by Matt Drabble
“How was recently, was he unhappy, did he have any problems at home or in his private life?” McCullum knew that this was an accusatory question but he needed to see an honest reaction from the grieving mother.
“My son was wonderful” she replied curtly, “He had his mother and he had the lord to whom he prayed every day with devotion, every answer lies with god and now my son sits beside him as was gods will”.
McCullum noted this with puzzlement as it was the first mention of religion that he had heard in connection with the young man, as he wasn’t a religious man himself he searched for a way of furthering this enquiry without offending the woman through an indiscreet use of phrase.
“Arwel was religiously,..Active?” he ventured.
“Oh yes of course, my son was good god fearing child, he spent his hours serving the lord, attempting to bring the word to the heathens that walk among us” she left this hanging as she stared intently at McCullum for the first time, he took a shot in the dark.
“Amen to that” he said into his navel.
After a pause she seemed appeased. “Arwel was very active in the local community” she continued with pride, “Very well respected in our church organisation, he was always there with our vicar Father
Jacobs at St Paul’s” her voiced slowed again as she seemed to realise that all of these things would never be undertaken again by her son, McCullum saw a window.
“Would it be ok if I looked around Arwels room?” he could already see that Mrs. Thomas had slipped back into herself again and raised himself from off the sofa and skirted the now softly weeping woman. He headed back into the entrance hallway and climbed the stairs, he was accompanied by another collection of Arwel photographs as he ascended, the eyes were watchful and suspicious. The landing was sparse, only one door of the four that he could see was open, it was immediately obvious that this was the room he sought.
The young detective’s room was immaculate, his single bed was covered with a plain pastel duvet, a compact wardrobe stood impassively next to a small well kept wooden desk. There were no wall adornments save for a pine shelf that held several police textbooks, on the desk were several printed flyers all for organised activities for St Paul’s church, youth groups, community out-reach programs and several others all with one priests name connecting them all Andrew Jacobs. McCullum pulled open the top desk drawer, inside were various newspaper cuttings varying in age, all were articles featuring the same priest, the stories had been cut out carefully but the photographs of Father Jacobs had all been scratched out with a violent slashing motion. In the second drawer was a very large and well worn bible, McCullum hoisted the heavy book out and switched on the desk light. The pages of the bible were dog-eared and yellowing with age, a cursory flick through revealed several slashes of a highlighter pen screaming out in luminous colour, every word highlighted was the same “Grigori”.
Feral rage was brewing, Sam sat within the restrictions of the hire car and its tomb held his activities in check much against his instincts. The 11th Order were stealing a march on them, they had already made their approach to the one they sought, whilst the Grigori sat meekly like children and waited. He was not used to resting idle and every impulse he had was to rip the world asunder and cleave free the prize they hunted, tearing the flesh and freeing the blood of those who opposed. Aza sat silently without betraying his emotions adding nothing to the argument; he was a ghost that drifted alongside them without participating whilst Lucy sat in the driver’s seat. The combination of Aza’s inactivity and her patience that she exuded tore at Sam’s very fabric, her attitude of waiting was becoming increasingly impossible to stomach but for now, at least for now, he had to bide.
Baine walked purposefully back to his apartment lightened by his decision, he did not know just how his search would begin, but he knew that his decision to quest for the Cube had been heard and would be very soon answered. For the first time in this existence he felt a responsibility for his actions and a purpose for his life, he was his own man, well his own being at least, the true nature of himself was still relatively unclear as was the consequences of his choice. Once he found the Cube he would not have to fear slipping back into the darkness, into an unwelcome hibernation to awake again with no memory or purpose other than one laid before him like a woeful child. The Cube offered him salvation and freedom, a prize that he was now on the trail of and one that he would not be denied. If everything that Gabriel had told him was true, and that was a subject still up for debate as far as he was concerned, there were forces more powerful than he, both supporting and opposing his selection of destiny. He obviously had a master that had guided him, the jobs that he had performed had all arrived at his feet unsolicited and he knew not how, whatever master had ruled his unconscious drifting life was bound to be pissed but now, so was Baine.
The Grigori had sent two of its Nephilim to greet him and he had dispatched them straight back to hell, so let them come, let them all come and he’d burn them all down.
A large padded envelope greeted his arrival home, the package radiated intentions from its seated position outside of his door. The envelopes exterior did not carry any printed labels or franking indicative of delivery through any normal means, Baine picked up the envelope surprised at the weight, he plucked a small pairing knife from the kitchen rack and slid the sharp blade along the brown tape that sealed the package exposing its contents. Inside lay several glossy A4 photographs, the first was of a church, scrawled across the picture was a name St Paul’s, and underneath was an address. The second photo was of a middle aged vicar identified by the dog collar, he was tall and lean with powder white medium length hair and a kindly smile that seemed to Baine to not quite touch his eyes, again written across the picture was a name “Father Andrew Jacobs” and a message that simply read “He knows”.
Baine pulled out an A-Z map that he frequently used for locating those who fell across his path in a professional sense, he soon found the church’s location, it was situated in a pleasant enough looking suburban area towards the outskirts of the city. Baine checked his watch, it told him the time was 8.20pm, he walked over to the lush ivory sofa and sat down, it was too late to pay Father Jacobs a visit now so he would have to wait until morning. Baine as always faced the window the lights from the city invaded his home and he welcomed their intrusion, he sat amongst the shadows and waited for dawn, passing his time with thoughts of encouragements for the priest.
McCullum sat, waiting and trying not to wilt for his night had been busy, the reality of his profession was far removed from fiction, “Stakeouts” as the American term dictated, were very dull and very long, not once in his experience had anything ever happened within five minutes of sitting down. Almost exclusively surveillance operations consisted of taking photo’s with long lenses at very drawn out intervals. So here he sat at a discreet distance from St Paul’s Church of the Holy Serenity to give it its full and distinguished moniker. He had looked into the churches reputation as inconspicuously as he did not wanting his superiors, specifically DCI Jones, notified of his intentions to pursue the suicide of DC Thomas. He clentched the steering wheel in anger, his finger digging deep into the leather, no-one else had looked into the young detectives pleading eyes, no-one else had heard his mournful voice that had sought redemption, McCullum had, and now he had no choice but to find the truth. The rank of DI allowed a certain level of independence and lack of questioning from the majority of his colleagues, he only had to avoid DCI Jones in order to pursue his objective.
The church itself had an excellent reputation amongst the local community and beyond. St Paul’s had many arms that encompassed its parishioners, from the regular religious services, it also operated a free crèche for local working families, many money raising charity functions and despite the relative lack of serious trouble amongst the local youths, the churches Samaritan Knights Society seemed to be very popular. The youth club had an impeachable status within the police themselves, during
his surreptitious nosing McCullum had found that the levels of anti-social behavior within the territory of St Paul’s were practically nil and in any city in Britain in this day and age if you found that sort of success then you worshipped the architect. This architect in question, was Father Andrew Jacobs, a popular priest who hailed originally from Ireland, he was a man greatly respected and revered within his community. He had arrived in the parish around eight years ago and had set about his new environment with a whirlwind of actions, he had instigated all of St Paul’s outreach programs and within twelve months had raised the churches attendances tenfold so that now the church was the central hub of the community and everything flowed through it. The fact that the church seemed to hold such sway had immediately raised hackles on McCullum, he put it down at first to his suspicious cynical nature, but as he moved through the local population last evening chatting casually with those in the local shops and parks under the guise of community relations, he soon found that the almost blind reverence in which they held St Paul’s and Father Jacobs, was troubling to a police officer who spent the majority of his time scrapping up the remnants of one tyrant’s retributions visited upon an innocent culture .
So here he sat waiting to experience the priest first hand, without announcement, as he wanted to gage the man first hand and in an honest manner. He looked again at the dashboard digital clock, the numbers had now crept around to 6.37am, McCullum stretched as much as he could within the limitations of the police issued Ford Mondeo, he needed a shower, a coffee and a toothbrush, he had to settle for the roll of mints that he kept to allay the inevitable morning breath on such occasions. The early morning was dark and cold and McCullum’s knees cried out in submission at the damp and cramp conditions but he was reluctant to turn over the cars motor for the heater for fear of attracting any unwanted attention.
The sun was beginning to put in a reluctant appearance and the dim light provided began to illuminate the shadowy corners of the churchyard, McCullum cracked his neck and rolled his powerful shoulders he was mid yawn when a flash of movement caught his eye. The figure was gone from his sight in an instant leaving him unsure if he had seen anything at all, his head tilted to the left as his face showed the puzzled processing functions of his brain, his musings were interrupted by the welcome manifestation of Father Jacobs purposeful stride toward the church.
The priests age was listed as fifty seven but he had the walk of much younger man, he was tall and fit looking, the priest suddenly stooped and snapped toward McCullums position, he instantly sank into his seat beneath the windscreen, then immediately chastised himself for his incomprehensible actions, at this distance and in the light there was no possible way that Jacobs could have seen him, but still he felt strangely wary, the priest then turned back towards his church and headed inside.
McCullum waited for a few more seconds before exiting the car into the bitter morning and strode to the church gates, to his surprise they swung open without a high pitched gothic groan, the gravel path crunched nosily beneath his feet as he approached the imposingly large solid oak door. McCullum reached out and banged the wrought iron heavy knocker, the sound resonated and echoed throughout the churches interior, soon footsteps began to approach with intention, the door swung open and Jacobs stood before him. A flicker of anger flashed across the priests face so quickly that McCullum was not sure if it had ever existed at all, all of a sudden Jacobs’ charisma flowed in powerful pulsating waves that McCullum felt despite his professional detachment and surprisingly he felt a smile raise across his face despite himself.
“Yes?” the priest inquired politely.
“Father Jacobs”, McCullum asked not wanting the priest to know that he knew him already.
“I am indeed, how can I help you?”
McCullum fished out his ID and offered it, he watched the mans face carefully, upon the presentation of his police identification, he had seen faces showing varying emotions, fear, guilt, intimidation and excitement, the priest merely looked on impassively with patience, McCullum filed the response away for later review,
“I wondered if you could spare me a little time to talk about Arwel Thomas”.
Jacobs dropped his head and lowered his eyes, “Ah, such a tragedy” he spoke in hushed tones, “Please, come in come in” the priest stepped aside and McCullum entered the churches sanctum.
Jacobs led him into and through his house of worship, the light was risen enough for them to navigate toward a door at the rear, the interior of the church was large and airy, the pews were well kept and a lemony scent rose from them presumably from almost constant, violent polishing. A large and daunting alter held sway over the room, McCullum could suddenly picture the priest holding court over his disciples, emanating waves of peace and tranquility, soothing troubles and washing away doubts and fears, he suddenly stopped himself mid thought stream. Subconsciously he seemed to have developed an almost instant like for the priest, this troubled him as he never formed instant opinions on anyone, priding himself on an emotional detachment that allowed him to observe without judgment.
They had walked through the church in silence until they reached the rear door, Jacobs ushered him into a smallish office, McCullum’s aching joints sighed relief with the welcome warmth of the room.
“Please sit Inspector” Jacobs pointed to an antique looking heavy set chair.
McCullum sat into the historic piece of furniture, he had not identified his rank to the priest who must have read his ID very closely in the short space of time that he had held it aloft.
“A terrible business this suicide” Jacobs spoke quietly and with pain, “I blame myself you know” he swung a look at McCullum, “Not in any direct manner I assure you” he continued with a slight friendly smile. “It is my duty to care for my flock detective, if one of my children is suffering in such a way then I really should have realised”, the priest stood with his back to McCullum, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed.
“How well did you know Arwel?” McCullum posed.
“I know all of my children here, I know them and they know me, here lies their sanctuary” he turned and swept his arms wide, “This is where they can always come for my love and understanding”.
“Is there any reason that you can think of that may have been behind Arwel’s motives, any problems that he may have mentioned?” McCullum was beginning to feel the full force of the priest’s personality within the small confines of the office, making his thoughts swim together, warmly and blurred.
“I searched my soul many fold for the answer to that question Inspector, but I can find no answers other than the will of God, it was his decision to recall his child to his side and we must all abide by his word”.
“Was Arwel involved with the church outside of normal services” McCullum continued, now struggling to even remember his reasons for being here bothering this gentle man of God.
“No not really, I believe that he gave a talk to some of our younger members, a positive role model if you will, keeping the youths on the straight and narrow” Jacobs’ friendly smile, McCullum noticed, did not seem to quite touch his eyes.
“Have you ever heard the name Baine before” he asked wanting to turn the conversation abruptly, he scanned the priest’s eyes for recognition or concealment he couldn’t be sure if he saw either and disliked himself for even trying, obviously this kindly man was unworthy of his suspicions.
Jacobs folded his arms across his chest and looked the perfect picture of thoughtful consideration, “I don’t think so Inspector, no, no I’m afraid that the name doesn’t ring any bells so to speak, why is it important?”
“No I don’t think so Sir, just a name that popped up somewhere”, McCullum waved a hand to dismiss the very notion. “Well if you can think of anything please call me”, he stood and handed the priest his business card with his police extension and his mobile numbers whilst at the same time feeling dismayed at the wrenching sensation at having to leave the Priests’ presenc
e.
Jacobs opened the door for him, for the briefest of moments their arms brushed and McCullum felt a stab of revulsion at the slight contact, it passed as soon as they broke leaving him to wonder if it had ever existed at all.
McCullum stepped first back into the church, the morning light now cascaded through the impressive stain glass windows and the rainbow colours strikingly lit the interior. The Jacobs followed him out, they reached the door and Jacobs stepped past to open his exit.
“I’ll be sure to keep you in mind Inspector” the priest said bidding him farewell.
McCullum passed through the doorway back into the damp morning, floating on the warm words, he turned to respond and express a confused thanks but only found himself facing a closed door. His crunching footsteps accompanied him back to his waiting car, he suddenly span back toward the churchyard, something was there, something was watching, he scanned the landscape for the source but he could see nothing and no-one. McCullum had possessed and trusted his instincts for way too long now to doubt his senses, someone had been there he was sure, the soggy ground began to eat through his feet and creep toward his knees, he shrugged and headed back to the comforting warmth of his vehicle, something felt wrong here, he could not place it but felt a strange urge to protect the benevolent priest, he felt unable to leave as though he now had a new obligation to Father Jacobs and St Paul’s. The longer he sat here across from the churches shadows the feeling began to subside to dull ache in the pit of his stomach, eventually he started the engine and eased away.