Jesuit

“Finding the method of administration proved to be very difficult. Indeed, I had to make use of an exterior probe, affording well, let’s say, extreme magnification. An assistant traversed the probe over the body in minute degrees, every millimetre being inspected. The technology never ceases to amaze me,” he said, shaking his head. “The pictures were transmitted to a monitor placed nearby at which I was able to study in detail.”

Wray’s audience listened with quiet respect as he outlined his findings.

“At first, there appeared to be nothing untoward on the body, apart from the obvious damage from the pre- death treatment, but then, as I examined again the scourge marks on the victim’s body, I spotted something.”

Graham and Clive straightened in their seats, fully attentive. Could this be the break they were looking for?

“It was so minute, it was not very obvious even under the equipment,” Wray continued. “But, sure enough, one of the lacerations showed the tiniest hole imaginable. Definitely not as the result of the beating; the puncture was too perfectly round, too defined. Only the merest fragment, but there it was, without a shadow of a doubt. Enough to prove that something new had been inserted into the wound — most probably a hypodermic needle — and an extremely fine one at that. To the naked eye, and probably even under normal magnification, this would not have been seen. Whoever did this, is no ordinary person; they will have had to have some kind of medical experience. To do what he, or she did, required a great amount of skill.”

Doctor Wray leaned back in his chair. “So, there you have it, gentlemen, poison was administered by use of a hypodermic syringe. The poison was gelsemium and it was administered by someone with medical knowledge.”

“So, doctor, do we take it that we are looking at a doctor, or a nurse?” asked Graham.

“No. I cannot say that. The killer may well be a practicing physician but it may just as easily be a struck-off practitioner, or someone who has failed medical exams, or someone who has retired from the profession for whatever reason.”

“What is your opinion, doctor?”

“My opinion is as I have just stated,” answered Wray, matter-of-factly. “I cannot guess, if that’s what you want. All I can say is, that whoever did this, has some expertise. It is not an easy task to perform.”

Well, thought Graham, at least we now have two clues: one the medical expertise and two, the feathers. Not a lot, but twice as much as before!

Before Graham could ask about the other murders, Wray broke into his thoughts. “Whilst here, I have also had a look at the photographs of the other victims. Again, I used the magnifying equipment on them, looking at the monitor, as with Maddigan’s body. Sure enough, after painstaking work, I found the same minute perforations on the others; the difference being that these had been inserted into existing puncture marks caused by previous immunisations. Thus, they were all killed in the same manner and, it would seem, by the same person.”

There was much food for thought and a re-examination of the files. It would also be necessary to check on the National Computer to see if any similar methods were on file. The meeting broke and the detectives returned to Graham’s office to study more, a measured excitement being evident.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After having enjoyed a fatty breakfast of bacon, two eggs, sausages and grilled tomato, Ignatious was ready for the day ahead. This was Wednesday, the day of his assignation with Mary Stewart, the sinner.

Since the day of the confessional, Ignatious had visited the local area Girl Guide group, in Loddon Hall Road, where he met and chatted to several of the girls. At the ages of ten to fourteen, he had confidently expected one or two trauma sufferers, or girls with what they saw as behaviour they could not tell their parents of, but what he found was a bunch of normal, healthy and well-balanced girls, who seemed to need no more than the knowledgeable and understanding advice of their Guide Mistress, Mrs. Juliet Penwortham, or Heather, as was her chosen group name. Although disappointed with the result, Ignatious was pleased with the lasting impression of holiness that he left behind. The Guides and their Leader were bewitched.

Whilst in Twyford, the Jesuit was mildly surprised at the number of community bodies and events there were. He had gone along to watch an open-air display of hand-bell ringing, which he found perfectly enchanting, and a boisterous round of Folk Dancing performed by a local group. A visit to the United Reformed Church revealed a female Pastor who, he was puzzled to find, did not appear to have fallen under his holy spell. Had there been more time, he would have dearly loved to visit some of the many women’s organisations but the days were passing all too quickly and he had much to do.

Motoring casually along to the vicinity of Bluebell Dell, he parked up in a convenient lay-by, taking up most of the small area afforded. Alighting from the vehicle, he took in the already warm climate, delighting in the summery sounds of insects buzzing around, birds chirping busily, with a Lark on high, wings fluttering at an incredible speed, warbling happily as it searched for prey.

The sounds of the township carried dully on the heavy air as he locked up and walked through a small clump of gorse and into a small thicket. Breaking through this, some sixty yards from the road, he came upon a small, well-hidden clearing. Peering through the thickly surrounding trees, he observed a foot-worn path just a few yards away. In seconds, he was past the trees and leaning nonchalantly against a sturdy Yew, looking down the path, awaiting Mary. He was confident that she would come this way, there being no other.

To his left he saw, further along the downward slope of the footpath, what must be Bluebell Dell. Even from the distance, it offered a truly pleasing sight, with a virtual carpet of bluebells swaying gently in the light breeze with small, grassed areas peeping through.

Rounding a bend on the footpath, Mary saw the Jesuit. Her heart missed a couple of beats. He was here! He had actually turned up! Why shouldn’t he? She thought, It’s not as if we are intending any wrong. I am here to seek solace and advice. My wrongdoings are in the past — but yet, why have I recently begun to touch myself in naughty places with the thought of the woman in the church in mind?

She was now but twenty feet from him, her previous nervousness slipping from her as she observed his warm, embracing smile. His hands were reaching out to her in welcome. No, nothing wrong in this: after all, I prefer women, don’t I? Their hands met and clasped. Take me! Scourge me! Rape me! The thoughts impacted on her mind.

The warm, Godly voice was speaking: “Thank you for coming, Mary.”

He remembers my name! “Before we experience the Dell, I wondered if we could have a chat just through the trees here, behind me. It is quiet and private — perfect for contrition.” She allowed him to lead her, their hands still clasped. He walked backwards, perfectly certain of his step, even though this was his first visit to the area. She stumbled on, mesmerised by his gaze, unable to drag her eyes from his. Take me! Take me! Whip me for the sinner I am!

They reached the small clearing and he induced her to sit. Remaining in a standing position before her, Ignatious placed both hands onto her head. “Have you given my words some thought, Mary?” he asked softly. She nodded quickly. “And what is your conclusion?”

Mary croaked the words. “Well. W-well, Father, I agree that it is most probably due to reaching mid-life that I am experiencing these feelings. But…” She paused.

“Yes, my child. Continue.”

Mary quivered as the eyes of The Creator seeped into her; the warm aura had returned. “I am still thinking about women, Father.” She bowed her head in total abjection.

“And what is it that you are thinking about women?” The voice was still warm, soothing, comforting.

“Sex, Father. Having sex.” Unaccountably, tears had begun to trickle from her eyes.

“You must not cry, Mary. You have done nothing wrong. Don’t forget, God knows all. He is prepared to forgive, as long as you love Him. And you do love Him, Mary, don’t you?”

Mary hurried her reply. “Yes. Yes. Oh, yes, Father, I do love Him. I do. I really do.”

“Mary. You have recognised that you are suffering from a mid-life crisis and, as I have said, this is not at all uncommon. It affects different women in different ways. You are simply behaving in a human way.” He smiled benignly. “Even so, you recognise also that you are not happy with your present feelings. Therefore, reject them!