Blood on the Shrine Page 5

  While Baker waited for a reply, the snow was falling even more heavily outside. With no wind to stir the flakes it was building up rapidly on horizontal surfaces. Down in the valley, below Shambhala, the telephone wires sagged under its weight.

  The line crackled. ‘Listen Laurie. I’m as baffled as you are. I ain’t spoken to Elsdale in weeks. I can only think ’e’s on some sorta mission of ’is own.’

  ‘What do you want me to do about him?’

  The interference on the line increased. ‘I think you should take ’im out…..’ The rest of the sentence was drowned in static, then the line fell silent. A rotten branch on an overhanging oak had finally given way under the press of snow and fell, causing the telephone wire in the valley to break under the strain.

  Baker rattled the rest on the receiver. ‘Tommy? Tommy? Are you there?’ Silence. ‘What’s going on?’

  Atkins held the phone at arm’s length and stared at it. He looked sheepishly at the barman. ‘Line’s gone dead.’

  ‘Must be the weather.’ He pointed the glass he was holding towards the window. Eddies of large white flakes were caught in the orange glow of a streetlamp.

  -0-

  Baker slowly replaced the handset. He furrowed his brow. Atkins had said “Take him out…” Was that all he meant to say? Or was there more? He knew Tommy was inclined to talk like a gangster but did he really mean do away with Elsdale? It seemed a bit drastic, even for Tommy and his big ideas. He would have to try to get Helen alone and discuss it with her.

  Chapter 3

  Siddhartha was born into a noble family on the Indian-Nepalese border, 2,500 years ago. As a young man he was supplied with every luxury that wealth could provide but remained dissatisfied. Despite his family’s attempts to shield him from the realities of the world outside the walls of his castle he discovered the suffering of old age and sickness and ultimate death. This shocked him and he set out to find the true meaning of life.

  He became a wandering aesthete, denying himself the comforts of easy living in order to understand the mystery of birth, life and death and why humans suffer. He tried and mastered many forms of meditation, coming close to death as a result of starving himself, but still he could not fathom the truth.

  So, he decided to look inward, to see if the truth lay there. He sat beneath a Bodhi tree for forty days and forty nights, searching his own heart and mind until, on the day of the full moon in May, he attained enlightenment.

  From this experience he developed the idea of The Four Noble Truths:

  That all life is suffering

  That suffering is caused by attachment

  That we can be freed from this attachment

  That this can be achieved by following the Eightfold Path, or Middle Way.

  RUSSELL SAT in the green lounge with a handful of the other retreatants. These included Baker, but not Helen, which disappointed him. He’d been enjoying her company until a bell sounded, and they were summoned to their study groups, with Helen staying with the group in the blue lounge.

  Their teacher, for this session, was Dharmasiddhi. He was much older than the two Tibetans Russell had come to know a little, and his grasp of English was far more rudimentary. He smiled sweetly and seemed at ease but his accent made it difficult for Russell to understand what he was trying to put across.

  Russell glanced at Baker. The strange man’s brow was furrowed. It could have been because he was trying to understand the teaching but somehow he didn’t seem to be engaged and Russell wondered if he might be worrying about something else.

  Baker was worrying. He couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss what the silly little foreigner was saying – it was all mumbo jumbo anyway. What was bothering him was what Tommy had said: ‘Take him out’. He’d heard the expression, probably in some American film he’d seen at the flics, but he didn’t think, despite his love of gangsters, that Tommy would use that expression without some further explanation. The trouble was their conversation had been cut off when the line went dead. But what else could he have meant? He hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with Helen before they’d been split up. Elsdale hadn’t made an appearance since he’d turned up that morning. Baker had seen the look on his face when their eyes met. Not just disbelief but, perhaps, fear? Well, he was right to be frightened if Tommy really did mean what he thought he’d said. The Tibetan’s voiced droned on - Baker drifted off.

  -0-

  Atkins had returned from the bar and, still standing, picked up his glass and downed his drink. He nodded to Weeks, said, ‘C’mon’ to his two friends and, without a backward glance, walked out of the room and into the snow. Sammy scuttled after him, followed by Bates, his speed belying his bulk. The saloon door slammed behind them leaving Weeks open-mouthed with surprise.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he thought. He’d only been privy to one side of the telephone conversation and what he’d heard didn’t make much sense. All he really knew was that someone called Dave Elsdale had turned up and Laurie, apparently Atkins’s mate, was upset about it. The last command, before the line was cut off, to ‘take him outside and give him a good talking to’, didn’t make a lot of sense. Leaving his drink he got up and headed for the door. The barman shook his head sadly. The prospect of a lively and financially rewarding evening had just disappeared.

  Weeks made his way to the police station, the going difficult as the snow was settling in earnest. The desk Sergeant, Wickstead, looked up from the copy of the evening edition, nodded a greeting then went back to reading. Sitting at his desk, Weeks pulled the file on Tommy Atkins towards him and, opening the cover, started looking through the enclosed notes. On the fourth page he found what he was looking for. David Elsdale was a friend of Atkins’s from childhood. He continued reading. As boys, they’d had the occasional run-in with the law – nothing serious, well, nothing proven – but as time went by each had acquired a criminal record, both for petty larceny. Atkins has spent three months in Borstal for breaking and entering whereas Elsdale had got off with a fine. In the past year, Atkins had been arrested twice but somehow got away with a caution on both occasions while his school friend appeared to have kept out of trouble, or at least not been caught. There was an address for him but it was too late to do anything about it until the morning. He closed the file and headed back to reception.

  ‘You won’t be going anywhere tonight lad,’ Wickstead said. ‘Take a look out the door.’ Weeks walked across and pushed it open. The snow was coming down in a blizzard, an almost solid mass of white. ‘I’ve got a nice comfy cell you can spend the night in,’ the Sergeant laughed, his pepper and salt moustache bristling. ‘Come round here and you can share my fish and chips first. One of the lads brought them after he’d gone off duty.’

  ‘But….’ Weeks began.

  Wickstead held up the desk flap and laughed again. ‘You’ll be doing me a favour. He got them from The Lighthouse, round the corner, and they always give you too much. Then you can give me a chance to win some money off you with a few hands of gin rummy.’

  Weeks smiled back and stepped behind the counter. ‘Thanks Sarge. I am a bit peckish.’

  -0-

  ‘You say we’re cut off now?’ Russell was talking to Vidyatara. He’d been unable to concentrate on the teaching Dharmasiddhi was giving. With a mumbled excuse he had got up and quietly left the room. He’d found the other Tibetan in the kitchen, washing up.

  ‘That is right. We think the telephone wire must have broken under the weight of the snow. It has happened before.’

  Russell frowned. ‘So it looks like we’re going to be here for longer than just the weekend?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘What about food. Have you sufficient for an extended stay?’

  Vidyatara smiled for the first time. ‘Yes, we have plenty. There is no need to worry.’

  -0-

  Baker walked silently, in stockinged feet, to the end of the corridor and tapped lightly on the door. After a few moments with no reaction
he knocked again, slightly more forcefully and said, ‘Dave, can I have a word?’

  The door opened a crack and Elsdale’s face appeared round the edge. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, a slight quaver in his voice.

  Baker smiled. ‘Just a little chat, Dave… just a little chat.’

  Chapter 4

  Thaw: to become warm enough to melt ice and snow.

  The following morning things looked very different. The wind had changed in the night, swinging round to the south-west, bringing with it warm air – and rain. By midday the snow on the paths was turning to slush and the steady downpour was dissolving what was left, revealing lawns and flowerbeds. When Sonny Russell had woken he had been surprised to find that Baker, who had shared his room, had already gone downstairs. Stretching, he had looked out of his bedroom window and felt a pang of regret. He had been looking forward to an extended stay but, even at that early time of day, he could see that the snow would soon be gone and he would have to set off back to Collinghurst and routine. He was just about to start gathering his belongs together when there was a light tap on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said.

  The door was pushed open and the face of Vidyatara peered round the edge. ‘Mr Russell? There is a phone call for you.’

  ‘Oh? I thought the phone line was down.’

  Vidyatara nodded. ‘It was, but it has now been fixed. A fallen branch I understand. But come quickly. The man is waiting.’

  Russell picked up the handset and spoke. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Sonny. John Crooks here.’ The booming tones announced the pathologist. ‘Have you still got a body for me to see?’

  Russell grinned. ‘I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Even if he could.’

  ‘Jolly good. The roads are clearing so I’ll be setting off shortly. Will you still be there?’

  The thought of an extra hour or two at Shambhala was not an unpleasant one. ‘I’ll still be here.’

  -0-

  Back in Collinghurst, Weeks was cradling a mug of steaming tea in his hands. He’d slept tolerably well, despite the discomfort of the spartan cell, but was looking forward to returning to his home to wash and change his clothes. The snowfall of the previous day had been less heavy in the town and already the gutters were running with melting slush. Weeks was hoping the weather had turned in the west of the county too and was looking forward to the return of his DI. After draining his mug he said goodbye to Sergeant Wickstead, turned up his coat collar and dashed out to his car.

  -0-

  ‘I can’t believe you did that!’ The fury came out in Helen’s voice as she turned to face Baker, wrestling with the steering wheel as the car slithered and slid on the slippery road.

  He looked sheepish but his voice was defiant. ‘I did what Tommy told me to do. He told me to take him out.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! That’s all you heard. You said the line went dead. He could have been going on to say anything, “Take him out for a nice drive in the car – take him out to smell the roses – take him out for…?” I don’t know what… but not to do him in.’ She shook her head and rubbed her cheeks vigorously with both hands.

  ‘How was I to know?’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘So, tell me again what happened.’

  Although they had reached the main road, driving was still tricky. He pulled over and stopped the car. ‘Look, I did what I thought was best.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘I invited him outside. He was reluctant at first but when he saw the gun…’

  ‘What? You were tooled up?’

  ‘It wasn’t loaded, but he didn’t know that, so he went out into the garden with me. We walked along the path the monks had cleared. It had stopped snowing; the rain had started and the wind had got up. We went on past the shrine room and the shed, where I think they put the body of that monk that’d died, and into the woods beyond. He stopped and asked me what I was playing at. I told him to keep moving but he began arguing. Then he made a grab for the gun and of course, it didn’t go off. We started fighting, more of a grapple really. I shoved him hard and he fell backwards, let out a cry, then went quiet. I waited, but he didn’t move. I leaned forward and could see blood running down his front. Somehow he’d fallen on to a bit of broken branch and there was a sharp bit sticking out of his side.’ Baker looked crestfallen. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him, only put the frighteners on him.’

  After a pause, Helen spoke quietly. ‘Was he dead?’

  ‘I don’t know. I legged it.’

  ‘And you just left him there?’

  ‘What else could I do?’ He held his hands out, palms upwards.

  Helen put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, what have you done?’ Baker reached across and touched her on the arm. She flung out her hand, slapping him away. ‘You’re a fool!’

  ‘Now hang on! I only pushed him, I didn’t kill him!’

  ‘Yes, but the body will still be there.’

  ‘But it was an accident.’ Baker looked pathetic.

  ‘The police won’t think that!’ She paused then put her hand to her mouth. ‘God! That policeman - Russell.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s still there. What will he do when they find Elsdale?’

  -0-

  ‘I reckon you were right in your analysis, Sonny’. The pathologist arched his back, pushing out his ample belly and exhaling noisily, his breath condensing in a cloud in front of him. ‘Blimey, it’s chilly in here!’ They were standing in the outhouse where the other monks had reverently placed the body of their colleague.

  ‘You said to keep him somewhere cold,’ Russell replied.

  ‘Quite right, quite right. Anyway, I’m pretty certain there has been no foul play. As you said, it was an unfortunate accident. Look here.’ He handed Russell a magnifying glass.

  Taking it, the DI peered closely at the neck of the monk, lying on the rough wooden bench. He could see a definite incision where the glass shard had entered the flesh. ‘And you’re sure that’s what killed him?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. Talking to the other monks it seems he was healthy, with no apparent ailments. I could arrange a post mortem, but I don’t think it’s really necessary. I understand they have their ways of dealing with the dead so I suggest I sign the death certificate and let them get on with it - if that’s okay with you?’ He looked quizzically at Russell.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Right. I’d best go back to Collinghurst. Where can I wash up?’

  -0-

  Russell returned to the warmth of the dining room in Shambhala while his colleague went to the bathroom. Sanghaketu had prepared a hearty vegetable soup and there were chunks of freshly baked bread to go with it. Although some had already left there was still a handful of retreatants sitting down to eat. Russell was hoping he’d see Helen but she was not around. When Vidyatara came into the room he asked if he’d seen her.

  ‘Ah. She left early, as soon as the road was clear enough.’

  ‘I didn’t know she had a car.’

  ‘She went off with Mr Baker. The one who was sharing your room.’

  Russell was puzzled. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise they were friends…’

  The monk shrugged, his face impassive.

  ‘What about the man who turned up on Saturday, Elsdale, wasn’t it?’

  ‘He’s gone too. He must have left early.’ Giving a little bow, he turned, went into the kitchen and was soon deep in conversation with Sanghaketu.

  Although he had barely touched his soup, Russell slid the bowl away and sat back in his chair, frowning. This turn of events had come as something of a surprise. He thought that he had developed a rapport with Helen and was upset that she had left without a goodbye. Then he remembered something. The previous evening, when Vidyatara had told Baker that he could use the telephone, a look passed between the man and Helen, fleeting, but definite. He thought hard, trying to recall if there had been anything else but that seemed to be all. Perhaps he had been mistaken. He
sighed and pulled the bowl back towards him. He was just about to take a mouthful of the steaming broth when he stopped, the spoon poised. He realised he wasn’t hungry any more. The events of the past couple of days were jumbled in his mind and he needed some air.

  Russell shrugged his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat and pulled his hat firmly on to his head. Opening the back door he could see that the rain was easing so he set off down the path, passing the shrine room and the outhouse where the body of the monk lay. With no clear plan he headed towards the woods, at the back of the garden, his mind churning and his feet on autopilot. Turning right, he made his way down a flight of wooden edged steps, holding the handrail and being careful not to fall on the slippery surface. He continued on through the woods, his mind turning over the events of the past few days; his feet finding their way along the winding path. The fresh air was clearing his head and he felt something was coming forward, from the back of his mind when suddenly, he tripped over a branch, stumbled and almost fell onto Elsdale’s prone body. Regaining his balance he let out a gasp as he saw the jagged branch sticking out of his side. Immediately he knelt, regardless of the melted snow seeping through the knee of his trousers, and pressed his fingers against the prone man’s neck. After a moment he could feel a faint fluttering. He was still alive. Quickly rising he turned and ran back to the house. Not waiting to speak to anyone he ran to the front door and out into the car park, just in time to see the pathologist manoeuvring his car. He wrenched open the driver’s door.

  ‘What the…?!’ Crooks began.

  ‘Sorry, but this is an emergency. Quick, follow me!’

  Crooks stopped the car, heaved his bulk out of the seat and followed Russell as he disappeared back through the house.