The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (32 page)

Big Tam was astounded. He’d never given the boy any credit, thought he’d been successful by muscling his way around and living on his father’s reputation. He was a businessman, a natural. For the first time in Big Tam’s life he felt a different kind of pride in one of his sons.

But thieving was in his blood. It had been bred into him. Every few weeks he would take a phone call and be off. The phone call that would ultimately end in his death had come from Newcastle. A bent shop assistant had kept the credit card from a particularly stressed woman in a Newcastle department store. He should have handed it back with her receipt but this time she only got the receipt. He picked the clientele carefully, always someone in a rush and if on the odd occasion they remembered and asked for the card he’d slap his forehead and act dumb.

The shop assistant reckoned it would be at least two or three days before the lady noticed the card missing.

Two or three days for Gordy to fill his boots. And he’d done just that the whole day in Newcastle city centre, then over to the Metro Centre in Gateshead that evening.

He’d been tired as he noticed the signpost to Holy Island. He’d passed it a hundred times and always wanted to see what it was like. He telephoned his dad, said he would leave early the next morning, be in the factory about elevenish.

He’d booked in at the Ship Inn and thought it would be a nice way to end his lucrative little excursion. A small hotel’s bedrooms were notoriously easy to get into; he may be able to pick up a little extra, a little icing on the cake.

Tam Dalgleish had killed him. He held himself responsible. He’d introduced him to thieving at six or seven years of age, his small son helping with the shoplifting trips. It was in his blood… it was in Big Tam’s blood… and his father before him.

But for all that, Gordon was professional, never touched a drop of alcohol when he was
working
. It made no sense. The coroner’s report said he had a high level of alcohol in his body. Not Gordy, he wouldn’t do it. Nor would he have abandoned a carful of videos, DVD players, camcorders, IPods, and power tools that the police found in the boot of the stolen car adjacent to the Ship Inn.

Big Tam picked up his mobile and the scrap of paper with the telephone number in Luton. He wiped a tear from his eye and began to key in the number.

They’d been led down the stairs and through the temple of the Island Keepers. In the centre of the room was a highly polished stone crypt four feet in height surrounded by candles. Thirteen ornamental highly-jewelled swords hung above it, suspended from a large silver square and compass attached by almost invisible wires from the ceiling. Jacob Moor stopped the entourage as they reached the centre of the room. He turned to Ashley and to his visibly shaken wife.

“This is our temple, in case you haven’t guessed. It’s here where we carry out the ancient ceremonies, ceremonies devised from the teachings of the ancient Egyptians and the workings of King Solomon’s temple.”

“So why worship St Cuthbert? He didn’t appear till much later. Why not worship the ancient Sphinx or a pyramid or the sun?”

Jacob Moor walked slowly around the crypt. His fellow brothers stood in silence… in awe as he continued.

“We worship only one thing, Mr Clarke… the Supreme Being. St Cuthbert was a sign, a gesture by God to show how special the island was. We remember him for what he was but we only worship the Supreme Being. God sent a saint to us, Mr Clarke, a saint. Can you imagine that?”

He nodded in the direction of Father Thompson. “An island the size of this and the good Lord sent us a saint.” Jacob Moor looked skywards and made the sign of the cross. He continued, “And on his death and years after, yet another sign. The incorrupt body.”

Ashley recalled the lesson given by Claire Macbeth in the Priory.

Jacob Moor smiled.”The Brotherhood began shortly after St Cuthbert’s death.”

Jacob Moor stood directly in front of Ashley and Sheila Moor and spoke in a hushed tone. He spoke to his wife.

“You came close, dear. You came close to destroying an organisation that has survived for over a thousand years. We’ve survived the might of the Roman Catholic Church, the medieval inquisitions, the wars of independence and even the damn Vikings.”

“Language, Mr Moor,” retorted Father Thompson.”Remember where you are, Brother.”

Jacob Moor doffed an imaginary cap towards Father Thompson.

“Sorry, Father. I do apologise.” He stared at Ashley. “And you, Mr Clarke. Your little subterfuge as an American novelist didn’t quite work, did it.”

“You’re sure about that, Jacob, are you?”

Jacob bit back straightaway. “Of course I am. You’ve been caught out, captured by the Brotherhood, an organisation far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“But what damage have I done, Jacob? Who else knows what I’ve been up to?”

Jacob Moor laughed, turned away and walked back towards the crypt.”Oh, I see what you’re trying to do, Mr Clarke. You’re

trying to sow a seed of doubt in my head.” He turned around and stared back at Ashley. “It won’t work. You haven’t been anywhere since my dear wife here delivered her dramatics. You haven’t made so much as a phone call. There’s only one person who knows you’re here and she will be taken care of very soon.”

Ashley froze. No. Not Kate Wilkinson. How could they know?

“We managed to trace the number of the lady in Darras Hall, the mother of our last victim. We’ve been monitoring all your calls made from the public phone box, Mr Clarke. We have the most sophisticated equipment money can buy at our disposal and, of course, the help of our very own boys in blue on how to use it.”

Jacob took a step forward.”You’re working for her, aren’t you.”

“I’m working for no one. I wanted to find out what happened to her son. He was a friend.”

Jacob ignored him. “Mrs Wilkinson will arrive here first thing tomorrow. We made a phone call, told her you’d been hurt in an accident and requested the pleasure of her company.”

A sick nauseous feeling washed over Ashley. What a mess. Now Kate Wilkinson entering the lion’s den. What would they do with her? What would they do with him, and what would Jacob Moor do with his wife, and what the hell was keeping John Markham?

Jacob Moor answered his questions as if by some sort of divine intervention.

“You’ll all have to die, of course.” He looked at his wife who was vigorously shaking her head.

“Yes, dear… you too. You’ll be pleased to know that brother Kyle has recovered the contents of my safe. They’ve been placed somewhere else now, so you see, my dear, once you two and Mrs Wilkinson are taken out of the equation, the secret is buried once again.”

“The police in Newcastle, they’re aware of the killings on the island. If another three people disappear, they’ll be here in a flash.”

Jacob moved forward, his nose now inches from Ashley’s face.

“The police in Newcastle.” He guffawed, a long, loud laugh almost like a cackle. His Brothers smiled too; Father Thompson broke out into a giggle.

“The police, Mr Clarke. I think I’ve a little surprise for you.”

Roddam and Markham walked into the Ship Inn and were

greeted by Jacob Moor.

“The Berwick lads telephoned. How bad is it?” asked Roddam.

Jacob Moor held up two hands.”Relax, Brothers, it’s taken care of.”

Roddam couldn’t relax; he was thinking of the consequences had a non-Brother intercepted that call at Berwick. John Markham was still grieving. He was home now, home on the island, Uncle Frank’s island.

Jacob Moor seemed to sense it. He stepped forward, said how sorry he was about John’s uncle and embraced him. John appreciated the gesture and hugged him tightly, trying hard to suppress the tears. Jacob’s hand moved to the back of John Markham’s head.

“He was a good man, John. One of the best.”

They parted, Markham spoke. “But suicide, Jacob? I just couldn’t believe it when I heard it was suicide.”

Jacob nodded then shook his head.

“I know, John, it’s hard to believe. I know he’d been a bit depressed lately but I just put it down to the bad weather. We’ve had a terrible time of it lately and of course the island always gets battered worse than the mainland.”

“You thought he was depressed?”

“Yes. You must have noticed it too.”

John Markham nodded.”A little, I suppose.”

“Where’s Clarke?” asked Roddam.

Jacob Moor frowned.”Down in the basement with Sheila.”

Roddam had been told that it had been Jacob’s wife who’d made the call. Sheila Moor had nearly brought the ancient organisation down and for a second he hated her. He almost hated Jacob Moor for failing to keep his own house in order. Roddam placed a hand on Jacob Moor’s shoulder, squeezed gently.

“They’ll both have to die, Jacob, you do realise that.”

Jacob Moor pulled a seat from the table and flopped down into it. He stroked at an eyebrow and massaged the side of his temple. He said nothing but looked up at Roddam and Markham.

“The Brotherhood comes before all else, Jacob. She could have brought us down.”

It was only a slight nod but a nod nevertheless. Roddam sighed inwardly with relief. Jacob Moor had been the mainstay of the Brotherhood in recent years. He’d devoted his life to it and had never shirked his responsibility when it came to important decisions. He’d rooted out more undesirables in recent years and had covered the tracks of the Brotherhood well. There’d been a few murmurs of concern among the Brothers in recent years but Jacobs’s powerful and hypnotic oration had won the Brothers over, time and time again.

“I know, John, I know. The only thing that concerns me is how we do it.”

John Markham joined in the conversation. “The causeway, surely, that’s the only way.”

“Almost like a tradition.” Jacob Moor smiled.

The smile warmed Rod dam’s heart. He should never have doubted his Worshipful Master; all along he’d been planning the executions not debating whether or not they should take place.

John Markham spoke. “Two more deaths off the causeway might just raise a few eyebrows.”

Jacob Moor was thinking about his wife’s phobia of the sea. It seemed crazy that a woman who’d lived on an island all her life could be so terrified of something she looked at every single day of her life.

Roddam nodded. “You’re right. We’ll need to call an emergency meeting, get our heads together and work something out.”

Jacob Moor laughed, looked at the two policeman.”We’ve six coppers here. I’m sure you lot can think of something.”

John Markham looked Jacob Moor straight in the eyes, couldn’t quite believe he could be so cold and calm when talking about the murder of his wife. What had happened to the family values preached by the Brotherhood for so long? Jacob Moor should be distraught, inconsolable; instead he was sitting there smiling as if it was some sort of bizarre entertainment.

This couldn’t be happening. Ashley sat on the cold floor held around the wrists by two long rusty chains. Sheila Moor sat beside him. Her face was streaked with tears. God knows what was going on in her head.

In less than a week she’d found out her husband was an adulterer, a murderer and, worst of all, had given the command to his Brothers to chain his own wife up.

Ashley looked around as his eyes gradually grew accustomed to the poor light. Something reminded him of a Hammer House of Horror movie. The cell, or was it a dungeon, was made to look exactly like that, a dungeon within the bowels of Dracula’s castle. The only light came from two candles on top of two stone pillars in the centre of the cell.

The walls were adorned with painted symbols: globes, pyramids, squares, triangles, compasses and protractors. On the floor of the room, almost the entire length of the cell, lay a plush heavy-duty rug. It had been cut in the unmistakeable shape of a coffin with a set square, a mallet and a compass beautifully embroidered in gold thread. At the top of the coffin, where the deceased’s head would lie, a skull and crossbones had been stitched in heavy black wool.

Sheila Moor hadn’t spoken since her husband’s address in the temple. Ashley looked across to where she sat. She stared into space, dejected, rejected… a defeated woman. He’d tried speaking to her a few times since they’d been chained up but she’d simply stared ahead, zombie-like, looking into space.

It had been five minutes since his last attempt. She spoke in a whisper.”They won’t get away with it, you know.”

Ashley breathed a sigh of relief; she was still in the land of the living. Broken, yes, undoubtedly, but still there in spirit. Before Ashley could answer she spoke again.

“They’ll throw us into the sea like the rest of them. Take us away in a boat if necessary and concoct some lame story that the police and the coroner will accept. They’ll accept it because they’ll have chosen the professionals from within their own ranks.”

Ashley was aware of exactly what Sheila Moor was saying.

“The police are riddled with them and they have doctors and coroners and judges, magistrates, the lot. They’ll cover it up just like they did with Frank’s suicide.”

Ashley was deep in thought. Those documents in the safe were dynamite if only Sheila Moor had hidden them or even put them in the post to someone in authority.