Free The Fool by Morgan Gallagher Page B

lays she did, one on the Church, one on Wyn, one on herself,
was the same card; The High Priestess, card three. She had missed
some evidence somewhere. Something was there to be seen, she’d just
not found it. A knock on the door disturbed her and she placed the
wrapping cloth over the cards that were laid out on the desk. One
of the new priests, Father Jacob, had a mug of coffee for her and
the news that Detective Iqbal was downstairs in the parlour. She
thanked him, drank the almost bearable coffee and dressed quickly.
When she’d made herself a large bowl of actual coffee, she and
Iqbal settled into the only space they could find some peace and
quiet; Father Edward’s greenhouse. It contained no greenery, soil
or plants. There was a huge ashtray and a bottle of brandy hidden
under the single upturned clay pot, and a stack of old newspapers.
It was raining again and the noise was both soothing and meant they
could not be easily overheard. The opening of the Church had
sparked more press interest, but the telephoto lenses could not, as
of yet, look round corners.
    Iqbal had come to invite her to meet the
local Imam later that afternoon. She was happy to do so, glad she
would have the opportunity and he phoned through a time. She then
kept his attention by inviting him to go through the physical
evidence they had, something that he was more than happy to do. As
a junior officer brought in for his background knowledge, he’d not
been getting much of a shot at that. They spread out a layer of old
papers on the bare potting boards and laid out their individual
files, collating their knowledge as they went. There was little to
add to what she’d already been furnished with. Vincent Doherty, the
locksmith, was a childless widower. However, his manager ran the
store and did all the fittings. He had three children. Like his
boss, Mr Curtis was a Catholic and supporter of the Church. Both
his younger children were altar boys and his daughter, Keely, had
been a member of the Choir.
    ‘Any trouble at home?’
    ‘Yes. Keely was brought in drunk and
disorderly by the local constabulary about four weeks ago. Turned
out that the perfect daughter had been skipping school and running
wild in the evening when the family thought she was studying at a
friend’s house.’
     
    ‘She’s one of the girls who have been in
trouble since the youth group and choir started?’
    ‘Yes. Her father banned her from the choir,
took her out of the local school and she started in a private
Catholic school two weeks ago. Her mother drives her across town to
the new school and drives her home. Father is refusing us access.
We’re going through procedures to interview her.’
    ‘How old is she?’
    ‘Thirteen.’
    ‘The brothers?’
    ‘Ten and eight.’
    ‘They in trouble?’
    ‘No. Still at primary school, no problems
reported. It’s just Keely that’s gone off the rails.’
    ‘Does it make sense to you, Shahrukh, the
gangs targeting these girls through the Church?’
    He thought about it. ‘No, actually. From
what I understand from the briefings I’ve had, the girls that join
gangs are the ones already in trouble. They come from broken
families with histories of abuse. The girls in the choir don’t tend
to follow that pattern. Much more work for the gang, bringing them
in. Gang meat is usually easy prey. Girls on the edge, already in
trouble... they drift towards the gangs. The gang gives them family
and safety. If you are in one of the stronger gangs, you never have
any trouble at school or on the streets again as long as you are
with your pack. If you are being bullied, the gang will dish out
punishment. We had one girl who was being raped by her step-father:
she got into a gang in order to get them to beat him half to death.
She had to put up with worse than he was doing to her from the rest
of the gang, but she took it. I was always confused by that.’
    ‘It was on her own terms.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The gang treatment, it was on