Preacher Man: 'their blood shall be upon them' (Ted Darling crime series Book 9)

by L M Krier

  He found Bill in the front bedroom, lying across the double bed. He bent over to shake him by the shoulders.

  ‘Bill! Bill, wake up, you silly old bugger. What’ve you done? Wake up, Bill.’

  ‘Sir, it looks as if he’s taken these.’

  One of the PCs was looking at an empty container which had clearly had pills in it. There was also an empty bottle, which had contained Bill’s favourite brand of Scotch whisky, on the floor next to the bed. Ted was busily checking his vital signs.

  ‘We should turn him, in case he vomits and aspirates. He’s breathing and there’s a pulse, but it’s a bit thready. One of you give me a hand, please.’

  They heard the siren as they were turning him. The sound of it seemed to send Father Jack into a frenzy downstairs. They could hear the bird repeatedly screeching ‘Feck off!’ at the top of its voice.

  ‘One of you go down and put a towel over the parrot’s cage. The other show the paramedics in. I’ll stay with Sergeant Baxter.’

  The two of them exchanged apprehensive looks.

  ‘Does it bite, sir? The bird?’

  ‘It’s a parrot. Behind bars. Keep your fingers out of the way and do it,’ Ted told them shortly.

  ‘Bill, you silly sod, what were you playing at?’ he said quietly to his old friend as the two officers left them alone for a moment. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me, if things had got this bad? Don’t you worry about Jack. I’ll take him home with me and take care of him. Trev will probably divorce me. He doesn’t like birds. But don’t you worry. You just concentrate on getting better and we’ll get you some help.’

  The first paramedic to walk through the door recognised Ted at once.

  ‘Hello again, Ted. How are you, and how’s the hand now?’

  He and his team mate had picked up both Maurice and Ted when they had been separately injured in an earlier enquiry. Although he asked the question, he was already focusing on the figure on the bed and asking Ted for any details, mentally noting the information.

  ‘Bill? Can you hear me, Bill? My name’s Phil and I’m just going to take a look at you.’

  Ted moved out of the way and went to talk to the two PCs as they were coming back upstairs.

  ‘You survived, then?’ he asked them dryly. ‘One of you outside now, please, keep the spectators away. And can one of you arrange someone to come and secure the house? We don’t want him coming home to find he’s been burgled. I’ll take Father Jack home with me, and I’ll follow the ambulance down.’

  Phil heard him and came over to the door to talk to him, on his way to get a stretcher, leaving his oppo to carry on seeing to Bill.

  ‘It might be better just to leave it for a while, Ted. Phone the hospital first to see if he’s up to visitors. Sometimes, with things like this, people feel a bit reluctant to face even close friends. Was that a parrot shouting its head off downstairs when we arrived?’

  ‘A cockatoo. Father Jack. I’ll take him home with me for now. Bill sent me a text asking me to look after Jack. That’s how I knew something was wrong.’

  ‘Just as well you acted quickly, looking at what he’s taken. Let’s hope there weren’t many left. So how will your missus react when you turn up at home with a strange bird?’

  ‘He’ll be furious. He hates birds at close quarters.’

  Trev’s motorbike was back in the garage when Ted got back. He’d half been hoping his partner would still be out so he could at least have got Jack into the house and hopefully settled down before Trev saw him. He knew Trev had something of a phobia about flapping wings, and Jack did like his liberty. It was not going to be an easy situation to manage, especially as, at a difficult part of a testing case, Ted was going to be working long hours. That would mean persuading Trev to feed Jack and let him out of his cage for some exercise.

  He paused on the doorstep to have a few stern words with the cockatoo.

  ‘Now, this is my house but Trev’s in charge. Well, Trev and the cats. So if you want to stay, you have to be polite to Trev and don’t attack the cats. All right?’

  He kept the cage covered as he opened the door and walked in, heading for the kitchen. Trev was sitting at the table with a mug of tea, his long legs, clad in another recent purchase, expensive riding breeches, stretched out in front of him. His black curls were damp and tousled from having been squashed under his riding hat and he looked as if he’d had an enjoyable time, if the slight smile on his lips and the tuneless humming between mouthfuls of dark tea were anything to go by.

  He turned his head with a smile of welcome which froze on his lips as he saw the cage.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked in horror.

  At the sound of his voice, the bird started up a shouted chorus of ‘Feck! Arse!’ from under the tea-towel.

  Ted was busily setting up the stand for the cage, studiously avoiding Trev’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can explain. Bill’s been rushed into hospital. He’s taken an overdose. I’ve not yet heard if he’s going to be all right. He sent me a text asking me to look after Jack, which is how I knew he’d done something. Thankfully, or he might not have survived. I still don’t know if he will, but at least he’s in the right place.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about Bill but seriously, Ted? A bird? You know I hate them flapping about. And what about the cats? Won’t they get him?’

  Ted had taken the towel off the cage. Six inquisitive felines were staring up at the white bird inside who was busily swearing at them. Ted opened the cage door.

  ‘Jack can look after himself. He does like a bit of freedom though. He won’t bother you. He doesn’t fly about much. He just hops from place to place. And I’m sure he can take care of himself with the cats. Just please don’t leave any windows or the garden door open. I don’t want him to escape.’

  Seeing the door open to freedom, Jack launched himself through it and fluttered the short distance to land on Trev’s shoulder.

  ‘Feck off, cup!’ he squawked, tugging viciously at Trev’s hair with his curved beak. Then he turned himself round so that, with incredible accuracy, the dropping he did landed right on the leg of Trev’s breeches, the white mess trickling down over the suede patches which ran up the inside legs and round his seat at the back.

  ‘He just shat on my best breeches! Has he any idea what these cost me? Ted, hand me my phone. I am going to ring the station to report a murder that’s about to happen. Once this creature gets off me, I am so going to kill you.’

  Phil the paramedic had been right. When Ted phoned the hospital later, he was told that Bill had regained consciousness but was refusing to see anyone. Ted asked for a message to be passed to him assuring him that his cockatoo was being well looked after and saying he would come and see him as soon as he was up to receiving visitors.

  Next he phoned the hospital near Bury for news of The Preacher. After being left on hold for some moments, he was eventually spoken to and told that Peter Spencer was making good progress and was still on suicide watch. The registrar who spoke to him said Spencer could now talk, though still with some difficulty and his voice was weak. He told Ted to call again in the morning and that it might just be possible for someone to speak to Spencer later in the day, though not for long.

  It looked as if they might finally be going to get some answers.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘I really am very sorry to hear about Bill. I know you tried to warn us all, but I honestly don’t think anyone realised how depressed he was becoming.’

  The Ice Queen was repeatedly stirring her coffee as she spoke. Ted often wondered why she bothered as she usually took it black with no sugar. It seemed to be something she did when she needed to measure her words carefully.

  ‘I certainly didn’t,’ Kevin Turner said glumly. ‘And I should have done. I speak to him practically every day. I was selfishly thinking of things from my point of view, not his. Thinking what I wouldn’t give for a three-month break right now.’

  ‘Technical
ly, he was no longer a serving officer when he did what he did. I think nevertheless that we need to have a close look at what has happened and see what lessons can be learned from it. What’s the latest news on him?’

  ‘I phoned the hospital first thing,’ Ted told them both. ‘They say he’s out of danger, thankfully. He’s still refusing to see anyone at all. Not me, and certainly not anyone from psych. Stubborn old bugger. I’m hoping he might let me visit later today. He’ll be wanting to know about Jack.’

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘His parrot,’ Ted told her. The Super didn’t know Bill as well as Ted and Kevin did. ‘I’ve got him staying with me for now. Trev and the cats are not amused. I think they may all leave home. But knowing Bill, what will be worrying him most at the moment is whether this incident will affect his job offer to come back as a civvy. He’ll be fine, once he gets back here, where he feels he belongs.’

  ‘There’s no reason why it should affect his future post. But in the circumstances, he would need to satisfy HR and Occupational Health that his recent problem was not going to present any further issues. Could you perhaps persuade him to see someone? To accept some help?’

  ‘I can try,’ Ted said, his lack of optimism obvious from his tone.

  Kevin drained his coffee and rose to go.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’d better get back to the coalface, if you don’t need me for anything else?’

  She nodded her agreement. Kev turned to Ted with an ironic grin and a wink as he said, ‘Sir.’

  It was purely for form’s sake, in front of the Super, and they all knew it.

  ‘So, it looks as if your team has had some excellent results. With Clive Edwards and his henchmen all now remanded in custody for your Trevor’s kidnapping, and with a strong possibility that you have the right person for these appalling tortures, it’s looking good. Not to mention wrapping up this female genital mutilation case. That’s an excellent result as it sends a strong message. Please pass on my congratulations to everyone involved.

  ‘If you are able to visit Bill, please send him my best wishes and assure him that as far as I am concerned, his new job is still waiting for him.’

  The morning briefing was just a formality. Everyone knew exactly what they needed to be working on. Rob had been told by the hospital that he could go in and interview Peter Spencer at eleven o’clock, once he had been seen by a doctor. He’d been warned that he couldn’t stay long and that Spencer might not say a lot but that he appeared to be quite happy about talking to the police.

  Sal followed Ted as he went back to his office and asked if he could have a word.

  ‘Yes, Sal, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Boss, I’ve nearly finished digging through the paperwork on the lease. I’ve more or less unpicked the trail now and I’ll probably be able to submit a report on it later today. But it’s made me realise something. This is the sort of stuff I like doing best, and I’m good at it. So I want to go back to Fraud.’

  ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you, Sal. You’re a good officer. I thought you were happy on the team?’

  ‘I am boss, it’s been great working here. But I’ve put in for my sergeant’s exams, as you know, and with Mike and Rob already as DSs, there’s no place for me realistically on the team if I get the promotion. I’ve been talking to some old friends in Fraud and there’s a post there coming available. So I’d like to put in for it, but I didn’t want to go behind your back.’

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate that. If you need a reference from me, you know it will be a glowing one. Best of luck, Sal. When are you thinking of leaving us?’

  ‘It would be in about a month, if all goes well and if I get the post I’m after.’

  Ted shook the DC’s hand and watched him leave the office. His mind was busily pondering whether the powers that be would allow him a replacement for Sal or if they would leap on the chance of the further reduction in personnel on his team.

  Ted picked up his phone. He needed to speak to SOCO about the crime scene and about the possibility of getting a match on the tyres on Spencer’s car. He also needed to speak to Doug about the kitten. He’d put it off long enough.

  ‘Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession.’

  The voice was faint, barely above a whisper, but Rob could still detect the ironic note of laughter in what Peter Spencer was saying. He’d cautioned him and told him he was recording the conversation. Spencer was reclining against the raised head of the bed. He’d waived the right to have a solicitor present. He had water in a cup with a straw to ease this throat, which was clearly still painful. Rob had told the uniformed constable at the door to take a quick tea break while he had the chance.

  ‘My name is Peter Spencer. I’m an organ tuner by day and sometimes a keyboard player with a band at night. My late father, Robert Spencer, was a parish priest. My mother died when I was young and I was brought up by my father at the vicarage until he died a little over three years ago.’

  He took a sip of the water, swallowing with obvious difficulty.

  ‘My father’s bishop was a frequent visitor to the vicarage. He too was something of a musician who played piano and organ to a reasonable level. When I was small and couldn’t easily reach the pedals with my feet, the bishop would sit on the piano stool and put me in between his legs so I could play the keys and he could operate the pedals for me.

  ‘I was quite young at this time, far too young to realise why I could always feel something hard and stiff pressing against the back of my buttocks as I sat there playing. My father would be sitting not far away and he appeared to be completely oblivious to what was happening.’

  Another drink, and for a moment he rested his head back against the pillows, summoning his strength.

  ‘If at any time you’re unable to continue, Mr Spencer, please say so and I can suspend the interview for now.’

  ‘I would like to continue. Confession is good for the soul, they say, and mine is in sore need of relief.

  ‘As I got older, I started to play the organ. Again, the reach and the complexity of the pedals was problematic. My father took to sending me to the church to practise, alone with the bishop. By this time, I was becoming more mature and, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you, Sergeant, I was becoming all too aware of what an erection was.

  ‘I had no feelings for men. The mere idea repelled me. I was just starting to discover girls. But at that age, almost anything can be sexually stimulating. The bishop had started touching me, fondling me, aware of the reaction it was provoking in me. I was disgusted. With him, with myself, with my reaction to what was happening, my lack of self control. I decided to speak of it to my father.’

  He paused again, drinking more water. It was clearly becoming emotionally as well as physically painful for him to continue. Rob waited, not wanting to press him.

  ‘My father … my father didn’t believe me. Not a word of it. The bishop was a man of high repute, widely respected. He wrote theological books. He was heavily involved in charitable works and missions in third world countries. How could I possibly be telling the truth? I was an adolescent boy, a mass of spots and raging hormones, experiencing wet dreams and clearly prone to unhealthy fantasies.

  ‘He told me I was wicked. That I was committing a sin to spread such lies about a holy man. He made me kneel while he prayed for me, great long passages from the King James’ Bible, because he was always old-fashioned. He didn’t like the scriptures being rendered into modern vernacular. He made me memorise and repeat sections and told me that I must recite them whenever I had impure thoughts of such a nature.

  ‘Then he locked me in the cubbyhole under the stairs, in the dark. I hate the dark. I’ve always been afraid of it. I think it’s because my mother died in the night-time. Even now I sometimes sleep with a light on. I hate spiders, too, and any kind of creepy-crawly. He left me there overnight. I was terrified. I was so afraid I wet myself, to my shame. He refu
sed to let me out until I apologised and promised never again to tell such wicked lies.

  ‘The next time the bishop came to visit, Father sent me to the church with him as if nothing had happened and I’d mentioned nothing to him. So it continued for perhaps two years more. It was only ever touching, no more than that. Intimate touching. But all the time I was playing he would press against me from behind and fondle me and I couldn’t control my reactions.

  ‘It went on until the bishop was abruptly moved to a distant diocese. I found out much later that there was a hint of a scandal surrounding him, other complaints from young boys like me, which was hushed up and he was sent away to keep it quiet.’

  There was a knock at the door and a nurse came in. Rob paused the recording.

  ‘I just need to check on Mr Spencer, and to make sure he’s not getting overtired.’

  ‘I would prefer to go on. In the words of the TV programme, ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish.’ I haven’t a lot more to say.’

  She checked his pulse and temperature, adjusted the pillows, smoothed down the sheets.

  ‘As long as you’re sure ...’

  ‘I have explained to Mr Spencer that he isn’t obliged to say anything at this time,’ Rob assured her. ‘But he has said to me that he’d like to continue and I think we’re nearly finished for now.’

  She left the room. Spencer drank more water.

  ‘I thought – and lying here like this, talking to a policeman, I can see now how insane the whole thing was – but I did think that if I could get hold of young men, ones who were gay or thought they were, and show them the error of their ways, perhaps I could stop similar things happening in the future. It seemed right. It seemed as if I was helping them.

  ‘It was easy enough to pick victims. They’d seen me before, at gigs, playing with the group. They had no reason to fear me. And I never had any intention of killing them. Nothing like that. I always meant to let them go. If I could just reprogramme them in some way.

  ‘I think I realised, after the first one, that it was not the right thing to do. But somehow, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to. I really did. But I couldn’t find the strength to do so. I always told myself that if anyone got too close, I would stop. Forever. That’s why I had the noose ready. I never intended to walk away. I knew there would have to be a reckoning for what I’d done.’