Inspector Bailey meets Father Anthony

Sebastian Gloom
Chapter Ten

Sister Julianna, one of the Sisters of Plenitude who lived in the Saint Margaret's nunnery and one of the rare female members of Exercitus Dei, was changing Father Anthony's bandages when Father Cleese entered the holding house to tell him that Cardinal Francis Bertone had arrived from Rome and was waiting for him in Manchester Cathedral. Father Anthony groaned as the nun, dressed in the clothes of an ordinary housewife in order to preserve the house's secrecy, helped him back into his clothes, also those of a common working man. The cardinal had come to accept delivery of Philip Cranston’s Solomon Bottle. It would be extremely embarrassing to have to tell him that they had lost it.
“Well, best to get it over with,” he muttered as he eased himself into a scruffy coat, the stitches pulling painfully at the wound in his side. “Putting it off won’t make it any easier.” He looked at the manacles hanging from the bare, bloodstained wall, the manacles that had recently contained Gideon. The safecracker was now at the bottom of the river, courtesy of Father May, who had accomplished his execution with much less fuss and bother than Father Anthony had managed his. Why did I ever think it was a good idea to hire that man? he berated himself. That man and his infernal sister! It should have been such a simple task! Just sneak into the house, open the safe, grab the bottle and sneak out again. How could the damned man have made such an almighty pig’s ear of it? Father Anthony had enjoyed an excellent reputation until recently. Now, because of the Kettles, he would be the laughing stock of Exercitus Dei! He hoped that God had set aside an especially hot corner of Hell for the pair of them!
The three of them left the house and walked half a mile until they reached a busier part of town, where they caught a cab to take them the rest of the way to St Bennett's Church on Market Street, where they changed back into their normal clerical vestments. Sister Julianna then left to return to the nunnery until Father Anthony's bandages needed changing again, a task that could not be entrusted to a common doctor because of the need for secrecy. As soon as she was out of sight the two priests took a cab to the cathedral.
The Archbishop of Manchester, the Most Reverend Lewis Collins, came to greet them as they entered, and led them through to the Russell Room, a room set aside from the rest of the cathedral where private meetings could be held, away from the wagging ears of worshippers of whom there were always at least a dozen even at the most unsocial hours of the night. The Cardinal was inside, silently contemplating the icon of the Virgin Mary that stood in an alcove in the far wall, and he didn't turn as the Archbishop announced them. The Archbishop then turned and left. He wasn't a member of Exercitus Dei, and so couldn’t be privy to what was about to be discussed.
The Cardinal, as expected, took the news with a frown of disappointment. “This is very unfortunate,” he said as the two priests hung their heads with shame. “His Holiness was hoping for some good news. This rebellious organisation needs to be destroyed, and the sooner the better!”
Something in the tone of his voice caused a shiver of apprehension to run up Father Anthony's spine. Father Cleese evidently felt it too as he shared a worried glance with his companion. “Has something happened?” he asked apprehensively.
The Cardinal hesitated before speaking, as if his message would carry so much weight and impact that he had to struggle to find the words to convey them. “His Holiness gathered all his cardinals together on Easter Sunday to make an announcement,” he finally said. “To answer some rumours that have been circulating for some years now. You may have heard these rumours yourselves.”
“There are always rumours,” replied Father Anthony. “Wise men do not pay attention to them.”
“Quite right,” replied the Cardinal, “except that these rumours have been steadily growing stronger and more pervasive. His Holiness decided that they could no longer be ignored, and so he prayed to God for enlightenment, for the truth to be revealed to him. The convocation of cardinals was so that he could pass on to them what God had revealed to him.” He hesitated again. “The news he released is not for the clergy in general, and most definitely not for the lay population. Only the highest levels of the clergy have been told, plus those on the front line of the fight against the forces of discord, such as yourselves. Absolutely no word of this must pass beyond this room.” He had their full attention now, and they waited, tense and alert. The Cardinal waited for them to nod their understanding before he continued.
“It concerns the rumours you have probably heard concerning Metatron. The rumours are true. He has defected.”
“Metatron?” said Anthony, at first unable to understand. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. “I don't think I know any Metatron.” He searched through his memory for all the agents and contacts he knew, all of whom had their own code names for the sake of security.
“Metatron, the Archangel of God,” said Cardinal Bertone impatiently. “Also known as Sar Ha Panim, Prince of the Countenance. Ha Naar, the Master of Wings. Bal Tanam, the Architect. He who sits, or sat, behind the Throne of God. Metatron. He has finally lost patience with the cruelty and malice of God and...”
“What? Cruelty and malice? Wait, wait. Metatron? The Archangel Metatron?” Father Anthony floundered as he struggled to take in the staggering news. He stared at Father Cleese, who could only stare back, as dumbfounded as he was.
“What do you mean, cruelty and malice?” demanded the other priest. “He loves us! He loves everything and everyone!”
“Metatron believes otherwise. The Holy Father revealed that he deserted his post a hundred years ago. He is said to believe that God is unjust in his judgement of mortals, and overly harsh in his punishment of sinners...”
“That is not true!” protested Father Anthony. “Anyone can enter the Kingdom of Heaven! They only have to repent of their sins and beg forgiveness! It literally can't be any simpler!”
“It doesn't matter whether his position is just or unjust,” said the Cardinal, though. “His defection is sure to encourage a host of other angels to defect with him. This is the most serious betrayal since the rebellion of Lucifer himself!”
“One Archangel opposed to God was bad enough,” said Father Cleese. “Now there are two...”
“And five more still loyal to God!” pointed out Father Anthony. The others nodded, all three of them trying to forget that the ranks of Hell had swelled since the rebellion of Lucifer by the addition of nearly a billion damned human souls. How many souls did it take to equal one angel? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? And how many angels were there? Revelations said ten thousand times ten thousand, but nearly half of them were now opposed to God. Even if it took a million damned human souls to overpower and subdue one angel, humanity might well control the balance of power when the Last Battle finally came.
“You see now why I was really hoping for a breakthrough in the battle against the resistance,” said the Cardinal when enough time had passed for the other two men to regain their composure.
“A breakthrough may still come, Your Eminence,” said Anthony. “We have another lead. A man whom we believe is soon to join the ranks of the resistance. We are waiting for him to be admitted to their organisation and learn their secrets, and then we will take him and extract everything he knows.”
“And how long will this take?”
“We are going to wait a couple of years. There's no point in arresting him prematurely, before he has been taken fully into their confidence. There is no hurry. The war we are fighting is being waged over centuries, over millennia, and there is no doubt as to the eventual outcome. I have the faith that Metatron evidently lacks, that the judgement of God is beyond question. If He seems harsh to us, then there is a reason for it that we poor mortals are unable to understand.”
“Well spoken, my child!” said Bertone. The Cardinal noticed that the other priest was looking uncomfortable, though, and turned to him. “Do you not agree, Father Cleese?”
“Yes, of course I do. His wisdom cannot be questioned.”
Bertone noted the tone of doubt in his voice, though. “Speak, my son. You can speak freely here. What is troubling you?”
Father Cleese stared at the icon of the Virgin Mary for a few moments before answering, as if he imagined that he was speaking to her instead of the Cardinal. “There was a fire in a shoe factory a couple of years back. A number of children died in the flames.”
“Tragic,” replied Father Anthony, “but such things happen. The fault lies with the humans who were responsible for safety in the factory, not with...”
“Yes, yes!” interrupted Cleese impatiently. “I was thinking of the fire fighters who entered the building to rescue the surviving children. There was a one man in particular. He entered the building alone just as it was about to collapse, even though the other fire fighters tried to stop him. He knew that he could have been killed, or be disfigured or crippled by the flames. He didn't care. His only concern was to save one or two more children, and he did. He carried a boy of eleven away from certain death, suffering severe burns in the process. The man was a hero.”
“An inspiration to us all,” replied Bertone. “What's your point?”
“The man was a Jew.”
Silence hung in the room as the meaning of his words sank in. “Is he still alive?” asked Anthony.
“Yes. I visit him on occasion, to try to persuade him to accept salvation. So far, though, he refuses to abandon the faith of his ancestors. He refuses to accept Christ, to accept that Christ is the saviour that the Jews are still waiting for.”
“Then you have done everything you can. All we can do is show them the way. If they choose to turn away, then that is their choice, the result of the free will that God promised us.”
“Yes, I know. I have said the same thing in my sermons. I just... I just find it hard to accept that such a man deserves damnation. If any man deserves paradise, then surely it is him.”
“God doesn't send people to Hell,” said the Cardinal. “He saves people from it. All they have to do is ask. Come, let us pray together. Maybe it will strengthen your faith, and He will grant you the gift of understanding.” He led the way back out into the main body of the cathedral and up to the chancel, where the three men knelt before the figure of Christ while Bertone led them in an impromptu service. Cleese’s voice was the loudest as he gave the ritual answers, as if he was struggling with himself to believe what he was saying. When it was over, Cleese begged the Cardinal to hear his confession and Bertone led him to one of the alcoves that lined the nave. Anthony, meanwhile, chatted with the Archbishop, who was curious about the reason for the Cardinal’s visit. Anthony told him that it was nothing more than a routine visit. Collins knew that wasn't true, but he also understood what the priest was really telling him. Don't ask. Collins nodded, therefore, and went about his business.
After Cleese had left with all his sins forgiven, Bertone approached Anthony one last time. “His faith is weak,” he said. “This is not a violation of the sanctity of confession, you saw his doubts for yourself. I recommend that he be removed from Exercitus Dei and returned to the status of the mundane clergy. He cannot be trusted with the duties that you must perform in the service of the Church.”
“I had already reached the same conclusion,” replied Anthony. “It shall be done.”
“Good. I shall return to Rome then. Please keep me informed on your progress here. The Resistance must be destroyed!”
“It shall be. I give you my word.” Bertone nodded, then turned and left.

☆☆☆

Early the next morning, Inspector Bailey decided to pay a visit to St Bennett's church to see Father Anthony for himself. He had absolutely nothing to link the priest to the events at the Cranston house, but he’d learned to have a healthy respect for Sebastian Gloom's instincts over the years and if he thought Anthony was involved, the inspector thought it was worth an hour or so of his time to get his own impression of the man.
When he arrived he saw that the priest was talking to a member of his congregation, an elderly, grey haired and stooped man in his mid fifties, and decided to wait until they'd finished. He spent the time looking at the carvings that decorated the stonework and the stained glass windows through which the morning sun was shining. One window in particular took his attention. It showed a man raising his hands in praise to God while, around him, people were lying around in postures that clearly depicted great pain and suffering. Beside God, the stained glass held an image of the devil, looking unhappy. The story of Job, he decided. God had a bet with the devil that Job would still worship him no matter what calamities befell his house and family. Most people found it inspirational, he believed, but the inspector found his eye drawn to the images of a pair of children, their bodies contorted in terrible agony. Being allowed to suffer just so God could win a bet.
“Good morning,” said the priest, and Bailey looked around to see Anthony standing beside him. “Always a pleasure to see a new face.”
“Always a pleasure to visit a new church.” He indicated the stained glass window. “What do you think of that? Children allowed to suffer like that.”
“Their suffering was brief, but the glory of Heaven is eternal. If their souls were as pure as their father’s, they dwell in paradise now, their pain long forgotten.”
“And Job is considered a hero because he wasn’t angry with God for allowing Satan to hurt his children.”
“Job understood that God’s decisions cannot be criticised. Whatever God decrees, whatever miseries He causes us or allows to befall us, we must simply accept and praise Him nonetheless. That is the lesson of Job.”
“Yes, of course. You just have to see it from the proper perspective.”
“Precisely. May I ask what church you regularly attend?”
“St. Cedds, on Carnival Street. Father Evans is my priest. I'm the third generation of our family he’s ministered to.” He looked the priest up and down. Dark hair, in his mid thirties. He matched the description given by the Cranston’s footman, but then, as he’d told Sebastian Gloom, so did half the men in Manchester. He examined him more carefully, therefore. The priest had a fit, athletic build, and there was something in his bearing that suggested that he’d received military training at some time. Inspector Bailey had served briefly in the army as a young man, as had almost all the men of England, and he knew how to recognise such training. There could be an entirely innocent explanation for that, though. He may have served as an army chaplain, which would have required him to have the same combat training as everyone else. Still, it was suggestive, and it added weight to Gloom's suggestion.
“Ah yes, I know him well,” said Anthony. “ He used to be my mentor when I first started my ministry here. Very wise, very strong in his faith, even more so now in his declining years.”
“The passing years just seem to add to his energy and vigour. The bible speaks of the ancient patriarchs living for centuries. I sometimes think Father Evans means to surpass them.”
“He certainly would if he could. He's in no hurry to get to Heaven so long as he still has work to do here on earth. He was an inspiration to me, and an irreplaceable moral guide in the foolish days of my youth. He put a foolish young man back on the right path on many an occasion. It was because of him that I decided to enter the priesthood, a decision I've never regretted. I shudder to think what my life might be now if I'd never met him.”
“I feel the same. I was an angry, violent child, always getting into trouble. My parents didn't know what to do with me, so they asked Father Evens for advice. He took me under his wing, taught me a few valuable lessons, sorted me out. I wouldn't be what I am today if not for him.”
“And what are you today, if I may ask?”
“I'm the foreman of a furniture making company.” Bailey wanted the priest to be at his ease, in a relaxed frame of mind that might lead to his making a mistake and revealing some vital clue. If Bailey revealed that he was a police inspector, the priest would clam up and that would be the end of the investigation. Bailey had no other leads. This was his one and only chance to crack the case.
“A position of great responsibility.”
“Yes, it can be a bit of a burden sometimes. The men below me complain about the bosses and the management complain about the lazy workforce. I get it from both sides and there’s nobody in the factory that I can just be friends with. That, more than anything, is what Father Evans means to me. He's not just my priest, he's my friend.”
“That is what all priest’s want to be to their congregations,” said Anthony, beaming. “I'm delighted that you have that kind of relationship with him.”
The inspector walked back down the nave, the priest walking with him, until they reached the bookshelves beside the doors on which the bibles and prayer books were lined. “Ah, you have many of the same books as he does.”
“They're standard volumes. Almost all churches have the same selection.”
Bailey walked along the shelves, away from the aisle and towards the wall, the priest following him, and then he paused, as if a thought had just come to him. He moved past the priest, back towards the aisle, and Anthony turned to face him. The inspector then seemed to have second thoughts and turned back to face the priest. This manoeuvre left the priest with his left side towards the bookshelves. The servants of the Cranston house had said that Doris Kettle’s killer had received his injury on his left side.
He looked up at the top shelf, seven feet above the ground, which held the biggest, fattest books. “That book contained one of his favourite quotes,” he said, indicating the biggest, fattest book of all. “It said, er, I’m afraid I can't remember the exact words. Could you help me get it down?”
The priest hesitated, but then turned towards the bookshelf. He tried to use his right hand, but Bailey deliberately positioned himself awkwardly so that Anthony had no choice but to use his left. He gave a grunt as he reached up, as if in pain, pulled it halfway out, then gave a stifled cry of pain as his hand accepted its weight. Bailey gave a silent, internal cry of exultation.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “You should have said if you were hurt.”
“It's nothing,” replied Anthony as he handed the book to the inspector. “As part of my calling, I occasionally come into contact with some very disturbed young men. One of them tried to stab me the other night. It's nothing.”
It could very well be true, but in Bailey's mind the matter was settled there and then. Gloom was right, Father Anthony was the killer he was looking for. Now all he had to do was prove it, and often the simplest way to do that was to shock a confession out of the suspect. He decided to try an audacious bluff, therefore. Shake the tree, see what falls out.
He put the book aside, therefore. “I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you,” he said. “I'm not the foreman of a furniture making factory. I am an inspector of the police, investigating the murder of Doris Kettle, a cook’s assistant in the household of George Cranston.” The priest stared at him in momentary shock and horror, which was immediately replaced by a look of puzzled interest as he regained his self control. “That's very interesting,” he said. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I now know that you are the man I'm looking for. That injury you received was the final piece of evidence. It was given to you by Doris Kettle as she fought for her life. She managed to grab a carving knife and she stabbed you with it before fleeing.”
“I just told you how I received my injury!”
“Yes. Quite a coincidence that you suffer the exact same injury as the killer, in the exact same part of the body, on the exact same day. How stupid do you think I am, Father?”
“If necessary I can provide witnesses. I can lead you to the young man who stabbed me.”
“Who will say anything you tell him to say in return for a century less in purgatory. I know all about indulgences, Father Anthony. You killed Doris Kettle. You chased her through the house and when you caught her you used that very same knife to stab her through the heart. Your mistake was to do so before witnesses. Did you really think that they wouldn't recognise you? A priest, a pillar of the community, who appears in front of an entire church full of people every Sunday? Didn't you consider the possibility that one of the servants working in the Cranston house might be a member of your congregation? I admit, I was sceptical. I didn’t think a priest could do such a thing, but there was a way to find out. If you were the murderer, you would have the injury inflicted by the victim, and you do. You are the killer, Anthony Carter, and now I have proof.”
Father Anthony was trembling with shock. Could it be true? Could one of the servants have been a member of his congregation? He shook his head in wild denial. “You're mad! I had nothing to do with the poor girl's death!” He reached into a pocket for a handkerchief with which he wiped his forehead.
“You had to kill her because she could have testified that you hired her brother, Bartholomew Kettle, to break into the house to steal a religious artefact...”
“A religious artefact!” cried the priest in outrage. “It’s an infernal abomination which... That is, I heard about the object that had been stolen...”
“During the theft, Bartholomew was interrupted by George Cranston's manservant, whom he killed in order to make his getaway. You couldn’t allow the church to be associated with the killing, so you killed Bartholomew Kettle and then entered the house to kill his sister. You might as well confess, Father. We know everything, and we have proof!”
“You have no proof! And even if you did, you'll never convict me for it! The church takes care of its own! The entire power and majesty of Rome will protect me!”
The inspector smiled. “Was that a confession, Father?”
The priest backed away from him, still dabbing at his face which was now perspiring profusely. The inspector advanced upon him. “It was not!” the priest insisted, “And you have no proof! You have no eye witness!”
“We do, priest! You're going to hang, and then you’re going to Hell as a murderer! The fires are waiting for you, priest!”
“I have Clerical License, you fool! The noose will send me straight to paradise!”
Inspector Benson stared in astonishment. “So, it’s true,” he said in wonder. “You really do have a license to commit any crime and escape judgement for it. I didn't think it could possibly be true!”
Father Anthony realised he’d strayed onto dangerous ground and decided that the conversation had to be ended immediately before he gave away anything else. “I want you out of my church immediately!” he said. “You're not going to arrest me because you lied about having proof, about having an eye witness. You have nothing to link me to this crime!” Seeing his words confirmed in the look of chagrin on the inspector’s face he smiled in triumph. “Your bluff has failed, inspector! I'm not going to confess to something I didn't do! Now get out of my church!”
“You're right, I was bluffing,” the inspector admitted, “but I know what you did, I know why you did it, and I am going to find proof! I'm going to be watching you, Father. I'm going to be investigating you very closely. Every smallest aspect of your life will be subject to the very closest scrutiny! I'll be investigating your friends and colleagues as well, including your colleagues in the church and sooner or later I will find something, I promise!”
“Investigate all you want,” replied the priest. “In the meantime, get out of my church!”
Inspector Bailey glared at him one last time, then turned and walked out of the building.


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