possible.”
The priest eased back into his comfortable chair, “And you feel I may be able to help?”
“Well, Father, any piece of information may be of significance, no matter how small.”
Just then, Mrs. Collingwood entered pushing a hostess trolley silently across the carpet. It bore a pot of tea, sugar and a jug of milk. Laid beneath, on the lower tray, was a full Chocolate Gateaux ready sliced into eight decent sized portions and a plate containing several cream buns. A stack of four small plates and four silver teaspoons completed the set.
“Would you mind pouring, Bertha?” invited the priest as he introduced Graham and Clive to her. Often, when people discover they are speaking to policemen, their expressions fall slightly betraying the suspicion or the natural, if unaccountable fear. However, Mrs. Collingwood simply smiled brightly and poured out the teas, milk and sugar provided in accordance with the men’s preferences. As she left the room, the questioning continued.
“When did you first meet the Jesuit, Father?” asked Graham getting straight to the point.
Thinking deeply before replying, Father Rafferty then informed the visitors of the confessions taken by Brother Saviour, that being the first time he had set eyes on the man. He went on to describe the startling effect the Jesuit had had upon him and also on his housekeeper, the effervescent, Mrs. Collingwood.
Clive began to realise that his boss was not going over the edge after all; the Jesuit seemed to affect everyone, even priests, who are accustomed to people of all kinds, especially those of the Cloth. “Do you know if he had any contact with Mary Stewart, Father?” he asked.
Casting his mind back, Father Rafferty pictured the congregation on the day of the Jesuit’s visit. Through a faint haze, the faces appeared in his vision, one by one, going along the pews to the people dotted around the pews. Yes. Mary Stewart was there. “I recall the lady being in the church, awaiting confession,” he began. “It is possible that Brother Saviour took her confession.” He considered more. “Yes, yes,” he added. “After a while one becomes used to the parishioner’s voices and, on that day, I definitely did not hear Mrs. Stewart’s confession. Therefore, assuming she did enter the confessional, and I see no valid reason for her not to as that was the purpose of her being there, the Brother must have heard her.”
“Can you recall if he told you that he had heard her confession and what she spoke about?” Clive blundered.
Father Rafferty looked from one detective to the other in mild surprise. A patronising smile broke onto his lips as he faced the young man. “No, my son, he did not. We do not discuss what we hear in the confessional box. Not even with detectives!” He chuckled at the embarrassed expression that crossed Clive’s face.
“Sorry, Father. Of course, I should have realised. I’m sorry.”
Graham again took charge. “Father, did the Brother talk of his past at all?”
The priest studied Graham for several seconds. Detective Inspector,” he said. “Your questions are all about Brother Saviour. Surely you do not suspect such a holy man. If I didn’t know better, I could have thought that he was Saviour not only in name but in person!”
The sincerity of the priest left no doubt about the impact the Jesuit imposed on people. “You
“No, Father, not at all,” lied Graham. Clive half expected his boss to make an immediate sign of the crosss! “He has had contact with the families of the victims and, in some cases, the victims themselves. We must check every avenue and find out what we can. When a lot of small things come together, it is amazing how often a bigger picture is revealed.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Father Rafferty. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to question your professionalism. Everyone to their trade, as I have just demonstrated,” he said, looking meaningfully at Clive.
The men from the Met were then given a long and enthusiastic account of Ignatious’s past adventures, dwelling mainly upon the Amazon experience. Even though the story tallied with that told by Father McGiven, it made enthralling listening. However, it seemed that nothing more was to be gained here, so the detectives prepared to leave. Just as Graham was about to terminate the meeting, Father Rafferty dropped the bombshell.
“Strange how we all differ in our particular beliefs,” observed Rafferty, “and have different religious icons, yet they all have one thing in common — faith and belief.”
Seeing the bland faces of his guests, the priest realised he was in danger of going on too long and decided to explain further. He wished to end the chat on a light note.
“When Saviour was with the last tribe,” he continued, “he witnessed many strange occurrences and observed the way the tribespeople practised their particular faith. They believed their Gods were already with them in human form, for one thing. And their view of sexual matters can only be described as primitive although, when one considers it, there is a kind of logic and no one seems to have suffered from what may be deemed loose morals.” He was becoming sidetracked again.
Getting back on track, he told of the strange funeral customs: “They cremated the bodies, Brother Saviour said, using an unbelievable extreme of heat generated by goodness knows what means and,” he chuckled, “to send them on their way to happiness, they put a small bunch of bird feathers in the coffin. Hummingbird feathers.” He chuckled again.
“They even had a special way of placing the feathers. For females, they were put next to the left thigh and for males, next to the right thigh! What this signifies escapes me — feathers with which to fly to their destination, perhaps?” The good Father didn’t realise just how near the truth he was!
The dumbfounded silence that followed this revelation puzzled Father Rafferty. “What…what…what is wrong, gentlemen?”
It was minutes before a dry-mouthed Graham was able to reply. “Oh, er, nothing Father. I was just considering something.” Rising as one, the two men hurriedly made their exit, thanking the priest for his hospitality and also warmly thanking the hovering housekeeper for the drinks and the tasty food.
It was by then approaching evening and time to be getting back to London. However, whilst they were on a roll, they agreed to forego a further meal and travel on to Watford to see the parish priest there.
On the journey, Graham took the opportunity to search through the file summaries to check if the priest’s name was noted anywhere. There was no history of the church listed, simply the name, The Holy Rood, but there, neatly typed under the church name, was “Father Cobb.”
“Not far to Watford,” observed Graham as the car glided swiftly along the motorway. “Thank goodness for the light nights, eh?”
The “hmmpphh” from Clive belayed his concentration. Even on a short stretch of motorway, it was necessary to have one’s wits about them. Even so, the pair could not resist discussing the stunning links revealed by Father Rafferty. Everything in the investigation was at last moving in the right direction.
In a little under forty-five minutes, they were easing along the one-way system of Beechen Grove towards Exchange Street where they would arrive at their destination at the junction with Market Street.
In minutes the impressive sight of The Holy Rood appeared before them, it’s gritty exterior standing proudly in its stature. It was a church, as a church ought to be, welcoming yet aggressively displaying strength and the right to exist, in fear of nothing. Clive guided the vehicle to a spot near to a set of metal railings at the side of the building. Before alighting, he placed the well-worn Metropolitan Police badge on the windscreen to avoid any parking tickets that may be issued by a zealous traffic warden.
At that time, the early evening Mass had been completed and the parishioners had gone on their way soothed by the warmth of their faith.
The detectives met Father Cobb as he pottered around the altar tidying things and placing the various religious ornaments in readiness for the next service. The hospitality offered by the various clergy had, to now, been first-class and Father Cobb’s was no exception. He seemed pleased to receive his guests at the same time wondering what on earth the police could want with him. However, he was always glad of new company.
The men from the Met had never before had as many really good cups of tea and waist enlarging cakes in a single day — and they enjoyed every morsel!
The priest was willing to talk on any and all subjects but, with gentle prodding, the experienced Graham guided him to the main purpose of the visit: the Jesuit. “Oh, yes,” he enthused. “What a remarkable man is Brother Saviour. He has had so
