Lucifer's Abbey

by Smith, Michael James

  I went back to my kitchen and made fresh coffee thinking about the numbers he had quoted to me. I would get an update at the office, statistics usually bore me but now I wanted to know. The idea that four children disappear every day in Europe appalled me. I was also wondering how the hell a Belgian girl could turn up at Hope's Nose? I trusted Juliet's skills enough to be certain in my own mind that she had not made the journey by sea. How then?

  Henry was not arriving until the following morning and I decided that I would give some of the time in between to establishing for certain just how far she could have come by sea. Luckily I live where such information is stock in to trade to some very skilled people and I rang and made an appointment at Dartmouth Royal Navy College.

  During the pre-Christmas party season I’d been invited to a gathering at the World's most renowned Naval College. The beautiful building standing on the side of the hill above the river Dart has been teaching sailors since 1905 when it replaced the original training school aboard two vessels moored in the Dart and established in 1863. Whilst I was there I had spent some time in the company of Captain Lance Wilberforce. As luck would now have it, I remembered he was an expert in ocean currents and in particular, I recalled that his hobby was tracing the history of the Spanish Armada. Surely that meant he had studied the English Channel tides in very great detail?

  He came down to the main gate to sign me in and made me feel really welcome from the start. It was lunchtime and he insisted that I eat with him whilst I told him what I needed which produced a remarkably good lunch. No one caters like the Navy.

  It didn't take me even a few minutes to get him on board. He had of course been watching the local television and press and knew as much as any member of the public about the case but when I hinted that there could be a lot of young people involved he immediately threw himself into the task with determination.

  He left me to enjoy a drink in a cosy bar that was decorated with some of the finest paintings I have ever seen - whilst he went off to find some charts. It was a beautiful room and I sat there wondering how many famous Admirals had swilled their pink gin here?

  When he returned laden with several large charts he beckoned me into another room, a large library that would be the envy of any Navy Academy. Another beautifully preserved piece of British history that had me wondering who else had studied charts here? He spread his charts on a huge polished table pointed to Hope's Nose and proceeded to trace the currents along the coastline. A quick phone call produced a young officer of Arab descent who told me he belonged to the United Arab Emirates Navy and was having a great time at Dartmouth. He had with him the tide tables for the period.

  We studied the charts allowing for there to have been eight hours in the water and the upshot was very surprising to me. In Wilberforce's view the body would hardly have moved! I was confused by this until he explained that for four hours she would have floated one way and then - after the tide turned - would have simply floated back again! The overall movement along the coast would have been minimal, assuming she was put into the water from the shore. If she had been cast over the side of a vessel at sea the picture was much more complicated and having been promised that some of the students of the college would study that urgently I took a most grateful leave of a fine Officer and a fine young Cadet. I was personally convinced that she had come from the shore. I don't know why. Copper’s instinct call it. Somehow I knew this had happened on my patch. But I also knew I was catching up now. It didn't matter how long it took I was certainly going to get my man.

  Having said that I was aware that around me a lot of people thought I had to be quick if I was to prevent another body turning up on the tide, food for thought.

  As I drove down the hill from the College to the ferry I was filled with respect for the establishment I had just visited. These repositories of proud history are falling from the public patronage despite the skills they teach still being the backbone of an island nation. The quality of the Navy hadn't altered either; Wilberforce was clearly the master of his skills and had displayed an astonishing knowledge of the movement of water in the Channel. Now it was up to me to make good use of his expertise.

  The Ferry was plodding across the middle of the Dart as it does day in and day out when I turned back to look at the cheerful lights of the Dart Marina Hotel on the river bank. I've enjoyed some very fine dining in lovely surroundings there. Turning, I looked up river and wondered what Juliet was doing at the opposite end, up towards the source of the River. I was still smarting about my missing goodnight kiss!

  The morning of March 1st dawned clear but brittle, the promontory of Berry Head sharp in the binoculars I keep on my lounge window ledge. Sweeping along the cliffs I let the lenses slide down to the breakwater below and studied the trawlers moored in the marina and harbour. Fishermen?

  There was something in me that couldn't quite accept Juliet's proposition of some sort of nautical fanaticism. Fishermen just aren't the jolly get together type, half the time the buggers don't even talk to each other and considering they're mostly family, that tells you a lot. I just couldn't imagine them trusting each other to hide away a secret like the murder of a child. They are strongly independent men, individuals owning and managing their own vessels or working within small crews. The only devil I could see them having anything to do with was the sea itself. It's a complete mystery to me how they manage that dangerous relationship.

  On the morning we had lifted the body from the sea several of them had turned up to help despite the appalling weather. That was more like my Impression - gained over a lifetime of living in the Bay. If it turned out any of them were involved in some way I'd bet a lot that it wouldn't be about young girls or raising the devil. It simply wasn't their style at all.

  I'd thought a lot about what Juliet had told me about Alistair Crowley, not the sort of chap you'd want moving in next door. That he had some power over other people was indisputable but whether that was because of some weird strength in him or weakness in them I couldn't make my mind up. The latter was easier to swallow.

  As Juliet had said, his followers were predominantly women or men with a known history of drug addiction. The list of crimes that had been associated with him was interesting. More interesting perhaps was the fact that he had never been charged with anything Important. That he was a practising Satanist was unarguable, he had made no secret of it, boasting openly that he conducted dangerous occult experiments and had links to strange powers.

  He was known to be trying to raise the Devil or one of his emissaries and Pan, the cloven heeled god of the Greeks, was certainly one of them. The Poseidon link was more tenuous.

  In Greece he had finally been hounded out of his mountain retreat by local villagers and priests who were convinced that the answer to children going missing was to be found within his practises. They were certainly convinced that he was sacrificing children during his occult ceremonies.

  I was impressed to read that several of his followers had indeed committed suicide just as Juliet had said and several more ended their days in asylums. Some of the stories they told included tales of bestiality and sacrifice and some of them, those who had ended their days in asylums, claimed to have been present when he did indeed raise Pan. It was all very odd but for me it was all in the mind - and drug altered minds can believe anything.

  There was one other question in my mind that morning. If raising Pan was such a dangerous occult ceremony then it would only be for the very experienced. That should mean that if I was seeking an occult practitioner capable of attempting such a thing he almost certainly would have left some sort of trail somewhere. I decided to have a look into that.

  That morning I spent with my rapidly shrinking team at the Police Station Soon I'd be handling the case on my own. One last gasp before they pensioned me off to return to my fishing. I'd find somewhere other than Hope's Nose that was for sure.

  Leon Henry was my hope for some improvement in the dismal state of affairs
and my first handshake that day at Exeter airport gave me confidence. He took my hand firmly and we were talking like old comrades by the time I took the left turn at the Penn Inn roundabout and used the back road through Barton to avoid the Newton Road traffic nightmare. A huge mistake as the roundabout at Hele Village was snarled up completely and we had to sit there whilst some complete idiot untangled his trailer from a parked vehicle. “Just like in Belgium,” Leon said, “reminds me of home already!”

  Whist we sat there waiting he told me he had been in his job for two years. A political appointment. His face said it all. His several predecessors had all had their careers wrecked by involvement in the enquiry and he didn't know how long he would stay in his position. He gave me something of a history of long years of missing children and the way in the end a whole Nation had demanded an explanation of the Government's failure to stop it from happening. It was a national concern and many famous careers had been ended abruptly by it. I was very concerned when he told me that only eight children had ever been found. Bloody hell!

  He wouldn't commit himself to any speculation as to the end result of his enquiry over there but I was certain in my own mind that he considered himself to be leading an enquiry into multiple kidnappings and murders against a backdrop of political ruthlessness and international intrigue. I wondered what the hell I was becoming involved with. One thing was for certain I didn't envy him one tiny bit. His entire narrative was shocking. We were both in sober mood when I led him into my office and introduced him to what remained of my team.

  Detective Sergeant Ann Taylor, known to everyone as Sheila because of her Aussie background produced some really good strong coffee which was well above our normal standards and I smiled at her appreciatively. It was a nice touch. She is a fine young detective in her own right, clever, and capable of handling extremely complex data. A talent I was glad to have supporting the team's efforts as I'm hopeless at it personally.

  There were already enough problems on her own desk but I asked her to look into known occult practitioners if there were any! She raised an eyebrow in enquiry and I told her it was my intuition which sent her away laughing out loud. I noticed Leon's gaze following her fine figure and decided that the French and Belgians do have things in common after all. If there was anything out there she would find it, needles in haystacks were her stock in trade.

  I introduced Leon to the balance of the team and we talked shop for a quarter of an hour before gathering around a central desk onto which he placed a number of photographs. Ann came back and joined us.

  “This is a girl who disappeared from her family farm in October of two thousand and eleven.” Leon told us, his accent strong but I could see that everyone was enjoying having him here. He had a very open manner about him which won friends easily and quickly. “We had searched for her very quickly after her disappearance and because of the background political situation we had practically unlimited resources. We found nothing. She went to meet friends at a local park, she did not turn up. There was no trace of her. She was just thirteen years old.”

  Leon stopped talking and turned the pictures over one by one. It was our girl for absolutely certain. We should have been elated but we weren't, we were just filled with a sense of horror and loss. She looked like a happy teenage girl from a nice modern Belgian farm. Now she was dead.

  I placed one of our pictures beside his and he said nothing. Just picked it up silently and then put it carefully back down again. “Now I have found nine,” he said in a very quiet voice - and I felt dreadfully sorry for him.

  “Every time a child goes missing now the press of four countries gather like vultures,” he said to us. “You had better be prepared for them. When I report this there is going to be a storm of protest and recrimination.”

  For some reason I was relieved to learn that the girl was from a country background; no connection to the sea at all.

  We would need Juliet and forensics to confirm our identification and we spent some time setting the process in motion. Madeline Fortune had stopped being a missing person and become a murder victim. Lunch wasn't the happiest meal I've ever attended, it was a damned sight worse for Henry, he'd just come from telephoning her family.

  We sat at my desk afterwards and he sat with his arms folded saying nothing for at least ten minutes. He seemed to be studying me. I let him go; I didn't envy him his phone call or the weight of press that would now dog his footsteps as he tried to assist us and we tried to help him.

  “Tonight we must talk, man to man, yes” I looked up, his face was coldly serious. He had made up his mind about something. I looked around the office; it was obvious he didn't want to talk about it there. “Whatever it takes Leon,” I said and I meant it too. He nodded, subject closed for now.

  I took him along for his official introduction to the Chief Constable who took me by surprise by conversing with him in very passable French. She was happy to hear we had identified Madeline Fortune but when she saw the pictures of the young Belgium girl at home on her family farm she was visible upset. I sensed that I wouldn't be under any further pressure to reduce my team or my expenditure.

  Walking along the corridor after that meeting he told me he liked my Chief Constable and enquired if she would give me the resources we needed to find the girl’s murderers. I told him I was confident she would and his eyes went terribly cold. “I want to meet this man urgently, Michael. This girl was from a village close to my family home, she was not the first from our area.”

  I didn't know what to say but I did know that Leon Henry was not someone I'd want pursuing me.

  It was early evening by the time we had had a walk down Hope's Nose and I'd told Henry the story of Boxing morning, shown him where the girl had been caught in the net and explained how we had struggled to get her onto to the helicopter. In bright sunshine the place was very different but he seemed to understand what the conditions would have been like in the dreadful weather we had faced. When we walked up we once again walked past the clue at the top of the path - now Interpol had missed it too!

  We stood at the roadside and smoked a French cigarette which I didn't really enjoy; it was too strong for my taste. A huge tanker was manoeuvring into position off Brixham breakwater and the sun was setting over the top of Cockington, turning the ring road fields pink and red. I felt sorry for him. He looked utterly forlorn.

  “Do you drink whiskey Leon? I know a good pub close to here.”

  “Inspector I drink anything with alcohol in it.” He said and laughed. “Come on take me to an English pub, I can't wait to be horrified!”

  The Cary Arms was quiet that early in the evening and we had no problem finding a table away from everyone else so that he could have the opportunity of his man to man chat. The sea outside was turning dark and looked forbidding again now. The single malt double seemed to be to his liking.

  “We so rarely find them Inspector.” He said, as though we were already well into a conversation. “They disappear and often there is no trace whatsoever for us to work with. They are home and then poof! They are gone.” His hand gesture was so French somehow, but also indicative of a very warm human being but his eyes were soon cold again. “You have put your fingers into a very hot fire Mike.”

  I didn't interrupt him. He had my full attention though. He sat forward looking around but there was no chance of us being overheard. Some modern singer was strangling an old Bee Gee's song in the background and it would have covered a louder conversation than ours was likely to be. Anyone with any sense would have their fingers in their ears anyway.

  “It won't be many hours before you’re own branch of Interpol is at you and then not many more before your political bosses get involved too. You must be prepared to deal with that. From Belgium the Diplomatic Service will be busy. The cover up will start very rapidly.”

  “Why should there be a cover up Leon? The Girl has been murdered – found – identified. No one can pretend that has not happened.”

  �
��No they will not try to hide it but they will try to make this an English crime with no connection to my case load at all. They will try to have me sent home. I need your help to stay Mike! I want to catch this man and empty his head of anything he can expose that will help me to find the others. I will beat it out of him if I have to!”

  I sat back, his words made sense and I could see he was really desperate to get my agreement. It wasn't hard to make a decision. I really liked Leon and I was convinced he was a very genuine policeman - a man I could definitely trust. “O.K. Leon we're in this together right to the bitter end!”

  He sat back, satisfied. “Thank you, Michael. We are strong together me and you and I think we will catch this bastard and learn many things.” He raised his glass and emptied it in one go. “Another?” If he wanted an answer he didn't wait for it.

  He returned to his seat and put another whiskey across the table. If I drank that double too we'd need a taxi! I was still smiling my thanks when a hand descended onto my shoulder and Ann Taylor was bending to speak into my left ear, you’re going to love me boss.” she said, and her voice made me turn in anticipation. That didn't stop me noticing that Henry had not betrayed her approach by as much as a fluttering eyelid. The man was of a very high calibre indeed, what did that mean exactly?