‘Dr Hope?’
‘Sister Helen, please,’ she smiled. ‘I’m only “Doctor” when I’m at the University.’
‘Right, Sister. I’m Detective Inspector Darren Swift, and this is Detective Constable Colette Quinn. Nothing to worry about at all, and we’ll try not to take up too much of your time. We were just hoping for some guidance from you really.’
‘Guidance? You mean spiritual guidance detective?’ Helen said with an arched eyebrow as they sat down. The detectives looked unamused and she instantly regretted the moment of uncharacteristic insolence; what on earth was she thinking? Perhaps that student Paul had somehow rattled her today. Detective Inspector Swift continued.
‘Unfortunately a body was found in the early hours of this morning on Crosby beach, up at the north end so very close to here.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘How..?’ Both detectives were taken aback, and glanced at each other.
‘I heard it on the radio on the way here.’
‘Oh, oh right.’
‘I didn’t hear it from God, if that’s what you were wondering.’ She smiled. Back in the game, that one worked.
But she had set the detectives on edge and they seemed irritable now. ‘So anyway,’ said Swift, ‘we haven’t identified the body yet, and we’re checking missing persons, but unfortunately it is going to be a murder investigation. Whoever did this appears to have covered their tracks very well, and the tide has also been in and out, so we’re working with the evidence we have while we wait for forensics to identify the body. It’s very likely to be drugs-related.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Helen nodded expectantly as Swift went on.
‘The reason we’re here is that there was some writing at the crime scene, and it’s some sort of religious quote. Obviously we looked it up and it’s from the Bible, the Book of Romans it says. Anyway we just went into the nearest vicarage in Crosby and they sent us here to see you, because apparently you’re an expert on religious texts. We’re just looking for some context and whether it could give us any clues. It says here,’ he paused to read from his notes, ‘you’re an eschatologist – what does that mean exactly?’
‘Yes, I’m a lecturer in the Theology Department at the University, and eschatology is just a course I’ve been teaching for the past couple of years. It’s about death, the end of the world, fun stuff like that. So – what’s the quotation?’
‘Oh right yes. It’s…’ he read from his notes, ‘Hath not the potter power over the clay?’
At the sound of these words, Helen was momentarily lost to the room, drawn into private thoughts, and DC Quinn leaned forward and coughed to nudge her back into the conversation.
‘Do you know it then?’ Quinn asked. ‘If you can’t remember we can show you where we looked it up online, or there must be plenty of Bibles here.’ She gestured to the book shelves around the room.
‘Sorry, yes, sorry.’ Helen shook herself back into the conversation. ‘I do know it of course. Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour? It’s from Romans, chapter nine verse twenty-one if I’m not mistaken. I was just startled because it’s so very relevant to our…..’
She paused, lost in thought, and the detectives waited restlessly for her to continue.
‘It’s one of the many passages in the Bible that refers to the concept of divine will, or God’s power over the fate of mankind; and in particular the idea of predestination. That is, God in his wisdom chooses certain individuals who will be saved, and certain who will be sinners, condemned to Hell.’
At this Swift and Quinn both made the same facial expression, mouths turned down at the edges in unwilling acknowledgement of her elucidation.
Swift said, ‘Predestination… and that can’t be changed? Seems a bit depressing. Why on earth would you choose to believe that?’
Helen smiled benignly. This was the usual reaction to Calvinism. ‘It’s not so much what we choose to believe. More important than the doctrine itself is the way it causes us to live our lives.’
‘And are we supposed to know who these saved and sinners are?’
‘Oh no. Can you imagine a world in which we did know? All we can do is our best.’
Swift looked at his watch, then at Quinn, saying, ‘We should get back. That crime scene needs to be moved before the next tide comes in.’ Then he looked directly at Helen. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how does this place stay afloat?’
‘Well, we receive grants from English Heritage thanks to the history of the buildings, and funds from the United Reformed Church, since we act as an unofficial care home for very old or infirm nuns. One of our Sisters once trained as a doctor, so we have a degree of medical expertise here to take care of them. And then of course my lecturer salary goes to the Order, plus the Deaconess works as a school teacher part-time. Other than that, we need very little really.’
‘Do you get many visitors to the convent? Has anyone unusual come here recently?’
‘We do get visitors, yes. Although Calvinism is a very conservative form of Christianity, we do try to play some role in the community. There are the public church services on Sundays and Wednesdays, we get a few locals in for that, and then the foodbank on Fridays. And we do try to be an open door to people in need – we act as a women’s refuge, for example.’
‘Not really an area of great need around here is it, Formby footballer belt…’ mused Swift. ‘Anyone taking refuge here at the moment?’
Quinn shifted uncomfortably, visibly bristling at her colleague’s harshness, but the nun seemed unoffended.
‘No, not at the moment,’ Helen replied. ‘Of course, we use our country retreat for that anyway, and that’s in a secret location for obvious reasons.’
‘Well,’ said Swift, straightening up to leave, ‘it’s impossible to tie any of that to a murder motive at this stage, but thank you for your time and we’ll come back to you if we find any more… religious clues, let’s say. It’s either drugs-related, or some nutter, obviously.’
‘Or maybe a disgruntled potter,’ ventured Helen. They realised she was making a joke, a terrible one, and were unamused. She told herself off again, what on earth was she thinking, making light of something like this? She could feel herself becoming a bore, long before her time, gradually turning into one of the old dears at the age of thirty-two. A faint spark of something, perhaps desperation, was kindling somewhere within her, and beginning to somehow alter her behaviour. Swift was getting up to leave, when Quinn touched his arm and whispered: ‘What about the marking on the body? It might be linked…’
Swift sighed, irritated she had brought it up but conceding and sitting down again. ‘There is something else, as Detective Constable Quinn said out loud, there was a marking on the body. If you’re not too squeamish… we can show you on the iPad. This is confidential of course, not for the press or social media.’
‘I’m a nun. I don’t know what social media is.’ And now a pointless lie. What am I doing?
Swift placed the iPad in front of her, and she suddenly recoiled and gasped. They hadn’t prepared her, and yet again she was taken from the room, lost in the private horror of another time she had seen a body.
‘A crucifixion?’
‘No, not exactly, he didn’t die like that. Looks like he died a while ago, and this elaborate set-up was constructed last night for people to find. Sorry, should have told you more before we showed you the photo. The carving on the body – it’s an axe right? Does it mean anything, religious-wise?’
Again, Sister Helen was very silent and still, and the detectives were about to give up, wishing they hadn’t shown her. But then she spoke.
‘It’s a double-headed axe, and it does have a meaning, yes. Several meanings. Sometimes known as a Labrys, it is originally from Crete and is one of the oldest symbols of Greek civilisation. It was often associated with female deities, and was also a symbol of Greek fascism. But… and the rea
son I know about this symbol since it relates to my eschatological study, is that it is also a symbol of death. It symbolises duality, in a similar way to the Tau Cross. In Athens, those prisoners sentenced to death had the lower case ‘t’ tattooed on their foreheads and if the prisoner was fortunate to be found innocent, he would have an upper case ‘T’ in the form of the Tau, which is the symbol of life, tattooed on their forehead.’
‘Symbol of death, OK.’ Swift tried again to leave, but Helen was not finished.
‘But detective, this axe is inverted, and that means something else again. An inverted axe means anti-justice or rebellion. Rebelling against God. The work of Satan. So I suppose what the writing and the symbol are saying together is that this person has rebelled against God and is going to hell… no matter what. And of course that is horrible and unknowable. How terribly sad for his family. Who was he? He looks very young…’
But Swift had stood up and moved towards the door. ‘We’re not releasing any more details at this stage. Once the body has been identified and the family notified you’ll no doubt hear about it in the local press.’
***
Helen saw them out and watched from the doorway as they made their way across the gravel to the police car. Once they were out of her earshot, Quinn looked at Swift across the car doors. They had only known each other for a few hours, and she was still trying to get the measure of this mysterious detective who had been sent over from Murder Squad in the city centre. According to the lads back at Crosby station he was some career-ladder hotshot, but Quinn was beginning to wonder whether his brooding manner might, in fact, be shyness.
‘You seemed on edge in there, like you couldn’t wait to get out.’ she said. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was thinking we should get back to identifying bodies and looking for witnesses, not messing about with nuns and riddles like it’s The Da Vinci Code.’
‘What a place though. Like it’s been frozen in time. And those old nuns who opened the door were so cute.’ She decided to test the waters for banter. ‘I was a convent school girl myself, d’you reckon it did me any harm?’
‘Debatable.’ he said as they drove away. ‘Me and religion, we have a history, and it’s not a good one. Anyway, this is Liverpool; football is our religion, and Anfield is our church.’
‘Goodison Park, you mean.’
‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re a fucking blue.’
‘Does that mean we’re incompatible then?’
Quinn smiled sidelong at him but Swift didn’t take the bait.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘what sort of a young, nice-looking girl becomes a nun? It’s attention seeking if you ask me. Dead weird.’
‘Ah, that was it, you fancied her.’
‘Fuck off.’
And with traded insults they relaxed into their working relationship, and Quinn had a good feeling about it.
‘Coincidence wasn’t it,’ she said as they pulled onto the bypass that headed back towards the city. ‘That quotation being so… Calvinist or whatever.’
‘The quote, the axe, the crucifixion – that whole crime scene was a message, a warning. And there are plenty of local drug-lords with mansions around here. It has to be gang-related somehow. Detective school 101 – there are no coincidences.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just messing. To be perfectly honest with you, Colette, this is my first case on the Murder Squad. I started last week, passed me exams and switched from Vice. I was only sent down the beach this morning because I live the nearest. Trust me to get a weird one for my first case, eh?’
‘A horrible one as well. Where d’you live?’
‘Waterloo. By the docks, right the other end of the beach. Just moved there. Anyway they haven’t taken the case off me yet, but it’s only been a few hours.’
‘It was only by chance I was the Duty Officer this morning. We get the odd body in Crosby, but it’s usually a domestic. You’ll be sound, boss. With me behind you, what could possibly go wrong, eh?’
‘Nice one. Let’s check in with the CSIs on the beach, then head back to Crosby to set up the Incident Room and put the team together.’
‘They’re a good bunch in Crosby, a bit rowdy like, but they’ll get stuck in to this. A lot of them seemed to know you.’
‘Yeah, I grew up there; in fact I started at Crosby station ten years ago. It’s good to be back.’
‘Not one of the lads anymore though, are you?’
***
Helen was still standing on the doorstep, lost in a reverie, when the Deaconess came up behind her quietly, startling her. The Deaconess always stood a little too close, and Helen could smell her sophisticated scent which was possibly Chanel, one of her few indulgences being not to wash with the rough, pungent carbolic soap that the other Sisters used.
‘Everything alright, Helen? We haven’t had police here since the time Sister Josephine bought those marijuana plants by mistake. What have you been up to, you naughty girl?’
‘Yes, yes, Margaret, everything’s fine. Very odd though. Terrible really. They found a body, on Crosby beach.’ For some reason Helen didn’t feel like sharing the detail about the crucifix. ‘There was a religious quotation with the body, and they wanted someone to explain it. Turned out it was rather Calvinist actually.’
‘Ah, then they came to the best person to analyse it of course. Our very own little scholar. You know,’ she straightened Helen’s veil as she spoke, ‘I rather miss those chats we used to have. You’ve been so busy with all that university work. We’re very proud of you, of course. But we miss you. Why don’t you come and see me later in my room – we could have a glass of wine together after dinner.’
The Deaconess turned Helen around by her shoulders and looked into her eyes, in a way that Helen had used to find so powerful, but now she found slightly patronising. Deaconess Margaret Mills was statuesque in middle-age, still the second youngest in the Order after Helen, and she ruled her little dictatorship with a benevolence constantly tinged with threat. The moment was interrupted by Sister Mary who came shuffling down the corridor eagerly:
‘Come on now, Helen, there’s time before chapel. Tell us everything!’ Margaret released Helen, who linked arms with Mary and was bustled away.
***
That evening after dinner and prayers, Helen sat at her desk in pyjamas and dressing gown, to mark the latest batch of essays and prepare for next week’s tutorials. However she was completely unable to concentrate, so shaken by the day’s events, and her spartan little room provided no comfort or distraction, so she decided to go and work in the convent’s library. She crept along the Hall’s silent corridor and down the main staircase without really knowing why she was creeping, since there was nothing forbidden or surreptitious about leaving her room at night. But there was an unofficial curfew at the convent in the evenings, the mostly elderly ladies tired after the rigours of the day’s prayer schedule.
Alone under the lamplight and surrounded by books, Helen felt cocooned, and she decided to use the convent’s one computer to look up the local news website and see if there had been any developments. There was a video clip with Detective Inspector Swift giving a statement from Crosby beach. He was standing on the sand with the bronze figures of ‘Another Place’ ranged out behind him into the grey water. The wind had whipped up, sending whistling spindrift along the sand and causing his anorak to flap.
‘The body of an unidentified man was found here in the early hours of this morning. We are currently looking through missing persons and asking for any witnesses to come forward.’
The reporter from behind the camera asked, ‘Can you confirm reports that the body was hung up on a cross?’
‘At this time we cannot divulge any more details about the crime scene. But I can confirm that we are treating this as a murder investigation.’
Helen clicked on a couple of other news stories and then, absent-mindedly and absurdly looking over her shoulder b
efore she did it, typed ‘double-headed axe’ into the search engine.
There was the Wikipedia entry detailing the Cretan axe. That she had explained, almost word for word, to the detectives. Below it were listings for computer games, fancy dress websites, historical blogs. She clicked on the ‘Images’ tab; so thrown had she been by the image on the body, she had an urge to see more of these axes. As she scrolled through, one picture in particular caught her eye, since not only was it inverted, but it looked exactly the same design as the axe on the body.
She clicked on it and was suddenly confronted with a double-headed axe flashing on a black screen, plus an infernal guitar noise blasting through the computer’s speakers. She quickly turned down the volume and, again looking over her shoulder, clicked on the flashing axe that implored her to enter. She found herself on the website of some sort of rock band; five bearded men stood in a forest staring at her, almost comical in the intensity of their expressions. She smiled to herself. She had heard of these heavy metal bands that use religious or satanic imagery for shock value, and she felt it was all harmless enough. But two things kept her on the webpage. Firstly, the band’s name was Total Depravity, that inherently Calvinist notion of sin affecting all parts of man. And then a flashing button implored her to buy their new album, which was called Irresistible Grace – another one of the five pillars of the Tulip. Irresistible Grace: whatever God decrees to happen will inevitably come to pass, and those whom He elects for salvation will inevitably be saved.
Helen clicked on the band’s ‘Bio’ tab, and established that they were a Norwegian group who were apparently ‘melodic death metal masters.’ Whatever that was she thought it sounded rather beautiful. They were in the middle of a European tour and had already played a concert in Liverpool; just the other night in fact, and tomorrow they would be in Manchester. They are here. A nameless fear, tinged with excitement, began to stir in the pit of her stomach.
The music and lyrics were composed by the lead vocalist and guitarist, whose name was Mikko Kristensen, and who claimed to ‘rail against the tyranny of religion and the lies of belief. If you worship God you also worship Satan!’ However, for someone who professed to hate religion he seemed to be fairly obsessed with exploring its ideas. When Helen clicked on the band’s ‘Discography’ tab, she saw immediately that this Kristensen had a deep interest in Calvinist notions. One album, which advertised itself as a ‘concept album’, was entitled Satan’s Progress and appeared to be a version of John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress except with the protagonist aiming to get to Hell. There were plenty of other satanic references too; another album was called Demoness, with each song title the name of a female demon: Lilith, Succubus, Empusa, Lamia, Hantu Kopek.
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