by JESUIT
By the top, he meant the Home Secretary. Politicians always see other people’s duties as simple to carry out – if there’s a murder solve it! Simple.
C.S. Longfellow continued: “Where are we up to with it, gentlemen? Any nearer?” It was not necessary for him to state the case to which he was referring.
The two officers exchanged glances before Graham answered. “It is a very difficult case, Sir. One that is without anything solid to go on.”
The steely voice of the Chief cut in: “Yes. Quite. You should know that murderers don’t intentionally leave clues. They don’t leave notes telling you who and where they are, do they? That’s where your job comes in! You investigate, question, take in the over-all picture; use your brains!”
The detectives shifted uncomfortably in the comfortable chairs. “If I can update you on what we have and what we suspect, Sir,” answered Graham.
“I wish you would!” came the snapped response.
Graham controlled the rush of blood to his neck, muting the anger that almost exploded. In a calm voice, he went on: “Firstly, we know that all the victims died from poisoning. The poisons were administered by injection through a fine hypodermic needle, or, in the case of Mary Stewart, by a compressed air method. Two of the poisons were Opium, one was known as Gelsemium and the other, Strychnine. All were delivered into existing immunisation scars. The murderer appears to have had some medical knowledge.”
“Yes. I was here when that fellow, er, erm, Wray! Yes. That fellow Wray, when he told you.”
The sharp interruptions were annoying but Sampler kept calm. “The method of killing and the weapon, if I may use the term weapon, tie the murders together. The killings have taken place roughly within the same area, which adds to the links. There is also one other link, and one which I feel is of significance.”
“Which is?”
“Bird feathers, sir.”
“What?” snapped Longfellow. “Bird feathers? Have you taken leave of your senses, Detective Inspector?”
The angry murmurings needed to be controlled once more. “If you will allow me, Sir,” the tone still controlled. “The killer leaves a small bunch of bird feathers near the body. He has done this in every case.”
Longfellow was upright in his chair, the steely eyes, once again free of the spectacles, looking at Sampler as if he was something distasteful. “And you feel this to be significant, do you?”
“Yes, Sir. I do.”
“Well, in what way significant?” the voice now a couple of tones higher.
“With respect, Sir. It is clearly a calling card – a signature of some kind.”
Clive broke in. “I’ve arranged for an Ornithologist to examine the feathers, Sir. To find out what kind of bird they are from. They are unusual in that they seem to consist of many smaller feathers making up one. And they are iridescent.”
Longfellow looked toward Miller with a hint of contempt. “Iridescent, eh?” he said with sarcasm. “Big word, detective.” He resisted the temptation to ask Miller if he knew what the word meant. Then, turning back to Sampler, he asked: “And what do you hope to achieve by finding out which bird shed their feathers?” The sarcasm was heavy and it was uncalled for.
Still outwardly calm, Graham replied: “Well, Sir. It is possible that the bird is peculiar to a certain district and, if so, it gives us an extra clue to follow up. The person may keep an aviary, or maybe work at one, or a Pet Shop. The bunches may be sold from a particular Fancy Goods Shop – again, another lead.”
Showing exasperation now, Longfellow sat back and sighed. “Is that the sum of it Detective Inspector?”
“I do have one suspect, Sir.”
Longfellow leaned forward. “A suspect? And it’s taken you until now to tell me?” He puffed noisily. “Who the hell is he, then?”
Graham steeled himself. “A priest, Sir. A Jesuit priest.”
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other, the silence electric. Instead of the expected explosion, the Chief spoke with quiet resignation. “So. What we are looking for, then, is a bird-loving priest who has a desire to send his fellow humans to their Maker. Good.” He studied his officers in silence before pointing to the door. “I suggest that you two get your act together and start finding real clues. If you are incapable, I will take you off the case and give it to someone who has their feet on the ground. Now get to it!”
The two left hurriedly, smarting with anger and feeling like schoolboys chided by their headmaster. As the door closed, Longfellow picked up the telephone. “Get me the Home office Minister immediately,” he instructed the telephonist.
It was five minutes before the Minister was obtained and Longfellow brushed the side of his hair into place as he spoke, as though the Minister could see him in all his importance. “Hello, Minister.” He smiled ingratiatingly at the phone in his hand. “I have had a word with my two officers in charge of the recent murder investigation and I am satisfied that they are well on the way to solving the matter. I am assured that an arrest is imminent.” He listened to the words of congratulation. “Thank you, Sir. I will pass on your comments. Goodbye.” Replacing the phone in its cradle, he sat back, smiling smugly at the ceiling.
Back in Graham’s office, the two exchanged heated comments on the ignorance of their Chief and his lack of understanding, wondering how he had ever reached the position of Chief Constable, letting their anger be spent. When they calmed down, Graham observed: “There is one thing he said that may have made some sense, though.”
“Oh? And what is that, Graham?”
“He said, sarcastically, of course, that the priest wants to send his fellow humans to their Maker. I wonder if that is what he is doing?”
Clive considered the statement. He had not suspected the Jesuit before but, suddenly, there was a hint of a possible motive here. “You mean he feels he is acting for God?”
There was a gleam in Graham’s eyes now. “Precisely! So you do suspect the priest, after all, Clive?”
“I’m not too sure. What you say makes sense, but are we not making the theory fit the crime? Could that scenario not be attached to any series of murders?”
“It could, possibly. However, have you not felt, as I have, that the bodies have been left with some kind of respect. Not mutilated, no signs of anger, nothing stolen, no mementoes taken?”
“Yes. I have to admit that it crossed my mind. Even with Maddigan, the beating appeared to be without malice and, though he left the body naked and bound to the trees, he still took the time to leave the feathers.”
Graham was once more calm, an air of anticipation about him. He felt that they were at last moving in the right direction. “Tomorrow, Clive, we pay a another visit to Penn. We’ll speak to Father McGiven again and, possibly, take a trip to Watford for a chat with Mrs. Johnson.” He rose, unable to contain the smile that crept over his lips. “Lunch time, Clive.”
Over the pub lunch and into the afternoon, sweating in the heat of Graham’s office, the pair pored over the murder files yet again, making notes and assembling a new ‘summary’ file, where all relevant details were entered; dates, times, the Jesuit’s reported whereabouts at the times of death and so on. At one point, Clive stopped the proceedings to ask if the facts were really fitting the Jesuit’s movements, or were they in danger of ‘fitting him up?’
No. Graham felt that they were on the right track and confirming that the Jesuit did have time to carry out the murders. After all, details of some of his movements had been accepted purely from the priest’s words.
They worked until late afternoon and then decided to call it a day. Graham had now to endure the guilt he would certainly feel on going home to his lovely wife.
It was then five-fifteen and Mrs.Fairweather, looking through her front-room curtains, saw Carol, Candice and Gerry casually cycling past as they went to their homes for tea. She considered that Emma must have stopped off at a shop in town, so expected she would be home soon.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
After ‘saving’ the girl, Emma, Ignatious travelled into Pangbourne and parked his motor home in a public car park, whilst he took a stroll around the town. He would kill some time here and then find a spot on the outskirts to stay for the night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to visit the Parish Church. Perhaps by then, the body would have been discovered and he would be able to offer his wisdom and comfort to the grieving parents.
He took evening meal at around six-thirty, in a pleasant café near to the car park. Once again, the weather had held and the premises had every available window open, which only slightly alleviated the heaviness of the interior. However, the service was friendly and the chicken salad fresh and quite excellent. Taking time to enjoy the meal and to rest his tiring feet following the lengthy stroll around the town, Ignatious munched his food slowly, studying the few other patrons who occupied the small dining room. He liked to study people, calculating what he thought their secrets and personal problems to be. He felt his assumptions would generally be correct.
At last, he rose from the table, paid his bill, with a decent tip for the bustling waitress and left. Back in the vehicle, he drove to the surrounding countryside and parked off the road, near to a range of hedgerows, that offered a fine view of the meadow as it meandered away from his position and down towards the inhabited parts.
For some time, he sat outside, soaking up the beauty of the area and the pleasure of God’s gifts; the fading Sun as it created new colours and aspects, the gentle, warm breeze, the grasses, flowers and beautifully blossomed trees.
Finally, Ignatious went back into the motor home where he read the bible until tired enough for sleep. Stripping his clothes, he lay naked under the single cotton sheet and drifted away.
The exhaustion, coupled with the heaviness of the warm night, lulled Ignatious into a fitful sleep, filled with troubled dreams.
He had become accustomed to his position, tied to the pole, uncomfortable that it was. Thankfully, due to lack of food and drink, his normal bodily functions had gone into neutral mode, so he did not have to suffer the indignity of performing them where he stood.
It was around two in the morning, the sounds of the jungle now muted, that he became aware of movement somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. Something was sniffing around! He then felt a similar movement around his tied wrists. What kind of animal could this be? he wondered fearfully. Then, the binding ropes began to loosen and slide down his body. Keeping in the same position in which he had spent the last few days, he gingerly moved one of his feet forward. It moved! Trying the other foot, he was astonished to find that it, too, moved forward.
Cautiously, he brought his arms to the front, feeling the ropes sliding off him. He was being freed! But how? By whom? The ropes fell away to the ground as a figure appeared from behind in the darkness. Peering hard, Ignatious was just able to make out the face of the girl with whom he had spent that last night before being hauled to his imprisonment.
He looked at the girl in amazement. What she was now doing could be the cause of her suffering a violent death. Before he could speak and whisper his thanks, she pointed toward the jungle. “Go!” she whispered harshly. “Go!” She then left quickly and silently.
For some moments, Ignatious could not move; he was in a small state of shock. He had not expected to be freed and had made his peace with his Maker, fully prepared to meet Him.
His muscles stiff and tingling painfully with the blood filling again the restricted tubes of his veins, he bent and stretched his legs, flapping his arms in an attempt to assist the renewal of his circulation. He realised that, whilst he was here, he stood the risk of discovery but he would not be able to move quietly on numbed feet. After several minutes, he felt more back to normal and paused to decide what next to do.
The happenings of the past few days had both shocked and angered him. Since before his prison days, Ignatious had learned to curb his anger and channel it into something positive rather than give vent to it. However, now he was burning with an anger that threatened to wholly consume him. He wanted revenge!
Noticing the table laid with the intended instruments of his death, he quickly devised a plan that would satisfy his fury. Gathering up the flask with its deadly contents, he moved swiftly to the edge of the village and climbed the ladder leading to the water storage tank that, only a few days earlier, he had helped to design and construct for the benefit of the tribe.
Reaching the top, he laid the flask down and scooped a handful of the pure water into his dry mouth, swallowing gratefully after first swilling it around. He then retrieved the flask and removed the stopper. He knew the poison would be of the strongest kind, designed to kill quickly; something he would have appreciated later this morning.
Leaning over the edge of the tank, he poured a measure of the pink-tinted liquid into the water, calculating that even a small amount would be sufficient to permeate the system, with enough power to do its deadly work. However, he wanted to be absolutely certain.
When the villagers awoke, their first action would be to feed the water to their children and then take it themselves. Ignatious hoped that the children would survive until the seniors took their drinks so that there would be no pre-warning. He sat with his back to the tank and awaited the oncoming of dawn.
The light shaft of sunlight across Ignatious’s face woke him from his slumber. Having no watch, he had to calculate from the sun’s position, what time it was, estimating it to be around six. Looking out over the village, he watched the early mist rise from the dwellings, over the foliage to become temporarily lodged in the tall trees. The warmth was beginning to increase even then,at around 7am as Ignatious waited, indications that the day was to be hot again. Even during the frequent rains, the heat was never subdued.
The one thing that was immediately apparent to Ignatious was the unusual quietness, apart from the growing sounds of the jungle. There was no life to be observed in the village at a time when some signs would normally be evident. It seemed as though his plan had worked but there was only one way to be certain and that was to inspect the dwellings.
Picking up the flask, still quite full, he descended the ladder. Once on the ground, he went to the first of the dwellings. Going inside, he observed one of the tribesmen lying on the floor on top of a toddler, both with eyes and mouths open - clearly dead. Next to the sink lay a tribes-woman, also clearly lifeless and, in the far corner, a girl in her early teens. The next three homes proved to be the same: all occupants dead.
Feeling safe now, Ignatious went to his dwelling and dressed in his travelling clothes, gathering up what useful items he felt would be needed including, and for no good reason he could immediately think of, the deadly flask. He placed all into a light backpack and continued his inspection of the village.
Seeing in one, the body of his one-time friend, Karakta, he felt curiously emotionless, while, in another dwelling, he felt some remorse at the sight of the lovely girl who had provided him with sexual gratification and who had been courageous enough to free him. He consoled himself with the thought that, at least, she looked beautiful and at peace.
In his sleep, Ignatious smiled, the reason for retaining the flask now evident following the most recent killing.
It took more than an hour to complete the scrutiny, leaving only the place of the Elders. There were three places allocated to them, the Chief Elder occupying one a little larger than the other two. Nervously, not entirely expecting the poison to have affected these strange men, he went into the first of the smaller buildings.
To Ignatious’s amazement, all three were completely empty of beings! In the Chief Elder’s residence, the puzzled missionary discovered an assortment of the hypodermics used, together with their reed needles, and phials containing the various fluids. Two of the hypodermics were of the compressed-air type. Again, without fully understanding why, Ignatious collected the hypodermics, needles and phials and put them in his pack. The liquids were familiar to him by their col
ourings and he knew which drugs, or poisons they contained.
In the time spent here, mostly happy, Ignatious had come to know how to use different plant types to obtain the fluids. Even in the Western world, he would be able to mix the brew from existing plant life, understanding which types would be of similar genus to those found in this sweltering place.
There was one final thing his curiosity led him to satisfy, and that was the so-called Gods. What action, if any, would they be likely to take?
Going back to the village square, he began the journey up the hillside, picking his way through the dense bushes, until he arrived at a few feet from the top. Squirming upwards, as Karakta had previously advised him, he peered carefully over the edge. The sight that greeted Ignatious stunned and shocked him.
The three pyramids were slowly and smoothly sinking into the ground, the earth around them churning and bubbling. It was clearly an organised operation was in motion. In unison they slipped further and further until a mere foot of each protruded. Stationary for many minutes, the shining peaks suddenly disappeared below ground, the churning continuing for some time. Then, all was still, peace and quietness returning. Where the amazing structures had once stood, there remained only large patches of earth showing amidst the rich green of the surrounding grasses. In less than two weeks, the area would once more be uniform, the greenery appearing totally undisturbed.
Unwilling to believe the evidence before him, Ignatious stared and stared, tears, unaccountably, slipping from his eyes. What had he just witnessed? Was it a miracle, magic, or some alien occurrence? Who could possibly know?
He shuddered and allowed himself to slip, face downwards, from the top of the rise to the bushes immediately below. Even here, he could not bring himself to move, his mind in turmoil, trying and failing, to make some sense of the scene. Eventually, he stood and made his way back to the square where he gathered his belongings and set off. On the way from the village and its lifeless occupants, he collected up some fruit to serve as sustenance over what he expected to be a difficult and tiring journey.
