by Mike Ripley
‘Going down where?’ she asked, but I ignored her.
Of all things, a real live vicar, dog collar and all, had emerged from the underground station and taken what appeared to be an instant dislike to the two Shining Doorway salesmen. He started on the one in the tangerine turtleneck, and then the one who had given me the flyer stepped over and joined in. We couldn’t hear what was being said, but from the startled looks they were getting from innocent passers-by, they probably weren’t comparing notes on the latest Church of England Synod.
The vicar character wasn’t letting them off easy, wagging a finger to begin with, shaking a fist within a minute. The two disciples kept their cool, and when the scene began to attract an audience, and as if at a given signal between them, they backed off into the station, the vicar following them.
By this time, I had Veronica’s arm and was leading her across the road. The vicar emerged into the square again, wiping the palms of his hands down his jacket as if to clean himself.
‘What are we doing?’ gasped Veronica.
‘You wanted to know what sort of people go to a church like the Shining Doorway. Well, he seems to know. Let’s ask him.’ I nodded towards the vicar we were on collision course with.
‘What makes you think he’ll talk to us?’
‘I’ve made a Leap of Faith, dear, a Leap of Faith.’
‘Is that from the Scriptures?’
‘No, it’s a Springsteen track; and no, not that Springsteen. The one we call the Boss.’
Chapter Seven
His name was the Reverend Rickwell, his parish was in Catford and for the price of a cappuccino in a steamy sandwich bar just down the King’s Road, he was willing to talk. For a doughnut he would probably have run through next Sunday’s sermon for us.
‘I just can’t help myself,’ said the Rev (‘Call me Roger’) Rickwell. ‘It’s like a red rag to a bull with me as soon as I see them out on the street. They look as if they’re hunting, if you know what I mean. And, yes, that is a most unchristian thought, I know.’
He put two sachets of brown sugar in his cappuccino and stirred it until the froth had disappeared. What a waste, but I didn’t interrupt him.
‘Religious belief should be personal commitment not peer group pressure, and believe me, some of these cults – that’s what they are, cults – really do know how to exert pressure. It’s so easy in London. Young people living alone, away from home …’
‘Running away from home, perhaps?’ Veronica chipped in.
‘That too. They are easy prey. They’re offered all the security of a new family with none of the responsibilities, not even the need to think for themselves. Some of these groups have codes of discipline that make the Gestapo look like weak-kneed liberals. I ... I don’t know. I just find it very hard to tolerate the intolerant. When I see them on the street, I just find myself arguing with them.’
‘You’ve had a run-in with this lot before?’ I asked.
‘The Shining Doorway? Oh yes. And the Shining Fulcrum and the Furlong of Light and half a dozen others with equally meaningless names. But only when I find them out on the street acting like some moral press gang. And you saw this morning that it’s impossible to argue with them. They just turn and walk away.’
‘Think they’ve been told to do that?’
‘Trained to do that, I’d say. The leaders of these cults inspire tremendous loyalty.’
‘And how do they do that?’ Veronica was hypnotised by now. This was almost certainly better than her current library book.
‘Sometimes it’s sex or drugs – no, I’m sorry, but it’s true.’
I wasn’t sure whether he was reacting to Veronica’s look of horror or mine of cynicism. ‘But mostly it boils down to psychological dominance. You’ve got to remember that the majority of cult members fall into one of two groups. There are those who have had a bad experience with an organised or established religion. They feel that religion has failed them …’
This time he definitely caught the look on my face.
‘Yes, okay, sometimes we do fail people and badly. But it’s not just my lot, you know. There are disaffected Catholics, Jews, even Muslims attracted to these sects.
‘The other type are the young – average age 16 – and they’re looking for – who knows? Parents, family, security, rebellion, a moral framework? You name it. So lost, so young. Sixteen is no age to be giving your mind away.’
He stirred his coffee some more but made no attempt to drink it.
‘The law says you can do a lot of things at 16,’ said Veronica seriously, and I wondered what she had in mind.
‘You can get a job,’ said Rev Rickwell. ‘The cults don’t like scroungers, they like young people with jobs who are willing to give their earnings to the cause.’
‘A sort of ten per cent tithe?’ I threw in.
‘More like 50 per cent. In some cases more. I had a parishioner once who woke up one morning to find her husband had left her for a spiritual retreat on the Isle of Skye, having signed the house and car over to the sect. No warning, no hints. She thought he’d been spending his evenings at a carpentry class.’
‘The poor woman,’ gasped Veronica. ‘What did she do?’
‘Took a hammer to his bookshelves,’ I said before I could stop myself.
The Rev Rickwell let his jaw drop. I couldn’t tell whether he was being genuine or mugging it. ‘You know her?’
‘No. Just a good guess. It wasn’t the Shining Doorway, was it?’
He looked confused for a moment.
‘No, they’re relatively new on the scene, and they specialise in young runaways, mostly girls.’
‘But if they’re 16, they’re perfectly entitled to leave an unhappy home, aren’t they?’ said Veronica quietly, and we both looked at her.
‘These sects aren’t selling happiness. At best, they could be classed as harmless, at worst, I’d say they were evil.’
He left his coffee alone for a minute and ran a finger round the inside of his dog collar as if he was sweating. I nodded at the gesture.
‘You would say that, though, wouldn’t you?’ I said.
‘Yes, I suppose I would, but I think I would even if I wasn’t wearing this,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘It seemed to frighten them off,’ said Veronica, not taking her eyes off his face.
‘It doesn’t frighten them at all,’ the vicar said despairingly. ‘They adopt a tactic of passive resistance. They just nod or smile – and it’s really hurtful when they smile – and back away; go and find another hunting ground. They move around; they don’t seem to be very territorial.’
‘You’ve made a study of them, have you?’ I asked. It certainly sounded as if he had.
He looked at me before answering.
‘What do you do, Mr ... ? I mean, what’s your job?’
‘Musician,’ I said quickly, before Veronica could jump in.
‘Well, okay,’ said the vicar, slightly thrown, ‘musician. Don’t tell me you never listen to other musicians in the same field or other types of music.’
‘You mean keeping up with the competition?’
‘If you like. I’ve heard it called identifying our market share.’
‘Are you winning?’
‘I think we’re now officially a minority. More people in this country go through some form of weekly worship or witness outside the established Church of England than do inside it.’ He allowed himself a faint smile. ‘Maybe we should have started our market research earlier. What’s the reason for your research? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.’
‘We’re investigating …’ Veronica started.
‘… the possibility that one of our cousins has joined one of these cults,’ I interrupted. ‘She fits the picture you’ve painted; she’s young for her age, very easily led, could never come to
terms with life in London. And, yes, if I’m being honest, her home life could have been happier.’
‘She’s joined the Shining Doorway?’
‘It’s possible; I can’t say more than that.’
‘Can you give me her name, or a photograph? I can try and keep an eye out or an ear to the ground ... and I could tell some others that I know who …’
I held up my hand.
‘The family have asked us to see what we can discover before we go any further. I am sure you can understand why.’
‘Of course I can.’
I was glad one of us could.
‘But you could help us by telling us everything you know about the Shining Doorway.’
Veronica was giving me what passed for a killer look from behind her glasses. Killer hungry puppy, that is.
‘I think I already have. They’re no different from dozens of other sects. Relatively new on the scene, like I said. I first heard of them up in Islington about a year ago. I didn’t know they were trawling their nets round here until I got off the tube this morning.’
‘Do they have any distinguishing marks? Any secret codes or anything?’
For the first time he looked at me as if he didn’t believe my motives were other than pearly white.
‘You’re not even contemplating trying to infiltrate them, are you? I don’t think they’d give you house room. They rely on people they can dominate psychologically.’
His eyes flicked towards Veronica, but his ‘On the other hand …’ remained unsaid.
‘What’s their obsession with the Emperor Constantine?’ I asked quickly before Veronica caught on.
‘Their what?’
I produced the flyer I had been given and showed him the text.
‘The quote about leading young people to the shining doorway of Jesus, it says it’s from Constantine.’ Veronica looked at both of us in turn, as if spectating at Wimbledon. I tried to put her out of her misery. ‘The Roman Emperor Constantine, supposedly the first one to convert to Christianity. Start of the fourth century.’
The Rev Rickwell looked both surprised and impressed. Veronica, just surprised.
‘I suppose it’s an easy assumption to make,’ he said, and I saw Veronica brighten up at that. ‘But it has nothing to do with early Christianity. That will be from the Thoughts of Chairman Constantine, their self-appointed leader, or guru, or whatever you’d like to call him. Tall chap, long ginger hair. Very PC.’
‘PC?’ I had to ask, just to avoid confusion. I mean, there are still some people about who think that the small ads advertising ‘CDs for hire’ for parties are referring to music and not Cross-Dressers.
‘Professionally Charismatic. If he wasn’t in the religion business, he’d be ... oh, I don’t know ... the president of a students’ union, or someone who did management training videos. I’ve heard it said he’s American originally, though he’s lived here for some time. He seems to be able to inspire tremendous loyalty among certain followers.’
‘The female ones?’
‘Yes. I’ve met one girl who did Breakaway and is …’
‘Breakaway?’
‘What used to be called de-programming. That got almost as bad a reputation as the cults themselves.’ He turned to Veronica, as if apologising. ‘It could so easily go so badly wrong, you see. And it did when left to the amateurs. It could cause more harm than good. Sometimes permanent damage. You … you’re not thinking of anything like that, are you ... Mr …?’
‘No, no,’ I reassured him. ‘It won’t come to that. But you said you knew a girl who had done this Breakaway business. What is it? Some sort of therapy?’
‘I would not like to think so, as “therapy” means healing. But it is not a single course of action, just a way of re-establishing a person’s worth, their self-belief. Allow them time and space to discover that they can exist, do things – sometimes very basic things – without the support of the sect.’
‘You mean put them back into their families?’ Veronica asked quietly.
‘Not necessarily. In fact, usually not, as the family seems to be the root cause of many of the problems. That’s why they seek security in the sect. It’s an alternative family, but a false one.’
I thought Veronica was going to argue, so I cut in.
‘This girl, though, the one who did the Breakaway ... ?’
‘Oh yes, she came through all right. In the end, she regarded Connie – that’s what she called him – in the same way as I suppose you would look back on an old boyfriend.’ He looked at Veronica for inspiration and got none. ‘Sort of ... it was nice while it lasted, but why was I ever taken in to thinking it could have been more?’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Knowing that something is going to end in tears before bedtime before it happens is one of the great skills of life.’
‘But rare,’ he said, and I nodded.
‘I wish you luck in your search. I must be going. He stood up and didn’t offer to shake hands. ‘Are you sure I can’t put the word out on my network for you? I come into contact with the Salvation Army, the Samaritans, the night shelter people. You never know.’
‘Thanks, but we’ll give it a shot ourselves,’ I said, wondering how to let him down lightly. ‘But thank you for all your advice and your concern.’
He snorted slightly at that.
‘Concern? Of course I’m concerned. I’ve got a 16-year-old daughter.’
We watched him cross the road through the steamed-up café window, then Veronica said: ‘Nice man.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were very evasive about giving him our names,’ she said as if she genuinely wanted to know why.
‘What? Tell a vicar he’s just been bought a cappuccino by an Angel? That would have made his day, wouldn’t it?’
‘So, what now?’ she asked from the back of Armstrong.
‘You’re the detective.’
Pause.
‘I was always taught that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.’
‘And the learning curve goes up from here on.’
Pause.
‘Sometimes I don’t understand anything you say.’
‘That’s a relief. I thought I might be losing my touch.’
‘More sarcasm?’
‘If you have to ask ...’
‘Am I going to get an answer?’
‘Why ask me? Like I said, you’re supposed to be the detective.’
‘But you seem to have muscled your way in quite effectively.’
‘What?’
‘You took over the last interview without so much as … a …’
‘Whatever. All right, you do the next one then. On your own.’
‘I will. You can bet money on that.’
There was a blessed silence for two minutes.
‘Where is our next interview, exactly?’
‘I thought you wanted to go and see Stella’s father and report in. Plus, you need to get him to change that cheque he sent to Albert. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes. Yes.’
But first we had to visit Veronica’s old office. She insisted on it. There might have been post waiting on the mat. Albert might have changed his mind and be back at his desk. Clients might have been forming a queue, clogging up the highway. And anyway, she needed a few ‘personal’ things from her bedroom.
I didn’t ask about those, but I did ask if there was a file on the Rudgard girl, and she said probably, as Albert was very efficient at opening files. So I agreed to the visit. After all, it was broad daylight and surely safe enough.
On the way, I pointed out that Albert was still likely to be in hospital and, anyway, he couldn’t get in as the new door Dod had fitted had a new lock and I still had the keys. (I handed one over, keeping the spare in my pocket when she didn’t ask for
it.)
Veronica told me not to worry about Albert as he had keys to the back door into the alley at the rear.
I tried not to register too much surprise. First, surprise at Veronica’s cavalier – for her – attitude to Albert, but thinking about it, she’d hardly mentioned him for about an hour. Secondly, it got me thinking about the break-in by the two trainee gangsters who had paid me a visit. If there was a back way in, why risk a full-frontal assault in daylight? It only made sense if it was a warning raid, an elaborate message for Albert, rather than a burglary. And Albert seemed to have got the message. But what on earth had he done to upset the local infant mafia?
The place looked the same as when I had left it the previous day, and the street seemed clear of undesirables. Veronica was chattering about whether she should really let me see client confidential files and whether she shouldn’t really be on observation duty back in Wimpole Street, but I wasn’t listening. I kept my eyes peeled for anyone taking an interest in us and let her unlock the door and start up the stairs. I felt marginally better when I dropped the latch on the door behind us and when she reached Albert’s office without being jumped.
‘Oh, fish-hooks!’ she said loudly; so loudly, I jumped.
‘What now?’ I peered around the corner of the office door. She was holding the shell of the camera one of my tormentors had smashed with his hammer.
‘Put it on the insurance,’ I sighed, relieved.
‘But I’m supposed to have a camera when I go on surveillance,’ she pouted, having just remembered the fact. ‘What if the client wants photographs?’
‘I’ve got a camera you can … rent … for a few days. Put it on expenses.’
‘And the tripod looks bent as well,’ she sulked.
‘Done during the break-in,’ I said helpfully. ‘Why don’t you just show me where the files are and then get what you need. We’ve a lot to do today.’
She continued to stare at the camera, like a kid finding its first dead crab on the seashore.
‘I’ll have to get the film,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve got film in my camera.’ Though I couldn’t for the life of me remember what was on the first hall-dozen shots. Probably things you shouldn’t ask a chemist to develop.
