Adrian Magson - No Help For The Dying

‘Yes. We know Henry. What seems to be the problem?’

‘I think he might be in danger.’

‘Danger? Surely not.’ De Haan’s eyes widened at the very idea. Riley couldn’t tell if it was meant to convey alarm or scepticism — it was a close call. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘We had a meeting planned. Henry didn’t make it.’ Riley told him about finding Henry’s bible in the hotel, and his sudden disappearance. She didn’t mention the police or crossing the crime scene tape. His eyes dropped to the bible again and he nodded. ‘I wondered about that.’ Before she could stop him, he reached out and plucked it deftly from her hand, flicking back the cover to check the inside. ‘Our senior members value these highly, Miss Gavin. None of them would willingly leave them lying around, I assure you.’ The way he said it sounded terse, as if the very crime was punishable by death.

‘Senior members?’

‘People we value highly for their hard work and efforts on behalf of the Church.’

‘Financial supporters, you mean?’ Riley put the question carefully, one half of her brain trying to analyse the crowd gathered here. She was already wondering how the church managed to maintain a building like Broadcote Hall. It would cost a fortune in maintenance and heating alone. Neither was possible by simply passing around a silver plate once a week among the faithful. Not, she thought, unless the faithful were all afflicted by huge wealth and stonking generosity.

De Haan gave a patient smile. ‘They are few, but nonetheless a solid core of blessed help. We rely solely on the charity and good works of others, you see.’ He beamed with what might have been gratitude, although to Riley’s cynical soul it looked more like an inner core burning with the heat of self-satisfaction.

‘And these people?’ She nodded towards the crowd. From what she could see, they matched the quality and opulent appearance of the vehicles in the car park. Of varying ages, but with a preponderance of middle years, there was an abundance of expensive jewellery on display and they all had the groomed appearance of people secure in themselves and their place in society. Among the smart suits and dresses she thought a couple of faces seemed vaguely familiar.

‘Indeed. Like these good people. But without supporters like Henry to focus on reaching out to the right quarters, we would have nothing and be nothing. Tell me, what is your… relationship with Henry?’

‘I used to work with him. We were friends, but haven’t seen each other in a while.’

This seemed to satisfy him. ‘Yes. We all need friends, don’t we? Did Henry tell you about us?’ He offered another coffee and Riley wondered if she was being shuffled back gently towards the box marked ‘potential donor’.

‘Henry didn’t talk much about his private life,’ she replied truthfully. ‘But then, neither do I.’

‘Very wise, too. All too often we become labelled by what we do, don’t we? It shouldn’t matter, of course, but it does. Being in business doesn’t preclude being charitable, after all.’ There it was again: the nudge towards the possibility of being one of the generous few. She decided to turn the conversation back to Henry.

‘Can you tell me if Henry is ok? I’m worried about him.’

‘Of course,’ de Haan replied. ‘In fact I’ll do better than that — I’ll get him to call you. I’m sure he didn’t mean to alarm anyone… he’ll be most upset at the idea.’ He studied a fingernail, tilting his hand to catch the light as if suddenly finding an unexpected blemish. ‘Although I can’t guarantee he’ll respond. He has been under a great deal of stress lately. But then, as a friend, you probably know about that?’ A raised eyebrow accompanied the questioning tone at the end of the sentence, a gentle signal meant to reassure her that she was among mutual friends and could safely unload all her secrets. Riley ignored it.

‘I didn’t. But I do know he left his job recently.’

‘So he did. It was all part of the… umm… problem. A difficult time for anyone — especially at his age. But I’m sure he’ll come through it with our — and God’s — help.’ He flicked a glance upwards in deference to the higher authority. ‘For sure we have plenty of work for Henry to do.’ He smiled again and by the briefest of gestures, managed to turn Riley back towards the door to reception, a clear signal that it was time for her to leave.

‘This work,’ Riley said, sensing she wasn’t about to get anywhere further with Henry’s whereabouts. ‘What do you do, exactly?’

The pastor seemed surprised by the question and appeared to relax slightly, relieved, perhaps, to be on more familiar ground. He held the door as though unwilling to pass through. ‘That’s right — you said Henry didn’t tell you. Well, among other things, Miss Gavin, we bring help and succour to those in need, in any way we can. A necessary result of our times, I’m afraid.’ He replaced his smile with a more sombre look. ‘We help the disaffected,’ he continued, with a sudden rising note in his voice, the energy if not the volume catching the attention of people nearby. A born showman. ‘The lost, the weak and the disadvantaged — we hold out a hand to the ones who can’t help themselves. To the ones who have been rejected, the ones who are unwanted, we offer the hand of friendship. After all, if we don’t, who will?’

A woman nearby clapped enthusiastically in appreciation, causing de Haan to raise a hand in modest acknowledgement. A tall, hawkish man beside her looked less impressed, while other listeners seemed poised to come nearer and join in. But a sudden crackling and thumping sound from the speaker system signalled that it was time to resume.

‘You go out looking for them?’ Riley asked, as the crowd shuffled back to their seats. The dewy-eyed woman cast a backward glance as if she would have preferred to stay and listen to de Haan rather than whatever discussion was on offer from the speaker. ‘That can’t be an easy task.’

‘We rarely need to do that, Miss Gavin.’ He placed a soft hand beneath her elbow and steered her through the door, letting it swing shut behind him. ‘They come to us. They seek us out, you see, and when they find us, they know they have found salvation. For we can give them something their families have been unable to.’ His grip hardened on her arm and she decided that whatever lard covered Pastor de Haan’s body was based on an ample foundation of muscle. ‘Or maybe unwilling.’

‘Love, you mean?’ This was ground she had trodden before, when she felt herself drawn into the cloying atmosphere surrounding the disappearance of Katie Pyle. The questions were invariably the same: was it lack of love that had caused her to leave? Had her parents and friends been negligent in some way? Could they have done more for her?

De Haan looked almost affronted. ‘We don’t offer love, Miss Gavin. That would be too simple… and in the end, meaningless. What we offer is something much more lasting.’

‘Really?’

‘Too often these unfortunates have had no place, no status, no meaning. They have been educated, it is true — sometimes very expensively. Clothed, of course, even indulged, if mere possessions can be termed an indulgence. But in the end they have been all too often rejected, ignored and, very often, treated with indifference… or worse.’ He blinked, his mouth curling in a faint expression of distaste at the idea. ‘Far worse, some of them, poor souls. What we seek to do is redress the balance, either by bringing them back to their families in a caring and beneficial way when they have strayed or, if they have chosen their own path, by giving them a place in another, wider family. It’s the least we can do.’