Graham’s countenance remained grave; he was deeply worried about the continuing murders. “Any clues?” he asked gruffly.
Sallie responded in an official manner. “Too early to say, yet. Quite a lot of samples have been taken and we have also taken plaster-cast impressions of some tyre tracks from just near to the hedges here.” She waved her hand in the general direction. “We found a girl’s bicycle propped against the hedges, too, and that has gone off for inspection.” Turning to lead the way to the pathetic body, she added: “There is one major clue, Inspector, and that is plainly evident.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“Feathers. I recognise them as being from the Hummingbird. I instructed my team to leave them in place for you.” It was easy for Sallie to adopt her official pose, that being the norm on such inquiries. However, she was concerned about the effect this latest killing had had on her lover; he was clearly rattled. She updated the men on her clinical findings, age of the victim, lack of sexual activity, slight abrasions and bruises, but not from a struggle, and so on.
The girl was lying neatly a few feet into a field of waving corn. The wheat stood erect and largely untrampled — no signs of struggle. The hot weather had encouraged swarms of flies to the stench of the dead flesh as it began to deteriorate. It became a constant battle for the trio to keep the insects from the girl as the two men walked slowly around the figure, hearts heavy with pity and horror at the sight. Stopping at the feathers, nestled at the left thigh, Graham muttered: “Let’s hope, my sweet little one, that the feathers did fly you speedily to the Heaven in which you now belong.” His face was grim, the hardness covering the tenderness beneath. He knelt and, using a pen, removed the feathers.
For several minutes he knelt, staring at the bunched object as though trying to glean from it just what had taken place — and why, in God’s name! Without turning, he spoke: “That’s it, Sallie. We’re done here.” He rose and Sallie called to the waiting ambulance to remove the poor victim back to the pathology department at New Scotland Yard where a thorough examination could be carried out. Sallie logged and bagged the evidence of the feathers.
Before returning to their cars, the three walked to the far edge of the roadway, surveying the sprawling town and countryside below. Absently, Graham spoke his thoughts aloud: “What a lovely area this is. So beautiful, so serene.” Clive and Sallie glanced toward him as he spoke.
It’s when you think that this is where the author, Kenneth Graham, was inspired to write “Wind In The Willows” from his church cottage; no doubt a story that the young girl has read. It has seen such as the celebrated actor, George Arliss…”
“Who?” enquired Clive.
“George Arliss, made silent movies in twenties America. You won’t know of him, I suppose. You will know of D.H. Lawrence, though. He stayed here a short while, too, with his wife.” Graham fell silent, his colleagues respecting the mood, appreciating his suffering. “And now we have this!” he spat. “A young girl, no more than thirteen years old, all her life in front of her.” He banged a fist into the palm of his hand. “Taken away by a bastard of a priest- a man of God!” He turned quickly and, muttering a swift “See you back at the Met,” to Sallie, he hopped into his car followed immediately by Clive. The pair shot off, leaving a slightly bewildered forensic scientist watching after them as they disappeared around the bend of the dipping road.
Three hours later, Graham was back in his office, having brought his Superior, Longfellow, up to date on the events and having suffered some more unprofessional sarcasm from the man. Clive was in the outer office, poring yet again over the thickening file on Brother Saviour, searching for any extra clue there may be.
Sitting back in his comfortable chair Graham reflected on the frustrating case before him. He had known instinctively from very early on that the Jesuit was his man and the clues, sparse that they were, had slowly built into compelling evidence to support his gut feelings. The inquiry files listed the person, his vehicle type and licence number and the general area in which he was operating, yet he had not recently been seen. It seemed incomprehensible that not one of the police forces had been able to trace his whereabouts. The priest was not likely to be in hiding as he was, as far as Graham knew, unaware of just how close the Met was in it’s suspicion of him.
Hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling as he pondered, Graham failed to hear the tiny knock at his office door. He only realised that someone had entered by the slight draught that wafted across his face when the door closed.
Bringing his hands down from his head and placing them on his desk, he was surprised to see Bethany standing before him. “”Er…hello, Beth,” he stammered, recovering from the initial surprise, “What are you doing here?”
The sweet smile warmed Graham instantly. She really was special. For the briefest of moments, he wondered why he had gone astray with the enchanting Sallie, faint guilt pricking tamely at his conscience.
“I just called on a whim. I had nothing special to do this afternoon and, as I was in town, I decided to come and see you — offer support. Moral or otherwise,” she added with a grin.
Graham studied Bethany’s lovely, fresh face, captivated by the warm mouth as if seeing it for the first time. His heart beat faster and it was with some effort that he controlled the almost irresistible urge to leap over the desk and press his mouth to those warm, inviting lips and taste the sweet nectar. “Oh, well. I’m glad you did. I’m never too busy to see you, Beth. Would you like a coffee or something?”
Bethany studied her husband in the same way he had just studied her; wondering if, and why, he had found someone else. She found it hard to believe but her instincts were usually so reliable. “Yes, thanks, love,” she replied, her voice bright, giving no hint of the inner turmoil.
Going to the door, Graham asked a nearby police officer if he would bring a couple of coffees — one with cup and saucer for Bethany.
There was a short period of awkward conversation before the drinks arrived, unexpectedly served on a wooden tray, with a bowl of sugar, milk and a couple of teaspoons. Quite a change from the usual beakers — normally chipped at that! Graham offered his thanks and laid the tray on his desk.
The coffee was sweet and welcome to Bethany, helping to calm the inexplicable nervousness that was invading her. The very presence of Graham had always relaxed her, giving her a feeling of safety, of dependability. But now, since her suspicions had been aroused, his attitude had definitely changed; changed in a subtle way and one that only a wife could sense. Even here, in her husband’s office, the atmosphere was suspect. It wasn’t only her, Graham, too, exuded an air of discomfort. It was as if he would be happier if she left; if she had not called at all.
Then, for the most brief of instances — half a blink and she would have missed it — his expression altered. In that snippet of time, Bethany saw a horrified look, a look almost of panic, and then all was restored. It was so quick she could have imagined it. However, she knew what she had seen and it puzzled her.
Almost in the same moment, the office door swished open and Bethany turned in her seat to see the visitor. It was in that instant she knew her fears had been realised. This was the woman!
The eyes of the two women met as time stood still, Sallie pausing in her stride into the office, Bethany frozen in position. To both females, this was as momentous as The Big Bang.
Graham was a terrific detective and very successful in his career. But, he was a man and, as such, the significance of the moment completely passed him by. “Ah, Sallie,” he said, standing. “Would this be the autopsy report?”
Time fell once more into step and Sallie moved forward. “Yes, Detective Inspector, it is,” she said in an official voice. “If you have any questions, please feel free to give me a call.”
Still on his feet, Graham took the offered folder. “Oh, Sallie. I’d like you to meet my wife, Bethany,” he said extending an arm in her direction. Bethany stood as her husband completed the formalities of introduction to his lover. She quickly but thoroughly studied the competition.The polite handshake took the form of fingers quickly into palms and even more quickly withdrawn. There was no smiling small talk and no appearance of friendship. Sallie left hurriedly, closing the office door sharply behind her.
Bethany’s head was spinning with the suddenness of the event and she just wanted to leave. Turning to Graham, she thought:
“Not sure, sweetheart — as always, it depends if anything comes up.”
