Page 18 of The Chapel of Bones

21 April 2011

I discussed my intended return to Brittany at the end of term with the professor, who said he would be sad to lose me from the department because my tutorials are popular with the undergraduates. He wished me luck with the book I plan to write and I told him how much I appreciated his support.

I am working on a paper I will use as the basis for my book – the use of animal imagery in the medieval imagination. But what I have discovered in the Fontescue archives concerning Brother Anselm’s activities has become a major distraction and I feel I now need to follow the trail he has set out for me. Perhaps he is becoming an obsession. I do hope not, because I have seen obsessions destroy minds far more brilliant than my own.

Anselm does not name his sinner directly, but he gives clues to his identity. I have found vague references to carvings in local churches that were paid for as penance. Misericords were mentioned, those hidden seats in the choirs of ancient churches designed for the comfort of those obliged to stand during long services.

There is no remedy for my dilemma,Anselm writes,apart from giving my sinner penance for the unholy thoughts he has confessed to me. Being wealthy, he has offered to make gifts to local churches, thinking such generosity will save his soul from damnation. One time I told him that priests and other men of God were ever grateful for some rest during a long mass, and what I said half in jest was taken in earnest. Churches here are to have misericords, seats of mercy for the weary carved with strange and fearsome beasts, a reminder of the sins that mar the human soul.

He has not, so far, acted on his dark desires. And I pray he never will.

12

‘My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,’ DC Trish Johnson heard the DCI announce loudly as he strode into the CID office followed by DI Peterson. ‘Anyone going out for a butty?’

There was a short silence before one of the uniformed PCs assigned to the case of the body in the wall, as they’d started to call it, put his hand up nervously. ‘I was just about to go on the sandwich run, sir. What would you like?’

After they’d given their order, the two men made for the DCI’s office and shut the door just as Trish’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was her mother. Her mother didn’t usually ring her at work, so she answered, wondering if it was some family emergency.

‘Someone’s taken Bella.’ Her mother’s voice was raised and verging on hysteria.

Trish grasped the implication at once. The latest canine victim of the dognappers was the Waltons’ three-year-old cocker spaniel, whose impeccable lineage would be the envy of any royal family in Europe. The dog’s official name was Queen Belinda the third of Tythrington, but she was better known to her devoted family as Bella. The criminals usually targeted valuable pedigree animals, and this case was no exception.

‘Your dad’s just received a phone call demanding two thousand pounds for her safe return. They gave strict instructions that the police shouldn’t be contacted and Dad didn’t want to tell you, but I thought . . . I thought you’d know what to do.’

Trish breathed deeply, telling herself to keep calm. ‘When did you notice she was gone?’

‘Yesterday morning first thing when she went out to do her usual . . .’

‘And you’re only just telling me now?’ Trish was annoyed that her parents had kept it to themselves. On the other hand, she understood why. ‘Did you see anybody about?’

‘I think I heard an engine starting up in the lane outside but I thought nothing of it at the time. We looked everywhere for her, but there was no sign. Then we got the phone call. Honestly, since that warning we’ve been so careful. We’ve kept her on her lead during walks and—’

‘How did they get your number?’

‘It was on her collar, in case she ever got lost. They said no police or they’ll harm her. I’m sick with worry, Trish. I just want to pay the ransom and get Bella back. Dad agrees.’

Trish glanced towards the DCI’s office, where she could see Wesley in deep conversation with the boss. She knew she’d have to make a decision. Obey the dognappers’ demands or do things by the book.

‘Have you received instructions about delivering the money yet?’

‘No. We’ve been trying to get hold of the cash, but with banks closing all their branches these days it’s not that easy. Dad’s had to go to Neston.’

Trish hesitated before asking the next question. ‘Have you had any proof that Bella’s OK?’

‘Not yet.’ Her mother was on the verge of tears. ‘Whatever you do, please don’t tell Paul – or anyone at work. If whoever took her finds out the police are involved, I’m sure they won’t hesitate to do something terrible. We can’t take any risks – not with Bella.’

Trish heard her mother’s voice shaking. She was fond of the dog herself, and the thought of her in violent hands was unbearable.

‘Paul’s my husband. I should tell him.’

‘Please, no. We can’t risk Bella’s life. Promise you’ll keep this to yourself, at least until we’ve tried to get her back.’

‘Inspector Peterson would handle it discreetly, Mum.’

‘Absolutely not. We’ve got to do as they say.’

Trish knew this wasn’t the time to argue, so she agreed to say nothing – at least for the time being.