All Saints

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2Norris Green, Liverpool, 3 Months Later

Detective Inspector Andy Ross pulled the unmarked police Mondeo to a halt, its right side wheels pulled up on the pavement outside St. Matthew's Church in Norris Green in an effort to avoid restricting the traffic flow along Brewer Street. The Norris Green housing estate, built on land donated to the council by the Norris family, was unusual in that the original bequest of the land included the stipulation that no public house be built on the land. To this day, that instruction has been adhered to, meaning residents of Norris Green have to venture further afield to obtain whatever alcoholic stimulation they require.

There were already two police patrol cars parked on the street, together with another pool car identical to his own which he knew would have brought his assistant, Sergeant Clarissa, (Izzie) Drake and Detective Constable Derek McLennan to the scene as well as an ambulance and the green Volvo he recognised as that belonging to Dr. William (Fat Willy, but don't tell him that) Nugent, the overly rotund but eminently brilliant pathologist who served as the city's senior medical examiner. Blue and white police crime scene tape had already been strategically placed across the wide double gated entrance to the churchyard, with an attendant uniformed constable on guard to prevent unwanted sightseers trying to gatecrash the crime scene.

Ross silently cursed the court case that had demanded his appearance at nine a.m that morning. The trial of a serial mugger who had almost killed his twelfth and last victim before being almost comically apprehended by the off-duty Andy Ross had been suddenly curtailed when the accused changed his plea from not-guilty to guilty, thus relieving Ross of the need to hang around the court building waiting to give evidence. As soon as he exited the court and turned on his mobile phone, Ross received word of the 'incident' involving a body being discovered in St. Matthew's churchyard from his squad's collator, D.C Paul Ferris. The fact that he would now probably be the last to arrive on the scene did little to improve his humour after what he considered a wasted and fruitless start to his day.

Luckily for him, the uniformed constable on duty at the gates recognised the detective inspector and with a brief, “Good morning, sir,” waved Ross through after lifting the crime scene tape for the detective to pass beneath. Ross had no need to ask the constable where to go. He simply followed his nose along the path that led around the church itself, in the direction of the noise of voices and activity in the graveyard that stood to the rear of the church.

As he neared the scene, Ross could see Dr. Nugent on his knees, his assistant, Francis Lees beside him, both men obviously intent on carrying out their initial examination of the body of the unfortunate victim. Sergeant Drake and Constable McLennan were in attendance, standing just behind the doctor and Lees, while three uniformed constables stood further back from the scene, each man bearing what Ross could only describe as a disturbed look upon their faces.

Seeing him drawing near, Izzie Drake broke away from her position and walked briskly towards him.

“Morning, sir. I'm afraid we've got a bad one today.”

“Hmm, well, there are never any good ones when it comes to murder, are there, Sergeant?”

“I know sir, I'm sorry, I just meant…”

“Forget it, Izzie. My apologies. I'm just in a foul temper after wasting my time at the damn court this morning.”

“I know, sir. Ferris told me when he called to let me know you were on the way. Damn shame, wasting your time like that, but, at least Phillip Downes won't be troubling the courts again for a few years after he's sentenced.”

“Very true,” Ross replied. “Now, come on, what have we got here?”

“It's bloody gruesome, sir, and that's the truth. Poor Derek threw up almost as soon as we got here, as well as one of the uniformed lads. Bet they both wish they hadn't eaten a hearty breakfast this morning. Come on, sir, best you see for yourself.”

Ross nodded and the two detectives walked slowly towards the location of the body that had necessitated the appearance of the Murder Investigation Team at the scene.

Sensing their approach, William Nugent turned and looked up from his kneeling position as he greeted Ross in his variable Glaswegian accent. Ross always thought of the word 'variable' when it came to Nugent's speech as the more upset or irate he became, the more guttural and broad his accent became, even after spending most of his working life in the city of Liverpool.

“A late start this morning, eh, Detective Inspector?” he chided, though Ross knew the pathologist would have been made well aware of the circumstances surrounding his delay in attending the death scene. Ignoring Nugent's obvious attempt at a witty remark, Ross replied, in a total business-like tone.

“Yes, indeed, Doctor. I take it you've been here long enough to carry out at least a cursory examination of the victim?”

“Aye, well, you could say that, I suppose. Ye'd best come and take a look for yourself, but I'm warning ye, it's not a pretty site. Francis, please step away and allow the Inspector and the Sergeant to get a good look at the poor soul, would ye?” he said to his tall, thin assistant, whom many of Ross's team though of as being almost as cadaverous in his appearance as some of the bodies they were forced to deal with in the commission of their jobs.

“Oh, my God,” Ross exclaimed as he drew closer to the scene, Drake slightly behind and to the side of him.

“I told you, sir,” his sergeant said, quietly.

“Yes, but this…this is, well, nothing short of bloody monstrous. What the hell happened to the poor bastard?”

William Nugent spoke up in reply from behind the inspector.

“Well, at first glance,” he spoke almost reverently, “the victim, a man I'd put in his mid-to late fifties by the way, has been almost totally eviscerated. As you can see, the poor sod's intestines have been removed and draped across the headstone of the grave on which his body lies, and his other major organs, liver, kidneys, spleen and heart are neatly arranged around the body, almost as though the killer had laid them out for us in readiness for a post-mortem examination. But, and if you look closely, you'll see the worst part of all this, Inspector, your killer removed the victim's p***s, and then stuffed it down the poor bugger's throat. Oh yes, one more thing, he also removed the victim's tongue, though I cannae find it anywhere up to this point in time. The killer may have taken it with him, a trophy of his handiwork, perhaps. Of course, that's more in your pervue than mine, I'm simply surmising.”

Ross couldn't help himself. He visibly gagged as he took in the blood-drenched scene that lay before him. The naked body of the unfortunate victim lay across the gravelled top of a grave, and as Nugent had indicated, the intestines had been draped across the headstone that stood at the head of the grave, the internal organs dripping blood as they lay in the gradually warming sunshine around the sides of the grave. From what he could make out, the look on the dead man's face was one of total fear and horror.

Ross gulped hard, and turned his face from the scene. Hardened detective he may have been, but this definitely was 'a bad one', as Izzie Drake had called it, and he was hardly surprised that the uniformed constable and his own detective constable had felt the urge to be sick at the sight that they'd stumbled onto when they'd arrived at the scene.

“Tell me Doctor, can you say whether these…er, these mutilations were carried out while the victim was alive or dead, and what may have been the actual cause of death? I know that sounds stupid, but would one particular injury the victim sustained have been enough to cause death, or was this a prolonged and sadistic attack by some kind of pervert, perhaps?”

“Ah wish I could tell ye, Inspector, but, it's too early for me to say and you know I dinna like to speculate on these matters. We'll have to wait until we get what's left of yon laddie to the morgue and I can carry out a detailed examination. For now, I think we can say without much doubt that the cause of death was exsanguination, though which wound, or wounds were the fatal blow, well, I just cannae say.”

“Any identification, his clothes, any personal items, were they found?”

“Not a thing,” Nugent replied. “As far as I can tell, he was left here naked as he is now. Whoever did this, and he's a sadistic bastard I can tell you for free, made sure he took the poor man's clothes and any identification he was carrying with him when he dumped the poor sod here.”

“Thank you Doc,” said Ross, turning to his sergeant who was by now visibly pale at being in close proximity to the remains of the victim for so long.

“Who found him, Izzie?”

“The poor bloody priest, Father Michael Donovan. He entered the churchyard through the rear gate and was making his way along the path towards the church when he almost literally stumbled over the body. Apparently, he threw up too, over there.”

Izzie pointed to a grave two places along from where the victim lay. At least the priest hadn't contaminated the crime scene.

“I'm not surprised,” Ross grimaced. “And where is the good Father now, may I ask?”

“Last seen in his church, praying as though his life depended upon it, sir”

“Right then, let's go and have a word with Father Donovan.”

* * *

“Terrible, simply terrible, that poor, poor man,” Father Donovan wept openly, his head in his hands as he sat in one of the pews at the front of his church, five minutes later, speaking to Ross and Drake who sat either side of the visibly shaking priest.

“It must have been an awful shock for you, Father,” said Ross, sympathetically.

“It was indeed, Detective Inspector. I mean, there I was, enjoying this beautiful sunny morning, whistling to myself, All Things Bright and Beautiful of all things, and then, all of a sudden he was there, lying on that grave, virtually in pieces, I tell you, in pieces.”

Izzie Drake placed a comforting hand on the priest's right arm in an effort to calm him.

“Father, you need to calm down a little,” she said, quietly.

“Just take your time and try to recall everything that happened as you walked along the path from the time you passed through the gate until the moment you found the victim.”

“Please, Father, it's very important,” Ross added, grateful to his sergeant for using her feminine compassion to reach out to the shaking priest.

Michael Donovan took a couple of deep breaths, closing his eyes as he attempted to compose himself and recall the terrible events of earlier that morning. Finally, opening his eyes, he spoke in a faltering voice.

“Well, Inspector, it was just after eight o'clock. I'm sure of the time because I always leave the manse which is just behind the church, at eight precisely. I like to come to church when it's peaceful and quiet and pray for a while in solitude. I hold a morning mass at nine, you see, and, oh, it was just awful seeing your officers turning my parishioners away as they arrived for the service,” he rambled for a moment.

“It's alright, Father. I know you're in shock, so just take your time. Now, it was just gone eight o'clock, you say?”

The priest gathered himself together again and went on with his statement.

“The sun was shining and it was already quite warm. I heard a blackbird singing and looked up and saw him perched on the wall that runs along the north side of the churchyard. I remember smiling to my self and began whistling the tune of All things bright and beautiful. I didn't stop to watch the bird as I wanted those few precious minutes of contemplative prayer to myself, you see.”