Читать книгу Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower - Simon Toyne, Simon Toyne - Страница 45

Five minutes after Brother Peacock’s emissary had absolved the man with the freckled hands, the envelope was placed in a basket alongside twelve dead chickens and eight pounds of ham at the foot of the tribute wall on the shadowy northern side of the mountain, then winched up on a swaying rope until it disappeared from sight.

Athanasius wiped a sheen of sweat from his skull as he watched the refectory monks haul in the basket. He retrieved the envelope before it joined the rest of its contents in the large copper stockpot. He had walked down nearly half a mile of corridors and stairwells to get to the tribute cavern. Now he had the envelope he turned wearily on his heels and walked right back up them again, heading to the ornate splendour of the Abbot’s private chambers.

Athanasius was breathing heavily by the time the gilded door closed behind him. The Abbot snatched the envelope and ripped it apart, hungry for the knowledge it contained. He stalked over to a writing desk set against the wall by the stained-glass window and folded down the front to reveal a sleek modern laptop.

A few mouse clicks later, the Abbot opened the case file Inspector Arkadian had closed less than an hour before. The face of Brother Samuel returned to haunt him, pale and ghastly under the stark lighting of the autopsy room. ‘I’m afraid the body appears remarkably undamaged by the fall,’ he said, scrolling rapidly through the first few images.

Athanasius winced as he caught sight of ribs poking through the shattered body of his former friend. The Abbot opened a text document, mercifully obscuring the ghastly images, and started to read. When he got to the final comments his teeth clenched.

Whoever this man was, he chose to fall. He waited until he had witnesses then ensured that he would land in city jurisdiction. Was his pre-death vigil some kind of signal? If so, who was he signalling to – and what message was he trying to communicate?

The Abbot followed the Inspector’s train of thought as it brought him dangerously close to forbidden territory.

‘I want the source who gave us this file to keep us regularly updated.’ The Abbot closed the case notes and opened another folder labelled Ancillary Evidence. ‘Any new discovery, any new development, I want to know about it immediately.’

He clicked on an image file and watched the screen fill with a slide show of close-ups of other evidence relating to the case: the coiled rope, the blood-soaked cassock, rock fragments retrieved from the torn flesh of the monk’s hands and feet, a strip of leather lying on an evidence tray …

‘And send word to the Prelate,’ the Abbot said gravely. ‘Tell him I need a private audience as soon as his holiness is blessed with sufficient strength to grant one.’

Athanasius could not see what had so unsettled the Abbot, but it was clear from his tone that he had been dismissed.

‘As you wish,’ he said, bowing his head and backing silently out of the room.

The Abbot continued to stare at the image until he heard the door shutting behind him. He checked he was alone then reached into the front of his cassock and pulled a leather thong from around his neck. Two keys dangled from it – one large, one small. He bent down to the lowest drawer of the desk, fitting the smaller key into the lock. Inside it was a mobile phone. The Abbot turned it on as he stared once more at the image frozen on his computer screen.

He punched the numbers into the phone, checked they were correct then pressed the call button.