“I wish we could do this every night, Peter,” Izzie said, dreamily.
“Well, there's one way we could do it every night, mornings too if you wanted to,” he replied.
Izzie sat up straight and looked him in the eye.
“Peter Foster, you bad, bad boy. Are you asking me, a police sergeant of all people, to move in with you and live in sin?”
“No.” was all he said and fell silent.
“What then? What exactly do you mean?”
Peter stubbed out his cigarette in the large glass ashtray on top of the bedside cabinet and quietly opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet, removing a small, blue velvet box. He slowly turned towards Izzie, whose eyes began to glisten with tears of emotion as he opened the box to reveal a sparkling diamond solitaire ring.”
“Marry me, Izzie, please.”
“Oh God, Peter. Are you serious?”
“Deadly, if you'll excuse the word, considering my job,” he replied, slipping the ring slowly onto the third finger of her left hand. It was a perfect fit.
“How did you know my size?”
“I guessed.”
“Wow.”
“Well?”
“Eh?”
“What's your answer you daft girl?”
Izzie fell silent, looked Peter Foster in the eyes, and then, after keeping him waiting for an agonising fifteen seconds, she threw her hands round his neck, kissed him passionately on the lips, whispered the one word, “Yes,” and lay back, pulling Peter on top of her as they took up from where they'd left off half an hour ago.
Chapter 22
A Question of Faith
A few minutes after Andy Ross had climbed out of bed, feeling great after his night of unbridled passion with Maria, the telephone rang. Surprised to hear the voice of D.C.I. Porteous so early in the morning, Andy nevertheless came instantly alert as his boss asked him to arrive a quarter of an hour early and meet him in his office before commencing the morning briefing with the team. All would be explained when he got there, Porteous informed him.
Intrigued, Ross quickly showered and dressed and popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster as he made coffee for himself and Maria, who arrived in the kitchen as the kettle boiled.
“Who was that on the phone?” she asked, smiling at Ross, her eyes a little bleary from lack of sleep.
“The boss. He wants to see me before the briefing.”
“Did he say why?”
“Nope, all very mysterious if you ask me. I tried not to wake you, but failed by the look of it. You look tired, darling.”
“Hardly surprising is it? You wore me out last night, Mr. Super Stud,” she laughed and Ross grinned back at her.
“Your fault,” he laughed in return, as the toast popped up. “You shouldn't have worn that incredibly sexy little number should you? But I'm bloody glad you did.”
Maria giggled, grabbing the two rounds of toast, buttering them and placing them on a plate on the table for him, placing two more slices in the toaster for herself.
“Ha, it didn't stay on very long once you got going, did it, you sex maniac?”
“Yes, well, if I'm not totally knackered tonight, how do you fancy a rematch?”
“Now, that sounds like an offer a girl can't possibly turn down,” she said as Ross hurriedly swallowed the last piece of toast and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he'd left it the previous night. A quick kiss, and Ross was out the door, climbing into his car and on his way to work.
* * *
“You're not serious, sir, surely?” Ross asked as he sat across from Harry Porteous in the D.C.I's office, the door closed to prevent anyone hearing their conversation.
“But I am, Andy,” Porteous insisted. “I'm taking early retirement and I'll be leaving at the end of the month. That's why I'd really like to finish on a high and get this bloody churchyard case closed with a couple of arrests before I go.”
“May I ask why you're retiring, sir. I mean, you're still relatively young?”
“Exactly, Andy, and that's one compelling reason to go now, while I'm young enough to enjoy life with Sarah. And no, before you ask, she hasn't pressured me into it. I've been a copper for over thirty years, Andy, and I'll get a full pension and we can enjoy some quality years together, maybe do a round the world cruise or two, who knows”
“I take it Jake and Laura are happy for you too?”
Porteous's two children were both grown up and married, Jake, the eldest, now a successful architect, and Laura was happily married to an airline pilot, had two children of her own, and lived down south, not far from Heathrow airport, where Geoff, her husband was based.
“They're delighted for us both, Andy. Geoff thought it was about time I treated his Mum to some good times, and Laura says it might mean we'll see more of the grandkids, and can go and visit her down in Hounslow more often, stay a while from time to time and so on.”
“Well,” Ross sighed, “I guess we'd better pull out all the stops and catch these murderous bastards for you, sir, hadn't we?”
“Yes, please,” Porteous smiled. “There's one other thing, Andy, a small matter of my replacement.”
Ross's stomach lurched, knowing Porteous might want him to accept a promotion and take over his job when he departed.
“Sir, I hope you don't want me to take over from you. I know I've passed the exams and everything, but you know as well as I do that I'm not cut out to direct investigations from behind a desk. I'm a field investigator, always have been and always will be.”
“I thought you'd say that, and I admit I tend to agree with you. You'd be like a fish out of water stuck in this office most of the day, every day, but I want you to know the promotion and the job's yours if you want it. The Chief Super has agreed to it if you decide that way but he also knows how you'd feel and to be honest you'd be a loss to the team if we took you out of the field of everyday investigative work. Thing is, if you do turn the promotion down, it might be a long time, if ever, before you get another chance at senior rank.”
“I don't mind, sir. Maria already earns more than me as a G.P. and we're not exactly hard-up. She knows I'd never want to be a desk jockey as well, so she won't mind me turning the job down.”
“Well, that's that, then. You'd better get off and get on with the briefing. We've got two killers to catch. My replacement will be announced in due course, but I'll make sure you're informed of the appointment before anyone else knows. I'm sure once the jungle drums start spreading the news of my imminent departure the chief will receive more than one or two calls with suitable, and maybe unsuitable candidates putting themselves forward for my job. You can inform the team but please ask them not to broadcast it too far and wide just yet.”
A handshake later and Ross exited the room, arriving in the squad's conference room just as the last of his team, in this case, D.C. Curtis was entering the room, the young detective holding the door open for Ross.
“Morning sir.”
“Morning Tony.”
Within five minutes, Ross had informed the team about Porteous's impending retirement, ending with the news that the Chief Superintendent wanted the D.C.I.'s replacement in place at least a week before his departure to give the new man a settling in period, working together with Porteous, so they should expect an announcement at any time on the name of their new boss.
Ross allowed a further ten minutes for the rest of the team to update him with mostly negative progress reports, before he informed them of the phone call from D.I Agostini the previous afternoon.
“Bloody hell, sir,” Izzie Drake said. “That throws a new light on everything, surely.”
“It must do,” Paul Ferris agreed. “It could mean the case has nothing to do with the past, or with Speke Hill, but could be rooted right here in the present.”
“Possibly,” said Ross, “but this Kelly girl was raped by Remington, not by Proctor. We have no evidence as yet to give us a concrete link between the two men,
yet something has to put them in the frame together for something, sometime. We have to look at another possibility too. If Remington raped Lisa Kelly, it's highly likely he raped or assaulted others too. We all know a lot of women refuse to report rape or other sexual assaults for a variety of reasons, one of which we've seen in the Kelly case, with all too tragic results. I also want us to look into rapes and assaults that have been reported but remain unsolved for, say, the last three years, to begin with, and while we're at it, let's look a lot deeper into Mark Proctor's life. Izzie and I are going to talk with Father Byrne this morning. Christine, please join us. I'd like your thoughts on the good Father. The rest of you, get to it, people. Tony, take Sam and pay a visit to The Belerophon. Knock the landlord up out of bed if you have to. Show him the photo of Proctor, maybe also the one of Remington. Let's see if either man used the pub regularly or at least any time recently, assuming the landlord takes notice of who's drinking in his pub.”
“But isn't it more likely the killers chose the pub sir, rather than it being a hang out for the victims?” Curtis asked.
“Yes, it is, Tony,” Ross replied, “but we're clutching at straws a little. It may be our killers first encountered one or both of the dead men in The Belerophon and identified them as targets from there. We have to explore all possibilities.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Good. As interviews with the staff at Speke Hill produced nothing we have to assume if anything linked the dead men it was either something that happened there a long time ago, which is where Father Gerald Byrne could be helpful, or as we now suspect, something much more current in time, so we need to look very deeply into every and I mean every, aspect of these men's lives.”
“Any good talking to the mother of the dead girl, sir?” Derek McLennan asked.
“Maybe, Derek. Go and see her. I wouldn't trust myself near that woman right now. I hate to say it but she's right, her daughter would probably be alive today if she'd handled things differently. Show her Proctor's photo as well. See if you get a reaction.”
“Right sir,” said McLennan, pleased to have his suggestion acted upon.
“While you're at it, see if there's anyone at the Church of St. John the Baptist near her home. Remington went there a few times apparently. The priest there might remember him, and Derek?”
“I know sir, show him the photo of Mark Proctor, too.”
“Good man, you're learning.” Ross smiled at the young detective.
* * *
“Are you alright sir?” Izzie asked Ross as they drove across town en-route to St. Luke's to speak to Gerald Byrne. “You're very quiet. Is it D.C.I. Porteous?”
“No, Izzie, nothing like that. I've had something eating away at the back of my mind since I talked with D.I. Agostini yesterday. Something, a buried thought almost broke through as he said something, I don't know what, but it came and went before my conscious mind could grasp it.”
“I might be able to help with that,” said Christine Bland from her seat in the back of the car.”
“Really?” Ross asked. “How?”
“It's a technique for helping witnesses remember long buried thoughts. The Americans have used it with some success. I studied the method while I was at Quantico. Maybe we can try when we get back to your office later. We need peace and quiet and no distractions, hardly the thing we can do in a moving car.”
“I'll think about it, thanks,” said Ross as Drake slowed the car down as she pulled up outside St. Luke's Church.
* * *
The two detectives, plus Christie Bland, had been greeted like old friends by the redoubtable Mrs. Redding and were shown into the sitting room and invited to sit. Ross and Drake took up positions on one of the two large, comfortable sofas in the room, the profiler taking up one of the two velour upholstered armchairs. Mrs. Redding scurried away to summon Father Byrne, who, she informed the inspector, was taking a breath of fresh air in the garden. Before the priest arrived, Ross spoke quietly to Izzie Drake.
“Usual strategy, Izzie, OK?”
“OK sir.”
In reply to Bland's quizzical look, Ross explained.
“We each take a different tack. I go one way, and Izzie will step in with questions that deviate from the main point. It tends to throw a suspect off and often leads to them slipping up.”
“So Father Byrne is a suspect?” Bland asked.
“Only until we can definitely eliminate him, Christine. Your opinions on him may help us in that respect, which is why I wanted you along today. He's closely connected with the victims, albeit historically, and the orphanage, and he arrived on the scene just a short time before the murders began.”
Byrne joined them a couple of minutes later and, introductions over, took a seat in the remaining armchair.
Ross was impressed by the physical appearance and overall demeanour of the priest, who certainly looked as if he could handle himself in a bar-room brawl if needs be. The man exuded an overall sense of athleticism, perfect for hauling a body up and suspend it from an angel memorial, the inspector thought.
“So, how can I help you, Detective Inspector?” Byrne addressed his question directly to Ross, who appreciated the fact that Byrne used his correct title. So many people simply called him 'inspector' and he hadn't the heart to correct them most of the time.
“I'm sure you're aware of the recent murders that have taken place in two local churchyards?”
“Only too aware, Detective Inspector. Horrific, truly horrific.”
“The thing is, I've been made aware by the staff at Speke Hill that you were actually acquainted with both victims.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, Inspector, I knew Mark Proctor, quite well at one time, but the first victim…er?”
“Matthew Remington, Father.”
“Yes, right, thank you. You must understand, Detective Inspector Ross, that at the time I was at Speke Hill as a boy there were probably around a thousand children resident and being educated there. I'm perhaps exaggerating slightly, but it was certainly well over five hundred, I'm sure. I'm not sure how well you've been informed on the set-up back then, but the boys were of course segregated from the girls in respect of their living accommodation, and we were further split up into various dormitories usually up to thirty boys per dorm. We would all have known the boys in our own dormitory rather well as we lived with them on a day to day basis, but, unless our paths crossed during lessons at school, or if we played together in one of the various school sports teams, we could go through our entire time at Speke Hill without making the acquaintance of some of the boys or girls who lived separately from our own dorm, which in many ways was like our own private world within the orphanage.”
“So you're saying you didn't know Matthew Remington at all, Father?”
“To be honest, Inspector, what I'm saying is I don't remember a boy of that name. Our paths may have crossed but I know for sure he wasn't in my dorm and I don't remember him from any sports teams. I was quite good at various sports in those days, played football for the school, rugby too.”
“Would a photo help, Father?” Izzie Drake asked. “We had a couple of detectives over there to talk to the staff about Mark Proctor and Miss Manvers loaned these to us,” she said, opening a large brown envelope and withdrawing a small handful of black and white photographs, each one a different year photograph of boys and girls, all posed in what Ross now assumed to be individual dormitory groups.
“Ah, yes, the redoubtable Miss Manvers,” Byrne replied, smiling knowingly at the sergeant. “I hope she was helpful, Sergeant. I shouldn't say this, but that lady is a bit of a dragon at times.”
Drake smiled back at the priest, warming to the man.
“We've noticed, Father, yes. Now, please take a look at these for me.”
“Perhaps if you could point out the boy you're referring to, it might be helpful, or I could sit here all day and not realise I'm looking at him.”
Ross, agreeing that was a fair point if Byrne was be
ing truthful, nodded at Drake, and she leaned across and pointed a finger at a thin and gangling boy, aged about twelve or thirteen, who stood at the end of the tiered ranks of boys in the picture. The photographer had arranged the boys, smallest in front, tallest at the back, with the medium height lads in the centre row, with Remington and another taller boy acting as 'book ends' at each end.
“That's the young Matthew Remington, Father,” said Drake. “Ring any bells?”
Byrne studied the photograph intently for a while. His brow furrowed as he allowed his mind to drift back in time, recognition slowly beginning to dawn as he peered at the boy in the picture.
“That's Plug,” he suddenly said, his brain eventually plucking the name from his memories of the past.
“Plug?” Ross asked
“As in the Bash Street Kids, Inspector, in the comic, The Beano.”
“Yes, I remember it,” Ross nodded his head, as he reached across, took the photo from Byrne and glanced at it.
“Oh, I see what you mean,” he smiled at the priest. The young Matthew Remington did bear an uncanny and unfortunate resemblance to the character in The Beano.
“So you did know him, Father?” Drake now asked.
“Well, yes and no, Sergeant. He wasn't a friend or anything like that, and he tended to be the butt of quite a few jokes and taunts because of his looks. It wasn't his fault of course, but, well, boys will be boys, and especially back then, when there was less, shall we say, tolerance, he got a lot of grief because of his teeth especially. I can only assume he eventually had them fixed when he grew up.”
“Yes, he must have done,” Drake agreed. “They definitely weren't as bad as they were back then, anyway. So, what exactly was your relationship with him, Father?”
“I didn't have a relationship with him, Sergeant. I suppose all the lads knew him as Plug of course, and we all indulged in our own fair share of teasing him, I'm ashamed to say. He most definitely wasn't in any of my classes, or sports teams. I do recall he wasn't too bright, and I was in the top stream for most subjects, so our paths wouldn't have crossed much. You must understand I was just a child, not a priest at that time, no different to any other boy of my age really, so might easily have been involved in a bit of name-calling and so on, but I never really knew him, and wouldn't have known him at all if you hadn't shown me that photograph. I'm not even sure if I would have known his real first name in those days, let alone his surname. He was just Plug to me. I do seem to recall him being something of a troublemaker, a bit like Mark Proctor. I think every dorm had one or two boys like that.”
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