Bill Franks - Jesuit

He was satisfied. He had enough ammunition now to later impress his regulars with a tale of “inside” knowledge and being unable to disclose the facts due to a promise of discretion. Alexander Brighouse, ex-Marine in the Royal Navy, had contacts in high places, in many areas and could be trusted by all. Or so he would have his friends believe.

Graham and Sallie made their way to the first floor and entered the allocated rooms, Two for Sallie and Three for Graham. They were identical, both compact and sufficiently fitted out, with a three-quarter size bed covered by a floral-patterned duvet, a wide, built-in wardrobe, vanity table, bookcase filled with a varied selection of reading and a washbasin with lighted mirror and shaver socket. To the right of this, stood a small floor-mounted cabinet that held an electric kettle, a toaster and space for a dining plate. Underneath was three drawers containing eating utensils, pot and hand towels together with cleaning materials. Through a narrow door, a small but accessible en-suite could be seen.

As if in mental contact, both moved to their respective windows at precisely the same time, and opened them three notches. The warm air entered the stuffy rooms alleviating them just a little, as the net curtains rippled gently in the little draught that was afforded.

Graham then locked up and went into Sallie’s room. She turned on his entry and they stood, smiling, looking to each other. For a minute, neither spoke or moved, and then Graham broke the spell going to Sallie and encircling her in his arms. He pulled her to him, delighting in the soft body and the fresh smell. Their mouths met in a tender, natural kiss as Sallie slipped one hand into the hair at the back of her lover’s head and the other around his muscular waist. Immediately, she felt his urges responding. Tempted to flow into the oncoming action, she pushed him gently away, smiling as she took in the evidence of their embrace. He was a stallion waiting to pounce!

“Now, now, lover,” she said in mock admonishment, “There’s time for that later. Food is next; I’m starving!”

“I’m starving too, sweetheart, but not for food!” He made a sudden lurch towards her but she easily sidestepped him, laughing as he careered into the wardrobe with a loud bang. “You can satisfy your eating urges now,” she commanded. “You need to keep up your strength, you know.”

Graham laughed along with her, allowing his passions to visibly subside. “Okay,” he said. “Give me a minute, then we’ll go downstairs.”

The weather had become too warm for a hot meal, so the lovers took a cooked ham sandwich with a salad side-plate. The sandwich consisted of two thick slices of white, home-made bread, thickly buttered, with the most delicious slices of cooked ham buried under all means of salad items and sprinkled with just the right amount of dressing. This, in itself, would have provided a sufficient meal, making the side-plate unnecessary. However, both ate the lot with great relish, washing it down with a cold lager for Sallie and a cool beer for Graham. Being fully sated, they went for a short walk immediately afterwards, returning to The Stocks an hour later. Going up to Sallie’s room, they surrendered to their mutual lust and indulged in further discovery of each other’s bodies enjoying the new, and different techniques, in contrast to their accustomed actions with their partners.

Ten minutes to four in the afternoon, saw Graham and Sallie sat in comfortable chairs, chatting amiably to Father McGiven, awaiting the arrival of the enigmatic Jesuit. Graham talked about the recent murder of Debbie, with genuine compassion. No murder was good but the life of a young person, with so much time ahead of her, troubled Graham deeply.

“We will catch him, eventually, Father,” he said, “but we have to hope and pray that he doesn’t carry out any further killings in the meantime.” He knew this hope was a forlorn one, and no amount of praying was likely to change that. Still, one had to have faith. “Murderers almost always slip up; make that one vital mistake that leads us to them.”

“This one hasn’t done as yet though, has he? Slipped up I mean,” observed the priest.

Graham could not deny the fact. “No, Father, that is so. However, we will not be giving up and perhaps we’ll get the break we need, soon.”

Just at that moment, a shadow fell briefly across the window casting over those inside, causing heads to turn in that direction. A figure flitted past without being properly revealed but it was expected to be the Jesuit. It was exactly four o’ clock.

In a few seconds, Mrs. Morgan, the middle-aged cleaning lady for the church, showed the visitor in. Brother Ignatious Saviour thanked Mrs. Morgan as she closed the lounge door and he accepted the handshake and greeting of the parish priest.

On his entry, Graham and Sallie stood, studying the guest in close detail, following the police training instilled into their lifestyles. The aura of the man hit them as one, causing both a slight intake of breath. He appeared so relaxed, so at peace with the world and so much in command.

Father McGiven waved an arm in the direction of the two visitors as he introduced them. “Please meet Detective Inspector Graham Sampler and Doctor Sallie Dunning — a pathologist.”

“Good afternoon, good people,” he said in opening. “You will be from the world famous, Scotland Yard, then. I hope I can be of assistance.”

Neither of the two had been addressed as ‘good people’ before, but they accepted it in some amusement. “Yes, Brother,” replied Graham as he stretched out his hand. He had already been advised of the correct term to use for a Jesuit. The Jesuit’s grip was firm and dry, filling the detective with over-all warmth, both in body and mind. He found himself wanting to genuflect before this sudden and unexpected ‘Holiness,’ but he manfully resisted the urge. “We are, indeed, here to meet you and I’m sure you will prove to be of some help in this terrible case.” He moved aside to allow Sallie to meet the Jesuit’s outstretched hand.

As soon as contact was made, Sallie’s smile faded. The warmth enveloped her instantly, from head to toe. A tingling sensation went through her body and she had an inescapable desire to grip the man, remove his clothes and let the light emanating from him be revealed. Of course, there was no real light but he shone into Sallie’s eyes as their hands held, neither one releasing their grip.

Take me now, my God. Take me here. Tear my sins from me and scourge my body and my soul. Let your beautiful body enter me! I am yours! Take me! The unsettling thoughts ravaged Sallie’s mind. From where they came, she could not tell. She did not even use such phrases.

Ignatious was fully aware of the effect. He commanded respect and subservience from men, but women were much more accessible: more aware, more perceptive beings altogether. At last he let go and Sallie returned to her seat, her eyes wide, staring unblinkingly at her God.

The group sat, Ignatious choosing an armchair facing his two interviewers. “How may I help you?” he asked, hoping he did not sound too much like the telephone receptionists when they put that insincere question, hoping they are not called upon to help in any significant way.

Graham started to respond as Mrs. Morgan arrived wheeling in a two-tier trolley loaded with a pot of tea, four cups and saucers, the same number of small plates, milk, sugar and a couple of teaspoons, with an array of delightful looking cakes and buns set out on the lower tier. “Help yourselves,” urged Father McGiven, smiling, as his cleaner left the room. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

Instinctively, following male acceptance built over many centuries, the men waited for Sallie to pour the drinks. After a brief pause, during which she entertained the idea of showing her indignation, she decided to follow routine and reached for the teapot.