Time To Die

  A gust of cold fresh air invaded her space as the doors slid open. With slow, cautious steps Jennifer walked out onto the bleak flat roof. Thick blankets of clouds rolled overhead, carrying the guts of a storm, and loose wire cables whipped ominously against the tangled steel of a radio mast. Car doors slammed below, and the sound of heavy boots scrunching on gravel told her that her colleagues had arrived. But the roof was desolate, with no sign of the Raven or George. A gust of wind flapped her jacket open, and the reality that she had come to a dead end delivered with it a bolt of anger.

  ‘Damn it!’ she said, stepping back into the lift and pressing the button for the ground floor. Her colleagues were waiting for her as she got to ground level, and she shook her head as she stepped out. ‘Sorry guys, it appears to be a false alarm. There’s nobody up there.’

  A ruddy-faced officer nodded. ‘We’ve checked the ladder and the rear of the building. Reception will call us if anyone turns up. The PCSOs have checked the other high points, the tower block and the new church.’

  It wasn’t until Jennifer got in her car that the answer came to her. The Raven had been away from Haven for a long time, and his psychiatrist said he often lived in the past. His perception of the highest peak may not be the same as theirs. The radio station, the tower block and the new church were all built in the last few years since the expansion of the town. The officer’s words filtered through her brain. They’d checked the new church. But not the old one. She opened her car door to alert her colleagues, then paused, allowing them to drive away. She could have been wrong, and the Raven may have been setting her up to look like a fool. But something in her gut told her she was on the right track. It was the same stubborn determination that made her want this arrest all to herself. Emily’s little boy floated in her vision, starving and alone as his mother lay dead on the bed. She would be the one to bring the Raven in. She grabbed her shoulder harness from the back seat and pushed her arms through the loops. The weight of her baton, handcuffs, and CS incapacitant spray felt good as it nestled next to her ribs. She started her car and drove in the direction of the church. They had a bond, which would soon be broken. She was going to take the Raven down.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Bert

  * * *

  ‘Please,’ George said, his voice frail and broken. His tattered coat flapped mercilessly as he followed in Bert’s wake across the open plains of the remote church land. ‘Please, mister, just let me little dog go. He’s not well.’

  Bert strode in wide, dogged footsteps through the overgrown graveyard, squashing the growling terrier close to his chest. Moss-covered headstones slanted against the rushes trembling in the wind. The residents of this graveyard had little family left to mourn them, and as Bert stomped carelessly over their graves, his thoughts were focused only on reaching the bell tower. His mother used to say it was the highest point in Haven, and how once she had ventured up there after visiting Callum’s grave. He knew then that she had considered jumping off. He often wondered what brought her back from the edge. It wasn’t love, that much he knew. His twin’s gravestone lay in the children’s graveyard at the back of the church, and he recalled that a weeping stone angel stood guard over the young souls taken too soon. But none of that mattered, as Bert doggedly carried out his mission. All that was left was to carry out the final prophecies. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. The ravens above cawed and screeched their warnings, as ominous as the derelict church ahead. Time was running out. He didn’t have a second to lose.

  Bert pushed open the wooden door at the rear of the old stone-walled building, which had been there almost as long as Haven itself. Bats rustled overhead, disturbed by the footsteps echoing through the crumbling spiral steps to the belfry.

  ‘Come along, I’ve got you a present,’ Bert said, his words echoing as he climbed each step. George’s terrier emitted soft muffled whimpers as he cried for his owner.

  George wheezed as he forced his legs to climb the stone stairwell, Tinker’s distress spurring him on. His neck craned upwards in the gloom, and he shouted a warning. ‘I don’t want yer fecking present. Now let us go or I’ll call the guards on ya.’

  Bert carried on climbing until he reached the bell tower, positioning himself perilously close to a windowless alcove.

  ‘The guards?’ Bert laughed, as George joined him, panting for breath. ‘You’re not in Ireland now, George. I’ve seen your past; I don’t think you’d be welcome there again, do you?’ Bert waited for the shock to register on George’s face before carrying on. ‘So take your present and be happy about it.’ Wriggling in his arms, Tinker gave a threatening growl. Bert pulled back the blanket and slapped him on the muzzle.

  George whimpered at the sight of his beloved pet being mistreated. ‘Wait, I’m sorry, I’d love to see me present. Can’t we go back down and take a look at it?’

  Bert moved towards the shafts of light stabbing the gloom. ‘There’s no need, I have it here. Take a seat and I’ll give it to you.’

  George took one look at the madness dancing behind his eyes, and sat down before his legs gave way.

  ‘Good,’ Bert said, unceremoniously dropping the dog to the floor with a plop. Opening his rucksack, he pulled a long black cloth and shook it free of its creases before passing it to George. ‘Put it on,’ he said, a menacing tinge to his voice.

  George said, ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t play stupid with me. I said, put it on.’

  George opened his mouth to speak, but instead was taken over by a series of spluttered coughs and wheezes. But there was little sympathy to be gained from Bert, who dumped the garment over his head and pulled his limp arms out either side.

  ‘You don’t know the lengths I had to go to, in order to get my hands on this.’ Bert stood back and frowned. ‘It’s a bit big. Here, let me fasten these buttons.’

  George’s voice came in a throaty rasp. ‘Please, no more. I’m not well.’ He rubbed his tightening chest. His fingers touched the buttons of the cassock and his eyes grew wide as he realised the garments that had been bestowed upon him. ‘What sort of tomfoolery is this?’

  Bert widened his smile in mimicry as the lilt of an Irish accent passed his lips. ‘Wat’s going on? Ah sure I’m only an auld beggar man to be sure to be sure.’

  Tinker barked weakly in the corner as George’s trembling fingers worked to release the long line of buttons from the holes.

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Bertram's long nails dug into George’s scrawny wrists as he grabbed them tightly, causing him to cry out in pain. ‘No you fucking don’t, you hear me? Not unless you want to see flea-bag here bungee jumping without a rope.’

  ‘What do ya want from me? Do I know you?’

  ‘No but I know you, Father Butler. I’ve seen all your secrets. Did you really think you deserved a second chance?’

  George’s mouth dropped open, his eyes pleading with his captor. ‘I … I haven’t served as a priest for twenty years.’

  Bert paced the narrow space. The wind screamed through the cracks in the walls while a sense of madness rose in the wild evening air. He stopped abruptly, smiling again. His moods changed by the second, and his unpredictability made him all the more dangerous.

  A clap of thunder boomed in the evening sky, electrifying the air around them. Tinker looked sorrowfully at his master before lying down on the block floor. His teeth clacked together as he whimpered through his closed muzzle, his energy dissipating by the second. A flash of lightning drove a sudden shaft of light through the narrow space, and Bert stared at George with narrowed eyes. He could tell he desperately wanted to scoop up his dog and leave, but his heart was most likely beating at such a rapid pace it barely gave him enough strength to stand, never mind tackle him, whose determination had lent him strength unknown for a man his age.

  Bert clapped his hands on both of George’s shoulders, clattering his teeth as he forced him down. ‘This will be your defining moment in the priesthood. Now what are w
e missing? Oh, of course, here it is,’ Bert said, pulling out the white collar from his pocket. Bert’s fingernails pressed into George’s windpipe as he slid the collar through the cassock, then stepped back and admired his handiwork.

  George gasped for breath, clawing his throat, which had been sorely deprived of oxygen seconds before. ‘Please, are you finished? Can we go now?’

  ‘We’re finished. Yes,’ Bert said, walking towards the terrier. ‘Time to say goodbye.’

  ‘No, please, you said you weren’t going to hurt Tinker,’ George said.

  Bert smiled. ‘Oh no, I would never hurt a dumb animal. It’s you that’s leaving. Don’t forget, I’ve seen it all, Father Butler.’ Bert waved his finger before tutting three times. ‘What age was that girl again? Sixteen? Seventeen? You couldn’t arrange that abortion quick enough, could you? And you, a man of the cloth!’

  ‘She wanted to be with me, but I stopped it because it was wrong. She came to me distraught. I was just trying to right a wrong.’

  ‘A wrong you’ve tried to forget ever since. You on your pulpit, preaching clean living, all the while arranging the murder of your unborn child.’

  Guilty tears fell down George’s weather-worn cheeks. ‘Why do you think I live on the street? Because I know I don’t deserve any better.’

  ‘And yet you are still a coward, running away from me when I am here to deliver your prophecy. Surely you know that dying is the only way to receive absolution for your sins. I’m not completely heartless. If you really can’t face dying alone, I’ll let your dog go with you.’ Bert reached for the dog’s collar, and began to drag him to his feet.

  ‘Bertram Bishop, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder,’ Jennifer said, her voice echoing as she rose from the stairwell.

  Bert swung his head as Jennifer stepped into the bell tower, her baton extended in preparation to fight.

  ‘What … what are you doing here?’ he stammered, holding Tinker mid-air by the collar. The helpless dog twisted under his grasp, his eyes bulging as he fought for breath.

  Bert was so stunned by Jennifer’s presence, he did not see George reach for the Swiss army knife in his right pocket. A gurgling scream passed his lips, as George plunged the extended fork into his hand.

  Tinker wriggled free, finding a second wind as he bumbled down the stairs.

  ‘Stand back!’ Jennifer shouted to George, taking Bert’s legs with her ASP as he lunged forward, pulling the knife from his pocket. The glint of the knife was her justification, and a crack of bone rang through the air as the metal baton took his shin in one precise hit.

  Bert screamed as he rolled around the cold concrete clutching his leg. Jennifer pounced, pulling his arms roughly behind his back to lock the handcuffs in place. Indignant caws ruptured from the darkened sky, turning Jennifer’s blood cold.

  ‘You can’t stop the prophecy,’ Bert screamed, the words delivered in a maddening howl. The words had just left his lips when the rapid burst of a police siren pierced the air.

  ‘Me dog!’ George panted, as another roll of thunder boomed. ‘They’ll run over Tinker!’ Stumbling towards the stairs, George called for his terrier as the siren grew louder, and as if in slow motion, Jennifer cried out for him to wait.

  But George wasn’t listening, and flailing both arms, his feet tangled in the long black material of the cassock as he went tumbling down the steps. Jennifer gasped in horror, leaning all her weight on Bert as she subdued him long enough to call out to George. But the bump bump bump of his body down winding steps silenced, and all Jennifer could hear was Tinker, fussing over his lifeless owner, lying bloodied and motionless on the bottom of the stairwell floor.

  Chapter Fifty

  Jennifer took the tissue from her sergeant and blew her nose. The two-bar heater had warmed the chill from her bones, which was brought on by more than the weather as Moonlight descended. Arresting Bert had given her little comfort. George’s death struck deep, but her sergeant folded her arms, showing little emotion for the man she had helped over the year.

  ‘I know it’s sad, but you didn’t really know George. You’re best off forgetting about him.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? He’s barely cold,’ Jennifer said, shocked by the chill in her words.

  ‘If you knew the truth …’ Claire paused, signalling at Jennifer to close the door ‘… You might not have given him the time of day.’

  Jennifer leaned against the door and closed it without moving her gaze from Claire. ‘Go on then, tell me.’

  Claire sat on the edge of her desk, which was littered with overtime sheets and folders full of appraisals waiting to be completed. ‘Did you know he used to be a priest?’

  Jennifer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘No I didn’t, but he was quite philosophical at times, I suppose. Is that why he was wearing the cassock?’

  ‘I expect so. Father Butler served as a parish priest in Ireland for over twenty years until he left.’

  Jennifer nodded. The idea of George holding regular sermons was not a far stretch of the imagination. ‘A man of the cloth, eh? I wouldn’t hold that against him.’

  ‘You might feel differently when you hear his history. When he was thirty, he got a seventeen-year-old girl pregnant.’

  Jennifer’s hand touched her mouth. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘That’s not all. He arranged a secret abortion without the knowledge of her parents. It’s outlawed in Ireland, so he would have had to pull out some stops.’

  ‘That’s awful … but it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?’

  Claire nodded. ‘And he’s been paying for it ever since. It’s why he chose to be homeless. George’s loaded, but his guilt consumed him. He told me his story a while ago, and I promised to keep it to myself.’

  ‘To think …’ Jennifer’s eyes flared as her emotions tied themselves up in knots. ‘To think I gave him soup!’

  ‘It’s a mind fuck all right. On one hand I feel sorry for him, spending all those years on the street, but then I think of what he did and he repulses me.’

  Jennifer scrunched up her tissue and threw it in the bin. ‘I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t waste my tears.’

  ‘I think Bert wanted to make it look like George killed himself due to his guilt. That’s probably why he dressed him up in the cassock,’ Claire said, picking up her paperwork and throwing it down again.

  Jennifer knew the feeling, her own paperwork demanded her attention, but the Raven case had knocked her out of sorts, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything else. ‘Did George ever mention The Reborners to you? A vulnerable old man with money, sounds right up their street.’

  ‘No, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was a member. But without Bert’s testimony, who knows?’

  Jennifer nodded mechanically, dropping her gaze to the floor. Claire’s boots were scuffed with mud. ‘Where’s the dog?’

  ‘My mum’s keeping an eye on him at mine. Not many people want an old dog that howls for his master every night.’

  Jennifer gave an involuntary shudder. ‘I still can’t believe it. I really liked him.’

  Claire nodded, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. ‘As my old mum would say, “There’s nowt so queer as folk.”’

  After five hours in custody, force medical examiners and the mental health team agreed Bert was unfit for interview. He had been taken back to The Rivers for assessment, but it was unlikely he would ever be released. Jennifer hated cases like that, and knew her unanswered questions would keep her awake for some time to come.

  Arrests from The Reborners’ raid had gained little information, other than a cult being led by a supreme leader whose name was known to very few. As far as Jennifer was concerned, the mysterious man behind the mask was Bertram Bishop, and she hoped that, one day, the mental health team would draw out some answers.

  She checked her phone. A whole day had passed and Will had not called. She turned over in her bed, knowing she wouldn’t sleep without findin
g out how things had gone with his parents. Putting the phone to her ear, she groaned as the robotic tones of his automatic voicemail played out. She hated leaving messages due to her tendency to waffle, so she terminated the call before she could be tempted to ask why the hell he hadn’t rung. As long as he’s not having second thoughts about divorcing his wife. Jennifer sighed as her mind grew fresh worries. As if she didn’t have enough to keep her awake. But sleep came eventually, and as she turned and twisted she was given an insight of nightmarish proportions.

  It started much like many of her other nightmares, feeling lost in the darkness, alone and confused. Then she heard it. In a bleak confined space, an anguished moan. A clotted head wound, and beneath, a pool of congealed blood. Jennifer probed further and a man’s wrists came into view. Bloodied and torn, they were tightly bound with barbed wire, clasped behind his back. Jennifer gasped as she recognised a silver ring edged with dry blood. Black wings flapped overhead, opening their talons to claim their prey. Will! Jennifer screamed, unable to reach him. The raven’s eyes snapped towards hers as Jennifer’s energy spiked in fear. Long talons reached into her consciousness, tugging on the tailcoat of her thoughts.

  * * *

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  * * *

  Morning light came to rest on Jennifer’s face, and she wiped the sleep from her eyes, staring quizzically at the ruffled sheets and the pillows that had ended up on the floor. Recollection of the night before was hazy. She stared at the brightly lit screen of her iPhone, a sudden streak of terror running deep as the images in her nightmare began to filter through.