LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 8

      Imogen knocked on the door of the church and pushed lightly against it. It swung wide open. The building inside looked empty. She had never been a religious person but she found the church quite calming in itself; the well-worn wooden seats, the dancing light from the stained-glass windows, the smell of incense and burning candles. It reminded her of her childhood; her mother was always burning incense and leaving candles lit through the night. It was a miracle there had never been an accident. She thought of her mother, painting by candlelight and she knew that was why she liked churches: they reminded her of her mum, the peaceful mother that would quietly paint in the half-light and not the manic mother that would continually forget to collect her from school.

      ‘Hello?’ she called out tentatively.

      Adrian had no such compunction and walked down the aisle and up towards the altar.

      ‘Hello?’ His voice echoed hers. Seconds later a door opened to the side of the altar and a priest emerged.

      ‘I’m Father Berkeley. How can I help you?’

      Imogen joined Adrian as the priest approached, they both pulled out their IDs and the priest’s smile got a little tighter.

      ‘We’re conducting an investigation. We heard that you have a lot of homeless people in and out of here. We just wondered if you had noticed anyone missing recently?’ Imogen said, as Adrian wandered off towards the candle bank, the tiny shine of the tea lights burning away even when no one was there.

      ‘It doesn’t really work like that,’ Father Berkeley told them politely, clearly already eager for them to leave. ‘People come and people go.’

      ‘Do you know a man called Bricks?’ Imogen asked him.

      ‘Yes, Bricks came here sometimes. He was a strange one. I occasionally invite people to eat with me. He came and had dinner a couple of times but I didn’t invite him back a third time.’

      ‘Why was that?’

      ‘He was quite unpleasant and made me feel uncomfortable. You know when someone has a darkness about them? I imagine you get something similar in your line of work, like an instinct about people.’

      ‘When was that, sorry?’ Imogen ignored the priest’s extraneous comments, unwilling to engage in a conversation with him about the similarities between their line of work.

      ‘Probably around a month ago. He had a bit of money on him. I had to ask him to leave because he was quite rude to one of my parishioners, used the “c” word.’ The priest shook his head. ‘I threatened to call the police and he went off. I haven’t seen him since then.’

      ‘A month ago?’ Adrian looked at Imogen and pulled out his phone. This was news to them.

      ‘Do you have any idea who he hung out with? Do you have a photo of him?’ Imogen said to the priest.

      ‘No I don’t, he was always a bit antisocial, never came to any of the church gatherings for the homeless. I don’t think he liked me. You can’t like everyone though, can you?’

      ‘Indeed,’ Imogen said. ‘Thank you.’

      The priest nodded and went into a back room. Imogen turned to see Adrian putting money into the collection box; as she watched him, he picked up a candle and lit it, placing it in the tiered metal candle holder. She thought he might even be praying for a moment before he turned to look at her.

      ‘Anything?’

      ‘Nope. But he obviously wasn’t in prison a month ago. We need to get Gary on the case. What are you doing?’

      ‘What does it look like?’

      ‘I didn’t think you were into all that.’

      ‘I’m just lighting a candle, Grey, calm down.’

      ‘I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to know that telling me to calm down is a bad idea.’

      ‘Why don’t you light one?’

      ‘Why would I do that? I’m not Catholic.’

      ‘You just do it for yourself, to remind yourself of the people you care about,’ Adrian said. ‘It just feels good.’

      ‘Who would I do it for?’ she said. Her mind immediately went to Dean, followed by a quick burst of shame for not thinking of her mother first.

      ‘You could do it for your mum; you’re already thinking about her.’

      ‘That’s not going to help her though, is it?’ Imogen’s mother Irene had never gone for more than a week without her. Now she was away with a man Imogen didn’t even know, in another country.

      ‘No, but it might help you.’

      ‘Fine.’ Imogen wasn’t sure who she was more concerned for. Irene for being with a strange man, or her newly found father Elias, who might disappear altogether again after spending so much time with Irene. After realising how unstable she was.

      Adrian pulled out another pound coin and put it in the collection box. Imogen lit a candle and placed it next to Adrian’s, while she desperately tried to stay focussed on thinking about her mother. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Bizarrely, she did feel better.

      ‘Who did you light yours for?’ she asked him.

      ‘You.’

      ‘Me? What’s wrong with me?’

      ‘The

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