Death Unholy

by Phillip Strang

  ‘How do you want to do this?’ Clare asked once they had arrived at the house. Neither were keen to go upstairs.

  ‘You start at the bottom of the bookcase, I’ll start at the top.’

  ‘Fine, and remember we need to be thorough. If Tremayne finds out afterwards we’ve missed anything there’ll be hell to pay.’

  The two police officers made themselves a cup of coffee each. There was no milk, so it was black with no sugar. It suited Clare, but it was not to Oldfield’s liking.

  The bookcase looked as though it had been bought as a kit. It contained about sixty books: some new, some old with frayed spines.

  ‘The man had an eclectic taste in literature,’ Oldfield said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’d have thought they would be mainly religious.’

  ‘The house is freezing. Is there any heat in here?’

  ‘I saw a heater in the other room.’

  ‘Then fetch it.’

  Left alone in the room, Clare started to imagine things. Oldfield soon returned.

  ‘Give it a few minutes, and it should warm up,’ Oldfield said. He had plugged the heater into a wall socket behind the television.

  ‘What did you say about his book collection?’ Clare asked as she sipped her coffee, waiting to feel some warmth on her skin from the heater. She had been warm in bed with Harry, but the house was freezing. She remembered her parents telling her how cold their houses had been in their childhood, when there had been ice on the windows, and no heating after the water pipes had frozen and burst, eventually creating a flood of water throughout the house. Thankfully, her place was warm with abundant hot water, although Harry was asking her to move in with him. She had said she would think about it, but that was just being coy on her part. Once her lease was up, only two weeks, she’d be with him day and night, or given the hours they both worked, whenever possible. She knew that no icy gusts of the wind, no mouse scurrying over her shoes, no branches rustling outside giving off a melodic rhythm were going to frighten her this day.

  ‘I met him on a couple of occasions,’ Clare said. ‘The Reverend Harrison always left me feeling strange.’

  The heater, not the one that had shut off inexplicably with sparks on their previous visit, had warmed them sufficiently. The two police officers started to work their way through the books. Oldfield, an avid reader in his spare time, had to agree that Harrison had an excellent collection. There were thrillers, horror and reference books on various religions.

  ‘Which ones are the most likely?’ Clare asked.

  ‘It depends on what we’re looking for. I would have thought anything relating to local history. If the man was researching the area, he might have marked one of the pages.’

  ‘We’ll be here all day.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Oldfield said.

  ‘Not by me,’ Clare said, which was true. She had wanted to take the day off, to be with the man she loved, not leafing through dusty books. At least, she had to admit, the heater was doing its job.

  Oldfield took the first book, top left. It was a horror novel by an author whose name he did not recognise. He ran his fingers across the pages, upended the book and shook it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Clare asked. She was at the bottom of the bookcase looking for books related to local history. She was keeping a note of which books she had checked.

  ‘He could have slipped a piece of paper in any of the books. We know the man had hidden that Bible hoping no one would find it.’

  ‘We found it. That boy you caught, do you reckon he intended to check all these books?’

  ‘Not likely. He’d not have the attention to detail, and besides one person on their own would not have had enough time.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he knew what he was looking for?’

  ‘We’ll never know. Once we’re free of here, we should check out the boy’s family,’ Oldfield said.

  ‘Agreed,’ Clare said, but hoped it was another day.

  Clare continued at the bottom of the bookcase. ‘This looks promising,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This book. Celts, the search for a civilisation.’

  ‘Let me know what you find,’ Oldfield said. He had checked six books; his sergeant was on the first one.

  ‘I’m going through it now.’ Clare had taken a seat.

  Oldfield despaired at how anyone could be so pedantic. He knew if he picked up a good book he’d read it within a couple of days, but his girlfriend would take weeks. He had taken her to task once. ‘By the time you get to the end, you’ll have forgotten what the story was about.’

  ‘I like to savour every word,’ she had replied. Oldfield had become agitated with her, so much so that she had given him the cold shoulder for a few hours afterwards.

  ‘Not much here,’ Clare said. She picked up the next book.

  Oldfield was now on the second shelf, and so far nothing other than some good books to read. He’d download them onto his Kindle that night.

  ‘It says they weren’t into human sacrifice,’ Clare said.

  ‘Who said? That book you’re reading?’

  ‘I’m not reading, I’m checking.’

  Oldfield sensed the terseness in her voice.

  ‘Okay, checking. What does it say?’

  ‘It was Julius Caesar who mentioned human sacrifices.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Propaganda. The victor writes the history. The Romans regarded everyone else as Barbarians when in reality they were as bad as the rest, often worse.’

  ‘Christians thrown to the lions, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What else does it say?’

  ‘The Druids did not build Stonehenge, they’ve only adopted it as a place of worship. There’s no mention of the gods that Harrison wrote about.’

  ‘Look for a book on the ancient gods of England,’ Oldfield suggested.

  ‘There’s one here.’

  ‘See if they’re in there. Have you found any of Harrison’s writing?’

  ‘Nothing. How about you?’

  ‘I like the man’s taste in books, but nothing so far.’

  ‘I’ve found something,’ Clare said. She pulled herself in closer to the heater. ‘It’s getting cold in here.’

  Oldfield put his hand on top of the heater, pulled it back quickly as he did not want to burn his hand. ‘It’s on,’ he said as he walked over to the window, brushing aside an old curtain to get a better look. Over to one side of the graveyard he saw a woman touching one of the headstones, holding a bunch of flowers. He phoned Tremayne. ‘I need someone in plain clothes to keep a watch on a woman here.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘I don’t want her to know that we’re on to her.’

  ‘Any luck at the house?’ Tremayne asked. At the same time, he was calling one of the team over. ‘Get down there, park far enough away. You can phone Oldfield, he’ll give you the details, and whatever you do, don’t let the woman see you.’

  ‘I’m on my way, guv,’ the young constable said.

  ‘Is she suspicious?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘It’s cold outside, no one’s been buried here for years, and she’s saying a silent prayer, putting flowers. I’d say it’s suspicious.’

  ‘Okay, someone’s on the way. He’ll call you when he’s nearby.’

  ‘Thanks. She keeps looking up at the house as well, pretending not to.’

  ‘You seem good at this,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Misspent youth, looking for the farmer when we’d nip over the wall and raid his apple orchard.’

  ‘Criminal record?’

  ‘Just young children, no more than eight years old. We used to sell them on a stall at the end of our street. Even the farmer would buy from us.’

  ‘And this woman?’

  ‘Tell your man to hurry up. Who is it, by the way?’
/>   ‘Dyer.’

  ‘What’s he driving?’

  ‘An old Toyota. How’s Yarwood?’

  ‘She’s checking out Harrison’s books.’

  ‘Remember, it’s the village we need. We know about the gods. It’s those who murder in their names that we want. They must be a bunch of lunatics.’

  ‘The woman in the graveyard doesn’t appear to be.’

  ‘Describe her?’

  ‘Late sixties, dark hair, fur coat. Not much else to say. I’m not looking at her directly, only in a reflection from a mirror in the room, and the mirror’s none too clean.’

  ‘I’ll hang up to let Dyer contact you,’ Tremayne said.

  ***

  Oldfield stayed in position for another twelve minutes before his phone rang.

  ‘I’m just down from the church,’ Dyer said. ‘What car is the woman driving?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She’s still here, pretending to look occupied. I’m certain she’s not here for the newly departed.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Position yourself so that you can see her leave. If she’s in a car, follow. You can do that?’

  ‘Not a problem. Can you give me a description?’

  ‘You can’t miss her: sixties, fur coat. I’ll let you know when she moves.’

  ‘What about the uniform. Where’s he?’

  ‘He’ll come back after we leave.’

  ‘If she’s watching, she’ll not move until you do.’

  ‘Then she’s in for a long wait.’

  ‘I can see her,’ Dyer said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I just walked down the road.’

  ‘Has she seen you?’

  ‘Unlikely. You don’t need to keep a watch out for her. I can take it from here.’

  Oldfield went back to checking books. Clare was huddled over the heater. ‘It’s cold,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what Dyer said.’ Oldfield knew he had lied, but they still had a job to do. He knew Tremayne’s response if they left the job unfinished. Also, the woman outside needed to be checked. She had been there for two hours, and regardless of her diligence, at some stage she would need to take respite from the cold.

  ‘He’s written in this book,’ Clare said.

  ‘What book?’

  ‘Villages of Wiltshire: a history.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s a history of over two hundred villages stretching back centuries.’

  ‘What’s he written?’ Oldfield had moved over close to Clare.

  ‘He’s circled one village on the map.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Avon Hill.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Out past Wilton. I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ Oldfield replied.

  ‘How many more books are there to go through?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Fifteen to twenty.’

  ‘Why don’t we take them back to Bemerton Road.’

  ‘Fine by me. We need that woman to move first.’

  ‘She’ll not move with us here.’

  ‘Then we should look as though we’re moving.’

  ‘You pick up ten of the books, I’ll take the remainder. I’ll phone for the uniform to come back around the same time. Let’s see what the woman does.’

  ***

  Clare phoned up Tremayne. ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘We’ve a village to check out.’

  ‘We need to know where the woman goes,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We need two more cars either end of the village. Dyer can follow first, and then another vehicle can take over. These people are not stupid. They’ll smell a rat soon enough.’

  ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  ‘We’ll wait.’

  Oldfield phoned up the uniform and Dyer to update them. The woman continued to move around the graveyard. Dyer mentioned that she occasionally looked up at the house. Oldfield reminded him and the uniform, and all those involved, that the woman was not to be restricted in her movements. It was important to know where she went.

  Twenty-five minutes after the plan had been discussed, Clare opened the front door of Harrison’s house. She shouted back to Oldfield. ‘Let’s go. I’ve got the books.’ It was the first time that Clare had seen the woman. The woman looked up briefly and slowly ambled out of the graveyard.

  ‘I’ve got her,’ Dyer messaged.

  Oldfield phoned back. ‘Stay with her. What’s the registration?’

  ‘I’m passing it onto Bemerton Road to check. It’s a light blue Hyundai. Registration: HC66 KPQ,’ Dyer answered.

  ‘No need to rush out of the house,’ Oldfield said to Clare. ‘The woman’s taken the bait.’

  ‘There is,’ Clare said. She had not enjoyed herself in Harrison’s house. She wanted out.

  ‘If Avon Hill is correct, they won’t give in easily.’

  ‘Killing Mavis Godwin is one thing, but they won’t stop there.’

  ‘We’re threatened, you know that.’

  ‘I know. We need Tremayne to understand what we’re up against.’

  ‘We may have discovered where they are.’

  ‘Have we?’ Clare said.

  ‘Do you believe what Harrison wrote in that Bible?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Clare replied.

  ‘Neither am I, but don’t tell Tremayne.’

  Chapter 16

  For seven hundred years the doctor and his ancestor’s leadership of the believers had remained unchallenged, but now there were others who were threatening to blow it wide open.

  An astute man, he realised that the modern age with its technology, its computers and mobile phones, its literate people would not be held at bay.

  What fools they are, he thought. Comfortable in their reliance on the modern age.

  The man knew that anyone who ventured to his home village would feel their wrath. He was aware of Harrison’s house and young Saunders’ efforts. He and his father had handled the situation well, but they were now marked, and the boy on his own and under pressure would not hold out for long. To the youth, it had been fun, a bit of a lark, hiding there in the graveyard, keeping a watch on the police, looking for an opportunity to take anything that could betray the village, and now the policewoman had found it.

  The group on the conference call with the doctor knew what needed to be done.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘We will meet at the usual time,’ the doctor said.

  ***

  Constable Dyer stayed with the Hyundai as it drove through Stratford sub Castle heading in the direction of the Woodford Valley. As he exited the village, maintaining a distance of two hundred yards, another unmarked police car took over. Dyer pulled back to let it go, although he stayed within half a mile of the other vehicle.

  ‘Take the left-hand turn over the river,’ the lead police car said.

  ‘Acknowledged,’ Dyer’s reply.

  Clare and Oldfield were in their car and heading back to Bemerton Road Police Station, although intrigued as to where the three vehicles were heading. Dyer had his phone on hands-free to allow them to listen in. He kept in communication with the lead police car by radio.

  ‘Turn left up Camp Hill. She’s heading towards Wilton,’ the lead car said.

  ‘It must be Avon Hill,’ Clare said.

  Heading to the police station via Wilton was more circuitous than the usual route, but Clare and Oldfield decided to stay with the convoy. Up front, the woman was weaving through the traffic in Wilton.

  ‘Take the A30 towards Barford St Martin.’ The instruction came through loud and clear.

  ‘Has she seen you?’ Dyer asked.

  ‘Unlikely.’

  Ten minutes later. ‘Take the B3089 out of Barford heading towards Dinton.’

  ‘It’s got to be Avon Hill,’ Clare repeated her earlier statement.<
br />
  Five minutes later, another message over the police radio. ‘Our engine’s blown.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dyer asked.

  ‘You’ll see soon enough. There’s a road junction: take a left for Hindon, Chilmark and Chalfont and take a right up a small lane soon after.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘No idea. We can’t move.’

  ‘I want that vehicle checked out,’ Clare said.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Oldfield asked.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just suspicious.’

  ‘Dyer, did you hear that?’

  ‘Yes. I’m taking the lane to the right. When you get here take a left.’

  ‘Vic, we need to go back to the station,’ Clare said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The books are more important than the woman.’

  ‘Dyer, you’re on your own,’ Oldfield said.

  ‘I’ve broken down now.’

  ‘Two cars in the same place. I don’t like it,’ Oldfield said.

  ‘You do realise that Dyer’s only one mile from Avon Hill,’ Clare said.

  ‘What are we going to tell Tremayne?’

  ‘Just tell him the facts.’

  ‘These books may tell us,’ Oldfield said. ‘Are we picking up Dyer?’

  ‘Not a chance. He can walk out, arrange to be picked up.’

  ‘Is it?’ Oldfield posed a rhetorical question.

  ‘Don’t even think it,’ Clare replied. She was doing enough thinking for the two of them. She touched her ring finger, wished that Harry was with her.

  ***

  ‘Are you two joking?’ Tremayne asked once the two police officers were back at Bemerton Road Police Station.

  ‘That’s what happened. Both vehicles broke down.’

  ‘You're not giving me that baloney again, are you, Yarwood?’

  ‘No. I’ve requested a full report for later today.’

  ‘Are you telling me that we should be concentrating on Avon Hill?’

  ‘Yes, guv. Have you been there?’

  I’ve passed through it on a few occasions. Not much of a place, just a church and a few houses.’