doing, and call for an ambulance. Without further ado, he slid into the grave, scooped up Sally’s unconscious form, and standing on the lid of the coffin, raised her up into the waiting arms of the Minister. He placed her gently on the grass beside the grave, while, John Findley and the off-duty, Pete Morgan, hauled Scott from the grave. Within minutes, an ambulnace was on the scene, and Sally, accompanied by Ruth, was taken off to St Jude’s hospital. Scott was left to make his own way back to the rectory alone.
When Scott arrived, Father Patrick was removing money from an envelope, which he carefully placed into a metal money box, securing it with a key that hung from a chain, attached to his belt. He looked up from his task as Scott entered the room.
“Ah, there you are,” the priest said by way of a greeting.
“I was just putting my stole fee away for performing the Requiem Mass. Although this is gratefully received, Scott, you know priests make next to nothing. Don’t you think it’s sad that a man of the cloth has to rely on gifts from his parishioners, to help meet his needs?”
“Well I guess that depends on how you look at things, Patrick,” Scott replied.
“But I’m the bearer of bad news, I’m afraid.” He proceeded to tell the priest what had happened at the funeral of Lucas Bradley.
Showing his concern, Father Patrick kicked off the slippers he was wearing and hurriedly put on a jacket, shoving his feet into black leather slip-ons at the same time. “Come, Scott, we’ll take my old car, although sometimes I think I’d get around quicker by walking,” he said, as he went out the door, Scott at his heels.
“They won’t let us in to see her, Patrick. They wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance with Ruth because I wasn’t family.”
“Well, just you come along with me. They won’t stop me from seeing the child,” Father Patrick said with conviction.
Twenty minutes later the irate priest pulled into St Jude’s car park, and yanked on the handbrake, and the old wreck came to a shuddering halt.
“I could have walked this distance in ten minutes. It’
s a wonder we got here at all, the way that stupid, bloody, lorry driver, come at us from out of nowhere. Forgive me, Lord, for cussing,” the priest said, swiftly blessing himself.
“Then the pratt went and got stuck under the bridge. Don’t these lorry driver’s read the head height signs, before they try to drive under a bridge? It’s common sense after all, they know the size of the vehicle they’re driving.”
“You need to calm down, Patrick. You’ll give yourself a heart attack the way you’re carrying on. Scott couldn’t help smiling, recalling how the priest had sat honking on the car horn at the driver who had driven out in front of them, and then got his vehicle stuck under the railway bridge; effectively blocking the traffic both ways, causing drivers to reverse and find another route that would take them where they wished to go.
“I’m surprised at you, Patrick, a priest swearing like that, not only swearing, but using words I’ve never heard before. What would the Bishop have to say I wonder, if he had heard you?” Scott was laughing openly as they crossed to the main entrance.
“To heck with the Bishop, I may be a priest, but I’m also a man, and as such, I don’t always have control of my emotions. As for my swearing, it was learnt at the knee. I was raised on a farm in Ireland, my father had me cussing like him and drinking beer before I was sixteen years of age. Then I found God and repented of my ‘wicked’ ways.”
Father Patrick went over to the reception desk, ordering Scott to stay where he was, while he found out what was going on, and where they had taken Sally.
“I’m looking for a little girl who was brought in here a short while ago, Sally Ann Ferguson,” he told the plump, peroxide blonde, with the massive chest, and the bright red lipstick, who sat wedged in a swivel chair behind a computer.
“I’ll find that out for you, Father, just give me a moment while I check.”
The receptionist tapped the information into her computer, with long tapered finger nails, without using the pads of her fingers. He watched as her fingers flew across the keys, and wondered how she could see the keyboard at all over her large chest.