by Robert Innes
“I’m not acting like-”
“Well, yes actually you are,” interrupted Blake. “I don’t expect every single instruction I give you to be greeted with arguments and sulking. Come on, Michael – you’re a grown man. You know what’s expected of you.”
“Really making your mark at this station, aren’t you?” snapped Gardiner, slamming the indicator down to turn left.
“Hardly. I think it’s more that things are still difficult at home, aren’t they?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. Then in that case, brighten up.”
Gardiner didn’t reply.
When they arrived at the church, the sun had disappeared behind a huge gathering of clouds, and as a result, despite it being morning, the churchyard looked gloomy and unwelcoming. The black metal gate squeaked loudly as Blake opened it, shattering the otherwise eerie silence.
As they walked towards the front entrance, the door was opened from within, and a woman stepped out, who smiling happily when she noticed Blake.
“Oh, hello, darling!”
“Evening, Jacqueline,” Blake said with a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
The landlady to his house shrugged modestly. “I’m actually Catholic. It’s been a while since I’ve been to church though.” She then spotted Gardiner, who was staring at her fiercely hair sprayed beehive with a raised eyebrow. Jacqueline straightened up and stuck her chest out slightly with what she clearly believed to be with some degree of subtlety. “I’ve been sinning. Regularly.”
Blake cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’ve met Sergeant Gardiner, have you Jacqueline? Michael, this is my landlady.”
Gardiner nodded curtly as Jacqueline held her hand out. “Delighted to meet you, Sergeant.”
Gardiner glanced at her hand and clasped it briefly.
“Well,” Blake said, in an attempt to break the uncomfortable moment. “Things to do Jacqueline. I’ll see you around?”
“Yes, of course, darling,” Jacqueline said. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant.” And with a flirtatious look up and down of Gardiner, she walked away, the scent of her perfume hanging in the air.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Grinned Blake. “She flirted with me incessantly before she found out I was gay. She’s harmless.”
Gardiner grunted and straightened his jacket. “Well, she’s not keeled over from committing sins has she?”
“It would take more than a vengeful and angry God to finish off Jacqueline.” Blake chuckled. “Come on.”
Inside the church, the light was far dimmer than it had appeared outside. Candles were placed around the building in various stages of their lifespan, and the place seemed to be fairly empty, until Blake spotted somebody kneeling at the altar beneath the statues and crucifix displayed over the front of the church.
He slowly walked towards the figure, who had their head bowed and seemed to be in deep prayer. After a minute or so, Blake cleared his throat, quietly but loud enough for the figure to hear. Their head snapped up and turned to stare at the new arrivals.
It was a woman in her late fifties. She had frizzy grey hair, and a white dog collar placed in the centre of her neck through her black shirt. Her cold blue eyes narrowed.
“Can I help you?” she asked sharply.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Blake said, pulling his ID from his pocket. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
“D.S Blake Harte, this is Sergeant Michael Gardiner. We were hoping to speak to the reverend Timothy Croydon?”
The woman stood up and walked towards him. “Father Croydon’s not here at the moment. He went into town earlier this morning. I presume, that this is to do with the deaths of three of our parishioners?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Blake said. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
There was a brief pause. Once Blake gathered that she wasn’t planning on filling it with a more helpful response to his question, he asked, “Well, could you?”
“Jennifer Greene. I’m one of the reverends here.”
“Miss Greene recently became ordained,” Gardiner said from behind Blake. “I think it was you that was in the paper some weeks ago.”
“Oh?” Blake asked. “What was that about?”
“I wrote a column,” replied Jennifer. “About the backlash I’d faced in the Catholic community about becoming a priest.”
“Oh, I see,” Blake said gravely. “I take it it’s still a struggle for women to become priests in the Catholic Church?”
“It is. The stigma attached is still very much a real thing. And it’s not helped by some of the woman within the community, either. Though you’re not here to ask about my views on that, are you?”
“Were you a witness to any of the incidents that took place here over the past few months?” Blake asked her.
“I called the ambulance for the first one, Nigel Proctor.”
“And that was about, what, six months ago now?”
Jennifer nodded. “I saw him go into the confessions booth. Father Croydon was inside waiting for him. About five minutes or so passed. I was at the lectern, selecting a bible reading for the next service that evening. I looked up as the Father suddenly rushed out. He shouted for me to call for help.”
“Which you did straight away?” Blake clarified.
“Obviously. But, of course, by the time the ambulance had arrived, he was already dead.”
Blake chose to ignore the defensive way she was answering his questions and pressed on. “Is there anything you can tell us about Nigel?”
“Such as?”
“Do you know whether he had any previous heart problems or any general health concerns that may have led him to have a heart attack?”
“Why would I know that?” Jennifer sniffed. “I’m a priest, not a doctor. All I know is that he was a man in his late sixties who could have had a heart attack. I knew him enough to nod at in the street, pass the time of day, but other than that, not a great deal.”
“Do you know what he did for a living?” Blake asked.
“I think he was a caretaker at the college. I know he worked there anyway and I believe it was in some form of janitor position.”
“What about Mrs Jenkins? Do you know what her first name was?”
“Patricia. Or Pat to her friends. Not that she had many. She preferred to be called Mrs Jenkins by everyone as a rule. She was quite close to Imelda Atkins though. The pair of them had been coming to this church for years and they always sat together. I wasn’t very keen on either of them, I’m afraid.”
“And why was that?”
“They were quite vocal about my becoming a priest here.” Jennifer replied sharply. “Imelda in particular had absolutely no problem in saying how she felt about a lot of things and that was no exception.”
“Yes, we’re quite familiar with Imelda’s complaining,” Blake said, glancing at Gardiner who merely rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure. My column in the paper was in response to their complaints actually,” Jennifer said proudly. “They had made a big song and dance about it, once they’d got wind of my inauguration, to the point where they had composed a letter, signed by as many people around the village as they could muster, and sent it to the bishop. Fortunately, it was all to no avail. But any service I was ever giving, you could be certain that neither of them would be attending. Imelda missed a funeral of someone she’d known for years because I was the vicar for it. Nasty spirited woman. Can’t say I’ll miss her or Patricia Jenkins I’m afraid.”
Gardiner cleared his throat and folded his arms. “So, if someone wants to confess their sins to someone-”
“That someone being God,” corrected Jennifer briskly.
“What happens?” Gardiner asked, ignoring her. “I mean, what’s the procedure?”
Blake was glad that he had decided to get involved at last.
“You make an appointment, a
nd arrange a time. A confession can take a couple of minutes or go over ten.”
“So,” Blake said. “In all three cases, they went into that booth and within ten minutes had all died. Is that what you’re saying?”
Jennifer gave a humourless chuckle, indicating to the stained glass window above the large golden crucifix. “Do you know what I was doing when you interrupted me?”
“I assumed you were praying.”
“Exactly. There is a reason I have fought so hard to become a priest. It’s not just about the principle of fighting off discrimination about women holding my position in the church. It’s because I know that my role in life is to serve God, and to pass His word on to those that believe. I hope that leads me to living a long and happy life because I do what I was put on this earth to do. I follow the rules. Some people clearly don’t. And as you can see, I’m still here.”
“You mean you think that those people died because God decided it?” Blake asked, glancing at Gardiner, who was staring at Jennifer with a look of bewilderment.
Jennifer held her hands out and shrugged as if to imply that her point was obvious. “Now, was there anything else? I have work to do today.”
Blake considered for a moment, but decided that he was unlikely to get anything remotely helpful out of her at this stage. “If you could just tell Timothy that we wanted to speak to him.”
“Certainly.”
Blake turned and walked away from the altar with Gardiner closely behind. “But, I think it’s quite likely we’re going to need to see you again, Jennifer. We’ll be in touch.”
Jennifer nodded curtly, then turned and walked away to the back of the church.
When she had gone, Blake turned to Gardiner. “Well?”
“Well,” Gardiner replied flatly. “I think the only suspects you have so far are high cholesterol and God.”
“So, you think this is all still some strange coincidence?”
“Oh come on,” said Gardiner. “Look at that confessions booth.” He pointed to the structure on the other side of the building, which looked cold and murky in the shadows. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that three people were somehow murdered in there. Look at it.”
“Go on then, take a look!” Blake told him.
Gardiner sighed and strode over to the booth, with Blake closely behind him. “What you’re saying is ridiculous. One box for the vicar, another for the confessor. There’s a single grill between them.” He gave Blake a look of derision and grasped the handle to the side where the confessor would sit. “What do you expect to find in here?”
He pulled the door open but before he could look inside, he stumbled backwards as someone fell out of it. Blake stared as the body landed on the ground and stared back up at him, lifeless.
“Oh my God,” Blake murmured.
Lying on the ground was a young man. He couldn’t have been any older than eighteen. Blake raised his hand to his mouth as he realised who it was. He had only seen him the night before, clutching a beer can and looking so full of life.
It was Daryl Stuarts.
Harrison’s nose itched as he wiped the dusty top shelf with a damp cloth. He threw the cloth down to the ground, and sneezed loudly, groaning as he did so. Jai Sinnah, the owner of the shop where Harrison had worked for the past few months was on holiday, and had left Harrison a list of jobs that he had insisted wouldn’t take him long to complete. By the time Harrison had gotten to job twenty-two, he had come to the conclusion that Jai was a liar, and judging by the amount of jobs he had started that didn’t even need particularly doing, a fussy one at that.
Once he had finished wiping the shelf clean, he began putting the biscuits back haphazardly on the shelf, deciding he would tidy them up before he left that evening. His mind wandered to the stag night he had seen the night before. He wondered if the groom to be, even if he was hung-over, was having a better time than he was at that moment. As he placed the last biscuit packet on the shelf, it unbalanced the rough pile he had made from the bottom, sending them all cascading to the floor again.
Harrison swore loudly, not noticing somebody appearing behind him.
“Well, I quite like broken biscuits anyway.”
He looked up to see a good looking man with jet-black hair and dark green eyes smiling back at him.
Harrison had been so distracted, he hadn’t even heard him come in. “Sorry, I was miles away. Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to get this,” replied the man, holding up a bottle of water. “Harrison, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” After everything that had happened, Harrison had grown more than used to people he didn’t recognise knowing who he was, even excusing for a village the size of Harmschapel. He stood up and quickly hurried behind the till, wiping the dust off from his uniform as he did so. “That’s eighty pence please.”
The man handed over a pound coin. “I’m Callum. I work at the church.”
“Oh, are you Timothy Croydon’s grandson?” Harrison asked, tapping the till and passing Callum his change.
“Yeah, that’s right. Granddad said that he had spoken to you the other week. I know it’s none of my business, sorry. But is it true? What everyone’s saying? You know what gossip around this village can be like. I didn’t know whether it had all been blown out of proportion.”
“Whatever you’ve heard about me is probably true.” Harrison sighed.
Callum’s mouth fell open. “You mean you do turn into a werewolf at the full moon? Wow.”
Harrison stared at him in confusion for a moment until he realised Callum was joking and laughing. “Yeah. I try to eat at least one gossiping Harmschapel resident every time.”
Callum grinned. “It’s good that you can laugh about it at least though, seriously. If it all is true, then it sounds really awful. I’m sorry.”
Harrison shrugged awkwardly. “Not a lot I can do about it now. New start for me, I guess.”
Callum took a sip of his water, then scratched the back of his head. “Look, this is going to sound weird, I know. But my parents aren’t around either. My dad died when I was three and my mum just up and went after that, leaving me with just my granddad. I know it’s not the same thing at all, but I know what it’s like to practically be an orphan. If you ever want to talk, let stuff off your chest, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
“You sound just like your granddad,” Harrison said lightly. A few weeks ago, Timothy had stopped Harrison in the street, assuring him that if he ever wanted to tell him and God all about his problems, then both of them would be only too happy to listen. Harrison had politely declined.
“Yeah, but I don’t mean with God listening in. That’s just my job. I mean, you know. Human to human. Or human to werewolf. I promise I won’t try and convert you.”
Harrison’s first thought was to say the same thing to Callum as he had to his Granddad and as he had to so many other apparently well-meaning people over the past few months. But when he thought about it, Callum actually sounded like he would be able to offer some genuine and heartfelt advice. The truth was that Harrison hadn’t really had anybody to talk to for a couple of months, and he now had the opportunity to, at the very least, socialise with somebody who didn’t seem to just want to get a good story to gossip about with their friends.
“Are you free anytime soon?” He found himself saying.
Callum smiled and nodded. “I’m not doing anything tonight. How about The Dog’s Tail at seven?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Great. I’ll see you there.” Callum gave Harrison one last dashing grin and walked out of the shop clutching his bottle of water.
Harrison watched him leave, realising he was smiling; A genuine, nervous, but happy smile. He wasn’t quite sure whether he had just organised a date or just a meeting with a potential new friend but either way, one thing he did know was that he was really looking forward to it.
The door to the shop opened again, and a much le
ss attractive sight walked in. Mattison looked awful. His hair was messy, his uniform was creased and unkempt, and he had bags underneath his exhausted eyes.
“Matti?”
Mattison glanced up at Harrison and shook his head. “I need something for my head please, Harrison. And also a new identity if you sell them.”
“Top shelf by the bathroom stuff. Are you alright?”
Mattison slouched to the back of the shop, pulling an energy drink out of the chiller on his way past. He stared vaguely at the medication shelf before finally selecting a packet of extra strength aspirin. “I’m too hung-over to talk about it. It was you in The Dog’s Tail last night wasn’t it?” He chucked the aspirin on the counter and exhaled, possibly to try and stop himself from vomiting.
“Yeah, for a bit. Did you have a good time? How did your night with Mini go?”
“How much are they?” Mattison asked, ignoring his question. “I just want to pretend last night never happened.”
“Two quid altogether.”
Mattison pulled out a five-pound note from his wallet and passed it to Harrison.
“Dare I ask?” Harrison grinned, putting the transaction through the till and passing Mattison his change.
Mattison groaned loudly before roughly pulling the aspirin packet open, quickly swallowing two of the small white tablets with the help of the energy drink.
“I got drunk. Drunker than I should have done. It was Robin’s fault. I was really nervous and he kept giving me these shots to calm my nerves. I’m pretty sure that it was Sambuca. After about my fifth, it’s all a bit of a blur. All I know is that I made an absolute idiot out of myself.” He took another swig of his energy drink, stopping when he heard his phone ringing in his pocket.
“Oh God,” he muttered as he looked at the screen. He swiped his thumb on the screen and put it tentatively to his ear. “Hello, Sir. I’m nearly at the station now, I just –“
He stopped, listening intently and glanced at Harrison, before nodding at him in thanks and hurrying out of the shop. Harrison watched him leave and felt a wave of sympathy. If Mattison had felt the same way about Patil as Harrison did about Blake he couldn’t imagine how awful Mattison must be feeling if he had ruined the date, purely by getting drunk.
