Mersey Murder Mysteries Collection - Books 7-9 E-Book

Brian L. Porter

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Books 7-9 in Brian L. Porter's 'Mersey Murder Mysteries' series, now available in one volume!
The Mersey Monastery Murders: A poisoned monk and a second victim with a pitchfork thrust through his body make Andy Ross and his team dig deep into a complex case that leads them to reopen a cold case from years ago. As connections to the East German Secret Police are revealed, Ross realizes that nothing is as it seems. This mystery novel will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very end.
A Liverpool Lullaby: D.I. Andy Ross and his team are tasked with investigating a string of murders in which the victims' hearts have been surgically removed. They soon realize they are up against a criminal mastermind known as The Doctor, whose romantic connections to his prey are revealed through an eerie lullaby left at each crime scene. With each new victim, the pressure to catch The Doctor mounts, as the killer continues to court his next victim.
The Mersey Ferry Murders: A new serial killer is on the loose in Liverpool, targeting middle-aged victims seemingly unconnected to one another. Detective Inspector Andy Ross and his team investigate and discover a tenuous link between the victims: their involvement in a past murder trial. As they unravel the killer's "murder list," it becomes clear that the city is at risk of a heinous and widespread attack. With time running out, Ross and his team must race against the clock to stop the killer before more innocent lives are lost.

Leseprobe

MERSEY MURDER MYSTERIES COLLECTION

Books 7-9

BRIAN L. PORTER

Copyright (C) 2022 Brian L Porter

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CONTENTS

The Mersey Monastery Murders

A Liverpool Lullaby

The Mersey Ferry Murders

About the Author

THE MERSEY MONASTERY MURDERS

MERSEY MURDER MYSTERIES BOOK 7

Dedicated to the memory of Leslie and Enid Porter.

Sleep sound, Mum and Dad.

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to The Mersey Monastery Murders, the seventh book in my series of Mersey Mysteries. You, the readers, have taken Detective Inspector Andy Ross, Detective Sergeant Izzy Drake, and the rest of the members of The Merseyside Police Special Murder Investigation Team very much to your hearts over the time span of the first six books. I hope you will enjoy this, the latest instalment of their adventures as the team is faced with one of the strangest and most difficult cases to date.

All the usual characters are here, though the ending might be tinged with a little sadness for some readers. It's the usual roller-coaster ride, with elements of the investigation taking one of the team to Austria when the investigation expands beyond the boundaries of Liverpool.

So, without further ado, I hand you over to DI Ross and the team, and hope you enjoy the ride.

Brian L Porter

A SHORT GLOSSARY

Z Cars – A popular British TV Police Procedural series, set in the fictional town of Newtown, near Liverpool. Ran from 1962 - 1978.

La' – Lad, a common abbreviated version of the word lad, used extensively in Liverpool.

Scally – Scallywag, a local version of the word referring to a ne'er do well, a petty criminal or general workshy person.

Scottie Road – Scotland Road, now modernised, once a notorious area of the city.

PROLOGUE

ST. BASIL'S MONASTERY, 1912 - 1992

Brother Charles, the Abbot of the abbey church of St. Basil, sat in his office, little more than a broom cupboard in size, finalising the abbey's accounts for the previous month. Once a grand series of buildings, the original abbey had been virtually destroyed in the 16th century during King Henry VIII's reign, under the edict that led to the dissolution of the monasteries. This was part of his revenge against the Roman Catholic Church for the Pope's refusal to allow him to divorce his queen, Catherine of Aragon, who had failed to provide him with a male heir. The Act of Supremacy, passed in 1534 (woe betide any English noble who voted against Henry's wishes), would lead to the Reformation and the creation of the Anglican Church, with Henry as its head.

Once a grand collection of buildings, the Benedictine monastery at one time comprised the church, a dormitory, cloister, refectory, a superb library, and even a school where the monks would provide a basic education to some of the local children, boys only of course. Girls were not considered to be in need of formal education during the Middle Ages. Any such education they did receive would be undertaken at home, and might have included instruction in reading, sewing, and for the lucky daughters of the wealthy, the ability to write. Following the dissolution, all that remained of the original buildings was the shell of the church and a few ruined walls.

It wasn't until the 19th century that the church was renovated, a new dormitory was built and a new though small community of Benedictine monks once again took up residence at St. Basil. Standing in open ground, a few miles from the modern city of Liverpool, the 'new' monastery was very different to the original, which existed when the population of Liverpool stood at only a few hundred, and the borough, (it didn't become a city until 1880), comprised mostly agricultural workers.

Now, in the early years of the 20th century, the partially rebuilt St. Basil once again provided a school for the local children and the monks whose needs were few, led a self-sufficient life funded mostly by the sale of the produce, vegetables and fruit, grown in their gardens.

The church, open to all, was generally well-attended and the monks of St. Basil had become a familiar sight around the modern suburb of the city known as Grassendale, which was gradually growing into an affluent community where the well-off members of the local population were keen to build their mansions and grand villas.

Brother Charles' eyes were growing tired. He finally decided that working on the accounts would be a task best suited to being completed in daylight, and not bent over his desk working by candlelight. At the age of seventy-five, his eyes weren't quite as good as they once were. He rose from his straight-backed, hard wood chair and stretched. The clock on the wall that faced him informed the Abbot that it was almost nine p.m. Time to put the papers and the books away and retire for the night; he took a minute to arrange the ledgers and receipts, etc., ready to continue in the morning.

Daily life began early for Charles and the small community of twelve monks who lived, worked, and shared their lives with him in their small religious community. Their day began at five a.m. each day, which explained why all the other brothers in the community were already asleep in their cells. Satisfied all was as it should be, Charles stepped towards the doorway and suddenly felt a crushing pain in his chest, accompanied by further pains, which seemed to begin in his neck and extended down his left arm.

Charles cried out, but there was no one to hear him, no one except his God, who swiftly reached out to claim the soul of his devoted follower. As Brother Charles breathed his last, and the darkness rushed out to envelop his final seconds on earth, he had no knowledge of the fact that—as he fell to the floor—his flailing arm had knocked over the candle that burned upon his desk.

The gentle flame of the candle managed to ignite the carefully placed pile of receipts on the desk. Within no more than sixty seconds, the flames had spread, consuming everything they touched, which eventually included the body of the faithful servant of God. Unfortunately, the dormitory, which was at the rear of the church, where the rest of the monastic community slept, was too far away for anyone to hear or see the conflagration—until the flames, fanned by the wind, reached in through the opened burning roof. Quickly, they spread to the adjoining buildings. Soon, they engulfed every building within close proximity.

By the time one of the brothers woke to the awful sound of the church roof collapsing in on itself, all that remained standing apart from the dormitory was the small school building. The local fire brigade, such as it was, made up mostly from volunteers from the neighbouring area, and was small and inefficient. They had no up-to-date firefighting equipment and could do more than pour water upon the ashen remains of the monastery buildings, in hopes of preventing a stray spark spreading flames to any remaining buildings.

Soon after the fire, St. Basil once again lay wrecked and disused, and would stay in its distressed state for almost a century before life returned to the abandoned monastery. In 1992, a new religious community rose, like a phoenix from the ashes as the Priory of St. Emma was established, complete with a restored rebuilt church that looked even more gothic in appearance than its predecessor, along with a small mixed-gender community of monks and nuns, unusual but not unknown among the Benedictines.

With hard work, led wonderfully by its new Prior, Father Gerontius, the priory soon flourished; the tragedies of the past that appeared to have haunted the site of St. Basil, became nothing more than distant memories. The millennium came and went, and the small community grew and quickly became fully integrated into the community of Grassendale, an enclave of wealth in the suburbs of modern Liverpool. The good works of the monks and nuns that made up the growing religious community endeared them to the local populace and to the outside world. The Priory of St. Emma, which by tradition the locals still referred to as the Monastery, gave off an aura of a community at peace with itself and with the world. All of this, therefore, made the events that would transpire in 2006, even more difficult to believe.

CHAPTER1

THE PRIORY OF ST. EMMA'S, APRIL 2005

Spring had arrived early, or so it appeared to the members of the community at St. Emma. The first week of April had begun with an unseasonal warm spell, temperatures creeping above average for that time of year.

With the clocks having gone forward an hour to British summertime the previous weekend, Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette were taking advantage of the slightly lighter evenings to plant vegetable seeds in the kitchen garden. They were surrounded by borders of daffodils, mostly yellow, but some were an unusual white, tinged with pink, at the petal edges. These borders, as well as being decorative, helped protect the young seedlings when they began to appear, affording them protection from strong winds blowing in from the coast. The daffodils would soon be replaced by tulips, the bulbs having been planted by Ignatius three years previously. They now grew each year and maintained a constant splash of colour in the kitchen garden. Every few yards, rose bushes stood, as yet bare, but with new growth buds already showing, ensuring a supply of beautiful flowers as the spring turned to summer. The floral borders, interspersed with various hues of pansies and violas, would surround the well-laid out kitchen garden with dazzling colour.

For now though, cabbages and cauliflowers were the order of the day, and the older monk and slightly younger nun, utilising a couple of kneeling pads to protect their knees, chatted amiably as they worked.

“I do so love the feeling one gets from planting these innocuous little seeds and then seeing them grow into full-grown plants in just a few short months, don't you?” Sister Paulette asked her colleague as she tamped down earth over another row of cabbage seeds.

“Yes indeed, Sister,” Brother Ignatious replied. “Before I joined the order, I was a gardener by profession, and the way nature works has always fascinated me.”

“I always wondered if you had special skills in the garden,” the little nun, no more than five feet tall, said. “You always seem to know all there is to know about the best way to plant things and how to cultivate the growing crop.”

“I'm pleased you think so,” he said as he opened another packet of seeds. “Father Gerontius was quick to put me in charge of the kitchen garden once he became aware of my previous life.”

“Did you tell him about being a gardener?”

“Oh no, Sister, that would not have been the correct thing to do. The Father found out from reading my personal records once they arrived, and I was pleased to accept the responsibility when he offered it to me. I can be far more productive here in the soil than I could be, for example, working as a cook in the kitchens. I'd be more likely to poison someone than give them a healthy meal.”

The two laughed at Ignatius' remark.

“It's true that Father Gerontius always seems to find the right person for each job around the priory though, isn't it?” Paulette asked.

“Yes, it is,” the monk replied, “but then, I suppose that's why he was placed in charge of the place, after all. What did you do before taking the veil, Sister? You're very young, if you don't mind me saying so.”

Paulette smiled, and laughed softly at Ignatius' comment. “I think you'll find I'm older than you think, Brother,” she grinned. “I'm actually twenty-four, but I have always been taken for being younger than my years. For what it's worth, I always wanted to be a nun but, when I left school, they told me I had to be eighteen to begin my training to become a nun. So, wanting to make sure I could be useful when I eventually did take the veil, I went to college and studied horticulture for two years.”

“Aha,” said Ignatius, “so that's why you ended up out here planting seeds with me.”

“I guess so. Father Gerontius told me I could be very useful helping in the gardens and, to be honest, I love it. It makes me feel close to nature and to God's creation of earth itself.”

The pair continued the conversation for another ten minutes or so, until all the seeds in Ignatius' tray had been planted. Ignatius looked up and saw the last remains of sunshine slowly melting into the distant horizon. Evening had fallen and the work could wait until the next day before they moved on to the next prepared seedbed.

“Time to give up for the day, I think,” the monk said, rising to his feet, placing his hands on his hips, and stretching his back to ease the stiffness that had formed in his muscles.

Sister Paulette gathered her small collection of gardening tools and placed everything in an old-fashioned wicker basket. Together, the two gardeners made their way from the kitchen garden to the refectory, where they'd partake of the evening meal ahead of taking part in evening prayers, before retiring for the night to their own rooms, or cells, where they would usually remain until morning.

The priory very much adhered to the standard layout of a typical Benedictine monastery, with most of the building situated within a cloister, or courtyard, which served as an area through which everyone passed on the way to various locations within the priory. The rebuilt church stood on the north side of the cloister, facing east, this being important in preventing the church from blotting out the sun from the courtyard. Next to the church stood the sacristy and the chapter house, where the monks and nuns held chapter meetings. In one marked difference from the traditional layout, the dormitories, one each for the monks and the nuns, stood to one side; the latrines were located close by, for obvious reasons. Apart from the church, the rest of the buildings had a more modern appearance as they'd been built with practicality in mind, not aestheticism, and the whole site had been created in an overall L-shaped formation.

The kitchen garden stood aside from the main buildings of the priory. To reach the refectory, Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette had to exit the garden by walking to the end of the path they'd been working beside, and make a sharp left turn onto another gravel path that led through an archway of ornamental ivy to the gateway that led back into the courtyard.

As they turned, walking slowly and enjoying the sky, tinged pink by the setting sun, they could make out a shape on the path twenty or so yards ahead. As they drew closer, they could clearly see that it was the figure of a man. Worried, in case one of their brethren had fallen and been hurt, they increased their pace.

Brother Ignatious called out as they drew close. “Hello, are you alright? Is something wrong?”

They could see that it was indeed a member of their order, or at least a man dressed in the habit of the order, his back towards them, and his body curled up in a foetal position. Fearing the worst, that one of the brothers had fallen and hurt himself, or worse still, suffered a heart attack or similar, Ignatius placed a hand on Sister Paulette's shoulder, and instructed her to stay where she was while he checked it out first.

Paulette did as asked, remaining five yards back from the prone figure, and placed her hands together in prayer as her companion arrived beside the curled-up individual, and knelt on the path. Slowly, he turned the figure. One look was all he needed and Ignatius quickly laid the body back in its original position, made the sign of the cross and uttered a quick whispered prayer to God before turning to the young sister.

“Please, Sister, go and fetch Prior Gerontius. We have an emergency on our hands.”

Unable to hold back, the nun made to walk closer to the body on the ground, but Brother Ignatius urged her to stay back.

“Who is it?” she asked. “Please, I must see him.”

“Sister, please, no.”

“I've seen death before, Brother,” she said, pushing his restraining arm away and walking around to the front of the man on the ground. She wasn't quite prepared for the sight she beheld however and a gasp escaped. “Brother Bernárd,” was all she could say as she recognised the man. The expression on his face spoke to her of sheer terror, frozen in the moment of death. “That look! It's as if he saw the Devil himself.”

“Please Sister, there's nothing you can do for him. Please, go quickly and bring Prior Gerontius.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Paulette said as she scurried away to bring the head of their community to the scene.

Five minutes later, she returned with the Prior at her side. Brother Ignatius was still kneeling, praying beside the fallen body of their fellow brother. He rose as the pair approached.

“Please, allow me to see what has happened to our brother,” Gerontius spoke softly, but with authority.

Brother Ignatius gave way to the Prior, who conducted a brief examination of their fellow monk. One look at the face of Brother Bernárd was all he needed to make an important decision. The horror Brother Bernárd had suffered in his last moments as a living servant of God told Gerontius there was only one choice open to him.

“Ignatius, please be kind enough to go the office, dial 999, and summon the police. Whatever has taken place here has not, I believe, occurred through natural causes. If I'm not mistaken, the Devil has been at work here. Brother Bernárd, our simple, kind, loving Brother Bernárd has been murdered!”

CHAPTER2

THE CALL

Andy Ross was in the middle of his usual nightly check around the house, ensuring all the windows were closed and the front and back doors were securely locked, and ready to join his wife, Maria, waiting patiently for him to join her in bed.

Wearing a slinky dark blue, knee-length satin nightdress, and nothing else, the couple had enjoyed a peaceful, romantic dinner, which Maria had prepared. They'd started with a good old-fashioned prawn cocktail, which they both loved, then enjoyed grilled pork loins with apple sauce and served with sautéed potatoes and green beans. This was followed by one of Maria's favourite desserts, a simple but delicious bowl of cherry vanilla ice-cream.

The meal over and the dishes placed in the latest addition to the kitchen, a brand-new dishwasher (which Maria had been wanting for ages), they'd spent an hour or so cuddled on the sofa. Lighting was dim as they'd listened to romantic classical CDs. Feeling suitably relaxed, and ready to fall into bed for a night of what both hoped would be unbridled passion, Maria had left Andy to see to the night security routine, while she made her way upstairs.

Done, Ross breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and was about to make his way upstairs when his mobile phone rang. Cursing, he picked it up from where it had sat silently all evening on the hallstand and looked at the screen. The ringtone was one he'd selected for work, and he was shocked to see the name and number of Detective Chief Superintendent Sarah Hollingsworth displayed before his eyes.

“Oh God, now what?” he asked out loud, wishing he'd ignored the ringing phone, but knowing he couldn't have done that in all good conscience. He pressed the green 'talk' button. “Ma'am” he said, the one word enough for now.

“Detective Inspector, I'm sorry to disturb you at home. I hope I haven't interrupted anything important?”

Thinking of Maria lying upstairs, primed and waiting for the aforementioned night of passion, what could he say except, “Oh no, nothing important, ma'am. How can I help you?”

“I've rung you myself as DCI Agostini is away on his brief holiday until tomorrow, as you know. We have a situation that could need careful handling, and one that most definitely requires the services of your team.”

“Andy? Is everything alright?” Maria's voice shouted from the bedroom.

“Fine, darling, just a work matter,” he called up as he returned to his phone conversation. “Sorry about that, ma'am. My wife was just wondering who's on the phone.”

“That's okay, but listen. This is potentially a very sensitive and tricky case. Have you ever heard of the Priory of St. Emma?”

Wracking his brains, Ross was forced to reply, “I can't say as I have, ma'am, no.”

“Well, you're about to become extremely familiar with it. They appear to have had a murder committed on their grounds, one of their own monks, apparently.”

“Monks?” he replied, a little slow on the uptake for once.

“Yes, Detective Inspector, monks; you know, habits, tonsures, sandals and so on, that kind of thing.”

“Sorry, ma'am, yes, I'm aware of what a monk is. I just didn't realise we had any around here.”

“Well, now you know. The priory stands on the site of what was once St. Basil's Monastery, and two of their members discovered the body of one of their colleagues on a path in the grounds a couple of hours ago. Uniform branch responded to a 999 call and found the body exactly where it was discovered, confirmed the suspicion of foul play, and contacted CID. While all this was going on the Prior, Brother Gerontius, who's apparently a friend of the Chief Constable, made a phone call and the next thing I know, I receive a call instructing me to place my best people on the case. That means you and your team, DI Ross. Like I said, I apologise to you and your wife if you had plans, but I hope you can understand the position I was placed in.”

It was as if the DCS knew exactly what Andy and Maria Ross had planned for the next hour or two, or more, but he gritted his teeth and replied politely, “Of course, ma'am. I'll call DS Drake and have her meet me there immediately. Do you know if the ME has been called yet?”

“Good man, and yes, I understand CID immediately summoned help and Doctor Nugent was on his way when I spoke with them. He'll meet you on site.”

“Okay, I'll get on to Izzie Drake and get to it,” Ross replied, already mentally phrasing the way to break the news to his partner, who'd be enjoying her evening with her husband Peter and would be equally irate at having her night interrupted by a call-out. “Just one question, ma'am.”

“Yes?”

“Er, where is St. Emma's Priory?”

“The correct name is the Priory of St. Emma, but I suppose St. Emma's Priory will do, shorter anyway. It's at Grassendale, easy enough to find. I'm told it's signposted.”

“Thanks. Right, better get going then. I expect Doc Nugent will be there already and he'll love chewing my ear out for arriving late.”

The Chief Super actually chuckled slightly at Ross's remark, a first as far as he could remember.

“I'll expect an update sometime tomorrow,” Hollingsworth stated. “I know you'll have plenty to do initially, so I'm not expecting a report in the morning. Call me in the afternoon and let me have a progress report, okay?”

“No problem,” Ross replied and was left holding a silent phone as Hollingsworth hung up, leaving him to get on with the job. First things first, though. Andy Ross slowly climbed the stairs and sheepishly poked his head round the bedroom door, where Maria sat propped up against the pillows with a resigned look on her face.

“I take it that call means no passionate sex for us tonight, then?

“Afraid not, darling. That was DCS Hollingsworth, of all people. Oscar's on holiday and she's taken direct charge of the team. Seems the Chief Constable had friends in Godly places.” He drew a deep breath and smiled regretfully. “There's been a murder at a place called St. Emma's Priory in Grassendale. Got to get there right away. The Prior, head guy, is a mate of the Chief Constable's and had asked for the best people available.”

“And that's you and the team presumably?”

He nodded ruefully.

“It's a double-edged sword, being the best, eh?” Maria was grinning now. Fame at work, but a severe case of coitus interruptus at home. And by the way, it's called The Priory of St. Emma, Andy.”

“Not you too,” he said, and then, “never mind” as Maria was about to ask what he meant.

Ross quickly changed into suitable attire while calling his partner, Detective Sergeant Izzie Drake on his hands-free phone as he did so. Her response was predictable.

“Oh shit, boss. Just when we were about to …”

“Don't tell me. If it's anything like what me and Maria were about to get up to, I can understand your frustration, Peter's too.”

“Actually, we were about to go for a late night walk in the moonlight, as it's such a nice evening,” she laughed.

“Oh, right,” said Ross. “Very romantic.”

“It might have been,” Drake replied gruffly.

“Sorry, Izzie,”

“Don't sweat it, Boss. Tell me where to meet you.”

After giving Drake directions to the priory, Ross quickly kissed Maria, gave her a loving hug, and was soon out of the door. The journey from his home in Prescot to the priory in Grassendale would take twenty minutes to cover the twelve miles or so to the destination.

Never having visited a priory before, he wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived, but as he mused on his way to Grassendale, murder is murder, wherever it happened, and his job was the same as always: to discover and apprehend a killer. The fact that this one had been committed on what was technically God's own property might add a few complications. He'd just have to wait and see.

As he drove, he placed calls to Sergeant Sofie Meyer and Detective Constables Derek McLennan and Nick Dodds. He'd leave the rest of the team to sleep. They could be brought up to speed in the morning. As he thought about it, he made one more call—he remembered that DC Sam Gable had been brought up as a Roman Catholic and her knowledge of the Catholic religion might be useful from the start. Gable was still awake and sharing the evening with her boyfriend, Ian Gilligan, a detective sergeant on the Greater Manchester Police Force. She was happy enough to be called in. It was part of the job when working for the Merseyside Police, Specialist Murder Investigation Team.

Ross smiled to himself as he realised that the only officers he hadn't dragged out of their homes were Detective Sergeant Paul Ferris, the team's computer genius, and newest member, DC Gary 'Ginger' Devenish, so-nicknamed because of his head of fiery red hair. At least they, and the team's administrative assistant Kat Bellamy, would be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.

As the Chief Superintendent had indicated, the Priory of St. Emma was signposted as he drove through the leafy, affluent suburb of Grassendale. Ross was impressed by the number of large villas and mansions that had been built in this quiet area of Liverpool. He turned into the entrance: two large stone pillars that held a pair of old but serviceable cast iron gates, painted forest green. Atop each pillar stood a pair of kneeling concrete angels, each with its hands joined in prayer. A wooden sign sunk into the grass verge beside the gates announced that he was about to enter The Priory of St. Emma.

In the moonlight, the outstanding feature of the priory was without doubt the tall spire of the rebuilt church, which the builders had succeeded in giving the original look of a gothic church. With moonlight now glowing almost incandescently behind the building, it seemed to Ross to take on a mean and brooding countenance. The few buildings situated around a sort of courtyard resembled a random collection of barrack blocks, such as might be found at a remote military establishment, where conformity to any form of regular military design had been thrown out with the previous week's rubbish.

Bringing the car to a halt, he stepped from the vehicle and quickly surveyed his surroundings, such as could be made out in the absence of external lighting on the site. Fortunately, every light in every building appeared to be switched on, and as the lights registered in his brain, Ross became aware of headlights following the narrow, winding asphalt drive he'd manoeuvred a few minutes earlier.

He assumed, correctly, that this would be his partner, Detective Sergeant Izzie Drake, and a minute later, she pulled up beside him in her new car. Her husband, Peter Foster, had insisted that her faithful Mini would be too small to drive comfortably as her pregnancy advanced, and this was the first time Ross had seen the couple's latest purchase.

“Very nice,” Ross said, as soon as she alighted from the two-year-old, 1.6-litre. Vauxhall Astra estate car.

“Thanks. Not very sporty looking, but Peter thought it would be a more practical vehicle once the little one arrives.”

“I agree. Lots of space for a pushchair, shopping, and all that kind of stuff.”

“DI Ross, is it?” came the voice of an approaching uniformed police sergeant.

“That's me, Sergeant…?

“Blake, sir. I was told to remain here, secure the crime scene, and await your arrival. Nobody's been near the site since we cordoned it off. I've got two lads keeping watch there.”

“Good man,” Ross said with a quick nod. “We'll take it from here now. Your boys can go as soon as the SOCOs (Scenes of Crime Officers) arrive. But please arrange to have a constable stationed on site overnight to ensure the scene remains undisturbed until my people can give it a thorough going over in daylight. Please let Sergeant Drake here have a copy of your report as soon as you can, okay?

“Okay, sir. It's all yours.”

“Now then, about this baby of yours,” Ross turned back to Drake, a warm smile on his face.

“Don't remind me what's to come in a few months.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her right hand, while her left arm made a sweeping gesture to take in their new surroundings. “Bit different for us, isn't it?”

“Definitely, Izzie, and we'd better be on the ball with this one as the Chief Constable is a mate of the guy in charge.”

“That would be me, Inspector Ross” a deep, resonating voice spoke from behind the two detectives, almost making them jump out of their skins. Turning, Ross and Drake found themselves confronted by the Prior of St. Emma, Brother Gerontius. In the dark, in his sandaled feet, he'd approached in virtual silence.

Quickly regaining his composure, Ross held a hand out to the tall monk who, despite the reason for their visit, had an amiable smile on his face as he spoke.

“Sorry if I made you jump,” he apologised. “I always forget these sandals make it almost impossible to be heard by anyone if they don't see you coming.”

“No problem, er, Father, is it? I'm not sure what we should call you, sorry.”

“That's okay, Inspector. I'm the Prior here and my name is Brother Gerontius. You can call me Brother Gerontius, or if there are no fellow monks with us at the time, Brother for short.”

“Thanks, right,” Ross smiled at the monk and introduced Drake. “This is my partner, Detective Sergeant Clarissa Drake … Izzie for short.”

“Please to meet you, Sergeant. I just wish you could both have been here under happier circumstances,” the Prior said, in a first reference to their reason for being at the priory in the middle of the night.

“Yes indeed,” Ross replied. “Please accept our condolences on the death of your colleague, Brother …?”

“Brother Bernárd,” Gerontius responded. “A kinder, gentler man you couldn't hope to meet, Inspector. I simply have no idea why anyone would wish to commit such a vile act against him.”

“The information my Chief gave me said you called your friend the Chief Constable soon after the officers from the uniform branch responded to your 999 call … that you yourself had informed him that a murder had been committed. How were you so certain that Brother Bernárd had been murdered, as opposed to him having died from natural causes?”

“First of all, please don't think I was 'pulling rank' or anything in regards me phoning the Chief Constable. It wasn't meant like that at all, but he is an old friend who was very helpful to us when were first embarking on this venture at St. Emma, and he told me to call if ever we needed support. Owing to the nature of Brother Bernárd's death, I wanted to be sure the local police sent someone suitably qualified to handle a case that appears—to me—to be a little unusual, which leads me to answer your question about how I knew Brother Bernárd was murdered. I wasn't always a monk, Inspector Ross. In my previous, secular life I was a chemist, a pharmacist, and I'm well aware of the effects of certain poisons on the human body. When I arrived after being summoned by Sister Paulette, the first thing I did was see if I could do anything to help Brother Bernárd, but when I got close to him, I could catch the scent of bitter almonds from his mouth, a sure sign of poisoning. Your Medical Examiner is with Brother Bernárd now and I'm sure he'll confirm that my friend and colleague was killed by the use of cyanide poison.”

“Cyanide?” Ross was aghast. “I haven't heard of a case of cyanide poisoning for years.”

“Nonetheless, I'm convinced you'll find it to be the cause of Brother Bernárd's death. Now, I suppose I should take you to the body and your Medical Examiner. You'll want to speak to Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette in due course, and they'll be waiting for you in the refectory.”

Brother Gerontius said no more for the time being, merely turned and led the way to the kitchen garden. There, as soon as they turned the corner from the main path onto the narrower path to the vegetable path, Ross and Drake could see Doctor William Nugent and his assistant, Francis Lees, already at work. They could just make out the body of Brother Bernárd, on the ground, partially hidden by the bulk of the brilliant but grossly overweight pathologist. Two constables stood guard nearby, as promised by Sergeant Blake.

“I'll leave you to confer with the doctor now,” said the Prior matter-of-factly. “If you need me, please send for me. I'll leave one of the brothers at the gate to the garden, in case you need anything. He will not interfere in any way with you or your people.”

Ross thanked the Prior and informed him that a forensic team would also be arriving shortly, and he'd appreciate someone being available to escort Miles Booker and his team to their location. Brother Gerontius agreed to leave on watch to guide the SOCOs to Ross' location upon arrival.

“Well, fancy meeting you here?” Ross said, not too loudly, being mindful of where they were, as he and Drake strode across to where William Nugent and Francis Lees where hard at work.

“Ah, decided to join us have you, Detective Inspector Ross, Sergeant Drake?” Nugent stood up to his full height, almost six feet, but it was his bulk that people tended to remember. Known behind his back by most of those in the police force who had cause to deal with him as 'Fat Willie,' the doctor had originated from Glasgow. Given he'd lived and worked in Liverpool for over twenty years, most of the Glaswegian accent had disappeared from his everyday speech. Ross knew only too well, however, that at times of stress or excitement, William Nugent slipped effortlessly into a broad Glaswegian accent that could have come straight from the Gorbals, a once notorious suburb of the largest city in Scotland.

“The Prior tells me we're looking at a case of murder by cyanide poisoning.” Ross said the words as a statement, not a question. As he spoke, the flash of Francis Lees' camera continued to snap photo after photo of the crime scene, using special lenses that Ross assumed took good images in the dark.

“Well, does he now?” Nugent looked aggrieved. “If yon monk chappie is so certain of the cause of this poor chap's demise, I'm surprised you're needing my presence at all.”

“Oh, you know me, Doc. I always like a second opinion,” Ross grinned.

“You're a bloody cheeky young bugger, that's what you are. A second opinion? Ah'll give ye a second opinion in a minute.”

“Calm down Doc, just pulling your leg.”

“Aye, well, as it so happens, yon Brother Gerontius chappie appears to be spot on with his speculation. Cyanide looks highly likely.” Nugent beckoned Ross and Drake close enough they could see what he indicated, though not too close as to contaminate the crime scene, in case there was trace evidence or footprints in the immediate vicinity. As he rolled the body slightly, so they could see the face of the dead man.

Izzie Drake gasped. “My God! He looks as if he was in terror just before he died. His face … is so contorted.”

“Aye, Sergeant Drake, right enough. One of the symptoms of cyanide poisoning is seizure, and it does appear that this poor man suffered just such a thing prior to his demise. Don't be fooled by old war or spy movies that show a spy biting into a cyanide capsule and instantly dropping dead. In reality, it can take up to three minutes of pure agony for the victim to succumb.”

“You'll be able to confirm this at autopsy, I presume, Doc?” Ross posed.

“Aye, but I'll need to get him back to the lab sharpish. If it is cyanide, I'm afraid it only has a short half-life in the human body—and apart from a few tell-tale signs, it will have disappeared from his system completely in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“So, let's hope Miles and his SOCOs get here fast so you can get the body removed quickly.”

As if on cue, the approaching sound of a siren cut through the night air like the howl of a banshee. Escorted by Brother Simon, who'd been allocated the duty by Gerontius, Miles Booker, the Crime Scene Manager as he was now referred to, and his team of technicians were soon on scene and busily checking the immediate area around the body. Before long, William Nugent authorised the removal of the body to the city morgue and a pair of waiting paramedics quickly and carefully placed the remains in a black body bag; the body of Brother Bernárd began its journey towards its appointment with autopsy scalpels, saws, and other paraphernalia.

Ross and Drake left the scene on the garden path. It was time they spoke to the unfortunate pair who'd discovered the body. Ross summoned Brother Simon from where he stood, looking decidedly uncomfortable some twenty yards away, and asked the monk to lead them to the refectory where they'd apparently find Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette. As they followed, Ross made good use of their time with him.

“Did you know Brother Bernárd well, Brother Simon?” he asked as the monk led them along the dark pathway, helped slightly by a battery-operated torch that did little to penetrate the sense of doom and gloom that Drake was increasingly experiencing,

“No, not well at all,” Brother Simon replied quietly. “I don't know anyone very well yet. I've only been here a short time. Only about three months, you see.”

Ross felt a slight sense of exasperation at the monk's reply. Three months and he hardly knew anyone? “Don't these people talk to each other?” he whispered to Drake as they walked,

“Three bloody months and he hardly knows a soul? Unbelievable in any other environment, but here, I suppose that's pretty normal—you know, all that praying and time spent in doing whatever it is monks and nuns do. Little time for social intercourse.”

“Bloody hell, Izzie, that's pretty deep stuff,” Ross smiled, but before they could say anything else, Brother Simon stopped and they had to be careful not to walk into his back.

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing. “I'll leave you to it. Everyone else has been asked to stay in their own rooms, or cells we call them. Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette are waiting for you.”

Ross thanked the monk who, he noticed for the first time, had a nasty looking scar on the left side of his face. He wondered what Simon had done in his previous life; that scar was a bad one. An industrial accident perhaps? For now though, he had other things on his mind. Out of politeness, he knocked once on the refectory door, and he and Drake entered. It was time to begin the investigation.

CHAPTER3

WHEN THE BIRDS STOPPED SINGING

As Ross and Drake entered the refectory, the first thing that came to Ross's mind was that the place resembled a school dining room. Metal-framed chairs with plastic seats were situated at a series of similarly framed tables with wipe-clean pale grey surfaces, made of indeterminate laminate. At one end of the room stood a small servery, presently empty, beside which stood two large urns, presumably for tea and coffee, and a large water cooler.

Brother Ignatius and Sister Paulette sat opposite each other at the table nearest the urns, for ease of obtaining refills Ross assumed. As he and Drake approached them, the monk and the nun rose to greet them.

“Please, sit down,” Ross said and the pair resumed their seats. “I'm sorry we're forced to meet under such sad circumstances,” he said by way of greeting and then introduced himself and Drake. He could see that the young nun had been crying, evidenced by the redness around her eyes and the tear streaks on her flushed cheeks. The monk also looked upset and a look of something else, fear perhaps, seemed to lurk behind his eyes. “I'm sure you understand that it's important we speak to you both as you were the first people to encounter the body of Brother Bernárd.”

“Yes, of course,” Brother Ignatius said, apparently speaking for them both. “It was a heck of a shock, Inspector, I can tell you.”

“Of course, I'm sure it was,” Ross replied smoothly. “Please, can you tell us what you were both doing immediately prior to finding the body?”

“We were planting seeds—cabbages and cauliflowers. We grow fresh produce all year round if we can. It helps feed us. And we also sell our produce at local markets when we have enough.”

Before Ignatius could go on, Sister Paulette surprised Ross by interjecting, “It was horrible, just horrible. I've seen bodies before, but the look on poor Brother Bernárd's face. …It was as if he'd come face to face with Satan himself.”

Ross could tell that the young woman was clearly on the verge of hysteria. The glance at Drake was acknowledged and she sat beside the nun, taking hold of one hand and squeezing it, offering the poor woman a modicum of support.

“It must have been terrible for you,” Drake said quietly and calmly, trying to induce similar feelings in the nun who'd begun sniffling again,

“You say you've seen death before, Sister. You seem rather young to be saying such things. Where did you encounter the bodies you speak of?” Ross enquired.

“I spent two years as a volunteer for the order in South America, helping with our relief operation in Venezuela. There'd been a lot of internal strife in the country and there were, and still are, a large number of displaced persons there who need our help, Inspector. Sadly, there were many deaths, from wounds, starvation, natural causes, all sorts of reasons, but none of those poor people looked the way poor Brother Bernárd did.”

The conversation carried on for five minutes, with Ross and Drake alternately taking over the questioning as they sought anything of importance the pair might reveal. It soon became apparent that, apart from quite literally stumbling over the body, there was little the two could add that might be helpful.

Nevertheless, Ross made one more attempt to elicit something from the pair. “Please, think very carefully.” He could see that Ignatius and Paulette were doing their best to focus on his words, though he was certain their minds were still on the path at the moment they'd found the body, a fact that might prove helpful with the next question. “While you were both busy planting your seeds and then clearing everything, ready to finish work, did either of you see or hear anything—no matter how inconsequential it may have seemed at the time—coming from the direction of Brother Bernárd's body?”

“It's Bernárd, as in the French Bernaaard, Inspector, not as in the English, Bernard,” Ignatious said, correcting Ross's faulty pronunciation.

“I'm sorry, I stand corrected,” he responded. “But did you hear anything, either of you?”

Sister Paulette looked quizzical. Drake could tell she was hesitating about something. “Please Sister, if you've thought of something, no matter how small, tell us. It could be important.”

The nun wavered as she decided whether to speak. Finally, she made her decision. “You see, it's not so much a case of what I heard as more what I didn't hear,” she said cryptically.

“Please tell us, Sister,” Ross urged.

“Brother Ignatius had just told me it was about time we were calling it a day, and I looked up and thought what a beautiful evening it was. The sun was setting ever so slowly, casting a lovely pinkness on the clouds. There was a blackbird singing in a nearby tree and the little birds, sparrows and so on, were tweeting all around us, making it all seem even more perfect, a real gift from God I thought. I'd just placed my pack of seeds in the basket used for carrying them when all of a sudden, the birds weren't there any more … or at least, they weren't singing any more. Everything was silent, for about maybe twenty or thirty seconds, I'm not sure, and then gradually they started singing and tweeting again. I thought perhaps they'd been disturbed by a fox or something. Now, I'm thinking it might have been, you know, when poor Bernard was being …”

“Yes, thanks Sister. We get the idea. Do you have any idea what time that was?”

“I'm sorry, but neither of us was wearing a watch,” came the reply from Brother Ignatius.

“The 999 call was made at 6.44,” Ross advised, “and the uniform division arrived here just after seven p.m. It would seem if that was indeed the time Brother Bernárd was killed, it must have been between 6.30 and 6.40 p.m. which means you probably came along literally minutes after he died.”

“Oh my,” Paulette said in a voice that gave Ross the impression that the phrase was as close to swearing as the young nun would ever come to. “But no one came past us, did they Brother? So that means …”

“That means the killer left in the opposite direction, which leads where, exactly?”

“That's the route we'd have taken to get to the refectory,” Brother Ignatius provided. “In fact, that's where we did walk after putting our tools and seeds in the little shed on the corner of the garden plot. But the path opens out on to the cloister—what you'd call the courtyard—and allows access to most of the other buildings on the site, Inspector.”

“And how many people know the precise layout of the priory?” Drake asked.

“Everyone who lives here of course, plus any regular visitors, the doctor, the bishop and any of the various ecclesiastical people who have regular contact with us for a variety of reasons.”

“Did either of you know Brother Bernard well?” Ross asked.

“I hardly knew him,” Sister Paulette quickly replied. “I only spoke to him a few times, usually to pass the time of day, to be truthful.”

“I spoke to him quite a bit when he first arrived,” Brother Ignatius stated. “He was Swiss by birth apparently and I was interested in finding out about his homeland. We don't get much opportunity to talk about foreign lands and so forth, living our fairly cloistered existence, but Bernard really wasn't very forthcoming. Said it was a long time ago and he could barely remember his childhood years, he told me, so I didn't press the matter.”

“I see,” said Ross. “So he wasn't very talkative?”

“No, I'd agree with that,” said Ignatius, and Paulette nodded.

“So the killer would have had to walk across the cloister in full view of everyone?” Izzie Drake quickly caught on.

“Well, yes, I suppose they would have done,” the monk said, looking thoughtful.

“We're going to have to speak to everyone who was present in the priory during the early part of this evening,” Ross was thinking as he spoke. “How many people are here, Brother?

“In addition to myself and Sister Paulette here, and Brother Gerontius whom you've already met, we have six other monks, one less without poor Brother Bernárd, and four more nuns. We're not a large community, Inspector.”

“Right, Brother, Sister. I think that's all for now, thank you. We'll probably need to talk with you again some time tomorrow, unless either of you saw anyone suspicious hanging around before or after Brother Bernárd's death?”

With both monk and nun shaking their heads, Ross and Drake left them to get whatever sleep they could manage and walked towards the site where Miles Booker and his team were hard at work. Before leaving for the night, they'd need to have words again with Brother Gerontius but, for now, Ross was anxious to learn if the forensic technicians had discovered anything helpful.

The last remnants of daylight had given way to the night, and Ross knew there was little hope of Booker's people turning up anything they hadn't already located, at least until daylight returned to the Priory of St. Emma.

CHAPTER4

PRIORY VS MONASTERY

Miles Booker gave every sign of being a frustrated man when Ross and Drake finally managed to pull him away from the murder scene.

“Not a lot to go on Andy,” he said immediately. “A few fibres where the body was found. If there's anything present on the actual victim, I'm sure Doc Nugent will find it, but I strongly suspect the fibres will prove to be from the monk's habit. As for the killer, if he attacked the victim, there's no sign of a struggle, so it would have had to be a lightning fast attack that immobilised the poor bugger immediately. Of course, as there's no wound involved, there's no blood we can work with, and it doesn't appear as if the man or woman involved dropped anything at the scene or left anything behind. It's like we're looking at a blank canvas. We'll go over everything again in broad daylight of course, but don't go building your hopes up mate, sorry.”

“That's all we need.” Ross looked frustrated. “Not your fault, Miles. You can only work with what you're presented. Bloody typical, the Chief Constable's watching over the case, Oscar Agostini's on holiday, and I've got the bloody DCS directly overseeing the investigation!”

“Sarah Hollingsworth, the Queen Bee herself?”

“Yep, and here I am, on the grounds of a monastery in the middle of the night without a friggin' clue to go on.”

“Er, it's a priory, sir,” Drake corrected.

“Oh right, priory. I stand corrected. What's the difference between a monastery and a priory, anyway?”

“Maybe we should ask the Prior when we talk to him again,” she suggested.

“Good idea. Right, Miles, if there's nothing you can give me here and now, we'd better go and have that word with Brother Gerontius. Izzie?”

Walking towards the administration building, where Brother Gerontius would be patiently waiting for them, Ross and Drake took a moment to exchange a few words.

“That was clever of Sister Paulette to put the silence of the birds together with the time of the Brother's death, don't you think?”

“Yes, she's quite an astute young lady. Observant, too. Not everyone would have thought of that and associated the two events.”

“Comes from her having a close connection with nature, I suppose. She's probably very attuned to the sounds of wildlife and so on,” Ross agreed.

“You got any thoughts yet?” Drake asked.

“Not any worth sharing,” Ross shook his head. “From the sounds of it, almost anyone could have wandered onto the property and killed the monk, but one thing is really baffling me at present. Why poison?”

“It might help us formulate a theory when we get the results of the autopsy, always assuming Fat Willie can come up with a definitive cause of death and give us some idea how the poison, if that's indeed what killed Brother Bernárd, was administered.”

Ross could say no more for the time being, as they were entering the building where they would find Brother Gerontius, whom they located easily in his office at the end of a long corridor; it was the only one with lights streaming through the open doorway. All the other doors were open, but led only to darkness.

* * *

“To answer your question, Sergeant,” the Prior began in response to Drake's query about the difference between a priory and a monastery, “it's a little complicated,”

Somehow, I knew it would be, Ross thought, but said nothing.

“To put it in the most simple terms, I can tell you that a monastery, in most cases, is larger than a priory, and houses more monks and/or nuns, usually a minimum of twelve. Ecclesiastically speaking, a monastery is senior in rank to a priory and is under the control of an Abbott. A Prior, such as myself, is of a lower rank in the order than an Abbott. The word 'prior' is actually derived from the Medieval Latin word prioria, which simply means a monastery governed by a Prior. The nuns are usually governed by a Prioress, and though we have five nuns in this community, someone has to take responsibility for them, so Sister Ariadne is our Prioress. I have overall responsibility for the day-to-day running of the priory, with Sister Ariadne in charge of all things pertaining to the nuns. I can have her summoned here if you wish to speak with her.”

“No, Brother, that won't be necessary tonight,” Ross replied, “though we will need to talk to her, and everyone else in your community, tomorrow.”

“That won't be a problem, Inspector. We're at your disposal, if it helps to find whoever perpetrated this heinous act. I hope I've managed to answer your question also, Sergeant Drake?”

“Yes, I think so, as much as I need to know in relation to the case, thank you,” Drake replied as Ross cleared his throat, ready to begin his questioning of the Prior once more.

“Tell me, please,” he began, “just how much you know about the people who make up your religious community, and whether you also employ any people here who aren't actually members of your religious order.”

Ross noticed that the Prior had a large, old-fashioned dappled-grey box file on his desk, annotated on the spine with the words 'Personal Files'. At this point, though, he made no move to open it.

“When it comes to our fellow monks and the nuns who make up our community, Inspector, we know as much about them as they share with us when they enter the order.”

“That sounds a little vague, if you don't mind me saying so,” Ross said with a hint of frustration.

“It's not intended to be. You must understand however, that we are not the army or the security services. In order to become a monk or a nun, one only has to demonstrate one's fealty to God, and to the aims and beliefs of our order. What a person was, or was not before coming to us, is of no real importance, apart from it being useful to know if a monk has, for example, a specific skill which could be of use or significance in maintaining our community. You've already met Brother Ignatius of course, who's blessed with the skills of a gardener, what is known in everyday parlance as having 'green fingers'. What better person could we wish for when it comes to maintaining the kitchen garden? Likewise, Sister Paulette also has some expertise in that area.”

“I think I see what you mean,” said Ross nonchalantly. “So if one of your monks, hypothetically speaking, had a criminal record, you might have no knowledge of it, am I correct?”

“Inspector, God sent his son Jesus Christ to earth to take upon himself the sins of mankind. If a new recruit to our order chooses to inform us of a criminal act perpetrated in the past, it wouldn't necessarily preclude that person from becoming part of the order. Christianity is based on love and forgiveness, as I'm sure you know.”

“Yes, of course, but …”

“I think I've explained it as much as necessary, Inspector.” Brother Gerontius appeared firm in his resolve to reveal nothing else about the members of his community.

Ross decided to leave things at that, at least until the morning. He was tired, it was getting late, and they weren't about to solve this case in the next few minutes. A good night's sleep had become a priority in his mind. “I think we've done all we can for tonight,” he announced, much to the Prior's surprise. “We'll wish you goodnight, but we'll be returning in the morning with the rest of my investigative team. I hope your people will cooperate fully with our investigation, as I'm sure you'll want the killer of your fellow Brother apprehended as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the Prior agreed quickly. “You can count on our full cooperation.”

Ross and Drake rose and, before leaving, took a brisk walk around the grounds, ensuring they knew the lay of the land, but also making sure there were no unauthorised persons lurking where they shouldn't be. Lastly, they checked in with one of two uniformed constables who'd been assigned to keep watch over the murder scene until morning.

“Keep your eyes peeled, Constable. I don't want the scene disturbed,” Ross advised the young man.

“No problem, sir,” the constable acknowledged.

“There's supposed to be two of you. Where's your oppo?” Drake wanted to know.