FRANKS, Bill

by JESUIT

  “I don’t know,” he replied, puzzlement in his voice. “Something seems to be bothering them.” Nodding his head in the direction of the oncoming trio, Christian explained: “The witch-doctor has a lot of power and influence here. He is quite friendly towards us now but he was highly suspicious at first.”

  “At first?” Ignatious turned to Christian. “At first? How long have we been here, then?”

  This is our sixteenth day, Gawain,” he replied. “You have been very sick. These people have nursed you like a baby. They also tended to the rest of us and had us on our feet in days. We…”

  The words fell short as the trio stopped some fifteen yards away, the Witch Doctor shouting in a harsh, high-pitched voice: “Man! Leader! Come. Meet here!”

  The message was aimed at Christian who, without hesitation, moved from his friends to meet the three tribes-people. Once there, he became engaged in what appeared to be serious but not agitated conversation. Occasionally, one or other of the trio would lean to the side in order to get a clearer look at Ignatious and then return to the conference.

  After five or six minutes, Christian turned and shouted Ignatious over. He joined them, walking without the fake limp. The journey seemed ridiculously long, the sun beating on his back, but, as it was, he was there in seconds.

  Christian put an arm around him when he arrived. “The good people of the village, being a tribe known as The Remunaras,” he began, speaking in Portuguese for the benefit of his hosts, “say you are a God. Nothing I can say will dissuade them. Excanda, here, is a Chieftain of the tribe and she has powers that allow her to know of things unknown to normal mortals. She has been visited when in your presence and has been told of your status.”

  Saviour almost laughed but, realising that it would have been taken as a great insult, he kept a solemn expression.

  Christian continued: “The good people wish to offer their greetings to you and hope you will grant them good harvests and plentiful food. Whilst here, you will not be expected to carry out any tasks and you may have the pleasures of whichever young female you desire, at any time.”

  “What?” expounded Saviour. “Pleasures of their females?”

  Christian replied hastily, in English. “Yes. Don’t rock the boat. Just accept. Our task here is now made that much easier because if you tell them of our Lord, they will believe it. We hold daily classes and have made progress but we have not been able to convince them yet.”

  “Well, Father. I will do all I can to help, of course but…girls? No. I do not think I should do that.”

  Christian shrugged his shoulders and let out a short sigh, before turning back to face the tribal leaders. “Our holy companion, says thank you for your hospitality and he is pleased that you recognise his powers,” he said, in their tongue again. “He wishes to withold his mighty knowledge and live amongst you as equal.” Quickly spotting the concerns on the leaders’ faces, he added: “But he will accept that he should not work in your presence.” This seemed to appease them and they urged Christian to introduce them to the new God.

  The Witch Doctor was introduced as She-Akbiyla and he also greeted Saviour with the rubbing of noses. The aroma from him was not nearly so pleasant as that of the woman, Excanda, who was next to be formerly introduced. Finally, the silent one of the trio stepped forward and, after giving his name as Ko-At-Skanta, he carried out the now familiar ritual with the noses.

  The trio formed a line next to each other, three feet from Saviour, bowed as one and retreated slowly backwards until the body of the tribe was reached. They then went their separate ways.

  “Well done!” said Christian to Ignatious, slapping his shoulders. “I think we should find you something to wear, don’t you?”

  On the climb back to his quarters, Ignatious was much more aware of his nakedness and found it most embarrassing to be climbing above his colleagues, especially Vasquez, feeling that they would all be staring at his naked bottom! Once inside, he quickly found a beige-coloured shift, donning it just before the head of Sister Vasquez appeared in the entrance.

  From then on, Ignatious lived a life of relative luxury, the only work allowed him being that of a preacher. The tribe, men and women alike, erected a reasonably large church, with a solid stone altar installed at which communion was administered.

  The tribe enjoyed their lessons and took on board the new God, Jesus, about whom they were taught. The missionaries allowed the age-old traditional Gods of the tribe to be worshiped alongside theirs so as not to cause any conflict, and this worked fine. The Witch Doctor was honoured as an equal to Saviour but he refused to accept such high office remaining happy as the guide, counsellor and, in some cases, physician to his people. However, Sister Vasquez carried out the greater medical work and she performed many hitherto impossible cures. She was liked and admired by the people and, secretly, she was looked upon as a greater healer than the Witch Doctor.

  Throughout the stay, Ignatious remained celibate, although the simple beauty of the young girls on offer often tempted him. He was disappointed that his male counterparts never failed to take a girl to their beds at night. Sister Vasquez, revered though she was, was still a female and had no call on any of the men; nor were they allowed to choose her. Puzzlingly, it was permissible for her to have any of the girls, and in as many numbers as she desired but she refused, consoling herself with cleansing prayer. Even so, from Ignatious’s vantage point in his newly erected building, high to the left of the village where he had a view of the whole area, he often saw dark figures sneaking up the short ladder into her quarters. These consisted mainly of well-muscled young men but, on occasion, a budding young woman or two.

  Life here was basic and hard, but there was a great pleasure derived from the result of sheer effort and cooperation. The newcomers learned many of the trades of the tribe, including expert hunting of animals and fishing without use of a line. Ignatious could only watch and learn as he accompanied the parties on their missions.

  After six months, the missionaries felt it was time to move on. God had been brought to these simple people and the church was now established as a part of their culture. It was a job truly well done.

  Although the leaders were disappointed that these strangers had to go, they gradually came to accept it. They even built a rough but serviceable boat ready for the journey, which moored at the river’s edge, close to a shallow bank.

  On the final night, a huge party was arranged. The food was in plentiful supply, accompanied by many different and tasty fruits. Also on the menu were varieties of strange and unknown drugs, derived from the many exotic plants that populated the surrounding jungle, which were swallowed, taken in liquid form or smoked. This was a regular feature of weekend life in the village.

  Late into the night, when the drugs were taking full effect, the whole place was a mass of screaming, writhing, babbling and openly lovemaking people of all ages.

  Although his companions easily abandoned themselves into the debauchery, Ignatious tried to remain apart, praying constantly. However, when a nubile young woman, of what age he could not even guess, fourteen to seventeen, it was impossible to know, he succumbed. Kneeling in his loose-fitting shift, he found the girl’s delicate caressing of his head, then body, irresistible. All his pent-up emotions and frustrations were given reign in a totally abandoned three-hour stint.

  There was a touching scene the following day when the missionaries took their leave, with the whole village in the centre of the compound, bedecked with aromatic flowers, swaying as one and singing a haunting song of farewell, their arms waving aloft to the rhythm. Many tears were shed, among both men and women, and shared by Vasquez. The priests, to a man, shuddered in witheld emotion, lumps being silently swallowed. Among the crowd, Ignatious caught the eye of the girl with whom he had spent the night; she was completely at ease and smiling unconcernedly. When he recognised more the age of her, he felt a pang of shame. It soon passed.

  Ignatious awoke from his dream, a smil
e on his lips and an act of nature giving a warm sensation to his body. They were such pleasant memories. He sat up, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes. Bending his knees and encircling them with his arms, he rocked gently to and fro, basking in the recollections and enjoying the sight that the memory of the eroticism with the young tribeswoman had brought to him.

  After many minutes reverie, he rose and prepared himself for the day ahead. He would have souls to console, confessions to hear.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The police helicopter had taken to the skies early. The pilot, Sergeant Robert MacKay, had several young police officers to train that day, so an early start was essential. With him now was Women’s Police Constable Wendy Travilcock, the name condemning her to being the butt of unending ‘jokes’ with the immature males around her, even though it should be pronounced: “travilco.” She took it all in good part, feeling a contemptuous pity for the poor souls; some day they may just grow up but she wasn’t at all certain of that. The thing about it that annoyed her to some extent, was how the majority felt that her name meant that she was willing to give her favours to any who asked – or, in some cases, demanded. No way. Being with such child-men made her appreciate the older, more mature kind who treated her in a perfectly normal way. MacKay’s age was of no consequence in this equation; he was interested only in his job when at work, with no time for diversions.

  This was Wendy’s seventh lesson and she was beginning to really enjoy it. She had reached the stage where Mackay felt confident enough to let her take control and she revelled in completing new manoeuvres.

  From the unit at Heathrow, they were now skimming over the Thames Valley area, the panoramic view bringing a lasting joy to both. The sun was just making it’s presence felt, at eight-fifteen in the morning, and the ground below was beginning to show increasing signs of life.

  Automatically leaning to one side as she caused the craft to execute a wide turn, Wendy spotted something below. At first, she wasn’t sure of what she had seen, even if she had seen anything at all. She made another turn, throttling back a little and searching below, between glances at the complex instrument panel. MacKay remained silent but he, too, began to look at the ground, realising that his companion was looking for something.

  “Ah! There!” she gasped. “Something in the middle of that patch. See it?” Mackay had to stretch his body upwards to look past Travilcock’s figure and then he spotted it. “That’s a body,” he said with unarguable certainty.

  The WPC righted the helicopter and stole a quick glance at her instructor. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, surprised.

  “Experience, Travilcock. Experience.” He smiled thinly. “I have been on so many searches and found so many bodies in the past, that I have come to recognise one when I see it.” MacKay was on the radio, contacting base as he spoke.

  A little more than an hour later, Sampler, Miller and the pathologist, Doctor Sallie Dunning, were speeding their way to the scene, directed by the helicopter as it hovered over the spot. Sallie was half a mile behind the detectives and in front of the forensic team, who were just assembling back at New Scotland Yard.

  Nearing the spot, Sampler parked his car and the two made their way through the bushes toward the clearing. Both men were thinking the same: the area was so similar to the others, apart from the first, where the young Kylie Johnson was found, that being an open field in plain view of any passer-by.

  Great care was taken on the approach, every branch and every piece of ground being inspected before moving on. They did not want to spoil any evidence that may interest forensics. Minutes passed and then they were there. The clearing came upon them suddenly and both men stopped at the edge of the bushes through which they had come, surveying the scene. As almost expected, their gaze fell on a peaceful sight; a woman lying in repose, clothes more or less undisturbed, no signs of struggle and no signs of footmarks in the sturdy grass. They moved forward, again very carefully, with Sampler taking the lead.

  He reached the body and studied the face, slightly contorted with the struggle against whatever poison, for he was sure it was poison that had killed her. No doubt a large dosage. This appeared to be a woman in her early forties, still carrying a smoothness of skin and probably a bloom to her cheeks in life, neatly dressed. It occurred to Graham that she might have come out here on a date. The face bore signs of carefully applied makeup, but the lipstick had become smudged and faded around the mouth, giving the impression, correctly, that it had indulged in some amount of kissing prior to death. That would mean DNA being in evidence. As before, the DNA would need to be matched with that already found, and match, it would.

  “Ah! There it is!” he muttered.

  “What is?” asked his colleague, who was walking slowly around the victim, keeping a distance of three feet or so.

  “The bunch of feathers.” Pointing. “There half hidden beneath her left thigh.” That was the clincher. The men exchanged knowing glances. It was the work of their man again.

  At that moment, Dunning broke through, brushing away debris that had clung to her on her path to the scene. Walking up to Graham, she gave him a sweet smile, said hello to both men and announced that she would wait for forensics before carrying out her inspection.

  The three came together and stood awaiting the arrival of the men in white polypropylene suits. Sallie chatted about her morning; how she had got up late, not oversleeping, simply too cosy to get up. She laughed, a pleasant tinkling sound, as she shook her hair away from her face. The small movement and sound inexplicably caused Graham’s heart to flutter. He looked at Sallie, his glance remaining that little bit too long.

  She looked quickly at him and then she, too, lingered on the experienced face of the Detective Inspector. A tiny electrical impulse crackled silently between the pair, and Sallie’s eyes took on a darker hue. Their heads moved almost imperceptibly to each other, ready to make the inevitable kiss. Then, as one, they realised the point they had reached and both took a small step backwards as though recoiling from some unwanted experience. Even so, Graham’s eyes swept down the woman’s body appreciatively, his thoughts becoming instantly lustful. Sallie recognised the expression and accepted it with another warm smile.

  Quick to react to the developing situation, one that had become clear to him, Clive stepped between the two as naturally as he could, mentioning the helicopter as a means of breaking the spell. “Look, Graham, the ‘copter’s on its way now.”

  The move succeeded as the couple looked skywards and waved at the disappearing machine. A noise behind them heralded the team of forensic officers. They moved into the clearing suitably dressed for the work, little plastic bags, gloves and tweezers at the ready, expertly seeking any disturbance to the area, bending to pick some object up and seal it in the bag, at the same time marking the date, time, object and it’s location. The initials of the officer were then added. Without a word they carried out their task, gently easing the three onlookers aside as they moved to the corpse.

  The whole inspection by the forensic team took up a full hour before they left the immediate area where the body lay and retraced their steps back to the undergrowth, checking again as they went.

  Sallie, now becoming impatient, moved to the lifeless form of Mary Stewart and began her examination. Speaking in a low voice into the tiny recorder that she always carried on such missions, she recorded every detail: the position of the body, the surrounding area, the lack of signs of a struggle, every mark, scar and pimple on the body, as she carefully removed parts of clothing to afford a clearer view, gently replacing them as they originally were. It was clear that sex had taken place but to what extent would be a matter for the pathology room inspection later. Rising, she answered Sampler’s unasked question. “I would say that death was caused by some form of poisoning and that it occurred approximately twenty-four hours ago. I’ll know better when we get her to the lab.”

  The woman once again bewitched Sampler as she turned to face him,
the seriousness of the job showing on her face. His breath stopped for seconds as his heart tightened in his chest, his lips becoming dry.

  Sallie recognised again the interest, and she broke into a smile, enjoying this unexpected command of the rugged detective. He was very attractive to her, she had always felt that, viewing him from an office environment but she had never allowed the feeling to develop, knowing him to be happily married man who had never shown any previous signs of interest in her. Indeed their paths had not previously crossed, she never being around on Graham’s visits to the laboratory.

  Now, however, amidst the horror of a murder, with the body lying cold less than two feet from her, she warmed to the tingling that had begun. She moved past the two men, making sure that her body brushed against Sampler on the way. “I’ll see you at the laboratory later, if that’s okay,” she called over her shoulder.

  Sampler came to life. “Yes. I’ll give you a ring in a couple of hours.”

  “Right,” he heard as the pathologist became lost in the bushes. He followed with Miller close behind. They broke through the vegetation and reached their car as Sallie’s disappeared round a bend. “You drive, Clive,” said Sampler. “I want to think a bit.”

  Yes. And I’ll bet it’s about that bit of skirt, not the murder, he thought acidly. He was correct.

  On the journey back to the Met, Graham had begun wondering at how he had become so taken with the young pathologist. He had noticed her before, that much was true, but not really in that way. After all, he really was happily married and he would not wish to do anything that might interfere with that state of affairs. Still… she did seem to reciprocate. For a few miles, he fantasised about adult activity with her…and she was great…as was he!

  Suddenly returning to the world, he was aware that Clive was speaking to him and it occurred to him that he had been for some time. I wonder if I should have given any replies, he thought guiltily. “Mmm,” he said, hoping that would be sufficient.