The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (35 page)

“Undesirables.” The chaplain bit back, raising his voice. “They were undesirables; the bible mentions them more than once.”

“Murderer, Father; you had a hand in the murder of all those people.”

“Smite them. Kill the undesirables,” the chaplain shouted as he walked towards the door.

“You killed innocents, Father; you killed my best friend.”

“He was peddling evil.”

“Liar, Father, you’re a liar. He never touched a drug in his life. It was made up. Jacob Moor made it up, accused him, just to give you an excuse to get rid of him.” Ashley smirked. “Not unlike Pontius Pilate with your beloved Lord, Father. He sanctioned Jesus’s crucifixion; without just cause, you did the same. You’re a murderer.”

The chaplain covered his ears. “I won’t listen, I won’t listen to this.”

“Then fuck off out of here then. Go on, fuck right off out of here, coming to pray for me as if somebody’s given you the right to judge me. When will you be judged, Father, or has it already happened? My guess is you’re fucked, Father. Murder, theft, child abuse, sodomy, rape: how many more crimes do you want me to list, how many crimes have you been a part of? You’re going to hell – you’re a Judas, Father. You’ve betrayed a child, betrayed the young men that you helped send to their deaths … you’re going to burn, Father… burn in hell.”

At last Father Thompson located the key to the cell door. Breathing hard now, he turned away from his accuser. A tear fell onto his cheek. His palms were sweating, the key slipped from his grip and rattled onto the stone floor. The abuse behind him continued unabated. He fumbled for it again and gripped it firm, managed to insert it into the lock. As the door opened he felt as if a wave of life-saving oxygen had washed over him.

Ashley had lost track of the time. There were no outside windows in the small cell and the hours of daylight and darkness had blended into one. Claire Macbeth had brought him some sandwiches and a hot drink but had said nothing as she placed the tray just within his reach. He’d noticed that her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks streaked with tears. When had the tears started, he thought to himself, had she been crying for hours or had they started as she witnessed his plight? Had she any guilt at all? The steam had stopped rising from the plastic mug. He reached out for the now lukewarm cup of tea. No matter, it still tasted good. He devoured the sandwiches like a greedy dog. Nature’s way, he needed the energy.

There was only one option available to the Island Keepers and they had made their decision. He had the information to bring their organisation to its knees, put the Brothers away for life. Roddam, Moor, the Father, even his one-time friend John Markham, and especially… Claire. They were all accessories to murder.

He heard voices. The cell door opened and a delegation of Island Keepers filled the small room. They were dressed in ceremonial aprons and blue-trimmed sashes that hung loosely across their chests. They each held an ornamental sword. Ashley’s chains were opened and he squeezed at both wrists in turn.

Jacob Moor spoke as the delegation raised their swords, pointing towards Ashley. “The Brothers have instructions to kill you should you try anything silly, so please cooperate.”

“Cooperate in what? Where are you taking me?”

John Markham answered.”You’re to stand trial.”

“Stand trial for what?”

“Save your questions, you’ll have plenty of time to speak,” replied John Roddam. In a swift familiar movement his old Chief Superintendent applied the Northumbria Police Force standard-issue plastic handcuffs to the wrists of the prisoner. Ashley winced as they bit into his wounds. A rough hand pushed him from behind as he was unceremoniously bundled from the cell.

The temple was almost in darkness save for a few candles flickering around the perimeter, and three on top of the stone crypt in the centre of the room. It was cold… oh, so cold.

The Brothers formed a sort of makeshift guard of honour and Jacob Moor walked down the middle of them, occasionally nodding or exchanging a nervous smile.

He slow-marched around the crypt twice and climbed four stone steps and took his place at a high wooden throne decorated with jewels and ornate gold patterns.

He bowed his head and the Brothers took their place, four in slightly less elaborate wooden thrones in each corner of the room and the rest strategically placed in between. Again Roddam pushed Ashley roughly towards the centre of the room. As he approached the crypt a light was switched on and his eyes fell on two seats at opposite ends of the crypt. One was empty and obviously meant for Ashley, in the other sat a dishevelled Kate Wilkinson.

“Kate,” he cried out.

“Oh, Ashley,” she spoke as the tears began to flow. “Thank God you’re still alive. They told me you had had an accident, told me I had to get here as soon as I could.”

The sight of Kate Wilkinson sitting in the chair with her wrists tied to each arm plunged Ashley to new depths of despair. He could barely speak.

“They tricked you, Kate. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I should never have–”

“What’s happening, Ashley? Is this some sort of sick joke? Who are these nutters, why am I tied up?”

Ashley looked up at Jacob Moor, then gazed around the room.

“These are the people who killed your son.”

Kate Wilkinson’s mouth fell wide open as she tightened her grip on the arms of the chair.

“Silence,” ordered Roddam.”Sit.”

He forced Ashley down into the seat.

Ashley raised his voice a decibel or two.”Every one of them had a hand in his death, Kate.”

Roddam pushed Ashley forward, took a small knife from his pocket and cut the handcuffs.

“Don’t go getting too comfortable.” He grinned as he produced two pieces of gold-coloured rope. A chance, thought Ashley, at last a chance to do something – anything.

As if reading his mind, two of the biggest Brothers stepped forward, each one taking an arm as they forced each elbow down until they were parallel with the wooden arms of the chair. Roddam took great pleasure in applying the ropes a lot

tighter than was necessary.

Fucked again
, thought Ashley.

Jacob Moor began.”Chaplain, you may open the meeting.”

Father Thompson stood, walked over to the head of the crypt and held a copy of the bible aloft. “Brothers,” he began. “In the name of the grand architect of the universe and by the powers invested in me I will declare–”

“JUDAS!” roared Ashley.

“Judas, Judas, Judas,” he began to chant. Father Thompson looked around for assistance; John Roddam strode forward and cuffed Ashley hard across the face.

“Silence!” he screamed. “How dare you. This is a place of worship.” Ashley felt a trickle of blood run from his lip and down his chin, the pain danced across his face.

Task completed and the prisoner silenced, Roddam turned to Father Thompson.

“Please continue, chaplain.”

Father Thompson, visibly shaking now, nodded at Roddam and prepared to speak again.

“Brothers, we, we…” he stuttered, glancing sideways at Ashley as if expecting another interruption. “We are gathered here to…to…to… today to t..t..take–”

“Fucking murdering Judas Iscariot,” Ashley screamed, he didn’t want to disappoint.

“Murdering man of the cloth, child abuser, hypocr–”

A heavy fist propelled into his face and Ashley’s world started spinning out of control.

When he came round he’d been gagged and his chair moved to face Jacob Moor from a corner at the front of the temple. His breathing was shallow and laboured.

Kate Wilkinson sat alongside Ashley, sniffing. Ashley turned to look. She was a quivering wreck, her tear-streaked face blackened with mascara. She looked at Ashley, setting off another bout of crying.

“Oh, Ashley,” she whimpered between the tears, “they’re going to kill us. We’re on trial for our lives.”

Jacob Moor appeared as if he was coming to the end of his address. Ashley didn’t know how long he’d been speaking, he had no idea how long he’d been out.

“And therefore, Brothers, the decision you have to make today is a hard one. If you take the decision to spare their lives then you must also take the decision to end our noble organisation and face the consequences. A trial… maybe even a prison sentence for some of us.”

Jacob looked down at Ashley.

“Ah, Mr Clarke, you’re in the land of the living again.” He signalled to a Brother over the far side of the room who, armed with a small dagger, walked towards Ashley and Kate.

“As promised, Mr Clarke, we always give our prisoners the right to reply.”

The Brother raised the dagger up to Ashley’s face and sliced through the rope gag that had prevented him from speaking.

Jacob Moor continued. “Please try and avoid cursing and insulting us. Try and be a little constructive with your chosen vocabulary. It might just save your life.” Jacob suppressed a smile: he knew that whatever the prisoner said it wouldn’t save his life. It was a foregone conclusion, it always was. Thirteen Brothers, thirteen votes and the majority count held court.

Thirteen black balls and thirteen white; a black ball meant death and a white one a reprieve. He wanted to smile, laugh out loud but held his composure well. Never in the history of the Lodge since he’d been the Master had a white ball ever been cast. He was the Master of the Lodge, they were his men, he’d influenced every decision they’d ever taken. That’s what the Master was there for… it was his duty to control his Brothers… Jacob’s men… and he was proud of every one of them.

He thought about the fourteenth member of the Lodge. He was pleased with what he’d created, pleased with the way he’d moulded her into what she was. As a young girl she’d always been at the beck and call of her
Uncle Jacob
, always been obedient and trusting.
.

Ashley opened and closed his mouth several times, the saliva began to flow again.

“Brothers… our organisation has a long and proud history. It is your duty…” He paused and deliberately cast his eyes on every Brother gathered in the temple. They looked up at the Worshipful Master with their swords pointing at the floor. Jacob looked down at Ashley.

“The history books tell us, Mr Clarke, of the exploits of the Knights Templar and the Freemasons, the Illuminati and other secret societies based on the same principles and teachings as our own. At Bannockburn, the famous battle between England and Scotland in 1314, the historians write about a well-trained band of men fighting against the English side that turned the tide and won the battle for the Scots. The history books suggest those band of men were in fact the Knights Templar who’d made a base in Scotland after they’d been persecuted and harangued by the Catholic church. Those men were not the Knights Templar. They were Island Keepers. The Keepers had thrived in Scotland and we felt we owed a debt of gratitude to the country who allowed us a homeland. Nor could we forget the persecution we’d suffered in the early centuries at the hands of the English crown.”

Ashley found his voice.

“You mean to tell me that a handful of men originating from Holy Island fought the might of the English army and won?”

“Not a handful, Mr Clarke, thousands of us.” Jacob smiled again.”I think now, Mr Clarke, you might just realise what sort of organisation you’ve infiltrated. We are proud men. Proud and determined to do what is right and just.”

A few of the Brothers were nodding in agreement, the first black balls were already being cast.

Ashley’s throat was dry; just how many Island Keepers were spread around the British Isles, how many Lodges were there and what power did they hold?

The police at Berwick, Roddam and John Markham, men of power, men able to influence people’s lives. And then it dawned on him… the coroner at Tom’s inquest.

“Men of influence, Mr Clarke, men with the power to make decisions.”

“Like coroners?”

Jacob smiled. “Ah, you mean our friend Mr Douglas in Cleveland.” Jacob smiled and nodded, with a look that sickened Ashley to the pit of his stomach.

“You call yourself men of honour. You’re nothing of the sort. Cheats and frauds all of you.” He looked over to where Kate Wilkinson was sitting.”You robbed this lady of justice, murdered her son then covered it up. Your organisation is poison.”

“He was a drug dealer, he deserved to die. We have no place for people like that on the island. Society should do likewise.”

“He never touched a drug in his life; you invented it.”

“The island is sacred; it must be policed, protected at all times.”

“Tom wouldn’t touch a drug, he hated them. A few of us experimented just after we left school. Tom walked away, wouldn’t have nothing to do with them,” Ashley shouted at the Brothers.”Your Worshipful Master is a liar, gentlemen.”

“Silence,” screamed Jacob.”I won’t have you accusing me in my own temple.”

The lone voice that spoke was very quiet, barely above a whisper, but it commanded the attention of everybody in the room.

“I’m afraid you can’t silence him, Worshipful Master.” John Markham continued, “With the greatest respect, Worshipful Master, he is allowed to speak. The right to reply. Remember?” Jacob Moor paused for a second, unsure what to do or say. Ashley continued, “You have a chance, gentlemen, a chance to put right the wrongs of the past. You have an opportunity to give this lady justice. As we speak the father of one of your so-called undesirables is busy contacting the other victims’ families. This won’t go away, you can’t sweep this under the carpet. They’ll be knocking at your front door very soon. You won’t be able to explain those deaths away so easily and if you get rid of