Bill Franks - Jesuit

“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?”

Sallie was firm now; she had made her decision. “Yes. That will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then”

His face colouring a deep red, Graham subconsciously blew a kiss down the phone and hung up hurriedly. He was behaving like a schoolboy and he felt foolish by it.

The morning began, thankfully, a little cooler than of late, but still warm, a slight breeze adding to the comfort, even though the breeze itself was warm. Sampler had told Bethany of his trip and that it was unavoidable. He failed to mention the company of the pathologist. Bethany was accustomed to such arrangements, however; a policeman’s job cannot guarantee regular hours. It is not a nine-to-five occupation.

The guilt he had felt on leaving home disappeared as soon as he saw Sallie, metal instrument case in hand, standing elegantly on the drive near to the entrance to Scotland Yard. She smiled as he approached and, leaning over the passenger seat, he opened the door for her.

As she got in and clicked the seat belt into place, she had to pull herself back from giving him a greeting kiss. What was she thinking of? Graham moved smoothly away, following the curve of the driveway out onto the road again. They stole a glance at each other, noting the excited gleam in the other’s eyes, and the flushed cheeks. The adrenalin was buzzing. As little as a week ago, neither one could have anticipated embarking on an adventure risking the happiness of their partnerships. This was all wrong; it was unnecessary; it was devious; it was thrilling!

It was as Sampler and Dunning were taking the route away from The Met, that Ignatious was arriving in the vicinity of the rendezvous for an assignation with Thomas Singleton, the grieving father of Debbie.

Although he and Elizabeth’s marriage had failed, Thomas still held a soft spot for her and whilst in shock at the untimely death of his daughter, whom he loved so deeply, he had progressively sunk to a depth close to utter despair. In this state, he had come to visit his ex-wife, feeling that, being with Elizabeth, he was near to Debbie. Elizabeth persuaded him to speak to Father McGiven and seek comfort and advice. She could never forgive him for his betrayal, but her heart went out to the broken man.

The visit to the church was not a complete success. Unable to console Thomas, the priest had suggested he meet Brother Ignatious Saviour, the man who had helped Elizabeth so much, following Debbie’s death.

When Thomas had finally agreed to this, Father McGiven had traced Ignatious and asked him to come over, if he could spare the time, explaining the situation to him. “There is always time to comfort the unfortunate.” Ignatious had boomed down the phone and arranged to come that very day.

Like everyone else, Thomas had come under the spell of this unusual priest, totally immersed in what he had to say. As Ignatious issued his new words of wisdom, Thomas felt his spirits rising again. The man seemed able to place everything in perspective. At the end of the meeting, Thomas was almost buoyant; he could not believe his present feelings. Father McGiven had sat in on the interview and had listened and watched in rapt awe, not saying a single word. Again, he felt in the presence of someone greater, not of this earth. Silly and impossible, but that was the feeling, beyond a doubt.

Ignatious led the now consoled man to his car, a friendly arm around his shoulders. In a low voice, he suggested that they meet on the following day, around ten-thirty if suitable, at the place where Debbie’s body had been found. This, he explained, would exorcise any remaining demons and give Thomas a chance to cement his newfound optimism, without fear of returning to the despair that had overtaken him since their last meeting. Thomas had readily agreed.

Back with Father McGiven, Ignatious decided to accept the kind offer of an evening meal, helped along with a small amount of red wine and he stayed chatting until eight in the evening. Whilst there, he allowed the parish priest to get in touch with Sergeant Flint in order to arrange a meeting with the detective investigating the recent spate of murders. He considered this to be a wise move, expecting to enchant the policeman as he did with all others, thereby allaying any suspicions the officer may be harbouring. An appointment was made for four o’ clock the next afternoon and it was to take place here, in the home of Father McGiven.

Instead of parking the motor home in a convenient lay-by, Ignatious chose to drive a little way off the road and find a suitable place, hidden by the surrounding trees. It did not take long. The road he took, though fashioned by countless feet over the years, was reasonably flat and wide and he moved along steadily. Two minutes into the woods, he spotted a flat, wide area with just sufficient space between the trees in which to guide the vehicle. He brought it to rest as close to the trees as possible, reckoning that it would not be seen from the path. As he got out and secured it, he took in his bearings and then set off to meet Thomas at the main road, near to the pathway leading to the scene of Debbie’s death. It took him a mere five minutes.