Mortuus Virgo

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘What’s your name, driver?’ asked Brandon, as soon as they cleared the hotel.

  ‘They call me Murray,’ answered the driver, ‘Where we going then, guv?’

  ‘Murray,’ said Brandon, ‘About ten minutes ago one, a friend of mine got into one of your company’s cabs outside that hotel. I need to know where they went, and I want you to take me there.’

  ‘Don’t know if I can do that,’ said Murray, ‘Customer confidentiality and all that.’

  ‘Murray,’ said Brandon, ‘For all I know they could have gone across bloody London. I don’t know how far that is, but at triple time it could be very lucrative.’

  The driver paused, considering the opportunity.

  ‘What’s her name?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Sommers,’ answered Brandon, ‘India Sommers.’

  Murray picked up his radio mike.

  ‘Control this is Two-Three,’ he said, ‘Come in.’

  ‘Go ahead Two-Three,’ came the reply.

  ‘Control, one of our cars picked up a lady at Premier inn, Watford about ten minutes ago. Do you know where they went?’

  ‘I can find out, why, what’s the problem?’

  ‘She dropped her purse and I was wondering if they were local so I can return it.’

  ‘Hang on,’ came the disembodied voice and the Radio went silent for a few seconds before bursting back into life.

  ‘It was car Three-Seven, said the voice, though they are probably too far away now. Just bring it into the office later and we will return it.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Murray, ‘Where did they go anyway?’

  ‘Victoria Station, do you want me to give Three-Seven a call and let them know?’

  ‘Nah, don’t bother said Murray,’ seeing Brandon’s shaking head in the mirror, ‘She was a bit of a moody cow anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the voice, ‘Control out!’

  ‘Victoria Station,’ asked Murray to the mirror.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ answered Brandon, ‘They will be long gone by the time we get there.’ He thought for a few minutes before speaking again. ‘Murray, do you know a place called Tockenham??’

  ‘Tockenham, Swindon?’ asked Murray.

  ‘That’s the one. There’s a church there called St Giles. Take me there.’

  ‘You do realise that’s the best part of eighty miles away?’ said Murray.

  ‘Yes,’ said Brandon, ‘Though you had better stop at a cash point on the way. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a very expensive taxi ride.’

  ‘Five hundred quid’s worth of taxi ride,’ said Murray with a grin, ‘Up front, in cash, if you please.’

  ‘Like I said,’ answered Brandon, ‘You had better find a cash point.’

  Ten minutes later Murray felt the comfortable bundle of fresh twenty pound notes in his shirt pocket before pulling out into the traffic. Behind him, in the rear seat, his new customer, who obviously had more money than sense, was busy speaking into a phone.

  ‘Mike,’ said Brandon, ‘I need you to do me a favour. Can you get the CCTV footage in Victoria station checked out for the last hour?’

  ‘Why?’ asked his colleague.

  ‘My contact was abducted about half an hour ago. Apparently she was taken to Victoria station and I need to know where they have taken her.’

  ‘Brandon, the case is closed, just tell the police.’

  ‘Mike, it’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? I start following some leads and my main contact is abducted.’

  ‘Brandon, you’re not listening to me. The case is closed, savvy? Get your things and get back to Stirling.’

  Brandon thought furiously.

  ‘Listen, Mike, have you booked me back in yet?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Then pretend you couldn’t get hold of me. As far as anyone else is concerned, my phone was off. My next report is not due until next week, so there is nothing unusual in me being offline for a while,’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Brandon said his friend.

  ‘Mike, I need this from you. You are my oldest friend and I have no-one else to turn to. This girl is, well, she means a lot to me and I will not abandon her. All I need is to find out where they have taken her.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds before Mike spoke again.

  ‘Brandon, I am not putting my career on the line for this, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I will refer your request to the CO and ask his permission to extend your posting. I know he’s going to an officer’s mess bash tonight, and has a couple of days leave after that, so he won’t get the request until Monday. I am sure he will pull the plug, but until he does, I will keep you online. That gives you just over three days.’

  ‘What about support?’

  ‘We’ve already got a team on stand bye anyway, so I won’t stand them down until you come in. Make sure your beacon is armed.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Brandon.

  ‘I hope she is worth it, matey,’ said Mike, ‘Now, I need descriptions, locations and timings.’

  Brandon gave his colleague what info he had, knowing that Mike could draw on no end of intelligence and contacts to scour the CCTV network.

  ‘Got it,’ said Mike, ‘Anything else I need to know?’

  ‘No that’s it, I think.’

  ‘Right, give me a couple of hours, and I will get back to you. If you find yourself in the smelly stuff, hit your beacon and we’ll come running.’

  ‘Cheers, Mike,’ said Brandon, ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mike, ‘You do!’ and rang off.

  An hour and a half later the taxi pulled up outside St Giles.

  ‘Can you wait here?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Whatever you say, Mister, meter’s running,’ said Murray with a grin.

  ‘Oh come on, Murray, give me a break here. You’ve already got five hundred off me.’

  The driver turned and stared at Brandon.

  ‘Look guv,’ he said, I don’t know what you’re into, and I don’t want to know, but whatever it is, it sure sounds dodgy. If it’s something illegal I could lose my license.’

  ‘I promise you won’t lose your license,’ said Brandon. ‘You turn that goddamn meter off, drive me around for the rest of the day and I’ll give you another five hundred cash, but that’s it. What do you say?’

  ‘A grand for a days work,’ smiled Murray,’ I’ve had worse days, I suppose.’

  ‘Good!’ said Brandon. ‘Wait here, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.’

  He left the car and made his way to the church entrance, this time the door was open.

  ‘Hello!’ he called ‘Anyone here?’ His voice echoed around the empty church and he walked towards the back and called out again.

  ‘Hello, anyone at home?’

  He continued towards the office and stopped dead in his tracks. Before him was part of a bloody footprint on the flagstone. His hand crept to his pocket and he withdrew his ever present gun, pulling back on the slide to load the chamber.

  Brandon pushed the door open slowly, careful not to expose too much of his body to any gunman. The office was trashed and behind the upturned desk, Brandon could see a body. He checked around the room before crouching besides the man, placing his gun in his inside jacket pocket. A pool of scarlet spread from the victim’s bleeding skull, a nearby discarded candlestick, the obvious attack weapon.

  Brandon took in the scene, frowning as he did so. Something was wrong. This was no vicar on the floor, and though he didn’t know him, he seemed strangely familiar. The man’s eyes opened and stared up at Brandon.

  ‘Don’t worry, son,’ said Brandon, fishing for his mobile, ‘I’ll get an ambulance. Who’s done this to you?’

  The man struggled with a few breaths, coughing up blood as he did.

  ‘Him,’ said the man, ‘The priest.’

  ‘The priest!’ gasped Brandon incredulously, ‘Why would he do this?’


  ‘Mortuus Virgo,’ said the man though bubbles of blood in his throat, ‘I didn’t realise, you must stop them.’

  ‘Who are Mortuus Virgo,’ asked Brandon, his voice raised in frustration, ‘Where is India? Come on man, I need some help here.’

  The man’s eyes closed as he struggled with his last breaths, and, as he died, Brandon realised why the he had seemed so familiar. This was the man they had been seeking, Jason Venezelos.

  He laid the man back down on the floor, trying to make sense of the situation. If he was correct, and this was indeed the second Venezelos brother, then that trail had just come to an abrupt end. He looked around the room, searching for anything that would give him any idea where to look next. After searching the room, including the drawers and cupboards he was none the wiser and left the office to return to the taxi. As he entered the church itself, he heard someone approaching, and, though he froze against the wall, was relieved to see it was the same cleaning lady he had seen the previous day. He stepped out of the shadows, coughing to attract her attention.

  ‘Oh my word,’ said the woman, jumping back slightly, ‘You gave me such a start. I didn’t expect to see anyone here today. Can I help you?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Brandon, ‘Do you work here?’

  ‘I do,’ said the lady, ‘Iaid esm sorry, who are you?’

  ‘I think you had better sit down,’ said Brandon, indicating a nearby pew. He pulled out his wallet and showed her his ID.

  ‘Can I ask you your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Colleen,’ she said, ‘Colleen McNamara. What is this about?’

  ‘Colleen, in a moment we need to call the police, but first I need to ask you some questions.’

  Why, what’s happened?’ she asked, her brows frowning in concern.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been a murder,’ said Brandon.

  Colleen’s hand flew to her mouth.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped, ‘Is it Father O’Brian?’

  ‘Is Father O Brian the priest of this church?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, is he okay?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon.

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘The dead person is not from around here,’ said Brandon, ‘And there is no sign of father o Brian. But I do need to know some things about him. Can you help me?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘How long have you worked here, Colleen?’

  ‘About ten years, in all,’ she said, ‘A couple of hours cleaning here and there and I sort the flowers for weddings and funerals.’

  ‘So you knew father O Brian well?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Well, he was okay, nice enough if you know what I mean, said good morning as he passed but tended to keep himself to himself.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit strange for a priest?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Oh, he was okay when he was here, but spent a lot of time away from the church, so he did.’

  ‘Do you know where exactly?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ she answered shrugging her shoulders, ‘We only open on Sundays and for weddings and funerals. I was called in when needed, you see.’

  ‘But you must have talked to him to arrange the details of your tasks.’

  ‘Not at all, I took my instructions from Sister Wendy.’

  ‘And who is she?’

  ‘One of the Nuns who works here.’

  ‘There are Nuns here?’

  ‘Sister Wendy came in every week to meet with Father O’Brian, but sometimes others came as well.’

  ‘How often was that?’

  ‘Christmas, Easter, the usual holidays.’

  ‘Is that normal, to have Nuns come to a church as small as this?’

  ‘Haven’t given it much thought, really,’ she said, ‘It was quite nice to have someone to talk to.’

  ‘Did you know them all?’

  ‘No, I only got to know Sister Wendy, though once a year there were quite a few.’

  ‘At Christmas?’

  ‘No, it was in June, though the dates escape me.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘How many Nuns came in June?’

  ‘At least twelve, I suppose.’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘I don’t know, the church was locked up whilst the service went on.’ She paused. ‘I’m not being much help, am I?’

  Brandon took her hands in his.

  ‘Of course you are,’ he said, ‘You’ve been a great help. I don’t suppose you know the name of the order, do you?’

  ‘Of course, the order of Santa Rosa,’ she said, confirming what Brandon already suspected.

  ‘And do you know where I can find them?’

  ‘No, sorry, though you could ask in St Lawrence’s church in Littlewick Green. I do know they often went there as well.’

  Brandon stood up and gave her a card from his wallet.

  ‘Colleen, I want you to call the police and wait outside for them. When they arrive, give them this card. They will contact me direct. Don’t go in the office, there’s nothing you can do for the man in there, he is dead.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, nervously glancing over to the closed door.

  ‘Right, I have to go,’ he said but as he walked away, Colleen called out.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Colleen, ‘But I have noticed that after their private service every June, there are flowers left at the foot of Aesculpius.’

  ‘Aesculpius?’ asked Brandon, ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Greek God of medicine,’ she said, her face showing great delight at sharing this impressive knowledge, ‘You know, the statue in the outside wall of the church. You must know about it, it is quite famous.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it,’ said Brandon, ‘Though I didn’t know it was of Greek God of medicine, I was told it was a Roman goddess.’

  Her brow furrowed again.

  ‘That’s strange,’ she said, ‘You’re the second person to say that in a few days’

  ‘Who was the other one?’ asked Brandon quickly.

  ‘A foreign gent,’ said Colleen, ‘Had an accent and a good sun tan. Do you know him?’

  ‘I think so,’ sighed Brandon, glancing towards the back room, where the body of Jason Venezelos lay. ‘So, what is so strange about the Nuns leaving flowers?’

  ‘Well that’s just it,’ said Colleen, ‘Their not flowers really, just the stalks. Bunches of stalks bent over and tied around the middle. Very Strange.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘No,’ said Colleen. ‘Should I phone the police now?’

  ‘You do that,’ said Brandon and shook her hand. ‘Thank you, Colleen, you have been a great help.’

  — -

  Murray was leaning on the bonnet, smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Find what you wanted?’ asked the driver.

  ‘Nope,’ said Brandon, opening the passenger door, ‘Come on there’s one more place to try.’

  The driver took a last drag and flicked the stub across the road before squeezing his ample frame behind the steering wheel.

  ‘Where now?’ he asked, as Brandon jumped in the car.

  ‘St Lawrence church, Littlewick Green, as quick as you can.’

  ‘Where the fuck is that?’ asked Murray.

  ‘Call yourself a taxi driver?’ quipped Brandon.

  ‘Bit out of my patch,’ said Murray.

  ‘Head for the M4,’ said Brandon, retrieving his I phone, ‘I’ll Google the postcode.’

  ‘Fucking hell, it’s like the bloody Sweeney,’ said Murray, gunning the engine.

  Chapter 26

  England 2010

  Brandon slammed the taxi door shut and walked down the pavement towards the town centre. They had been sat in a traffic jam for
forty five minutes crawling at a snail’s pace, the product of unseen road works, and when the spire of the church appeared in the distance, he decided to run the rest of the way.

  Five minutes later he found himself outside the double doors of St Lawrence.

  ‘Feels like I’m going in circles,’ he murmured to himself as he entered the church again. Knowing that there was a killer loose, he was much more careful and kept his hand wrapped around the butt of the pistol in his pocket.

  There were fewer people in the church this time, some sat in isolation on the pews, wrapped in their own thoughts, while some wandered around the aisles reading the various inscriptions on the plaques screwed to the walls or sunk in to the floor. Brandon assumed the role of another tourist and wandered around the walls, making his way slowly towards the vestry.

  He stopped at the steps before the draped altar, looking up at the figure of the crucifixion looming above him, getting lost in the moment as he became transfixed by the piercing eyes of the wooden messiah. He jumped slightly as a voice interrupted his reverie.

  ‘Hello, again,’ said the man.

  Brandon spun around and looked into a vaguely familiar face.

  ‘Hi,’ said Brandon, his eyes screwing up slightly as he struggled to recall how he knew him.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the man, ‘It’s Father Grant. We met yesterday. You were with your lady friend and interested in the Roman Temple.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t recognise you, without your, um, you know…’ He pointed at the lack of collar around the Priest’s neck.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Father Grant, glancing down at his jeans and baggy t shirt. ‘Out of uniform today. Day off, you see.’

  ‘Oh, I thought you had to wear that stuff all the time.’

  ‘Naah, modern church and all that. Did you manage to find your statue yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Brandon. ‘Fascinating. Some sort of Greek doctor, apparently.’

  ‘Some think so,’ said the Priest. Though ask any local and they will tell you it is the white lady, a Vestal Priestess, no less. Anyway, how’s your research going?’

  ‘Research?’

  ‘Your project,’ said the priest, ‘How is it going?’