‘That’s strange,’ she said, ‘You’re the second person to say that in a few days’
‘Who was the other one?’ asked Brandon quickly.
‘A foreign gent,’ said Colleen, ‘Had an accent and a good sun tan. Do you know him?’
‘I think so,’ sighed Brandon, glancing towards the back room, where the body of Jason Venezelos lay. ‘So, what is so strange about the Nuns leaving flowers?’
‘Well that’s just it,’ said Colleen, ‘Their not flowers really, just the stalks. Bunches of stalks bent over and tied around the middle. Very Strange.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Brandon.
‘No,’ said Colleen. ‘Should I phone the police now?’
‘You do that,’ said Brandon and shook her hand. ‘Thank you, Colleen, you have been a great help.’
— -
Murray was leaning on the bonnet, smoking a cigarette.
‘Find what you wanted?’ asked the driver.
‘Nope,’ said Brandon, opening the passenger door, ‘Come on there’s one more place to try.’
The driver took a last drag and flicked the stub across the road before squeezing his ample frame behind the steering wheel.
‘Where now?’ he asked, as Brandon jumped in the car.
‘St Lawrence church, Littlewick Green, as quick as you can.’
‘Where the fuck is that?’ asked Murray.
‘Call yourself a taxi driver?’ quipped Brandon.
‘Bit out of my patch,’ said Murray.
‘Head for the M4,’ said Brandon, retrieving his I phone, ‘I’ll Google the postcode.’
‘Fucking hell, it’s like the bloody Sweeney,’ said Murray, gunning the engine.
Chapter 26
England 2010
Brandon slammed the taxi door shut and walked down the pavement towards the town centre. They had been sat in a traffic jam for forty five minutes crawling at a snail’s pace, the product of unseen road works, and when the spire of the church appeared in the distance, he decided to run the rest of the way.
Five minutes later he found himself outside the double doors of St Lawrence.
‘Feels like I’m going in circles,’ he murmured to himself as he entered the church again. Knowing that there was a killer loose, he was much more careful and kept his hand wrapped around the butt of the pistol in his pocket.
There were fewer people in the church this time, some sat in isolation on the pews, wrapped in their own thoughts, while some wandered around the aisles reading the various inscriptions on the plaques screwed to the walls or sunk in to the floor. Brandon assumed the role of another tourist and wandered around the walls, making his way slowly towards the vestry.
He stopped at the steps before the draped altar, looking up at the figure of the crucifixion looming above him, getting lost in the moment as he became transfixed by the piercing eyes of the wooden messiah. He jumped slightly as a voice interrupted his reverie.
‘Hello, again,’ said the man.
Brandon spun around and looked into a vaguely familiar face.
‘Hi,’ said Brandon, his eyes screwing up slightly as he struggled to recall how he knew him.
‘Sorry,’ said the man, ‘It’s Father Grant. We met yesterday. You were with your lady friend and interested in the Roman Temple.’
‘Of course,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t recognise you, without your, um, you know…’ He pointed at the lack of collar around the Priest’s neck.
‘Ah yes,’ said Father Grant, glancing down at his jeans and baggy t shirt. ‘Out of uniform today. Day off, you see.’
‘Oh, I thought you had to wear that stuff all the time.’
‘Naah, modern church and all that. Did you manage to find your statue yesterday?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Brandon. ‘Fascinating. Some sort of Greek doctor, apparently.’
‘Some think so,’ said the Priest. Though ask any local and they will tell you it is the white lady, a Vestal Priestess, no less. Anyway, how’s your research going?’
‘Research?’
‘Your project,’ said the priest, ‘How is it going?’
Brandon spotted an opening.
‘Excellent,’ he said, ‘There seems to be a very strong religious influence around here.’
‘You could say that,’ said the Priest, ‘Though our congregations are very old and very small, these days.’
‘I thought that Christianity was undergoing a bit of a comeback.’
‘Well, if you’re into rock bands and happy clappy Christianity, I suppose it is, but it’s not my cup of tea.’
‘You’re a bit more traditional, I take it.’
‘It’s what the people expect around here.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed said Brandon,’ looking around, ‘I’ve even seen a few Nuns walking around the village.’
‘Really?’ asked the Priest, ‘That’s unusual for this time of the year.’
‘Oh, I thought they were based in this church.’
‘Heavens, no said father Grant, ‘We are far too small. We often get visitors but have no permanent nuns, though we do have volunteers from the local convent, occasionally.’
‘I didn’t know there was a convent around here,’ said Brandon, ‘What order would be?’
‘Santa Rosa,’ said the priest. ‘A very old order I’m led to believe.’
‘May be worth interviewing them,’ said Brandon, ‘Perhaps you could introduce me?’
‘I doubt it,’ said the priest, ‘They keep themselves to themselves. Very secretive.
‘What’s there to be secretive about?’ asked Brandon. ‘I thought the church was modernising.’
‘Let’s just say that some would rather cling on to the old days,’ said the priest.
‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Brandon,’ I’d really like to meet one of them, if I could.’
‘Waste of time said the priest. They are a silent order.’
‘What, they don’t speak at all?’ asked Brandon, thinking of what the cleaner had said about her conversations with Sister Wendy.
‘They do sometimes, but only out of necessity. They certainly wouldn’t consent to be interviewed.’
‘Do you mind if I try?’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ laughed the priest, ‘But I think you are wasting your time.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Brandon, ‘Are there any here at the moment?’
‘No, sorry, they are in retreat.’
‘In the convent?’
‘Yes, the Mother Superior sadly passed away this week. Very sad.’
‘And where is the convent?’ asked Brandon, finally getting to the crux of the matter.
The priest paused for a few seconds.
‘Do you know what?’ he said, after a while, ‘I can’t really say. I’ve never thought about it before but I don’t really know where it is. Never had need to I suppose, I’ve only been here a couple of years myself.’
‘No idea at all?’
‘Oh, I know its somewhere near the old Roman Temple but I couldn’t give you directions.’
‘Never mind,’ said Brandon, ‘Probably a waste of time anyway.’ He spent another few minutes making small talk with the pleasant young priest before making his excuses and leaving. Murray watched him stride down the path.
‘About fucking time,’ he said. ‘Thought you done a runner there.’
‘Why would I do a runner?’ answered Brandon, ‘You’ve got a grand of mine in your pocket and I still got five hours left on the meter.’
‘Meter’s off,’ said Murray, ‘Remember?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Brandon, climbing into the car.
Murray got into the driving seat and started the engine.
‘Where to this time, 007?’ he asked, sarcastically.
‘Weycock Hill!’ answered Brandon.
Murray looked at him through the rear view mirror, mild amusement in his face.
‘Oh for fuck sake,’ said Brandon, reaching for his I Phone. ‘Just drive northwards out of town. I’ll get a location from the web.’
‘Good things them interwebs,’ said Murray, gunning the engine. ‘Might be getting one myself, soon. Suppose I could get a good one for a grand.’ He smiled into the mirror, but though Brandon glanced up, he didn’t bite.
‘Just drive,’ he said as he waited to get a signal on his phone.
‘Roger Dodger, 007,’ said Murray pulling out into the traffic, laughing at his own joke as he went.