In the Name of the Father

by Adam Croft

  ‘Yeah, how will we identify the building Joseph Kümmel will be in?’ a young PC asked.

  ‘You won’t, because you’re one of the officers staying on the front gate. But for those who’ll have the luxury of meeting the delightful Father Joseph in the flesh — if he’s not wearing his PJs — follow me. You all know your groups?’

  The officers nodded in response.

  ‘Right. Then let’s go.’

  42

  Jack Culverhouse led his team of officers in silence up the dirt path towards the main body of the farm. They were less than twenty yards inside before he noticed a light come on in a brown building to their right. Culverhouse raised his hand for a moment to pause the action. After a moment, he signalled for two PCs to go towards the brown building. Culverhouse and the others carried on towards Father Joseph’s living quarters.

  Just as he’d turned away from the brown building and started to walk, he heard a shout from behind him.

  ‘Stop! Police! Put the gun down!’ one of the PCs yelled.

  Culverhouse snapped his head towards the noise. He saw Nelson standing in the doorway of the brown building, legs apart, pointing what looked like a shotgun at the two officers.

  Before he had even registered what Nelson was holding in his hands, he was back in Suzanne Corrigan’s back bedroom, face to face with the Mildenheath Ripper, watching the bright light explode from the end of the barrel. He didn’t know if he’d actually seen that at the time, but he was seeing it now in glorious technicolor. He could see the edges of the blast, clear and precise, the dazzling vibrance of the gunshot searing into his retinas. The noise of the explosion came shortly after, numbing his eardrums and leaving him with a dull ringing sensation.

  It was there, it was real, and he was living every single second all over again. It seemed to take forever, the seconds becoming minutes and hours. But when he slipped unnoticed back into the real world, it was as if no time had passed at all. It had been a fleeting thought, a brief electrical pulse sent through his brain, but he’d been there a lifetime.

  He registered the shotgun again, sensing the panic in the minds of the two young officers, who were in line to take a cartridge should the trigger be pulled. Before he could do anything, another noise came from the direction he’d been heading in.

  ‘Do as the man says, Nelson. It’s fine,’ the voice of Father Joseph Kümmel called. ‘I’m willing to assist Detective Chief Inspector Culverhouse in any way I can. Although I do wish he would’ve knocked.’

  Culverhouse’s eyes never left Nelson. He held out a placating hand, as if that was going to put an end to the whole thing.

  Nelson seemed to take minutes to make his decision, although it had probably only been a second or two at most. He lowered the shotgun, pointed the barrel downward and held it slung in his right arm.

  ‘Put it down on the floor and step away from it!’ one of the young officers shouted, his voice showing far more nervousness than he would have liked.

  Father Joseph nodded silently at Nelson, who complied.

  ‘He’s all yours,’ Culverhouse said to the two officers, nodding towards Nelson.

  ‘Is there any particular reason for arresting one of my most loyal parishioners, Detective Chief Inspector?’ Father Joseph asked, his voice calm and composed.

  ‘Oh, plenty, I’m sure,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘But for now we’ll stick with pointing a gun at two police officers, shall we?’ Behind him, he could hear the other officers dividing into pairs and starting to search the surrounding buildings. There would be no time to waste.

  ‘Are you looking for something?’ Father Joseph called to them, a little louder than he usually spoke.

  ‘Don’t you worry about them. We’ve got our own conversations to be having, you and me. At our place, if you don’t mind.’

  Father Joseph looked almost worried for a moment. Under his steely exterior, he seemed anxious at the prospect of leaving Hilltop Farm and heading to the police station. But, before Culverhouse could threaten him with arrest — something he’d be doing when they got in the car anyway — Father Joseph nodded and walked towards him, as both men headed for the gates.

  43

  Once they’d got back to the station, Father Joseph had been booked in by the custody sergeant and placed in a holding cell. Having accepted the offer of the on-call duty solicitor, the interview had been delayed to allow the solicitor to arrive, be briefed and for Culverhouse and Knight to prepare for the interview. By then, the sun was starting to rise.

  With the four settled into the interview room, Culverhouse proceeded to start the recording. He gave the names of those present and stated the circumstances surrounding Father Joseph Kümmel’s arrest.

  ‘First things first, can you tell me about the community at Hilltop Farm? What’s its purpose?’

  Father Joseph spoke without even glancing at his solicitor. ‘It’s a religious community. We choose to live in segregation from the outside world in order that we are not bound by its restrictions and limitations.’

  ‘Is that not a bit odd?’ Culverhouse asked. ‘I mean, you’re all living in a closed community on a farm. That sounds pretty restricted and limited to me.’

  ‘We are all restricted and limited physically, Detective Chief Inspector. Even you. We are all bound by the planet itself. What I was referring to were spiritual restrictions and limitations. They are the boundaries that we are free of, and which you on the outside world must live with every day of your lives.’

  Wendy gave Culverhouse a look that reminded him he was in a recorded interview with a solicitor present.

  Culverhouse decided to change the line of questioning, with a question that he hoped would catch Father Joseph off guard. ‘The church at Hilltop Farm is a cult, isn’t it?’

  The solicitor shuffled in his chair. ‘DCI Culverhouse, I don’t think—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Father Joseph said, placating the solicitor with a raised palm. ‘No, it is not a cult. It is a religious and spiritual community. But if your level of ignorance means that calling it a cult makes you feel better, please feel free. Cults are not illegal either.’

  ‘No, but they’re immoral, aren’t they?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘And what does “immoral” mean, exactly? What is immoral to one person is completely normal to another. The human species is a varied one, as I’m sure you know only too well.’

  ‘If you mean I never cease to be amazed at what I discover about people, you’d be right,’ Wendy replied, not breaking eye contact with Father Joseph. She wanted to put him on edge, have him panicking about what she might have found out. Even though that was currently very little.

  ‘And what have you discovered about me, exactly?’ Father Joseph asked, cocking his head to the side. Wendy could sense his solicitor growing increasingly uncomfortable.

  ‘Why? What do you think we’ve discovered?’ Culverhouse cut in. ‘What are you worried about us finding?’

  Father Joseph looked at him for a few moments, then smiled and let out a small laugh. ‘I don’t have any concerns, Detective Chief Inspector. My main worry is that I’m having to defend the church against yet another baseless attack from the Establishment. And people wonder why we choose to segregate ourselves.’

  ‘DCI Culverhouse, you arrested my client on suspicion of statutory rape and conspiracy to murder. As of yet you’ve not even had the decency to explain any of the details surrounding those allegations and have instead decided to go on this rampage of trying to besmirch his religious sensibilities. Now, could we please get to the allegations you’re making?’

  Culverhouse looked at the solicitor and nodded. ‘Certainly. Shall we focus on the statutory rape first? We have a witness who says they saw you sexually assaulting a girl possibly aged ten or eleven. Do you have any comment?’

  The solicitor interjected. ‘Do you have a name for this girl, or the date on which it is alleged to have happened?’

  Culverhouse looked at the solicitor and sp
oke with a calm voice. ‘Why does that matter at this stage? So he can have a look in his diary and see if he was busy raping that day? Surely your client is able to categorically state that he’s never engaged in sexual activities with a child. Why would he need names and dates?’

  ‘Because it’s usual practice, DCI Culverhouse, as well you know,’ the solicitor answered. ‘If my client is able to categorically prove that he was elsewhere that day or had never met the girl, the allegation collapses immediately.’

  ‘Prove that he was elsewhere?’ Culverhouse replied, laughing. ‘With respect, your client lives in a closed community. Where was he meant to have gone? Popped to Sainsbury’s? Gone to get his cassock dry cleaned?’

  ‘I can only assume from your facetiousness and unwillingness to cooperate that you don’t have a time, date or name of this supposed victim,’ the solicitor said.

  ‘All in good time,’ Culverhouse said. ‘We have our reasons for not disclosing details at this stage.’

  ‘Yes, and I think we both know what they are,’ came the brief’s response.

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door, which then opened, Debbie Weston’s head popping round it.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but can I have a word with DS Knight?’ she asked.

  Wendy stepped outside the room, leaving Culverhouse to explain the situation for the benefit of the recording. She could see that Debbie looked concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  We’ve been calling the witnesses to let them know about the arrest. We’ve informed them that we might have to speak to them again in more depth, depending on what comes out of the interview. All fine, but we weren’t able to get hold of Sandra Kaporsky. We went round to her house, and there’s no sign of her.’

  ‘What about the officer who was meant to be watching her house?’ Wendy asked.

  Debbie shuffled uncomfortably. ‘He reckons he didn’t see anything. If you ask me, I reckon he nodded off, but that’s not the official line.’

  Wendy sighed. If that was true, it was incompetence of the highest order. But at the same time she knew what long, exhausting shifts could do to an officer. ‘Maybe she’s gone out or away for a couple of days,’ Wendy said. ‘It happens.’

  ‘Normally I’d agree with you, but this is different. Her next-door neighbour said Sandra left the house in her car at one-thirty this morning — something she never does. Not only that, but when we rang her mobile, we could hear it ringing inside the house. She’s gone out in the dead of night, left her phone at home and hasn’t returned by the morning. Bit weird, wouldn’t you say?’

  Wendy had to admit that it was.

  44

  The initial interview with Father Joseph had uncovered next to nothing. He’d denied knowing the names of any of the people who’d disappeared from the farm. He claimed that he wasn’t on first-name terms with most of the people in the community, preferring instead to be a more distant leader.

  Their only real hope now seemed to rest on uncovering some sort of evidence at Hilltop Farm which they could use to pin down the crimes that had been committed. So far, there was no news from the search teams. They had recovered some documentation, but none of it seemed relevant or useful in any way. They needed something big. If someone had been committing murders at the farm and there were no vehicles going in or out at any point, logic dictated that the bodies must still be on the farm somewhere. But that would take time, and time was running out.

  Ordinarily, they could only hold someone in custody for twenty-four hours before they must either arrest or charge them. Within that time, the police would have to build a strong enough case for the Crown Prosecution Service to be happy enough that there was a good chance of a conviction. Without that, they’d recommend the detainee was released. Trials were expensive, and the CPS weren’t keen on taking on any they weren’t almost certain they could win.

  Arrests for murder, though, could be granted an extension of a further twelve hours. But that was only when authorised by an officer ranking Superintendent or above. Culverhouse had left it to Wendy to request the extension. Far from wanting to have to grovel to someone at Milton House, she’d gone straight to Chief Constable Charles Hawes.

  Hawes’s office smelt of coffee, and Wendy didn’t suppose the windows had been opened in months.

  ‘Sir, we’d like to get your authorisation on an extension of custody for Father Joseph Kümmel. He’s proving to be a difficult suspect. Our search teams are going to need more time to conduct an effective search of Hilltop Farm,’ she said, having rehearsed the wording on her way up there.

  ‘In principle that’s fine,’ the Chief Constable said, ‘but we need to weigh up the advantages and disadvantages. If we’ve given a custody extension and still find nothing, then want to come back at a later date and arrest and charge him, it’s not going to look good.’

  ‘I understand that, sir, but without the extension there’s going to be no way in hell of being able to gather the evidence we need to charge him. We’re potentially looking at ground-penetrating radar and excavations. It’s not the sort of thing that we can turn around inside a few hours.’

  Hawes leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s big. Are you confident that with the extra time you’ll be able to find something substantial? Enough that we’ll be able to charge and won’t end up with a load of egg on our faces?’

  Wendy paused for a moment, swallowed hard and then answered. ‘Yes, sir,’ she lied. ‘I’m confident.’

  Hawes looked at her for a second or two. ‘Right. Well, on your head be it.’

  45

  With the custody extension granted, Culverhouse at least felt that he had a little more breathing space. They had enough to do in the meantime, and time was ticking away. Searches at Hilltop Farm were ongoing, as were interviews with Father Joseph. Everything was being cross-checked and verified with the witnesses to try and pin down some more definite information. With luck, they’d find something that could result in the CPS recommending they charge him.

  The obvious thought had gone through his mind. Had they decided to arrest him too soon? Had they shot themselves in the foot by jumping in too early? He didn’t think so. He hoped not. Had they waited, Father Joseph would’ve had all sorts of opportunities to hide evidence or carry on with his crimes. When a serious crime was reported, it was his duty to ensure it was investigated quickly, efficiently, and the suspected party brought in for questioning. The easiest way to do that was through an arrest.

  Under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, an arrest gave them the right to detain the suspect for up to twenty-four hours — thirty-six in serious cases such as murder — and even that could be extended to ninety-six hours with the permission of a court judge. Being arrested in itself wasn’t any indicator of guilt, and the police were technically at liberty to arrest anyone for anything. Its main purpose was to lock in that twenty-four hour period and allow them to conduct a more thorough search of premises.

  With their extension, they had until tomorrow morning to either charge or release Father Joseph Kümmel. Culverhouse knew which he would prefer. Although he’d not been convinced of any wrongdoing at Hilltop Farm initially, the witness statements he’d seen were conclusive in his eyes. Anything that mentioned a young girl, barely three years younger than his own daughter, being sexually assaulted was sure to ignite the fire in his belly.

  There was still no news on Sandra Kaporsky, either. Culverhouse had decided they’d give it another couple of hours, then they’d put a marker out on her vehicle. They were more worried for her own safety than anything else. In the meantime, he had other business to attend to.

  He shrugged on his jacket, grabbed his car keys and headed for the car park. As he walked to his car, he fingered the small torn-out piece of paper in his jacket pocket. Good. It was still there.

  He turned left out of the car park and up in the direction of Allerdale Road. When he got there, he parked his car up outside a house and walked the final couple of dozen
yards to the phone box, knowing he would’ve stayed clear of any CCTV cameras. This was the phone box they’d received the initial anonymous phone call from. He knew from his own experience and frustrations how much of a black spot it was in terms of traceability.

  He pulled open the door and stepped inside. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he picked up the receiver with the handkerchief and held it next to his ear. With another hankie, he took the pound coin from his pocket, rubbing it with the cotton to ensure his prints weren’t anywhere on the coin, and pushed it into the coin slot. It was probably overkill, but he couldn’t afford to be too careful in his position. Then he took the torn out piece of paper from his jacket pocket and dialled the number written on it, pushing the numbers on the keypad with his knuckle.

  After a few moments, the phone started to ring, followed by the recognisable click of the call connecting.

  ‘Yeah?’ came the response at the other end.

  ‘Ethan?’ Jack asked, disguising his voice.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Friend of a friend. Listen, I need sorting out. I’m told you’re the man.’

  ‘You were told wrong,’ Ethan replied. ‘Laters.’

  ‘Wait,’ Jack replied. ‘I’m serious. I’m desperate. I’m in some real fucking shit here and I gotta get it sorted.’

  There were a few seconds of silence before Ethan spoke. ‘Who’s your mate?’

  Jack thought on his feet and reacted quickly. ‘What, you think I’m fucking stupid? You think I’m gonna name names?’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Ethan replied. ‘What you looking for?’

  Jack felt a sense of relief. ‘Base.’

  ‘Alright. How much we talking?’

  He did a quick bit of mental arithmetic. Amphetamine was a class-A drug. Fifty grams should do it.