‘Not much. The past few days are catching up with me.’
‘Me too. I think we are so close yet are missing something obvious. Everything keeps spinning around in my head, making no sense.
They both made small talk as they ate their breakfast. Brandon got stuck in to a cooked breakfast while India made do with fruit and muesli.
‘Not having a fry up?’ asked Brandon.
‘Not hungry!’ said India, ‘There must be something obvious we are missing, a vital piece of the jigsaw. If we could just find out what that is, I am sure everything would just fall into place.’
‘Well, that’s just it,’ said Brandon, ‘It’s always the last piece of any investigation that closes the deal.’ He smiled up at the waitress as she cleared the table.
‘Could we have some more coffee please?’ he asked.
‘Certainly sir,’ she answered, ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ interrupted India, ‘Could we have some paper and a pen.’
‘Of course,’ said the waitress, ‘I’ll bring them straight over.’
‘Paper and pen?’ queried Brandon through a mouth full of toast.
‘I just need to write things down,’ she said, ‘To make some sense of what we know.’
‘Let’s go elsewhere,’ said Brandon. ‘I’d rather speak in private. You never know who’s listening.’
‘Your room?’ asked India.
‘I’d rather not,’ said Brandon awkwardly. ‘It’s a bit messy.
India laughed.
‘That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon, feigning hurt feelings.
‘We just spent three days sharing a room in Greece, remember?’
‘I thought I was very tidy,’ said Brandon.
‘If that’s what you call tidy, then God only knows what your room is like without me to tidy it up,’ laughed India. ‘Okay, my room it is.’
A few minutes later they were in India’s room. She made a couple of coffees while Brandon sat at the dressing table, painfully aware of the heady mix of soap and perfume that still lingered in the beautiful woman’s room. India brought the coffees over.
‘Budge up!’ she said, nudging him with her hip.
He shuffled sideways on the upholstered bench that served as a stool, just big enough for both of them.
‘Okay’, said India, opening the pad they had been given by the waitress, ‘What do we have so far?’
‘How long have we got?’ asked Brandon.
‘Bullet points only!’ said India.
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ‘First and foremost, we have an abducted child of a VIP, taken from outside a hotel in London.’
Missing girl wrote India in the centre of the page, drawing a circle around the entry.
‘Actually, we have a string of abductions,’ she said, ‘Don’t forget the two girls in the tunnels.’
‘Well, they are classed as murders,’ answered Brandon ‘And we don’t even know if they are linked yet.’
‘Okay,’ said India and added the entries to one side of the page.
‘Dead guy at the library,’ said Brandon, ‘And don’t forget the Greek at my mother’s house.’
India wrote quickly adding names and events as they came up until finally her sheet was covered with circles.
‘Is that it?’ she asked, finally.
‘Let’s not forget the Palladium,’ said Brandon.
‘Of course!’ said India and added the name of the artefact that had fascinated her for so long.
‘So, what do we have?’
‘One big mess,’ sighed India, gazing at the tangled spider’s web she had drawn.
‘Let me see,’ said Brandon and India slid the sheet across the table. He took a few more sips of coffee before speaking again. ‘Got a different colour pen? he asked eventually
‘Why?’
‘There are too many lines here and we need to differentiate between them.’
India searched her handbag and came up with an eye liner.
‘Got this!’ she said handing it over.
Brandon took the blue pencil and drew over some of the lines, leaving a thick blue trail as he went.
‘These are the direct links to the Palladium,’ he said gazing down at the paper, ‘But even with the most tenuous links there seems to be two different sets of lines. The blue ones connect the Palladium right up to yesterday’s situation in the church.’
‘And the other ones?’ asked India
‘Not clear,’ said Brandon, ‘We have the two dead girls and the prime ministers niece, but they don’t seem to link anywhere to the rest. Perhaps we have been barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said India, twisting the paper around, ‘What about him?’
She pointed at the circle containing the name, Bennet.
‘A bit of a dead end,’ said Brandon, ‘We thought he was the killer, but forensics have ruled him out. Seems like someone else was responsible.
‘Then why did he kill himself when the police went around?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘All we know is he was a bit of a loner who occasionally helped out with the homeless. Bit of a tree hugger by all accounts.’
‘Which organisation?’ asked India.
‘What?’ answered Brandon.
‘Which organisation did he help out with?’ asked India again.
‘Apparently it was a charity called Gateway?’ said Brandon. ‘An organisation dedicated to the homeless and destitute. They base themselves around the train and bus stations of London.’
‘Who else works for them?’
‘All sorts of people,’ he said, ‘Students, volunteers, nuns, the occasional celebrity on red nose day. Anyone and everyone, really.’
India stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Brandon.
‘Need to make a phone call,’ said India, holding up her mobile.’ She walked out of the room leaving Brandon poring over the paper. Five minutes later she returned, and sat back down, a smug look on her face.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Brandon.
‘I know the link,’ answered India, ‘It was so bloody obvious, it’s a bit embarrassing.’
‘Well,’ asked Brandon, ‘What is it?
‘Nuns!’ said India.
‘Nuns?’
‘Yep, Nuns. You said yourself that Bennet worked alongside a group of Nuns with Gateway.’
‘What have they to do with the Palladium?’
‘Think about it Brandon, the Vestal Virgins were nothing more than forerunners of modern day nuns. Not long after the Vestals were disbanded in 382AD, the new Christianised roman government resurrected the idea of pure female servants of God, though in the Christian ways rather than the original Pagan practises.’
‘It’s a bit tenuous,’ said Brandon.’ There are hundreds of different orders of Nuns across the world and I see no link between those at Gateways and any of the events of the past few weeks.’
‘No neither did I,’ said, said India, ‘But something stuck in my mind so I made a few calls. Apparently the Nuns working at Gateways belong to an order called Santa Rosa, a small convent linked to a church in middle England.’
Brandon stared at her, beginning to see where the conversation was leading.
‘And you know the name of this church?’
‘I do, and so do you. The church of St Giles in Tockenham!’
‘But that’s where we were yesterday,’ said Brandon.
‘The very same,’ said India.
‘Fascinating!’ said Brandon, ‘So do you think that the girl’s murderer may have been linked to that church?’
‘I don’t know,’ said India ‘But you have to admit it is a very interesting coincidence.’
‘Brandon stood up. Come on he said, let’s get packed.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked India.
‘Back to the church of St Giles,’ said Brandon. ‘No more pussyfooting around, I want to ask the priest some straight questions. I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour.’ He left India’s room and made his way down the corridor to his own room. As soon as the door was shut, he felt his phone vibrated and he opened up unread message. It said simply, ‘Call in!’
He sat on the edge of his bed and dialled a number. A few seconds later, someone answered.
‘Brandon,’ said a voice, ‘How’s it going?’