‘Only a couple of hundred miles away yes, but I can still feel Tom’s eyes burning into the back of my head even from here, so can I first offer, once again, my apologies for the keys, Tom.’ This received little more than a silent shrug from the Dean, ‘OK, with that out of the way, tell me, what did you find out?’
‘The list you sent me was a bit vague but I did uncover a lot of information on satanic rituals such as the ones you described, including one pertaining to your own personal marriage ceremony.’
‘Alex got married!’ Doggie exclaimed with a look of astonishment.’
‘Yeah,’ Carter chuckled, ‘to another man.’
‘Really, Alex, I didn’t know your bread was buttered on that side!’ Doggie joked but still looking surprised. ‘Does Chloe know?’
‘Ha, ha, Tom, it wasn’t like that.’
‘Huh, shame,’ Doggie replied before expelling a loud chortle. ‘You’d have made an excellent bride.’
‘I appreciate that, Tom, but can we now get to what you’ve found out please?’
‘Of course,’ Carter said and he began to flick through the old book before settling on a single page with a green cardboard bookmark protruding from it. ‘There’s an entry here pertaining to a ceremony called “the joining of the light”, but there was nothing satanic about it. It was a Druidic ritual, for men only, that signified self-dedication to the gods or perhaps to the earth itself – that part’s a bit unclear, I’m afraid. What’s interesting, though, is that one of the symbols used was a swastika, which really stands out because I can’t find any other connection between Druids and that sign elsewhere. Furthermore, there was another ritual linked to it, but I’ve not yet managed to unearth it.’
‘Thanks David. Can you keep looking then, and there’s something else I need you to look for.’ Harker was now almost shouting to be heard above the static. ‘See if it’s linked to any objects or specific runes.’
‘Objects? Such as?’ Doggie wanted to get involved in the conversation.
‘Like an oval crystal that pulsates with red light.’
Harker’s description had Carter and Doggie staring at each other blankly.
‘I’ve never come across anything like that, Alex,’ Carter finally replied, frankly dumbfounded.
‘I’m going to send you a picture of this thing. It’s really weird, emitting a red light, and has swastikas and other such markings engraved in to it. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’
‘OK,’ Carter was looking puzzled, ‘send it over and I’ll see what I can come up with but, for the record, I have never even heard about a runestone displaying those kinds of properties – or anything even close. It sounds like something from Close Encounters of the Third Kind or something.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Harker replied, as the line began to worsen. ‘Just see what you can find… and, David, I’m sending you two numbers. One is the mobile I’ll be using from now on, and the other is for Stefani Mitchell.’
‘Ahhh, that lady Templar you told me about?’
‘Yes, we’ve gone our separate ways for the time being, but I want you to bring her up to speed with anything you do find as well, OK.’
‘Leave it with me,’ Doggie declared firmly and he raised his left eyebrow as if to lay down his authority in this matter, but the gesture was met instead with an embarrassed shaking of Carter’s head.
‘Don’t worry Alex, we’ll keep her in the loop,’ Carter assured.
‘Thanks, I’ll be in tou—’
The line abruptly cut out and Doggie began to head back down the walkway without saying a word.
‘Hey, Tom,’ Carter called out after him and the Dean stopped and swivelled on his heel to face him. ‘Don’t forget who’s in charge here,’ Carter continued as he opened up his jacket and pointed to the shiny metal badge that Brulet had bestowed upon him.
Doggie stared at the trinket for a few seconds without any expression, then he slowly began to clap. ‘Yes David, you have a little badge. Good for you.’ He gave a sarcastic smile then turned around a full 180 degrees and continued striding till he had disappeared down one of the walkways.
Carter huffed loudly, then he grasped the badge, opened up the work-desk drawer and dropped it inside. He next took a sip of his tea and let out a disgruntled sigh.
‘Twat!’
Chapter 17
Due to a strong tailwind, the flight to Paris had been quicker than expected and Harker had slept the whole way, just waking up in time to see the sun rise as they touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport on the outskirts of that beautiful city. A short taxi ride later and he asked to be dropped off a quarter of a mile from the address that Stefani had texted him. Initially he had intended to be driven right up to the door but when he realised where it was, he couldn’t deny himself the chance to take some time to enjoy his present surroundings. Located on Avenue de New York and at the edge of the Seine river, the house had a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, which soared high above the skyline on the other side. Whatever kind of practitioner this Dr Marceau was, he got well paid for it because the house prices here must have been astronomical.
With his hands in his pockets, Harker strolled up to the front door and gazed up at the fine stone façade of the Haussmann-style building. Built in six storeys, the second floor was known as ‘Noble’ because in the days before elevators it allowed the wealthy owners easy access to the grandest rooms. Of course in the modern era it didn’t matter and, as Harker inspected the apartment buzzers, he found Dr Marceau’s nameplate linked to that on the third floor. Not quite ‘Noble’ but still impressive. He pressed it and waited patiently, enjoying the sight of two young lovers passing him by, who clung together so tightly that he doubted even a crowbar could prise them apart.
‘Oui?’ a voice crackled over the intercom, and Harker dutifully reverted to French.
‘Dr Marceau?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr name is Alex Harker and I was hoping to speak with you.’
‘Who?’
‘Alex Harker. I was an acquaintance of the late Father Davies.’
There was a pause and then the intercom clicked on again.
‘I’ve already spoken to the police. I’ve told them all there is to tell.’
The man sounded cautious but this was no surprise to Harker. ‘I’m not with the police, Doctor, I’m a professor at Cambridge University and a close friend of Father Davies’s daughter. It was she who asked me to speak with you – if you have the time?’
The respectful pleasantry had the intended effect and the door lock now buzzed open.
‘Very well, please come up.’
The lobby was dark inside and, after noting the elevator’s ‘out of order’ sign, Harker, with a groan, climbed the black stone steps to reach the third floor, where he found a chubby man in his fifties about six-foot-tall, wearing a beige cashmere jumper, brown corduroy trousers and sporting a peculiar pair of red horn-rimmed reading glasses and standing in the apartment’s doorway. Dr Marceau said nothing as Harker approached but he protectively closed the door halfway.
‘You’ve nothing to fear from me Dr,’ Harker reassured, with both palms raised in a gesture of peace. ‘I only want to talk to you, if that’s OK?’
Dr Marceau gave Harker a careful look up and down and, seemingly convinced his guest was not someone to be worried about, he beckoned him closer. ‘Then you’d better come in, Professor.’
The door had now been opened fully and Harker offered a polite nod before entering, whereupon Marceau closed the door behind him and clicked a couple of thick brass locks, one underneath the other. Whoever this was, he was definitely a man who considered his security of paramount concern.
‘After you.’ His host pointed along the bare-wood flooring of the hallway. ‘We can talk in there.’
The living room was as charming as the building’s exterior and, although somewhat sparse in furniture, it boasted a wealthy, aristocratic vibe that said ‘I’m wealthy but have
no need to show it’. Off to Harker’s left a light-green double sofa stood behind a cracked marble coffee table, with a tub chair on the opposite side, and at the far end of the room hung a large mirror above a white, stone fireplace, its reflection giving greater depth to the room. Off to the right an open doorway led into what looked like a narrow dining room with a thin table surrounded by black leather doughnut bar stools. Either the doctor did very little entertaining or he didn’t mind his guests being extremely uncomfortable whilst eating.
‘Have a seat.’ Dr Marceau gestured and Harker took the far end of the sofa, as his host took the black leather tub chair. ‘Now, what is it I can do for you, Professor Harker?’
Despite the cordial words Dr Marceau looked intensely uncomfortable and Harker immediately set about trying to put the man at ease.
‘As I said, Dr Marceau, I was asked by Father Davies’s daughter, Stefani Mitchell, to speak with you in the hope you could spread some light on his…’ Harker paused as he tried to find the appropriate words, ‘…untimely and macabre demise.’
‘Well, that is one way to put it, I suppose, but perhaps gruesome, or even ghoulish is a better way.’
‘Quite,’ Harker replied, glad to see the doctor was prepared to be upfront concerning the unpleasant business. ‘She learned that you were there tending to the boy shortly before he and his mother were killed.’
‘That is correct. I was treating the boy for paranoid schizophrenia, as I informed the police.’
‘Really? Because we were told that Father Davies believed the boy to be possessed.’
The very mention of possession had Dr Marceau squinting and shaking his head dismissively. ‘Rubbish, the boy had a mental disorder, and it was Father Davies who managed over time to convince the child’s mother to accept otherwise. Davies should have been ashamed of himself for taking advantage of a vulnerable single parent like that.’
‘So you knew Father Davies then, before the murders?’
Marceau’s eyelids dipped so that it was clear to Harker that, even though the doctor had let slip his familiarity with the priest, he had certainly not wanted to.
‘Our paths had crossed from time to time, yes.’
‘How so?’
‘I saw him at the mother’s residence a few times when dispensing my medical duties, but we were never friends.’
He was now becoming visibly agitated and began to rub at the forefinger of his left hand and Harker now became convinced that, despite the good doctor’s evasive response, the man was chomping at the bit to get something off his chest.
He leant forward and eyed his host closely.
‘Doctor, I recently came into ownership of an item that Father Davies had apparently given to a friend for safe keeping. This item is rather unique and the man holding onto it was subsequently murdered because of it.’
Marceau said nothing but his eyes began to widen and he rubbed his forefinger ever harder as Harker continued.
‘I also went to visit his house but was greeted by a grotesque sculpture of a slaughtered bull, before some young man attempted to drown me. That same fellow was found chopped up into pieces in the back of a police van soon after, and later on I myself witnessed a satanic ritual of some sort – one that he was supposed to attend. Would you have any thoughts on the matter?’
A thin film of perspiration had now appeared across Dr Marceau’s temples and, although he had stopped rubbing at his finger his breathing was getting quicker and he inhaled deeply, then slowly released a sigh.
‘Do you still have that object?’ Dr Marceau asked blankly
‘Not on me but, yes, I do.’
Marceau sat back in his tub chair, letting his arms droop over the sides as his shoulders sagged. ‘You know you’re on a dangerous path, Professor?’
‘That I’m aware of,’ Harker replied, leaning in closer as one would do to tell a secret. ‘The real question is,’ he said in little more than a whisper, ‘what do you know?’
As Harker watched the man’s expression begin to glaze over, he realised that the one to talk next would be the loser. Like during an interrogation, where silence itself is one of the most powerful weapons available, he remained silent as outside the droning of a bus passing by did nothing to relieve the intensity of the moment.
Nearly an entire minute thus went by, and Harker was almost about to put the same question again, when Marceau’s lips opened very slightly and he quietly murmured, as if having to force the words from his mouth, ‘Come with me.’
The doctor stood up and made his way into the adjacent dining room, followed closely by his visitor. He then stopped at a closed door, produced a silver-coloured Yale key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. ‘Don’t judge me until I’ve had a chance to explain,’ Marceau continued, waiting for Harker to nod in agreement before turning the key and walking inside and flicking on the light.
The aroma of burnt joss sticks hung in the air and, even though they stank, that was the only pleasant thing about the room. It was about half the size of the living room and every square inch of wall space was covered with framed photographs, drawings and newspaper cuttings relating to God knows what. Four plywood bookshelves held what must have been a few hundred titles, ranging from Dante’s Inferno to works concerning human biology and particle psychics. At the far end, underneath a blacked-out window, a thick beechwood writing desk held on its surface a pile of papers and journals, along with three small shrunken heads; the eyes and mouths sewn shut and acting as paperweights.
Harker had seen shrunken heads once before at Oxford’s Pitt Rivers museum and, although ugly little things, they weren’t exactly something for which he would judge someone badly, but as he gazed downwards he realised what Dr Marceau had been referring to. Taking up the entire width of the floor was a pentagram carved into the floorboards, embellished with the satanic image of a goat’s head whose horns, ears and chin comprised the five points.
‘Please allow me to explain.’ Marceau stated quickly, as Harker stared at him in surprise and contempt. ‘The pentagram on the floor is just for research. It’s not what you think.’
‘No, what I’m thinking is far worse,’ Harker stated flatly, staying close to the doorway. ‘What kind of doctor are you anyway?’
‘I’m not Doctor Death, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
Marceau headed over to the desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a picture frame. ‘All this stuff is research, nothing more,’ he explained and passed it over to Harker. ‘Father Davies and I were working on it together.’
Harker warily took the frame from Marceau’s outstretched hand and glanced down at it, but all the time keeping the creepy fellow in his line of sight. The frame contained a colour photograph of Father Davies and Dr Marceau both wearing shorts, matching blue T-shirts and each with a heavy backpack on his shoulders. The two men were smiling and behind them lay a vast expanse of thick forest wilderness stretching out as far as the eye could see.
‘That’s us in the Republic of Congo during our last trip there,’ Marceau said with pride before retrieving the frame.
‘Let me guess, that’s where you met the Devil and his strange glowing orbs.’ Harker said sarcastically, beginning to feel queasy from the sheer stuffiness of the room.
‘No, it wasn’t like that at all.’
‘Then what was it like?’ Harker erupted, now having reached his limit. So far he had been drowned, shot at and even got married, and he did not intend to finish it all off with having to sit through a presentation of this nutty doctor’s holiday snaps.
‘You said you would allow me to explain, so let me.’
Harker rubbed at his forehead, then nodded, as Marceau now trailed a finger across the row of books sitting on one of the shelves.
‘Since the time mankind was first able to pass on stories from one generation to another, either orally or through drawings, the concept of good and evil has always existed – or to use modern language, heaven and hell.’
&nb
sp; ‘OK.’ Harker gave a sigh. ‘I’m listening, but could you start at the beginning. Because I’m struggling to get on board here, if you know what I mean?’
‘Understood,’ Marceau agreed, appearing glad just to have the opportunity to tell someone about what he at least believed he had discovered. ‘I have always had a fascination with the occult,’ he began.
‘You’re not kidding,’ Harker said, looking down at the pentagram at his feet.
‘Yes, yes, yes. Well, I first met Father Davies at a lecture on the very nature of heaven and hell, on the concept of good and evil. Father Davies had just given up his position in the Church, and was now looking for answers to this very issue. It was this very subject, I discovered later on, that encouraged him to leave the Church in the first place. So we met by chance and then began researching the subject together: what were the origins of these concepts before religion, before society, even before any real culture had taken hold. Back when modern humans had barely begun to spread out from Africa.
Marceau pulled a slim book out with its red cover, flicked it open to the right page and then passed it over to Harker.
‘We heard about a tribe still living deep in the Congo which had been completely isolated since… well, forever. From what we can gather none of the members ever left Africa or even the Congo.’
Marceau pointed next to a black and white photograph in the book of some tribesmen dancing in a group, with the words Mbuti inscribed above it.
‘I’ve heard of them before,’ Harker remarked. ‘They rarely grow above five feet tall and are also known under the umbrella term “pygmies”. They live somewhere in the northern Congo – the lturi forest I think.’
Harker’s display of knowledge earned a smile from Marceau, and he continued with enthusiasm. ‘We found tales from the 1600s relating to the Mbuti stating they originated from another core tribe that remained still unaccounted for… until we discovered it.’
Marceau looked thrilled and, even though the idea of lost tribes was certainly interesting to Harker, it was not really at the top of his priority list at the moment. He remained quiet, listening attentively.
The Dark Temple Page 12