Father McGiven agreed — the Jesuit had an overpowering persona. Answering the unasked question he said: “Mr. Maddigan lived alone. I believe his family live in Cornwall and his body was transferred there for burial.”
“Do you know where Brother Saviour is at present, Father?” ventured Graham.
“No, I haven’t heard from him recently. Is he not in his motor home?”
“Probably, but he has moved from the district and we don’t know where he has gone to. Did he give you any idea of his next destination?”
Father McGiven could only tell them that Brother Saviour would be moving around the country at will, wherever the urge took him. He had mentioned no place in particular.
The detectives finally left, thanking Father McGiven for his time and asking him to contact the Met if the Jesuit got in touch. Again, a link had been established with one of the murders and the presence of Brother Saviour. At this stage it was tenuous, no evidence of any contact between the Jesuit and the victim but the fact that Saviour had visited the parish church of Lawrence Maddigan did, to some degree, tie him in. Also, it was the first the detectives knew that Maddigan had any connection with the Church. It was by now past lunchtime so the pair stopped at a small cafe as they left Penn to grab a bite to eat.
Almost an hour later, their hunger satisfied, the detectives were on the way to Twyford in the Thames Valley, where they intended to meet up with Father Conway Rafferty, the parish priest at the church of St.Thomas More. It was hoped the priest would be able to throw some light on any connection between the ill-fated Mary Stewart and the Jesuit.
As they arrived at the church, they saw the priest at the church entrance speaking to a few worshippers as they left following an early afternoon Mass. Allowing the people to go on their way, they approached Father Rafferty. He stood in the doorway ready to receive them, wondering who the strangers were.
On introduction, the detectives were impressed by the strength of character exuded by the man. Large-framed, he offered a crisp, warm handshake, the rather rough countenance breaking into a pleasant and welcoming smile. He took the two through to the vestry where he shouted to the ever-present Mrs. Collingwood to bring a tray of tea and buns. She called back that she would be with them in a couple of minutes.
“Well, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” asked Father Rafferty.
“We are investigating the incidence of several murders in the general area,” opened Graham. “Our inquiries have shown that they are all linked to the same killer and we need to get as much background information as possible.”
The priest eased back into his comfortable chair, “And you feel I may be able to help?”
“Well, Father, any piece of information may be of significance, no matter how small.”
Just then, Mrs. Collingwood entered pushing a hostess trolley silently across the carpet. It bore a pot of tea, sugar and a jug of milk. Laid beneath, on the lower tray, was a full Chocolate Gateaux ready sliced into eight decent sized portions and a plate containing several cream buns. A stack of four small plates and four silver teaspoons completed the set.
“Would you mind pouring, Bertha?” invited the priest as he introduced Graham and Clive to her. Often, when people discover they are speaking to policemen, their expressions fall slightly betraying the suspicion or the natural, if unaccountable fear. However, Mrs. Collingwood simply smiled brightly and poured out the teas, milk and sugar provided in accordance with the men’s preferences. As she left the room, the questioning continued.
“When did you first meet the Jesuit, Father?” asked Graham getting straight to the point.
Thinking deeply before replying, Father Rafferty then informed the visitors of the confessions taken by Brother Saviour, that being the first time he had set eyes on the man. He went on to describe the startling effect the Jesuit had had upon him and also on his housekeeper, the effervescent, Mrs. Collingwood.
Clive began to realise that his boss was not going over the edge after all; the Jesuit seemed to affect everyone, even priests, who are accustomed to people of all kinds, especially those of the Cloth. “Do you know if he had any contact with Mary Stewart, Father?” he asked.
Casting his mind back, Father Rafferty pictured the congregation on the day of the Jesuit’s visit. Through a faint haze, the faces appeared in his vision, one by one, going along the pews to the people dotted around the pews. Yes. Mary Stewart was there. “I recall the lady being in the church, awaiting confession,” he began. “It is possible that Brother Saviour took her confession.” He considered more. “Yes, yes,” he added. “After a while one becomes used to the parishioner’s voices and, on that day, I definitely did not hear Mrs. Stewart’s confession. Therefore, assuming she did enter the confessional, and I see no valid reason for her not to as that was the purpose of her being there, the Brother must have heard her.”
“Can you recall if he told you that he had heard her confession and what she spoke about?” Clive blundered.
Father Rafferty looked from one detective to the other in mild surprise. A patronising smile broke onto his lips as he faced the young man. “No, my son, he did not. We do not discuss what we hear in the confessional box. Not even with detectives!” He chuckled at the embarrassed expression that crossed Clive’s face.
“Sorry, Father. Of course, I should have realised. I’m sorry.”
Graham again took charge. “Father, did the Brother talk of his past at all?”
The priest studied Graham for several seconds. Detective Inspector,” he said. “Your questions are all about Brother Saviour. Surely you do not suspect such a holy man. If I didn’t know better, I could have thought that he was Saviour not only in name but in person!”
The sincerity of the priest left no doubt about the impact the Jesuit imposed on people. “You don’t suspect him, do you?”
“No, Father, not at all,” lied Graham. Clive half expected his boss to make an immediate sign of the crosss! “He has had contact with the families of the victims and, in some cases, the victims themselves. We must check every avenue and find out what we can. When a lot of small things come together, it is amazing how often a bigger picture is revealed.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Father Rafferty. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to question your professionalism. Everyone to their trade, as I have just demonstrated,” he said, looking meaningfully at Clive.
The men from the Met were then given a long and enthusiastic account of Ignatious’s past adventures, dwelling mainly upon the Amazon experience. Even though the story tallied with that told by Father McGiven, it made enthralling listening. However, it seemed that nothing more was to be gained here, so the detectives prepared to leave. Just as Graham was about to terminate the meeting, Father Rafferty dropped the bombshell.
“Strange how we all differ in our particular beliefs,” observed Rafferty, “and have different religious icons, yet they all have one thing in common — faith and belief.”
Seeing the bland faces of his guests, the priest realised he was in danger of going on too long and decided to explain further. He wished to end the chat on a light note.
“When Saviour was with the last tribe,” he continued, “he witnessed many strange occurrences and observed the way the tribespeople practised their particular faith. They believed their Gods were already with them in human form, for one thing. And their view of sexual matters can only be described as primitive although, when one considers it, there is a kind of logic and no one seems to have suffered from what may be deemed loose morals.” He was becoming sidetracked again.
Getting back on track, he told of the strange funeral customs: “They cremated the bodies, Brother Saviour said, using an unbelievable extreme of heat generated by goodness knows what means and,” he chuckled, “to send them on their way to happiness, they put a small bunch of bird feathers in the coffin. Hummingbird feathers.” He chuckled again.