Sanctuary (13 page)

‘Sure.'

The adrenalin was shooting through my veins and I knew I was on course. I hit Google and typed in my request.

A moment, then up it came.

I muttered, ‘Jesus . . . I was right.'

It was so obvious when you did the math.

Stewart said, ‘The Mother Superior asked me to high tea when I called her.'

‘There's a low one?'

He smirked, said, ‘Yeah, for the Jack Taylors of this world.'

I let that slide. ‘Sounds like you're a real hit with the Mother Superior.'

‘I could say I've a way with nuns but that sounds off.'

Not these days, if the papers were any indication.

He jabbed his finger on the sheet of paper, said, ‘Two churches, Salthill and the cathedral. The Mother Superior told me that their order was responsible for those two churches.'

I lied, ‘Salthill sounds the most likely.'

‘Why?'

I kept my face in neutral, said, ‘Rich parish, they can afford the heating.'

I knew something Stewart didn't. The cathedral had a basement. I was tempted to tell him they kept the bodies of the bishops there and where better to hide a child? But instinct told me to keep that to myself.

Stewart hesitated then asked, ‘Jack, I hate to mention it, but how do we know the child is still alive? Wouldn't she have, you know, done the deed by now? It's been nearly five days.'

He told me the guards had literally blanketed the town, raiding every conceivable hiding place, rousing touts, leaning on snitches. The whole force was involved in the search.

I said, ‘She's waiting for me before she kills the child. She needs me as a witness. Don't ask me why, but that seems to be part of her warped plan.'

‘And Jack, what is your warped plan?'

I said, ‘We check out the two places ourselves first. I don't want to bring the cops over on a wild goose chase, based purely on a hunch.'

‘So we go over to Salthill tonight? I'm presuming night is the time to go as the church should be closed then and we can operate without prying eyes.'

He was almost right. I said, ‘Night, yes, and Salthill
first. Bring Ridge. Give her career a real boost if we're right.'

He was suspicious. ‘What about you?'

I trod real careful, said, ‘I'll check out the cathedral and then head out to Salthill. This way we cover all our bases and save time.'

He gave me a long look. ‘There's something off about this, Jack. Are you telling me everything?'

I had to distract him. I raised my voice, said, ‘What's off is the crazy bitch has a child and we can't afford to be wrong.'

He wasn't fully buying it, but went along with it.

I said, ‘Breakfast, my treat. And hey, you can even have herbal tea.'

As we headed out, he grumbled, ‘I could have had high tea.'

If I didn't know better, I might have thought Stewart was developing a sense of humour.

 

 

 

 

For breakfast, I ordered:

Three sausages

Two fried eggs

Black pudding

Fried tomatoes

Toast

A pot of coffee

Stewart asked for a muffin and decaffeinated tea.

The waitress, in her fifties, went, ‘What?'

She was that rarity, Irish, and so still spoke to customers. The café was one of the nigh-on-extinct breed, hidden off a small street near the Jesuit School.
You knew it was old style as it was crammed with guys from the building trade, more than usual for that time of day – the building game, like everything else, was in meltdown. Mortgages had gone through the roof, so to speak, and first-time buyers were seriously screwed. The waitress had heard just about everything, but decaffeinated tea?

She looked at me, asked, ‘Is he codding me?'

Her face was vaguely familiar, but then anyone Irish looked familiar these days as there seemed to be so few.

I said, ‘He's young.'

She looked at him. ‘Well, he's certainly in the wrong place.'

Stewart was smart and said nothing

I suggested she squeeze the hell out of the tea bag and she enjoyed that. She said, ‘Just what I need on my busiest shift, squeezing the life out of a tea bag.'

I could hear snatches of conversation and for once it wasn't about the water, it was about Clancy's boy. Neither the papers or the guards had released any details about the ex-nun: the clergy were in enough strife. But a backlash had already begun. A well-known paedophile, recently released, had had his home burnt out and dark mutterings could be heard about various perverts being run out of town.

Stewart asked, ‘Have you seen your old . . . er . . . friend Jeff recently?'

I hadn't.

Stewart toyed with his cutlery, then said, ‘His wife, Cathy . . . she's back in town. I think they may be attempting to get back together.'

‘Lucky them.' Bitterness leaking all over my tone.

He was quiet for a time, then said, ‘What are you going to do, Jack?'

Jesus, I had an overwhelming desire for a cigarette. I contemplated going outside to where a bunch of smokers were huddled and bumming one.

‘About what?'

He sighed. ‘You know what I mean.'

I did.

I said, ‘Let's get that little boy back first.'

He wasn't ready to let it go. ‘Jack, the woman was sick. Can't you factor that into the mix?'

I could feel anger rising. ‘You talking about the fucking nun or the bitch who killed her own child?'

He was about to protest when I added, ‘She let me carry the weight for the death of Ser—' Still couldn't say her name. ‘The child. All that guilt, and what came after . . . some things are unforgivable.'

He stared into my eyes, then said, ‘Jack, you of all people might want to reconsider that.'

I was spared a reply and just as well, as it would have been ugly.

The waitress brought the food and cautioned,
‘Careful, the plate is hot.' She looked at Stewart. ‘Not you. We don't put
muffins
on heated plates.'

Stewart looked at my pile of cholesterol and simply shook his head.

I said, ‘Call it comfort food.'

The waitress returned with my coffee and the tea and plonked them down. She said, ‘Enjoy' to me and, to Stewart, ‘Endure.'

We both looked at the tea bag. It seemed to have been put through the wringer – maybe it had.

I said, ‘Guess she got all the caffeine out of there.'

He pushed it aside. ‘And everything else.'

I ate with relish. Stewart made a grimace as I forked some black pudding and dipped it in the runny egg. He said, ‘How can you eat that?' Meaning the black pudding.

‘The late Pope on his visit here liked it a lot.'

‘Might explain why he's the
late
Pope.'

As we were leaving, I said, ‘My treat.'

Stewart replied, ‘My cup runneth over, de-caff or otherwise.'

Like I said, he was definitely getting the hang of the humour biz.

I left him outside the café, saying I'd see him around ten or so that evening at the Salthill church. He was turning to leave when I suggested he might consider bringing something to protect himself.

He said, ‘I have my martial arts.'

I thought maybe I should shake his hand or something, but went with ‘You'll fucking need them.'

I went shopping. I had a list of items I figured I'd need. You're going to stake out a church, it could be a long wait. Top of the list was a decent torch; the rest of the stuff I managed to get within an hour.

I walked slowly back to my place, all sorts of ideas screaming through my head, mainly the terrible thought that I might not be able to save the child. Oh sweet Jesus, I would not be able to lose another child.

A woman was selling pins for charity on the corner of Dominic Street and, talk about irony, the pins were tiny angels in aid of abused children. Into my head unbidden came the Irish term
Angeail an Dorchadas
. . . Angel of Darkness.

I gave a few euro to the seller, but didn't wait to receive the pin.

Back at my flat, I rang the cathedral and asked what time confessions were finished. I wanted a place to hide before they locked up for the night, and on hearing five in the afternoon, asked, ‘Any evening devotions?'

The woman, a nun perhaps, said, ‘You mean Benediction?'

I felt a tiny finger of ice creep along my spine.

Jesus.

I said, ‘Yes.'

She had a warm voice, but it didn't do much for the chill I was feeling. She said, ‘No dear, Benediction is on Tuesday and Thursday.'

I thanked her for her help and she added, ‘You're welcome. God bless you.'

Christ, someone would need to.

 

 

 

 

I got to the cathedral early, my holdall containing my essentials. I took a look around and slipped into the confessional.

It was comfortable and warm, but no, I'm not going to call it a place of sanctuary. Not for me anyway.

I settled down to wait.

I must have dozed off and woke with a start. I checked my watch. Jesus, ten-thirty in the evening. The church had been locked up.

As I emerged from the confessional, the only light was from the eternal candles.

I ate a granola bar and two Xanax, washed down with water. I made me way down the aisle, then came
to the door leading to the crypt. My heart was in my mouth. I opened the door carefully and descended the stairs. I didn't need the torch as down below, hundreds of candles were alight.

The crypt was small and claustrophobic, and in the corner lay a tiny bundle. I approached, pulled back the blanket and there was the sleeping child. No sign of harm . . . yet.

And then came the voice, from behind me. ‘The antichrist has arrived.'

I turned to face her. She was wearing a nun's habit and holding a long, lethal blade. Her eyes were lit by pure malignancy.

She asked, ‘How did you know the child would still be alive?'

Her body was poised to strike, candlelight bouncing off the wicked-looking blade.

I positioned myself between her and the child and said, ‘Today is the anniversary of your sister's suicide.' I'd checked it out on Stewart's laptop.

She gave what might have been construed as a slight smile but was more in the zone of rictus.

I added, ‘I'm taking this child out of here and I strongly advise you against trying to stop me.'

She moved closer, the blade coming up, and asked, in a sing-song voice, ‘How are you going to do that?'

I produced the revolver, pulled back the hammer.

She lunged and I pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

Would you fucking believe it? It jammed.

And the blade went into my upper thigh, once, twice, three times, and I crumpled to my knees, the useless revolver skittering across the marble floor like so many unheard prayers.

She stood over me, triumph writ huge, and said, ‘Prepare to burn for all eternity.'

Her head turned for a moment and whatever voice she was hearing, I knew it wasn't pleading my case.

And I did. I had so many sins to atone for, eternity was not going to be long enough. But as I waited for the final blow, I heard, ‘Back off, you crazy bitch.'

Ridge.

And Stewart.

Benedictus didn't even turn, just picked up a heavy candlestick and, whirling, caught Ridge with it on the side of the head.

Stewart moved forward. I hoped to Christ he still had those Zen moves.

Benedictus smiled. ‘The third demon.'

She lunged with the blade but Stewart sidestepped, caught her on the back foot and moved in real close to her, as if he was embracing her. She emitted a deep groan, then slowly fell to the ground. I could see one of Stewart's knives, and remembered the seven he'd shown me. It was lodged deep in her chest. Her eyes
were wide in astonishment, and then she let out a small sigh and was still.

I was trying to rise up, the pain like acid on my thighs. I asked, ‘Did you have to do that?

He looked at me, his eyes sad. ‘It was a kindness to her. She is no longer in torment.'

Ridge, her eyes groggy, moved to the sleeping child, gathered him up and said, ‘Let's get the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps.'

Stewart applied a makeshift tourniquet to my wounds and helped me hobble out.

I asked, ‘What about your knife?'

His expression unreadable, he said, ‘I still have six.'

I noticed he was wearing gloves.

 

I was drifting in and out of consciousness and next thing I knew, I was sitting in the armchair of my apartment, Stewart holding out my mobile. He said, ‘Don't you have to make a call?'

Clancy answered on the very first ring.

I said, ‘I have your boy. He's safe and well.'

His sigh of relief made me almost feel for him again and I swear, he sounded like he had a sob in his voice, as if he was about to break down. But he reined it in, and then with the old tone of command asked where I was and I knew he'd be there immediately.

As Ridge and Stewart prepared to leave, Stewart handed me the useless revolver.

‘You forgot this.'

And they were gone.

 

 

 

 

Clancy arrived almost on their heels, with his two heavies in tow. Before he could say anything, I handed him the sleeping bundle. ‘The crazy nun had your boy sedated, but I don't think he'll suffer any ill effects.'

Clancy's face as he took his child in his arms was something to see. All the hard-arse pose, the mask of ferocity he wore, just slipped away and I nearly felt for him.

I told him that Ridge had put the puzzle together so we were able to track down the psycho.