In the Name of the Father Read online

  A couple of minutes later, Wendy heard someone unlocking the inner wooden gate, before it swung open to reveal the man they knew only as Nelson. Nelson opened the iron gates at the front of the complex and stood aside to let her in.

  ‘Father Joseph is in the chapel. Follow me,’ he said, locking the gates behind him.

  They arrived at what was referred to as the chapel, but in reality was just a damp farmhouse. Wendy was surprised to see that Nelson didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He stood near the door, watching her as she spoke to Father Joseph Kümmel.

  ‘We met yesterday,’ Wendy said, trying to break the ice.

  ‘I know, I remember,’ Father Joseph said, with a hint of pleasantness in his voice.

  ‘Yes, well I just wanted to let you know where things stand at the moment. I’m sure you understand that when a report is made to us, it’s our public duty to investigate it. The ramifications if we didn’t would be... Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Now, as you pointed out yesterday, we didn’t find any evidence of any crime having been committed. That means there’s a real possibility that someone has been making malicious allegations against you and the church, which I’m sure you’d like us to get to the bottom of,’ Wendy said, trying to be as diplomatic as she could. ‘Now, whoever made the phone call obviously knows the farm. They knew there was an old grain store, for example. That sounds like more than just guesswork to me.’

  ‘You’re good,’ Father Joseph said.

  Wendy wasn’t quite sure how to react, so she chose not to. ‘Which leads me to thinking that the person who made the call must have been here at some point. A former member of the church, perhaps.’

  Father Joseph remained silent for a couple of moments before speaking.

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘In which case, we can narrow down a list of suspects quite easily. Do you have a record of people who’ve lived at the farm in the past but have since left?’

  Father Joseph smiled. ‘Detective Sergeant Knight, a great many people have come through the doors of our church over the years. Yes, some have left. Those people lost their faith and need nothing more than the loving arms of God to save them. I do not wish to harm them by giving their names to the police.’

  Wendy shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

  ‘But surely if these people are harming your church, you’d want to at least have the perpetrator identified, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘“For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you”,’ Father Joseph said. ‘Matthew, chapter six, verse fourteen.’

  Wendy looked at him for a moment before speaking. Admittedly, it had been a while since her days at Sunday School, but it was her job to remember what people said — whether they were biblical or not. And she knew damn well what the next line was: But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

  ‘Do you see what this person — or people — did as a sin?’ she asked him.

  ‘Sin is a subjective concept, Detective Sergeant. It is not for me to decide what is a sin. The sins that matter are those that are sins in the eyes of the Lord.’

  ‘Wrath is a sin, is it not? It seems like quite a wrathful act to make false accusations against a person, let alone a church.’

  ‘Forgiveness trumps all,’ Father Joseph replied with a smile. ‘It is not for me to judge.’

  Wendy could feel herself getting more irate — wrathful — as the conversation went on.

  ‘No, but it is for me to judge whether a crime has been committed in the eyes of the laws of the country. And if I determine that it has, it’s my responsibility to investigate it, identify the perpetrator and recommend them for prosecution.’

  ‘And I would love to help you, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do at this stage. We don’t keep records of people coming and going. They are free to do as they wish.’

  Wendy leaned forward. ‘You must be able to name at least one person who’s left the farm recently. Come on.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant, all the people on this farm are my parishioners. I see them as my children. They are all one. Besides, what’s in a name? It is God who will judge.’

  ‘With the best will in the world, Father Joseph, God is unlikely to do much about this Himself.’

  ‘Oh, I think you’d be surprised what God can do,’ came the reply as Father Joseph steepled his hands. ‘I think you’ll find he can be very convincing indeed.’

  13

  Amy Kemp froze as she watched the policewoman walk back towards the entrance of the farm, accompanied by one of Father Joseph’s henchmen. At least, that was the name she used to refer to them. Not out loud, of course. In a place like this, you never knew who you could trust. But it was obvious the woman was from the police. They’d been here before. It might have been yesterday, or the day before. They all tended to blur into one after a while.

  This could be her chance. She’d long dreamed of the time she could get out of here, get away from the repression and subjugation, get away from all the despicable acts she’d been subjected to.

  The first time, she was too young to understand what was happening. Her parents were overjoyed that she had been invited to a private audience with Father Joseph. It would be part of her initiation and her ticket into the infinite Kingdom of God. For a long time, she believed she must have done something wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t put enough faith in God. Maybe that was why she was now being punished. Speaking of her punishment was never an option. That would have meant admitting to the sins that had led to her punishment. She didn’t know what the sins were, which led her to assume they must have been truly dreadful, perhaps committed in a previous life.

  It hurt like hell the first time. She was only seven years old. The second time was painful, the third time slightly less so. Before long, she learnt to block it all out. She used to sing nursery rhymes to herself in her head. She’d make up conversations with imaginary friends. And before she knew it, it was all over. She’d feel the weight of Father Joseph shifting off of her, followed by the gradual sensation of a warm stickiness between her legs.

  Over time she’d learnt to realise what was going on. She didn’t know why or how, but she’d grown a sense of self-awareness; a gradual realisation that something wasn’t quite right, wasn’t natural. Father Joseph must have sensed that realisation, because soon afterwards it all stopped. She hadn’t been called in to see him again since.

  She’d wanted to tell someone for so long, but knew it would be futile. Who, in here, would ever believe her? They all seemed completely devoted to Father Joseph and to the church. And those who expressed doubts were punished, if they were ever seen again. It was something she’d pushed to the back of her mind, knowing she would never be able to do anything about it. She had no options, no hope. But then she’d seen the policewoman.

  They were almost at the gates now. She estimated that if she ran from here, she could reach the policewoman in about fifteen or twenty seconds. She could tell her everything, tell her about Father Joseph, about what went on in here. Her heart hammered in her chest just thinking about it. The possibilities were endless.

  Before she could even realise what she was doing, she’d thrown open the door of the hut and was sprinting towards the gate and the policewoman. She ran past the grain store, past the chapel. She was just about to draw level with the small, white, brick-built building known as the medical centre when the large arm flung out and grabbed her round her waist, dragging her inside.

  14

  The first afternoon briefing of any investigation was often quite a busy one. Early plans of action had been put into place and information would be starting to come through. It was usually at these early briefings that the general direction of an investigation would start to become clear.

  With this particular investigation, the mood was an odd one. It was standard for CID to get involved when there had been a death and there w
as a suspicion of foul play. In this case, though, there wasn’t even a body to prove that anyone had even died. But with uniform resources being severely limited and a CID unit on hand in Mildenheath, it was often easier for uniformed officers to just dump it on Culverhouse and his team to cover their own arses.

  ‘Right, settle down everyone,’ Culverhouse said, before taking a mouthful of black coffee. ‘Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Stage one. A call comes in to us from an anonymous person telling us there’s a dead body, potentially a murder victim, in the old grain store at Hilltop Farm. What have we got on that, Ryan?’

  Ryan MacKenzie stood up and started to read from her notes.

  ‘Well, I got onto the control centre and asked—’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Sit down, will you? What do you think this is, the crown court?’ Culverhouse barked.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Just trying to be formal.’

  Steve Wing let out a guffaw. ‘Formal? Here? Don’t make us laugh.’

  Ryan chose to ignore him. ‘I got onto the control centre and asked them for a transcription of the call. I’ve got the original audio, too. Transcription reads as follows. “Operator: Emergency, which service? Caller: Hi. Operator: Do you need fire, police or ambulance? Caller: Police. Operator: Connecting you. Operator: Hello, police emergency. Caller: Hi. Uh, there’s a dead body. Someone’s been murdered. At the farm. Operator: What address? Caller: Hilltop Farm. Operator: Hilltop Farm? And where’s that? Caller: It’s just outside Mildenheath. Operator: Do you have an address? Caller: No. No. No I don’t. It’s along from the Seafarer pub. Operator: There’s a dead body on the farm? Caller: Yes. Operator: Whereabouts on the farm? Caller: The old grain store. Operator: There’s a dead body in the old grain store? Caller: Yes. A woman. Operator: Where are you phoning from now? Caller: Uh, from a phone box. Please just send someone. Operator: We’ve got officers on the way. What’s your name? Caller: No. I can’t say. Please. It’s a murder. Operator: It’s a murder? Are you a witness? Caller: No. I can’t tell you. Please. Operator: Sir, can you stay where you are? I’ll send some officers to your location as well. They will be able to help you. Caller: No. No.” Then he hangs up.’

  ‘Very... thorough,’ Culverhouse said. ‘And what can we get from that? The caller doesn’t have an address for the farm. If we’re assuming the call came from someone who knows the farm well, or has been on it, wouldn’t he know the address?’

  ‘Dunno, sir,’ Ryan replied. ‘Not all farms have addresses as such. Just maybe a road name and near whatever town they’re near.’

  ‘Right. Well I don’t think we can rule out that this was a hoax call. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I’d like nothing more than to walk into the chief constable’s office with proof of that, believe me. Bloody waste of time. Frank, anything on the finances yet?’

  ‘Not a thing, guv,’ Frank Vine replied. ‘Taking ages to get anything back from the banks. Usual story.’

  ‘Keep me updated when you hear something,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Knight. What did you get from Father Joseph Kümmel?’

  Wendy took a deep breath. ‘I wish I could answer that, sir. The short answer is not a lot. I found him pretty difficult to deal with, actually. He always seemed to know the right thing to say without actually saying anything. I can see exactly why he’s running a cult.’

  ‘Alternative church, Detective Sergeant Knight,’ Culverhouse said.

  Wendy looked at him, even though he wasn’t looking at her. The brazen hypocrisy of the man was astounding.

  ‘Right. Well whatever you want to call it, it seems pretty clear to me why he’s so successful with it. Father Joseph was pretty standoffish when we went to see him on the original call yesterday. He was totally different today. Still evasive, but much calmer. Like he was trying too hard to be nice.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Yesterday he had a whole gang of us turn up unannounced, threatening to kick the gate in. Whereas today he gets visited by a young woman who just wants to ask him for a list of names. Doesn’t take a mastermind to work out that he’s going to respond a bit better to that, does it?’

  Wendy stood open-mouthed in disbelief. The DCI would usually be the first person to spot something suspicious where there was nothing. He was probably the least tolerant person she knew, yet here he was defending Father Joseph Kümmel and whatever was going on at Hilltop Farm.

  ‘Debbie,’ he said, before Wendy could respond. ‘What did you find out about the farm?’

  ‘Went onto Google Earth like you said,’ Debbie replied, holding up a sheet of paper with an aerial image printed on it. ‘Can’t see much, to be honest. There are a few buildings scattered about, but other than that it’s difficult to make much out. It’s not a great image. A lot of these satellite images were done years ago and haven’t been updated since. To be honest, from above it just looks like a cross between a working farm and a holiday camp.’

  ‘What about ownership?’

  ‘Just heard back from the land registry a few minutes ago. It’s been registered to the Community of Freedom and Enlightenment since May 1971.’

  ‘Right. Who’d they buy it off and how much for?’

  ‘No idea, sir. Land registry only started keeping title registers in 2000. We’re going to have to dig a lot harder for any information like that.’

  ‘In which case,’ Culverhouse said, perching on the end of his desk, ‘That’s going to take up a lot of time and resources. We need to question if it’s worth it. We’re going to have to find out whether the claims made on the phone call are real or not. And quickly. Ryan, did you get anything from CCTV?’

  ‘I’ve had uniform on the case, sir. Nothing residential that we’ve been able to find yet. The row of shops on Allerdale Road don’t have anything, either. Most just cover the front of the shops. Two cover the slip road and parking area for the shops, but not Allerdale Road itself, and not the phone box. I’m currently mapping out where we do have CCTV coverage from shops, banks and residential addresses — as well as council-owned CCTV — and trying to block off areas where we should look. With any luck we’ll be able to see a person or a car in the area at the right time. I’ll get highways onto checking ANPR, too. There aren’t any number plate recognition cameras in town itself, but there should be some on the main roads leading in and out. Might be useful if the caller came from out of town.’

  ‘Excellent. Keep me posted. And someone get onto the voice experts, too. Get that recording of the phone call analysed. They’ll be able to pick out accents, nervousness, all that. They’ll probably even be able to tell us if the bloke was telling the truth or not. Save us a whole lot of hassle.’

  Although it wasn’t something she’d admit to very often, Wendy completely agreed with the DCI. She hoped beyond hope that the call would turn out to be a hoax. Because, if it wasn’t, this whole investigation could turn out to be very messy indeed.

  15

  Father Joseph Kümmel clenched his jaw, his eyes burning into the wooden desk as he stared at it. If he wasn’t careful, everything would come crumbling down around him. All the signs were there. First there was the incident with Isabella Martin. Then the police sniffing around. And now Amy Kemp’s attempt at an opportunistic escape. Of course, there had been attempts and incidents in the past, but they were now growing in frequency. It was time for drastic action.

  He signalled for Nelson to escort Amy Kemp’s parents into the room and watched as the door opened, looks of awe and amazement on the Kemps’ faces.

  ‘Father Joseph, it is an honour to be invited to meet with you,’ Mrs Kemp said, Father Joseph’s raised hand silencing her just as quickly as she’d begun.

  ‘My child, I have to tell you that I have not brought you here for happy reasons.’ Father Joseph watched as Mr and Mrs Kemp’s faces changed, becoming bewildered and concerned. It gave him a kick. It made him feel powerful. ‘I am sorry to say that Amy was taken ill earlier today. They took her to the medical centre, but there
was nothing that they could do. She is with God now.’ He scrutinised their faces, seeing them struggle between conflicting emotions and their deference to both him and to God.

  ‘What... I don’t know what you mean,’ Mr Kemp said. ‘Ill? How do you mean ill?’

  ‘It is not for us to question God,’ Father Joseph replied. ‘But in my experience all the signs point to the involvement of the Devil himself. He will, when he sees fit, attempt to turn people. He will infiltrate their minds and their souls and poison them, making them ill and weak. And if we are unable to expunge him from within them, and we lose the battle, at least we know we will not lose the war.’

  It was clear to Father Joseph that they didn’t understand what he was saying, but that they were — as expected — hanging on his every word. They were good people. They were good disciples. Unfortunately for them, they had spawned a less than dedicated daughter. He could see the emotion starting to well up in Mrs Kemp.

  ‘I understand this is a difficult time for you both,’ Father Joseph said, ‘but I feel it is important for you to know that your daughter did a good thing. She has highlighted the fact that the Devil is here, trying to do his evil work. Without her, we would not be aware of this. But I have to tell you, we are blessed with the spiritual and medical means to expunge the Devil from our community. Amy helped us to ensure that this was spotted at an early stage. She gave the ultimate sacrifice that the whole community might be saved. And you should be proud of that.’

  Father Joseph held out his hands to Mr and Mrs Kemp, inviting them to hold a hand each. And he looked into their eyes as they took in what he was saying, unaware that this was going to get no better for them or for the community. Because Father Joseph was sure there could now only be one way out of this.