Before making an arrest, though, the evidence had to be sifted and analysed. Circumstantial evidence and hard evidence were two quite different things. It was considered that all the circumstantial evidence they now had would become very powerful once a DNA test had been carried out on the Jesuit and it would then allow them to obtain a search warrant for the motor home. Many cases had been completed once a suspect had been held on such evidence and a warrant obtained. A person’s home almost always revealed the vital hard evidence required. Stolen goods, insignificant items picked up, hairs, soiled clothing, particles of glass or soil; all these things could lead to a successful prosecution. The two men journeyed on, each smiling contentedly, more than happy with the day’s work.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to sort out the various clues and their value. Then, a call to the Jesuit’s mobile and they would have him! Yes, tomorrow was to be another good day. That was the thought, anyway — until the finding of a young girl’s body was reported.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Bethany Sampler sensed that something was going wrong with her marriage; a marriage she had assumed was near perfect. During the last week, she had awakened each morning with an uncomfortable gnawing in her stomach leading to an unshakeable feeling of apprehension. The first suspicion of a problem had begun about three weeks ago and had built gradually to the present state.
Although outwardly Graham was the same, attentive and loving person, there was an almost imperceptible reaction to any physical contact with her. Enough, though, for her to realise that a change had come about. At first, Bethany had told herself that it was Graham’s work. The current case was truly awful and there seemed no way of finding the killer so it would be a great worry to him.
However, her instincts, usually reliable, told her that the problem was of a different nature — an age-old one — another woman. She had thought the situation through, knowing that Graham loved her deeply and would not be attracted by another; yet, the instincts. Yesterday, Bethany had sat down and let her mind drift to her first suspicions. Every day together and every move he had made. She thought back to their lovemaking, which was still regular and satisfying. A smile played on her lips at the sexy thoughts but it quickly gave way to an expression of concern, then sadness. It was then she had known for certain that, unbelievable though it may seem, Graham had found someone else!
She sat on the rug beside the fireplace, staring at nothing, her mind in turmoil. A trickle of a tear slid from her eyes, running slowly down her cheek and lodging at the chin. Then another, larger tear sprung from her large and staring eyes, swallowing up the clinging ones and falling onto her shuddering breasts. The floodgates opened as Bethany allowed the emotion to overtake her, the wetness covering her face, the endless cascade dripping from her with no attempt being made to stem the flow.
At that time, Graham, together with his assistant, Clive, was rushing to Pangbourne On Thames, their worst fears being realised — yet another body and again a young girl. With all the gathered information on the Jesuit, Graham had dearly hoped to have had his man under lock and key by now. However, locating his man had proved to be difficult; he had simply disappeared from the scene.
The journey was completed in relative silence, both men with their individual thoughts on the case in hand. Graham had spared only a fleeting thought to his lover, Sallie, and that was business, knowing that she would already be at the scene with her team of forensic officers.
On finally arriving, he was greeted by Sallie, as the forensic team was about to set off back with their little plastic bags of suspected evidence, including various grubs and insects. An ambulance stood by, waiting for the detectives to carry out their work before removing the corpse.
“Hello, Detective Inspector,” she began, smiling warmly at Graham. “My boys have finished their work so it’s safe to enter the area now.”
Graham’s countenance remained grave; he was deeply worried about the continuing murders. “Any clues?” he asked gruffly.
Sallie responded in an official manner. “Too early to say, yet. Quite a lot of samples have been taken and we have also taken plaster-cast impressions of some tyre tracks from just near to the hedges here.” She waved her hand in the general direction. “We found a girl’s bicycle propped against the hedges, too, and that has gone off for inspection.” Turning to lead the way to the pathetic body, she added: “There is one major clue, Inspector, and that is plainly evident.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“Feathers. I recognise them as being from the Hummingbird. I instructed my team to leave them in place for you.” It was easy for Sallie to adopt her official pose, that being the norm on such inquiries. However, she was concerned about the effect this latest killing had had on her lover; he was clearly rattled. She updated the men on her clinical findings, age of the victim, lack of sexual activity, slight abrasions and bruises, but not from a struggle, and so on.
The girl was lying neatly a few feet into a field of waving corn. The wheat stood erect and largely untrampled — no signs of struggle. The hot weather had encouraged swarms of flies to the stench of the dead flesh as it began to deteriorate. It became a constant battle for the trio to keep the insects from the girl as the two men walked slowly around the figure, hearts heavy with pity and horror at the sight. Stopping at the feathers, nestled at the left thigh, Graham muttered: “Let’s hope, my sweet little one, that the feathers did fly you speedily to the Heaven in which you now belong.” His face was grim, the hardness covering the tenderness beneath. He knelt and, using a pen, removed the feathers.
For several minutes he knelt, staring at the bunched object as though trying to glean from it just what had taken place — and why, in God’s name! Without turning, he spoke: “That’s it, Sallie. We’re done here.” He rose and Sallie called to the waiting ambulance to remove the poor victim back to the pathology department at New Scotland Yard where a thorough examination could be carried out. Sallie logged and bagged the evidence of the feathers.
Before returning to their cars, the three walked to the far edge of the roadway, surveying the sprawling town and countryside below. Absently, Graham spoke his thoughts aloud: “What a lovely area this is. So beautiful, so serene.” Clive and Sallie glanced toward him as he spoke.
It’s when you think that this is where the author, Kenneth Graham, was inspired to write “Wind In The Willows” from his church cottage; no doubt a story that the young girl has read. It has seen such as the celebrated actor, George Arliss…”
“Who?” enquired Clive.
“George Arliss, made silent movies in twenties America. You won’t know of him, I suppose. You will know of D.H. Lawrence, though. He stayed here a short while, too, with his wife.” Graham fell silent, his colleagues respecting the mood, appreciating his suffering. “And now we have this!” he spat. “A young girl, no more than thirteen years old, all her life in front of her.” He banged a fist into the palm of his hand. “Taken away by a bastard of a priest- a man of God!” He turned quickly and, muttering a swift “See you back at the Met,” to Sallie, he hopped into his car followed immediately by Clive. The pair shot off, leaving a slightly bewildered forensic scientist watching after them as they disappeared around the bend of the dipping road.
Three hours later, Graham was back in his office, having brought his Superior, Longfellow, up to date on the events and having suffered some more unprofessional sarcasm from the man. Clive was in the outer office, poring yet again over the thickening file on Brother Saviour, searching for any extra clue there may be.