by Robert Innes
Still, Harrison told himself, he needed to stop thinking so much about Blake. It was never going to happen, although it had certainly been a long time since he had received any sort of attention like that, he did get the feeling that Callum wanted to meet him with more than just a friendly chat in mind. It could be the perfect distraction from Blake and right now, Harrison couldn’t think of anything he needed more than a good distraction.
Throughout his career, Blake had seen quite the number of dead bodies, but there was something undeniably unnerving about watching the forensics team examine a body in a dimly lit church. He glanced down at Daryl’s body from where he was sat, unable to comprehend how this had happened to somebody so young. He was seventeen, a college student with his whole life in front of him. His parents were out of the country, completely unaware that they didn’t have a son anymore. Whoever had done this had taken away somebody’s child. There was no doubt in Blake’s mind that this was murder.
Sharon Donahue, the forensic pathologist whom he had gotten to know since he had arrived in Harmschapel, walked over to him and pulled her facemask down.
“I’ve got to be honest Blake. I’ll be buggered if I know what’s happened to him. Obviously we’ll have to get him back and take a closer look, but from what we can see there’s not a mark on him. Judging by the level of rigor, I’d say he’s been dead no longer than about ten hours. Other than that…” She shook her head and sat down beside him. She looked over at him, and gave him a sympathetic look. “I know. Me too. He’s too young.”
Blake didn’t say anything. He just exhaled in an attempt to pull himself together, and pulled his ecig out of his pocket.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke that in here, Blake,” Sharon said gently.
“Yeah, well you’re not supposed to murder anybody either,” Blake replied curtly, giving the ecig just the one suck before putting it back in his pocket. “How long before I can get a report on what’s happened to him?”
“I’ll try and get him done as quickly as I can,” Sharon said. “You know it takes as long as it takes if I don’t know what killed him.”
Blake nodded. “Have you finished with Imelda Atkins?”
“Funnily enough,” Sharon said. “I sent the report to you first thing this morning. Didn’t realise I’d be seeing you though obviously. Nothing out of the ordinary for a woman in her eighties. From what we found, nothing would argue against some form of cardiac arrest.”
“So, a heart attack?” Blake murmured. “But he’s a seventeen year old boy. From what I know about him, he plays football, rugby. He shouldn’t have had any issues with his heart.”
“I’ll get him looked at as soon as I can,” Sharon said. “That confessions booth is all yours now, we’re done. We couldn’t find anything wrong with it. It’s absolutely covered in about a hundred or so different sets of fingerprints, but what else would you expect?”
The church door opened behind them and Mattison walked in.
“Sorry I’m late, Sir,” he said sheepishly as he approached.
Blake glanced up at him. “No offence, Matti, but you look god awful. Are you hung-over?”
Mattison shook his head quickly. “I just didn’t get very much sleep last night, Sir.”
Blake didn’t believe him, but now was hardly the time to interrogate him any further. “I’m guessing you didn’t have time to iron that uniform this morning? Do me a favour and keep your coat on, then get outside and make sure than nobody unauthorised comes in.”
Mattison nodded and looked across at Daryl’s body, his mouth falling open. “Oh my God, is that Daryl Stuarts?”
“How do you know him?”
“He was a few years below me at school. I think I left just as he was starting,” replied Mattison, looking even paler than he had than when he had first walked in.
“His parents will need informing.” Blake sighed. “Mini, can you get onto that please?”
Patil wandered over from where she had be talking to one of the forensics team. She gave Mattison a peculiar look that Blake hadn’t seen between them before, then walked out of the door, clutching her mobile without another word.
Blake frowned as she left. “What’s wrong with her?”
Mattison gave an unconvincing shrug. “I’m not sure. I’ll just go and sort outside out.”
He shuffled uncomfortably away. Blake watched him leave then turned to Gardiner.
“Where is she?”
“She’s in the vestry,” said Gardiner.
“Right.”
He strode across the church to the vestry door and flung it open. Out of anybody he had spoken to so far regarding the strange events at St Abra’s church, Jennifer Greene had appeared the most callous and cold about what had happened and Blake wasn’t about to let it continue.
“Right, Jennifer,” he said, barging in. Jennifer jumped from behind the desk on the other side of the vestry. “I think it’s fair to say there is absolutely no doubt that we are in the middle of a murder enquiry. I’m going to ask you what you know about anything that’s been going on here, and please don’t think for a second that I’m going to take ‘God did it’ as a suitable answer.”
Jennifer didn’t respond.
“Let’s start with Daryl Stuarts. Do you know him?”
Jennifer shook her head. “He isn’t, well, wasn’t a regular parishioner, if that’s what you mean.”
“So, he wasn’t religious?”
“Well, I don’t know whether he was or not,” Jennifer replied. “But if he was he didn’t practice here. I don’t know his family, I wouldn’t know him to nod to on the street, never mind have a full conversation about where he stood on matters of the church.”
“Where were you last night?” Blake asked her, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the cabinets.
“I was at home mostly. I live alone before you ask, so no, there’s nobody to verify what I’m saying.”
“At home ‘mostly’?” Blake repeated. “Where else were you, say – about ten, eleven PM?”
“I visited one of my parishioners.”
“That late?”
“It’s not just the elderly who come to church, Detective,” Jennifer said curtly.
“Who was it you went to see?”
“Why do you need to know that?”
“Because they may be the only person who can confirm your whereabouts when Daryl Stuarts was killed,” Blake said, his tone serious.
“I very much doubt that who I visited last night will be able to tell you anything remotely useful whatsoever.”
“Why not?”
“Because I visited them in hospital. She’s not very well at all. The drugs they have her on don’t exactly make her the most lucid of people.”
Blake nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Which hospital was this?”
“St Anne’s Royal. It’s about a thirty minute or so drive away,” Jennifer replied quietly.
Blake paused for a moment then continued.
“What time did you get home?”
“About a quarter to eleven,” she said. “I knew I had an early start this morning so I went straight to bed when I got in. I didn’t leave my house again till around eight this morning.”
“Let’s talk some more about Imelda Atkins and Patricia Jenkins,” Blake continued, pulling a stool towards him to sit opposite her. “You said they gave you a hard time about becoming a priest here?”
“They did,” Jennifer mumbled, frowning. “But I hope you’re not suggesting that I killed them for it.”
“I’m merely trying to gather the facts,” Blake said steadily. “If everybody who died in that confessions booth was murdered, then it stands to reason that they were killed by somebody who thinks that they deserved to die. Doesn’t it?”
Jennifer, with some apparent reluctance, nodded.
“So,” Blake continued. “You said that Imelda and Patricia were boycotting your services?”
“Yes. And they managed
to get quite a few others to do the same. It was vicious talk mostly. Going around saying how I wasn’t fit to be ordained, trying to find out as much as they could about my past to prove their point. I imagine it’s how politicians feel when their opponents dig up sordid secrets from their pasts. They made sure the rest of the village knew about any skeletons they found.
“And what skeletons did they find?”
“Nothing relevant to your investigation, I assure you.”
“Sorry, Jennifer, but that’s up to me to decide.”
Jennifer stood up and opened one of the cabinets behind Blake, busying herself by tidying up some of the communion goblets. “Well, if you must know they came across an ex of mine. We parted ways just before I was ordained.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“My ex-partner was standing on my doorstep dropping off some of my things that I had left at her house.”
“Her house? I see,” Blake said gently. “And they put two and two together?”
“We ended things amicably enough,” Jennifer said, repositioning the same goblet for the second time, appearing to want to avoid Blake's gaze. “Some relationships just don’t work out. Nina is atheist. The struggles I had becoming ordained were putting a strain on our relationship, and quite frankly, my work was more important. There’s still love between us. She kissed me goodbye when she dropped my things off, and unfortunately Imelda chose that moment to come round the corner.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask this,” Blake said, scratching the back of his head. “With all this against you, why would you want to work in an establishment that not only doesn’t accept your sexuality, but also your gender?”
Jennifer closed the cabinet sharply and turned to look at Blake, a serious expression on her face. “One day, the Catholic church will progress to the point where that isn’t important. Maybe that day isn’t today. I am, after all, only one person. But I believe the word of God just as much as anybody else in my position. I doubt I’ll ever marry, I don’t think I’m in a position where I can, or should. But, it all has to start somewhere. Catholic teachings have progressed as far as my sexuality is concerned. It’s still seen as immoral, but at the same time, the thinking now is that we must be treated with respect, compassion, and sensitivity.” She sat down again and sighed deeply. “There’s a long way to go. A very long way. There are many that believe that homosexuality is a trial that we somehow need to fight through. But the tide is turning.”
Blake had to admit that he found what she was saying quite inspiring. He remembered when he had first joined the police force, and had been worried about his own sexuality. When he eventually came out to his colleagues, he had experienced some bigotry and discrimination. The majority of it had just been banter that he quickly learnt to laugh at. He couldn’t imagine a life where he wasn’t a police officer – so why, he thought, should Jennifer’s life be any different?
“Okay, Jennifer. I think we’ll leave it there. I’ll be wanting to speak to you again though.”
“I see.”
Blake stood up and went to walk out of the vestry.
“Detective?”
Blake stopped at the door. Jennifer stood up and picked up a bible that was on the desk. “I’d suggest to you that you opened your mind a bit. There’s absolutely no guarantee that you’ll find whoever is doing this. Maybe then, you’ll start to appreciate that there might just be other forces at work. Not everything can be worked out by a cold and cynical mind.”
Blake narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. He merely nodded a goodbye to her and walked out of the church.
Harrison sipped the last of his pint and put it down on the table, a little harder he had intended. “So, I sold the farm. My Dad said that I could keep the money from it after everything that had happened-“
“Which it sounds like you deserved. It was the least he could do,” Callum said, nodding in agreement.
“Well.” Harrison shrugged. “Either way, I bought the cottage, and now it’s just me and Betty.”
Callum raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Betty?”
“Oh,” Harrison said sheepishly. “Betty’s my goat.”
“Betty?” Callum repeated, chuckling.
Harrison started laughing. He wasn’t sure if it was that funny or whether his third pint had started to go to his head. “Yeah, Betty. I was a fan of Betty Boop as a kid, I don’t know why.”
“Betty the goat.” Callum grinned. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
Harrison laughed again, enjoying a euphoric sensation he hadn’t felt in such a long time.
They had been at the pub for about an hour now and since they’d sat down, Harrison had found himself deep in conversation with a man he had met only a few hours ago. Something about Callum was open, understanding, and incredibly easy to talk to. He had even bought Harrison all three of the pints he had drunk, and as a result, any anxiety had been quickly dissolved.
“So, go on,” Harrison said, leaning on the table with his arms crossed. “You’ve listened to my ridiculous life for long enough.” They looked at each other and laughed. “Tell me about you. It sounds like you’ve had a pretty rough time of it.”
Callum nodded. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“You said your dad died when you were three?”
Again, Callum nodded. “And then, Mum just up and left. Granddad didn’t tell me the full story till I was eighteen. Mum and me had been staying round his house for Christmas. I was put to bed, all excited ‘cause Santa was coming. Apparently Granddad woke up to a note saying how it was all too much, how she could never give me what I needed in life, and that she was sorry. I’ve not heard from her since. I don’t remember any of it, obviously being three, but Granddad says I just spent the whole of that Christmas day in floods of tears, and I didn’t stop crying till Boxing Day.”
“That’s so sad,” Harrison said, genuinely stunned. “And you’ve got absolutely no idea where she is?”
“Nope. Granddad thinks she probably disappeared to London somewhere – apparently there was a guy who lived there that she was seeing on and off. Other than that, not a clue.”
“Do you ever think of going to look for her?”
“Yeah.” Callum smiled. “Some nights I just lie there thinking of all the different scenarios of me just turning up on her doorstep. I play them out in my head in explicit detail, right down to what she’s wearing, and what her front door looks like. She either welcomes me back with open arms, or tells me to get lost because she walked out for a reason.” Callum’s eye line drifted off, as if he was picturing himself being reunited with his mother. “The only thing that stops me from actually trying to find her is if it’s the scenario where she isn’t interested. I’m not sure I could handle it.”
There was a brief pause as he pulled himself out of his daydream and back to the real world.
“Anyway,” he continued. “A couple of years ago, I managed to get a job working at the college in Clackton as a lab technician. I’ve always been interested in science, and that sort of thing. Then, a few months back, they let me go. Apparently they ‘didn’t have the money in the department to make the position financially viable anymore.’ That sucked.” He took a sip from his drink and swallowed, his expression turning momentarily bitter. “But then, Granddad got me the job working at the church, and I’ve been there ever since. Feel like I’m kind of treading water at the moment, but at least I’ve got money and a roof over my head.”
“I guess in a weird way I’m quite lucky,” Harrison said. “My dad let me keep the money from selling the farm. I don’t need that much. Just to keep me and Betty fed.”
Callum chuckled again. “Betty.”
“What’s wrong with Betty?” Harrison grinned.
“Don’t worry about it.” Callum said, downing the rest of his drink. “If I’d been you, then I’d be the proud owner of a goat called Thomas the Tank Engine. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”
Harrison laughed, probably a lot harder than was needed, but he didn’t care. He was having more fun.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “I’ve really enjoyed it. Makes up for my crappy birthday yesterday.”
Callum’s eyes widened. “It was your birthday? You’re kidding. What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
Harrison shook his head.
“Right then,” Callum said firmly, standing up and pulling his jacket on. “Get your coat on. You’re coming with me.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“Never mind the questions.” Callum grinned, picking up the two empty glasses. “Just do as you’re told. As of right now, it’s your birthday again.”
He placed the empty glasses on the bar, stood up and pulled his coat on. Whatever Callum had planned, Harrison decided he owed it to himself to see where the night took him. Callum thanked Robin and then led Harrison out of the pub.
“Right,” Callum said, checking his phone. “We’ve got about ten minutes till the last bus.”
“The bus?”
Callum turned to him and flashed a grin that was impossible to argue with. “When was the last time you let you let your hair down and enjoyed yourself?”
“Erm…” Harrison paused, not because he was trying to remember when, more that he was attempting to come up with a convincing enough lie that would make him sound like he had more of social life than he did.
“It doesn’t matter,” Callum interrupted. “We’re doing it tonight. From this point onwards, when anybody asks you what you did for your twenty-third birthday, you went out and you got ridiculously drunk, and had the time of your life. Clear?”
Harrison was too stunned to say anything so he merely nodded.
“Good. Come on then.”
And without another word, Callum grabbed Harrison’s wrist and they ran as fast as they could to the bus stop on the other side of the village.
