Tiny pearls of sweat glistened on
Ben Whittle’s forehead as he carried Old Joe into Feelham Pentecostal Church in
a brown canvas holdall. The bag had rubbed a sore patch on the outside of his
right knee during the two mile walk to the church. If Ben didn’t know better,
he would have sworn Old Joe was putting on weight. He walked through the hall,
trainers screeching on the parquet flooring. There was a cacophony of shouts and
jibes coming from the table tennis area where a dozen or so kids jostled for
exclusive rights to the table. Andy, an older boy of eighteen, attempted to
organise them into a cohesive group. He waved his arms in the air like a
conductor trying to coax melody from chaos.

Pastor Tom White looked over at Ben and rolled his eyes.

Ben raised his free hand. ‘How’s it going, Tom?’

‘Don’t ask. It’s like trying to take charge of a pack of
puppies.’

Even in the mid-July heat, Pastor Tom was wearing his usual
tweed jacket, brown corduroy trousers and trilby hat. A tall man with size
thirteen feet and arthritic hands, Tom always looked to Ben as if he was some
kind of crude prototype puppet that didn’t quite make it into the cast of
Thunderbirds.

Tom had set the church up five years ago in a disused prefab
concrete shell that had once housed Feelham Girl Guides. From the outside, with
its pebble-dashed grey walls and barred windows, the building looked better
suited to housing prisoners of war than worshippers. But as Pastor Tom was fond
of saying, “it’s what’s on the inside that counts”.

There was a poster taped to the wall behind the stage
proclaiming
The Power of God.
To the side of the poster, a large wooden
cross bore testament to the true nature of the church.

‘I’ll just pop Old Joe out the back, then I’ll be right with
you.’

‘Get yourself a drink first, lad, you look frazzled,’ Tom
said.

‘You don’t look so hot yourself.’ And then, on reflection:
‘Scrub that, you look roasted.’

Tom grinned. ‘Who said “the Lord only gives me what I
can cope with”?’

Ben walked through an open doorway into a back room which
served as a rest room and refreshment hub. He put the bag down on a pine table
and tried to shake pins and needles out of his arm.

Maddie White, Pastor Tom’s daughter, peered through a
serving hatch that separated the restroom from the small kitchenette where she
was busy filling plastic beakers with orange squash. ‘Hi, Ben. How’s it going?’

‘Not too bad. I walked for a change. I’m so unfit.’

Maddie wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘You look all right
to me.’

Ben’s heart glowed radioactive. ‘I might look a lot better
if I exercised more than just my fingers on a computer keyboard.’

Maddie laughed and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her
ear. She joined Ben in the rest room. Dressed in bright yellow dungarees, a
white tee-shirt and red and white spotted canvas shoes, she looked like summer
to Ben.

Maddie tapped the canvas bag. ‘How’s Old Joe?’

‘Lemme out,’ a muffled voice demanded from inside the bag.

Maddie grinned. ‘Poor thing. He must be roasted in there.’

‘Don’t encourage him.’

Too late. Old Joe was already encouraged. ‘Come on, it’s
dark in here. I’m claustrophobic. How would you like to be stuffed inside a
body bag?’

‘You’ll be stuffed in a minute if you don’t stop moaning,’
Ben said.

‘Aw, let him out, poor thing.’

Ben unzipped the bag to reveal Old Joe, a ventriloquist
dummy which he entertained the kids with every Friday evening before the Bible
readings. Old Joe only had one eye which stared permanently to the left
courtesy of a broken mechanism. His
brown serge suit had fallen victim to several moth
attacks, but he was a tramp, and tramps didn’t have their suits dry cleaned.

Maddie leaned over and spoke as if addressing a baby in a
crib. ‘Hey, Old Joe, how are you?’

‘Okay, I suppose. For someone zipped up in a body bag.’

‘You look very handsome.’

‘That’s the kinda girl I like,’ Old Joe said, his wooden
lips pulled back in a permanent grin.

Some of Maddie’s blonde hair tumbled forward. ‘He’s so
sweet.’

Ben pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t say that. You’ll
make his head swell.’

‘She can call me what she likes. It’s her prer-og-ative.’

Maddie turned around and faced Ben. ‘You’re really good with
him. He actually sounds like he’s talking.’

‘I am talking,’ Old Joe said.

Maddie smiled and looked at Ben. ‘I can’t even see your lips
moving.’

‘He’s the dummy. I’m the smart one,’ Old Joe said.

Ben wagged a finger at Old Joe. ‘That’s enough of your
cheek.’

‘Get me out of here. I’m stiff as a board.’

Ben shook his head. ‘No.’

‘You’re heartless. Isn’t he heartless, Maddie?’

‘Heart of stone,’ Maddie agreed.

‘I’ll zip the bag up if you keep whining,’ Ben said.

‘See if I care.’

Ben zipped up the bag.

‘Hey. Come on. I was kidding. I’m roasting in here.’

Ben grinned. It was one of the many ways Pastor Tom had
taught Ben to conceal lip movement. ‘Sleight of lip,’ Tom called it.

Maddie straightened up. ‘Aw, let him out. He’s adorable.’

‘Don’t encourage him.’

‘How would you like to be dressed in a suit in this weather?
You need to buy me a sha-wimming costume.’

‘I need to buy you a gag,’ Ben said.

‘I love him,’ Maddie said.

‘Marry me,’ Old Joe pleaded.

Maddie grinned. ‘If you buy me a diamond ring.’

‘I’ll buy you three.’

‘And where are you going to get the money to buy diamonds?’
Ben asked. ‘You’re just a tatty old tramp.’

‘I’ll hustle.’

Maddie laughed. Sunshine poured into her eyes. ‘Would you
like a drink?’

‘Scotch on the rocks.’

Ben wagged a finger at the bag. ‘Not you, Hobo.’

‘I’m as dry as a desert,’ Old Joe persisted.

Ben pretended to ignore him. ‘I wouldn’t mind some orange
squash, thanks.’

Maddie fetched him a drink from the kitchenette. ‘Busy at
work?’

Her hand brushed against his as she handed him the plastic
beaker. It felt like velvet. ‘A bit. Dad’s working a case at the moment.’

‘What’s the case? Or is it sworn to secrecy?’

‘It’s just a missing girl. Apparently she’s joined a cult.
Dad’s tracked them down to a farm out in the sticks somewhere. He’s got the
place under surveillance. He’s trying to get photos of the girl to take back to
her parents to confirm she’s there.’

‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘He’ll be all right. He knows what he’s doing.’

‘Those cults creep me out. I remember reading about that one
in America. Waco. They all died in a fire when the FBI stormed it. Killed
themselves. Seventy-odd men, women and children. Terrible.’

‘That’s America for you. This lot probably worship the moon
and drink chicken blood.’

‘I’ll ask my dad to pray for them.’

Ben wondered if Maddie could get Pastor Tom to ask God to
grant his father the virtue of patience while he was about it. ‘Thanks.’

Maddie looked at her wristwatch. ‘Better get cracking; it’s
nearly eight.’

Ben drained his drink. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck. I’ll come and watch the table tennis tournament
as soon as I’ve finished doing the rolls.’

Ben was about to walk back into the hall when his mobile
rang. He fished it out of his jeans pocket. His father’s watch-phone number, marked
as Dad 2, flashed on the screen. That was his father’s emergency backup device
if his main phone was out of action. A pancake flipped in his stomach. He
pressed to accept the call. ‘Dad?’

A breathless rasping noise gurgled through the earpiece.

‘Dad?’

The rasping noise turned into a whine and then a deep growl.

‘Dad? Is that you?’

His father wheezed. His voice sounded like it was drowning
in snot. ‘I…’

‘What’s wrong? Where are you?’

‘I’m…’

‘Have you had an accident?’

‘Dying…’

Ben’s stomach lurched. Goosebumps hatched all over his body.
‘What’s happened?’

‘No… time… they’re… coming…’

Ben looked behind him. ‘Who? Who’s coming?’

His father gasped. It sounded as if he was trying to suck in
breath through gravel.

Ben’s heart thudded in his ears. ‘I’ll call the police.
Where are you?’

His father coughed and wheezed. ‘No… cops…’

‘Dad? Dad?’

‘No… cops…he’ll…kill…us…all…’

‘Where are you?’

The phone went dead. Ben shook it and pressed it back to his
ear. ‘Dad? Can you hear me?’

Maddie put a hand on Ben’s arm. ‘What is it?’

Ben gawked at the phone as if it had just given him a
hotline to Hell. He tried to gather his thoughts, but it was like trying to
collect feathers on a windy hilltop. ‘It’s my dad.’

‘What’s wrong with him? Has he had an accident?’

Ben struggled for words. ‘Oh, Jesus, Maddie, he sounded in a
really bad way. Like he couldn’t breathe properly.’

‘Ring him back.’

Ben tried. ‘No answer.’ He tossed his phone on the table and
paced around the room. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

‘Call the police. They might be able to trace the call.’

‘He told me not to call the cops. He was really adamant
about that.’

‘Perhaps he’s had an accident. He might be concussed,’
Maddie tried.

Ben shook his head. ‘But he would’ve just told me to call an
ambulance.’

‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with this cult?’

Ben remembered Maddie’s earlier reference to Waco and
shuddered. ‘God knows. But he rang me on his watch-phone. That means he’s
either broken his main phone or someone’s taken it off him.’

‘Try and ring him again.’

Ben did. Again, no answer. The watch-phone didn’t have a
messaging facility. It was a straight dial-in and dial-out device. He tossed
his phone back on the table and slumped in a chair. ‘Shit.’

Maddie reached down and put her hand on Ben’s. Normally,
this action would have written a love letter and posted it straight to Ben’s
heart. Instead, he flinched, stood up, and paced around the room again.

‘Try to calm down, Ben. Do you know where this farm is?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t have a clue. He never tells me
anything. He goes off for days on end sometimes. One time he got beat up and
had to go to casualty. He never said a word about who did it or why. It’s just
the way he is.’

Pastor Tom appeared in the doorway. His red and black
checked shirt was patched with sweat. ‘When you’re ready, big guy? They’re all
raring to go.’

Maddie walked over to her father. ‘Ben can’t help tonight.’

Tom looked over at Ben. ‘What’s wrong, son?’

‘Ben’s got a massive problem at home.’

‘Oh?’

‘You’ll have to do the table tennis tournament on your own.’

Pastor Tom frowned. ‘Don’t worry about the tournament. I’ll
get Andy to see to that. I’ll be right back.’

BOOK: The Revelation Room (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 1)

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