by Robert Innes
“Really?” Blake asked, sounding surprised. “And how old was this girl, do you know?”
“It wasn’t anything that bad.” Callum said quickly. “She was about seventeen, eighteen, I think. Her name was Claire Johnson. If it was true, it being with Claire wouldn’t surprise me. She was a bit –loose- I think is the nicest way of putting it. She left the village soon after he stopped working at the college. Her family just upped and left with her.”
“Right.” Blake nodded. “And then you left the college soon afterwards and started working at the church?”
“Yeah.”
“Straight away?”
“More or less,” Callum said. “Granddad said that he didn’t want me lying about the house all day, so he got me this verger position. He said it would at least tide me over till I found something better.”
“What does a verger do? I always wondered,” Blake asked him lightly.
A nudge on the back of his leg told Harrison that Betty was tired of being ignored. He leant across the kitchen, opened the back door, pushing her out gently with his foot, still listening to what was being said.
“Well, it’s just being in the background,” Callum said. “I give communion sometimes, you know, the wine and the wafer bread, which is disgusting by the way. But a lot of the time, I just hold the crucifix and follow Granddad around.”
“I’m guessing you preferred it at the college?” Blake asked, sounding a little sympathetic. Harrison gave a small smile. It was this sort of empathy that had attracted him to Blake in the first place, and had been what had made Daniel’s death and dealing with his parents that little bit easier.
“Well, Callum,” Blake said. “I think it would probably be for the best if you let your granddad know you’re okay. He seemed worried when I spoke to him earlier.”
“I will.”
A moment later, the door to the living room opened. Harrison grabbed the nearest thing he could on the counter, in an attempt to look like he had been busy with something.
“Why are you holding a pot plant?” Callum asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harrison put it back down on the counter and smiled innocently back at him. “Just tidying up.”
Callum grinned as he glanced at the pile of washing up on the side. “I’m going to have to go. I’ll give you a text if you’re still free later?”
Harrison nodded as Callum walked towards him and pulled him forwards, kissing him deeply. After a few moments, the sound of Blake clearing his throat again from the living room brought them back down to earth.
“See you later,” Harrison said.
Callum nodded, then walked back into the living room.
“Thanks Callum,” he heard Blake say.
There was the sound of a furious thudding noise against the back door. Betty was angrily butting it, so Harrison opened the door to let her back in again. Instead of fussing round him like she normally did when he let her in so he praised her for whatever she had done in the garden, Betty charged straight through the kitchen and into the living room where Blake soon let out a cry of pain.
Harrison slammed the back door and ran into the living room. Betty had Blake cornered against the sofa, bleating loudly at him.
“Betty, leave him alone!” Harrison cried sharply, pulling the goat away from Blake. She bleated again, but allowed herself to be led back towards the armchair where Harrison scratched underneath her chin.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “She’s in a mood with me because she didn’t get to sleep in my room last night.”
Blake glared down at the goat, and straightened himself up again.
“No,” he said sharply. “Well, you were busy, weren’t you?”
Harrison was surprised by the tone of his voice, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was all aimed at Betty. Blake seemed aware of the harshness in his voice because he then said, more gently, “Still, it’s good that you’re dating again.”
“Well, it wasn’t really a date,” Harrison mumbled awkwardly. “It just sort of happened.”
“Oh, right,” Blake said, his words followed by a long sustained pause. “Just - you know- be careful.”
“Careful of what?”
Blake shrugged, looking like he was searching for the right words. “I mean, make sure that you don’t get hurt again,”
Harrison stared at Blake. What exactly was he trying to accuse Callum of? “Callum’s a nice guy.” He said defensively. “I wouldn’t have done that with just anybody, you know. I’m not like that.”
“No, I didn’t say you were,” Blake replied hastily. “I mean, I didn’t think you were the type to just sleep with anyone-“
“I’m not!” Harrison exclaimed.
“No, no, no. I didn’t say that you were,” Blake backtracked, appearing mortified. “I just meant – well, I don’t know what I meant really.”
Harrison stared at Blake. “To be honest, I don’t see why I can’t go out and have a bit of fun. It’s not like there’s anybody else in the village, is there?”
Blake looked like he had been about to say something else, but stopped.
“No,” Blake said eventually. “No, I guess not. Anyway, like I said. Sorry to bother you. Take care of yourself.”
Harrison didn’t know what else to add so he just said “And you.”
Without another word, Blake opened the front door and walked out of the cottage. Harrison watched the door close. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that Blake had looked quite hurt.
“How is this my fault?”
Blake blew the smoke from his ecig at Sally-Ann’s face on his computer screen with childish vindictiveness.
“Because, if you hadn’t had gotten so drunk that you could barely stand, then who knows what might have happened?”
Sally rolled her eyes. “And, what about since then? That was a couple of months ago, Blake. You live in a village the size of a peanut, you can’t tell me you haven’t had a chance to speak to him since then.”
Blake sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day that hadn’t gotten him any further on shedding any light on the deaths in the church, and when he hadn’t been trying to work out how four people could possibly end up dead in a small confessions booth, he had found himself picturing Callum and Harrison together.
“Sally, I’m the reason both his parents are in prison,” he sighed. “I mean it’s hardly the basis for a long lasting romantic relationship.”
Sally flicked the cigarette she was smoking into an ashtray, rolling her eyes. Even though he was sucking relentlessly on his ecig, Blake found himself craving tobacco more than ever.
“No Blake,” Sally said flatly. “His parents are the reason that his parents are in prison. Or are you that lovesick you’ve forgotten how a conviction for murder works? What’s this Callum like, anyway?”
Blake snorted. “Young, good looking, flat stomach, and a smile that would make a nun weak at the knees. Personally, I think he’s a bit of an idiot.”
“He sounds hot.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, he does, and you can hardly blame the guy for going for someone like Harrison. He’s kind, gorgeous and above all, single,” Sally replied carelessly. “What are you going to do? Nick him for stealing a man you fancy?”
“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted when I saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs. Bold as brass, all cocky. ‘Am I under arrest?’” Blake mocked. He was fully aware of how immature he sounded, but he was too irritated to care.
“Oh, get a grip.” Sally laughed. “Who knows what might happen? They might have a crazy love affair, and then realise they’ve got absolutely nothing in common. Then you can go in and be a shoulder to cry on.”
“Perhaps,” Blake said. “Except his granddad seems to think that the two of them are made for each other because of what they’ve both been through. I think he sees some sort of future for them.”
“Oh, he’s a vicar, what does he know about gays and sex?” Sally rep
lied, lighting another cigarette. “Just play the waiting game. And, if it turns out that they are soul mates and they are destined to be together, you’re just going to have get over it and move on. Go out, meet new people. You’re only a bus ride from the nearest town.”
Blake groaned. “I’m too old to be sniffing around gay bars looking for a good time.”
“Blake, you’re thirty,” Sally reminded him, rolling her eyes again.
“Yes, and soon to be thirty-one. You watch, I’m going to turn into one of those old lecherous queens that stands in the corner, eyeing up all the pretty young men dancing with each other.” He sighed, leaning forward in his chair, and looking at the screen miserably. “I thought I was done with all this when I met Nathan. I remember thinking when Grindr first started, ‘Thank God I don’t have to do any of that. While some people are out there having meaningless sex with anyone with a pulse, I’m here, in my house with my soon to be fiancé.’ Now look at me. Single, living alone, and thirty.’
“Thirty going on seventy. Have you heard yourself?” Sally asked, staring at him in disbelief. Despite his low mood, Blake laughed. This is exactly why he had got in contact with Sally. Even when he was feeling so depressed about his life, Sally was always able to bring a smile to his face, just like she had when Blake had found Nathan in bed with, what was now, his wife.
Blake was just about to change the subject to something more cheerful when his mobile started ringing. It was Sharon.
“I’m going to have to go, forensics are ringing me.”
“Alright sweetie. I’ll talk to you soon. Chin up – a year from now, you’ll be looking back at this and laughing.” Sally blew him a kiss and waved at the camera.
“Love you. Speak soon.”
Blake closed the Skype call, then answered his mobile.
“Good evening, Sharon.”
“Hi, Blake,” Sharon said, tiredness obvious in her voice. “Sorry to ring you so late, but I thought you might like to know that I’ve finished examining Daryl Stuarts.”
“And?” Blake asked hopefully.
“For all intents and purposes, he died from a heart attack.” Sharon sighed. “His heart is in exactly the same state as Imelda Atkins.”
Blake groaned and rubbed his eyes. “How? How can he have died of a heart attack? He was seventeen!”
“I can only tell you what I’ve found,” Sharon replied.
“I’m sure you’ve done a completely thorough job, Sharon. It just doesn’t make any sense,” Blake said, thinking aloud. “I mean, give me ways in which a perfectly healthy seventeen year old boy can die from a cardiac arrest.”
“Well, there’s any number of internal causes. I once had to do an examination on a lad of a similar age. That was an anterior wall myocardial infarction, he had a clot on his left artery. But it is rare and more often than not, it would suggest some form of genetic thing passed down from one of his parents. Obviously, excessive drug use could be the cause, but I didn’t find any traces of anything dodgy in his blood, though there was plenty of alcohol.”
“Right,” Blake said, hoping she was going to offer him something he could actually work with.
“But, if we’re talking about how to murder someone by making them have a heart attack,” Sharon continued. “There’s a couple of ways. Electrocution for one, but as there were no marks on his body, no joule or flash burns, you can rule that out.”
“And what else?”
“Well, there are some types of poison that can trigger respiratory failure,” Sharon said thoughtfully. “Including some that wouldn’t be picked up in an initial post mortem, unless we were specifically looking for them.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Poisons? You mean, there’s poisons that can give you a heart attack? Whatever age you are?”
“Well, yes. Technically. Obviously there’s variations, but if ingested in the right manner, they can.”
“Why wouldn’t you see a poison straight away though?” Blake asked, leaning back in his chair confused.
“Blake, come on.” Sharon replied flatly. “Do you know how many poisons there are out there? And how many substances and chemicals there are that can poison a human being? Even with the food we can eat, we have to cook it to within an inch of its original purpose before we can consume it safely.”
“Well, can you check for them now?” Blake asked keenly, frantically sucking on his ecig.
Sharon sighed. She did sound absolutely exhausted. “Yes. I’ll get it done. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”
“You are a star, Sharon. I owe you. Thank you. You may have hit on something here,” Blake said, standing up and strolling across his living room. For the first time in this case, it felt like there was actually something to go on.
They hung up and Blake continued his pacing round the room. If it transpired that Imelda and Daryl had been poisoned, then the case suddenly took a whole new angle, and the question wasn’t how they had died in the confessions booth, but how had somebody managed to poison them, and somehow manage to make their deaths coincide with their time in the confessions booth. If that was the case though, then there could be also no doubt that the killer was somebody who worked in the church.
He sat down in his armchair, his brain whirring, thinking back over the details of all the deaths. Nigel Proctor, Patricia Jenkins and Imelda Atkins all died while in the confessions booth with Timothy Croydon listening in. The only one that still didn’t make any sense was Daryl Stuarts – neither he nor his family were religious so had no reason to even be in the church, let alone in the booth. If the killer had been careful enough to make three heart attacks go by without any real cause for suspicion, then what had happened to Daryl? What could he have done that had so enraged a killer to drop all pretence and make it so obviously murder?
His thoughts were suddenly broken by the sound of raucous giggling from outside the cottage. Standing up and looking out the window, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of his landlord, Jacqueline, with a man in her doorway. He couldn’t quite make out who it was, but Jacqueline certainly seemed familiar with him. She opened her door then pulled the man into her house with her, closing the door with a slam.
Blake sighed, then pulled the curtains closed. It seemed everywhere he looked, everyone around him was having a much better love life than him. Reasoning that he wasn’t going to get any further with the case until Sharon got back to him again, he sat back down and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. A few minutes later, he was swiping left and right on the screen waiting for somebody to match with him. Somewhere out there was the man of his dreams and after the day he had had, Blake was determined to find him – even if it meant sitting there all night.
The next morning, Blake arrived at work, ten minutes late and in a foul mood. He had spent over an hour on his phone the night before attempting to coax people into conversations, but had quickly realised that he had absolutely no idea how to start talking to somebody with the mind of being a potential love interest.
His chat history within the dating app, which he wished he had never downloaded, was full of messages to people that had not replied. While Blake had been initially quite surprised and pleased that he had managed to accumulate quite a large number of matches, it had become clear that the majority of them weren’t planning on talking to anyone, leading Blake to the conclusion that they were simply trying to see how many matches they could get. He couldn’t believe just how out of the loop he had become in the time he had been in a relationship. Now, there were all sorts of terms and jargon he had never heard before. At least, he had thought sardonically as he had grumpily gone to bed, he now knew what NSA stood for as he had been asked by the three different men he had actually managed to communicate with for an “NSA meet-up.” Now, as he trudged into the station, Blake just felt old and out of touch with the rest of the world.
“Sir?” Darnwood called from behind the front desk as he arrived.
“Yes?” Blake snapped.
Dar
nwood raised her eyebrows at his tone, then nodded her head towards a middle-aged couple sat down in the reception area, looking up at him. “Mr and Mrs Stuarts here to see you, about their son?”
Blake hadn’t even seen Daryl’s parents as he had stormed in, and now, with a twinge of regret for sounding so unapproachable, he turned to them, with what he hoped was a more pleasant and personable sounding tone. “Good morning. I’m DS Harte.”
Daryl’s mother stood up. Her eyes were red and puffy and she sounded horse, her voice distant, not that Blake could blame her. “We want to know what you’re doing about our son. What’s happening? Have you found who did this to him yet?”
Blake indicated towards the nearest interview room. “Would you like to come in here where it’s a bit more private? Would you like a drink of anything? Tea? Coffee?”
“We just want to know what’s happened to our son, Daryl’s father said, standing up and putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“I know. I promise you, I understand,” Blake said gently, opening the room and ushering them inside. “Take a seat. “
They entered the small interview room. It was the smallest one of three in the station, and had very little in it beside a table and four chairs around it, with a water cooler in the corner that hadn’t worked for as long as Blake had been in Harmschapel.
“I didn’t catch your names?” Blake asked, sitting down opposite them.
“I’m Peter,” Daryl’s father said. “This is my wife, Sarah.”
“It’s good to meet you both. As I said, my name’s DS Harte, Blake Harte. I’m the officer in charge of the investigation.”
“Well, what have you come up with so far?” Sarah asked, shrilly. “We’ve barely heard a thing.”
Blake nodded. He would normally see to it that the families were kept as informed as possible, but the case hadn’t exactly been fruitful as far as information went. “It’s very early into the investigation, Sarah. We’re still trying to gather enough evidence to work out what happened to Daryl.”
