19 A Naked Clergyman

Finally the false vicar is cornered.

WORDS MEAN DEATH

19 A Naked Clergyman

Detective Inspector Bramble looked hard at the weeping face of a woman who had started shaking in front of her. She was clearly consumed by a fear that something terrible might be about to happen to her, and Dorothy was certain she knew who was behind it.

“Who’s up your stairs?” she asked, knowing in her heart what the answer would be but needing time to sort things out in her own mind.

“It’s Paul,” sobbed the widow Sylvia Standish, “and I thought he loved me… I really did. Until… now.”

“I’m sure he convinced you,” sympathised Dorothy, “I really am. He’s a most believable rogue, what with that collar, but a rogue is what he is.”

“Back-up are coming ma’am,” interrupted DS Rogers as the sound of blues and twos floated in the air towards them. “That’ll be them. Quick work,” he added

“Then show me where your stairs are, madam,” asked Dorothy, and Sylvia, who had already pushed past her had no intention of re-entering her home while Paul Wolf was still somewhere in it, mumbled “Through the hall and to your left.”

“Right,” decided Dorothy, “with me, sergeant.”

“”Yes ma’am. Just behind you,” came the sombre voice of Ian Rogers.

Just like you when the going gets tough, thought Dorothy, though she did realise that she, being in charge, should be the first to challenge the interloper, if that’s what he was.

The hallway was no great length, but Dorothy was careful to make sure that she didn’t pass an alcove or other opening in which the defrocked clergyman could secrete himself. But there wasn’t even a window sill. It was an ordinary hallway giving access to the rest of the ground floor with only a stairway leading off it.

“Right,” she whispered once at the bottom of the stairs and facing up, “quiet as you can, sergeant, and follow me.”

“I’m here, ma’am,” he assured her.

She was in no hurry to get to the top where a dangerous and possible lunatic priest might be hovering, waiting for her, blade in hand. But once at the top of the stairs she was faced with three doors, one open, in front of her and clearly belonging to a small bathroom because she could see a sink and small white cabinet. But the other two doors plainly belonged to bedrooms and she had no idea which one her target might be in, and she had no foresight as to if he was in one of them and in the bed as the widow had suggested he might be, or armed and waiting for the door to open.

“Just let me see,” she whispered to Ian, and she carefully studied the small landing and the doors leading off it. The carpet was scuffed outside two of them, the bathroom and one other, and she decided that the one to the right, with the scuffed carpet, must be the one most used and therefore the door to Sylvia’s bedroom, the one that she wanted.

“Here goes,” she whispered, and she took the handle of that door in nervous fingers, tried to turn it, but it was obviously locked because the handle wouldn’t budge and neither would the door open when she pushed it.

DS Rogers was just behind her and he could see what the problem was.

“If I may, ma’am,” he whispered, and she stood to one side knowing that he meant to shoulder charge it.

“Try to do it in one,” she breathed, and he nodded, pulled his stocky figure with his shoulder aimed at the door and hurled himself against it. With a splintering noise the door swung open and they could see in.

The Reverend Paul Wolf was under the quilt and from the expression on his face he was obviously expecting to be joined by someone not in the police force., and when he leapt out to confront them they could see that he was stark naked, clearly expecting something other than being arrested. It struck Dorothy as very wrong when she noticed that he had a tattoo of a Christian cross on his chest, the two horizontal branches almost touching his pale male n*****s.

“Quite the handsome man,” mocked Ian, but his DI frowned at him.”Reverend Paul Wolf, you are arrested for the murders of at least teo people, namely Mr. Dorian Hemsworth and Mr Mike Copperly and I must warn you… but you heard all that before you escaped earlier, didn’t you? And if you don’t mind, I would be obliged if you dressed ion something, at least cover up that thing that seems to want to pretend you’ve had part of a tiny elephant’s head grafted onto your torso.”

He looked at her, his lips twitching into a snarl. “Frightens you, does it, the sight of a man of God waving his weapon at you?” he sneered, making no effort to cover his genitals with more than a shaking hand.

“If that thing’s a weapon then I’ve got a thermo nuclear device in my pants grunted Ian, and he picked up the pair of white underpants the vicar had obviously dropped and slung them at him. “Get these on as the Detective inspector says,” he grunted.

“And follow them with the rest of your clothing, instructed Dorothy, and she added, ”except that collar, you’ve long lost the right to wear it and I intend to put it into evidence.”

There was a sound as the door was pushed open once more and the widow Sylvia Standish, having clearly decided she was safe now, pushed the shattered door in order to get in.

“It weren’t me, Paul, as told them you were here,” she said, “honest it weren’t.”

“Please, Mrs Standish, leave the scene and wait down stairs,” ordered Dorothy crisply, “This man is under arrest, charged with murder, and when we go through his few possessions I’m sure we’ll find something meant to put you out of your misery, making it at least three.”

Sylvia looked aghast.

“Paul, tell them as you love me! Tell ‘em as you wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head. I’m sorry I had a wobble, but at my age nothing’s easy any more…”

“Bah, you silly old cow!” he gloated as though the victory was his, “of course I don’t love you! Have you ever looked in a mirror, you stupid old biddy, and asked yourself how a man of the Lord like me would ever love you. Why, I could hardly bear to touch you when I was obliged to spend a night in your bed!”

© Peter Rogerson 28.01.24

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