They chatted for a little longer, with her gently pressing Lucan for as many other details as possible, until his eyelids began to droop.
When she was outside the ward again, DI Harding radioed the station. Finally, she and Art were going to meet. She couldn’t wait. After all the years of hearing rumours about the coercion and abuse at New Avalon, she had enough information to press charges against him. The apparent King Arthur. Bully and fraud, more like. Once she got him into prison he wouldn’t be coming out again to damage anyone else’s life, that was for sure. She’d seen some things during her time in the force, sides of human nature that thankfully most of the general public rarely came into contact with. But she’d never come across a case of such clear hypocrisy, where the leader of a group – who called himself God’s spokesman on earth, and who duped his followers into thinking he was a perfect example of morality – turned against one of those same followers with no good reason, and coerced others into beating him sadistically to within an inch of his life. No, that was a new scenario to her, and one she never hoped to come across again. The abuse of Art’s trust was off the scale, his actions unforgivable. Right, she thought, making her way down the sparse hospital corridor. Let me at him.
39
‘Morgana,’ Celeste whispered to the police officer who accompanied her in the ambulance. ‘Morgana did this.’
The staff at Barnstaple Caravan Park, suspicious after news broke about the baby girl being found at the church down the road, and putting it together with Morgana’s phone call claiming Celeste was suffering postnatal depression, had gone to check on her. Finding the caravan door unlocked, they’d knocked and entered, only to find Celeste lying in a bloodbath on the floor, her eyes half open. Ten minutes later, Celeste, now conscious and under arrest on suspicion of involvement with her sister’s murder, was on her way to West Devon Hospital, with PC Channing as her attendant in addition to the paramedic who was carefully giving her a shot of morphine through a cannula for the unbearable pain.
Why had Morgana done this to her? Celeste couldn’t see her face but she suspected she would never look the same after this. There was too much blood coming out of her ears and eyes, her cheekbones felt too mushy, and her nose was no longer the right shape. Her golden hair was falling out in clumps around her shoulders. But the ache in her body and limbs, oh the pain was excruciating, she wanted to die, it would be easier than bearing this. And the baby was gone. Her baby. Where was she now? What had Morgana done with her? The police wouldn’t tell her anything, just turned vague and evasive when she asked any questions.
Her battered thoughts formed only one bitter question; why am I under arrest for what happened to Mona? I’m the victim here, she told herself. She was the dirty whore who brought shame to King Arthur and New Avalon. Morgana – Auntie Morgs – was like my mother; she hugged me, looked after me, helped me cleanse my sister, was there when I needed her most. What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment from her? Why can’t the police see I’m the casualty in all this? Hot angry tears leaked from Celeste’s eyes, mingling with the drying blood. The ambulance trundled on, siren blaring.
‘The best thing you can do is co-operate with the police,’ PC Channing said, her tone flat and disinterested. ‘You’ll be looked after in hospital until the doctors are satisfied, but as you know, Miss Adkins, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of your sister, and for the kidnapping and imprisonment of your niece.’
‘But I didn’t murder her.’ Celeste wept, shaking. Every movement caused pain to reverberate through her body, as though it were just a bag of bones being shaken in a plastic bag. ‘I looked after her. I made Mona pure again. And the baby is part of my family, I’m her closest relative. I deserve to have her with me, can’t you see that?’
‘Like I have mentioned, Miss Adkins,’ PC Channing said. ‘You do not need to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say at this stage may be given in evidence.’
But I’m barely alive, Celeste wailed in her head, as self-pity consumed her. Look at me, I’m so injured, so hurt, that I might die. Why is that police officer being so cruel to me? Why is she not looking after me? Fresh hot tears plopped down the side of her cheeks.
PC Channing sighed. After nine years in service she’d become immune to the self-absorption of criminals. With the majority of them it was never their fault, they could never take responsibility for what they’d done. It wasn’t nice seeing Celeste Adkins in this state, of course it wasn’t. But she had strength in her, she’d pull through this, PC Channing was sure. Some of the injuries looked worse than they were. And she knew what had happened to Mona, had seen the wreckage of Goddess World, heard that the poor girl had died a horrible death from smoke inhalation and burns. How scared she must have been, knowing she couldn’t get out of that cupboard she was locked in, as the smoke came under the door. She’d been roasted alive. No, she didn’t hold any sympathy for Celeste Adkins. She’s made her choices, and now – however hurt she was – she’d have to face the consequences.
40
DI Harding approached the main building in the compound with Detective Sergeant Miller. Officers had already secured all the entrances to New Avalon and four firearms officers were accompanying them into the building because Lucan had told her that Art and other residents there were in the possession of multiple weapons. More squad cars were on their way and the plan was to take all the inhabitants of New Avalon into custody once they had the leader safely restrained.
It really was a run-down place, she thought, looking around. Rather different to the website photos that made it look like a new-age haven – she should know, she’d studied them enough times in the past. Two large, circular canvas buildings in the middle of a load of drab-looking sheds, or huts. Perhaps they’d looked quaint and rustic once, but now they just looked sad and tired. It all reminded her of a programme about hunting lodges in the Appalachian Mountains that she’d seen once. All the dwellings were spread out among the trees, lonely and desolate-looking, the paths between them just muddy dirt tracks. Only one hut looked taken care of, like a bit of money had been spent kitting it out. It was three times bigger than all the others, and had curtains and double glazing. No guesses who that one belonged to, she thought.
She knocked on the wooden door of the large structure in front of her.
‘Police,’ she shouted. The officers around her paused, listening.
No answer.
One of the firearms officers lifted his foot and kicked. The door swung open; it hadn’t been locked. Two of the officers entered the Great Hall before her, stun guns raised.
It was empty. All that was there was a podium in the centre, and a variety of tired cushions scattered around. The slogans on the wall were interesting, they read like a manifesto. Perhaps that’s exactly what they were, she thought. She’d have photos taken of every one of them soon.
The group worked their way in trained formation through the hall, past the dragons and written mantras, to the door at the back.
A chinking, glassy sound came from beyond it.
‘Police,’ DI Harding shouted again.
An officer pushed the door open and walked through, gun raised.
DI Harding stepped forward and saw a long-haired man standing behind the kitchen table. He was alone in the room and he was licking his lips. Numerous glasses – at least twenty – most containing a dark-green liquid, stood on the surface before him. One of them was empty.
‘Art Pendragon?’ she said. The man raised his dark eyes to meet hers. He said nothing.
‘Are you Arthur Pendragon?’ she asked again.
The man reached out and picked up a glass, pouring the green liquid in it down his throat so fast that drops of it splashed onto his long white tunic, a green river slithering down his chin.
‘Stop. Put the glass down,’ a firearms officer shouted, walking towards him. ‘Raise your hands. Keep th
em where I can see them. Do it now.’
The long-haired man smiled, wiping his mouth before raising his hands in the air.
‘Well hello there,’ he said, his voice rich and deep. ‘Yes, I’m Arthur Pendragon. I’m so pleased to meet you. Welcome to New Avalon, folks.’
Two officers descended on him from either side, grabbing his raised arms, pulling them down behind his back, cuffing him quickly.
‘Arthur Pendragon, or in actual fact, Colin Sacks,’ DI Harding walked over and stood before him, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harding and I’m arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder.’ The man continued to smile while she read him his rights.
‘Only attempted?’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Oh dear, that’s a shame. The thing is, I’m afraid I won’t be with you for very much longer, Inspector. You see, God has called me home. I’m going to be leaving the earth very soon.’
‘What’s he talking about?’ DS Miller walked over to the table and stared at the rows of drinks. ‘What’s in these glasses, Colin?’
But Art just smiled, as the poisonous concoction of Cicuta leaves and vodka took hold of his body.
‘Call an ambulance now,’ DI Harding said, turning, her tone urgent, as more officers entered the room. ‘We need him alive. He needs to have his stomach pumped as soon as possible. Take a sample from those drinks and send it to the lab, we need to have it analysed. I think he’s just tried to kill himself, probably with some sort of poison.’
‘I’m afraid you’re a bit late for that.’ Art’s face was flushed, ecstatic, as he looked at her. ‘I’ve had two already. Won’t be long now, I should think.’ It was a pity he’d been the only one to drink the mixture, would be the only one crossing over to meet God, but everything that was happening was part of the Almighty’s plan and he had to submit to it. Of course, he hadn’t had the chance to send the recording of his words to anyone yet, but the police might find it on his phone after he was gone and send it to the press. He hoped they would.
‘Is that what you had planned for your followers, then, Colin?’ DI Harding said, her voice rising. ‘A murder-suicide? What a very caring plan. Do you realise how many families you would have destroyed if you’d been able to get everyone to drink these?’
‘I’m afraid you’ve got it very wrong, Inspector,’ Art said. ‘The New Knights who live here are family. They don’t need any others. We are one family. And God has called us all home now, and you are the one ruining their lives now, not me. If you stop them from taking this final step to salvation, you will be sending them to hell for eternity.’
‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take,’ DI Harding said, her mouth grim. ‘My officers are rounding your knights up now, as we speak. I’ll be very interested to hear what they have to say about you and New Avalon.’
‘They’ll tell you the truth, that it’s paradise here.’ Art’s eyes were dreamy.
‘Did Lucan Butler think it was paradise,’ DI Harding said, ‘while everyone was beating him and stamping on him so hard they crushed his liver?’
‘How silly the paramedics were to rescue him.’ Art turned his big brown eyes on to her, his stare full of reproach. ‘They shouldn’t have done that. Now his soul is going to hell too. After all the trouble we took to cleanse it.’
‘That’s enough for now.’ DI Harding turned away, unable to look at the man any longer. He was clearly as mad as a fruit bat. So far gone it would take an expert psychiatrist to scratch the surface of his insanity. But oh, what damage his delusions had caused. But he’d been sane enough to relish controlling others, she thought, coercing them to commit terrible acts. Perhaps a large part of him wasn’t mad at all, just power hungry and psychopathic. She wanted him to survive, wanted to be able to hold him accountable for the terrible harm caused to Lucan and Kay. Wanted to question him about Mona, Celeste and the abduction of Hope. Ask him if Gareth’s claims, that his father had first given him the idea to kill an MP, were true. She suspected the secrets he held sprawled far beyond whatever she knew about. Hopefully she’d get some answers from his followers too.
‘Is the ambulance on its way?’ DS Miller asked, watching some green liquid being carefully bagged up.
‘Yes, Sarge,’ an officer replied. ‘Should be here soon.’
‘Good,’ DI Harding muttered. After what he’d done, that man didn’t deserve to escape justice so easily. His cowardly attempt at suicide proved exactly who and what he was. Destroyer of lives, and too spineless to take his own punishment. Well, not if she had anything to do about it.
41
Sister Veronica was still gazing at the baby girl in her arms, breathing her in. She’d hardly put her down since arriving at West Devon Hospital, had only done it once and that was to change her nappy.
‘We think we’ve discovered something quite extraordinary,’ Dr Mundra was saying, a smile on his face. ‘You’re never going to believe it.’
‘What’s that?’ Sister Veronica said, her tone distracted. She was too busy enjoying her closeness to Hope. It was healing to cuddle her again. To feel her soft baby skin, look into her innocent blue eyes. But there was fear also, a fear that this could somehow happen again, that if Hope had vanished once – so easily – she could be taken by someone else.
DI Harding had phoned Melissa, explained that she’d arrested Art, although he’d poisoned himself and was currently very ill in Yeovil Hospital. She’d also said they’d found Celeste, who was in a sorry state after Morgana’s attack, but well enough to admit to snatching Hope. ‘Please don’t worry anymore,’ she’d said. ‘The baby is safe now. You can relax, start moving on with your lives.’ But that was easy for the detective to say, and it wasn’t easy for her to do. How could she relax, knowing it was her own lax attitude that had led to Celeste being able to take Hope? There may be two police officers standing outside the ward but she needed to be vigilant at all times from now on, no matter where she was or who she was with.
‘Well,’ Dr Mundra said. ‘Sister, we believe that we have found Hope’s father.’
Sister Veronica’s head snapped towards him, his words having got the full glare of her attention.
‘Pardon?’ she said. ‘You’ve found Hope’s father?’
‘Yes,’ Dr Mundra said with a chuckle. ‘Very unexpected indeed, but it looks like we really have. DI Harding asked us to test and compare the blood samples from Hope with all the New Avalon members currently in Yeovil Hospital. So we did. And DNA matching has confirmed there is more than a 99.999% chance of one of them being her father.’
‘Oh no.’ Melissa stood up from her chair. ‘Is it Art? Or Colin, or whatever his real name is?’
‘No.’ Dr Mundra smiled. ‘It’s Lucan Butler.’
Sister Veronica gazed at the baby who was staring up at her. Oh, silly of her. Of course, she could see it now. They both had the same bright blue eyes. And hadn’t Lucan said he’d gone to visit Mona last year, and stayed the night? Why hadn’t she thought of that possibility herself?
‘Well, Heavens above,’ she said quietly. Hope gurgled in agreement. ‘That’s absolutely marvellous. You have a lovely daddy, Hope. Who I’m sure will take fantastic care of you, if he recovers.’
‘He’s doing well, according to my colleagues at Yeovil,’ Dr Mundra said. ‘He’s been informed he’s the father of the baby, and is absolutely thrilled, by all accounts. His happy mood will help his recovery no end. In my experience, if you have a great will to live you are halfway there when it comes to getting over his type of injuries.’
‘That news has made me feel quite emotional.’ Melissa wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Oh, Sister, I don’t think I can cry any more, my eyes are actually hurting, so many tears have come out of them over the last few days.’
‘Ah, but these are happy tears, my dear.’ Sister Veronica shifted Hope into one arm and leaned over to give her friend a hug with the other. ‘They will help to soothe the pain. The trauma has ended now, and great things have started to come from this tumultuous t
ime.’
The doctor turned to walk out of the cubicle.
‘Thank you, Dr Mundra,’ Sister Veronica called after him. ‘We needed to hear this happy news. Thank you so much.’
As she enveloped Hope in yet another huge cuddle, wetness glistened at the corners of her own eyes. So this adventure is over for you now, Hope, she thought. And another one – a joyous, fantastic one – is just beginning. Sending up a prayer to God and the universe to heal Lucan as fast as possible, a pang of grief tugged at her heart. But this time it was a necessary kind of sorrow, and she knew what it meant. Her time with Hope was now drawing to a close. When Lucan was well enough, this little bundle would go and live with him, and Great Saints above she was going to miss her.
On the plus side, she realised, Hope had taught her a much-needed lesson and it had helped her to put her past memories of the tragedy with Jamie Markham and his murder to rest. When the little girl had gone missing, and then reappeared a few days later, it had shown her how important it was to live in the present moment, in the ‘now’, to just enjoy what was in front of her eyes rather than worrying about past ordeals. Every second is a chance to start over, she thought. Thank you, Hope. You’ve taught me that, you lovely child, and I’m never going to forget it. She kissed the top of her head.
Dr Mundra’s head popped back round the curtain.
‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you something,’ he said. ‘There’s a woman waiting for you downstairs by the reception desk, I think she said her name was Sister Julia Augusta. Says she’s your Mother Superior. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad it’s you she wants to see and not me. She looks absolutely furious and has been saying the rosary very loudly for at least ten minutes. The poor girl on reception looks terrified.’
The Disciple: a gripping psychological mystery (The Sister Veronica Mysteries Book 2) Page 17
