Divine Poison

by AB Morgan

  ‘Can’t they do this without you?’ Max stormed around the kitchen opening cupboards, for no good reason other than to have a door to slam when he couldn’t find what he wasn’t even looking for.

  Deefer padded out of the kitchen to find a safer haven elsewhere.

  I tried to explain. ‘The longer it takes, the more likely it is I’ll be implicated, and that means you, Jake, Emma, and the kids will be back in the firing line again. So, no, Max, I don’t think it can be done without my help.’ Max was making me cross by behaving like a toddler.

  He turned on me.

  ‘Do you always have to be such a martyr? It’s so incredibly bloody selfish.’ There were tears of rage in his eyes as he shouted, and he was thumping the kitchen work surface with a fist. ‘I should be protecting you. Not the other way around.’

  So that was the reason for the stroppy, irritated Max. He wanted to be the caveman and kill the wild animal threatening our lives. He wanted to spear the dangerous beast through the heart and then skin him.

  ‘Well, you can beat your chest like Tarzan for all you’re worth, but it won’t change the fact that it’s me in a position to help here; not you. You can’t be the hero arriving in the nick of time to save the bloody day, so there is little point in getting aerated about it and behaving like a spoilt child.’

  ‘Will you at least wear an alarm of some sort?’

  Milo Granger had the same idea. He contacted me early the next morning and asked me to drop into the Lodge House to meet him before work. Happy to do so, I arrived at eight o’clock to be greeted by Emma shouting through the car window as she drove past in the opposite direction, taking the children to school.

  ‘It’s open, your new boss is waiting for you, lucky girl. Such a shame we’re both married …’ What a lascivious expression she wore, as she gestured to where Milo was standing in the doorway of the Lodge House, waving.

  ‘Let’s go in, Monica, shall we?’ Milo was extremely business-like as he explained the plan of action. His department were anxious to put as many safeguards in place as was possible within a tight time frame. They had been working through the night.

  ‘We think you should wear a listening device, so I’ve brought this along.’ He held out a small black fob. ‘It fits neatly onto your NHS ID lanyard. All you have to do is to press the two buttons either side, simultaneously, and the device will pick up the conversation. This will then be relayed back to one of our communications team, as well as being recorded. It has GPS tracking to help us gauge where you are, but it isn’t pinpoint accurate, so dropping a few hints into a conversation would be wise if you can manage that safely. We’ll send a text to your phone to confirm that the device has been triggered and is working.’

  I seemed to have walked onto the set of a James Bond movie. Q had forgotten to give me a Walter PPK and exploding bubble gum and there was no sign of an Aston Martin anywhere. ‘How disappointing,’ I said. ‘Is this it? No other gizmos or weapons, not even a magnifying glass or deerstalker hat?’

  ‘You’ve lost me there, I’m afraid, Monica. What were you hoping for?’

  I explained to a bemused Milo about my obsession with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and my desire for a James Bond mission. Instead of which it was me, an emotionally unstable, obsessive, idiot-woman with a listening device, two mobile phones, a pen, and a work diary.

  ‘Two mobile phones?’

  ‘One personal, top of the range. One work, NHS basic model, calls and texts only … when it works.’ At this description Milo grinned and shook his head. A test was required to ensure the listening device or “earwig fob” was working effectively. ‘What’s the range of this thing? How close do I have to stand to someone to pick up the conversation?’ I asked. Pressing the two buttons either side of the fob; I thrust my chest out as I spoke.

  Milo was on his phone to an operator who confirmed that the device was working as required.

  ‘Okay, I’ll keep talking and you gradually take a step back, one at a time. Yep that’s it, keep going. “There once was an ugly duckling, it’s feathers all fluffy and brown”. Yep, keep going. “Mary had a little lamb, she also had a duck, she kept them on the mantelpiece …” Right, that’s far enough. That’s your maximum for good, clear recording.’ A text notification on my personal mobile confirmed ‘device operational’ as promised.

  Milo continued with his instructions. ‘To switch the device off, use the large red button on the base. We don’t want to hear useless gossip, or worse, and you’re risking a breach of patient confidentiality with this, so be cautious.’ Milo was very officious, but still cheerful and positive, giving me a boost.

  ‘I’ve arranged to meet with Father Raymond this afternoon at the hospital, so I’ll be using it then, but probably only when we have coffee together. Before that we’re visiting a patient on the ward, so I can’t make use of the earwig fob,’ I confirmed.

  There was no more to say or do before I left for work, other than to thank Sidney Poitier’s lookalike for his earwigging gift, and to arrange a debrief after work with the mysterious Mr and Mrs Braithwaite, who were due to arrive at the Lodge House later in the morning. Emma and Grandma Frost had already cleaned and scrubbed the cottage to create a most welcoming temporary home for their protectors.

  29

  Pip managed to produce a watery smile when he saw me approach him on Pargiter Ward. He looked surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting me. He wasn’t. The staff had forgotten to tell him.

  ‘It’s fine. I’m pleased you came; it’s really good of you. I can’t seem to get over the shock. We could have been a mangled mess like Ben,’ Pip stated the obvious, and the pain of the thought was showing plainly on his face.

  His time on the ward had been well spent. Strings had been pulled to access psychology for him, rather than making the poor man wait for months for an available appointment. Cynically, I assumed this was purely because he and Father Raymond had been hailed as have-a-go heroes for their valiant attempts to save Ben. When giving chase, Pip had managed an ankle-tap rugby tackle, which had sent Ben sprawling, but Ben had leapt up and run off again. This moment haunted Pip. ‘I nearly had him,’ he said, in a voice laden with regret. ‘I’m not fit enough, that’s the trouble, and he ran so fast.

  ‘He didn’t want to die, Monica, he was screaming for help. He thought he was burning, Flapping at himself, he was. I can’t sleep without hearing the screams.’

  I didn’t want to make Pip relive the nightmares but what he had to say was important, so I pushed for more detail.

  ‘Did he say who he was running from?’

  ‘Not really. He said the police were going to get him, but that was normal for Ben. He’d only been released from the cells the night before and had a few beers in the Green Man after that until quite late. Karen said he staggered out of there with another bloke at gone ten o’clock but I don’t know what he did in the morning.’

  ‘What was Karen doing out drinking at that time of night on a Wednesday?’ This was a revelation. Karen didn’t even look like much of a drinker.

  ‘She wasn’t. She was given a trial as a barmaid three or four weeks ago and they love her there. She’s like a new woman.’

  ‘Well, that’s brilliant. Good for her and her self-confidence. Did she know the man Ben left the pub with?’ I began to think out loud, ‘I wonder if Ben stayed with him overnight? He didn’t go home, you see. Don’t worry, I’ll ask Karen myself.’ I had, at that very moment, seen Father Raymond enter the ward and he strolled sedately down the corridor towards us.

  Pip leapt up to greet him.

  I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting them to embrace. They held each other at arm’s length at first, as if checking each other for signs of completeness. Satisfied, they held on to each other like two long-lost friends as I registered the significance of what I had seen. More than two people who had bonded through misfortune, or indeed through survival of a tragic event, these two men held deeper emotions. They loved each other. Fa
ther Raymond held one of Pip’s hands within two of his own, and made a show of saying a short prayer. Pip accepted the blessing with nothing short of adoration in his eyes.

  ‘You look so much better today, Pip.’

  ‘I feel better, stronger in myself. It’s lovely to see Monica. I don’t have to pretend in front of her, she understands how I feel about Ben’s death. You’re easy to talk to, Monica.’

  I made light of Pip’s comment. ‘I should hope so, Pip, it’s my job. I’d like to think I was easy to talk to. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I smiled broadly. Inside, I wondered how long Pip and Father Raymond had been in love for, and who else knew the secret. It was a remarkable testament to their discretion that their forbidden relationship hadn’t been revealed, because being with the two men, I could feel the intensity of their feelings for each other, in every movement and touch they made. So much so that I felt like a gooseberry, intruding on their precious moments together.

  ‘Shall I find us some drinks? I’ll get them from the cafeteria, it’s better quality from there. Who would like what?’

  Making good my escape, I used the opportunity to check in with Emma. She was at the Lodge House with the Braithwaites, who had settled in and were already sifting through paperwork and setting up files. ‘How’s it going?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later, but I’m not sure if I can speak to Father Raymond on his own today. Change of plan. Can you let the team know not to expect an “earwig”? Thanks.’ She knew what I meant.

  On my return to the ward, another wondrous reveal was in store for me. ‘I’m going into the priesthood like Father Raymond,’ said Pip proudly, and again he looked at Father Raymond for assurance.

  ‘Really? Can you do that at your age? Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, Pip, but I thought you went straight from altar boy to priesthood in the Catholic Church? You’ll have to forgive my ignorance.’ My powers of deduction would have had Sherlock turning in his fictional grave. For a while I couldn’t tell if Father Raymond and Pip were in love, or if they were simply full of love for God.

  ‘The Jesuits accept men at the time they find God. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam. For the greater glory of God, Monica.’ Good grief. My favourite Latin phrase had almost the opposite meaning. Nil Desperandum. Never despair.

  ‘Pip is hoping to gain a place at a seminary to begin his training, but we’re still discussing this. It’s a life-changing commitment to make,’ Father Raymond confirmed.

  ‘I already have degrees in philosophy and theology and Father Raymond has been helping me with my preparations. I’ve moved into the Rectory to help out until a new priest is found for the diocese.’

  How convenient.

  Pip was as excited as a child at Christmas, and perhaps all his presents had come at once. No one seeing his enthusiasm and certainty would think he was in his late thirties. Or that shyness and anxiety had plagued his adult life.

  ‘Well, good on you. If that’s what you believe, then I wish you all the best with whatever adventure awaits you.’ I meant it. What I had witnessed was a forbidden romance, and the story was reaching a thrilling crescendo now that the couple had found a way of being together which would look acceptable from an outsider’s view. A priest, preparing his novice for priesthood, living at the Rectory together. What an opportune cover story. Chillingly, I also realised that Father Raymond could simply have groomed Pip to do his bidding.

  ‘When will you be discharged from here, any idea?’ I asked. With Pip living at the Rectory I was presented with an opportunity to track down the truth about Father Joseph’s private life, and his death. If only I could secure another invitation to tea.

  ‘In the next day or so, I hope. I’m not on a Section and I’m really only here to recover from shock. My mind seemed to depart for a while, so that I didn’t have to deal with the psychological trauma, I suppose. I can’t remember.’

  I was feeling bolder. ‘Crikey, are you sure you did philosophy at uni? Sounds like you could have studied psychology. Forgive me for prying, but you said, Father Raymond, that Pip here is going to become a Jesuit. I’m completely ignorant about what the differences are between types of priest, so what is a Jesuit and why do you want to be one of those as opposed to a Benedictine monk?’

  I was deliberately showing my ignorance to both of them, but the ‘please explain, I don’t understand’ approach had served me well over the years.

  ‘Father Raymond is a Jesuit, aren’t you?’ Pip said, his eyes darting to Father Raymond and back to me. That gem of information was enough to put me on my guard and I seriously regretted not being able to use the earwig fob.

  The Jesuits, I had read, were referred to as the soldiers of God, who took a fourth vow to obey the Pope. They were seen as a powerful organisation of considerable influence within the Vatican. Assassins, according to some theorists.

  A cold sensation crept outwards from my stomach. It was entirely reasonable to assume the Father Joseph had died at the hands of an assassin ordered by the Pope to secure the good name of the Catholic Church. Father Raymond had been sent to befriend Jan and had uncovered Nick Shafer’s intentions. He must be working with DS Charlie Adams, and had now recruited Pip, I concluded.

  Three killers? Was that likely?

  ‘There’s nothing mysterious about Jesuits, Monica. We’re the same as other priests really, apart from the fact that we serve the needs of the vulnerable, poor, frail, sick, and hungry and we go where we are sent. The street priest role is part of what I do, which is why I don’t wear full vestments, not even a cassock.’

  ‘Yes, why is that?’ I asked, trying to sound nonchalant and interested, when in fact my mind was whirring.

  ‘Well, we work within the community, rather like yourself, and the guidance is to wear ordinary clothes. I suppose the same reasons apply; uniform of any kind can create barriers. Some of my brothers don’t even wear the dog-collar.’

  ‘I’m finding this such a fascinating conversation. Perhaps tea and cake at the Rectory when Pip is better, would be in order,’ I suggested. ‘It would be lovely to hear about your hopes and ambitions, Pip. But don’t get the wrong end of the stick, Father Raymond, I’m still not planning on converting.’ That was without doubt my finest acting ever. I managed to sound confident and cheerful, and I had looked them both in the eye.

  With the visit agreed in principle, I asked Father Raymond to phone me to let me know when I could visit to see how Pip was progressing after his discharge. Perfectly reasonable for a community mental health nurse to offer such a service, and therefore not out of the ordinary as a request.

  Bubbling away in my mind was a plan, which needed careful consideration and guidance from the team behind me.

  I made my way to the Lodge House.

  30

  ‘How do you know they’ve been destroyed accidentally?’ I asked. Milo Granger grabbed me by both shoulders and looked me directly in the eye in a determined effort to force the simple message through.

  ‘Because our reliable informant assures us that the CCTV tape has been wiped. It was due to human error, a case of “erase” instead of “edit”. Most likely it was deliberate. We requested the tape, pretending to be part of an undercover operation by Trading Standards, and succeeded only because the security provisions at Hollberry Police Station are slack. Or we would have done, if the tape hadn’t been destroyed before it was even copied or digitalised. There is no way we should have been able to gain access that easily. Anyway, our attempts to identify the man escorting Ben Tierney from the Green Man last Wednesday evening have been scuppered, unless we question the locals, which could be risky, and too obvious.’

  The idea of going to the pub for a well-earned drink was appealing, and although Max would be a token Welshman in an Irish pub, there was no reason why we couldn’t go to the Green Man and ask a few questions. The landlady knew who I was, anyway. ‘It would be perfectly normal for me to ask lots of questions,’ I suggested to Milo. ‘I could wear the earwig fob
under my jumper.’

  Max was offered the chance to take the male lead in the next James Bond plot. He was instructed to take me out for the evening and show me a good time, as long as we went to the Green Man, on Wednesday, had a few beers and settled for a late curry. His function was to be engaging and witty, inquisitive without arousing suspicion and to make sure we spoke to as many regulars as we could manage. I would be under his protection. He was thrilled to be asked; the alpha male, Max, felt wanted again.

  Between Tuesday evening and our planned trip to the pub the next day, Emma and I were advised to maintain our usual routines as far as possible. Max and Jake seemed to have no problem in complying with this advice, however I was becoming twitchy and impatient. Not a word had been heard from DS Adams since his apologetic text, and this made me nervous. However, I did receive a short message from Father Raymond to let me know that Pip would be home from hospital before the weekend, meaning that part two of the plan could be pencilled in for Thursday.

  ‘Here she comes, Mrs Part-Time,’ I heard Kelly say as I stepped through the office front door. Assuming rather kindly that Kelly had not meant for me to overhear her waspish remark, I chose to ignore it. Barbara’s scowl aimed at Kelly was still evident on her face as I said good morning to them both while retrieving my message book. There was even a message to me from Kelly herself, announcing that she had typed up my draft report on Ben Tierney, for the coroner. Evidently, she was eager to avoid talking to me.

  ‘Thanks, Kelly, I can finish working on it today, with any luck.’

  Kelly nodded, but declined to make any eye contact.

  ‘You look less harassed this morning, Monica,’ Barbara commented.

  ‘Yes, I feel a bit better. I managed to sleep without too many dead body flashbacks for once. Also, the medicines amnesty finishes this week, thank God. I’ve had enough of it, to be honest. It turned into a publicity game for the Trust instead of a genuine attempt at improving suicide rates. I shan’t bother next time, so kick me if I volunteer for anything that stupid again.’ Barbara agreed to keep an eye on my potential for making rash decisions.