And all this happened in three days. Three days in which he found himself more and more attracted to Maria. He’d tried to dismiss it, fight it, recognize it as a hopeless cause. It didn’t work.
“Are you asleep?” Maria asked, gently.
Clay opened his eyes. “No, just going over a few things in my mind.”
“I just wanted to say that I understand why you’re skeptical and I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“I’ve a rather thick, albeit secular, skin,” Clay said, with a slight smile. For a moment he considered telling her he was glad to be working with her, no matter what the circumstances, but then thought better of it. “Why don’t you get some rest yourself?” He turned slightly and lowered the back of his seat but not before he saw a slight disappointment in her eyes. She wanted to talk. He didn’t. What he needed now was some time to adjust to what was happening in his life. He had gone from being a run-of-the-mill private eye with no solid direction in life, to being on an international assignment hunting down some sort of serial killer for the Catholic Church. Hard to top that for weirdness. He was also bothered by the fact that his feelings for Maria were growing by the hour. No percentage there either, he thought.
“Good idea,” she finally responded as he heard her settle back. “Next stop, London.”
~ 2 ~
After landing in Heathrow, Clay and Maria picked up a Toyota Previa from Hertz. True to his word, Malachi, with the Church’s seemingly limitless influence, had arranged for a metal case housing a .44 caliber Ruger Blacktop Magnum with 100 rounds of ammunition, four Maxfire Speedloaders and a shoulder holster to be in the trunk. Though it looked more like a frontier Colt with its long barrel, Clay knew he’d never have a problem with it jamming. It was more accurate than many shorter-barreled handguns and would virtually stop any living thing in its tracks. Whether his quarry was living or not was a matter still up for debate.
He loaded the weapon, donned the holster and felt a whole lot better. Their mad quarry better hope he wasn’t looking at the business end of this weapon.
Also in another case were two press employee cards identifying them as reporters for the Associated Press News Service, as well as a British Concealed Weapon Carry Permit for a restricted weapon. A laptop computer, various and sundry hookups and a small compact printer completed the equipment.
Clay and Maria checked into a suite at the Halkin Hotel later that afternoon. They were posing as man and wife. Malachi had booked them a room with two beds to keep Maria close to Clay should Adramelech come after him. The cardinal was banking on Maria sensing any form of potential “attack” as she had in New York, and then being able to alert the Crusaders.
The room was uniquely comfortable with a pair of antique-looking beds, a roll-top desk and a genuine grandfather clock ticking loudly in one corner. The best concession the room offered, however, was double bathrooms. Clay insisted on taking the smaller one with just a shower stall. The larger one offered a bathtub and he caught Maria looking longingly at it. “I’m not exactly a bubble bath type of guy,” he said, transferring his shaving gear to the smaller one and then unpacking his Vatican purchased wardrobe.
They ate dinner at a small fish & chips restaurant within walking distance of the hotel and then returned to watch some television. Clay found himself laughing at a Fawlty Towers marathon while Maria grimaced and shook her head. He offered to switch the channel but she shook her head and immersed herself in a copy of the Montreal Gazette they’d picked up at a W H Smith store while out for supper. Still, whenever he started to laugh, he caught her looking over the edge of the paper. If he caught her eye she simply shook her head again and dived behind it for cover once more. Finally he switched the TV off in favor of conversation.
As they talked, he was surprised to find that she had attended high school in Vermont not that far from where he had lived. In fact, they had both attended Sacred Heart at different times, shopped in Newport, and swam in Lake Memphremagog. Finally, Maria began to yawn.
“I’ll take the left bed, if that’s okay,” Maria declared.
“Me too,” Clay said, and then laughed at how wide her eyes opened.
She finally got the joke and returned his grin. “Got me.”
“I certainly did,” he said kindly, now feeling embarrassed at taking advantage of her obvious innocence.
“You’re a nice man, Clay.” She said it openly and honestly. “I’m not worried.”
He felt himself flushing with pleasure at her remark. But then she brought him back to reality with her next sentence. “But this isn’t a lark, you know. We have to take what we are doing seriously... if we both want to get out of this alive.” Feeling his face flush he nodded and turned away.
They retired to their individual bathrooms to perform their nightly rituals. Clay emerged from his bathroom first, got into bed and clicked on his reading light. He shook out a copy of the London Times they’d found in their room and began to explore details of the Millennium Ripper attacks in a feature article. After a few minutes, Maria came out of her bathroom clothed in a heavy, red terry-clothe robe, smiled self consciously, and sat with her back to him on her own bed. A whiff of soap or shower gel drifted over.
“Shall I set it for five-thirty?” she asked, fidgeting with the alarm clock.
“Sure,” Clay responded, amusement in his voice. “Wake me at eight.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so used to rising for morning devotions.”
“That’s okay...whatever time you’d like is fine with me.”
She at there and Clay realized that when he was in the army and so many decisions were made for him by routine, it was sometimes difficult to make small personal choices on your own when given the opportunity. Likely Maria experienced a similar conundrum because of her vocation. “Why don’t we compromise,” he said. “Say...seven thirty?”
“Ok.” She stabbed a button on the clock repeatedly, stood up, dropped her robe and quickly climbed under her covers. Just as quickly, she rolled back out, knelt by her bed and spent ten minutes in prayer.
Clay couldn’t help noticing she was wearing 60s-style baby doll pajamas. A nun in baby dolls? Despite his best efforts, he sighed. She was cute as a button and he felt like a secular letch. She soon dove back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Clay?” Her voice now sounded tiny and a little worried.
“Yes?”
“Do you–do you think everything will...work out?”
“Well, let’s see. According to your boss, we’re chasing an immortal emissary of Satan and his evil familiar who have murdered millions of people over thousands of years. We carry useless weapons, are in an unfamiliar city with no backup, and have no idea of where this thing is or what it’s up to. Heck, what could go wrong?”
Despite herself, Maria laughed. “You know we’re only supposed to find him...that’s all.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I know you want to avenge your wife and your friend...but that’s not our job.” She waited for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, she began again: “We can’t kill him, you know that? We can slow him down but nothing short of some rather...specific...holy remedies will finish him.”
“Did you see the movie, Dirty Harry?”
“Dirty who?”
In spite of himself, he laughed. “Dirty Harry. Never mind. Maria, I think I may be carrying a solution that will make this fellow’s day a little difficult.”
“When we find him or even get close to where we think he might be, we have orders to call the cell phone number and leave the area.”
He looked over at her. “I promise I won’t put you in any danger, Maria.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about Clay; I – I don’t want you hurt neither.”
“Thanks....” He went back to reading his newspaper but not really absorbing any of what he was reading. She’d voiced a concern for him. Was it possible...? Stop it, he told himself.
After a few minut
es of tossing in her bed, Maria punched her pillow a few times and then softly asked: “What was she like?”
He put down the paper. “Who?”
“Your wife...Jody?”
Clay sighed. “She was someone who deserved better than what she got. If I’d never met her, she’d likely be alive now.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” His tone was bitter. “According to the cardinal, she died because of this thing I supposedly met in Panama. Even if that isn’t true, what she went through in Woodstrom wasn’t pleasant; maybe it contributed to a moment of inattention on the highway. And it killed her.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“That’s okay; it was a long time ago.” And yet the hurt and regret were fresh as a daisy.
“You must never blame yourself, Clay. These happenings began long before you or I were even born. There is nothing any of us could have done to prevent what is unfolding.”
“You mean like innocent people being killed by a madman.”
“That and more. We happen to have become part of a battle between good and evil that, according to Sister Raphael, began at Creation. We have to trust in God to see us through it.”
“God and the Ruger Firearms Company.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “As I said before, I know you’re a decent and wise man, Clay. But please, also put your trust in the divine power of God and He will give us the strength we need.”
Clay was sorry for trying to be smart. “Mind if I ask you something, Maria?” he asked, snapping off his reading light, ditching the paper and settling back.
“Of course. Ask away.”
He felt braver in the dark. “Why did you become a nun?”
“I’m a novice still...I haven’t taken my final religious vows.” She paused and then added: “But I hope to when this is all over.”
“And that means...?”
“Well you just don’t join an order...like Girl Guides or the Boy Scouts. First you go through a period of time as a postulant. You take certain religious training and then are received as a novice, which is what I am. Novices are not admitted to vows until they have completed more prescribed training and proving called the novitiate –.”
A trifle impatient, he interrupted her. “Right. So you could still...back out?”
She laughed, though it sounded more like a giggle in the darkness. “You mean like backing out of a deal to buy a used car?”
“Something like that.”
“I suppose a person can back out of anything.”
“You haven’t answered my original question. Why?”
“I’m sorry. It was a calling...from God. When I was a little girl, and I would get visions of the future, I used to think that I was cursed because all I saw were bad things – things I couldn’t prevent. But I also felt there was something I was meant to do. Some sort of ‘calling,’ I guess. And when I went to school with the nuns, I began to admire their strength, their resolve, and their kindness. As I grew older, I realized that they were unique in a cruel world. And I wanted the peace that they seemed to possess. I finally came to the conclusion this could only come from a closer relationship with God who inspired this peace.”
“Have you ever thought of a...normal life?”
She laughed again. “This is a normal life for me, Clay.”
“Sorry...of course,” he answered, lamely. What he did see, however, was that this nun was beginning to occupy his thoughts more and more despite their bizarre quest. These were the first feelings he’d had for a girl since Jody died more than a decade ago. In fact, he was feeling like a school boy with his first crush. Though he tried to fight it, and though he realized he barely knew her, the feelings refused to leave. During their training together, they enjoyed some laughs and some serious discussions. His admiration for her, her faith and her kindness grew as did his personal feelings for her. Now he chastised himself again; it was ridiculous to fall in love with a Catholic nun.
“Are you okay?” Her voice out of the blackness startled him and he tried to cover his thoughts wondering if she sensed anything.
“Yes...yes...I’m fine. We better get to sleep. We’ll need to be in top form tomorrow. ”
“I know you’re concerned for me, Clay. And, I think I may also be picking up some other feelings from you...but we have a job to do. And we must do it... no matter how you may feel about me.”
He figuratively slapped himself on the forehead. Was he nuts? Worse, was he that transparent, or was she really physic? She must think I’m an idiot, he moaned inwardly regretting his unwarranted feelings for her. “Understood,” he finally managed to croak aloud, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He silently thanked God that the lights were out. He rolled over, but it was hours before he slept.
~ 3 ~
The next morning, following Malachi’s orders on how to get started, they drove to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters building with Clay finding the left hand driving to be a challenge. The building was fronted by a metallic triangular sign that slowly revolved announcing that it was the Metropolitan Police Headquarters on one side – Working for a safer London – and the New Scotland Yard on another. It wasn’t hard to find and when they drove up to it on Broadway, S.W.1., they encountered a modern steel and glass building with ample parking for staff and visitors alike. Clay took off his shoulder holster and stored the .44 caliber rig under the front seat before they exited the automobile.
As they walked alongside the building looking for an entrance, Clay again marveled at the city. London was a study in contrasts. For example across Broadway from the ultra-modern Scotland Yard building, was a typical, leafy English park, while across Victoria Street, the Strutton Arms featuring traditional English pubs such as The Old Monk and something called The Pub offering good food and real ales. Farther along the Ichi Riki Sushi House added its diverse fare.
A yellow coated Bobby gave them directions to the public entrance. Inside, Clay and Maria were kindly asked to state their business by a professional but pretty police woman sporting three sergeant stripes on her jersey. They asked for Chief Superintendent Ian Cruickshank and the sergeant nodded and asked them to both sign the register. She then made a quick telephone call to Homicide West. After hanging up, she asked them to have a seat in a comfortable waiting area just off the lobby. Police constables, dark suited men with laden briefcases, and a parade of other civilians moved constantly in and out of the doors. Clay looked up and caught the eye of the attractive desk sergeant who was on the telephone and looking their way.
Clay and Maria had been told that Malachi had set it up with Scotland Yard for them to gain access to briefing papers and reports on the Millennium Ripper. They were hoping that the police had found some sort of pattern that might telegraph where he might strike next. They had not been authorized to tell Scotland Yard why they were interested – just that the Vatican had an interest in the killer.
It wasn’t long before a tired looking, grey-haired, stocky man resembling actor Nigel Bruce who played Watson in older Sherlock Holmes movies, approached with his hand out. He was wearing a badly rumpled tweed suit and white shirt; a dark paisley tie was loosely wound around his open collar, the Winsor knot tugged loose.
“Mr. Montague I presume,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He grasped Clay’s hand firmly and gave it a friendly shake. Despite being obviously exhausted, he was cavalier enough to kiss Maria’s hand as he introduced himself. “Detective Chief Superintendent Ian Cruickshank...at your service.”
“Oh!” Maria said as his lips brushed her hand. “I’m Maria Lapierre.”
Clay smiled at Maria’s grin and obvious pleasure at the courtly manners, even as he judged the Inspector to be a bit of a rogue.
They stopped at reception once more where Cruickshank retrieved two visitor badges which they were asked to snap on.
He led them to an elevator and several floors later they exited into a busy office sett
ing, the clacking of computer keys punctuated only by ringing phones and the buzz of conversations. After traversing several corridors they settled in the Chief Superintendent’s office with the door closed.
“So, how is our esteemed cardinal?” Cruickshank asked
“Very well, sir.” Maria said. “He sends his regards.”
“And do return mine,” Cruickshank said, with a slight smile. “Now Mr. Montague...Miss Lapierre...I’m happy to help my friend any way I can, so what can I do for you?” As he waited, he tapped a few keys on his computer, examined something, raised his eyebrows and turned back to Clay and Maria.
“Essentially, we’re investigating the Millennium Ripper story and wondered if we could access some of your files,” Clay said.
“He told me that much,” Cruickshank replied. “What do you hope to find?”
“Information on where, when and how he struck,” Clay said, slipping into his investigative role with surprising ease. “Also, we wondered if you had any ideas or theories on where he could strike next. If it’s confidential, we’re happy to sign any non-disclosure forms you might have, of course.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” Cruickshank said. “No, we don’t know where he might strike next or when. Wish we did. But why would the Vatican send two investigators to inquire? Bit out of its realm once the last rites have been administered, what?”
“We were just asked to get information on the murders –,” Clay began, but the Chief Superintendent held up his hand.
“Now old boy, let’s keep this friendly shall we? I need you to level with me.” Cruickshank’s gaze had hardened just a shade. “Why is my friend interested in this fiend? He just sent me a short email asking me to cooperate with you two and little else. I haven’t been able to raise him on the horn since.”
Clay looked at Maria who shrugged. “I’m afraid we signed a confidentiality agreement with our employer....” Clay began.
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