Jesuit

seeped into his system and he wanted more.

The following morning, Graham was back in his office, again looking through the individual files of the recent victims, together with Clive Miller. He had not seen Sallie and did not expect to. Their paths mainly crossed when a new murder occurred.

“Christ” he suddenly cried, startling Clive. “Clive! You know what? I’ve never asked forensics about the feathers!”

Clive looked at his chief in puzzlement. “What about the feathers?”

“If they picked them up! It never crossed my mind before, but the pretty little bunches may become evidence. They might not even have collected them. I mean, why pick up a tiny bunch of bird feathers from a field? Pretty common things, I would think.”

Already beginning to sweat from the warming day, he picked up the telephone and dialled through to the forensic department. He was soon speaking to Sergeant Brian Flynn who kept the records and bags of evidence from recent cases investigated by the forensics team. After hearing Graham’s reasons for the request, he said he would check his records and get back in a short time. Graham put down the phone and studied the foolscap pad upon which he had made notes from each case. “Clive,” he said slowly. “Apart from the obvious things that link the murders, I can’t spot anything in common that gives a real clue to the killer’s identity.”

“No, nor can I,” came the rather unhelpful reply.

“But there is one thing that crops up in every report,” still speaking slowly as if gathering his thoughts and speaking them out, “and that is the priest. The Jesuit.”

Clive chuckled. “Surely you don’t suspect him, do you?”

“No. Not exactly, but there’s some reference to him in every case.”

“Yes. Well, there will be won’t there? He gives comfort to the bereaved doesn’t he? Therefore, he’s bound to be mentioned.”

“Yes. I can accept all that but, just the same, we are going to have a word with him. Do we know where he is now?”

“No, but I can soon find out.”

At that point the phone rang; it was Sergeant Flynn. “Hello Graham,” he began. “I’ve checked my records and you’re right. There is a small bunch of bird feathers in each case. Nobody paid any real attention to them but they have all been bagged and logged.”

Graham’s excitement was mounting. “So, you’ve got all the feathers — from each murder scene?”

“Oh, yes. Every one. Because they’re so delicate, they’ve all been bagged separately — in their bunches. If you want them you will have to sign.” He warned officiously.

“I’ll sign okay. Give me ten minutes or so and I’ll be there.” With that, he hung up. In fifteen minutes, Graham had rushed down to forensics, signed for the goods and returned with them to his office. On looking at the individual bags, he was pleased to note that each had been logged with the date, time and the name of the victim. He pinned them to the wallboard alongside the pictures of the murdered people. Soon, if there were no further progress, the board would be too small to fit extra evidence.

“I wonder why he does this,” mused Graham, aloud. “What is the significance of the feathers? There has to be a reason; I’m sure he doesn’t go to the trouble of obtaining the specimens and then leave them near to his victims just for the sake of it.” He sat, wondering. Clive was unable to offer any solutions either, so they each went on looking into the files for what seemed the thousandth time, hoping to glean some extra clue.

By teatime, both men were tired and had made no progress. They discussed what they should do next but even that was a puzzle. What could the next step be? They had all the information possible, had read and re-read the reports and witness statements and they were no nearer to a solution. Just then, the phone rang; it was Sergeant Flint in Penn.

“Oh, hello, George!” Sampler was pleased to hear the familiar voice. “How are you?” Then a thought occurred: not another murder! Before giving Flint time to reply to the first question, he spoke. “Not more bad news, is it, George?”

A short laugh cackled down the line. “No. No, not at all. You remember the Jesuit we spoke of?”

“Oh, yes?”

“Well, I’ve provisionally arranged for you to meet him, as you asked.”

Sampler had completely forgotten. “Have you? Well, thanks, George. When and where?”

“I spoke to Father McGiven at St. Mary’s a few days ago and he got in touch with the priest. He’s agreed to meet you tomorrow, if you can make it, at the church. It’s the only spare time he has at present.”

It was short notice but Sampler was interested in the man. Clive could carry on here — unless another dead body turned up! “Yes. That’s okay. At what time?”

“He made the appointment for four in the afternoon. Will that be suitable?”

“Yes. That will do fine. Will Father McGiven be there?”

“Yes, if you have no objections. He’d like to meet you and he says the Jesuit is such a character that he finds himself wanting to be in his company all the time. Says he’s never been so affected by anyone before.”

“Mmm. I feel the chat will be carried out on our knees,” he joked.

He heard the short laugh at the end of the line before the call ended and he replaced the phone. He looked up to see Clive smiling.

“On your knees, Graham? I don’t think so, somehow.”

Sampler chuckled. “No. Nor do I.” He then went on to apprise Clive of the development and suggest that he go alone on this occasion. This suited Clive admirably; he would rather not be in the company of ‘holy’ people.

“Okay, Clive. You may as well get off home now. I’ll tidy up here. I’ll take the file on Debbie Singleton home with me and travel to Penn tomorrow morning. I may well stay overnight. You can reach me on my mobile, if there’s anything urgent.” Already surreptitious thoughts were forming in Sampler’s mind. He accepted the quizzical glance of his partner, without comment.

Once Clive had left the office, Graham picked up the internal and dialled Forensic Pathology. As he had hoped, Sallie answered. “Oh, hello, Graham,” she said, brightly. “What can I do for you?” He resisted the urge to tell her.

“I’ll be out on a job tomorrow,” he began. “Probably take all day and I may have to find somewhere overnight.”

“Oh. Where?”

“Penn.”

“Penn? What a lovely place to visit. Work?”

“Yes. What else?” Graham put on a resigned note. “Meeting a priest, of all people. A Jesuit. Need to have a chat with him.”

At the other end, Sallie was beginning to see where this might be leading. “I didn’t have you down as a religious person, Graham.”

“Just goes to show, you don’t know everything about me, do you?”

“No. Nothing, really,” she answered, lightly.

Graham decided it was time to put his proposition to her. “Sallie?”

“Yes.” Guessing what was to come next.

“Is there any way you may be able to come with me?”

Even though the question was expected, it still caused Sallie to pause, her heart fluttering.

“Sallie?”

She spoke: “I can’t just up and go, Graham. You know that.” She paused again, Graham remaining silent. “Is there any reason for you to have a pathologist along?” she finally asked, warming to the intrigue.

Thinking quickly, Graham suggested that the police at Penn could have found something that may be linked with the murder and it needed an expert’s view. “No-one is likely to question it, are they?”

Sallie’s heart was pounding. She had always acted so professionally in her career, never one to make excuses or have unnecessary time off and was dedicated to the job in hand. The words filled her mouth so that she almost physically gagged. “Yes, Graham. I’ll come. What time and where?”

The gagging now invaded Sampler, his hand shaking. “Lovely. Er, ten tomorrow morning, if you can manage that. I’ll pick you up on the drive at the entrance to The Yard. Okay?”