He kissed her, to maybe try and take some of the sting out of his words? But to Jo it felt more like a goodbye.
Chapter 7
6 months ago…
Abbey stretched awake. Looking around her room, in the growing morning light, she could see her sewing corner neat and tidy, ready for the day’s work. Hanging from a rail were clothes waiting to be posted to customers. Her laptop was open at the press release she was going to send out to try and drum up interest from bloggers and the like. Life over the past three months had been good. At long last her life was stable. She knew that three months wasn’t a long time for a fledgling business. But it was the longest period of being clean and sober that Abbey had managed in years. Her local job centre had put her forward for the self-employed business development scheme, which gave her extra money for sourcing clothes and materials. And the regular monthly Universal Credit payment meant she could pay her rent and feed herself. Just.
Yes, life was… her thought was cut short as she inexplicably felt nauseous. Clasping her hand over her mouth she sprang from the bed and dashed to the toilet where she was sick. Returning on shaking legs, she got back into bed and sipped water, before rushing back to the toilet and bringing it all back up again. Shaking and shivery Abbey wondered if she had a virus and climbed back into bed. If she was honest with herself this wasn’t the first time it had happened. She’d just put it down to the withdrawal her body must be going through from the years of drug and alcohol abuse. But maybe it was something else. Something more.
By the third day of similar behaviour, Abbey had, with growing horror, bought a pregnancy test. She tried to remember when she’d last had a period, but couldn’t. Mind you, that wasn’t unusual. Her hit and miss lifestyle when it came to food and illegal substances meant that her cycle wasn’t always as regular as it should be. She read the instruction leaflet for the test with shaking hands, and a feeling of dread.
After placing the stick under a stream of urine, she continued to sit on the toilet while she waited for the blue line.
And then there it was. Irrefutable evidence. She was pregnant.
Oh dear God. What would she do? Who could she turn to? Who would support her during this… this disaster?
Her parents had finally washed their hands of her last year. She knew she’d repeatedly hurt and upset them with her irresponsible behaviour, rashness with money, and an angry and volatile personality. When she saw them, she was mostly on a come down from a particularly high dose of illegal substance. Therefore, they didn’t trust her anymore and who could blame them really? She’d been a bad person, but that wasn’t her any longer. But would they believe her? Probably not. Her only friends were other drug users and party animals, so they would be of no help at all.
Deciding that fresh air might help both her deliberations and her nausea, she dressed quickly and went out into the early morning sunshine. Walking past the cathedral she decided to have a look around. Even though she lived in Chichester, she couldn’t remember ever going inside. There was a sign saying that entry was free, but donations would be appreciated.
Surprised the building was open so early, a soaring melody from the organ drew her inside and she wandered around listening to the expert playing and wondered if someone was practicing. Dismayed when the instrument fell silent, she saw a man leave the organ loft and climb down. As he emerged into the body of the cathedral, she told him how much she’d enjoyed his playing. He was probably about the same age as her and dressed in clerical garb. They introduced themselves and she found out his name was Osian Price and that he was one of the clergy attached to the cathedral. He invited her to walk around the interior with him, but she was beginning to feel unwell. She broke out into a sweat and her stomach clenched, the pain making her double over. Gasping for air, she mumbled something to Osian and fled. She didn’t know why but she had to get out of the cathedral. Fast. There was something dreadfully wrong with either her or the building. She didn’t know which and to be honest didn’t care. She ran like she was pursued by the hounds of hell. Once she broke out into the gardens and the sunlight, she started to feel better. Her breathing slowed; her pulse rate returned to normal.
Unsure as to what had just happened, Abbey thought that perhaps she’d picked up a bug. Her stomach was still sore, as though she’d been kicked in it and she once again felt sick. Rushing to a rubbish bin, she vomited into it, holding on with shaking hands. Once the wave of sickness was over, Abbey straightened and wiped her mouth with a tissue. Her stomach clenched again. She had to get home before she made a complete fool of herself.
With a lingering backward look at the cathedral and if she was honest, Osian, Abbey turned away and ran for home, not noticing the extra gargoyle sat atop the cathedral wall. Watching.
Chapter 8
Present day…
It was time for Jo’s meeting with the new boss. Since Alex Crooks died, the force had been casting around for a new Detective Chief Inspector. Jo had imagined it would be an internal appointment but was as surprised as everyone else when it was announced that an experienced DCI was joining them from Manchester. By all accounts Harry Sykes was a dour Yorkshire man who had moved down south to get away from the rain! He was fed up with the cold climate of the North and appreciated being near to the sea. As far as anyone knew he’d moved here on his own. But there were no details on his marital status. Jo had heard that someone was starting a ‘book’ on how long he’d last, but she’d passed on the opportunity of putting £5 on the odds-on favourite of just six months.
As far as Jo was aware, Sykes knew nothing of any strange circumstances surrounding Jo’s last two cases and she wanted to keep it that way. Everyone thought that Alex had had a heart attack at the scene of the confrontation with Odin. Crooks died, Odin must have flown the coop as he’d not turned up for the meeting and hadn’t been seen since, and life in Chichester had returned to some semblance of normal.
‘Ah, Jo, good to meet you.’ DCI Harry Sykes welcomed Jo into his office. The one that used to belong to Alex Crook. It held many memories for Jo and she was surprised to see that Sykes hadn’t made any changes. In fact some of Alex’s things were still there, pictures on the walls, paper tray on the desk and, of course, Alex’s chair. Maybe no one had wanted them. After all he had been divorced, so it was doubtful his ex-wife had wanted anything personal from it. That was a sad thought, that there was no one in Alex’s life who cared enough. She hoped that wouldn’t happen to her. She considered the thought that maybe many lonely years stretched in front of her. But that was too horrible to contemplate. Shaking that depressing view of life off her shoulders, she brought herself back to the here and now.
Jo managed a small smile at Sykes’ greeting and shook his hand. ‘Good to meet you too, Sir.’
‘Please, have a seat.’
Jo sat opposite Sykes as he returned to his chair. She was wearing her usual trouser-suit and a crisp white blouse. She’d put on heels, that she’d take off as soon as she reached her office. Her short black pixie hairstyle had recently been trimmed and she was wearing subtle make up and a swipe of lip gloss.
‘You and your team have been through the mill lately, I hear.’
‘Yes, we’ve had a particularly difficult case. What with the bombing and… everything.’
‘But this,’ Sykes looked at his notes, ‘Odin character hasn’t been heard from since the confrontation in the warehouse.’
‘No, Sir,’ Jo struggled to keep her face blank at the mention of Odin. ‘And as he’s disappeared, so the party has just about disappeared as well, the British Nordic League, that is. I don’t think we’ll hear much more from them.’
‘Well, let’s hope not. Before we move on, just remind me again why and how Odin managed to get away?’
‘It was because Alex collapsed, at least that’s our guess. Our focus was firmly on the DCI. We tried to revive him, but unfortunately, he died at the scene. We never saw Odin, so to be honest, Sir, we don’t know if he turned
up or not.’
‘Remind me, the ‘we’ was you and DS Byrd?’
‘That’s correct, Sir.’
‘Um, well, not exactly protocol was it? Going in without back-up?’
Jo held her breath, wondering what was coming next. This meeting was already far more difficult that she’d hoped. She struggled to keep her hands still in her lap and her feet flat on the floor.
Sykes looked at her for a few seconds, then appeared to have come to a decision, as he said, ‘But nevertheless understandable, given Alex Crooks’ state of mind at the time, by all accounts.’
Jo exhaled. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she managed to mumble, with relief. Unbidden was a thought that perhaps he might just be tricking her into thinking all was well, when it wasn’t and that she’d be under investigation before she could say ‘supernatural’.
As the conversation moved onto safer ground, Jo looked at Sykes more closely. His face reflected what he was, a dour Yorkshire man. It was all lines and angles and with no spare flesh. He didn’t seem much given to humour, nor light-hearted conversation. She could smell cigarette smoke on his clothes. He wore a non-descript suit, coloured shirt and dark tie. Nothing that stood out. He was tall, over 6ft, thin and rangy and looked like the sort of bloke who faded into the background. But perhaps that was a ploy. You didn’t get to the rank of DCI by being invisible.
They briefly talked about Jo’s open cases and then he said, ‘It seems that my previous incumbent, Alex Crook, had you pencilled in for the nasty, major crimes cases. Is that right?’
‘Yes, Sir, we are the team for murder cases and the like in Chichester and sometimes the wider area.’
‘And you want that to stay?’
Jo was beginning to sense that she was on shaky ground again. ‘Oh, very much, Sir,’ she tried to sound as positive as possible. ‘The team are pretty tight knit and used to working together.’
‘And that team is?’
‘DS Eddie Byrd, DC Jill Sandy, DC Ken Guest, and DS Sasha Gold providing computer and office management support. Plus we also work with Bill Burke from forensics and Jeremy Grogan, the pathologist.’
‘And DS Gold is happy being office bound?’
‘Very, she works well on her own, is able to prioritise and provide answers to most questions and problems thrown at her.’
‘Very well,’ Sykes nodded his agreement. ‘Let’s keep things that way then and we’ll review it again once you’ve finished your next case.’
Jo could breathe again and managed, ‘Are there any new cases you want us on, Sir?’
‘No, not as yet. Wrap up the Odin case and let’s see what comes up.’
Jo took that as a dismissal and stood. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she said and left.
Bloody hell, she was glad to get out of the office. She’d felt like the walls were closing in on her. But Sykes hadn’t given anything away. Hadn’t shown her anything of his personality (if he had one, she thought rebelliously). She didn’t know what to make of him. She’d just have to wait until they got an active investigation, he’d no doubt show his true colours then. She made a mental note to ask her dad about Sykes. He’d know any gossip about the DCI for sure.
Chapter 9
Jill sat in Chichester cathedral listening to the choir. The clear notes, sung to perfection lightened her heart and soul. Since joining Major Crimes, Jill had found it hard to relax in her time off, at evenings and weekends. At least the time off she had once an investigation had concluded. Until then it was pretty much 24/7 for all the team members.
Feeling exhausted and drained she’d wondered how to best counteract that. To find an interest that she could dip in and out of as time permitted. She’d tried Pilates (too exerting), Yoga (too boring), Sailing (too wet), long walks (lonely without a dog). Passing the Cathedral one day she’d come across an advert for a free lunchtime recital, and from then on, she was hooked.
Having a religious background (which she kept quiet and who wouldn’t?) she was familiar with the services, but it wasn’t until she went to choral evensong at the Cathedral that she truly appreciated the choir and particularly the choristers. She always thought she’d had enough of church, as she’d grown up with a cleric for a father. She’d had enough of the lack of money, the sense of service (always being at someone’s beck and call) and cold draughty houses that don’t belong to you.
But it seemed faith hadn’t had enough of her. Her interest re-kindled, she began to attend services regularly and it was there that she’d met Osian Price. At first it was nothing more than a welcome friendship. She didn’t really know anyone in Chichester apart from members of the force. As her interest in the cathedral grew, she signed up to be a volunteer, as the organisers were happy to slot her in at short notice when she had some free time. She became interested in Osian’s role in the Cathedral and likewise he became interested in her working life.
They decided, over copious cups of coffee and the occasional meal out, that they both served. Jill, the public in her role as a detective constable and Osian, serving God in the cathedral. He had no interest in being a parish priest and she had no interest in leaving the force. They began, slowly, to realise that their relationship might, just, flourish under the umbrella of service.
Once Evensong finished, she held back and so she managed a few snatched minutes with Osian before he rushed to the training course he was giving for volunteers. Unbeknown to her, they were about to be thrown together, when their jobs would fuse into one. And they would have to make the ultimate decision. Would they have enough faith in order to prevail?
Chapter 10
3 months ago…
Abbey walked around the Cathedral gardens. The weather was warm, the birds were singing, tourists were flocking into the cathedral itself. She had on a comfortable maternity dress, blue with white polka dots. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail and she had flat sandals on her feet. She was as comfortable as she could be. Abbey never went inside the Cathedral anymore, not since that awful day when she’d been so sick and made a complete and utter fool of herself. Several times she’d got to the door but had had to turn away. It was as though she were having a panic attack. Her breathing went shallow, she started to shake, her head spun, and she could barely see. She’d resorted to getting out of the way of people and leaning against the cathedral wall, looking outward, unable to go in.
Occasionally she saw Osian, which was always a plus. Cause for a definite lightening of her mood. But there could never be anything between them. She wasn’t at all religious and if she was, she supposed she was a Catholic. Which would be a bit awkward as Chichester Cathedral was a protestant church.
The other reason though, was that she could sense a barrier between them. Let’s face it she was about to become and unmarried mother. She didn’t even know who the child’s father was. She knew she couldn’t get too close to him, that way led pain and unhappiness and that wasn’t what she wanted for herself and her baby.
She greedily drank the bottle of water she’d brought with her, before attempting the walk home. The baby wasn’t due for another three months and to be honest she couldn’t wait. Osian told her that if she had trouble affording clothes and other necessities for the baby, the church were happy to help. She’d thanked him and said that the business was doing well, so she should be okay. He told her to keep his offer in mind. There was nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand.
Maybe that was the barrier between them. She was so fiercely independent now, she didn’t want anything from anybody. This was her fight, hers alone and she was determined not to be found wanting. She didn’t need any distractions. Her fledgling business was all consuming, just as it should be.
When she arrived home, Abbey sat down with a huff. She hardly recognised herself anymore. Her ankles were swollen, her tummy was swollen, her back ached, her legs ached. And she felt like a sack of bloody potatoes.
She looked in the mirror, posing this way and that. The body was bloody awful but her face, maybe
not. She did seem to be blooming. She ticked off the imaginary list; hair good, nails good, the new regime and lifestyle was definitely working. Perhaps she should take some selfies and share an update with her followers on Facebook and Instagram. Normally she posted about her clothes, but maybe they’d like a more personal one.
Everything was going well. Perhaps it was too good to be true? That was always her mantra. Something could go wrong. Would go wrong. Deep down she was a pessimist, not an optimist. She had no problems striving, just problems accepting her good fortune.
She looked over her order book. That confirmed she had plenty to keep her busy. Business was booming. She had enough orders for her to work steadily, keeping to deadlines and yet producing an excellent product at a value for money price.
Then the baby kicked. It was as though he wanted out. Of course he did. She wanted him out too. But there was that worry again. How would she manage the business with a new baby? The first two or three months would be horrendous. There would be no sleep, there could be problems with breast feeding and the baby would take all her time, energy, and focus. What would happen to the business then? She had to implement a work around. A plan to keep the business going. Together with keeping herself sane.
The problem was that she had no idea how to achieve it.
Chapter 11
Present day…
Byrd felt like the world had been plunged into an ice age. He was so very cold. All the way to his soul. The weather was cold. He was cold. His emotions were cold. He could feel the vestiges of his fear, anger, and revulsion he’d felt as he had witnessed the strange events in the warehouse. Those ‘spirits’ he supposed they were. And Jo at their head. Their leader. Nothing about that time made any sense to him.
Watching the Dead Page 3
