Jake Conley Mysteries Collection

Chapter 17

Even a charitable soul like Father Anthony would have described the look given him by Detective Inspector Shaw as jaundiced.

“Well, well, we meet again so soon, Father,” he said, “and once more in unfortunate circumstances.”

“I do hope the young man is not too badly hurt. I came as soon as I could.”

The policeman gave the priest a penetrating stare. He used this ploy whenever he wanted to unsettle his interlocutor so that he could catch an unguarded remark. The clergyman had irritated him at the perp’s flat. It was blindingly obvious that Conley had killed his girlfriend and somehow roped the priest into giving him an alibi, but nobody was going to pull the wool over Inspector Mark Shaw’s eyes. Nonetheless, he chose to reassure the clergyman:

“He was wearing sensible leathers and a crash helmet, so don’t worry about him too much. On the other hand, the bike might take some repairing. The upper yoke looks in need of replacement, but he’s sure to be insured.”

“Excuse me, officer, I must see if I can find a doctor to reassure me that the poor fellow isn’t too badly hurt.”

“Of course, Father. I’ll wait here for you. I need to take your statement.”

With mixed sentiments, he watched the Catholic priest hurry away. Brought up in a family of agnostics, he had little or nothing outside the line of duty to do with the church. He had adopted his parents’ scepticism willingly, but in his line of work, he encountered wickedness of every kind, and while the existence of God and the Devil remained so much mumbo-jumbo to him, he acknowledged the capacity for evil in almost everyone. Father Anthony represented the side of the angels as, he liked to think, so did he. But in his experience, goodness of heart was often accompanied by ingenuousness, so that darker forces, like the perpetrator, Jake Conley, were swift to exploit such weakness. This new case would give him the chance to put the priest straight and to find the c***k in Conley’s armour.

Unwisely, D.I. Shaw bought a coffee from a dispensing machine and sipped at something comparable to liquid boot polish. He needed a caffeine hit but not at the cost of his intestines. He dumped the plastic cup, coffee and all, in the adjacent bin. The sour taste in his mouth wasn’t all due to the so-called coffee. The image of Olivia Greenwood was too fresh in his mind, and somebody was going to pay for the poor woman’s brutal killing.

Shaw snapped out of his reverie. The priest was hurrying along the corridor towards him.

“Coffee, Father?” he offered with a s******c smile. “No? Ah, well, perhaps we could sit over there and you can tell me what happened in your own words.”

“I’m pleased to say the motorcyclist is all right, praise the Lord! Nothing worse than a sprained wrist and a stiff leg.”

“That’s good to hear. Take your time and tell me what occurred.”

“It must have been around three o’clock, and I was returning to the rectory on foot.”

“Twelve minutes past three, to be exact, but go on.”

“Well, quite out of the blue, I felt my case wrenched from my hand and saw it fly into the road, right in front of the motorcyclist. What ill luck! It might just as well have been a truck or a van, but no, it had to be that poor young man! Of course, it unseated him, and you know the rest.”

“So, you are saying, Father, if I understand correctly, your case was wrested out of your grip? You didn’t throw it yourself?”

“Good heavens, no! Why would I do such a thing? Apart from anything else, the case contained holy water and other religious accoutrements. A priest does not treat such possessions with disrespect.”

“I see. Did you catch a glimpse of your assailant?”

The cleric looked as if he swallowed back some remark, frowned, and said, “I was shocked and concerned for the victim. In fact, with another man, I hurried over to the motorcyclist and helped him off the road. The other fellow dragged the bike onto the pavement because of the traffic.”

“So, you saw nobody?”

Father Anthony considered the detective and came to a decision.

“I’m going to be frank with you, officer, although I know you won’t like it.”

He paused to weigh up his next words – an interlude the detective used to encourage him.

“I wish you would, Father. I’m going to require all your cooperation and patience this afternoon.”

“And you shall have it, to the best of my ability. Well, as I said, I was walking back from Mr Conley’s house after I’d blessed it for him – just as well under the circumstances. The self-same diabolical entity that slaughtered Miss Greenwood must have followed me, and it flung my paraphernalia into the road.”

“Are you saying Jake Conley followed you and committed the act?”

The priest gave the policeman the sort of chastising look he usually reserved for miscreant choirboys.

“Mr Conley? Good heavens, no! Why would he do that? No, I mean the ghost that’s haunting him.”

“Not more of this irrational nonsense, surely?”

The detective’s tone revealed his deep exasperation.

“Inspector, one can’t rationalise about the irrational. We are dealing with a diabolical presence in this case. The ghost is a tormented spirit and, for reasons to be established, has remained in our world, I’d hazard a guess, with unfinished business. This spirit has, in all likelihood, been possessed by a malevolent entity and is simply wreaking havoc to torment us.”

The detective gave a hollow laugh.

“Can you not hear how absurd that sounds, Father? A ghost stalks you after a murder it’s committed and knocks a motorcyclist off his bike because it doesn’t like you blessing Conley’s house. Is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re a detective, isn’t it what you’re paid to do? You look at the available evidence, try to decide what makes sense and then form your opinion and theories. But when it comes to the supernatural, we simply don’t know, officer. Let me give you the good news, every one of us is going to learn the truth someday.”

Detective Inspector Shaw snorted.

“What, beyond the grave, you mean?”

“Father, I have to deal with the here and now, and I have a murderer to apprehend.”

The cleric shook his head.

“Have you stopped to think that Mr Conley is telling the truth? The man is obviously terrified; otherwise, why would he have come to me in such a state?”

“To create an alibi?”

“But surely, your forensic techniques are advanced enough to establish the exact time of death?”

Mark Shaw glared at the clergyman. The priest was no fool, and he’d touched on the crux of the matter. As things stood, Jake Conley’s barrister would be able to get him off in a trice. But ghosts and demons! The police couldn’t persuade any sane jury that a ghost was the killer. There was also the impossibility of catching such a being and bringing it to justice. No, if he wasn’t dealing with a horrendous crime, he’d have burst out laughing, but this priest was totally sincere; of that he was quite certain.

“Tell me, Father, what did you and Mr Conley discuss after half-past two, after my colleague and I had left?”

Father Anthony wrinkled his forehead in an effort to remember.

“First, I explained the benediction procedure for the house and then went on to sprinkle holy water throughout the flat, but especially where the body had lain. After that we talked about the malignant entity and speculated on why the ghost could not find peace. You see, Mr Conley knows a good deal about the Ebberston ghost.”

“So, he didn’t speak about what you should tell the police during our on-going inquiries?”

“No, not a word.”

“Think carefully, Father. Your reply is very important. Mr Conley is our only suspect at the moment.”

“I can assure you, Officer, he did no such thing.”

The policeman’s eyes narrowed.

“How long does it take to bless a house, Father?”

“Not long at all. A matter of minutes.”

“Exactly, and by your own admission, you didn’t leave the premises until after three o’clock.”

“And I stand by that. Mr Conley was in need of comfort and explanation. Don’t you realise the poor man is traumatised? As I said, we discussed the nature of the haunting, and I taught him some spiritual defence.”

“I see. For example?”

“A prayer: I command and bid all the powers who molest me—by the power of God Almighty, in the name of Jesus Christ our Saviour—to leave me forever, and to be consigned into the everlasting lake of fire, that they may never again touch me or any other creature in the entire world. Amen. Mr Conley has a quick mind, and he learnt it by heart at once – even if it’s a bit rudimentary or, rather, truncated.

I command and bid all the powers who molest me—by the power of God Almighty, in the name of Jesus Christ our Saviour—to leave me forever, and to be consigned into the everlasting lake of fire, that they may never again touch me or any other creature in the entire world. Amen. “I’m sure he has a lively intelligence, as you say, Father, but did you know he suffered a serious road accident, after which he had to attend psychiatric sessions?”

“Yes, he told me and was quite open about it. He attributes his psychic awakening to the accident. Who’s to say he’s wrong?”

“Who’s to say that this lively mind isn’t capable of creating this whole fantasy?”

The priest stood and leant over the detective, giving him a very severe look.

“How do you explain the invisible force that hurled my case? The street was busy, there must be countless witnesses who didn’t see me throw it or who didn’t see Mr Conley on the scene. Instead of chasing Mr Conley, Detective Inspector, allow me to suggest, without being facetious, that we work together to stop this malign being before it strikes again.”

He stared at the policeman and noted how distracted he had become. The policeman wrinkled his nose.

“Can you smell that?”

“What?”

“Surely, it’s vile!”

D.I. Shaw looked round, crossed to the vending machine, sniffed and pulled a face. He turned to see the priest, pallid, making the sign of the Cross and muttering a prayer. He caught the words lake of fire – the same prayer he’d taught to Jake Conley. Hadn’t the suspect insisted other people could smell the ghost? That stench was one he, as a detective, was familiar with. The stench of decomposition. Impossible! The ghost couldn’t be here in the hospital, in the twenty-first century!

lake of fire –