The Silent Pool

by Phil Kurthausen

  The first time it had happened was a week after his return from Helmand. Miranda had been at work, Abby at school, and a young woman had knocked on his door asking him if he would answer some focus questions on behalf of the Labour party. She had been attractive and straightaway flirtatious. Erasmus had invited her in. Twenty minutes later they had fucked in Erasmus’ martial bed. After that, things progressed to a stage where Erasmus couldn't engage with a woman on any level other than sexual.

  The encounters had mounted up and it had only been a matter of time before Miranda found out, and she had. And the kicker, the real killer, was that it had been because of Abby. He had forgotten to order the birthday present that Miranda had asked him to get so Miranda had borrowed his laptop. A simple case of not clearing his history had led her to emails and hotels. When confronted he hadn't resisted. It was as though he was admitting to the crimes of another person. For Erasmus it was as though he has been inhabited by a jin, a sexually addicted ghoul that he had picked up somewhere in the hot, bloody, killing fields of Helmand. Miranda hadn't thrown him out either; she had understood on a level he had failed to, that this was a war wound, a consequence of his experiences. She had given him a shot and he had taken it, enrolled in a programme for sex addicts. He had worked hard, and with the help of his mentor, Molly, he had seen his behaviours for what they were, a search for comfort and meaning. And when he was well, recovered, no longer searching for stray encounters with strange women, Miranda had told him she was moving to Liverpool. He had followed and to this day hadn't strayed and now, here was Rachel in her bathtowel.

  He sat up in bed. ‘Er, so we…’

  Rachel grinned. ‘Good morning, and yes we did. Don't sweat it though. I think we both needed to let off some steam.’

  Erasmus wanted to say sorry but past experience had taught him that apologising after sex wasn't always endearing to the other party. The previous evenings events started to come back to him.

  ‘Ah, your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend Graham, yes, I remember now.’

  His mouth tasted of wine and mouthwash.

  ‘We've got work to do. You do remember that?’ She cocked her head and pulled a fake serious expression.

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Well, come on then.’ She carried on drying her hair and padded through to the living room.

  Erasmus watched her go and then jumped out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans and followed her. Rachel sat on the couch. In front of her on the coffee table were her open laptop and the police report on Tomas’ murder.

  He got up and went straight to his iPod dock selecting a Doves track ‘There Goes the Fear’. For Erasmus, a hangover was best dealt with head on, turn up the stimuli and pretend it didn't exist. With the pounding drums and bass reverberating around the flat he psyched himself up for the unpleasant task that awaited him. He pulled open the curtains and took in the view of the Mersey. Today, it was turbulent, broiling and frothing in the winter winds.

  ‘I've got the feeling that today is going to be eventful,’ said Erasmus, ‘so we need a big breakfast. Do you think your hangover can cope with that?’

  ‘I've never had a hangover that couldn't,’ she replied and visibly perked up. ‘And just before you get all serious or think about asking me out,’ she smiled, ‘don't. This was a one-off deal.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Erasmus and a second later they were both laughing at his unintended pun.

  After a breakfast of grease Rachel left. He asked where she was going but all she would tell him was that she wanted to pursue a lead.

  Feeling energised he jumped in his old Golf and drove to Aigburth following the dock road alongside the path of the river.

  When he arrived at Jenna's house the street was empty. Above him the tall oaks swayed in the wind and leaves fell, covering the ground with a crisp, scab-like patina.

  He parked up outside the house but instead of walking straight up to Jenna's house he walked the twenty yards down to the railings that marked the barrier between land and water. He leaned on the iron rail and breathed in the salty air. A large cargo ship loaded with container freight was slowly making its way along the river. He felt a state of calm descend upon him. He was beginning to understand what may have happened to Stephen.

  Erasmus gave a start as a man started talking.

  ‘Quite a view, isn't it? That ship, the Atlantic Conveyor 3, is carrying Jaguars to the States. Two hundred years ago it would have been slaves from West Africa on their way to Virginia. Some things change but some things always stay the same: the quest for money, status and answers. I know you are Erasmus Jones so I have you at a disadvantage. I'm Theo Francis, Stephen's uncle.’

  Erasmus turned to the tall, elderly man with a dignified almost regal air standing beside him. Theo offered his hand and Erasmus shook it.

  ‘I saw you arrive and then walk down here. You obviously have some things on your mind. Jenna isn't at home but perhaps we can have a coffee and maybe talk for a bit?’

  ‘I came to see you actually, not Jenna, so that suits me just fine,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Ah I see,’ said Theo. He didn't sound surprised. ‘You better come with me then,’ he said.

  Erasmus followed Theo back to the house. This time he wasn't taken to the lounge but into the kitchen. It was light and airy with wooden floors and steel surfaces. A large AGA was giving off a blasting heat.

  ‘You OK with an espresso?’ asked Theo.

  Erasmus preferred a cup of tea. Espresso gave him a headache and he didn't want a headache on top of his headache. However, Erasmus got the idea that if he asked for a cup of tea the logistics involved would be extremely tedious.

  ‘Sure.’

  Theo worked the handles and buttons of a large stainless steel coffee machine and after a minute Erasmus was presented with a doll's cup of strong black liquid that he immediately placed on the tabletop in front of him and mentally vowed never to touch.

  ‘Jenna's kept me appraised of your investigation and I imagine you can guess that I've been funding it. Jenna and Stephen don't really have access to those sort of funds, and I think you suspect that, er, Stephen had a gambling problem?’

  Erasmus nodded.

  ‘Yes, but those debts were paid off by Father Michael. He told me it was an act of charity by the church. I don't believe him.’

  Theo sipped his coffee.

  ‘I think you're right not to believe him. It may be useful if I give you some family background perhaps.’

  ‘She told me that you and Stephen don't speak.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that is true.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Part of it was that Stephen didn't approve of my business. You probably know, but I made my fortune post 9/11 selling survival and medical equipment.’

  ‘I heard, well at least you and Halliburton did well out of those fanatics.’

  Theo sipped his espresso and then placed it gently down on the table. Everything about him seemed considered and orderly.

  ‘Do I sense a note of disapproval, Erasmus? I sold people what they wanted and nobody got hurt or exploited along the way.’

  ‘What about contributing to a climate of fear?’

  ‘I don't think you can pin that on me. It was there long before I started selling surgical masks.’

  ‘And some of us end up watching our friends being blown to pieces thousands of miles from home because of its consequences.’

  Erasmus studied Theo carefully. His tone had remained measured and calm and he still hadn't asked Erasmus whether he had made any progress in finding his nephew.

  ‘You said you wanted to talk to me?’ said Theo.

  It was a challenge and Erasmus was glad to accept. ‘You were the person who took the photograph of the boys with the Everlong weren't you?’

  Theo's face registered surprise. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I should have guessed when Giles Petersen pointed out that we were missing the obvious, that there was another person in the phot
ograph, the person who took the picture. That was you, you took the photograph. I found a copy of the photograph in St Mary's. It lists all the boys in the photograph plus your name. It must have been you who took the picture.’

  Theo took a sip of his coffee. He hesitated for a second and then came to a decision.

  ‘Yes, that was me. I went to St Edward's. You wouldn't think it now perhaps but I was a bit of a tearaway – smoking, drinking a little bit of criminal damage. Seems quite tame these days but back then I was a cause of real concern for my family and the brothers. My father was a close friend of Father Michael, one of his flock and he had see the work that Father Michael had done with young boys and thought that he could turn me around, so I joined, or rather was told that I was joining, the Faith in the Community group.’

  Things started to make sense to Erasmus.

  ‘Let me guess, you got Stephen to join as well?’

  Theo nodded. He looked out the large kitchen window towards the garden. There an apple tree shorn of all its leaves stood skeletal and alone.

  ‘There is only a five year age gap between myself and Stephen. We were more like brothers than uncle and nephew. Stephen looked up to me. When I joined Faith in the Community Stephen wanted to join. I blame myself for that. I had a real religious fervour that Father Michael instilled in me, he rightly saw that I had passion, misdirected into petty crime and he directed it towards Jesus. I became addicted to the most righteous of all drugs.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘At first it gave me a purpose, something outside my teenage self that I needed. Like so many fervent converts I took to it with a zeal that I look back on and can only describe as fanatical. Father Michael recognised that in me and appointed me the first Christian sergeant: I was responsible for the other boys, I enforced Father Michael's edicts.’

  Erasmus looked at Theo. He didn't seem like the forceful kind, he seemed quite the opposite: careful, considered, polite. The boy he was describing seemed to bear no resemblance to the man sitting next to him. What must have happened to him to bring about this change?

  ‘At first it was all rather innocent. At weekends we would help elderly members of Father Michael's flock to mass, clean some gardens, odd jobs, think of very religious boy scouts.’

  Theo laughed, but there was a catch in his throat.

  ‘It was a success with me. I did turn away from sinning. Soon other children started to join, usually the difficult, the troubled and the vulnerable, it was the start of Father Michael's rise to fame in the city. He was featured in the Liverpool Echo as a progressive force helping children in the community. He even franchised out the idea to other dioceses, and he was talked about as the next Bishop of Liverpool.’

  ‘But he never became a bishop?’

  ‘No. The rumours and the innuendo saw to that. Father Michael started the Faith in the Community project decades before the sex scandals engulfed the church and before the Third Wave came along and diminished it to the point of irrelevancy but even back then people had noticed his, shall we say, affection for the boys in his charge. Gossip and innuendo held him back and of course after Tomas was killed, even though Burns admitted the murder, the stigma never left him.’

  ‘Did he abuse you?’

  Theo straightened his already ramrod straight back and sighed.

  ‘No, not in the way you mean, there was never any physical abuse. Father Michael is a caring man and believes in what he does. Now I am older I do question the motivation of men who forsake a bride for God and it seems clear that there is a certain attraction in that for some and historically it was probably one of the safest places to hide your sexuality. But Father Michael? All I can say for sure is that he never abused me physically and to be frank I think, back then, I would perhaps not have snubbed him. I was like a lot of his boys, a little in love with Father Michael.’

  ‘What about Tomas? I found this photograph in Father Michael's old office. Why would Tomas refer to a “secret lover”?’

  Theo laughed. His laugh was delicate and reminded Erasmus of a wind up toy.

  ‘Tomas’ English was good but idiosyncratic. I forget you are not a native Liverpudlian. It's fairly common here for people to address people, particularly women as “love”. When Tomas started using the phrase he called everyone “lover”. The boys teased him about it all the time.’

  ‘So there was nothing untoward going on between Father Michael and Tomas or any of the other boys?’

  ‘Nothing that I was aware of.’

  ‘But you might not have been aware of something?’

  Theo considered for a moment.

  ‘Anything is possible.’

  A look that Erasmus wouldn't understand until much later passed across Theo's face.

  ‘Tomas was a troubled boy. I presume you know about his family being executed in front of him?’

  Erasmus nodded but he thought it wiser to not let Theo know he had spoken with Bovind. There was something that Theo was holding back and it troubled him.

  ‘Tomas was a bright boy and he quickly picked up English albeit with a strong Bosnian accent – you can imagine how he was teased by the other children – but he was stoic. I think trauma can either deaden or quicken the anger reflex and with Tomas is was the former. However badly he was teased he would just remain calm and carry on and of course this drove the bullies wild. His foster parents were eventually called to the school one day to find Tomas with a cut lip and bruised face. Some bullies had taunted him in the playground, it was the usual stuff about his poor English. They had pulled his satchel away from him and emptied the contents on the schoolyard and as usual Tomas had done nothing, just watched them with those dark eyes of his, the crowd of children leering and catcalling and then one of the bullies whispered something in his ear and then he finally did react. He attacked the child, breaking his nose and then pummelling his face as he lay on the ground until the child passed out. He had to be pulled off the bully by two teachers, they later said they thought if they hadn't turned up Tomas would have killed the boy. The bully spent a week in hospital.’

  ‘Why did he snap?’

  ‘The bully said his mother was burning in hell.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘From then he just shut down, retreated inside. The only one who could reach him was Father Michael,’

  Theo stood up and poured himself a glass of water.

  ‘I find I need it after the bitterness of the coffee.’ He took a delicate sip. ‘Tomas trusted him, he was the only person in the world who he did trust, whom he had any faith left in and Father Michael helped him. He couldn't adopt him, of course, he was a Catholic priest, but he could keep him close, provided him with a family, and Father Michael's family was us, the Faith in the Community group.

  ‘I was in charge of the boys, a sergeant, we all held military type rank. I hear they still do that. Boys like that sort of thing, the martial spirit is particularly strong when twinned with righteous belief. “Onward Christian soldiers,” is a strong message, I find.’

  Erasmus pushed his coffee mug away from him. ‘I've found that too, but perhaps in a different way to you.’ He was finding it increasingly difficult not to dislike Theo. There was something that seemed broken in his careful movements and speech that grated with Erasmus.

  ‘Until Tomas arrived I was Father Michael's favourite, and he introduced me to Tomas with a confidential chat in his study in St Mary's. It was the sort of conversation I had had with Father Michael a dozen times: him behind his desk discussing with me some administrative problem or occasionally a theological matter, treating and talking to me as though I were an adult. It was liberating, Erasmus; no one had ever treated me with such respect.

  ‘Once more boys joined I would get them up to speed with our rules, some would seem strict now, of course. You know the sort of thing: uniform to be worn at all times, the red shirt, everyone to pray before and after our work, and if someone broke the rules there were minor punishments, withdrawal of the right to have a biscuit with our tea,
Bible passages to be copied out, that sort of thing.’

  ‘So you took the role seriously?’ asked Erasmus.

  ‘Oh yes, very. I was extremely proud of my position and I wanted us to make a difference. But if you are asking me in a roundabout way whether I abused my position I think the answer is no, save for on one occasion and on that occasion I think everything hinges, including everything that has happened to you Erasmus.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Father Michael was my God. I didn't need his boss. I worshipped him. I was his favourite from the start but everything changed the day he brought Tomas into our world. Tomas, sullen, dark eyed and strange, was treated by Father Michael as precious cargo. The day he introduced us in his office was the day everything changed between us. I remember Tomas was sitting in the chair usually reserved for me, and there was a certain intimacy in the way they were talking when I entered the room. I felt like I had walked in as they shared a joke and I felt a small, knot of tension form in my stomach and it grew as Father Michael indicated I should sit on the couch. I looked at him in disbelief. I couldn't understand why he didn't ask Tomas to move. But I walked to the couch and sat down. Father Michael told me an edited version of Tomas’ background. Tomas remained silent the whole time. After that Father Michael told me he wanted me to introduce Tomas to the boys, he thought they might accept him better from one of their peers.’

  Theo picked up his coffee cup even though Erasmus knew it must be empty and brought it to his lips. Nerves, decided Erasmus.

  ‘I agreed, of course, and I shook hands with Tomas and he looked up at me and smiled before saying “Thank you” in his broken English.

  ‘I led him out to meet the boys. They were working on the Everlong, that damned boat that had been donated to the group. Stephen loved that boat and worked on it every day and spent his time persuading the others to help him.’