Till Sudden Death Do Us Part

by Simon R. Green

  ‘Everyone seems to be taking this whole demonic threat thing extremely seriously,’ said Penny, after a while.

  ‘Maybe they know something we don’t,’ I said.

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ said Penny. ‘I’m starting to feel like I’ve got a target painted on my back.’

  ‘You’re safe,’ I said. ‘I’m here. And, there’s no one else about.’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ said Penny. ‘According to the story the demonic killer is invisible when it strikes.’

  ‘I don’t need to see it,’ I said calmly. ‘I’d still know it was there. I’d hear it coming, smell it on the air, feel its presence. That’s what I do. And if it is stupid enough to come within arm’s reach, I will stick my hand down its throat, grab hold of something solid and turn it inside out. And then stamp on it. No one gets to you while I’m around.’

  ‘You say the sweetest things, darling,’ said Penny. She shot me a sideways look. ‘You’ve been doing this weird and uncanny thing a lot longer than me. Are there really such things as demons?’

  ‘OK …’ I said. ‘Demon is a word that covers a lot of unnatural territory. I’ve met a great many things that could pass for demons, but nothing I’d accept as something let loose from Hell. Whatever we come up against, remember the trick is to look it in the eye and not flinch.’

  ‘You’re really not reassuring me,’ said Penny.

  ‘If there actually is something to the Bergin family curse,’ I said patiently, ‘And I’ve yet to be convinced that there is … It’s probably just some psychic residue left over from the original witch’s death. A stone tape effect, perhaps; a stored memory being played back. Or possibly someone in the present being influenced by events in the past. All that really matters is that in order to have a physical effect, the attacker has to be physically present. And if anyone even looks at you funny I will punch them in the head so hard their brains will fly out of their ears.’

  ‘Well,’ said Penny. ‘That’s good to know.’

  I looked at her. ‘We’ve worked all kinds of cases together, and you’ve never been this jumpy before. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Penny. ‘It’s this town. It feels like there’s a shadow hanging over everything. Nothing I can point to, nothing I can give a name to … Just a feeling of something hiding, and waiting to jump out at us. Something that isn’t right.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ I said. ‘To put things right.’

  When we finally reached the church, it turned out to be the Norman building I’d spotted when we first drove through the town. A small sign on the rough stone wall said simply: Trinity Church.

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Penny. ‘Normally you’d expect to find a noticeboard giving details of the church’s opening times, or at least a list of which services are available …’

  ‘Maybe the church doesn’t get used much,’ I said.

  ‘And maybe there’s a good reason for that,’ said Penny.

  We stood back and looked the church over. It wasn’t very big, with narrow, stained-glass windows and a bell tower topped with a spire complete with a brass weathercock, that was turning slowly back and forth as though trying to work out which way the wind was blowing. A slow chill went through me, as I realized there wasn’t a breath of wind on the air. I pushed the thought aside. I couldn’t let Penny’s nerves get to me; I had a job to do. I made myself concentrate on the church.

  ‘No lights on inside. Nothing to suggest anyone’s at home.’

  ‘The Reverend Allen was murdered here,’ said Penny. ‘That makes the church a crime scene.’

  ‘Then why isn’t it cordoned off?’ I said. ‘Why aren’t there uniformed police standing around, to discourage people like us?’

  ‘Maybe they’re scared to be out at night, as well,’ said Penny.

  We went looking for the front door, and finally found it tucked away at the far end and round the corner. There was no one on guard, just a single length of yellow crime scene tape stretched across the door. I reached over the tape and tried the door. It was locked. At least someone had made an effort.

  ‘It says on the tape: Do Not Enter,’ Penny pointed out helpfully.

  ‘I’ve always taken that as more of a suggestion,’ I said.

  I took a quick look around to make sure we weren’t being observed, and then placed one hand on the door and broke the lock with one hard shove. The old wood splintered as the lock gave up the ghost and the door swung backwards, revealing nothing but a darkness that wasn’t giving anything away.

  ‘Show off,’ said Penny.

  We ducked under the police tape and slipped quietly into the church. I pushed the door shut behind us, but with the lock smashed it wouldn’t stay closed. Penny and I stood still, staring into the gloom. I’ve always been able to see clearly in the dark, but I wanted to give Penny time for her eyes to adjust. It only took me a moment to establish we had the place to ourselves. I inhaled slowly, testing the scents on the still air. Polish and wax from the wooden pews, chemical cleaning agents from the floor, ghostly traces of long dead flowers, and a confused mess of human scents from recent visits. Along with a hell of a lot of dust. I suppressed the urge to sneeze. I had a feeling the sound would carry.

  ‘Can you smell blood?’ Penny said quietly.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But given that the vicar was found in the bell tower, I wouldn’t expect to. How are your eyes doing?’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m only human.’

  It wasn’t that dark. Light from the street outside streamed in through the narrow, stained-glass windows, forming faded rainbows that cut though the dust-thick air to leave smeared colours on the stone floor. The shafts of light didn’t spread, and the shadows all around were deep and dark, as though hiding ancient secrets. The hush that filled the church had an oppressive weight all of its own, as though it had been building for centuries. Prayer and song might dispel it for a while, but it would always return. Because it belonged here.

  ‘I can see enough now,’ said Penny. ‘Though to be honest I have to say; for a church, it doesn’t feel very welcoming.’

  ‘You’d know better than me,’ I said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, a church is just one more place people go to do things I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re not religious?’ said Penny. ‘At all?’

  I looked at her. ‘You pick now to bring that up?’

  ‘The subject never came up before. It’s just that … with all the things we’ve encountered I always thought you must believe in something.’

  ‘It’s because I’ve seen so much, that I don’t know what to believe,’ I said. ‘And besides, I never felt I’d belong in a place like this. Would the God of this church have room for something like me in its congregation?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Penny. ‘I think that’s the point.’

  I didn’t want to discuss it any further, so I set off down the aisle between the rows of wooden pews. Penny quickly caught up, and moved in close beside me.

  ‘There are no cushions on the pews,’ she said quietly. ‘Even though that wood looks like it could prove really uncomfortable during a long service. And no pads to kneel on, despite the stone floor. Not even any prayer books set out … Apparently the Revered Allen provided a no-frills ministry.’

  ‘Maybe he upset someone with that,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing so divisive as a religious argument.’

  We finally came to a halt before the simple altar. There was a huge cross on the wall above it, but no figure of Christ on the cross. Even I knew enough to find that unusual. Though given that this church dated back to Norman times, perhaps only the basics of the faith had survived.

  ‘No flowers, no altar offerings,’ said Penny. ‘Not even any candles … It’s all a bit bleak, isn’t it? Especially considering there’s going to be a wedding here tomorrow.’

  ‘Most of what I know about church interiors comes from television,’ I said. ‘Since
I don’t do christenings, weddings or funerals. But even so, this doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Maybe the police removed everything, as evidence,’ said Penny.

  I took another deep breath, and then looked sharply to my left. ‘Someone died recently, not far from here.’

  ‘Are you picking up blood now?’ said Penny.

  ‘And other bodily fluids,’ I said. ‘Death is always messy.’

  ‘Oh ick.’

  It didn’t take us long to find the small side door that opened onto the bell tower; a simple stone chamber with no ceiling and a single hanging bell rope. I knelt down and studied the floor carefully. There were a few spots of blood, along with some other stains. Up close, I could even smell the chemical reagents the police scientists had used to confirm their identity.

  ‘I can’t see any stains,’ said Penny. ‘But then, in this gloom I can barely make out the floor.’

  I gestured at the open door behind us. ‘I think the Reverend Allen was killed somewhere in the church, and then dragged in here. There are definite scuff marks on the stone. And then the body was hauled over to the rope, and strung up.’

  ‘To remind people of the hanged witch in the story.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I got to my feet and looked at the rope. ‘It’s always possible the killer meant to hang the vicar, but he struggled …’

  ‘Either way, it doesn’t sound very demonic, does it?’ said Penny.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The question is, what was the vicar hit with? A weapon, a trained hand, some convenient blunt instrument? And I suppose it’s always possible one person struck down the vicar, and someone else put him on the rope to confuse the matter.’

  ‘You think more than one person could be involved?’

  ‘Possibly. And maybe for entirely separate reasons. But that’s just a theory; there’s no evidence to support it.’

  ‘Lots of questions and no answers anywhere,’ said Penny. ‘A typical start to one of our cases.’

  I took hold of the bell rope. Penny quickly put a hand on my arm.

  ‘Really not a good idea,’ she said. ‘If this bell starts ringing again when no one’s supposed to be in here, this town will lose its collective mind.’

  I took my hand away. ‘From the feel of it, the killer wouldn’t have needed to pull the rope; just the vicar’s weight would have been enough to get it started.’ I stepped back, and took one last look around. ‘No smell of brimstone, no scorchmarks from hellfire; so I think we can safely set aside demonic involvement.’

  ‘I can never tell when you’re joking,’ said Penny. ‘Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.’

  We went back into the main church. The quiet was so overwhelming I felt like stamping my feet down hard on the stone floor, just to prove I was there. Or even sing a few verses of ‘The Good Ship Venus’ as an act of defiance. I don’t like being pressured; whether by people or an environment.

  ‘So,’ said Penny. ‘What exactly have we learned, from our completely unauthorized breaking and entering?’

  ‘I don’t buy the whole curse thing as a motive,’ I said. ‘I know the story says the demon will attack anyone who gets in its way, but this seems so … far removed.’

  ‘Nettie said the curse didn’t care,’ said Penny. ‘Maybe it just wants to scare people. And going by what’s happening in the town, I’d have to say it’s doing a good job. Even though we’re a long way from the threatened slaughter on the wedding night.’

  ‘Not going to happen,’ I said firmly. ‘I promised Robert.’

  And then we both looked round. Someone was entering the church through the front door I hadn’t been able to close.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Penny said quietly.

  ‘More than one,’ I said. ‘I’m picking up two distinct sets of footsteps.’

  ‘OK,’ said Penny. ‘Definitely showing off now. What do we do?’

  ‘Hang back and hide in the shadows, until we can tell who it is.’

  Penny looked at me. ‘You’re not normally this cautious.’

  ‘There’s too much about this situation I don’t understand. Do those footsteps sound demonic to you?’

  ‘Oh shut up.’

  We moved quietly into the deepest shadows we could find, beside the altar, and watched silently as a man and a woman made their way down the aisle between the pews. Passing in and out of the coloured shafts of light from the windows, and looking uncertainly about them. The young woman flashed her torch around every time she thought she heard something, which was pretty often, but the feeble beam didn’t illuminate much. The young man sticking extremely close to her gave the strong impression of being not at all happy to be there. If he’d been any more tightly wound he wouldn’t have been able to move. One loud sound and he’d probably jump right out of his skin. I was seriously tempted to shout ‘Boo!’ just to see what would happen, but I didn’t have a mop handy to clean up the mess afterwards.

  Whoever these two people were, they weren’t any kind of police. I waited till they stopped right in front of the altar, and then stepped smartly out of the shadows and into the light from the nearest window. The man let out a shrill shriek and dived behind his companion, who stood her ground and glowered at me challengingly.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said loudly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ I said.

  ‘I asked first! The public has a right to know …’

  ‘Oh hell,’ I said. ‘You’re the local reporter, aren’t you?’

  ‘Linda Meadows,’ she said, just a bit defiantly. ‘Investigative journalist for the Bradenford Echo. What gave me away?’

  ‘Your attitude,’ I said. ‘Along with your being somewhere you know you’re not supposed to be, and not giving a damn. And the fact that your companion is carrying a very professional-looking camera. Now turn your torch off before someone notices a light moving in here and reports it.’

  Linda turned it off. Penny stepped forward into the light to stand beside me. The cameraman had just started emerging from behind Linda, but he immediately shrieked and ducked back again. Linda grabbed him by the ear and made him step out in the open. He jerked his head free, and sniffed sullenly.

  ‘Don’t like the dark,’ he said loudly. ‘Don’t like deserted churches. Don’t like murder scenes. Really don’t like surprises.’

  ‘You’re in the wrong job then, aren’t you?’ Penny said kindly.

  ‘This is my cameraman, Ian Adams,’ said Linda. ‘Don’t mind him. I don’t, except for when I’m forced to. Other women have cats or dogs; but he’s good at his job so I’m stuck with him.’

  ‘I stick with her because she’s the only decent writer on the Echo,’ said Ian. ‘And because we’ve been friends ever since junior school. I worship the pointy shoes that walk all over me.’

  ‘You stick with me because you know I’m going places,’ said Linda. ‘And I might just take you with me.’

  ‘Isn’t she wonderful?’ said Ian.

  I studied the two of them thoughtfully as they bickered. Linda was tall, blonde, and good-looking in a horsey sort of way. Mid-twenties, athletically slim, straight-backed and dressed to make a striking first impression. She had the air of someone ready to walk through walls to get where she was going. Ian was also in his mid-twenties, medium height, more than medium weight, and from the way he dressed clearly didn’t give a damn about making any kind of impression. He had a round open face, curly red hair, and a sardonic grin that took the edge off his self-deprecating comments. He held his camera like a weapon, ready for use at any moment.

  I introduced myself and Penny. Linda looked down her nose at us, to make it clear she’d never heard of us. There was enough nose involved to make that properly intimidating.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘We’re helping investigate the murder of the Reverend Allen,’ I said. ‘What are you doing, trespassing in a taped-off crime scene?’

  Linda
just shrugged, not in the least impressed by my assumed authority. ‘Same as you, probably. Looking for answers. The police don’t know a damned thing. Not that they had much of a chance to find out; they’d barely been here a few hours before they were all called away to deal with something more important. Inspector Godwin was the only one left behind.’

  ‘Just one man, to cover a murder?’ said Penny.

  ‘I said that!’ said Ian.

  ‘Only after I said it first,’ Linda said crushingly. ‘It’s obvious that something’s going on.’

  ‘You always say that,’ said Ian.

  ‘And I’m always right!’ said Linda. ‘Even if I can’t always prove it. But I will get to the bottom of what’s going on here; whatever it takes.’

  ‘And she will,’ Ian said proudly. ‘Rely on it. No one can keep things from Linda. Mostly because everyone’s too scared to lie to her.’ He sniggered suddenly. ‘That’s how she got her job on the Echo in the first place; and why the editor doesn’t dare fire her no matter who she upsets.’

  ‘I am not scary!’ Linda said loudly.

  ‘I meant it in a nice way,’ said Ian.

  ‘Why is this story so important to you?’ I said.

  Linda didn’t quite laugh in my face. ‘Are you kidding me? A vicar hanged with his own bell rope, a family curse going back centuries, and a police investigation conspicuous by its absence? It’s like being eaten alive by an Agatha Christie novel. If I play it right, this story will be my big break. My ticket out of here. I could ride this story all the way to a job on one of the nationals!’ She stopped to glare at Ian. ‘Don’t screw this up, if you want to ride my coat-tails to the big time.’

  ‘You provide the words, and I’ll provide the things people really pay attention to,’ Ian said happily.

  ‘How can you write a story when there’s hardly any facts?’ said Penny.

  ‘Easy,’ said Linda. ‘I’ll just go gonzo on it, do the whole Hunter Thompson thing. Give our readers the full immersive experience, of how it feels to be a journalist fighting to get to the truth when the whole world is against you. This story isn’t about facts anyway; it’s about legends, and the people who believe in them. Which around here seems to be pretty much everyone. Did you see the streets out there? It’s like the Marie Celeste on its lunch break. The whole town has lost its mind over the Bergin curse. I could fill pages, just describing how it feels to be in a deserted church at midnight (I know, dramatic license), and how people never came here while the vicar was alive, but since he was murdered you can’t keep them out.’