“Both,” he replied, “this isn’t amateur hour. And books and things. My Kickstarter ranking is through the roof. I am working on my own puzzle book and board game too.”
“Nice!”
“So,” Grayling began to ask, “do you want to spend the day trying to have fun with an intense man for who all life is games and a woman who regards the world outside this office as a chaotic, nest of vipers?”
“Sounds awesome.”
“You’re thinking it’ll also help you avoid your sister,” Maruma said.
Susan’s eyes widened, “he’s good.”
“We’re both good,” Maruma said. “That’s why we’re always teamed up together.”
“Great,” Grayling said. “I’m just going to the loo.”
When she’d gone, Susan turned to Maruma. “So, why do you like Grayling? I assume it’s not a sexual thing…or is it?”
Maruma smiled. “It’s platonic. But there is a darkness in Rebecca that I can see, and I spend my time guiding her away from it. That intense anger at the criminals and the government, it could go very wrong. Together, it does not.”
“Understood. So how much do Escape Rooms pay?”
“Oh, we do it for the love of the game.” Like the police work, he left unsaid.
“Hey, I fit in,” Susan declared.
“Yes, yes you do,” Grayling noted. They were stood at the end of a car park, looking out as a huge congregation of people gathered for the first of two Sunday morning services.
Susan hadn’t attended a church service outside of weddings in a long time and had to confess “I was not expecting this.”
The congregation was diverse, the sort of genuine mix of ages and races which would annoy the people who wrote letters into Susan’s newspaper. From the heavily tattooed and pierced to people in crisp suits everyone had made an effort, but it was their own effort.
“I have to confess too; I was not expecting that building.” Susan associated churches with medieval architecture, or a sort of brick-built Victoriana, but what she saw was an old factory building turned into at least one large hall.
“Did you not Google it?” Maruma asked.
“Of course, I googled it. Well the address, in case you got lost.”
“Shall we go in?” Grayling enquired, which was simply a polite way of saying ‘get a shift on’, so they all started walking through the crowd. Maruma might prefer to spend his time inside and away from people, but none of the trio were phased by the large crowd they slipped through in order to enter the building. However, attempts at being low key ended when they got to the door to find red shirted people handing out welcome bags to anyone new.
“Hello, you three,” a beaming acolyte said, “you’re new.”
“Are we?” Maruma tried.
“Oh yes, never seen you before. Welcome bag?” One was raised.
“What’s in it?” Grayling asked.
“Information about the church, about our Lord Jesus, and some hot chocolate sachets and sweets to take home.”
“Yeah, we’ll have three,” Grayling said.
“Are you, local?”
“Yes,” the detective replied, but she let it hang in the air, location unspoken.
“Well, do come in and enjoy the service. Any questions, grab one of the red shirts and we’ll try to answer them.”
The three walked in a distance and whispered. “They are very well organised,” Grayling noted.
“Drilled,” Maruma added.
They looked round. They were in a large room with multiple exits, but the main one was double doors which led into a very long and wide room filled with rows and rows of seating, although the ceiling confounded expectations by being no higher than the hall. To their left was a door into a kitchen area serving drinks and cake, and to their right was a library cum bookshop. Red shirts milled around everywhere, and people were crowding in dense clumps.
“So, what’s the plan?” Susan asked.
Maruma grinned. “The welcome team know everyone right?”
“Indeed,” Grayling said. She went over to a blonde-haired woman who was looking for someone to help. “Hi there, can we ask you some questions?”
“Of course.”
“Have you heard of a Jonathan Stewart? Or a Kofi Salmons?”
“Err… yes, yes I think I have you know, Kofi rings a definite bell. I like that name and I know we call him J-Stew.”
“J-Stew?”
“Yes, his nickname. Heard of him, again couldn’t pick him out of a line-up.” She laughed.
“Do you know of any link between them? Did they know each other?”
“Excuse me,” said a new voice and everyone turned around to find a tall man who had chosen his shirt to walk the line between being smart but showing off a physique that obviously took work. “Did I hear you ask about Kofi and Jonathan?”
“Yes,” Grayling replied.
“May I ask why?”
Grayling and Maruma weren’t about to lie, so they both pulled out their ID cards. “I’m DC Grayling and this is DC Maruma and we’re both investigating…”
“Their suicides,” the man finished.
“They died?!” exclaimed the blonde red shirt.
“Run along, I’ll take over,” the man said. “It’s a tragedy. Two tragedies. Two young men like that, totally surprised us. I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Edward Quince and I’m…”
“Chief Elder and head of the church,” Grayling said deliberately finishing his sentence.
“Yes, and I’m very sad two members of our congregation took their own lives. Very sad. We do a lot for mental health, but alas, when it’s not detected…they need to ask for help, guidance, they must. And that’s what we’ll be working on in our groups, while praying for anyone who is confused like that.”
“Did the two boys know each other?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, I never saw them together, but we have many hundreds of people here. I know most by face and name but regrettably I don’t spend time with everyone, and I don’t know much about them. Do you think their deaths are connected?”
“We are investigating,” was all Grayling would confirm. “Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Well, if you need any help let me know, I’m here to answer any questions. You’re welcome to stay for the service and speak to whoever you need to.” He smiled, the sort of carefully calculated attempt at charisma that had got him this far.
“That’s very good of you,” Grayling said out of politeness, even though they would have expected nothing less.
“Well I must go; we are baptising today, and I want to have a little chat with them beforehand.” He turned and walked away with another perfected set of movements. As he did, he turned slightly and looked back, and he and Maruma locked eyes for a moment before he headed off.
Grayling stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “Well, what’s your feeling?” she asked her colleague.
“He’s lying. He absolutely does not want us to ask questions, nor does he want to give us any help. He’s covering something up.”
Grayling nodded. When Maruma could read someone, she went with it.
DC Atkins was sat in a coffee shop. He was on his way to write a report, but it wasn’t urgent, and he needed a little break, so he’d bought himself a huge hot chocolate and was looking at his phone. A few football matches were currently being played, and he loved a little bet, especially ‘in play’ because you could do it there and then and move on. So, he picked a match with ten minutes to go, bet twenty quid on a goal happening in that time, propped the phone on the table and watched as he had his drink. Twelve minutes later, after an injury time win got him an extra twenty pounds, he was back in his car and driving with headquarters not aware and his heart fuelled with energy for the day ahead.
He was soon knocking on a door, being ushered in and served a freshly ground coffee in a tiny china cup.
“Hello,” he began, “you reported a threatening
letter?”
The couple sat opposite him were well dressed and the house was as smartly decorated as they were. However, there was a strong smell of cleaning fluid throughout. The husband, a man in his late forties with the cropped hair of someone much younger, explained. “We have just moved into this house. In actual fact, my wife and I have just married. We both have a child from a previous relationship and all four of us moved in here.”
“That’s good, it’s a lovely building,” Atkins noted.
“Well, it was. Problem is, this morning we received this.” The husband picked up something from a side table and handed it over. Atkins found himself looking at a typed letter which had been placed inside a blue plastic sandwich bag. “We know you use evidence bags, so to keep it safe we wrapped it.”
This was a new one on Atkins, and he began to read.
HOW DARE YOU COME INTO THIS HOUSE. YOU ARE PROFITING FROM MISERY. YOUR OFFER PUT HER IN A HOME. I HAVE SEEN YOUR DAUGHTERS DESTROYING HER GARDEN. YOU MUST STOP.
“You have two daughters then?”
“Yes constable,” the father kept talking. It became apparent the mother was doing all she could to stay calm.
“And does ‘destroying’ relate to anything?”
“We’ve installed a trampoline, although we won’t let them outside again until you’ve caught this person.”
“Yes, of course. And do you have any idea who sent this?”
“None, we don’t know the neighbours.”
“Yes, with them having observed your daughters’ neighbours seem likely. Your previous relationships, are they amicable?”
“They wouldn’t do anything like that!”
“Well I have to ask. So, who overlooks the back garden? Where the trampoline is?”
“No one,” the husband confirmed.
“Sorry?”
“We have trees all around. It’s one reason we liked the place.”
Atkins nodded. A mystery then, one he would be in charge of solving. This would be something to add to a file he dreamed would take him into the MCU. But first, “can I have a look outside please?”
Edward took the corner at speed and saw two groups of people in front of him. One, being the staff of his church, were spread out coaching and preparing the people about to be baptised. The latter had been on a course of study, had written little speeches that each would read out and have filmed before the baptism.
“Is the pool ready?” Edward asked, although by pool he meant a child’s swimming one which was blown up each time for the immersion.
“Yes sir, yes, it is.”
“Good. Good. So,” and he looked at the faces of those about to be baptised. “It’s great you have all made this decision and…soon you’ll be baptised and…” he faltered, his train of thought repeatedly straying, and as he paused it was noted.
“Are you okay sir?”
“Yes, yes,” he made a show of straightening himself. “Soon you will be baptised, and you will enter a new phase in your relationship with Jesus; a great phase and I will see you all on stage soon.” He finished with a forced smile.
It wasn’t the speech he was meant to give, not in any way. Normally he talked them up to the point of hyperactivity and had them almost singing their speeches. But today that was the best he could do, and he turned and marched speedily away, back through the building to his office, where he closed the door. Then he had to sink into a chair and try and stop his pounding heart.
The police.
What were they doing here? Walking in and asking questions. They could ruin everything. Bad publicity could damage his church, a look through their files could, if they found out things that were happening… and if the church is damaged, he would be damaged, the whole thing he’d created out of nothing would fall apart. They absolutely could not be allowed to come here and poke about.
But how did you stop the police? They’re the police, they get to ask questions. They get to go everywhere.
He felt the pressure in his heart, clenched a hand to his chest and bent over. His breathing was so ragged it might have stopped for a bit. Relax, you need to relax Edward, all they’re doing is asking questions, about two men who killed themselves. It’s not like you murdered them and there’s a load of hidden evidence. They’ll ask their questions and move on. Now, have a drink.
He pulled open a desk drawer and took out a bottle of wine taken from the communion store. He snapped off the screw top and took several swigs of the burgundy liquid, feeling it play with his throat. Calm yourself, calm yourself, there is nothing to worry about. Just two dead young men who had nothing to do with his church.
A pause.
A thought.
For the first time, Edward wondered, did these two men’s deaths have anything to do with his church?
Two
He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. He’d stopped registering time as anything other than a countdown. A clock without numbers, but the hands counting down nonetheless, with every step he took to the end. He didn’t know how to be sure, so he’d picked the surest way he could think of. Jump from his third-floor flat window? Probably break his back, still be alive, still be in this hell. So, he was going to jump from the bridge, THE bridge in Morthern, the one over a fast-flowing river. He hadn’t exactly googled ‘best places to jump to your death’, but one of the lads he’d been to school with had jumped off the bridge as a drunken dare and died, so that was where he was going. A friend had tested it, and now he was going to use it.
He’d been drinking, he’d made sure of that bit. He had a bottle of Jack in his hand, three quarters drunk while on this walk, and he’d down the rest when it was time. It was amazing how your feet could still move on the ground when the rest of you floated high above it, but he wouldn’t be floating soon, he hoped, he’d be plunging. He ran a hand through the bristle that was his hair, having shaved it all off a few days ago in a fit of self-loathing.
And then it was there. The least impressive bridge in the country surely. A structure of oversized iron which had stood there for a century plus thanks to the Victorian love of over engineering, which while frowned upon in the throwaway age meant it would outlast every architect now let alone then. A structure which arched across the fastest and deepest river in Morthern and one which was about to get one more fish.
He decided to walk to the middle, because it was the only thing that made sense, and he started taking bigger swigs from the bottle. When he arrived at the crest of the gentle arch, he dropped the empty bottle to the ground. It didn’t smash, just thudded and lay there, and the man climbed onto the rail. There was no guide to suicide, no common rule or social etiquette, but he felt that standing on the rail was the right thing to do before you jumped off. He felt the slight wind on his face, knew his pain would end with one hard splash, and then he was falling and a hard thump which jarred him and…
He was still alive.
He wasn’t wet.
He could still see the rail?!
He suddenly realised he hadn’t fallen forward but had fallen back. As he heard someone’s raised voice, turned his head and saw a concerned face, he realised someone had, at the last possible moment, grabbed his jacked and heaved him back onto the bridge.
“Don’t do it mate, don’t do it,” the voice said over and over, then, comfortingly, “I can help, I can help, I know what to do…”
“Right then,” Grayling said looking around, “who looks like they know a lot of people?” Maruma and Susan both opened their mouths to speak but Grayling continued “that wasn’t a question, the head of the red shirts is over there.”
“I feel like I’m in an episode of Star Trek,” Maruma noted.
The red shirts were moving around slowly, making sure they spoke to everyone new, alone or confused, and either they or the people they spoke to flowed back and forth to one woman, clearly the command node. The trio walked over to her and Grayling led the chat as she always did.
“Hello there,” the time
for subtlety was gone, “I’m DC Grayling and I was wondering if you knew Jonathan Stewart?” She raised a photograph the parents had given.
“Oh, yes, I knew J-Stew, he came every Sunday, a good man,” she said in the manner of a person who’d say that about anyone who walked through the door.
Grayling followed up. “Did you know Kofi Salmons at all?”
“I certainly saw him, but he didn’t come every Sunday,” a phrase uttered in the passive aggressive tone of a council warden.
“And did you ever see them together?”
“Oh, yes I did.”
Three pairs of eyes widened and Grayling, Maruma and Susan leaned forward slightly. “Yes?”
“Well, no I didn’t. But I know they were in the same Fisher’s class.”
“What’s a Fisher’s class?”
“It’s a group we run during our ‘term’ times, if you want to call it that. We pick a book a term and go deep into it.”
“You mean a book of the bible?”
“Yes, silly.”
It would be fair to say Grayling’s narrowed eyes were a sign she did not like being called silly. She asked, “you didn’t attend this class?”
“No, but they were both on the list.”
“The teacher… are they here today?”
“Yes, he’s called Joseph, would you believe!”
“At this point… can you point them out please?”
“You can’t miss him, bear of a man with a huge ginger beard.”
“Ah, the guy who looks like a biker.” Grayling said it and turned, as did they all.
“Yes. He is a biker. You detectives are good.”
Grayling rolled her eyes. It turned out you never got used to being patronised.
“Also, Steve is over there, he was on the course too.”
All eyes now turned to a man who Grayling would have classed as a recovering substance abuser from at least twenty paces, a man who seemed about to collapse and curl up if not for the magical powers of powdered necromancy.
“What did Steve do?” Maruma asked.
“He attends every class, mostly for the meals.”
Power and Control Page 6