‘One of the Nuns who works here.’
‘There are Nuns here?’
‘Sister Wendy came in every week to meet with Father O’Brian, but sometimes others came as well.’
‘How often was that?’
‘Christmas, Easter, the usual holidays.’
‘Is that normal, to have Nuns come to a church as small as this?’
‘Haven’t given it much thought, really,’ she said, ‘It was quite nice to have someone to talk to.’
‘Did you know them all?’
‘No, I only got to know Sister Wendy, though once a year there were quite a few.’
‘At Christmas?’
‘No, it was in June, though the dates escape me.’
‘How many?’
‘Sorry?’
‘How many Nuns came in June?’
‘At least twelve, I suppose.’
‘What did they do?’
‘I don’t know, the church was locked up whilst the service went on.’ She paused. ‘I’m not being much help, am I?’
Brandon took her hands in his.
‘Of course you are,’ he said, ‘You’ve been a great help. I don’t suppose you know the name of the order, do you?’
‘Of course, the order of Santa Rosa,’ she said, confirming what Brandon already suspected.
‘And do you know where I can find them?’
‘No, sorry, though you could ask in St Lawrence’s church in Littlewick Green. I do know they often went there as well.’
Brandon stood up and gave her a card from his wallet.
‘Colleen, I want you to call the police and wait outside for them. When they arrive, give them this card. They will contact me direct. Don’t go in the office, there’s nothing you can do for the man in there, he is dead.’
‘Okay,’ she said, nervously glancing over to the closed door.
‘Right, I have to go,’ he said but as he walked away, Colleen called out.
‘There is one more thing,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’ asked Brandon.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Colleen, ‘But I have noticed that after their private service every June, there are flowers left at the foot of Aesculpius.’
‘Aesculpius?’ asked Brandon, ‘Who is he?’
‘Greek God of medicine,’ she said, her face showing great delight at sharing this impressive knowledge, ‘You know, the statue in the outside wall of the church. You must know about it, it is quite famous.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen it,’ said Brandon, ‘Though I didn’t know it was of Greek God of medicine, I was told it was a Roman goddess.’
Her brow furrowed again.
‘That’s strange,’ she said, ‘You’re the second person to say that in a few days’
‘Who was the other one?’ asked Brandon quickly.
‘A foreign gent,’ said Colleen, ‘Had an accent and a good sun tan. Do you know him?’
‘I think so,’ sighed Brandon, glancing towards the back room, where the body of Jason Venezelos lay. ‘So, what is so strange about the Nuns leaving flowers?’
‘Well that’s just it,’ said Colleen, ‘Their not flowers really, just the stalks. Bunches of stalks bent over and tied around the middle. Very Strange.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Brandon.
‘No,’ said Colleen. ‘Should I phone the police now?’
‘You do that,’ said Brandon and shook her hand. ‘Thank you, Colleen, you have been a great help.’
— -
Murray was leaning on the bonnet, smoking a cigarette.
‘Find what you wanted?’ asked the driver.
‘Nope,’ said Brandon, opening the passenger door, ‘Come on there’s one more place to try.’
The driver took a last drag and flicked the stub across the road before squeezing his ample frame behind the steering wheel.
‘Where now?’ he asked, as Brandon jumped in the car.
‘St Lawrence church, Littlewick Green, as quick as you can.’
‘Where the fuck is that?’ asked Murray.
‘Call yourself a taxi driver?’ quipped Brandon.
‘Bit out of my patch,’ said Murray.
‘Head for the M4,’ said Brandon, retrieving his I phone, ‘I’ll Google the postcode.’
‘Fucking hell, it’s like the bloody Sweeney,’ said Murray, gunning the engine.
Chapter 26
England 2010
Brandon slammed the taxi door shut and walked down the pavement towards the town centre. They had been sat in a traffic jam for forty five minutes crawling at a snail’s pace, the product of unseen road works, and when the spire of the church appeared in the distance, he decided to run the rest of the way.
Five minutes later he found himself outside the double doors of St Lawrence.
‘Feels like I’m going in circles,’ he murmured to himself as he entered the church again. Knowing that there was a killer loose, he was much more careful and kept his hand wrapped around the butt of the pistol in his pocket.
There were fewer people in the church this time, some sat in isolation on the pews, wrapped in their own thoughts, while some wandered around the aisles reading the various inscriptions on the plaques screwed to the walls or sunk in to the floor. Brandon assumed the role of another tourist and wandered around the walls, making his way slowly towards the vestry.
He stopped at the steps before the draped altar, looking up at the figure of the crucifixion looming above him, getting lost in the moment as he became transfixed by the piercing eyes of the wooden messiah. He jumped slightly as a voice interrupted his reverie.
‘Hello, again,’ said the man.
Brandon spun around and looked into a vaguely familiar face.
‘Hi,’ said Brandon, his eyes screwing up slightly as he struggled to recall how he knew him.
‘Sorry,’ said the man, ‘It’s Father Grant. We met yesterday. You were with your lady friend and interested in the Roman Temple.’
‘Of course,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t recognise you, without your, um, you know…’ He pointed at the lack of collar around the Priest’s neck.
‘Ah yes,’ said Father Grant, glancing down at his jeans and baggy t shirt. ‘Out of uniform today. Day off, you see.’
‘Oh, I thought you had to wear that stuff all the time.’
‘Naah, modern church and all that. Did you manage to find your statue yesterday?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Brandon. ‘Fascinating. Some sort of Greek doctor, apparently.’
‘Some think so,’ said the Priest. Though ask any local and they will tell you it is the white lady, a Vestal Priestess, no less. Anyway, how’s your research going?’
‘Research?’
‘Your project,’ said the priest, ‘How is it going?’
