‘The guards?’ Bert laughed, as George joined him, panting for breath. ‘You’re not in Ireland now, George. I’ve seen your past; I don’t think you’d be welcome there again, do you?’ Bert waited for the shock to register on George’s face before carrying on. ‘So take your present and be happy about it.’ Wriggling in his arms, Tinker gave a threatening growl. Bert pulled back the blanket and slapped him on the muzzle.
George whimpered at the sight of his beloved pet being mistreated. ‘Wait, I’m sorry, I’d love to see me present. Can’t we go back down and take a look at it?’
Bert moved towards the shafts of light stabbing the gloom. ‘There’s no need, I have it here. Take a seat and I’ll give it to you.’
George took one look at the madness dancing behind his eyes, and sat down before his legs gave way.
‘Good,’ Bert said, unceremoniously dropping the dog to the floor with a plop. Opening his rucksack, he pulled a long black cloth and shook it free of its creases before passing it to George. ‘Put it on,’ he said, a menacing tinge to his voice.
George said, ‘What?’
‘Don’t play stupid with me. I said, put it on.’
George opened his mouth to speak, but instead was taken over by a series of spluttered coughs and wheezes. But there was little sympathy to be gained from Bert, who dumped the garment over his head and pulled his limp arms out either side.
‘You don’t know the lengths I had to go to, in order to get my hands on this.’ Bert stood back and frowned. ‘It’s a bit big. Here, let me fasten these buttons.’
George’s voice came in a throaty rasp. ‘Please, no more. I’m not well.’ He rubbed his tightening chest. His fingers touched the buttons of the cassock and his eyes grew wide as he realised the garments that had been bestowed upon him. ‘What sort of tomfoolery is this?’
Bert widened his smile in mimicry as the lilt of an Irish accent passed his lips. ‘Wat’s going on? Ah sure I’m only an auld beggar man to be sure to be sure.’
Tinker barked weakly in the corner as George’s trembling fingers worked to release the long line of buttons from the holes.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Bertram's long nails dug into George’s scrawny wrists as he grabbed them tightly, causing him to cry out in pain. ‘No you fucking don’t, you hear me? Not unless you want to see flea-bag here bungee jumping without a rope.’
‘What do ya want from me? Do I know you?’
‘No but I know you, Father Butler. I’ve seen all your secrets. Did you really think you deserved a second chance?’
George’s mouth dropped open, his eyes pleading with his captor. ‘I … I haven’t served as a priest for twenty years.’
Bert paced the narrow space. The wind screamed through the cracks in the walls while a sense of madness rose in the wild evening air. He stopped abruptly, smiling again. His moods changed by the second, and his unpredictability made him all the more dangerous.
A clap of thunder boomed in the evening sky, electrifying the air around them. Tinker looked sorrowfully at his master before lying down on the block floor. His teeth clacked together as he whimpered through his closed muzzle, his energy dissipating by the second. A flash of lightning drove a sudden shaft of light through the narrow space, and Bert stared at George with narrowed eyes. He could tell he desperately wanted to scoop up his dog and leave, but his heart was most likely beating at such a rapid pace it barely gave him enough strength to stand, never mind tackle him, whose determination had lent him strength unknown for a man his age.
Bert clapped his hands on both of George’s shoulders, clattering his teeth as he forced him down. ‘This will be your defining moment in the priesthood. Now what are we missing? Oh, of course, here it is,’ Bert said, pulling out the white collar from his pocket. Bert’s fingernails pressed into George’s windpipe as he slid the collar through the cassock, then stepped back and admired his handiwork.
George gasped for breath, clawing his throat, which had been sorely deprived of oxygen seconds before. ‘Please, are you finished? Can we go now?’
‘We’re finished. Yes,’ Bert said, walking towards the terrier. ‘Time to say goodbye.’
‘No, please, you said you weren’t going to hurt Tinker,’ George said.
Bert smiled. ‘Oh no, I would never hurt a dumb animal. It’s you that’s leaving. Don’t forget, I’ve seen it all, Father Butler.’ Bert waved his finger before tutting three times. ‘What age was that girl again? Sixteen? Seventeen? You couldn’t arrange that abortion quick enough, could you? And you, a man of the cloth!’
‘She wanted to be with me, but I stopped it because it was wrong. She came to me distraught. I was just trying to right a wrong.’
‘A wrong you’ve tried to forget ever since. You on your pulpit, preaching clean living, all the while arranging the murder of your unborn child.’
Guilty tears fell down George’s weather-worn cheeks. ‘Why do you think I live on the street? Because I know I don’t deserve any better.’
‘And yet you are still a coward, running away from me when I am here to deliver your prophecy. Surely you know that dying is the only way to receive absolution for your sins. I’m not completely heartless. If you really can’t face dying alone, I’ll let your dog go with you.’ Bert reached for the dog’s collar, and began to drag him to his feet.
‘Bertram Bishop, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder,’ Jennifer said, her voice echoing as she rose from the stairwell.
Bert swung his head as Jennifer stepped into the bell tower, her baton extended in preparation to fight.
‘What … what are you doing here?’ he stammered, holding Tinker mid-air by the collar. The helpless dog twisted under his grasp, his eyes bulging as he fought for breath.
Bert was so stunned by Jennifer’s presence, he did not see George reach for the Swiss army knife in his right pocket. A gurgling scream passed his lips, as George plunged the extended fork into his hand.
Tinker wriggled free, finding a second wind as he bumbled down the stairs.
‘Stand back!’ Jennifer shouted to George, taking Bert’s legs with her ASP as he lunged forward, pulling the knife from his pocket. The glint of the knife was her justification, and a crack of bone rang through the air as the metal baton took his shin in one precise hit.
Bert screamed as he rolled around the cold concrete clutching his leg. Jennifer pounced, pulling his arms roughly behind his back to lock the handcuffs in place. Indignant caws ruptured from the darkened sky, turning Jennifer’s blood cold.
‘You can’t stop the prophecy,’ Bert screamed, the words delivered in a maddening howl. The words had just left his lips when the rapid burst of a police siren pierced the air.
‘Me dog!’ George panted, as another roll of thunder boomed. ‘They’ll run over Tinker!’ Stumbling towards the stairs, George called for his terrier as the siren grew louder, and as if in slow motion, Jennifer cried out for him to wait.
But George wasn’t listening, and flailing both arms, his feet tangled in the long black material of the cassock as he went tumbling down the steps. Jennifer gasped in horror, leaning all her weight on Bert as she subdued him long enough to call out to George. But the bump bump bump of his body down winding steps silenced, and all Jennifer could hear was Tinker, fussing over his lifeless owner, lying bloodied and motionless on the bottom of the stairwell floor.
Chapter Fifty
Jennifer took the tissue from her sergeant and blew her nose. The two-bar heater had warmed the chill from her bones, which was brought on by more than the weather as Moonlight descended. Arresting Bert had given her little comfort. George’s death struck deep, but her sergeant folded her arms, showing little emotion for the man she had helped over the year.