Pilgrim

by Devon De'Ath

  It came as no surprise when Philip Stokes’ cell phone switched straight to voicemail. Bill didn’t leave a message. Given his call history and self-confessed involvement in the marital turmoil of the deceased, he expected a visit from the law, anyway.

  * * *

  Two days later, Vicky knew she couldn’t put off speaking with Martha Tomlinson any longer. She arranged an early getaway from the office, to pay a visit before Katie got home from work. Or that was her intention. Vicky climbed out of her Audi at Headcorn Close, Tovil. Martha’s smoky grey eyes appeared like hollow sockets in a forlorn face. So empty and lost was that stare, it stopped Vicky in her tracks. Martha lingered at the open front door. Her voice sounded stilted on the phone earlier that day. Vicky put it down to general unease. But there was nothing ‘general’ about the obvious emotional devastation writ-large across that countenance.

  Vicky took one ginger step forward, struggling for an appropriate greeting. “I thought I’d get over before Katie finishes for the day.”

  “Katie’s gone.” The reply sounded in tones reminiscent of some dreamlike daze.

  Vicky lingered on the doorstep. “Gone where?”

  Martha touched the base of her neck. “I'm not sure.” She stood transfixed for a moment until the curious frown of a nosey neighbour weeding flower beds shook the stupor loose. “You’d better come inside, Vicky.”

  “Thanks.” Vicky followed her into the house and closed the door.

  They adjourned to the kitchen. Martha reached for her kettle, now a little more lucid. “Tea?”

  “Only if you’re having one.” Vicky sat down at the dining table while Martha fixed them a hot drink. “How do you know Katie has gone?”

  “Some of her friends collected her last night. She bundled her belongings into a couple of boxes, swore a stream of obscenities at Andrew and I, and then stormed out. She said she was through with us.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what set that outburst off?”

  “The night before last, a detective visited. DS Quarry. I liked him. He was a pleasant, soft-spoken man.”

  Vicky leaned forward on the table. “I’ve met him. Is Katie in trouble?”

  “He asked her a lot of questions about that house she spends so much time at. The one you were looking into.”

  Vicky played coy. She had no idea how much Martha knew. Vicky hadn’t mentioned her visit to Hirsig House on the phone. “How did the police get involved?”

  “DS Quarry said Katie’s name came up over an information report they’d received.” She handed Vicky a cup of tea.

  “Thanks. Did he mention what the information report concerned?”

  “No. At first I was worried it might be the adult film thing. But he said she wasn’t in immediate trouble. Rather, he was interested in her new connections and what they got up to at the house.”

  Vicky sat back. “What did Katie say?”

  Martha sat down, cheeks reddening. “Oh, Vicky. Andrew and I were so embarrassed. The language she used in telling him to mind his own business. And her voice… It was almost a growl. I became so worried Katie was about to get herself arrested.”

  “What did DS Quarry do?”

  “He was a picture of patience, informing her there was no need to get angry. Then she swore again and threatened him.”

  Vicky blinked. “Threatened how?”

  “She said the police had already raided her friends’ house and found nothing. When DS Quarry reassured her he was confirming a few errant suspicions to be thorough, she scowled. For one awful minute I thought Katie was going to grab the man’s tie and smack his head against the table. Her eyes grew wild, like a rabid dog. She told him if he didn’t back off, he’d get a visit from ‘Professional Standards’ and lose his job and pension. I had no idea she understood such things.”

  Vicky muttered under her breath. “Or knows somebody who does.”

  “What was that?”

  Vicky lifted her tea, ready for a sip. “Nothing. Thinking out loud. What happened next?”

  “DS Quarry left. My husband, Andrew, blew up at Katie over her behaviour. She told him to ‘fuck off,’ then stormed up to bed. Yesterday evening I was here when she got home from work. I thought I’d try a mother to daughter chat. Something calm.”

  “From what you’ve already said, I’m guessing that didn’t go so well?”

  Martha fidgeted. “Katie told me I’d interfered with her life for the last time. When I asked what she meant, she said, ‘recruiting that nosey social worker to spy on me.’ It's unclear how she found out we’d had a talk. Have you approached her?”

  Vicky cleared her throat. “Not directly.” She averted her gaze. “I did some digging into the background of the house.” A ripple of fear coursed through her frame. Whether from the police reports or by some other means, the cult had discovered her involvement.

  Martha gripped the table. “What did you find?”

  For an instant Vicky considered spilling the beans. How could she tell Martha what she’d witnessed her daughter do? What good might it serve, now the girl had left home in a rage? Nobody would talk her out of this alternative life. Katie was in too deep. So the police had raided the house? Kudos to them. No surprise the place was swept of incriminating evidence long before. With no missing person to find nor obvious criminal offences to answer, they’d flagged her and Bill’s report as ‘Information.’ That was about the size of it. “I found nothing concrete. But there were some hints of odd religious activities.” That was as far as she was prepared to go in service to the truth at that moment. “It’s a moot point now, if Katie has run off with her friends. I’d hoped to warn you further about keeping her away from that crowd. It seems I’m too late.”

  Martha sighed. “What difference would it have made a few days earlier? Thank you for taking the time and trouble to help, Vicky. Andrew and I are grateful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do these religious activities have anything to do with Katie’s tattoo?”

  “They might.”

  “Katie’s behaviour and language didn’t appear religious.”

  “This isn’t a religion where you go door-to-door, spreading ‘The Good News’ and handing out pamphlets.”

  Martha took a slurping sip of tea, then spluttered a burst of realisation. “That reminds me. You asked for an update if Andrew or I experienced anything odd.”

  “That’s right.” Vicky shifted in her seat, curiosity aroused.

  Martha pulled out her mobile phone. “It’s probably nothing, but I found this a little unusual.” She flicked open her photos and held up the screen.

  Vicky leaned closer to examine a picture of a jagged symbol, spray-painted in red on a squat, flint wall. “What is it?”

  “Who knows? I cover two locations in my job as site manager at our heritage trust. The major one is Temple Manor at Rochester. Or Strood, if you want to be picky. But I’m also responsible for this tiny, ruined Templar church on the Western Heights at Dover. There’s no office there. It’s an empty collection of stones, fenced-in beside a road up to The Citadel. We got a call the other day from a concerned local, to tell us about graffiti on the monument. I drove down to photograph it for our police report. We record all heritage crimes now. I’ve had to deal with graffiti ‘tags’ and other vandalism on ancient buildings more often than I’d like. I swear some of these people have nothing between their ears.”

  Vicky coughed. “I’ve met a few like that.”

  Martha examined the symbol herself again. “The trouble is, this looks nothing like the others. The lovely old boy who phoned in, claimed he’d noticed someone leaving the site dressed as a monk. At first he thought it was a ghost or random echo of the past, vanishing into the night. That was until he took a walk next morning and found the paint. Anyway, since you asked about odd occurrences...”

  “Have you found anything similar at the other site?”

  “No. Why did you ask about odd happenings? I don’t see what a
ny of this has to do with Katie.”

  Vicky wrinkled her nose. She would have to be more specific before Martha might go further. “I haven’t told you everything, because I didn’t want to worry you.” How to phrase this?

  Martha frowned. “Go on.”

  “I can’t say too much, because I’m looking into something we need to keep under the radar, for now.”

  “To do with the religious activities at that house?”

  “That’s part of it. I suspect DS Quarry may have been sniffing around in a similar vein, over whatever featured in that information report. It involves abuse and all manner of sensitive stuff.”

  Martha swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  Vicky could read the fear in her face. Fear for a daughter she adored, who cared not one jot for her loving mother. “Would you e-mail me that image? I’ve got someone helping me look into this on the Q.T. If you give us some location details, we may visit.”

  “Sure. I had the graffiti removed, but you’re welcome to go down there. It’s an open monument, anyway.” She tried to disguise a tremor in her voice. “Is Katie in danger?”

  Vicky watched the heartbroken woman stare at her with those empty, smoky eyes and forlorn face. “I don’t think she’s in harm’s way from her new crowd, if that’s any consolation. I wish I could tell you everything will be all right, but I can’t.”

  “Are you hoping to expose these people?”

  Vicky looked down at the table. “I’d like to stop them. But that might be easier said than done.”

  The tiniest glimmer of desperate hope twinkled in Martha’s eyes. “Maybe if you succeed in time, Katie will be okay?”

  Vicky got up. “Maybe. Martha, please advise me if you have any contact from your daughter; or if any more of those marks appear, would you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.” She clapped a gentle hand on Martha’s shoulder, then left.

  Vicky drove home to her compact but well-presented two bedroom, former shared ownership house near Allington. A new build on a meandering estate, she’d bought out the rental half and cleared her mortgage after Emma and Charlie Lambert passed away. Their will provided one last legacy of love to their adopted daughter. Living there felt like dwelling inside that sweet couple’s hearts. Vicky shared her home with one other resident, of the furry variety.

  “Hey, Chuckles.” She bent to stroke the back of a tabby cat who rubbed against her legs, flicking his tail as she crossed the threshold. Chuckles was a rescue with one torn ear from abuse by a previous owner. The meowing he made when Vicky first encountered him at the sanctuary, sounded for all the world like laughter. His name was never in question and Vicky didn’t consider another animal.

  As the door clicked shut, Vicky strained to listen for the sound of anyone else in her house. I’m going to be paranoid now. But after what’s happened to Bill and knowing the cult are onto me, why not? The house remained silent, apart from a happy purring around her ankles. Vicky put down her handbag, then performed a thorough survey of the house. All doors and windows remained secure. No sign of interference or anything unusual.

  She changed out of her work clothes, then flopped beside a laptop computer at a desk. That basic furniture almost filled the second box bedroom. Vicky pulled up her e-mail to find a message with the graffiti image attachment from Martha. The wording read:

  ‘Hi Vicky,

  Here’s that photo as promised. Thanks for coming round today. I realise there’s not much reason to hope, but I feel stronger knowing you’re trying to do SOMETHING.

  Please ask if there are any other ways I can help.

  Martha.’

  She saved the image to a folder, then composed a new e-mail addressed to a contact called ‘Raven.’

  ‘Hi Girl,

  Been a long time. Would you check this photograph and tell me if it means anything? Someone painted it on the wall of a ruined Templar church in Dover.

  I wish I could say life is fine. Emma and Charlie passed away within a week of each other, a few months back. God, has it been that long since you and I exchanged messages? Sorry for being such a rotten friend. :o(

  You’re the only living person I’ve ever told about my past. You know the ‘past’ to which I’m referring. At least, you were the only one until recently. I ran into someone while looking into suspicions ‘they’ were back in business. He also knows the full truth now. We had to flee for our lives. It appears our pursuers have discovered our identities. I don’t think they're aware of my full background. Given what we’ve witnessed, it makes little difference.

  I’ve got to stop them, Raven. This can’t keep happening. I owe it to Mum and Dad. I owe it to Conrad. How do I fight? Unless I’m mistaken, they’re more powerful and well-connected than ever. But I'll not sit by.

  It seems an age since our days rooming together at uni. Please lift up a protection spell, prayer, enchantment, or whatever your focus is on these days. Sorry if that sounds flippant. I didn’t mean it to.

  Love you, kiddo.

  Lambo.’

  She clicked the paper clip icon, then attached a copy of the graffiti image before sending.

  IMAGE SHAPE:

  A text alert pinged on her phone. She swiped open a message from ‘Bill Rutherford.’

  ‘I’ve got the house together at last. No new issues so far. You okay?’

  Vicky keyed in a response.

  ‘Went to visit Martha. Katie left home. The cult know about me.’

  Bill’s reply followed in short order.

  ‘Crap. Not good. Want me to come over?’

  Vicky smiled, her fingers moving with dexterity across the on-screen keypad.

  ‘I’m okay for now. Saturday tomorrow. Fancy a picnic in Dover?’

  The reply turned her smile into a laugh.

  ‘Dover? That’s random. Okay, when?’

  She tapped away again.

  ‘Pick me up around ten. You cover petrol, I’ll bring food.’

  One last message appeared in the conversation window.

  ‘Deal. See you then. Sleep tight.’

  Vicky put her phone away and pushed back from the desk. Chuckles leapt into her lap and settled down. She tickled his head. “Okay silly, you can have a cuddle for five minutes. But then I need to fix dinner.”

  6

  The Pilgrim

  Bill Rutherford took extra care on the strokes of his wet shave that Saturday morning. He didn’t understand why. If Vicky wanted to spend part of her weekend having a picnic with him, you could bet it had something to do with their present predicament. She’d made it clear romance wasn’t on the menu after they first met. Somehow that confident, intimidating blonde didn’t seem like the type for whom ‘no’ meant ‘yes,’ or even ‘maybe.’ Why did she want to visit Dover and how did the cult discover her involvement? Was it via the police report? This would be an intriguing day.

  Bill’s silver Skoda swept up to the kerbside at Allington, behind Vicky’s red Audi. It was a warm day with blue skies that couldn’t help but lift your spirits. He killed the engine, hopped out and strolled up her short garden path between two thin strips of tidy lawn.

  Vicky opened the front door as he was about to reach for the bell, mobile phone clamped to her right ear. She waved at him, then spoke to the person on the other end of the line. “I’m okay for now. Bill’s here. We'll check the place out and touch base to regroup. I will. Love you, Raven. Bye.” She disconnected the call.

  Bill lingered on the doorstep.

  Vicky frowned. “Don’t stand there, you’re making the place look untidy.” She wandered into the kitchen to finish packing a cool bag of sandwiches and a thermos of tea.

  Bill stepped inside. He called along the hallway. “So who on earth is Raven?”

  Vicky poked her head through the door. “No-one of consequence. A friend from my university days.”

  Bill folded his arms. “No-one of consequence, but she knows who I am?”

 
; “Okay. She's a mine of information on the occult. Raven’s also the only person - still breathing - aware of my full story. Other than you. We were roomies at uni. I trust her more than anyone else I know.”

  Bill relaxed. “Moral support? Can’t say I blame you.”

  “More than that. She’s looking into something for me. It might be a dead end. But, unless you fancy another trip to Hirsig House…”

  “Say no more. I’d rather chew my own legs off below the knee, thanks. Those murderers will be extra careful, after our little intrusion into their ceremony. So what is she helping you with?”

  Vicky re-entered the hallway. “Would you come upstairs with me for a minute?”

  A wry smile teased one corner of Bill’s mouth.

  Vicky scowled. “Don’t even think about it. Seriously, Bill, one pass and I’ll set the cat on you.”

  Bill glanced down at Chuckles sniffing his shoes. “What’s it going to do, nuzzle me to death?”

  Vicky scooped the cat up in her arms, stroking his head. “Martha Tomlinson showed me some graffiti sprayed on one of her historic sites. She’s a heritage trust manager.” She led Bill upstairs.

  “What sparked that?”

  “When she requested I look into Hirsig House, I asked to be kept appraised of anything unusual in the family’s lives. As I’ve already told you, Katie’s tattoo set alarm bells ringing. I may have only been nine during my previous encounter, but I recall how the cult and its members get their tentacles into every area.”

  “Vandalising a monument doesn’t sound like an overture to initiate a new cultist.”

  Vicky paused on the landing. “No, you’re right. The group only seem interested in Katie, not her family. If this vandalism is linked to them, I doubt it has anything to do with Martha or her job.”

  “A happy coincidence?”

  Vicky bit her lip. “I’m not sure I’d go all the way to ‘happy,’ but a coincidence. Here, let me show you.” She motioned Bill into the study, then pulled up the painted symbol photograph on her computer.