by JESUIT
From then, they talked about the latest murder and the similarities to the others. How were they going to catch this man? The clues, such as they were, led in no definite direction. By the time they had arrived back at the Yard, Graham had decided that the only way forward now, was to go back on the case and interview the bereaved and friends and relatives to see if there was a common denominator. Long, painstaking work, but it needed to be done and he felt that they would be better served carrying out the enquiries themselves.
A little over three hours later, with Graham and Clive deeply immersed in the murder case files, the telephone rang. “Yes!” barked Graham.
His mood suddenly altered when he recognised the sweet, warm voice of Sallie Dunning. “Oh, yes, Sallie,” he said, his voice noticeably softening. Clive felt like vomiting! “Have you completed the examination?” Still sickly-sweetly. A pause and then: “Oh, okay. I’ll pop round right away.”
Replacing the phone, he looked up at Clive to tell him to remain here whilst he went to see Sallie; no point two of them going. Clive was smiling knowingly, almost – only almost, causing a blush.
Eyes widening in pure innocence, Clive remarked,: “Yes, Guv’nor. Will you be leaving the office?” The twinkle in his eyes betrayed the sarcasm.
“Enough of that,” Graham returned gruffly. “Yes. Business.”
“Of course, sir,” he said respectfully.
“Yes. Well. You carry on here and I’ll go and see what she has for us.”
Clive grinned, his thoughts evident.
Graham got up and left the office, annoyed at his partner for his silent insubordination. He resisted the temptation to slam the office door as he exited.
Sallie greeted Graham with her warm smile and handed him a mouth mask. He gratefully donned the mask; the smell of this unpleasant room had turned many stomachs. There was also the risk of inhaling some nasty little microbe that would bring a grown man to his knees with sickness.
He nodded a greeting to the other person in the room, Kevin Brindle, assistant to Sallie, whom Graham had met on many occasions. He was a married man with two children and he was thirty-five years of age. It was generally considered that he should, by now, be head of his department but, as a plodder, rather than a go-getter, he had seen the energetic, ambitious Sallie take the position even though she was seven years his junior and had come into the profession some years after him.
Sallie began: “Well, Graham, we have carried out the examination, removed and weighed everything necessary and carried out some tests.”
“Go on,” said Graham.
“The victim died from a strong dose of Opium poisoning. This is the same as used on the young girl, Kylie Johnson. After very careful examination, I was unable to find how the drug had been administered.”
Sampler groaned as Sallie continued, unperturbed. “Therefore, I borrowed the equipment left here temporarily by Doctor Wray. Even with that, I could at first find nothing.” She was all business now; no warm smile, or indeed, smiles of any kind. “Then, on studying an old immunisation scar on her left arm – one that had completely healed over with no new puncture marks - I noticed a slight redness to the area. Zooming in as close as possible, I observed the most minute of enlargements to the actual pores in that location. Kevin, here,” she pointed to her assistant, “also had a look, and he agrees that the pores are extended beyond the normal.”
“How on earth did he do that?” asked Sampler. Did he use a multi-syringe or something?”
Sallie smiled the business smile, saying: “No. I don’t know of any such device. What it appears to be, incredibly, is an air-operated injection, a burst of compressed air forcing the fluid into the arm. The area in the body covered by the poison is greater than would be with a normal syringe. However, that is most certainly the point of entry.”
Graham looked at her in admiration. “Thank you, Sallie,” he said. “That confirms to me that it is the work of the same person.
“I should also add,” Sallie replied, “that sexual intercourse had taken place. On the evidence, I would say that the intercourse was consensual. There were also faint traces of seminal fluid in the mouth; not an ejaculation, it seems to be more of the lubrication stage. Enough for DNA samples, though, and I have retained a sample.”
“Thank you, again, Sallie,” said Graham as he tossed the mask into a nearby waste-bin and turned to leave. Sallie caught up with him and escorted him to the door. “I need to work a bit late, tonight, Graham,” she said in a low voice. “Would you like to take a bite to eat with me at the pub over the road and then come back whilst I complete your report?”
Graham’s heart missed several beats. The invitation definitely seemed to be concocted on the spur of the moment. What did she want? he mused. “Well…er…yes.” he replied without thinking. “Erm…I can certainly find work to do in the meantime.”
“Good. Six, then?” Graham readily agreed.
Sending Clive home at five-thirty, Graham tried hard to concentrate on the work in hand but it was impossible. He kept reading the same lines time and again, without absorbing any of what he read. His mind wandered. What was he letting himself in for? The woman was young, beautiful, gifted – and married! As was he! What could she possibly see in him? Of course, he wasn’t old himself but she was about thirty and therefore, in his eyes, very young.
The thoughts ran through his mind until he was suddenly jarred out of them by the shrill ringing of the telephone. It was Sallie to say that she was now leaving for the pub and would he be ready. He confirmed his readiness as he almost leapt to his feet, snatching his jacket from the door peg. He replaced the phone and hurried out.
On entering the pub, ‘The Coat Of Arms,’ he spotted the woman at the bar, ordering a drink. Muscling through the crowd, made up mostly of office workers on their way home, and a number of off-duty police men and women, he reached the bar just in time to pay for her drink, a Bacardi and Coke, and order himself a pint of Best Bitter beer.
Finding a reasonably secluded table in a corner near the entrance and next to an old style, multi-framed window, he asked Sallie what she would like to eat. “Anything with a salad,” she replied. Graham walked over to a large sandwich display situated on the far wall and completely out of style with the pub’s old-fashioned décor, and chose a ham and salad sandwich for Sallie. Putting in the required coins, he took the cellophane-wrapped and sealed food, cut into perfect triangles, and wondered whatever had happened to good, wholesome food prepared on the premises, in times not too long ago. For himself, he chose a cheese and beetroot sandwich conscious of the fact that he had deliberately avoided foods that would have tainted his breath, such as egg, onions and garlic. Before returning to Sallie, he used his mobile to get in touch with Bethany making the excuse that he had a lot of catching up to do with his paperwork and he would not be home until eight-thirty, or so. He surprised himself with the easy way in which he was preparing for an illicit affair with a married woman. In all his time with Bethany, before and after marriage, he had never once been unfaithful, nor indeed, had the thought ever crossed his mind. Now, he was coldly and determinedly laying the ground for – yes, a laying!
During the small meal, the couple chatted about work and a little about their home lives, not once referring to what it seemed both really had in mind. They enjoyed each other’s company, the alcohol providing just sufficient stimulus to keep things lively.
Within the hour, they were in Sallie’s office adjoining the pathology lab. Still ignoring the lustful plans stored at the back of each’s mind, they studied Sallie’s typewritten report, whilst both sat on the desk rather than the comfortably padded chairs. The report supplied no information that had not already been given but, none-the-less, they went through the motions of reading and discussing the various points.
At the end, Sallie swivelled round, her legs unintentionally parting as she came to face Graham, looking into his face with undisguised desire.
He immediately slippe
d from the desktop and threw his arms around her, pulling her close to him, his body easing between the spread legs. As he began to kiss her passionately, his hands wandered over her upper body, thrilling him at the feel of her firm and ample breasts. He felt her tongue dart into his mouth as passions rose.
Who took off whose clothes, could not have been decided in the sudden blur of activity, but they were naked and having urgent sex on the desk in seconds. It was as though both had been saving themselves for this very moment, starving of sex in the meantime. There was much puffing, grunting, screaming and shouting during the bout, the rather macabre surroundings seeming to add to their desires.
Finally, it was over and they lay together, still coupled, for some time, holding, caressing and cuddling each other tenderly. Both were fully satisfied by the encounter and they realised it heralded the beginning of a new phase in their lives; a phase that was certain to bring pleasure, pain and deceit.
The conscience crunch came when Graham opened the door to his home at a quarter to nine that evening. On seeing Bethany’s happy-to-see-you face, he suddenly felt like throwing himself to his knees and confessing all. For too many seconds, he simply stared at her, feeling that she could see right through him, knowing his infidelity.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” she asked, uncertainly, wondering at the stare.
Quickly gathering his wits, Graham replied: “Yes, of course, darling. I just had a thought that I’d forgotten something at the office - but I haven’t. That’s all. I’m okay.” He bent to kiss her as was usual, feeling the soft warmth of the lips he had kissed so many countless times, always enjoying the experience. Tonight was no exception. Guilty though he felt, he knew that this was the first of many future deceptions. The pathologist had seeped into his system and he wanted more.
The following morning, Graham was back in his office, again looking through the individual files of the recent victims, together with Clive Miller. He had not seen Sallie and did not expect to. Their paths mainly crossed when a new murder occurred.
“Christ” he suddenly cried, startling Clive. “Clive! You know what? I’ve never asked forensics about the feathers!”
Clive looked at his chief in puzzlement. “What about the feathers?”
“If they picked them up! It never crossed my mind before, but the pretty little bunches may become evidence. They might not even have collected them. I mean, why pick up a tiny bunch of bird feathers from a field? Pretty common things, I would think.”
Already beginning to sweat from the warming day, he picked up the telephone and dialled through to the forensic department. He was soon speaking to Sergeant Brian Flynn who kept the records and bags of evidence from recent cases investigated by the forensics team. After hearing Graham’s reasons for the request, he said he would check his records and get back in a short time. Graham put down the phone and studied the foolscap pad upon which he had made notes from each case. “Clive,” he said slowly. “Apart from the obvious things that link the murders, I can’t spot anything in common that gives a real clue to the killer’s identity.”
“No, nor can I,” came the rather unhelpful reply.
“But there is one thing that crops up in every report,” still speaking slowly as if gathering his thoughts and speaking them out, “and that is the priest. The Jesuit.”
Clive chuckled. “Surely you don’t suspect him, do you?”
“No. Not exactly, but there’s some reference to him in every case.”
“Yes. Well, there will be won’t there? He gives comfort to the bereaved doesn’t he? Therefore, he’s bound to be mentioned.”
“Yes. I can accept all that but, just the same, we are going to have a word with him. Do we know where he is now?”
“No, but I can soon find out.”
At that point the phone rang; it was Sergeant Flynn. “Hello Graham,” he began. “I’ve checked my records and you’re right. There is a small bunch of bird feathers in each case. Nobody paid any real attention to them but they have all been bagged and logged.”
Graham’s excitement was mounting. “So, you’ve got all the feathers – from each murder scene?”
“Oh, yes. Every one. Because they’re so delicate, they’ve all been bagged separately – in their bunches. If you want them you will have to sign.” He warned officiously.
“I’ll sign okay. Give me ten minutes or so and I’ll be there.” With that, he hung up. In fifteen minutes, Graham had rushed down to forensics, signed for the goods and returned with them to his office. On looking at the individual bags, he was pleased to note that each had been logged with the date, time and the name of the victim. He pinned them to the wallboard alongside the pictures of the murdered people. Soon, if there were no further progress, the board would be too small to fit extra evidence.
“I wonder why he does this,” mused Graham, aloud. “What is the significance of the feathers? There has to be a reason; I’m sure he doesn’t go to the trouble of obtaining the specimens and then leave them near to his victims just for the sake of it.” He sat, wondering. Clive was unable to offer any solutions either, so they each went on looking into the files for what seemed the thousandth time, hoping to glean some extra clue.
By teatime, both men were tired and had made no progress. They discussed what they should do next but even that was a puzzle. What could the next step be? They had all the information possible, had read and re-read the reports and witness statements and they were no nearer to a solution. Just then, the phone rang; it was Sergeant Flint in Penn.
“Oh, hello, George!” Sampler was pleased to hear the familiar voice. “How are you?” Then a thought occurred: not another murder! Before giving Flint time to reply to the first question, he spoke. “Not more bad news, is it, George?”
A short laugh cackled down the line. “No. No, not at all. You remember the Jesuit we spoke of?”
“Oh, yes?”
“Well, I’ve provisionally arranged for you to meet him, as you asked.”
Sampler had completely forgotten. “Have you? Well, thanks, George. When and where?”
“I spoke to Father McGiven at St. Mary’s a few days ago and he got in touch with the priest. He’s agreed to meet you tomorrow, if you can make it, at the church. It’s the only spare time he has at present.”
It was short notice but Sampler was interested in the man. Clive could carry on here – unless another dead body turned up! “Yes. That’s okay. At what time?”
“He made the appointment for four in the afternoon. Will that be suitable?”
“Yes. That will do fine. Will Father McGiven be there?”
“Yes, if you have no objections. He’d like to meet you and he says the Jesuit is such a character that he finds himself wanting to be in his company all the time. Says he’s never been so affected by anyone before.”
“Mmm. I feel the chat will be carried out on our knees,” he joked.
He heard the short laugh at the end of the line before the call ended and he replaced the phone. He looked up to see Clive smiling.
“On your knees, Graham? I don’t think so, somehow.”
Sampler chuckled. “No. Nor do I.” He then went on to apprise Clive of the development and suggest that he go alone on this occasion. This suited Clive admirably; he would rather not be in the company of ‘holy’ people.
“Okay, Clive. You may as well get off home now. I’ll tidy up here. I’ll take the file on Debbie Singleton home with me and travel to Penn tomorrow morning. I may well stay overnight. You can reach me on my mobile, if there’s anything urgent.” Already surreptitious thoughts were forming in Sampler’s mind. He accepted the quizzical glance of his partner, without comment.
Once Clive had left the office, Graham picked up the internal and dialled Forensic Pathology. As he had hoped, Sallie answered. “Oh, hello, Graham,” she said, brightly. “What can I do for you?” He resisted the urge to tell her.
“I’ll be out on a job tomorrow,” he began. “Probably take
all day and I may have to find somewhere overnight.”
“Oh. Where?”
“Penn.”
“Penn? What a lovely place to visit. Work?”
“Yes. What else?” Graham put on a resigned note. “Meeting a priest, of all people. A Jesuit. Need to have a chat with him.”
At the other end, Sallie was beginning to see where this might be leading. “I didn’t have you down as a religious person, Graham.”
“Just goes to show, you don’t know everything about me, do you?”
“No. Nothing, really,” she answered, lightly.
Graham decided it was time to put his proposition to her. “Sallie?”
“Yes.” Guessing what was to come next.
“Is there any way you may be able to come with me?”
Even though the question was expected, it still caused Sallie to pause, her heart fluttering.
“Sallie?”
She spoke: “I can’t just up and go, Graham. You know that.” She paused again, Graham remaining silent. “Is there any reason for you to have a pathologist along?” she finally asked, warming to the intrigue.
Thinking quickly, Graham suggested that the police at Penn could have found something that may be linked with the murder and it needed an expert’s view. “No-one is likely to question it, are they?”
Sallie’s heart was pounding. She had always acted so professionally in her career, never one to make excuses or have unnecessary time off and was dedicated to the job in hand. The words filled her mouth so that she almost physically gagged. “Yes, Graham. I’ll come. What time and where?”
The gagging now invaded Sampler, his hand shaking. “Lovely. Er, ten tomorrow morning, if you can manage that. I’ll pick you up on the drive at the entrance to The Yard. Okay?”
Sallie was firm now; she had made her decision. “Yes. That will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then”
His face colouring a deep red, Graham subconsciously blew a kiss down the phone and hung up hurriedly. He was behaving like a schoolboy and he felt foolish by it.
