FRANKS, Bill

by JESUIT

  The morning began, thankfully, a little cooler than of late, but still warm, a slight breeze adding to the comfort, even though the breeze itself was warm. Sampler had told Bethany of his trip and that it was unavoidable. He failed to mention the company of the pathologist. Bethany was accustomed to such arrangements, however; a policeman’s job cannot guarantee regular hours. It is not a nine-to-five occupation.

  The guilt he had felt on leaving home disappeared as soon as he saw Sallie, metal instrument case in hand, standing elegantly on the drive near to the entrance to Scotland Yard. She smiled as he approached and, leaning over the passenger seat, he opened the door for her.

  As she got in and clicked the seat belt into place, she had to pull herself back from giving him a greeting kiss. What was she thinking of? Graham moved smoothly away, following the curve of the driveway out onto the road again. They stole a glance at each other, noting the excited gleam in the other’s eyes, and the flushed cheeks. The adrenalin was buzzing. As little as a week ago, neither one could have anticipated embarking on an adventure risking the happiness of their partnerships. This was all wrong; it was unnecessary; it was devious; it was thrilling!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was as Sampler and Dunning were taking the route away from The Met, that Ignatious was arriving in the vicinity of the rendezvous for an assignation with Thomas Singleton, the grieving father of Debbie.

  Although he and Elizabeth’s marriage had failed, Thomas still held a soft spot for her and whilst in shock at the untimely death of his daughter, whom he loved so deeply, he had progressively sunk to a depth close to utter despair. In this state, he had come to visit his ex-wife, feeling that, being with Elizabeth, he was near to Debbie. Elizabeth persuaded him to speak to Father McGiven and seek comfort and advice. She could never forgive him for his betrayal, but her heart went out to the broken man.

  The visit to the church was not a complete success. Unable to console Thomas, the priest had suggested he meet Brother Ignatious Saviour, the man who had helped Elizabeth so much, following Debbie’s death.

  When Thomas had finally agreed to this, Father McGiven had traced Ignatious and asked him to come over, if he could spare the time, explaining the situation to him. “There is always time to comfort the unfortunate.” Ignatious had boomed down the phone and arranged to come that very day.

  Like everyone else, Thomas had come under the spell of this unusual priest, totally immersed in what he had to say. As Ignatious issued his new words of wisdom, Thomas felt his spirits rising again. The man seemed able to place everything in perspective. At the end of the meeting, Thomas was almost buoyant; he could not believe his present feelings. Father McGiven had sat in on the interview and had listened and watched in rapt awe, not saying a single word. Again, he felt in the presence of someone greater, not of this earth. Silly and impossible, but that was the feeling, beyond a doubt.

  Ignatious led the now consoled man to his car, a friendly arm around his shoulders. In a low voice, he suggested that they meet on the following day, around ten-thirty if suitable, at the place where Debbie’s body had been found. This, he explained, would exorcise any remaining demons and give Thomas a chance to cement his newfound optimism, without fear of returning to the despair that had overtaken him since their last meeting. Thomas had readily agreed.

  Back with Father McGiven, Ignatious decided to accept the kind offer of an evening meal, helped along with a small amount of red wine and he stayed chatting until eight in the evening. Whilst there, he allowed the parish priest to get in touch with Sergeant Flint in order to arrange a meeting with the detective investigating the recent spate of murders. He considered this to be a wise move, expecting to enchant the policeman as he did with all others, thereby allaying any suspicions the officer may be harbouring. An appointment was made for four o’ clock the next afternoon and it was to take place here, in the home of Father McGiven.

  Instead of parking the motor home in a convenient lay-by, Ignatious chose to drive a little way off the road and find a suitable place, hidden by the surrounding trees. It did not take long. The road he took, though fashioned by countless feet over the years, was reasonably flat and wide and he moved along steadily. Two minutes into the woods, he spotted a flat, wide area with just sufficient space between the trees in which to guide the vehicle. He brought it to rest as close to the trees as possible, reckoning that it would not be seen from the path. As he got out and secured it, he took in his bearings and then set off to meet Thomas at the main road, near to the pathway leading to the scene of Debbie’s death. It took him a mere five minutes.

  At twenty-five minutes past ten, by Ignatious’s watch, Thomas’s car came into view. Spotting the priest, he pulled into the lay-by and got out. Ignatious noticed the sprightliness of the walk as Thomas hurried towards him. His words had clearly had the desired effect.

  On their way to the scene, the couple chatted about everyday things, both avoiding the subject of Debbie. Thomas had arrived wearing jeans, trainers and a blue sports shirt, with short sleeves. The arms were bare and showed the pattern of several small tattoos: a snake-like dragon with evil eyes, an English flag, crossed daggers and the words, “England for ev--,” the last two letters being indecipherable but the conclusion clear. Ignatious made a mental note to use the tattoos as entry, if no other suitable place could be found.

  At last they reached the spot and, at the Jesuit’s suggestion, Thomas had a good look around, absorbing the atmosphere of the place.

  “Now, Thomas,” the quiet, calm voice came to him. “You are taking in the ambience. You can feel the vibrations. Your daughter’s spirit is here, with us today. Do not be afraid of it.”

  “But, Father, I let her down – and her mother. I went with another woman and, worse still, in our marital bed.”

  Ignatious allowed the term, ‘Father.’ “Yes, my son. You did wrong but the Almighty has forgiven you. If he can, then so can your ex-wife and Debbie. In fact, I can feel the vibrations. Debbie has forgiven you. She loves you very much, Thomas, and she always will. She is now in eternity and so that love will remain.”

  The kneeling man began to weep softly. “I do love you, Debbie. You know I do. Thanks for your forgiveness.” Although not a religious man, Thomas had clasped his hands as in prayer.

  “Do not weep, Thomas. Debbie is truly happy. She knows that she will see you in her place together with her mother and you will be happy. Your new wife will share in that happiness, too. Heaven is not a tangible place; it is a state, an aura. Your soul will feel no pain, no sadness, no anger or jealousy. There will be nothing from this human world, except happiness and love. You will visit worlds past, times long gone. You will be invaded by all the sights you ever wished to see and many of which you have no comprehension.”

  The soothing words were accompanied by the laying of hands on Thomas’s head. He felt the power of the Jesuit surge through him, holding him in a mental grip. I love this man, this priest. Scourge me! Do as you will with me! I want to feel your love! The thoughts flashed into his brain. He had no control.

  “Feel the air that God has provided. Feel it, enjoy it.” Ignatious raised his hands aloft, in prayer. “Take off all your clothes, my son. Fold them into a neat pile by that tree.” He did not point to the tree, merely indicated it with his mind. Thomas carried out his instructions, in a trance-like state, folding his removed clothing neatly and stacking them beneath a nearby tree. He then returned to the Jesuit and stood before him, arms by his sides, awaiting his next instructions.

  Naked that I am. Sinner that I am. Do with me as you will. Remove my sins! Scourge me! Love me!

  The priest ran his hands gently over Thomas’s shoulders and arms, searching for inoculation marks. High on the right upper arm, he found what he was looking for. Without prompting and without any question being asked verbally, Thomas began to relate why the injection had been made. It was in preparation for a world cruise taken six months ago aboard a P & O Ocean liner. He went on t
o describe the luxurious cabin facilities, the first class services, entertainment and the exotic places visited. Ignatious listened patiently, as he withdrew the unusual hypodermic syringe and a small phial containing a clear liquid. Filling the syringe, he pressed gently to allow a small amount to squirt from it to clear the air bubbles.

  Thomas continued his narrative, his eyes looking straight ahead, his expression vacant. He allowed his right arm to be raised by the priest, the story continuing without pause, and was unaware of the slim needle sliding easily into one of the tiny holes made by the holiday jab.

  As the fluid exploded into the vein, Thomas suddenly stopped talking, looking at his advisor, his counsellor, with some puzzlement. A lop-sided smile spread along his mouth, as Ignatious slowly backed away.

  Ignatious was interested to see what effect the poison would have. The dose, as always, was excessive. He watched in fascination as the smile faded from Thomas to be replaced with an unstifled yawn, followed by another. The stricken man then swayed from side to side before tottering forward in a clumsy attempt at walking, clearly feeling the effects of dizziness. Another attempted step, as he clutched at his dry throat, caused Thomas to fall. He tried to rise but was only able to get to his knees.

  Ignatious noted the extreme paleness of the face. When he tried to speak, Thomas could only grate out unintelligible words, in a husky voice

  He made another attempt to stand but was thwarted by legs that would not obey and a dizziness that prevented concentration. He remained on his knees. Ignatious moved nearer to him and knelt, studying the face. From the paleness, a scarlet rash had begun to appear and this spread like magic before the watcher’s eyes until it completely covered the face and neck. Thomas then began to choke and the veins at his temples began to stand out, throbbing wildly. The veins in his arms also began to pulse in the same erratic manner. Bulging eyes with greatly dilated pupils looked into Ignatious as though asking for a reason. Ignatious stared back into them, thought-waves conveying the message that, as a sinner, punishment was necessary to cleanse the soul. Powerful though it was, the thought failed to penetrate the dying mind and Thomas fell forward onto his face, the pulse now slowing at a rapid rate. He was dead within the next ten seconds. The poison, Atropine, had done its deadly work.

  The Jesuit then began to pray over the body, now empty of a soul. “Good Lord above, I pray to you for this wretched sinner. He failed in his family duties and was therefore punished. I pray that you approve of my method. He is now at peace and his soul comes to you cleansed and pure. He will now be able to join his beautiful daughter, taken into your all-loving embrace and I yearn for their happiness through eternity. Amen”

  With that, he knelt beside the corpse and reached into his shirt pocket. Very gingerly, he produced a small bunch of feathers, which he placed against Thomas’s right thigh. Rising, he walked briskly away to retrieve his transport, without once glancing back.

  Arriving in Penn, Sampler and Dunning searched around for somewhere to stay for the night. Amongst the collection of hotels and guesthouses, they came across a delightful, Olde-Worlde hotel, situated a half mile from the southern exit of the village. The hanging wooden sign, unmoved by the slight breeze, showed the name as “The Stocks.” It was painted with the picture of some unfortunate serf, locked in the village stocks with pieces of ripe fruit squashed on various parts of his face and body, no doubt thrown by the group of laughing villagers shown surrounding him.

  They drove into the car park and found a suitable spot. Going into the atmospheric hotel, Sampler ordered a lunchtime meal and two rooms for the night. The couple were on official police duty so it would not have looked proper had they booked a single room. A short walk from one to the other would easily solve the problem.

  It took only a few minutes to complete the booking. The Landlord, a large, bearded man, wearing a striped shirt, open to mid-chest, with short sleeves revealing thick arms covered in dark hair, matching that sprouting from the open shirt, greeted them cheerfully. Learning that they were from the Met, he did his best to find out how well the murder investigation was going but he received scant information and was left to believe that progress was being made but at such a critical stage as to prevent the divulgence of information.

  He was satisfied. He had enough ammunition now to later impress his regulars with a tale of “inside” knowledge and being unable to disclose the facts due to a promise of discretion. Alexander Brighouse, ex-Marine in the Royal Navy, had contacts in high places, in many areas and could be trusted by all. Or so he would have his friends believe.

  Graham and Sallie made their way to the first floor and entered the allocated rooms, Two for Sallie and Three for Graham. They were identical, both compact and sufficiently fitted out, with a three-quarter size bed covered by a floral-patterned duvet, a wide, built-in wardrobe, vanity table, bookcase filled with a varied selection of reading and a washbasin with lighted mirror and shaver socket. To the right of this, stood a small floor-mounted cabinet that held an electric kettle, a toaster and space for a dining plate. Underneath was three drawers containing eating utensils, pot and hand towels together with cleaning materials. Through a narrow door, a small but accessible en-suite could be seen.

  As if in mental contact, both moved to their respective windows at precisely the same time, and opened them three notches. The warm air entered the stuffy rooms alleviating them just a little, as the net curtains rippled gently in the little draught that was afforded.

  Graham then locked up and went into Sallie’s room. She turned on his entry and they stood, smiling, looking to each other. For a minute, neither spoke or moved, and then Graham broke the spell going to Sallie and encircling her in his arms. He pulled her to him, delighting in the soft body and the fresh smell. Their mouths met in a tender, natural kiss as Sallie slipped one hand into the hair at the back of her lover’s head and the other around his muscular waist. Immediately, she felt his urges responding. Tempted to flow into the oncoming action, she pushed him gently away, smiling as she took in the evidence of their embrace. He was a stallion waiting to pounce!

  “Now, now, lover,” she said in mock admonishment, “There’s time for that later. Food is next; I’m starving!”

  “I’m starving too, sweetheart, but not for food!” He made a sudden lurch towards her but she easily sidestepped him, laughing as he careered into the wardrobe with a loud bang. “You can satisfy your eating urges now,” she commanded. “You need to keep up your strength, you know.”

  Graham laughed along with her, allowing his passions to visibly subside. “Okay,” he said. “Give me a minute, then we’ll go downstairs.”

  The weather had become too warm for a hot meal, so the lovers took a cooked ham sandwich with a salad side-plate. The sandwich consisted of two thick slices of white, home-made bread, thickly buttered, with the most delicious slices of cooked ham buried under all means of salad items and sprinkled with just the right amount of dressing. This, in itself, would have provided a sufficient meal, making the side-plate unnecessary. However, both ate the lot with great relish, washing it down with a cold lager for Sallie and a cool beer for Graham. Being fully sated, they went for a short walk immediately afterwards, returning to The Stocks an hour later. Going up to Sallie’s room, they surrendered to their mutual lust and indulged in further discovery of each other’s bodies enjoying the new, and different techniques, in contrast to their accustomed actions with their partners.

  Ten minutes to four in the afternoon, saw Graham and Sallie sat in comfortable chairs, chatting amiably to Father McGiven, awaiting the arrival of the enigmatic Jesuit. Graham talked about the recent murder of Debbie, with genuine compassion. No murder was good but the life of a young person, with so much time ahead of her, troubled Graham deeply.

  “We will catch him, eventually, Father,” he said, “but we have to hope and pray that he doesn’t carry out any further killings in the meantime.” He knew this hope was a forlorn one, and no amount of praying w
as likely to change that. Still, one had to have faith. “Murderers almost always slip up; make that one vital mistake that leads us to them.”

  “This one hasn’t done as yet though, has he? Slipped up I mean,” observed the priest.

  Graham could not deny the fact. “No, Father, that is so. However, we will not be giving up and perhaps we’ll get the break we need, soon.”

  Just at that moment, a shadow fell briefly across the window casting over those inside, causing heads to turn in that direction. A figure flitted past without being properly revealed but it was expected to be the Jesuit. It was exactly four o’ clock.

  In a few seconds, Mrs. Morgan, the middle-aged cleaning lady for the church, showed the visitor in. Brother Ignatious Saviour thanked Mrs. Morgan as she closed the lounge door and he accepted the handshake and greeting of the parish priest.

  On his entry, Graham and Sallie stood, studying the guest in close detail, following the police training instilled into their lifestyles. The aura of the man hit them as one, causing both a slight intake of breath. He appeared so relaxed, so at peace with the world and so much in command.

  Father McGiven waved an arm in the direction of the two visitors as he introduced them. “Please meet Detective Inspector Graham Sampler and Doctor Sallie Dunning – a pathologist.”

  “Good afternoon, good people,” he said in opening. “You will be from the world famous, Scotland Yard, then. I hope I can be of assistance.”

  Neither of the two had been addressed as ‘good people’ before, but they accepted it in some amusement. “Yes, Brother,” replied Graham as he stretched out his hand. He had already been advised of the correct term to use for a Jesuit. The Jesuit’s grip was firm and dry, filling the detective with over-all warmth, both in body and mind. He found himself wanting to genuflect before this sudden and unexpected ‘Holiness,’ but he manfully resisted the urge. “We are, indeed, here to meet you and I’m sure you will prove to be of some help in this terrible case.” He moved aside to allow Sallie to meet the Jesuit’s outstretched hand.