Chapter Forty-Nine

Bert

‘Please,’ George said, his voice frail and broken. His tattered coat flapped mercilessly as he followed in Bert’s wake across the open plains of the remote church land. ‘Please, mister, just let me little dog go. He’s not well.’

Bert strode in wide, dogged footsteps through the overgrown graveyard, squashing the growling terrier close to his chest. Moss-covered headstones slanted against the rushes trembling in the wind. The residents of this graveyard had little family left to mourn them, and as Bert stomped carelessly over their graves, his thoughts were focused only on reaching the bell tower. His mother used to say it was the highest point in Haven, and how once she had ventured up there after visiting Callum’s grave. He knew then that she had considered jumping off. He often wondered what brought her back from the edge. It wasn’t love, that much he knew. His twin’s gravestone lay in the children’s graveyard at the back of the church, and he recalled that a weeping stone angel stood guard over the young souls taken too soon. But none of that mattered, as Bert doggedly carried out his mission. All that was left was to carry out the final prophecies. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. The ravens above cawed and screeched their warnings, as ominous as the derelict church ahead. Time was running out. He didn’t have a second to lose.

Bert pushed open the wooden door at the rear of the old stone-walled building, which had been there almost as long as Haven itself. Bats rustled overhead, disturbed by the footsteps echoing through the crumbling spiral steps to the belfry.

‘Come along, I’ve got you a present,’ Bert said, his words echoing as he climbed each step. George’s terrier emitted soft muffled whimpers as he cried for his owner.

George wheezed as he forced his legs to climb the stone stairwell, Tinker’s distress spurring him on. His neck craned upwards in the gloom, and he shouted a warning. ‘I don’t want yer fecking present. Now let us go or I’ll call the guards on ya.’

Bert carried on climbing until he reached the bell tower, positioning himself perilously close to a windowless alcove.

‘The guards?’ Bert laughed, as George joined him, panting for breath. ‘You’re not in Ireland now, George. I’ve seen your past; I don’t think you’d be welcome there again, do you?’ Bert waited for the shock to register on George’s face before carrying on. ‘So take your present and be happy about it.’ Wriggling in his arms, Tinker gave a threatening growl. Bert pulled back the blanket and slapped him on the muzzle.

George whimpered at the sight of his beloved pet being mistreated. ‘Wait, I’m sorry, I’d love to see me present. Can’t we go back down and take a look at it?’

Bert moved towards the shafts of light stabbing the gloom. ‘There’s no need, I have it here. Take a seat and I’ll give it to you.’

George took one look at the madness dancing behind his eyes, and sat down before his legs gave way.

‘Good,’ Bert said, unceremoniously dropping the dog to the floor with a plop. Opening his rucksack, he pulled a long black cloth and shook it free of its creases before passing it to George. ‘Put it on,’ he said, a menacing tinge to his voice.

George said, ‘What?’

‘Don’t play stupid with me. I said, put it on.’

George opened his mouth to speak, but instead was taken over by a series of spluttered coughs and wheezes. But there was little sympathy to be gained from Bert, who dumped the garment over his head and pulled his limp arms out either side.

‘You don’t know the lengths I had to go to, in order to get my hands on this.’ Bert stood back and frowned. ‘It’s a bit big. Here, let me fasten these buttons.’

George’s voice came in a throaty rasp. ‘Please, no more. I’m not well.’ He rubbed his tightening chest. His fingers touched the buttons of the cassock and his eyes grew wide as he realised the garments that had been bestowed upon him. ‘What sort of tomfoolery is this?’

Bert widened his smile in mimicry as the lilt of an Irish accent passed his lips. ‘Wat’s going on? Ah sure I’m only an auld beggar man to be sure to be sure.’

Tinker barked weakly in the corner as George’s trembling fingers worked to release the long line of buttons from the holes.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Bertram's long nails dug into George’s scrawny wrists as he grabbed them tightly, causing him to cry out in pain. ‘No you fucking don’t, you hear me? Not unless you want to see flea-bag here bungee jumping without a rope.’

‘What do ya want from me? Do I know you?’

‘No but I know you, Father Butler. I’ve seen all your secrets. Did you really think you deserved a second chance?’

George’s mouth dropped open, his eyes pleading with his captor. ‘I … I haven’t served as a priest for twenty years.’

Bert paced the narrow space. The wind screamed through the cracks in the walls while a sense of madness rose in the wild evening air. He stopped abruptly, smiling again. His moods changed by the second, and his unpredictability made him all the more dangerous.

A clap of thunder boomed in the evening sky, electrifying the air around them. Tinker looked sorrowfully at his master before lying down on the block floor. His teeth clacked together as he whimpered through his closed muzzle, his energy dissipating by the second. A flash of lightning drove a sudden shaft of light through the narrow space, and Bert stared at George with narrowed eyes. He could tell he desperately wanted to scoop up his dog and leave, but his heart was most likely beating at such a rapid pace it barely gave him enough strength to stand, never mind tackle him, whose determination had lent him strength unknown for a man his age.

Bert clapped his hands on both of George’s shoulders, clattering his teeth as he forced him down. ‘This will be your defining moment in the priesthood. Now what are we missing? Oh, of course, here it is,’ Bert said, pulling out the white collar from his pocket. Bert’s fingernails pressed into George’s windpipe as he slid the collar through the cassock, then stepped back and admired his handiwork.

George gasped for breath, clawing his throat, which had been sorely deprived of oxygen seconds before. ‘Please, are you finished? Can we go now?’

‘We’re finished. Yes,’ Bert said, walking towards the terrier. ‘Time to say goodbye.’

‘No, please, you said you weren’t going to hurt Tinker,’ George said.

Bert smiled. ‘Oh no, I would never hurt a dumb animal. It’s you that’s leaving. Don’t forget, I’ve seen it all, Father Butler.’ Bert waved his finger before tutting three times. ‘What age was that girl again? Sixteen? Seventeen? You couldn’t arrange that abortion quick enough, could you? And you, a man of the cloth!’

‘She wanted to be with me, but I stopped it because it was wrong. She came to me distraught. I was just trying to right a wrong.’

‘A wrong you’ve tried to forget ever since. You on your pulpit, preaching clean living, all the while arranging the murder of your unborn child.’

Guilty tears fell down George’s weather-worn cheeks. ‘Why do you think I live on the street? Because I know I don’t deserve any better.’

‘And yet you are still a coward, running away from me when I am here to deliver your prophecy. Surely you know that dying is the only way to receive absolution for your sins. I’m not completely heartless. If you really can’t face dying alone, I’ll let your dog go with you.’ Bert reached for the dog’s collar, and began to drag him to his feet.

‘Bertram Bishop, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder,’ Jennifer said, her voice echoing as she rose from the stairwell.