by Mark White
‘Well, in that case,’ Blackmoor said, ‘I am most grateful for your kind concern for our wellbeing. But as you can see, there is nothing to worry about; apart from a few minor hangovers caused by overindulgence in my Chianti Riserva. Would you care for a small glass before you leave, officers?’
‘No thank you,’ replied Jennings. ‘Not when we’re driving. Come to think of it, where is Mr King? I see your car’s not outside.’
‘How very observant of you, Sergeant Jennings. You’re right – Reuben has had to go to Shepherd’s Cross on an…on an errand. He shouldn’t be too long, if you would care to wait?’
Jennings looked at Cara, who shook her head to indicate that it was time to get out of there. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think that will be necessary. We better be on our way. There might be someone in the village needing our help.’
Blackmoor laughed at Jennings’s last comment. ‘I’m sure there will be,’ he said, thinking about the previous evening’s visit to All Saints’ Church. ‘I would imagine the services of the law are very much in demand during periods of such…disturbance.’
Jennings’s face hardened: he could feel his temper bubbling to the surface as he became increasingly annoyed by Blackmoor’s balanced and self-assured behaviour; his calm voice grating on him with its underlying tones of sarcasm and superiority. He took a couple of deep breaths to subdue his anger, conscious not to let his emotions get the better of him. He needed to remain professional; after all, as much as Blackmoor rubbed him up the wrong way, he didn’t have anything to pin on him. Not yet, anyway.
‘Come on, Cara,’ he said. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘Yes, Sarge,’ she replied. ‘Okay you lot – I’ll give you a ride home.’
Silence fell across the room, but the glances between Wilson, Gowland and Bronwyn said it all; they weren’t going anywhere. Cara could no longer conceal her frustration. ‘Bronwyn,’ she said. ‘What do you think you’re playing at? It’s time to go – come on!’
In the face of Cara’s growing anger towards her, Bronwyn remained calm and composed, refusing to be drawn into an argument. ‘I’m sorry, Cara, but I’m not ready to go yet. I’m having a good time…or at least I was until you arrived.’ She saw the humiliation in Cara’s eyes, but chose to ignore it. ‘Don’t you see? I’m happy here. It’s nice to meet new people…interesting people. God knows, it makes a refreshing change to the same old faces I see day in day out at The Cross.’
‘What about you two?’ Jennings asked, looking at Gowland and Wilson. ‘Do you want a ride back?’
‘We’re not done here yet, Brian,’ Wilson replied. ‘There’s still a lot of work to get through. You get yourself back to the village – I’ll see you later.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Blackmoor, moving between the two officers and his three guests, as if he were a teacher protecting his children from the school bully. ‘They’re quite safe here. I’ll have Reuben run them home later when we’ve wrapped up our affairs. Now; if there’s nothing else, we really ought be getting back to work.’
Jennings looked at them all in turn, certain that something wasn’t right but powerless to probe any further. If they wanted to stay here, he had no option but to let them. After all, as far as he could see, they weren’t doing anything illegal, and he couldn’t exactly frame them for having a few drinks together.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘We’ll be off then. Just be careful going back to the village later: the snow’s stopped falling but the roads are like sheet ice.’ As he turned to leave, he paused and gave Blackmoor a lingering, knowing stare; telepathically warning him, that guilty or not, he was on his case.
Blackmoor returned the stare with typical indifference. ‘I’ll see you out,’ he said, walking towards the front door.
‘There’s no need,’ Jennings replied. ‘Thank you, but we’ll see ourselves out.’ Accompanied by Cara, they turned to leave, feeling the eyes of the remaining guests burning holes in their backs as they walked away. Reaching the front door, they looked back, only to see the look on Blackmoor’s face as he closed the ballroom doors behind them; the smug, conceited look of a man who had gotten his own way and wanted nothing more than to rub it in.
The doors closed, isolating Cara and Jennings in the front entrance. ‘Let’s go, Sarge,’ said Cara, opening the front door. ‘We’re not wanted here. Besides…this place gives me the creeps.’
‘I’m with you on that one.’
They climbed into the Land Rover and fired up the engine. Without looking back, they began their journey back to Shepherd’s Cross, completely unaware of the chaos that was about to greet them.
Chapter 4
10.30am: Chloe Price was not in the habit of spending a second longer in bed than was necessary; especially in the morning, when her in-built alarm clock would have her leaping out of bed at six-thirty on the dot. So when Ben had the rare opportunity of waking up under his own steam at eight o’clock that morning, he knew immediately that something was wrong.
The cold air had hit him as soon as he’d opened her door. The reason for the arctic temperature became apparent when he looked over to the window, which for some inexplicable reason had swung completely open. He’d rushed over to it and pulled it shut, before turning round to check on his daughter, whom he’d found lying on top of the sheets, her nightie drenched in sweat. She had been shivering, drifting in and out of sleep; her matted hair stuck to her forehead, which, when he’d placed his hand on it, had been burning red-hot with fever. He’d sprinted to the medicine cupboard in the bathroom, returning thirty seconds later with a digital thermometer and a bottle of Calpol. Her temperature had read 39.5C. Propping her up against the pillow, he’d forced a spoon of the sweet, strawberry-flavoured liquid down her throat, before returning to the bathroom to fetch a wet flannel to cool her forehead. That had been over two hours ago, during which time he must have checked on her at least twenty times.
‘Daddy…DADDY!’ shouted Chloe, calling out to him. He was sat at the downstairs table, half-heartedly trying to finish a sales report that was due to go to Board later that week.
‘Coming, darling,’ he replied, jumping up from his chair and bounding upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. On reaching her room, he was relieved to see her sitting up; a sign that the medicine was doing its job. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, checking her temperature again and breathing a sigh of relief when the display read 37C.
‘A little better.’
‘It must have been all that messing around in the snow yesterday.’ He conveniently forgot to mention that a wide open window might have had something to do with it. ‘Not to worry. Your temperature has gone down, so as long as you keep taking your medicine, I think you’ll pull through.’
‘I’m tired,’ she said, closing her eyes and yawning. ‘And thirsty. And hungry. Can I have something to eat, please?’
‘Of course you can.’ And then foolishly: ‘Anything you want.’
Chloe looked up at the ceiling and considered her options. ‘I would like…a bottle of Lucozade and a bowl of Cheerios.’
‘Ahh…well…there’s good news and bad news. The good news is you can have as many Cheerios as you can eat. The bad news, I’m afraid, is that we’re clean out of Lucozade. As a matter of fact, I don’t think we’ve got anything except plain old water.’
Ben could see Chloe’s bottom lip starting to quiver, and he knew that any second now she would start crying. It wasn’t that she was particularly spoilt as such – well, no more than the average daddy’s girl – but rather that she wasn’t keen on water at the best of times, let alone when she was feeling under the weather. And Ben had to admit that she had a point: a bottle of sugary pop was just the ticket when one was confined to one’s sickbed. ‘Look, don’t cry,’ he said, wiping the first tears from her eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I tell you what – why don’t I pop next door and see if Charlotte wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on you while I nip across to Turner’s store?’
‘Okay,’ she replied, unable to summon the energy to respond with her usual undiluted enthusiasm. ‘Thank you.’
Ben smiled at her, his heart aching at her vulnerability and total dependence on him. ‘Alright then. Listen, I’m going to have to leave you alone for literally two minutes while I fetch Charlotte, okay? Can you stay right where you are until I come back with her?’ A nod to say she could. ‘Good girl. I’m going to go and get her now. I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘Jack Robinson’.’
‘Jack Robinson!’ she shouted, giggling mischievously.
‘Very funny. If you’re feeling so clever, maybe you don’t need any Lucozade after all?’
Her smile faded. ‘No daddy, I really am poorly. I need some Lucozade or I think I’ll die.’
‘Oh well, in that case I better go and fetch Charlotte. You stay right where you are, do you hear me? Right,’ he said, standing up and heading to the door. ‘I won’t be a minute. Love you loads.’
‘I love you too, daddy,’ she said, settling back into the bed and pulling the sheets over her.
Ben rushed down the stairs, threw on his shoes, and ran outside. The chances were, that even if he had taken more time and care in getting ready, it was highly unlikely that he would have noticed the cloaked figure of Reuben King standing behind the kitchen door.
Chapter 5
11.00am: ‘Un-fucking-believable,’ said Jennings, carefully navigating the Land Rover back along the lake road towards Shepherd’s Cross. ‘Here’s me thinking that those cockneys were up to no good, and in the meantime they’re having themselves a knees-up with our friends. Would you believe it?’
‘It doesn’t make sense, Sarge,’ Cara replied, staring out of the passenger-side window to the frozen lake that ran parallel to the left of them for two miles. ‘I mean, alright, I can see why Frank and Ted were there: Frank would sell his soul for a drink and Ted would steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes. But Bronwyn? I know she’s interested in local history, but it’s not like her to disappear without saying anything. Don’t you think that it’s all a bit weird?’
Jennings tried to stifle a yawn, the lack of sleep during the previous two nights beginning to take its toll. He desperately needed some rest. As soon as the whole ordeal with the Carter boys and the investigation was over, he planned on taking himself away for a week or two, somewhere faraway where the sun was guaranteed to shine and the waitresses were guaranteed to smile. It wouldn’t be easy to switch off – he doubted that he would ever be able to forget this weekend – but getting the hell out of The Cross wouldn’t do him any harm. He would worry about whether or not to return when he got there.
‘You’re right,’ he said, re-tuning his mind to the conversation. ‘I agree that it seems a little odd. But I also don’t think we need to worry too much about her. She seemed perfectly happy with the situation, as did Ted and Frank. I certainly wasn’t given the impression that she was there against her will; quite the opposite. It might not be our idea of fun, but at the same time it’s not our job to tell other people how to spend their time. And to be honest, Cara, don’t you think we’ve got more pressing issues to deal with right now?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said, her face forlorn and frustrated. ‘Still, I’m glad we went up there. At least we know where she is.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Jennings. ‘I don’t like the situation any more than you do. It’ll be interesting to run some checks on them tomorrow to see if they’re exactly who they say they are. It wouldn’t surprise me if they turn out to be a couple of mafia men on the run: they’ve obviously got money – just look at that car for a start – and they couldn’t have picked a more perfect place to lay low for a while. Anyway, guesswork won’t get us anywhere. Let’s put the matter to bed until tomorrow and get back to the village. There’s more than enough work for us to be concentrating on down there.’
‘What do you mean ‘we’? You’re not meant to be working today. You must be knackered?’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Besides, there’s no way I can relax until HQ get here. I’ll be better off at work: it’ll give me a chance to concentrate on something else. I’ll end up going round the bend if I stay at home twiddling my thumbs all day.’
‘Well, I for one am not going to argue with you. I could certainly use the company.’
‘Good, that’s sorted then. Let’s get back to the Station.’
For the following ten minutes, they sat without saying a word, lost in their own thoughts. Progress along the road was slow, but conditions were marginally better than the day before. Shepherd’s Cross crept into view as they rounded the final bend onto a straight section of road that led directly down to the village. From this vantage point, it was easy to understand why the houses on Rowan Lane had been snapped up within a matter of weeks; regardless of the price tag. From here, life could be viewed through a more flattering, rose-tinted lens: pain and suffering were kept well out of sight; hidden away under lock and key.
They arrived a short while later at the outskirts of the village and edged their way towards the Station, taking the lane that led around the village green. ‘That’s strange,’ Jennings said, nodding towards the green. ‘There aren’t many kids out playing. This time yesterday, the place was rammed with the little buggers.’
‘Sarge, look over there. The church…there’s a crowd of people standing outside it. What do you think they’re up to?’
‘Maybe somebody’s being baptised. Although why are they standing around in the cold? We better check it out.’
Jennings guided the Land Rover as near to All Saints’ Church as the snow would allow and killed the engine. Several members of the crowd came striding over towards it. The first person to reach the two officers was Glen Passmore, one of the Church readers. Cara and Jennings climbed out to meet him. ‘Morning, Glen,’ said Jennings. ‘What’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be insi…’
‘Sergeant Jennings, PC Jones,’ replied Passmore, puffing and panting from his exertions. ‘Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘Hold on now, Glen,’ Jennings said. ‘Calm down a minute. What’s the matter?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Emily Mitford, who had caught up to her friend. ‘As usual, we arrived here for service at ten o’clock, only to find the church locked up; not a hide nor hair of Reverend Jackson to be found anywhere. We checked the vicarage – no sign of him. Then, a short while later, Bill Thompson arrived with Dr Barratt. Bill muttered something about an accident, before unlocking the door and going inside. He locked the door behind them, and that’s the last we’ve seen of them since. Sergeant Jennings; if there’s something going on in there, I think we ought to know about it. Perhaps there might be something we can do to help?’
‘Okay,’ replied Jennings, pausing to absorb the news she’d given him. ‘Thanks Emily, but I think I better see what’s going on first. Come on, Cara.’
They walked the short distance to the churchyard entrance and made their way along the path through the crowd to the front door. Many of the bystanders were not regular churchgoers: they were there out of curiosity and concern. Even in its heyday, All Saints’ Church would have been proud to have had a congregation as numerous as that which was now gathered outside. When they reached the entrance, Jennings removed his truncheon and banged it forcefully against the door. ‘Bill, Harry,’ he shouted. ‘It’s Sergeant Jennings and PC Jones. Open up, will you?’
As they waited for an answer, Jennings turned and faced the crowd. ‘Listen up, everyone. I know you’re all keen to find out what’s going on. And you will, in due course. But for the time being, I am going to have to ask you to be patient and remain calm while PC Jones and I deal with the matter, is that understood? You are welcome to stay here if you want, but given the weather and the time this may take, can I advise that you all return to your homes or whatever else you had planned this morning? Rest assured, when the time is right, you’ll be fully informed
.’
Nobody moved. They were all waiting to see who answered the door.
A voice called out from the other side. ‘Brian, is that you?’ It was Bill Thompson.
‘Yes, Bill, it is. Can you let us in, please? Quickly.’
‘Okay. Wait there.’ The sound of a key being inserted into a lock was followed by the door being opened, ever so slightly, just enough to allow Bill Thompson to poke his head around to verify Jennings’s voice. The door opened wider as Thompson beckoned them inside, his eyes widening at the sight of the crowd standing behind them: staring at him; searching his eyes for any clue as to what might have happened.
The door was slammed shut as soon as the officers were inside, Thompson’s impatience irritating Cara as she was made to jump to the side to avoid being hit as it slammed back into its frame. ‘Watch it, Bill! You almost broke my leg.’ Thompson didn’t reply; his senses were fully engaged in making sure the door was properly locked.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Jennings, scanning the church.
Dr Henry Barratt emerged from behind the recess beside the altar, wearing latex gloves and holding what appeared to be some sort of magnifying glass. ‘Hello, Brian,’ he said, his face stern and unwelcoming. ‘You need to see this. Reverend Jackson’s dead. Looks like murder.’
Jennings’s jaw dropped. ‘What the…?’ was all he could manage.
‘I said that Reverend Jackson is dead. He’s over here.’
Cara reacted first, pushing her way between Thompson and Jennings and heading up the aisle. When she reached the altar, Barratt held out his hand to prevent her from going any further. ‘I just want to warn you,’ he told her, his tone of voice low and matter-of-fact. ‘It’s not a pretty sight. I know you’re fairly new to all this – and for all I know, you might be an expert in homicide – but he’s in a bad way.’
