I heard the soft clunk of the car doors locking as I stepped into the wet street, coffee in one hand, phone in the other – which I was using to text my partner that I’d arrived. I approached the police tape, and slightly raised my coffee in acknowledgement to the officer who held it up for me to pass underneath. It was early in the morning, maybe four or five o’clock, and the sun was just starting to peak above the horizon. It had rained lightly last night, but the few scant puddles that remained were quickly drying up as day dawned. The call had come in only an hour ago – a dead body found on the steps of the church of Saint Dennis.
The twin brick spires of the church loomed high above me as I took in the grisly scene. Blood spattered and trickled down the grey stone steps of the church from a blue body tarp. A burlap sack, dripping red, had been nailed to the centre of one of the buildings massive wooden doors.
“Took your sweet time getting here, eh?” Matthews said through a broad smile as I approached.
“Unlike you, I don’t live around the corner.” I said through a yawn. I sipped from my coffee and gazed around the scene – officers had taped off the whole area in front of and around the church, forensics men and women in plastic suits were going over the scene minutely, and a small handful of civilians were rubbing sleep from their eyes as they looked out their front doors.
“Not curious at all what we got?” Matthews said, which drew my attention back to him.
“I figured you’d tell me eventually.” I said with a slight smirk as I raised my coffee to my mouth.
“Male, light skin, could be anywhere from twenty to forty, hard to tell, what with his head off and all.” Matthews said gesturing at the lumpy blue tarp in front of us.
I looked up at the dripping burlap sack nailed to the church doors. “That the head?” I asked.
“Probably – forensics says we can’t open it yet. Anyway, aside from the head, we have bruising on the ankles and wrists, probably rope, and I’m no doctor but I think a few bones are broken.” Answered Matthews.
I walked wide up the stairs to avoid the blood and nodded my head towards the body, as one of the plastic-suited, masked men looked up at me. “Sure.” He said and raised the side of the tarp. I’ve seen worse, but the sight still made me flinch and scowl.
“Oh sorry, should have mentioned he was naked.” Matthew grinned at me from the bottom of the stairs.
“I see that, thanks.” I said to Matthews and turned my attention back to the man holding the tarp. “That’s enough thanks. Do you think it was done here?”
The man dropped the tarp back down to conceal the body and let out a few muffled words through his mask: “There’d probably be a lot more blood if it was done here, but I’d wait for the official statement.”
“Who found ‘im?” I asked as I descended the steps.
“The priest. He’s back in his rectory over there. Pretty shaken up about the whole thing.” Matthews pointed to an old brick house across the street that was just beyond the police tape. A single officer stood at the door of the house with his thumbs tucked in his belt.
“Let’s go have a chat then.” I said as I began to make my way across the street. Matthews shrugged and walked alongside me. We made it to the rectory and knocked on the old wooden door after the office stepped aside for us.
A pale faced man with a mix of fear and sorrow in his eyes opened the door and forced a weak smile onto his face. “Officers, is there something I can help you with?” he asked. “Detectives actually, Morley and Matthews.” I replied pointing at myself and Matthews in turn.
“Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?” I asked. The man nodded feebly and stepped back to let us into the house – it was sparsely but tastefully furnished, and made of old brick, built likely sometime in the 1910s or 20s when the city was young.
“Please, have a seat.” The man gestured to a couch as we entered the living room. “Can I get you something? Coffee perhaps?”
“I’ll take some coffee, thank you.” Matthews smiled.
“You could top mine up.” I said, swirling my cup around to judge that it was about half empty. After a few seconds the man came back into the room with two steaming cups of coffee and set them in front of us. He took a seat across, folding his vestments forward as he sat.
“Are you always dressed like this?” I asked, gesturing at the man.
“Vestments or a cassock nearly always, detective.” The heavy black robe stretched from high on his neck all the way down to his ankles, with a simple sinch belt around the middle.
“Must be miserable in the summer.” Smiled Matthews.
“I survive.” The man said, smiling weakly. “Ask away detectives.”
“Well, first of all, could I get your name?” I asked, pulling a notebook out from my jacket pocket.
“Oh yes of course, apologies for forgetting. Reverend Sinclair, Stephen.” Sinclair said, eyes widening slightly in embarrassment that he had forgotten to introduce himself.
“Not a problem Reverend, it’s been quite a morning for you I imagine.” I said extending my hand out dismissively and putting on my warmest smile. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you give me a rundown of everything that’s happened since you woke up this morning?”
“Certainly.” Sinclair said, letting out a sigh and adjusting himself in his chair. “It’s quite a simple story actually – I woke up at four, dressed myself, and walked across the street to the church, found… that… and phone the police. After they arrived I was allowed to return here, where I’ve been since.”
“What’s a priest doing in his church at four in the morning?” Matthews asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I pray the liturgy of the hours, and Lauds is said at dawn. I pray in the church.” Sinclair smiled. Pale and shaken though he was, Sinclair was still a decently built man, who seemed to be in his late thirties if not slightly older. Clean shaven with short brown hair, I figured there would be some women in his congregation who weren’t coming just for the church service.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help; it really was as straightforward as that.” Sinclair said, with a sorrowful look in his eye.
“That’s quite alright reverend. We’ll likely be back once the body has been identified. Here’s my card, call me if there’s anything you think of or anything we can help with.” I said as I stood from the couch and extended a business card towards the pale priest. He showed us to the door and me and Matthews stepped out into the brisk morning.
“Oh, detectives?” Sinclair said as we were leaving the house. “When do you think the church will be useable again?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a day or two, but we’ll let you know if anything changes. Thanks for the coffee.” Matthews threw back over his shoulder.
Matthews and I returned to the front of the church and silently watched the forensics team work on the scene. A few more neighbours had begun to stir at this point, and the gaggle of police cruisers and vans on the street were doing nothing to help that. Dawn was fully beginning to break now, and soon enough curious neighbours and nosy reporters would be flocking to the police tape to gawk at the body.
“Let’s get some officers out to question the locals. And see if we can’t find a security camera or two somewhere around here, I’ll take a look around the grounds for anything.” I said to Matthews after which he sauntered off to start giving orders.
The grounds covered an entire block – tucked into the southwest corner was the church itself along with a small parking lot, on the north end were two small brick outbuildings, and the rest of the property was occupied with a well-tended, well-landscape graveyard. I walked the whole perimeter of the block but found nothing remarkable save for how well kept the grounds were. It was almost peaceful as I stepped through an iron gate and began to walk through the graveyard – it was a short lived peace though, as the stillness was shattered by the loud barking of a dog. I turned to see a German shepherd sprinting towards me from the direction of the outbuildings, pursued by a red-faced overweight man huffing and puffing his way after the dog.
I stepped back and braced myself for the dog, who was moving too fast for me to possibly hope to outrun, but was relieved when the dog merely began to run circles around me, barking and baring its teeth.
“Max! Max! Max you lousy mutt get over here!” the fat man said as he reached the dog and grabbed it by the collar, yanking it backwards. “Sorry about that sir, dogs are all riled up this mornin’”
The man was regaining his breath as he looked up and finally saw all the police cruisers and officers scattered about the property. His face went from red to white and he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, which came off his head slick with mud. The man cursed and patted his hands on his dirty overalls before his eyes went wide and his head snapped towards me. “Who’re you then? What’s all this about?”
“I was hoping to ask you the same questions.” I smiled and extended a hand to shake. The dog growled at me, and I retracted it quickly. “Detective Morley, EPS.”
“Bill.” The fat man said through rapid breaths. “I cut the grass and shovel the snow and fix things… What’s going on?” He said gesturing towards the scene at the front door of the church.
“How about I help you put the dog away and then I’ll fill you in?” I asked.
“Smart, smart, just back this way.” Bill said yanking on the dog’s collar as it thrashed to get free. I followed close behind him, well out of range of the dog, and noticed something odd – Bill, for starters, had mud in his hair, and dirt all over his overalls, fresh dirt by the looks of it. The dog, which I only now had a chance to get a look at, had a few flecks of what appeared to be blood on it’s face and head.
“Something happen to the dog?” I asked, pointing at the dog’s face as Bill turned to look at me.
“Got woken up this morning with the dogs all going crazy and fighting one another. Locked the other two inside and got ‘em separated, but Max here I was wrestling with In the mud when he sprinted away to chase you.” Bill said, glowering at the dog and yanking its collar again. We reached the larger of the two outbuildings and Bill managed to force Max back inside and shut the door on him. I heard two other dogs yelping and barking through the open crack of the door as max was re-contained.
“Don’t know what’s got into those bloody things this morning. Anyway, sorry for the introduction, what can I do for you?” Bill said with a smile that revealed a few missing teeth.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a body found on the church steps about two hours ago, would you?” I asked, pen and notebook in my hand.
“A body you say? Somebody finally did that old priest in, did they?” Bill said with a shake of his head. My curiosity was immediately peaked.
“No… reverend Sinclair is fine, he’s in the rectory currently. Is there a reason someone would want him dead?” I asked.
“About half a dozen I could name and probably I few dozen more I couldn’t.” Bill smiled. “Let’s just say I know a few husbands and fathers who wouldn’t be sad to see him gone.”
“I see – not the man of God he seems to be?”
“Wouldn’t trust him around wine or women any more than I’d trust myself. I see a lot of comings and goings from my old windows here.” Bill laughed as he gestured to the building behind him.
“You live here?”
“That I do sir, twenty years now.”
“And did those old windows happen to reveal anything going on last night?” I asked, making some notes in my book.
“Afraid not, I was dead asleep until them dogs woke me up.”
“Shame.” I scowled. “Say, Bill, would you be up for giving me a tour of the grounds and the church? We haven’t had a look inside yet.”
“Glad to sir, got them keys all right here.” Bill smiled as he jingled a fat ring of keys at his waist. The two of us set off, leisurely passing through the graveyard - making our way towards the church. Bill talked nonstop as he walked, rattling off the names of the people buried here – who they were, what they’d done, and whether Bill had known them. I had effectively tuned Bill out at this point, nodding and grunting politely when it seemed appropriate, when we came across a grave that looked fresh. A rectangle of turned up brown dirt was scattered liberally with grass seed that hadn’t sprouted, damp after last nights rain.
“Who’s buried here?” I asked, gesturing at the patch of disturbed dirt.
“Some lad – grandkid of one of the older folks here, never knew him myself except seeing him as a baby.” Bill shrugged.
“How long ago?”
“That he kicked it or that we tossed him in?”
“You’re quite blasé for a grave keeper.” I chuckled. “Since you buried him.”
“A week tomorrow.” Bill said, then resumed his endless prattling of names and stories.
At our leisurely pace which allowed me to hunt for anything suspicious, and Bill’s endless storytelling, it took us a good fifteen minutes to reach the church, which we entered through a door in the side. I asked Bill to wait for me at the door while I took a look around, which he happily obliged, and plopped himself down on a nearby bench, whistling to himself.
The church was dark, and I didn’t want to risk potentially contaminating anything, so I made my way around inside by the light of a flashlight. As far as I could tell though, nothing was out of place – some old stained glass, nice pews, everything was ordinary. A good half hour had elapsed inside the church before a muffled commotion from outside caught my attention. I hurriedly made my way back to the side door I had entered from and found Bill wringing his hands nervously. I raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.
“Something going on over there.” Bill said pointing towards the front of the church. I walked around the side of the building and saw Matthews stood talking to an officer in the middle of the road. Across the street, there was yelling emanating from the house next door to the rectory, and a gaggle of officers standing in the lawn or emerging from the backyard. Matthews saw me over the shoulder of the officer who’s back was toward me and pushed him aside, walking towards me.
“I’d start with that, and I’ll fill you in on this after.” Matthews said, pointing first at the church door and then over his shoulder to the house.
I rounded the side of the church and looked towards the church door, where a small group of forensic techs were surrounding the door. I bounded up the steps, careful to avoid the small pools of blood, and the group stepped aside, revealing that the burlap sack nailed to the door had ripped open and it’s contents had spilled onto the steps.
“Is that a…”
“Watermelon, sure is. Soaked in blood too by the looks of it.” One of the masked techs said to me as he snapped a picture of the melon that had burst on the steps. I let the confusion wash over me for a moment before I shook my head and walked back down to Matthews ‘we’ll deal with the weird stuff later’ I thought to myself.
“Case open and closed, his head transformed into a watermelon, and it killed him. Let’s call up the SCP foundation and clear out.” Matthews smiled at me as I walked up to him.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked, ignoring Matthews’ jokes and pointing at the house.
“Knocked on the door looking for witnesses – wife answers with a big fresh black eye. Officer starts questioning her, and the husband shows up and goes ballistic. The Fella’s got some scratch marks on his face and reeks of beer. We searched the back yard and found a warm firepit in the backyard with what looks like cloth scraps, and a cut clothesline that could have been used to tie the ankles of watermelon head over there.” Matthews answered, rattling off the story quickly.
“Did you have cause to search the yard?” I asked.
“Cause enough – he shoved an officer. As for the wife, we asked if we could look around and she said yes. We’re gonna take ‘em both in and I’ll question them separately once they’ve calmed down and had some coffee.” Matthew shrugged and spat on the ground. “You turn up anything?”
“A muddy groundskeeper and some bloody dogs.” I replied.
“Think you can make him talk?”
“I think the problem will be making him stop talking.” I said, and turned to look back at the church, where Bill waved at me enthusiastically.
“Alright, you take the chatterbox and I’ll take Romeo and Juliet. Let’s get out of here and let them finish the sweep.” Matthews said as he fished in his pocket for his car keys.
“Sounds like a plan, I’ll give you a call later.” I said, and walked back to where Bill was standing.
I had decided to interview Bill in his home, as opposed to dragging him down to the station. While Matthews was of a different mind, I always found that making the interviewee comfortable paid off far better than interrogating them in some soulless interview room. Unsurprisingly, Bill gave me a lot of useless chaff, but I managed to sift a few valuable kernels out of the man.
Reverend Sinclair was a… polarizing man, to put it lightly. Popular with the women of the parish but not a friend to the men, he was a recent arrival to the parish – having only ministered less than a year, he had already racked up an impressive number of scandals that the higher-ups of the church appeared to be uninterested in. Another name came up frequently in our conversations as well – Deacon Campbell.
“And this Deacon Campbell, how long has he been here at the parish?” I asked, flipping to a fresh page in my notebook.
“Came not too long after Sinclair, folks say the bishop sent him to keep an eye on the ‘wicked priest’.” Bill said with a wink.
“And Campbell and Sinclair, they didn’t get along you say?”
“Not in the slightest – Campbell’s a strange man… a bit… off-putting at times, but I suppose that’s the nature of them very religious folks.” Bill said with a shrug. “Sinclair and Campbell were at each other the moment Campbell came into the parish.”
“I’ll have to talk to the Deacon then. Would you happen to have his contact information?” I asked, pen at the ready.
“’fraid not Mr. Morley, only way I knew to contact him was to walk up to the lad when he was puttering around the church.”
“An address?”
“Don’t know.” Bill shrugged. “Check with Sinclair, it ought to be somewhere in the parish records.”
“Alright, well… thank you for your time Bill, I hope this wasn’t too taxing a morning for you.” I said, closing my notebook. “You have my card, give me a call if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”
“You got it detective – and stop by anytime, doors always open, and if it ain’t, I’m probably at the black rose up the way.” Bill said with a warm smile as he stood to shake my hand.
“Local pub?” I asked, shaking the man’s hand.
“Yessir, just up the way.” Bill said, gesturing vaguely at the wall behind him.
“I’ll have to visit sometime.” I said, forcing a smile.
Matthews and I reconvened later that afternoon in the office – he looked worn out and was drinking greedily from a cup of coffee when I pulled up a chair and sat next to his desk.
“Anything?” I asked, setting my own coffee on the desk.
“Seems like a god honest domestic dispute to me – old man Western ripped some clothes off the clothesline and chucked ‘em in the fire while he was drunk and screaming at the misses. He gave her the black eye and she gave him the scratches.” Matthews said dismissively.
“You’re sure?”
“Who knows, maybe they’re great actors. They’re church members though, and I got a name off ‘em.” He said holding up a notebook.
“Let me guess, Campbell?”
“Yup.” Matthews said and chucked the notebook on his desk. “We talk to Campbell next and go from there?”
“What if the murder has nothing to do with the church?” I asked.
“You don’t cut off a man’s head, nail a bloody watermelon to a door, and dump his mangled body onto the steps of a church if it doesn’t have something to do with the place you left him.”
“What if it’s meant to throw us off?”
“Who knows, let’s just talk to Campbell and wait for the autopsy report before we look outside the church.” Matthew said throwing up his hands.
“The autopsy? I’m pretty sure the missing head is what killed him.” I smiled at Matthews, who chuckled in reply. “Anywho, Bill told me pretty much the same, Campbell’s the one to talk to – I set a few men onto tracking him down.”
A few hours passed, then a day, then days, then a week – and still nobody was able to track down the mysterious Deacon Campbell. Nobody in the parish had a phone number, an email, or anything that could help us find him. Official church records showed him living at an address that turned out to just be a random warehouse in the industrial parks of the east end. The best we had gotten was a few pictures from various parishioners, showing Campbell present at a handful of church events, so at least we knew what he looked like.
Forensics had come back only a few days after the first – whoever the man was had died from decapitation, hadn’t been dead more than two to four hours when found, and had been moved to the church steps following his death. Fingerprints and DNA didn’t match anything on file, so we were back at square one, albeit with a heavy leaning towards thinking that the dead body was that of Deacon Campbell
A week after we were first called out to the scene, Matthews and I were musing about the case over breakfast.
“It’s gotta’ be the Deacon, come on.” Matthews said through a mouth full of eggs. “A headless body turns up at the workplace of a man who just went missing, and his boss hates him – open and shut.”
“It’s circumstantial at best – whoever killed that man had help, and Sinclair doesn’t seem like someone anyone was jumping up to help with anything.” I replied.
“Whatever - he drugs him, ties him up in his basement, cuts his head off, crosses the street and chucks the body there.” Matthews shrugged.
“No drugs in the system. Also, we searched the rectory – nothing.”
“And nobody else is missing from the parish.”
“Nobody” I repeated. We sat in silence for a few minutes, poking at our food and sipping our coffees. “…Why the watermelon I wonder.”
“Yeah, I don’t get that either.” Matthews said, bobbing his head.
“I think I’ll go talk to Sinclair again.” I sighed, wiping my mouth and crumpling up a napkin.
“About what?”
“Maybe if I mention I know about his ‘extracurricular activities’ he’ll give me something.” I smiled.
“Good luck.”
I arrived at the church about an hour later and parked in the deserted parking lot. I waved to Bill, who was cutting the grass in the graveyard.
“Here for the Reverend, Mr. Detective?” Bill called from across the yard. “He’s in the chapel!”
I threw a smile to him, glad at the fact I wouldn’t be sucked into an hours-long conversation. I walked around to the front of the church, which had been cleaned spotless of all the carnage that had polluted the steps only a week before. I tried the handle of the door and it swung open with little effort. The church was dimly lit – with only candles flickering near the altar.
There was a figure kneeling before the altar, who seemed to take no notice of my echoing footsteps as I entered the church. I sat myself down in one of the pews with a wooden creak, and bowed my head slightly, feeling out of place.
I sat for a good five minutes, a growing feeling of awkwardness as I cast my eyes around the interior of the church. Finally, mercifully, I heard the stirring of the figure in front of me, and saw the man cross himself before standing and turning around.
“Detective Morley – pleasure to see you again, please, make yourself at home.” The voice of Sinclair echoed through the cavernous building. I stood and strode up the aisle to meet him and shook his hand. He invited me to sit on one of the front pews as he went about putting out some of the candles that he had left burning.
“What can I help you with on this fine day? Any news concerning the… event?” Sinclair said with a hint of tension in his voice.
“Well reverend.” I said, as a wave of nervousness crashed over me like I had never felt before. “ I’ll be blunt about it – but I wanted to hear the truth from yourself…”
“The truth about what, may I ask?” Sinclair asked with a hint of fire in his eyes.
“Well… I’ve… spoken to a few members of your congregation… and there seems to be some accusations – or perhaps rumours I should say…” I had never choked on my words like this before. “There have been some saying that you may have acting in ways… unbecoming for a man of your position.”
“Ah yes.” Sinclair gave me a warm smile. “I’m afraid that they’re true, Mr. Morley. I’m a sinner, as are we all. While I know my word may be worth little to you at this point knowing what you do – I view the recent events as something of a… wake up call one might say. I have been praying fervently night and day for God’s forgiveness after the events of the past week. And while I have a long road to go, I hope to make it through the trials that God has in store for me.”
“I see.” I said, sweat beginning to drip from my forehead and my breath catching in my throat.
“Are you unwell detective? I can fetch you some water.” Sinclair asked with concern in his voice.
“No no that’s okay. I didn’t expect such a quick… uh… confession.” I laughed nervously. “I should be going though, I only stopped in to make sure you were doing alright and that no new facts had come to light.”
“Of course detective, stop by anytime you like.” Sinclair said with another warm smile.
I lurched to my feet and rammed a knee into the pew as I was standing to leave, and try as I might it took everything in me to not run to the exit door of the church. I jumped back into my car and peeled out, back to the station, breezing past Matthews towards my desk, that I threw myself down into.
“Anything new from the priest?” Matthews called from his desk.
“No, nothing new.” I said, trying to calm my trembling hands.
The case went cold. We never found Deacon Campbell, and eventually the whole story was consigned to a filing cabinet somewhere in the darkness of the precinct basement. I put in my resignation not long after – twenty-five years on the force wasn’t bad at all. Matthews gave me a slap on the back and a bottle of expensive scotch at the going away, telling me that he’d phone me up the day he solved the mystery of the body on the steps.
Matthews didn’t know, but the case had been solved a week after we found the body. Sinclair kept his promise to become a better man, and in a few years he was a prominent community figure that I’d see on the local news from time to time, always in his collar and vestments – often talking about the ability of people to reform and change who they are.
The day I had gone to visit Sinclair in the church was a sweltering hot day. The old brick church, as with all old buildings, had no air conditioning, and combined with the heat from the candles made you feel like you were in an oven. Sinclair must have been feeling it that day too, as for once, he had his clerical collar off, and the top button of his black shirt undone.
I don’t think he knew I saw, because I’m still alive, and writing this down. But… when he moved to sit down next to me on that pew, I happened to catch a quick glimpse down the collar of his shirt. While sure, candlelight isn’t the best thing to see with, I know what I saw…
I saw a line of stitches running around his entire neck.