'Then I would say that they almost certainly were a member of the Church. What was the context?'
'Just a letter from a sister to a brother about how they would be reunited in the celestial kingdom after the end days. They're estranged.'
'The celestial kingdom is the highest tier of heaven, the residence of God the Father and Jesus Christ. We believe that those who have been righteous, and have accepted the teachings of the faith and lived according to the covenants and ordinances of our prophet in their mortal lives, will be reunited with their families in the afterlife. The brother -- I assume he is a member of the Church, too?'
Foster nearly burst out laughing at the idea of Gary as a devout follower of any religion. 'Not quite,' he said.
'In that case, he wouldn't be allowed into the celestial kingdom. If he lives respectably but rejects the gospel of Jesus Christ, he would dwell in the terrestrial kingdom.
Or, God forbid, if he lives less than respectably and refuses the testimony of Jesus Christ, he will end up dwelling in the teles tial kingdom with the liars, adulterers, sinners and general ne'er-do-wells.'
Sounds like more fun there, thought Foster.
'Unless, of course, they were dead and able to receive the Gospel in the Spirit World,' Brewster continued.
'Come again?' Foster said.
Well, we Latter-day Saints believe the dead can be baptized vicariously and allowed into the faith and subsequently the Kingdom of God.'
'How does that work?'
'It means someone can be baptized by proxy for their dead ancestors.'
Foster struggled to comprehend what he was being told. 'But these people are dead?'
We believe that in the afterlife people should be able to accept the Gospel, particularly if they were not able to receive it while on earth. Whether they do or not is their choice.'
The delusion of religion had always puzzled him, but baptizing the dead was among the most bizarre things he'd ever come across. Brewster seemed to sense his disbelief.
'It's not a belief shared by other Christian denominations,'
he explained. 'Though some would argue the Bible calls for it. Otherwise why did Paul say in Corinthians 15: 29, "Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? Why are they then baptized for the dead?" Regardless of that debate, it is central to our faith. Which is why we're so active in the world of genealogy. We ask all members of the Church to trace their ancestry and in temple baptize their dead by proxy'
No matter where I turn, Foster thought, I can't escape people seeking out their past. He made a mental note to discuss this with Barnes later that day. However, something Brewster said was bothering him. 'So the brother I referred to earlier, who is no angel and certainly no Mormon, he wouldn't be allowed into the celestial kingdom unless he converted to Mormonism?'
'That's correct.'
'But they would be able to convert him if he was dead?'
'He could be given the option, yes.'
'Thanks. I'll be in touch,' he said and turned on his heels, collecting Gary as he left.
They got back to Foster's house early that evening. Foster had taken Nigel into the office, leaving him to surf the Internet idly while he made a few calls and looked at the faxes sent over from New Zealand. It looked like an open and shut case of accidental death. No suggestion of arson.
The girl had jumped from the window before being overcome by smoke. The rest of her family had not been so fortunate. He put the papers in his pocket for closer study at home.
They parked up a fair distance from Foster's front door, the weekend getaways having returned and occupied most of the spaces around his house. Sunday evenings were always the worst.
They reached the front door. Foster put his key in the lock and remembered. Before opening the door, he looked down. The tape was still there. He went into the hall, took off his coat and then went into the sitting room and stuck the TV on for Gary. He had intended to pick up some food but time had run away. Another takeaway would do, though at this rate the weight he'd lost would soon be back on.
Gary slumped on the sofa, while Foster went to close the curtains across the French windows. He checked the tape.
It was broken.
Someone had been inside his house.
He fished a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it around his hand and tried the door. It opened. The lock had been forced. Given its worn state, that wouldn't have taken too much effort. He left Gary in the sitting room, closing the door behind him. He went to the hatstand in the hall and picked up an old golf club, about the only potential weapon he had.
He walked upstairs. The bathroom was empty. His bedroom and the spare room, too. He checked cupboards, under every bed and inside the wardrobe on the landing.
Nothing. He breathed out.
In the kitchen he checked the unlocked window, the same one Gary had entered by. The tape was intact. Yet on the back door it was broken. Whoever it was had come in through the back garden, forced open the French windows and then exited via the back door.
His house wasn't safe any more.
Sunday night and the pursuit of Naomi was getting colder.
Nigel sat waiting, his stomach performing cartwheels.
Foster had called to tell him the exhumation was on that night and he would pick him up at nine. When he called from his car to let him know he was outside, Nigel walked out like a condemned man, unsure what to expect. He certainly didn't expect a young boy to be in the back.
'Nigel, this is Gary,' Foster said. 'Gary Stamey,' he added simply.
The kid didn't even blink, just stared out of the window sullenly.
'I'm dropping him off at Heather's while we take care of business.'
Nigel knew instantly who the kid was. Why he was in Foster's car was a different matter. Nigel thought it best to save the questions for another day.
They arrived at Heather's. Nigel stayed in the car as Foster and the kid trudged up the path to Heather's terraced house. He was back within the minute. 'Heather says "hi",' he muttered as he climbed into the driver's seat.
'Did she?' Nigel asked as casually as he could muster.
There was the ghost of a smile on Foster's face. 'To the graveyard,' the detective said, turning the engine over.
It was an hour's drive across London, a city spattered with rain, the soaked pavements reflecting the blurred orange light from the streetlamps. As the windscreen wipers swept hypnotically back and forth, Nigel watched bedraggled people come and go, in and out of pubs and shops and houses, wrapped up against the elements, sitting stony-faced on buses on the road to God knew where.
Occasionally he would glimpse young lovers laughing or some kids messing around, a bolt of illumination and happiness on a dank night. There was something about Sundays he could never shake off, a feeling of melancholy and regret he had experienced every week since being a kid. All the bad thoughts, past mistakes and anxieties seemed to come back to haunt him on that night of the week, even though he didn't have to get up and slog into an office the next day like nearly everyone else. The Sunday night blues remained.
Foster broke the silence somewhere near King's Cross.
What do you know about Mormons?' he asked.
Nigel knew more than most. Without them, there'd be very few records for genealogists to search. They're probably the single biggest influence, particularly when it comes to collecting and compiling records and putting them on the web.'
Foster told him about his research trip to the Mormon chapel that morning. Baptism for the dead. 'Bloody weird, if you ask me,' he added. 'Like some sort of spiritual kidnapping.'
Nigel
could see his point but knew it was not as black and white as that. 'To be fair to them, the Mormons do say that the dead are free agents -- like us, they're able to choose to reject religion,' he said.