Authors: Kevin Ashman
Mortuus Virgo (29 page)
The carving was set back in an arched alcove, carved out of a single piece of marble. It stood out from the rest of the wall as it contrasted against the dull greyness of the local stone and looked slightly out of place. Within the alcove was the image of a figure wearing a toga, and, though badly weathered, enough detail was still visible to see the outline of long hair suggesting it was female. What was more important, was what she was holding in her right hand.
Reaching half way up the body was a representation of a staff, on top of which stood the worn remains smaller figure. The pole was thicker than you would assume a staff to be and on closer inspection, they could make out that it was enwrapped with some sort of vine or serpent.
‘That’s it,’ said India in awe. ‘That’s the Palladium!’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Brandon.
‘Well, obviously it’s not the actual palladium,’ said India, ‘But certainly a representation of it. The statuette of Pallus Athena atop the staff is weathered away, but you can see where it once was.’
‘Fair play, India,’ said Brandon. ‘It seems you were right. It looks like Rubria might have brought the Palladium here all that time ago, after all.’
‘Doesn’t tell us where it is now though,’ said India.
Brandon snapped to his senses.
‘No time for that,’ he said, ‘We’ve got the proof we needed, now lets get out of here.’ He helped her towards the perimeter wall, supporting her weight as she limped along. Within a few minutes they were in the car.
‘Where are we going?’ asked India
‘Get that foot seen to first,’ he answered, Then somewhere to rest until we make some sense of this.’
The car sped away into the encroaching darkness, the occupants conscious that they were getting closer to solving the mystery, but completely unaware they were being watched from the church tower.
----
Jason Venezelos sat in the one room of the squalid bed-sit he had called home for the past few weeks. It was dirty, sparsely furnished, and smelled badly of the recent, down on their luck occupants who had hidden away from the prying eyes of society as they plied their trade in sex and drugs. Ordinarily, he would not have even considered such a place, but the back street location in the sleazy part of town and the greed of the landlord who was only interested in the money he offered, meant it was perfect for his needs, anonymity.
He paid in cash, kept his head down and made sure he did not draw attention to himself, eating at grubby takeaways and changing his routine daily as he went about his business.
When they had first arrived in England, he and his brother has rented a small flat but when Peter failed to return one evening he knew there was a possibility that he had been caught or worse. The brothers had made a pact, that should anything happen to either, then the other would continue in their quest so he had left the flat in a hurry and found the sleazy bed-sit in a nearby town.
The two Greek brothers had been in the UK for six months, following the leads they had been given back in Rome. At first it had been exciting and they had embarked on their quest in a haze of patriotism. However, after the first few weeks the trail had grown cold and their enquiries had drawn nothing new. The lack of progress was frustrating and they were on the point of giving up when fate stepped in to lend them a hand. Jason Venezelos had been researching their own country’s history, taking advantage of the free internet access in the local library when a Google search pulled up the image of a very interesting coin. Further investigation had revealed the owner was looking for identification and valuation, but to Jason, it was priceless and exactly what they had been looking for. A couple of false e mails later they had managed to set up a meeting with the man with a view to purchasing the coin.
That’s when it had started to go so wrong. The man had refused to sell and the conversation had got heated. In the end a scuffle broke out and only the intervention of a passer by stopped the fight getting worse. The brothers had ran but soon doubled back and followed him back to his home, For several days they watched him, never managing to get close, but, finally, the opportunity arose when he had visited a library and showed the coin to the librarian. When he left the library the brothers made their move but Peter had lost his temper and used his knife on the man. They immediately knew the wound was fatal, and what made matters worse, was the fact that he didn’t have the coin after all but had left it in the library.
Everything was going wrong but despite his pleas to his brother to flee the country and return home, Peter had insisted on returning that night and breaking into the library to retrieve the coin, torching the building to hide their tracks.
Jason sliced off another wafer of cheese from the block he had bought the night before, chewing slowly as he stared at a spider making its way across the peeling wallpaper. Since that night the situation had escalated. A policeman was obviously on their trail and Peter had set out one night to warn him off, and that was the last he had seen of his brother. In the meantime, Jason had relocated to this slum and kept his head down. He finished his meal before throwing the remains across the room. He picked up his rucksack and left the room without a backward glance. He knew that whatever happened, he wouldn’t be returning here again.
----
England 2010
Brandon sat opposite India at the hotel breakfast table. They had booked two rooms the previous night on Brandon’s credit card.
‘You look awful,’ said Brandon.
‘Thanks a bunch,’ answered India.
‘I mean tired,’ said Brandon, ‘Didn’t you sleep?’
‘Not much. The past few days are catching up with me.’
‘Me too. I think we are so close yet are missing something obvious. Everything keeps spinning around in my head, making no sense.
They both made small talk as they ate their breakfast. Brandon got stuck in to a cooked breakfast while India made do with fruit and muesli.
‘Not having a fry up?’ asked Brandon.
‘Not hungry!’ said India, ‘There must be something obvious we are missing, a vital piece of the jigsaw. If we could just find out what that is, I am sure everything would just fall into place.’
‘Well, that’s just it,’ said Brandon, ‘It’s always the last piece of any investigation that closes the deal.’ He smiled up at the waitress as she cleared the table.
‘Could we have some more coffee please?’ he asked.
‘Certainly sir,’ she answered, ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ interrupted India, ‘Could we have some paper and a pen.’
‘Of course,’ said the waitress, ‘I’ll bring them straight over.’
‘Paper and pen?’ queried Brandon through a mouth full of toast.
‘I just need to write things down,’ she said, ‘To make some sense of what we know.’
‘Let’s go elsewhere,’ said Brandon. ‘I’d rather speak in private. You never know who’s listening.’
‘Your room?’ asked India.
‘I’d rather not,’ said Brandon awkwardly. ‘It’s a bit messy.
India laughed.
‘That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon, feigning hurt feelings.
‘We just spent three days sharing a room in Greece, remember?’
‘I thought I was very tidy,’ said Brandon.
‘If that’s what you call tidy, then God only knows what your room is like without me to tidy it up,’ laughed India. ‘Okay, my room it is.’
A few minutes later they were in India’s room. She made a couple of coffees while Brandon sat at the dressing table, painfully aware of the heady mix of soap and perfume that still lingered in the beautiful woman’s room. India brought the coffees over.
‘Budge up!’ she said, nudging him with her hip.
He shuffled sideways on the upholstered bench that served as a stool, just big enough for both of them.
‘Okay’, said India, opening the pad they had been given by the waitress, ‘What do we have so far?’
‘How long have we got?’ asked Brandon.
‘Bullet points only!’ said India.
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ‘First and foremost, we have an abducted child of a VIP, taken from outside a hotel in London.’
Missing girl
wrote India in the centre of the page, drawing a circle around the entry.
‘Actually, we have a string of abductions,’ she said, ‘Don’t forget the two girls in the tunnels.’
‘Well, they are classed as murders,’ answered Brandon ‘And we don’t even know if they are linked yet.’
‘Okay,’ said India and added the entries to one side of the page.
‘Dead guy at the library,’ said Brandon, ‘And don’t forget the Greek at my mother’s house.’
India wrote quickly adding names and events as they came up until finally her sheet was covered with circles.
‘Is that it?’ she asked, finally.
‘Let’s not forget the Palladium,’ said Brandon.
‘Of course!’ said India and added the name of the artefact that had fascinated her for so long.
‘So, what do we have?’
‘One big mess,’ sighed India, gazing at the tangled spider’s web she had drawn.
‘Let me see,’ said Brandon and India slid the sheet across the table. He took a few more sips of coffee before speaking again. ‘Got a different colour pen? he asked eventually
‘Why?’
‘There are too many lines here and we need to differentiate between them.’
India searched her handbag and came up with an eye liner.
‘Got this!’ she said handing it over.
Brandon took the blue pencil and drew over some of the lines, leaving a thick blue trail as he went.
‘These are the direct links to the Palladium,’ he said gazing down at the paper, ‘But even with the most tenuous links there seems to be two different sets of lines. The blue ones connect the Palladium right up to yesterday’s situation in the church.’
‘And the other ones?’ asked India
‘Not clear,’ said Brandon, ‘We have the two dead girls and the prime ministers niece, but they don’t seem to link anywhere to the rest. Perhaps we have been barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said India, twisting the paper around, ‘What about him?’
She pointed at the circle containing the name, Bennet.
‘A bit of a dead end,’ said Brandon, ‘We thought he was the killer, but forensics have ruled him out. Seems like someone else was responsible.
‘Then why did he kill himself when the police went around?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘All we know is he was a bit of a loner who occasionally helped out with the homeless. Bit of a tree hugger by all accounts.’
‘Which organisation?’ asked India.
‘What?’ answered Brandon.
‘Which organisation did he help out with?’ asked India again.
‘Apparently it was a charity called Gateway?’ said Brandon. ‘An organisation dedicated to the homeless and destitute. They base themselves around the train and bus stations of London.’
‘Who else works for them?’
‘All sorts of people,’ he said, ‘Students, volunteers, nuns, the occasional celebrity on red nose day. Anyone and everyone, really.’
India stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Brandon.
‘Need to make a phone call,’ said India, holding up her mobile.’ She walked out of the room leaving Brandon poring over the paper. Five minutes later she returned, and sat back down, a smug look on her face.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Brandon.
‘I know the link,’ answered India, ‘It was so bloody obvious, it’s a bit embarrassing.’
‘Well,’ asked Brandon, ‘What is it?
‘Nuns!’ said India.
‘Nuns?’
‘Yep, Nuns. You said yourself that Bennet worked alongside a group of Nuns with Gateway.’
‘What have they to do with the Palladium?’
‘Think about it Brandon, the Vestal Virgins were nothing more than forerunners of modern day nuns. Not long after the Vestals were disbanded in 382AD, the new Christianised roman government resurrected the idea of pure female servants of God, though in the Christian ways rather than the original Pagan practises.’
‘It’s a bit tenuous,’ said Brandon.’ There are hundreds of different orders of Nuns across the world and I see no link between those at Gateways and any of the events of the past few weeks.’
‘No neither did I,’ said, said India, ‘But something stuck in my mind so I made a few calls. Apparently the Nuns working at Gateways belong to an order called Santa Rosa, a small convent linked to a church in middle England.’
Brandon stared at her, beginning to see where the conversation was leading.
‘And you know the name of this church?’