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The Vicar's Lot: The Island Connection, #6
The Vicar's Lot: The Island Connection, #6
The Vicar's Lot: The Island Connection, #6
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The Vicar's Lot: The Island Connection, #6

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Detective Sergeant Sarah Flemons and her new partner, Penny Chakyar, find themselves on a secretive mission in the Dordogne area of France. Fortunately for Sarah, Penny speaks excellent French. So too does The Vicar, who also finds himself on a mission of a different kind. Until now, The Vicar’s past has been shrouded in the mists of time. Now it seems to have caught up with him and dictates his actions, which are even more drastic than his normal way of doing The Lord’s work. Meanwhile, who is Philippe Duval? And why does he have  scars near his ears and two fingers missing on one hand? And why was Michel LeBrun also a man on a mission before his body was found in the woods? It’s all very confusing – until you read ‘The Vicar's Lot’.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherGraham Hamer
Release dateDec 10, 2016
ISBN9781540156853
The Vicar's Lot: The Island Connection, #6

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    The Vicar's Lot - Graham Hamer

    PROLOGUE

    For God’s sake, Michel, come back and talk about it.

    There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing more to say.

    Jill glared at her husband’s back as his angry stride took him into the woods. Within moments he had been swallowed up by the foreboding darkness of the trees, deepened by the early evening shadows. Her own anger matched his and she wheeled around and scowled at the water where a few energetic campers still paddled their canoes or took a last swim of the day in the shallows. At one time, Ecoute s’il pleut had been a favourite location for a lazy afternoon stroll round the lake. The name itself, ‘Listen if it rains’ had, Jill felt, a romantic ring to it, even though it was no more than a playground for the upmarket campsite hidden amongst the trees.

    She let out an exasperated sigh and wondered whether to wait for her husband to calm down and return, or whether to drive the two kilometres back to their home in Gourdon and leave Michel to walk back after he’d kicked a few tree stumps. The small town of Gourdon which at one time had four monasteries was part of the Quercy region of France. It was the region which extended up to the Dordogne River and was neighboured to the Périgord; the region that retired English people now colonised. Gourdon was a pleasant little town built of honey-coloured stone, typical in this part of France, and set on a hill so that it could see and be seen for many kilometres.

    A little further away was the village of Rocamadour, one of France’s most visited tourist sites, clinging to the rock face like a limpet. The whole region was favoured with wonderful Dordogne towns and villages like Domme, Bergerac and Sarlat and Jill had felt blessed to be there, sharing her life with the man she loved. Even the little colombiers, the stone dovecots standing like miniature clock towers in people’s gardens, added to her love of the region.

    But now, their whole existence together had been shaken and was tottering, ready to crash to its destruction. All because Michel didn’t understand human nature. Michel was a man on a mission and, though Jill understood why, she didn’t understand what drove him. And if she was honest with herself, she didn’t understand what drove her either. Maybe that’s what annoyed her more than her husband’s response to her explanations. She kicked at a loose stone and decided to go home and wait for Michel to return. He would be back when he was good and ready.

    CHAPTER ONE

    Sit down, please, both of you.

    The two women sat on the other side of the large oval table that dominated Chief Constable David Pownall’s office. The Isle of Man’s most senior police officer addressed the small, dark lady first. In case you don’t know each other, this — he nodded in the direction of the taller fair-haired woman — is Detective Sergeant Sarah Flemons.

    He turned to Detective Sergeant Sarah Flemons and indicated the dark-skinned younger officer with his hand, And this is Constable Penny Chakyar. Sarah Flemons’ frown went unnoticed by her chief constable, who continued, Constable Chakyar joined the force a bit over one year ago but has been based in the south of the island until now, so you may not have bumped into each other. So, with introductions over, I’ve had a word with DI Duckworth and he tells me your work load is slack right at the moment, DS Flemons.

    Other than the odd drunk on a Saturday night, I would say that was true, sir, Sarah replied.

    And you, Constable Chakyar?

    Same thing, sir - just routine everyday stuff.

    What about at home? Do either of you have any pressing engagements in the next couple of weeks that you don’t want to miss? Weddings, funerals, stuff like that?

    Both women shook their heads.

    "Good. Trip to France then. Go sort out the gendarmes for me."

    Sarah looked at the chief constable with a quizzical eye, but said nothing. She knew he would give his explanation in due course. And he did. It’s a slightly irregular matter, officers, so I don’t want you rattling off the details all over the nick. Is that clear?

    This time, both women nodded.

    I mean it - I want a total gossip blackout on this one, and that includes your families. Your trip is not official. You are not going to be liaising with the French police. You will not be parading your Manx police uniforms all over south-west France. In fact, you will be posing as a couple of tourists, taking in the scenery and the history of the region. It’s hot down there at the moment so be sure to take shorts and T-shirts or lightweight skirts because that’s what most of the other tourists will be wearing. Sunglasses and hats too: it can get uncomfortable without them.

    May I ask where we’re going? Sarah asked.

    All in due course, Detective Sergeant, all in due course. Do you recall the terminology used last year when those idiots came over here with their nerve agents? The phrase-of-the-day at the time was ‘black ops’. Well this is a black op - a deniable operation. If you are caught with your nose in some French person’s business, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the Manx Constabulary. In particular, it has nothing to do with Chief Constable Pownall, who is not having this conversation with you this morning. Am I clear on that?

    Both women nodded again. Sarah had already witnessed a previous non-conversation in this office.

    I’d appreciate a verbal response rather than just a nod. If you get yourselves into some sort of a muddle, you are nothing more than two friends on holiday. You are not there in any official capacity whatsoever. If you foul up and get yourselves arrested, the cavalry will not be coming over the hill to rescue you. Is that perfectly clear?

    Yes, sir, I’m clear, Penny Chakyar said.

    I’m clear too, Sarah replied, but do we have a choice whether we accept or not?

    Of course you do, so I’m going to explain the situation to you, and then you can tell me if you are both up for it. Remember, even if you choose not to accept the assignment, what is said in this office this morning stays between the three of us.

    Both women nodded.

    I have a younger sister, the chief constable continued. "Like me, she’s Manx, but she met a French guy called Michel Lebrun while she was on holiday in the Dordogne years ago. They got on just fine and, after a couple of years, they married, though they never had any children. They live in a small town called Gourdon which is actually in the French département called The Lot. But it’s right on the border with the well known Dordogne département so everybody thinks of it as being part of the Dordogne. Jill, my sister, is a vet and has a thriving practice in Gourdon. Michel was un maître boulanger. He looked at Penny Chakyar who said, a master baker."

    The chief constable turned to Sarah and said, And you, D.S. Flemons, raised your eyebrows. Why?

    "If your brother-in-law was a boulanger, what is he now? You said he was a boulanger. not he is a boulanger."

    Well spotted. So here’s the crux of the issue. Michel and Jill had a row about a year ago. Michel stormed off and they found his body two days later, badly beaten and mutilated. First off, they suspected Jill, but then they arrested a well-known local junkie because he had traces of Michel’s blood on him, and he had Michel’s credit cards in his possession. The man claims he’s innocent and says he took them off the body, but I don’t think that’s going to wash when it eventually gets to court.

    Case closed then? Sarah said.

    No. Case wide open. My sister is still under suspicion and three days ago the police found a second body in the same woods. This time it had been partly buried. On the body was a USB key with some rather unpleasant images and links to a child pornography site. Under some draconian judicial powers that would be quite nice to have over here, the police closed down the web site, arrested the owners and seized the server. They discovered Michel’s email address along with a few other local people amongst the paying members. Right at this moment, as we speak, they are executing a search warrant on Jill’s house, and paying particular attention to her computer records. They are obviously looking for any signs of child pornography.

    Okay, Sarah said, that I understand, but why would we get involved? Either your brother-in-law was accessing paedophile sites or he wasn’t. Unpleasant though it is, it’s not that uncommon and it shouldn’t reflect on your sister.

    "There are lots of different strands to this tale, D.S. Flemons, and I’d much prefer you discover them for yourself rather than me telling you what my sister said or what I think. I want you to go there with a blank canvas because following second hand leads is pretty much guaranteed to send you down a load of blind alleys or waste a load of your time. If you find you’re getting nowhere get back to me and I’ll feed you some of the information or suspicions I have, to see if it opens up any new avenue of investigation for you. But hunting out the facts for yourself will assure me that I have not been misled by my informants or that I’m not biased because it’s my sister who’s involved.

    The one thing above all else that convinces me that something stinks is that the police took charge of the website’s database with the membership details for the child pornography site but, having extracted a handful of records, the whole database has been wiped off the server leaving not a trace. I don’t need to tell you, Constable Chakyar, that’s not the way hard discs work. Unless you actually shred the records they are still there just waiting to be overwritten with new data. So somebody linked to the local police force, has made sure that the full details can never be known."

    No back ups? Penny asked.

    Seems not. Which again is rather curious, wouldn’t you say?

    You surely don’t need me for my computer skills do you, sir? Penny asked. I know quite a lot about networks and databases, but not enough to scientifically pick a hard disk apart. You’d need a forensic technician for that.

    No Constable, you’re not likely to be given access to the data anyway. I want you on this for two reasons. First, you are fluent in French and D.S. Flemons might find your linguistic skills helpful when you’re dealing with the locals. By the time you get back, I’m hoping you two will have come to appreciate each other’s various talents. And that brings me to the second reason I want you on this task, Constable Chakyar. It is so that you and D.S. Flemons get a chance to work together. I think you’d make a good team and the detective sergeant is the ideal person to mentor you, guide you through the practicalities of detecting, and help you with any challenges you have as you study for your detective exams. Now, any questions so far?

    Is there a third reason? Sarah asked.

    Apart from you not having much else on at the moment?

    Yes, apart from that.

    Because I am very concerned for my sister but it’s a delicate situation for me. The situation is a political minefield because it’s happening in another country and another police force. As the chief constable of a British police force, there is no way I can go down there myself, asking questions and looking for answers. In any case, I have a whole Constabulary to run here. As I’m sure you are well aware by now, D.S. Flemons, I trust your judgement, and I trust you to find out what you can about what’s going on in Gourdon without bringing the wrath of the French establishment down on my head. My sister needs help, and I would be grateful if you can offer her yours.

    Thank you sir for your trust. When do we leave and where do we travel to?

    You leave today please, and get yourselves down to Gatwick. I’ve reserved a twin room at a hotel near the airport that I’ve used myself on occasions. I also assumed you’d both agree to my little request, so you’re booked on an Easyjet flight tomorrow morning at 08:25 lands at 11:10 French time in Toulouse. Hire yourselves a car and get to Gourdon as soon as you can. It’s about 150 kilometres north of Toulouse, but there’s a good autoroute all the way until the last ten kilometres. I’ve written my sister’s address, phone, email etcetera on here, he passed them a folded paper. If you find you’re getting nowhere get back to me and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do from this end. My private mobile phone number is also listed on that note. Please use it and not any of the official phones. Remember, we are completely off the record on this one. If anyone here at the nick asks, tell them there were a couple of training course places that have just come up.

    Are we stopping with your sister? Sarah asked.

    "Best not to. She has the space, but it’s better to be independent. There’s a nice hotel called La Reserve opposite the market place in Gourdon. It’s not large, less than twenty rooms, but it’s clean and comfortable, and we’ve had some nice meals there too. Look it up on the net today and make a reservation for a twin room. Book a room for one week, but be prepared to extend that if necessary. And if that hotel is full, there’s another just a bit further away called Hotel Majestic."

    You obviously know the place quite well, Sarah said.

    We’ve been several times to see my sister. It’s a lovely area, but you may not have much time for sight-seeing. As Sarah and Penny stood to leave the chief constable’s office, David Pownall added, Oh, I nearly forgot. He pushed a cheque across the table. Sarah picked it up. It was in her name for £2,500 and was drawn on the chief constable’s personal bank account. You can pay it into your bank then use your own bank card, can’t you? David Pownall asked.

    No problem.

    Be nice to have some change, the chief constable added. Then he gave her one of his rare smiles. On the other hand, if you need more, let me know. Not one cent of this gets booked to Manx Constabulary expenses. He tapped his nose, Black ops, remember, flavour of the month.

    They closed the door and Sarah said to Penny, C’mon, let’s go have a sticky bun in the canteen and get our heads round this one. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a police black op, particularly being sponsored by the chief constable himself. I’m curious as to why Pownall doesn’t just leave the French police to sort it out. And before you salute and say, ‘Yes, Serg.’ or something equally un-cool it’s Sarah and Penny from now on. From what the CC just said, if the pair of us hit it off, I’ll be tasked to mentor you into becoming a detective, and that means we’ll be working a lot together in the foreseeable future.

    As they entered the canteen they could smell coffee and hear the clatter of cutlery and crockery. At lunch time, the hot trays were filled with all manner of delicacies like reconstituted mashed potatoes, congealed baked beans, greasy bacon, cold eggs and something red of undisclosed origin. However, mid morning, there was a self-service hatch containing pastries, cookies and croissants that were bought from a local bakery. There was also a lady in an apron pouring teas and coffees that had been made in police headquarters several hours earlier.

    Did anyone mentor you, then? Penny asked as they paid the lady for soft drinks and Danish pastries.

    Sarah noticed that the diminutive constable had three pastries on her plate, compared to her one. She replied, Have you ever met Angus Slooth?

    Yes, if you remember I was in the same group as you when we were searching for the guy with the nerve agent a year ago. DCI Slooth was head of our group.

    Sarah laughed. That’s right. I thought I recognised you. It was you who disturbed the guy who was pleasuring himself.

    Penny blushed a little - just enough to tone up her dusky café au lait complexion. She wore her black hair in a short pixie cut and, with her Halle Berry looks, was often the focus of young police constables’ attention, both male and female. By contrast to Penny’s dark skin, jet black hair and petite frame, Sarah was more robust with a muscular well-toned body, a narrow waist and high, distinct breasts, almost as if she were wearing an invisible corset. She wore her strawberry blonde hair at medium length above her shoulders. It was difficult to imagine two more opposite looking women.

    So it was DCI Slooth who acted as mentor to you then? Penny asked, chomping into a Danish pastry.

    He did, Penny, and I will be forever grateful for the guidance he so freely gave me.

    Penny smiled. So now we’re sort of like Kwai Chang Caine and the blind master Po from the Kung Fu TV series.

    That’s going back a bit.

    Yes, but it’s cult. It’s like ‘The Prisoner’ with Patrick McGoohan back in the 1960’s or like the ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’. They’re timeless gems. So come on then, Master Po, what’s the first thing to do now?

    Sarah laughed. "First thing, Grasshopper, is to finish your pile of pastries, then phone La Reserve hotel and book us a twin room. The biggest they’ve got. If there’s no twin room, just grab two singles. Then book us on a flight from here to London Gatwick. I’ll go and bank this cheque so we can sample some of France’s best wines while we’re there. Then we both head home and pack a suitcase. Do you have anyone you need to contact to let them know what’s happening?"

    Just my parents. And you?

    Sparky, my other half. No doubt he’ll be happy to have a week or so on his own and live like a slob for a while.

    * * *

    As the sun began its move from directly overhead towards the western sky, the two men stepped away from the photographic studio in rue du Majou and descended through the twisting medieval streets towards the tour de ville - the road that encircled the old town. One man was smoking a cigarette. He was tall and dark-haired. The other man was shorter, bulkier and had fair hair. His face was flushed with the effort of walking in the heat on the higgledy-piggledy cobbled streets that seemed to run at random through the old town. He pulled an off-white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. "Let’s find somewhere to sit down. I could

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