Holy Blood

by Kim Fleet

  He pushed his palms down hard in the mud and brought himself upright. Turning, he saw Brother John brandishing the walking staff.

  ‘Brother!’

  ‘It is God’s work!’ Brother John cried, his voice strangled.

  ‘No.’ Lazarus turned to run, his feet scraping for purchase.

  Another blow, hard, on the back of his skull and he knew nothing more.

  He fell face forwards into the fish pond, the greedy fronds grasping his body and sucking him into the mire at the bottom.

  Brother John stood heaving for breath at the edge of the pond. ‘Matthew!’ he cried.

  He scrabbled about at the edge of the pond, praying his hands would meet flesh, that he would pull Matthew free and take back the Holy Blood. Each time his hands swept through the water they came up tangled with slime. He prodded the water with the heavy staff, but it brought forth only a harvest of weeds.

  That was how they found him the next morning, kneeling beside the old fish pond, sifting the waters with his hands, and weeping.

  ‘John Ashford? I have a warrant for your arrest on a charge of treason.’

  Brother John looked at them, unseeing. ‘It is gone,’ was all he said, before they carted him away.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  London

  Friday, 13 November 2015

  The wind off the Thames was chill as Eden leaned against the side of Vauxhall Bridge. Cyclists sped past, grimacing at the rain. To her right was Thames House, the MI5 headquarters; to her left was the green and cream monstrosity that contained MI6. The Secret Intelligence Service, SIS, she thought, remembering how touchy they all got about being called MI6. Bloody James Bonds. Awkward bastards. How many times had they got sniffy about an operation she was running.

  She scanned the faces of the people heading along the footpath, searching for one face in the crowd. For a week she’d used a ‘find a phone’ app to establish a pattern of life for her target. She was pleased and shocked at how easy it was. Now Hammond had hold of her mobile number he could track her every move. And Hammond was the reason she was here.

  Eden sucked in a deep breath and fought to calm her breathing. She’d been betrayed, she knew that. The only way Hammond could know that Jackie Black wasn’t dead but resurrected as Eden Grey was if someone had told him. And there was only a handful of people who knew. Even the team who made her new passport, birth certificate, and qualifications didn’t know who Eden Grey really was. They’d meticulously created a backstory for her, but to preserve her anonymity and protect her life, they never knew the woman who was set to disappear.

  But someone knew, and that someone had blabbed to Hammond.

  A few days ago, with Mandy in hospital after eating the poisoned chocolates that were destined for her, Eden had phoned Nick, her ex-husband.

  ‘Nick, it’s Eden,’ she’d said. ‘You met me in Cheltenham.’

  There was a pause while his mind made the connection between his ex-wife Sara White and Eden Grey. ‘Yes, I remember,’ he said, his voice bristling with caution. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, but I nearly wasn’t,’ she said. ‘Did you send me a box of chocolates?’

  ‘No.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I had sent something, but it was so awkward …’

  She interrupted him. ‘You sure you didn’t send them? Only they were my favourites, and on the note it said “kiss kiss”. You used to write that instead of drawing crosses.’ How long ago it all seemed now; the telescope of memory.

  ‘Yes, I do that.’ Do that, present tense. Kiss kiss wasn’t hers exclusively, then; his special sign-off had been recycled. And in the background she could hear a woman’s voice and a child’s piping answer. Holly, Nick’s daughter with his new wife, Naomi, the willowy blonde. ‘No, I didn’t send you any chocolates. I wish I had, it would’ve been a nice thing to do.’

  And Nick was always nice, she thought, rubbing her temple. ‘Has anyone rung you and asked about me?’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any unusual calls? Visitors?’

  ‘No … there was a woman doing market research, but that wasn’t …’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Look, it was just someone asking about what we bought.’

  We, Eden noticed, Nick and his new wife. A wave of loss crashed over her.

  ‘Anything in particular about what you bought?’

  She heard Nick turning aside and saying, ‘It’s nobody, I’ll just be a minute.’ When he spoke into the receiver, he said, ‘About holidays, special meals and treats. Actually, I said something about flowers and chocolates then.’

  ‘Did you mention any brands?’

  ‘Yes, of course, it was a market research survey. Though she was hardly here ten minutes.’

  ‘She came to the house?’

  ‘Going door-to-door, she said.’

  Eden leaned against the wall, her mind whirling. ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ A puff of air as he breathed out. ‘Smallish, dark hair, I think. Forties, but well presented, glossy, you know.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘She had a huge ring on her finger, with a stone in it. Not a diamond or anything like that, a yellowy sort of stone.’

  The world spun and she steadied herself by bracing her arm against the doorframe. She knew someone who wore such a ring; had watched it, mesmerised, in operational meetings. And when she and Nick ended the call and she thought about it, there could only be one person who had betrayed her, and was revealing her every move to Hammond.

  And now that person was making her way along Vauxhall Bridge, bang on time. The pattern of life analysis had shown her attending MI5 each day at 2 p.m., leaving just after three to go to the MI6 building. There must be a big operation underway requiring liaison between all the agencies: MI5, MI6 and the undercover branch of Revenue and Customs.

  The target wore a navy pencil skirt, a black wool jacket, and low-heeled court shoes. She walked along at a clip, her phone clamped to her ear, an outsize black leather bag hooked in the crook of her elbow. It was three years since Eden had last seen her, and she hadn’t changed a jot. Eden shrank against the edge of the bridge, waiting for the target to draw level, then stepped in front of her.

  ‘Hello, Miranda,’ she said.

  Miranda stopped dead and gaped at her. She muttered into her phone, ended the call, and stowed the phone in her bag. The huge tiger’s eye ring flashed on her middle finger.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Miranda asked.

  ‘Looking for you,’ Eden said. ‘I wanted to say thank you for the chocolates.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Eden moved a step closer. ‘Don’t try that with me,’ she said. ‘OK, maybe you didn’t send me the chocolates, but you told Hammond which ones to send, and what to write on the card.’

  There was a long moment while Miranda stared at her, then she sagged and gave up the struggle. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You kept on ringing me, Miranda. Warning me about Hammond. And whoever tipped him off knew exactly who I was. Seems to me you’ve been playing both sides.’

  Miranda looked out over the Thames. The murky waters flowed past, keeping their secrets. Eden eyed her former boss, the woman who had terrified her at first, and then earned her respect and trust. The woman who now had betrayed her, and was playing Russian roulette with Eden’s life. Anger surged in her, and she fought the urge to tip Miranda over the bridge into the river.

  ‘Why?’ she said.

  ‘You won’t understand.’

  ‘Try me. What is it? Money? You need money for your mother’s nursing home?’

  Miranda hitched her bag on her elbow. ‘He’s not paying me. He found out I wasn’t exactly clean, and he’s threatening to expose me.’ Her eyes flicked up to meet Eden’s. ‘I’d lose everything.’

  ‘What has he got on you?’

  ‘Backhanders from drugs.�
��

  ‘Drugs! You hate drugs! How could you be so fucking stupid!’

  Miranda made a helpless gesture. ‘I know. I was stupid, and greedy. You know what the pay’s like.’

  ‘So how much is my life worth, Miranda? How much have you taken?’

  Miranda licked her lips. ‘About a quarter of a million.’

  Eden snorted. ‘I’m flattered! Quarter of a million! I never knew I was worth so much.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t want to get involved in this,’ Miranda said. ‘I’ve tried to warn you about him.’

  That did it. Eden grabbed Miranda’s collar and hoisted her onto the edge of the bridge, shoving her back towards the river below. ‘You wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t told Hammond I was alive and where to find me.’

  ‘Please!’ Miranda cried.

  Passers-by drew up short and stood back to watch. One brought out his phone to film it. Eden ignored them and held Miranda there, suspended over the water, and slowly pushed her back until she was perfectly poised between safe ground and death in the river. The handbag released its contents, papers fluttering, lipsticks and keys tumbling into the Thames. Miranda struggled and kicked, her hands slipping on the rail.

  ‘Call him off,’ Eden said.

  ‘I can’t! He knows too much!’

  Eden pushed her another couple of inches, held her there, then dragged her back onto the bridge. There was an ooh from the crowd. Miranda tugged her jacket into place and smoothed back her hair, fighting for composure.

  ‘Nothing to see here,’ she said, staring down the gawkers. ‘Go on, piss off the lot of you!’

  Miranda waited until they’d dispersed before saying, ‘The genie’s well and truly out of the bottle. He knows everything and he’s sitting pretty in prison. Got it set up exactly how he wants it. We can’t touch him.’ Her chest heaved a few times, then she said, ‘He’s planning something big. I don’t know what exactly, but watch out, OK.’

  ‘Will you tip me off if you get a sniff?’

  Miranda’s face drooped. ‘All along I’ve tried to help you, to give you the nod on Hammond.’

  ‘You’re all heart,’ Eden said. She went to walk away, then turned back. ‘One more thing.’

  She swung her foot back and kicked Miranda, hard, on the shin. She was wearing hefty leather boots and the kick landed squarely on the bone with a dull thud. ‘That’s for hurting my friend,’ she said, thinking of Mandy, sick and shivering after eating the chocolates meant for her.

  Eden rammed her fists in her pockets and headed back along the bridge towards Westminster. Time to go home.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing a book is always a team effort, so huge thanks to Kelly, Sara-Jane and the RABSes, who read and commented on early drafts of the book; to my agent Jane for her help and support; and to Matilda and the team at The Mystery Press for making the publishing process so much fun.

  Thank you to the people who kindly allowed me to ‘borrow’ their names – you know who you are.

  Big love to my cheerleading gang: The Pink Panthers, Mike, Harriet, and Wimsey.

  And last but not least, thank you to all my readers – I hope you enjoyed Eden’s latest adventure.

  www.kimfleet.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  KIM FLEET

  KIM FLEET holds a PhD in Social Anthropology from the University of St Andrews and is a Fellow of the Royal Anthropological Institute. A freelance writer, life coach and teacher, she is the author of Paternoster: An Eden Grey Mystery and has had over forty short stories published in magazines in the UK and Australia, including Woman’s Weekly, People’s Friend, Take a Break, and That’s Life Fast Fiction. She has spoken at the Cheltenham Literary Festival and at CrimeFest in Bristol. She lives in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire.