When The Hammer Falls

Now late afternoon, Father Logan had decided to finish off notes he had left in the vestry. Satisfactorily completed he closed the door of the vestry and returned to the pew opposite the statue of the Madonna. He frequently sat at this particular seat when the Church was empty to calm his nerves whenever he felt the onset of his depressions. Another two weeks would see the Wedding of Eleanor James and Paul Spencer, order of service needed to be attended to and the request for hymns. The prospect of this forthcoming marriage had been soured by the confession of Margaret Lacey, Eleanor’s aunt the previous evening. Usually he welcomed weddings and enjoyed the opportunity of uniting two sets of families. He liked Eleanor and Paul and was convinced their union was a truly good and loving one, he was only to pleased to bring about that union through the grace of God and the Catholic Church, but his soul was in torment by an oath he had given so many years ago. The oath had been taken on the Bible, a sworn oath he had pledged only days before his mother had died. He could see her face as clearly now as on the day he made that pledge. His Uncle had welcomed him into the bosom of his family in Scotland. A religious man he brought Andrew up in the faith of the Roman Catholic Church. For a young sensitive boy he embraced the Church and as he matured through to his teenage years looked forward to his induction and training to become a priest He loved Scotland, he loved the wide open spaces, the hills he walked so often the rivers where his Uncle fished, all were to play a part in his development as a priest. He found London at first to be claustrophobic, hemmed in by tall buildings on the one hand and then bewildered by the slum areas around the East End. The people he found friendly, with very little in the way of possessions, but they were generous to their Church. He warmed to them. Now back into the rural atmosphere of country life he was hoping to rid himself of this profound sickness that at times surfaced to the point, that at times, he felt almost suicidal, such was its impact, more so these last two to three days. The change of diocese had made no difference; it only brought it to the surface more vividly. He realised, it was inevitable that he would have to deal with it, but how and by whom’?
‘Hello Father’ a voice called out. He turned quickly to see the familiar figure of Jim Langton ambling slowly toward him
‘Am I interrupting you? I feel as though I have intruded ‘ The Priest mustered a smile
‘You are very welcome Chief Inspector—do I keep having to address you that way, it always seems to be a barrier once you get to know someone’
‘Jim will do fine’ Langton replied
‘I’m Andrew ’ he looked at the Madonna ‘She’s my friend, my confidant, I talk to her at times’ he smiled ‘ but unlike most women, she doesn’t answer back’
‘Is that a plus Andrew’?  Said Langton. The priest continued staring at her, without so much as a glance at Langton
‘She may be just a statue to you Jim, but to me when I look into her eye’s, I sense all the pain and suffering she has absorbed over the years from countless people who have opened their hearts and minds to her, –‘ he turned to his guest ‘we all need someone to take on our pain’
‘And your pain Andrew, does she take yours away’? Said Langton staring intently at the priest
 ‘You think I carry some kind of burden Jim’?
‘Enough to distract you from hearing me open and close those heavy doors when I entered just now—come Father, you didn’t hear me did you’? Father Logan looked at Langton and smiled
‘Perhaps I was pre-occupied for a few moments –tell me Jim, when did you leave London to come here’?
‘ Seven years ago—why’? Replied Langton
‘Do you know the East End well’? Father Logan enquired
‘Well enough I suppose. You were there too I believe’
‘That answer Jim implies you know I was, am I right’? Langton smiled
‘Yes, I had reason to phone an old colleague regarding our present investigation into Art thefts. We usually fax other units for similar occurrences in their areas; in this instance I phoned my old patch as an excuse to talk to an old friend’
‘Then I’m sure Jim you are aware my name must have cropped up regarding a theft from my Church, although as you were informed, the Artefacts were returned’
‘But not the painting Andrew, that wasn’t returned. What was it and how valuable? Langton asked
‘It was of Jesus at prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, it’s purported to be in the style of Duccio, the 13th. Century artist, but this was a later version worth a considerable amount of money’ he paused a moment ‘ now you are wondering whether I was involved’
‘And were you’? Langton replied with a slightly impish grin’
‘I am sure Jim you have reservations, I am also sure your friend in London will have told you that I was questioned with others and cleared, but as the painting was never returned, it obviously must still cloud the findings of us who were questioned and cleared’