BLINCOE’S CASEBOOK:- 1) THE CROSS MURDERS 10

By Pueros

Chapter 10 - Clues

(September 1999, Thimblewick, Cotswolds, England)

“That’s an important clue,” declared DCS Blincoe, “connecting the scout group more closely to the murders but let's keep the fact that we’re aware of the link quiet. It could save Per’s life if we successfully keep the murdering bastards in the dark about what we know. What else do we have?” “Well,” DCI Burrows answered, “we’ve been looking into Per’s and Michael’s activities whilst they stayed with their grandparents. There’s still no direct connection between the two boys but there are links via third parties. Per enjoyed outdoor activities and joined the local bird-watching club and poor Michael liked soccer and played some games for a local junior team. Both have strong church ties, as does the scout group.”

Blincoe contemplated the latest clue for a moment before ordering “We’ve got six days to save Per. If the bastards stick to their usual schedule, he’ll be castrated and crucified on Sunday. In fact most of the key action seems to take place on Sundays, two of the abductions and all of the murders. If churchmen are involved, how can they be absent from duty on the Sabbath? You concentrate on the scout group whilst I go to see the vicar.”

(Same time, somewhere in England)

The incongruous, if not ludicrous, 59 years old rector, wearing a trendy leather jacket with his greasy long black hair covered with a baseball cap, was supposed to chair parish meetings as the more senior church official but, as usual, the silvery-haired vicar with aquiline nose was in charge instead. “Well, the pigs are getting close,” he announced, “which is something that we didn’t expect from them. They’re obviously not as stupid as we thought they were. However, there’s no reason to panic. If we keep calm and do or say nothing silly, they won’t get any closer.”

The Reverend looked round the table in the meeting room of the church hall. The men present had mostly come to the area since the vicar’s own arrival, which was no coincidence for they had all been members of a ring that shared the same interests and the new churchman’s money had financed their adoption of new lives. The local community was at first suspicious of an influx of newcomers but, as most seemed to consist of happy families who contributed significantly to parochial activities, these early inhibitions were overcome. In fact, village life had been reinvigorated by their presence. The vacancies that arose for a new choirmaster, organist and warden for the main parish church had been quickly filled and it’s small congregation had suddenly grown considerably in numbers. The scout group had been reformed with energetic and innovative leaders, successful junior soccer teams established and various popular special-interest societies set up.

The only man present who was not one of the vicar’s proteges was the rector. The man was 59 years old and generally lurked in the rectory, rarely appearing in the villages of the parish being exceedingly lazy. He usually kept his answer phone constantly on so that his colleagues and parishioners could not disturb his privacy. However, there were two activities for which he did stair from somnolence. He liked gardening and had an infatuation with the parish magazine, which he used as a mouthpiece to air his personal views on a wide range of matters, having a high opinion of his own intellect. This often manifested itself when he made fun of simpler members of the parish congregations, whereas he treated the more sophisticated with slimy deference if he could not avoid them. He had been rector for 25 years and would be so till he retired or died.

The rector was very self-centred, as well as short-tempered. He flew into un-Christianlike tantrums for the slightest reasons, once shouting profanities at his predecessor’s recently widowed wife for knocking the edge of his lawn with her car’s rear tyres. The rector was married with a son but also had a secret of which the vicar was aware. The latter had used his knowledge to blackmail the more senior but obnoxious churchman into quietly co-operating with the subtle infiltration of cult members into every fabric of the local community and with their subsequent activities. In return, the rector’s seduction by a certain choirboy had been forgotten and he had been allowed to join the cult as an ordinary worshipper. The man had enjoyed the ceremonies that he had attended and his son had also entered enthusiastically into the depraved activities, adopting the pseudonym ‘Cycnus’.

“What about the young acolytes?” asked the sweating rector. The churchwarden, whose favourite pastime was video photography, gave the rector a barely disguised look of disgust and answered for the vicar “They’ll be alright. We picked and groomed them well. I think that they gain more enjoyment from our rituals than the adults and will make sure that they’re not the ones to give the show away. No, it’s our older nervous brethren that we have to worry about.” The rector looked down at his own feet in abashment before mumbling “What about DNA?”

The vicar gave a sigh of annoyance before replying “The police aren’t allowed to take samples for DNA testing without your permission unless you’re arrested. They haven’t got enough evidence to arrest anyone and, if we keep it that way, DNA technology will be of no use to them.”

The churchwarden commented “Quite right. The pigs will never locate our temple or our nearby tribute and we’ve relocated the van to a safe place. Make sure that no-one mentions the vehicle to anyone. It’s registration has no ties to this area, so the police won’t connect it unless someone tells them about it. Let’s all just sit tight and let the storm pass.” However, the cowardly rector would not be assured and now asked “What about the boy, should we just quietly dispose of him?”

“Definitely not,” said the vicar, thumping the table, “Diabolus wants his tribute presented on time and in the required manner. We go ahead on Sunday as planned!”

(2 hours later, Thimblewick, Cotswolds, England)

“Thanks,” said Blincoe, as he accepted a cup of tea from Reverend Quigly’s housekeeper whilst sitting in a comfortable leather chair in the spacious parlour of the vicarage. The Vicar, similarly ensconced nearby, was starting to answer the detective’s question. “Of course I take some Sundays off,” he advised, “even churchmen are entitled to holidays. However, I’d have to check my diary to tell you which Sundays but I’d like to know why you’re asking.” “We believe that the cross murders, which have always taken place on the Sabbath, have some connection to the area,” the DCS replied as innocently as he could, “and we’re trying to eliminate as many people from our enquiries as possible. It seemed easiest to start with those who usually work on Sundays who should be able to account for their actions on the days in question.” “I see,” Quigly responded, not entirely convinced, but he went to collect his diary.

“You mention six particular Sundays,” said the Reverend as he flicked through the diary, “now let me see.” The Vicar looked at the entries for each of the days in question and provided the detective with the information he had requested. Quigly had been on holiday in France in June when Michael was murdered and Robert was abducted. He had been conducting Sunday services in Thimblewick as the young Scot was being killed a month later but was again in France when the young Swiss met his end in August.

“I have a bit of money from my previous career,” the Vicar informed the DCS, “and am therefore lucky enough to keep a house in France for summer breaks.” “Where about in France?” asked Blincoe, apparently nonchalantly. “Franche-Comte,” Quigly answered. The detective pressed on with his subtle questioning, discovering that the Reverend’s previous work was in finance before he gave up mammon for God. He also learnt that the parish rector, seemingly reluctantly, assumed Sunday services when the vicar was absent but he failed to establish any direct link between the church and the murders. However, as he was leaving, the DCS spotted something on the wall of the vicarage’s large entrance hall. “That’s a nice cuckoo clock,” he said, “can I ask where you got it?”

(5 days later, Thimblewick, Cotswolds, England)

Blincoe was very frustrated. Per was due to die on the following day and he was sure that the murderers would be callous enough to go through with the act if they could despite the large police presence in the area. He had taken the precaution of placing the possible key suspects under discreet surveillance but he was aware that it was much more difficult to keep tabs on the targets in a country area compared with a town and they could easily be lost if they made the right moves. There was also no guarantee that they had aimed their efforts at the right people for no further definitive clues had been forthcoming from the extensive questioning and searches that had been undertaken. The local populace, men, women and children, had all professed ignorance of the crimes. The scout group had been subjected to as much interrogation as police practice and the law of the land allowed but all of the boys and their leaders resolutely maintained that they had no knowledge of the murders and the victims. The people involved in the bird watching club and soccer team confessed to a passing acquaintance with Per and Michael but nothing more. To the DCS, it seemed as if the whole community had deliberately chosen to suffer collective amnesia.

All white vans known to be in the area were checked and eliminated from enquiries, as was much footwear. However, local people drew a line at volunteering for DNA testing. A campaign had suddenly started in the parish magazine protesting about the implications of the police request. It was supposedly stimulated by indignation at the suggestion that local people could be involved in the cross murders, as well as protestations about the threat to privacy and civil liberties. It was publicised by much of the national media now heavily present, having discovered the police interest in the area in connection with the crimes. Much comment was made, especially in the tabloid press, that the police had no real evidence linking the murders to this part of the Cotswolds and had given too much consideration to some very tenuous ties. As a result of all this, few came forward to be tested.

Blincoe, in particular, was being singled out for criticism. The DCS knew that his career was on the line. If his next move proved incorrect, and Per was successfully castrated and crucified on the following day, he would probably have to resign. He felt that he would deserve to do so. However, he took consolation in the rector’s panicky nervousness under questioning and Quigly’s clearly evasive answer about the cuckoo clock.

(To be concluded in Chapter 11 – ‘Denouement’)