“Hello, Graham,” opened Flint. “Glad I finally got you. Been on to the Met and they gave me your mobile number.”
Graham wasn’t too happy to be contacted now, with his secret tryst in flow, but the urgency in the Sergeant’s voice made him expect the worst.
“Yes, George. What can I do for you?” he said, pleasantly.
“It’s another body, Graham, believe it or not. A man again and no immediate signs of how death was caused. No one has touched the body and we’re waiting for your forensics boys to get here. I believe the pathologist is with you at the moment.”
Graham sighed. “Yes. She’s here with me. Sallie Dunning. You met her last time, George.”
“Yes, I remember her. Couldn’t forget a face and figure like that, could I?”
A small wave of anger washed over Graham at the light-hearted comment but he quickly let it die. He had no right to complain; Sallie wasn’t his, after all, and men, he included, were apt to make such remarks. “No, you couldn’t,” he replied, forcing a chuckle.
“Right. The unnerving thing about this one is, that the scene is the same as where Debbie Singleton was found. The exact spot.”
Graham gasped in surprise. “We’ll meet you there, then, George. I know where it is. See you in about twenty minutes?”
“Yes, okay. ‘Bye.” He hung up.
Sallie looked at her lover expectantly. She had heard him say that ‘we’ were to meet someone and by Graham’s expression, she knew it was a serious matter. “Where are we going, Graham?” she asked.
Unable to hide a smattering of annoyance, Graham explained the substance of the call to Sallie and the priest, after which they took their leave.
On the journey, the couple tried to convince each other that this might not be a connected death. It could even be from natural causes, like the woman on the picnic. Neither believed it.
Arriving in the area of the death, Graham parked the car and they set off on foot to the scene. A serious looking Sergeant Flint met them on arrival and they stepped under the striped plastic tape moving to a spot where the body could be seen, to await the forensic squad.
Nothing much could be learned from their present position, except that there were no signs of struggle and the body was naked, lying face down with one leg bent backwards from the knee, five or six inches from the ground. The man’s clothing was neatly piled a short distance away — early indications that this was the work of the detective’s quarry. The notion that it may have been a natural death evaporated quickly, as did the couple’s thoughts of a pleasant evening meal together followed by unbridled sex!
The forensics team finally arrived some fifty minutes later, and began their painstaking work. Graham was allowed to move closer to the body to carry out a visual inspection, some four feet away. His eyes were searching for the one convincing sign that this was their murderer and, peeping from the right thigh of the man, he found it — the small bunch of feathers. Some time later, he saw one of the team carefully remove it with a pair of tweezers and drop it into a plastic bag.
It was more than an hour before the team completed their work and Sallie moved in, with Graham and Flint in close attendance. She donned her mask and surgical gloves before carrying her case of equipment to the body. Following the customary practice, she began to record her words onto the tiny machine as she worked. “Male, approximately forty years of age, found in naked condition.” She closely inspected the man’s back, buttocks and legs. “No scars or injuries to rear of body.” Sallie carefully rolled Thomas over and began her inspection of his front. “Facial area unblemished, eyes open, mouth open with tongue protruding and blackened. Bruise on upper left side of chest, approximately four centimetres in diameter; appears to be from earlier injury. Operational scar on right abdomen; faded; appears to be from surgery of a minimum of ten years ago.”
She then looked closely along both arms. “Immunisation scar on upper right arm, of indeterminate age. Possibly from childhood.” Knowing the method of the killings, she bent closer so that her eyes were a mere inch from the scar.
“Here, Sallie,” said Graham, handing her his magnifying glass, “Try this,”
She took it from him and continued the inspection. After careful study, she breathed: “Yes. There it is.” Then remembering that she was recording all her comments, she became official. “Appears to be minute speckle of blood from microscopic puncture in centre of immunisation scar, administered within the last twelve hours.”
Sallie completed her examination then rolled the victim onto his face again, in his original position. She stood and walked away, removing the mask and gloves as she went. Graham and Flint followed.
Catching up with Sallie, Graham asked: “Well, Sallie. Is it our man?”
She stopped and turned to him. “As you know, Graham, I don’t like to commit myself until a full examination can be completed, but I would say that the indications point heavily in that direction. There does appear to be a tiny new puncture mark in the immunisation scar, so it certainly looks as though it’s the work of the same person. Judging by the face, I would also say that he died as a result of some sort of poisoning.”
All three exchanged grim glances. “We’ve got to get this person!” spat Graham. “He’s not going to stop, that’s quite plain to see.” Turning to Flint, he said: “George. Can you get the wheels in motion; house to house again and all that?”
“Well, Graham. What I will do, is check our last reports and dismiss those who are most unlikely to provide help — the housebound and such — and get my lads to interview the rest. I’ll also get notices up around the locality and put something out on local radio.”
“Good man.”
“Is there anything particular you’d like to put to the public?”
Graham thought about this before replying. “Yes, George. There is something. Just a niggling doubt that lies with me.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
A little sheepishly, Graham said: “Ask if anyone has noticed a particular vehicle; one that isn’t familiar, in the vicinity.”
Sallie knew what he was getting at, but George wasn’t aware of Graham’s vague suspicions. “Okay. Will do.” Then, looking quizzically at the detective, he asked: “Do you have a particular vehicle in mind?”
Graham explained about the constant appearances of the Jesuit and that it left him just a little puzzled. Something didn’t sit right with him.
George paused to take it in. “Do you suspect the Jesuit, Graham?” he asked in some surprise.
“Not entirely. No. He seems to be very open and he does seem genuinely concerned about the effect on the families. I also notice the effect he has on people, myself included. It’s as though being in the presence of a really holy man.”
George and Sallie nodded in agreement. A lewd sexual thought briefly entered Sallie’s mind as she pictured the Jesuit, then it was gone. An imperceptible shudder ran through her body.
“Even so, something about him just gnaws at me. Can’t explain what. Just a feeling.” By now the trio had reached their vehicles. They said their farewells to George and let him know where they would be staying for the night, at which point George drove off.
Back at the hotel, they entered the main lounge and bar where the Landlord, Alexander Brighouse, was in the middle of expounding his greater knowledge of the stage at which the investigations were at in the recent killings, to a couple of avidly listening men.
Seeing the entrance of the two officers, he shouted a hearty greeting: “Hello, there! Come and have a drink — on the house!” he called. The invitation was gratefully accepted; a drink was just what they needed. They stood alongside the two men at the bar and told Alexander what drinks they would like. Before turning to pour them, he tapped the side of his not inconsiderable nose with a forefinger, in a knowing fashion. “I’m not giving any secrets away,” he said conspiratorially.
Sallie smiled at Graham, who returned it with a wink.
As he laid the drinks on the counter before them, Alexander bawled: “Time, gentlemen, please!” The voice almost deafened them and they both jerked backwards in surprise. “We have beds to go to, you know!” came the loud voice again.
As the patrons shuffled about, drinking the remains of their glasses, retrieving coats and moving through the exit doors, Graham glanced at his watch: twenty minutes past eleven. By law, Alexander should have stopped serving at eleven!
Anticipating a long-drawn out conversation with the exuberant Landlord should they be left alone with him, Graham and Sallie quickly downed their drinks and made their exit, offering a pleasant, “Goodnight, Landlord. Could you give us a call around seven in the morning, please?”
“Certainly. No problem — no problemo,” he said as he waved a hand to them. They hurried up the stairs and entered Sallie’s room together.
Once in bed, appreciating each other’s bodies, exploring with urgent hands, the sex began; eager ravenous, loving. Graham had an occasional flash of Bethany’s smiling face but quickly overcame the guilt initially felt, while Sallie, unaccountably, entertained several vivid pictures of the Jesuit, calling to her, displaying himself in his full, naked perfection.
“Rape me, you bastard!” she hissed. Graham, naturally thinking she meant him, pleased that his lovemaking was turning her on to such an extent, increased his efforts manfully.