Bert swung his head as Jennifer stepped into the bell tower, her baton extended in preparation to fight.

‘What … what are you doing here?’ he stammered, holding Tinker mid-air by the collar. The helpless dog twisted under his grasp, his eyes bulging as he fought for breath.

Bert was so stunned by Jennifer’s presence, he did not see George reach for the Swiss army knife in his right pocket. A gurgling scream passed his lips, as George plunged the extended fork into his hand.

Tinker wriggled free, finding a second wind as he bumbled down the stairs.

‘Stand back!’ Jennifer shouted to George, taking Bert’s legs with her ASP as he lunged forward, pulling the knife from his pocket. The glint of the knife was her justification, and a crack of bone rang through the air as the metal baton took his shin in one precise hit.

Bert screamed as he rolled around the cold concrete clutching his leg. Jennifer pounced, pulling his arms roughly behind his back to lock the handcuffs in place. Indignant caws ruptured from the darkened sky, turning Jennifer’s blood cold.

‘You can’t stop the prophecy,’ Bert screamed, the words delivered in a maddening howl. The words had just left his lips when the rapid burst of a police siren pierced the air.

‘Me dog!’ George panted, as another roll of thunder boomed. ‘They’ll run over Tinker!’ Stumbling towards the stairs, George called for his terrier as the siren grew louder, and as if in slow motion, Jennifer cried out for him to wait.

But George wasn’t listening, and flailing both arms, his feet tangled in the long black material of the cassock as he went tumbling down the steps. Jennifer gasped in horror, leaning all her weight on Bert as she subdued him long enough to call out to George. But the bump bump bump of his body down winding steps silenced, and all Jennifer could hear was Tinker, fussing over his lifeless owner, lying bloodied and motionless on the bottom of the stairwell floor.

Chapter Fifty

Jennifer took the tissue from her sergeant and blew her nose. The two-bar heater had warmed the chill from her bones, which was brought on by more than the weather as Moonlight descended. Arresting Bert had given her little comfort. George’s death struck deep, but her sergeant folded her arms, showing little emotion for the man she had helped over the year.

‘I know it’s sad, but you didn’t really know George. You’re best off forgetting about him.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? He’s barely cold,’ Jennifer said, shocked by the chill in her words.

‘If you knew the truth …’ Claire paused, signalling at Jennifer to close the door ‘… You might not have given him the time of day.’

Jennifer leaned against the door and closed it without moving her gaze from Claire. ‘Go on then, tell me.’

Claire sat on the edge of her desk, which was littered with overtime sheets and folders full of appraisals waiting to be completed. ‘Did you know he used to be a priest?’

Jennifer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘No I didn’t, but he was quite philosophical at times, I suppose. Is that why he was wearing the cassock?’

‘I expect so. Father Butler served as a parish priest in Ireland for over twenty years until he left.’

Jennifer nodded. The idea of George holding regular sermons was not a far stretch of the imagination. ‘A man of the cloth, eh? I wouldn’t hold that against him.’

‘You might feel differently when you hear his history. When he was thirty, he got a seventeen-year-old girl pregnant.’

Jennifer’s hand touched her mouth. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘That’s not all. He arranged a secret abortion without the knowledge of her parents. It’s outlawed in Ireland, so he would have had to pull out some stops.’

‘That’s awful … but it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?’

Claire nodded. ‘And he’s been paying for it ever since. It’s why he chose to be homeless. George’s loaded, but his guilt consumed him. He told me his story a while ago, and I promised to keep it to myself.’

‘To think …’ Jennifer’s eyes flared as her emotions tied themselves up in knots. ‘To think I gave him soup!’

‘It’s a mind fuck all right. On one hand I feel sorry for him, spending all those years on the street, but then I think of what he did and he repulses me.’

Jennifer scrunched up her tissue and threw it in the bin. ‘I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t waste my tears.’

‘I think Bert wanted to make it look like George killed himself due to his guilt. That’s probably why he dressed him up in the cassock,’ Claire said, picking up her paperwork and throwing it down again.

Jennifer knew the feeling, her own paperwork demanded her attention, but the Raven case had knocked her out of sorts, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything else. ‘Did George ever mention The Reborners to you? A vulnerable old man with money, sounds right up their street.’

‘No, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was a member. But without Bert’s testimony, who knows?’

Jennifer nodded mechanically, dropping her gaze to the floor. Claire’s boots were scuffed with mud. ‘Where’s the dog?’

‘My mum’s keeping an eye on him at mine. Not many people want an old dog that howls for his master every night.’

Jennifer gave an involuntary shudder. ‘I still can’t believe it. I really liked him.’

Claire nodded, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. ‘As my old mum would say, “There’s nowt so queer as folk.”’

After five hours in custody, force medical examiners and the mental health team agreed Bert was unfit for interview. He had been taken back to The Rivers for assessment, but it was unlikely he would ever be released. Jennifer hated cases like that, and knew her unanswered questions would keep her awake for some time to come.

Arrests from The Reborners’ raid had gained little information, other than a cult being led by a supreme leader whose name was known to very few. As far as Jennifer was concerned, the mysterious man behind the mask was Bertram Bishop, and she hoped that, one day, the mental health team would draw out some answers.

She checked her phone. A whole day had passed and Will had not called. She turned over in her bed, knowing she wouldn’t sleep without finding out how things had gone with his parents. Putting the phone to her ear, she groaned as the robotic tones of his automatic voicemail played out. She hated leaving messages due to her tendency to waffle, so she terminated the call before she could be tempted to ask why the hell he hadn’t rung. As long as he’s not having second thoughts about divorcing his wife. Jennifer sighed as her mind grew fresh worries. As if she didn’t have enough to keep her awake. But sleep came eventually, and as she turned and twisted she was given an insight of nightmarish proportions.

It started much like many of her other nightmares, feeling lost in the darkness, alone and confused. Then she heard it. In a bleak confined space, an anguished moan. A clotted head wound, and beneath, a pool of congealed blood. Jennifer probed further and a man’s wrists came into view. Bloodied and torn, they were tightly bound with barbed wire, clasped behind his back. Jennifer gasped as she recognised a silver ring edged with dry blood. Black wings flapped overhead, opening their talons to claim their prey. Will! Jennifer screamed, unable to reach him. The raven’s eyes snapped towards hers as Jennifer’s energy spiked in fear. Long talons reached into her consciousness, tugging on the tailcoat of her thoughts.

[#]

Morning light came to rest on Jennifer’s face, and she wiped the sleep from her eyes, staring quizzically at the ruffled sheets and the pillows that had ended up on the floor. Recollection of the night before was hazy. She stared at the brightly lit screen of her iPhone, a sudden streak of terror running deep as the images in her nightmare began to filter through.