Something Evil Comes

by A. J. Cross

  ‘A re-run of Matthew Flynn’s injury,’ said Corrigan.

  Chong nodded. ‘I can’t give you a better idea of what caused it than I did for Matthew Flynn: some kind of implement with sharp aspects on all sides. No other injuries. No blood that wasn’t his.’ She reached for a shallow, stainless steel bowl. They stared down at its contents: a small, clear plastic bag, a dark seam of something gathered along its lower edge. ‘Come closer, children. You’ll want to know about this.’

  They closed in on the examination table, the smell very pressing now, their focus on Chong as she carefully upended the plastic bag and shook out its contents. Tiny shreds and bits of unidentified matter poured into the small bowl. She pointed to another near to Corrigan. He reached for it and passed it to her. She held both the labelled bowls towards them, raising one.

  ‘Take a look. These are the tiny traces I gathered from Callum Foley’s pockets and the seams of his clothing. This bowl holds what I vacuumed from Matthew Flynn’s clothing which you’ve already seen.’ She paused. They stared. ‘It’s all of the same origin.’

  ‘Some type of drug?’ asked Watts.

  ‘Sorry to wreck your theory, but no. These are all the remains of plants. Take a closer look.’ Using a thin metal tool, she moved the tiny particles around. ‘Having collected around eighty percent more of it from Foley I’ve been able to identify it all. It’s from a variety of different sources.’ She moved the tool around the bowl. ‘These seeds are Queen Anne’s Lace, an attractive wild flower, aka “Devil’s plague”. These right here are oregano and these are St John’s Wort. These bigger items here are from a plant known as Devil’s Bit.’

  Hanson pointed. ‘Are those black things cloves?’

  ‘That’s exactly what they are,’ said Chong. ‘And this here is dried garlic.’

  Watts frowned at it. ‘So? What’s the point of it? Why would Flynn and Foley have all of this on them?’

  Chong eyed him. ‘Bearing in mind that I’m merely the messenger here, all of it is supposedly capable of repelling evil.’

  ‘You, what?’ He narrowed his eyes on the bowls’ contents, face set. ‘That kind of thing is twaddle!’

  She sighed, straightened. ‘As I said, merely the messenger.’

  Vexed, he took the tool she was offering him and prodded the tiny bits of vegetation. ‘I thought garlic was associated with vampires?’

  Chong nodded. ‘There’s a belief that it has a role in warding off evil.’

  Watts huffed. ‘Who believes that stuff? It’s all mumbo-jumbo.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Hanson.

  ‘So, what is?’ he demanded.

  She looked down at all that remained of Callum Foley. ‘I’d say it’s about whether he and Matthew believed it. Or how frightened he was.’

  Hanson was back at the university, still preoccupied by what Chong had shown them. It looked as though both Matthew Flynn and Callum Foley were in a state of fear prior to their deaths. Going directly to the flip chart she picked up the sheet she had left lying on the floor and searched all of the information on it. Words there now claimed her attention: pentagram, inverted crucifix, torn throat. She added others given to them by Chong earlier, ending with Devil’s Bit. Watts was right. Nobody capable of critical, rational thinking would believe this stuff. Her eyes moved over the lines, stopping at a single descriptor she’d written for Matthew Flynn: naïve.

  Folding her arms, giving them a brisk rub she walked into the adjoining room. Crystal looked up from her screen, fingers halting. ‘Kate?’

  ‘Do you remember a case in Wiltshire I consulted on about three years ago, involving devil worship?’

  ‘Still got the goose bumps to prove it,’ said Crystal leaving her desk for the bank of nearby filing cabinets. Opening a drawer, walking her fingers across several files, she stopped and withdrew one. ‘Found it.’

  Hanson returned to her room with it. Ten minutes’ immersion in the notes she had made at the time and the case was back in her head: it had involved what had been presented to her at the outset as a cult but in reality was a fraudulent set-up. She sped through the research articles she’d downloaded at the time, some supportive of the existence of demonic influences and attesting to the strange behavioural changes the phenomena was capable of causing, including suicide. If Alfred’s death was not a suicide, had he been as fearful for his life as Matthew and Callum appeared to have been? She frowned. I didn’t see any fear. She read the research data she’d gathered relating to those who associate themselves with devil worship: masochistic, self-deprecating, willing to abandon all personal responsibility in exchange for the security of a powerful leader. She skimmed through the rest of the data then pushed the file away. Alfred had been a member of St Bartholomew’s, had given his free time to supporting and maintaining it. Alfred, a wealthy man during most of his life, brought to near-penury at its end. Both Matthew Flynn and Callum Foley had had brief indirect contact with the same church in their short lives. She stopped, hands clasped at her mouth. Was she seeing tenuous links where they didn’t exist? Or making the wrong links? Was she seeing in the language, the dark imagery of this case a meaning which belonged only in Hollywood horror?

  She gathered the articles together, replaced them in the file. She had to talk to Delaney again. Slamming a mental door on the chief’s rage at Delaney’s complaints about UCU, she knew it had to be soon.

  I can do diplomacy to get the information I want: what was Alfred’s role and place in the church? What is Delaney’s stance towards Satanism? What has he to say about his own history in the USA, if he’s willing to say anything at all?

  Collecting her coat and bag, she was on her way.

  NINETEEN

  The laden tray thumped onto the low table in Father Delaney’s study. He tracked the broad back and massive hips on their way to the door. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gorridge. Very kind.’ The door closed with a decisive click. In the fifteen or so minutes Hanson had been there Delaney had been entirely pleasant. He hadn’t alluded to his complaint about UCU by either word or demeanour. Right now he was smiling at her. ‘Gorridge is not happy. Which isn’t a rare occurrence I will admit but today it has a specific cause. We had a meeting of the diocese here this morning. Gorridge dislikes the bishop and she’s none too keen on providing refreshments for him. Or anyone else for that matter.’

  ‘Why does she dislike the bishop?’ asked Hanson in conversational mode, accepting tea.

  ‘Because she finds him patronising and “holier-than-thou” as she puts it.’ He laughed. ‘Gorridge is totally irreligious.’ Hanson eyed him, surprised. ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘She works hard in this house but refuses to set foot inside the church, which is partly why we have to rely on parishioners to keep it up to scratch as regards dusting, flowers and so forth. Those duties are part of her employment contract but I don’t insist. I know she needs the money the church pays her.’

  ‘Isn’t that unusual, her not being religious? I’d assumed there would be some expectation by the church that anyone employed by it would have some degree of faith.’

  ‘I don’t know about it being unusual. All I know is that she does a good job keeping this old place clean and dusted and providing meals.’

  ‘She and her niece,’ said Hanson.

  Delaney nodded, his face suddenly serious. ‘Yes. A sad story. Gorridge’s sister died unexpectedly several years ago, leaving a child. Gorridge took responsibility for its upbringing, which she has done on very little money. I don’t believe there was anyone else who would do it, but I don’t know the details and I haven’t dared ask.’

  ‘Does she live locally?’ asked Hanson.

  ‘Primrose Way, just off the main road about a mile from here.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘My dealings are strictly with Gorridge but I understand the young person has problems. I imagine life would have been even more problematic without a family member like Gorridge stepping forward to do her Christian duty.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Not that she woul
d see it in those terms and I certainly wouldn’t presume to say so directly to her.’ There was a brief pause, during which Hanson found herself struggling to resist the unexpected warmth of this man whom she found so ambiguous. ‘You seem preoccupied,’ he said. ‘Can I help?’

  Hanson relaxed her face. Obviously, I’m not as enigmatic as I thought. She had decided during the journey here how she would introduce her visit. ‘I want to say how much the Unsolved Crime Unit regrets any problems it may have inadvertently caused St Bartholomew’s.’ She ignored Watts’s disapproving face zooming into her head; she couldn’t recall him ever acknowledging regrets about anything he’d done as part of what he called The Job.

  ‘My dear young woman, there’s no need,’ said Delaney. ‘That was actually the bishop’s doing. Done at his behest. He raised it as an issue some days ago and insisted that I relay his view to the Chief Superintendent. It was also the reason for his visit here this morning. He takes an inordinate interest in what he terms our “community alliance”. He sees our role within the community as one which provides practical as well as spiritual support via our outreach work. He also expects me to be responsible for management of the church’s reputation in the locality. He’s extremely sensitive to stresses from outside our community which he regards as a potential threat to its reputation.’ He looked across at Hanson. ‘I don’t happen to agree with him. This church stands on its reputation, but the bishop requires what we do to be, well, let me say, “stage managed” …’ He paused. ‘I acquiesce where it doesn’t feel too contrary to my own values. He’s extremely annoyed still about ongoing police interest here. He’s also very critical of my decision not to report the vandalism when it happened.’ He sighed. ‘Although, of course, he would not have been happy if I had done so. Not an easy man to work with, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’

  ‘Does he approve of the way you run St Bartholomew’s on business lines?’

  Delaney gave an energetic nod. ‘An excellent question which has two answers: yes and no. He views the business world as unethical but he knows he cannot deny the benefits he witnesses here. Neither can he deny the significant growth in our congregation over recent years, nor the money we save by working together to support the fabric of the church. He’s also extremely approving of the funding we attract to run our various community initiatives.’

  Hanson studied him. ‘I hadn’t associated the priesthood with a knowledge of business.’

  He returned her look. ‘Which is why many of our churches are in a parlous state. Don’t make the mistake of assuming that those who work within the church to serve the Lord are unworldly. Both of my deacons were professional men prior to joining the church. Jeremy Fellowes was a qualified counsellor and Richard Burns an accountant.’ Seeing Hanson’s surprise he smiled. ‘And I learned from my time in the United States that business can be ethical and that its acumen has relevance for the church.’ He paused, sipped tea. ‘I’ve told you about our challenges here. You and your colleagues are also experiencing significant difficulties in your investigation?’

  Their eyes met. She saw naked curiosity in his. She chose her words. ‘The kinds of cases the Unsolved Crime Unit investigates are by definition difficult. We search for means, motive and opportunity, often months, sometimes years, after an event.’

  It was Delaney who now looked uncertain. ‘I think I understand “means” – it’s about being able to commit the crime?’

  ‘Yes. Physical strength or access to a weapon. Motive and opportunity can be hard to establish at a distance in time. When someone goes missing and is then found dead it can be very difficult to establish exactly when and why he or she died.’

  Delaney shook his head, looking sympathetic. ‘That poor boy, Matthew Flynn. And his family, of course. I asked Fellowes who runs the drug support groups to tell me all he knows. He’s confirmed that Matthew Flynn briefly attended one group. He appears to know little else about him. I hope you find the answer to what happened to the boy soon. It is having a very negative impact on some of our older members.’

  She gazed at the plump, troubled face. Headquarters had stifled news of the finding of Callum Foley’s body for now. She’d waited for some indication that Delaney was aware of it but it hadn’t come. Once he did know, Callum Foley’s relative proximity to the church would have further negative impact on him and his congregation. His reference to the older members of his congregation brought Hanson to another line of inquiry. ‘It seems that Alfred Best was a rather troubled man.’

  Delaney’s face changed. He pressed his palms together, brought his hands to his mouth. ‘A dreadful state of affairs. As a church we oppose suicide, of course, because it is contrary to our love for the eternal Lord. Alfred was surely gravely disturbed to commit such a dreadful act. I feel responsible to a degree because I had no unawareness of his state of mind and deeply regretful that he felt unable to confide in me. It has made me think about the Flynn boy’s death. I should have done more to encourage Mr and Mrs Flynn to attend our re-consecration service. It would have been an opportunity to talk with them, to sympathise and offer our support. It might have comforted them.’

  She looked at him. Really looked at him. Beyond the vast girth, the fleshy face, was this genuine kindness and honesty about his own limitations she was seeing? Was he expressing sincere regret that he had not done whatever he could? She couldn’t decide. Had his earlier remarks to her about psychology and her own lack of religious faith somehow coloured her view of him? Everyone had his or her own story. She didn’t yet know his. It was time she did. ‘You referred earlier to your work in America and its influence on you.’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes were on hers. ‘Meeting your colleague Lieutenant Corrigan took me back there: the Charles River, Cambridge, Harvard.’ He smiled. ‘Even the Combat Zone. A wonderful city.’

  ‘You enjoyed your stay there.’

  ‘I did. Very much.’

  ‘Yet you came back?’

  He nodded. ‘My contract with the church there ended. I’d completed the time I agreed to serve.’

  ‘Your stay there was entirely positive?’

  He gave a gentle headshake. ‘Is anything ever “entirely positive”, Professor Hanson?’ He fell silent, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘I believe you are really asking me about an allegation made against me by a young woman there.’

  She was completely thrown. She’d come prepared to raise the issue with him, never anticipating that he would do so. She hadn’t expected this candour. Work with people and they’ll invariably surprise you. ‘Yes, I am.’

  He gazed out of the window, his face bleak. ‘I hadn’t the slightest idea about it until I had been back here for several weeks. A church colleague in Boston rang to tell me. I was never contacted by the US authorities but I knew immediately who had made the allegation: a young woman who was a member of the congregation at the church in which I served. Anyone, any male whose work places him in close physical or emotional proximity to others, especially those who are vulnerable in some way, runs such a risk. I never knew the young woman directly but I’d taken her confession on a few occasions. I never divulged what she said at those times, of course, but I can tell you that she was a very disturbed young person.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘A very sad young woman. I didn’t mention it to Lieutenant Corrigan because it was more than twenty years ago and not pertinent to his inquiries.’ He looked up at her. ‘I’ve told you now so that you and your police colleagues can see that I harbour no secret from years ago.’

  In the following silence she re-ordered her thoughts, including the brief scene she had witnessed at the choir practice. Deciding not to raise such an equivocal issue with him, she went to the last question she’d brought here. ‘What is the church’s policy or attitude to the occult? To Satanism?’

  He leant forward, forearms resting on his wide knees, his brow furrowed. ‘What weighty issues we’re discussing, Professor Hanson.’ He paused. ‘Attitudes within the church have radically changed
over recent years. We’ve all heard of church leaders who profess not to believe in God. I’m guided by my own beliefs. I am a believer but that does not extend to a belief in evil personified.’

  Hanson was confused. ‘But what about the re-consecration service? It felt to me very much like a statement of belief in evil in the form of the devil.’

  He regarded her, his face patient. ‘If you look inside any church building you will be immediately aware of the importance most religions place on setting, on presentation. Within religious expression there’s a strong element of theatre in its most basic form.’ He raised his hands. ‘Take this house, for example. The furniture, everything in it: Victorian theatre. I live with it because I’m required to. I don’t live by it.’ He stood and looked down at her, his round face kindly. ‘You know, you’re very welcome to visit the church whenever you need or wish to. Our church is for all.’

  She stood. ‘Has Richard Burns, your other deacon, returned from his retreat?’

  ‘We’re expecting him later this evening.’ He accompanied her to the front door, Hanson still conflicted in her views of him. She’d come here anticipating that she would leave knowing what she thought of him yet she remained unsure. He opened the door for her and she noticed that some of the paint had been removed. He followed her eyes. ‘Frank, another of our faithful helpers, has offered to paint the outside of the house for nothing more than lunch expenses.’ He squinted up at the sky. ‘I hope the weather holds for him in the next four days or so.’ He stepped out onto the veranda with her. ‘Are you still bringing your psychology to bear on the police investigation?’

  ‘It’s not “my” psychology, Father Delaney.’