The Mersey Monastery Murders

Chapter 2

Chapter 2The 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 s*x 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 s**t, 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.