Sitting back in his comfortable chair Graham reflected on the frustrating case before him. He had known instinctively from very early on that the Jesuit was his man and the clues, sparse that they were, had slowly built into compelling evidence to support his gut feelings. The inquiry files listed the person, his vehicle type and licence number and the general area in which he was operating, yet he had not recently been seen. It seemed incomprehensible that not one of the police forces had been able to trace his whereabouts. The priest was not likely to be in hiding as he was, as far as Graham knew, unaware of just how close the Met was in it’s suspicion of him.
Hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling as he pondered, Graham failed to hear the tiny knock at his office door. He only realised that someone had entered by the slight draught that wafted across his face when the door closed.
Bringing his hands down from his head and placing them on his desk, he was surprised to see Bethany standing before him. “”Er…hello, Beth,” he stammered, recovering from the initial surprise, “What are you doing here?”
The sweet smile warmed Graham instantly. She really was special. For the briefest of moments, he wondered why he had gone astray with the enchanting Sallie, faint guilt pricking tamely at his conscience.
“I just called on a whim. I had nothing special to do this afternoon and, as I was in town, I decided to come and see you — offer support. Moral or otherwise,” she added with a grin.
Graham studied Bethany’s lovely, fresh face, captivated by the warm mouth as if seeing it for the first time. His heart beat faster and it was with some effort that he controlled the almost irresistible urge to leap over the desk and press his mouth to those warm, inviting lips and taste the sweet nectar. “Oh, well. I’m glad you did. I’m never too busy to see you, Beth. Would you like a coffee or something?”
Bethany studied her husband in the same way he had just studied her; wondering if, and why, he had found someone else. She found it hard to believe but her instincts were usually so reliable. “Yes, thanks, love,” she replied, her voice bright, giving no hint of the inner turmoil.
Going to the door, Graham asked a nearby police officer if he would bring a couple of coffees — one with cup and saucer for Bethany.
There was a short period of awkward conversation before the drinks arrived, unexpectedly served on a wooden tray, with a bowl of sugar, milk and a couple of teaspoons. Quite a change from the usual beakers — normally chipped at that! Graham offered his thanks and laid the tray on his desk.
The coffee was sweet and welcome to Bethany, helping to calm the inexplicable nervousness that was invading her. The very presence of Graham had always relaxed her, giving her a feeling of safety, of dependability. But now, since her suspicions had been aroused, his attitude had definitely changed; changed in a subtle way and one that only a wife could sense. Even here, in her husband’s office, the atmosphere was suspect. It wasn’t only her, Graham, too, exuded an air of discomfort. It was as if he would be happier if she left; if she had not called at all.
Then, for the most brief of instances — half a blink and she would have missed it — his expression altered. In that snippet of time, Bethany saw a horrified look, a look almost of panic, and then all was restored. It was so quick she could have imagined it. However, she knew what she had seen and it puzzled her.
Almost in the same moment, the office door swished open and Bethany turned in her seat to see the visitor. It was in that instant she knew her fears had been realised. This was the woman!
The eyes of the two women met as time stood still, Sallie pausing in her stride into the office, Bethany frozen in position. To both females, this was as momentous as The Big Bang.
Graham was a terrific detective and very successful in his career. But, he was a man and, as such, the significance of the moment completely passed him by. “Ah, Sallie,” he said, standing. “Would this be the autopsy report?”
Time fell once more into step and Sallie moved forward. “Yes, Detective Inspector, it is,” she said in an official voice. “If you have any questions, please feel free to give me a call.”
Still on his feet, Graham took the offered folder. “Oh, Sallie. I’d like you to meet my wife, Bethany,” he said extending an arm in her direction. Bethany stood as her husband completed the formalities of introduction to his lover. She quickly but thoroughly studied the competition.The polite handshake took the form of fingers quickly into palms and even more quickly withdrawn. There was no smiling small talk and no appearance of friendship. Sallie left hurriedly, closing the office door sharply behind her.
Bethany’s head was spinning with the suddenness of the event and she just wanted to leave. Turning to Graham, she thought: For a detective, Graham, you didn’t do very well there. You so totally missed the atmosphere! “I’d better get moving, Graham,” she said. “Any idea what time you will be home, tonight?”
“Not sure, sweetheart — as always, it depends if anything comes up.”
Bethany hated the term ‘sweetheart’ at that very moment. It was a term she normally loved but the presence of that woman, so close, made it seem the utmost in insincerity. Instead of leaning to Graham for the expected kiss, she turned and left. Graham was only mildly puzzled by the action and put it down to PMT, or something. Returning to his seat, he began to plan the next moves in the chase for the deranged killer who was still at large.
Outside, Bethany hailed a taxi, one of the robust looking black cabs, commonly known as ‘Bombers,’ and fumed all the way back, pictures of the pretty rival filling her thoughts, images that beat and destroyed the loveliness.
The cabbie looked into his rear mirror with the intention of carrying on polite conversation but, noting the thunderous expression on the face of his passenger, he decided otherwise and spent the rest of the journey in unaccustomed quietness. At least, he received a handsome tip as the lady paid the fare. His last glimpse was of an obviously furious woman stamping up the drive to her front door.
Meanwhile, Graham had called his sidekick, Clive, into the office to show him the interim autopsy report handed to him by Sallie. All the usual signs were there showing that the murder had been carried out by the same man, with one significant difference — this time, the poison could not be identified. The feathers had been confirmed as being from the hummingbird and that just about tied it all together.
Several times during the day, Graham had tried to contact the Jesuit on his mobile phone, but without success. However, he felt certain of one thing — the Brother would make contact with the bereaved as soon as the story hit the streets, and that would be in the evening editions of the newspapers. Acting on this, he telephoned the priest at the church of St. Cecelia, followed by a call to the Reverend Francis Beesley at St. James The Less — was there a James the Greater? he wondered — in the village of Pangbourne. At that time, neither had had any contact with the Jesuit but agreed to let Graham know if and when there was.
Other murders were being investigated, also, and it was Graham’s responsibility to oversee them and direct the course of action to be taken. Whilst not being directly involved in the other cases, it took time to organise and issue his directions, relying on officers of lesser authority to make sure they were carried out.
The day passed quickly enough, the amount of work keeping the detective fully occupied, but he was impatient to conclude the main investigation and prevent more murders being committed. His mind continually drifted to the case and the awaited call from the clergy.
At five-fifteen in the afternoon, Graham was ready to clear up and leave, pondering whether to go home, as he should, or to engineer a sexual meeting with Sallie in the pathology lab. Sallie was just about winning the argument when the phone on his desk shrilled. Picking it up, wearily anticipating a request for further advice on one of the inquiries he had been dealing with during the day, he became suddenly alert. The call was from Father Edward McCahill, head priest at St. Cecelia’s and he had been contacted by Saviour!