Thanks to those who read and also for the lovely reviews. Now we find out what the van was for.
Unusually, almost uniquely, in the annals of their three decades plus relationship Jane didn't argue. Snatching the proffered keys from his hand she sped away as instructed, moving as swiftly as the icy conditions of the ground frost would allow. Mercifully any sound made by her retreating feet was stifled by a series of noisy exclamations, probably swear words, shouted in a language that Harry readily identified as originating from some quarter of Eastern Europe. The semi distant splutter of a car engine easing into life reached his ears, providing a satisfactory confirmation that Jane really had obeyed his orders and was now exiting the danger zone. With the removal of any worries regarding her immediate safety Harry was now free to focus his full attention upon the clandestine events taking place within the otherwise deserted churchyard.
From across the dividing lane the silhouette of the church loomed, dark and massive, the basic outline of the tower, long nave and slightly higher chancel roof etched against the night sky, any more specific features being rendered indistinct in the limited moonlight. The only other occasional illumination to be espied was emanating from the east end of the church, well away from the porch and pathway area. From there, partially hidden from the lane by the clutter of gravestones and winter stripped bushes, Harry could discern a haphazard movement of lights, now you saw them, now you didn't. Not being of a fanciful turn of mind Harry instantly discounted any supernatural explanation for the phenomenon as he mentally computed the most likely explanations for the presence of the not so stealthy individuals flitting around in the freezing cold. He could only think of three. Firstly that a group of latter day Burke and Hare's were at work. Secondly that a raid on the church silver was in faltering progress, or, recalling his two hours since casual conversation with James -Harry Pearce made it a habit to remember what elephants forgot – the local lead thieves had decided to pay a festive visit, presumably not with the intention of bringing gifts for the baby Jesus. Process of elimination implied the latter. The vestry, the traditional repository of the parish valuables, was situated on the far side of the church, while the prevailing climatic conditions ensured that any attempt to dig deeply within the cement like ground would require the services of a pneumatic drill, a process that would be neither discreet nor soundless.
Conclusion reached, now for the working theory. What was he going to do about it? Regular church going had never featured prominently on Harry's social calendar. Although confirmed into the Church of England as a rite of public school passage once the days of compulsory chapel were behind him his attendance had mainly been confined to marriages (dress code: morning dress or full military monty), baptisms (would the baby bawl the place down, or referencing Graham, fill its nappy at the inappropriate moment) or funerals (far too many). However, the realisation that some imported criminals were in the process of despoiling the heritage of England's churches brought Harry the true born Englishman roaring forth. How dare they! The most prudent, not to say sensible, course of action would of course be to retreat and contact the police himself, but having obeyed his first primeval instinct, which had been to get Jane away from any potential danger, he was confident that by now some forlorn soul on the constabulary switchboard would be coping with his ex in full demanding throttle. Despite his long ago translation into a desk spook there was nothing like the prospect of a little field action to stir Harry's blood. Anyway he had a good excuse for interfering: by the time PC Plod bestirred himself the culprits would be long gone, taking most of the church roof with them.
Tracking the pattern of the moving lights confirmed Harry's assumption, namely that the persons unknown were working in the graveyard with purpose. Assessing the number, brilliance and position of the light sources, torch he thought, plus judging by the height of one beam either a rope or a ladder was being employed, possibly in conjunction with at least one miner's headlamp useful for hands free purposes. If the church roof was indeed being stripped out that made sense: and also supported his overall conclusion that lead thieves had targeted the village church with a view to easy pickings. That also made sense; they weren't to know that they were being closely observed one of MI5's finest. While they continued to thieve on oblivious to this unfortunate fact, Harry, his presence securely sheltered by the building that conveniently formed a juncture with the lane, was referencing his never rusty field craft skills as he surveyed the lie of the land and other associated problems spook style. In accordance with his lifetime of training he was mentally breaking down the potential operation into clearly defined small sections and solutions.
First task: before he could contemplate undertaking any action to interfere with their depredations he needed to reach the churchyard. Second task: as he was a man on his own his trump card was that the criminal group were unaware of his existence. If he was to retain the advantage of surprise he needed to cross the lane and enter the church grounds unseen. A requirement that in its turn divided into two separate but related risk assessments.
Risk A) he had to remain invisible. Admittedly the locale did not boast the luxury of street lighting, a boon to those currently up to no good amongst the graves, but now that the thin layer of cloud had passed away from the half moon hanging in the night sky, visibility was, he judged, sufficiently ample to allow him to be noticed if someone happened to glance in his direction as he moved, even clad as he was in a dark overcoat and trousers. It was a risk that he could not ascertain in its entirety as it was out of his total control. All he could do was pick the most likely time to make a dash for it.
Risk B) the sounds that had raised Harry's suspicious antennae in the first place had apparently been that of a hamfisted someone dropping something – shame it hadn't taken one of the gang out. After a few seconds pause it would seem that the group had now reverted without fear of discovery to the continuation of their original nefarious tasks. From a practical standpoint Harry understood their reasoning, what sane person would be out for a walk in this temperature with all the decent pre Christmas telly and booze on offer. Unfortunately the very crisp frosty air that was carrying the sounds of the observees Harrywards would, of course, act in reverse, thus forcing Harry into the almost impossible position of having to move noiselessly.
Having concluded all of this in a matter of seconds Harry, taking account of the angle at which the van was parked, decided that his best bet would be to adapt it as a shield. Its position should mask his initial approach, allowing him to creep around its bonnet, then provided that he bent double as he scurried across the lane he should reach the church gates without incident. The latter fortunately being built to a sturdy design that boasted a lower part of composed of solid wooden planks, just high enough to screen a crouching figure from the view of those inside the curtilage.
An exploratory stretch of his leg confirmed his recollection that since, despite its narrowness, the lane formed a main access road in and out of the village it was smoothly tarmaced, and therefore would, if he moved cautiously, deaden the sound of his shoes, especially shoes that were handmade with soles designed for quiet. He'd not infrequently tested that feature by creeping up on some minor malefactor inside the Grid, now recalling the crunch of the gravel when he'd approached the church hunting for Jane he would have to take the chance that his expensive footwear would work as effectively in the exterior world.
As he prepared to put his plan into action for once fortune smiled on Harry's schemes. The thieves still blessedly unaware that they were not the sole representatives of the human race to be abroad in the bitter cold, chose that precise moment to halt and hold a discussion, giving Harry a brief window of opportunity. With a swiftness that belied his bulk he reached the edge of the van. Pausing for a moment and then with three quick, virtually silent steps he was secreted behind the gate, hidden with his heart pumping at rate he'd not experienced for years. It wasn't just the temperature that was reminding him of his Cold War days.
Taking careful stock of his new position Harry noticed that the half of the gate opposite to him had been left ajar. That at least negated the possibility of his position being revealed by the squeak of an unoiled hinge. Leaning cautiously forward he completed an operational reassessment, if he crawled the very short distance across the pathway towards the opposite graves he would avoid the risk of his footsteps making any loud scuffling sounds on the gravel, while also solving his Christmas present problems at a stroke. The likely damage to the knees of his trousers would ensure that all he'd want for Christmas was a new suit. Still compared to what else he'd sacrificed over the years in the interests of the state the damage to his clothing was negligible, and infinitely cheaper than that currently being wrought upon the church architecture. Trusting that the criminals were fully focussed on their own activities he inched furtively forward, wincing as one or two sharp pieces of gravel made painful indentations in his knees and lower leg. Thankfully His hands were protected by his black leather murdering gloves. Any sounds he made in his covert passage were slight enough to be attributable to the nocturnal foragings of any small animal willing to brave the cold in search of food or shelter. Reaching the icily grassed verge without mishap Harry swiftly dragged himself into an area darkly shadowed by the triangulation of the church wall, gateway arch, and a very large, tall, squared based monument of the type commissioned by wealthy Victorians and Edwardians to wordly commemorate the passing of entire families. Useful for now, but any further clandestine progress might be difficult. Harry was all too aware that unlike the majority of municipal cemeteries, in which the deceased were laid in serried rows beneath the council design approved headstones, the riotous individualistic hotch potch of grave kerbs and smaller hidden plaques in the average churchyard formed a considerable trip hazard for anyone wishing to traverse the area in broad daylight, let alone the December dark.
Any leisurely contemplation of his next move was terminated by the sound of one - no that wasn't an echo - two pairs of feet crunching down the path towards the gate. Harry had to think quickly. Fumbling around his hand lighted on a round reasonably sized stone, small enough to grip, heavy enough to create a formidable weapon. He would have the element of surprise, so he reasoned, if he let the first man pass by he could tackle the second, and then attempt to knock out his companion when he turned. As plans went it was risky. He still had the third man, whose presence was indicated by the pinprick of light near the church chancel. The odds weren't in his favour but when had that ever stopped him? Gripping the stone Harry prepared to spring, only to be suddenly wrong footed himself.
By his rough estimation the two unknowns had just about reached the half way point between the church and the gateway area where Harry lurked at the ready, when with a sudden yawp the first one collapsed, his unexpected descent in turn creating a domino effect as his companion tripped over him. Before Harry could recover from his surprise a darkly clothed figure emerged from behind a tombstone - this one topped by an icicle clad angel pointing heavenwards - and proceeded to initiate a process that warmed the cockles of Harry's combative heart – that of plucking the second figure up from the ground with the clear intention of beating the shit out of him.
From the deliberate way in which the unexpected newcomer to the mix moved it was obvious to Harry's expert eye that he'd been the recipient of some highly effective professional combat training but, as Harry also knew all too well, fights had an unpleasant tendency to produce a significant amount of noise. From his vantage point not only was the first man bestirring himself and finding his feet, the racket had, judging by the speedy way in which the light had turned, attracted the final third of the trio. If you couldn't beat them, join them, although technically Harry was unsure as to exactly who he was beating, and even more uncertain as to the id of who precisely he was joining. In the absence of any other figures emerging it would seem that the black clad pugilist was waging a solitary war, one against three, the odds Harry himself had expected to face. A little extra input was dictated. Operating on the theory that it was unlikely that the same country church had attracted two sets of evil marauders in one evening Harry followed instinct. Take what help you could to disable the opposition and save the questions for later. Not having much time for intellectual debate instinct was all he had to go on, allied with a sense of fair play. The first man had now heaved himself up from the gravel and having failed to note Harry still shrouded in the shadows was moving to help his mate. The noise of the fight having obliterated the sound of Harry moving swiftly up the grass verge, his presence was only registered by Robber the First when that individual found himself suddenly seeing stars, whose dazzling presence was owing less to incipient beauty of the night sky, and rather more to the sharp clump administered to the side of his head by Harry's hand still clutching the stone. Watching his victim keel over Harry felt the flare of satisfaction that accompanied a job well done but otherwise had minimal opportunity for self congratulation. The distant third man no longer seemed so distant as he bore down upon the still mysterious figure in black. In the time it took Harry to drop the stone the two remaining members of the trio were united in attacking the unknown quality who'd ambushed them from behind the angel. Stepping quickly over the unconscious body littering the ground, seven very quick strides brought Harry up behind the more recent arrival. Grabbing this last comer into the fray by both shoulders Harry hauled him out of the melee, and as his captive twisted around, took advantage of his hapless opponent's temporary lack of balance to produce one almighty thrust that sent the man crashing violently across the path head first into an upright gravestone. Having landed safely against the unyielding granite the most recent victim of the Pearce wrath slithered to the ground where any remaining strands of consciousness were firmly squashed by the imprint of Harry's serviceable well polished shoe upon his face.
Job done Harry felt safe to turn his back and render aid to the mystery man. His concern proved to be superfluous. The last man standing was now lying on the ground, writhing in pain while the apparition from behind the angel grave was pointing a shot gun directly at him. With a very quick glance in Harry's direction the person politely greeted him.
"Thanks for the help. I wonder if you'd be kind enough to fetch me some rope. I left it in the church porch."
Recognising the voice Harry's lips began to twitch. This had all the makings of a story he would really enjoy dining out on, but for now he simply replied, "Of course," before returning up the increasingly familiar pathway, as the well spoken voice floated after him, "Sorry I should have mentioned, you'll find an electric light switch just inside the porch door to the right."
Reaching his destination Harry scrambled his hand up and down the wall as bidden, finally encountering a switch that when depressed stubbornly refused to light up. Squinting into the gloomy depths of the porch he was about to call out asking where exactly the rope had been deposited when his foot came into contact with something substantial but moveable. Bending down he realised that one of the men, probably the one he'd chucked against the gravestone had dumped a large flashlight when hurrying to help his friends. Taking the not strictly legal view that finders were keepers Harry plucked it from the ground and, flicking it on, shone its beam around the porch, finally locating the expertly coiled rope, the purpose of his errand, resting snugly beneath the time scarred wooden bench that ran the length of one of the walls. Hurrying back to the pair on the path he held up the rope as he asked,
"Would you like me to do the honours, or would you prefer me to hold the gun?"
The answer came back without hesitation, "As I have the licence I'd best retain it."
Harry nodded gravely, "True it wouldn't do to break the law now would it." As he uncoiled the rope preparatory to tying it in knots around the now groaning figure he asked, "But do you think you could dispense with the balaclava James?" Even occupied as he was now fastening a pair of resisting arms behind a back he registered the start of astonishment as he continued, "It is you isn't it? James Endersley, vicar of this and a couple of other parishes. I know clergy usually favour black garments but shouldn't you be wearing a dog collar as well."
Showing an admirable ability to recover from surprise James replied in a casually shocked tone, "White on night time manoeuvres!" After a short pause during which Harry completed his task as directed - with the touching addition of stuffing a handkerchief firmly into the mouth of the protesting prisoner –he straightened up to be greeted with a further request,
"I'm grateful for the help but who exactly are you?" An ambiguous sentence that made Harry wonder if his true identity had been rumbled by this very unusual cleric. He'd find out in a few seconds he supposed.
"Harry Pearce, Jane's friend. We met earlier this evening." Wanting to avoid any really awkward questions he didn't give James time to respond as he continued, "Do you have any more rope? I really think we should tie up the two Sleeping Beauties before they come round."
Actions speaking louder than words James vanished behind the increasingly unangelic tombstone only to reappear coiling up a thin rope as he approached. It was an action that answered the question Harry the professional had internally been mulling over,
"Ah so that's why the first two went down – a trip wire." Almost as a mischievous afterthought he added, "I don't like to criticize. I'm aware of the concept of muscular Christianity, but isn't this a bit extreme?"
The reply with a glint of humour was swift accompanied by James handing Harry the rope, "I suggest we tie them up as a bundle, and I don't like to criticize but I rather got the impression that your job was to advise on crime, not act as a vigilante."
Giving lie to James' earlier impression Harry, the man of action, heaved the man still sleeping peacefully against the gravestone onto the gravel while James, following suit, dragged Harry's earlier victim up the path. For a few minutes no words were spoken as grunting in unison they trussed the two together, and then having secured them to a gravestone – engraved with the pious mantra 'nearer my God to thee' - retreated to the porch. Taking the flashlight from Harry James shone it around the area and then muttered, "Damn, they must have knocked out the electricity, I wonder if it's just the porch, or is it the church as well."
Removing a heavy duty key from his pocket of a size that made Harry wonder if this was the clergy equivalent of the old quip 'is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me.' In Harry's past that had actually been a serious question on more than one occasion. In the present the key did its work and the weighty door creaked open, releasing stone chilled air that was only marginally warmer than that of the porch, carrying with it the ancient church whiff of musty hymnbooks and hassocks. James plunged into the interior with the confidence of one who was so used to the place he could literarily have found his way through it blindfolded, which was fortunate given that it was near pitch black, until suddenly there was a flood of light followed by James' heartfelt audible prayer of thanksgiving.
"Thank God. Getting an electrician out just before Christmas would have been nigh on impossible."
Entering the church yet again, this time in James' wake, Harry promptly displayed his age by sitting down heavily on one of the rear most pews, his knee was groaning a little, his shoulder was hurting a lot – making him shudder at the reaction of Nat Reynolds if he ever discovered the truth. 'Harry you are cleared for driving but excessive activity will give you a shoulder that matches the knee.' Regretfully Harry was concluding that the activity he'd been indulging in, much as he enjoyed the odd field job, was somewhat excessive for one of his years. He might be aching but physically he looked less damaged than James. During the high octane throes of doing unto others as they would have definitely done unto him James had collected an eye that already developing a technicolour bruise, and was gingerly rubbing the back of his head, an action that brought forth a slight grimace. Standing with his back resting against the cold grey walls James, having checked that he was still more or less in working condition, fixed Harry with a stare that would not have disgraced a habitué of the Grid as he fired the opened salvo in what bade to become a session of mutual interrogation.
"So Harry what were you doing near the church?"
It was a fair question, one that Harry could, for once in his life, answer truthfully, which made a refreshing change.
"Jane thought she'd left her scarf in the Hall so I walked with her down to the Vicarage. When you weren't at home she thought you might be at the church. I heard the noise of this merry little crew and sent her home to ring for help."
Harry didn't need to see James frown, his words held it, "But what on earth made you..."
"I remembered your comments earlier about lead thieves in the area, put that together with a van and a group by moonlight swearing in Eastern European it was a reasonable conclusion. More to the point what are you – a member of a profession dedicated to turning the other cheek doing acting as a clerical version of the SAS."
If that had been taken as a rebuke, which was unlikely given that Harry had little time for liberal apologists, it wasn't obvious as James fulfilled his part of the contract with an information swap.
"Much the same as you really. I guessed when I saw the van sitting outside the church earlier. This is a small village and I noted the foreign number plate. I also had a description of a suspicious vehicle from a fellow cleric whose church was damaged three weeks ago. Anyway having rung the police and been told..."
"Let me guess - no crime had been committed and they didn't have the manpower to come out on spec." Long experience was telling in the irritated bite in Harry's voice, no wonder the public had little faith in the police, although to be fair as this time of year they were probably gainfully occupied in trying to avoid inebriated drivers providing James and his colleagues a steady stream of post New Year funerals.
"Spot on. I didn't fancy celebrating the Christmas services under an umbrella in the chancel, so I thought if I could catch them then the police would have to take notice." With a sigh he added, "But if it wasn't for you I'd have been in hospital tonight."
"Glad to have been of help, but could I advise you to adopt a rather more clerical garb before the police arrive."
As Harry uttered this advice the distant wailing of sirens could be discerned. For the first time in the evening James seemed to lose his confidence as he stuttered, "But I didn't call for them."
"Jane did. I told you that, and you'd have had to do so eventually." Moving into the officer mode that Harry wore like a second skin he proceeded to instruct James. "You need to look like a cleric not a guerrilla soldier." Surveying James with a critical eye he enquired, " Do you happen have a dog collar in your pocket?"
A straightforward question that, with the merest hint of grin, elicited an exact response. "No, but I do have something in the vestry that I can use."
As James moved to make good his words Harry held out his hand demanding, "Give me the gun. Is it loaded?"
James seemed surprised at the question, "Of course, what use is a gun that isn't."
An attitude Harry found thoroughly sensible but could guarantee that it was not one that the boys in blue would thrill to.
"I might agree, but when the police arrive it would be advisable for them to be greeted by a clergyman who preaches peace on earth to all men, not one who is channelling Jesus chucking the money changers out of the Temple." As the sounds grew louder and more intense Harry cut the conversation short as he exhorted James,
"Hurry up and remember when you come back, you heard intruders, went out with the gun, unloaded, and were attacked. I came by for the reasons I gave you and helped out." Moving his eyes to James' face he added conversationally, "It's fortunate that one of them did hit you in the face."
James response was sardonic, "Thanks but I don't see where luck comes into it?"
"It saves me having to do the job and it does go rather against the grain, even with me, to thump a man of the cloth." 'Putting a kill order out on one is a little different' "The state of your face will confirm what we tell the police."
James, while becoming ever more puzzled by the mystery that was Harry - who the hell remained calm and collected enough to come up with such a plausible story after the events of the last ten minutes or so - decided to do as his new found chum commanded. Having seen by the light of the moon the rough effects of his saviour's handiwork he thought he might indeed have been lucky to avoid being punched in the face by those firm fists and practically scampered into the vestry. From behind him he registered the sound of a gun being broken as Harry set about relieving the barrels of their live and potentially fatal ammunition.
In the time it took James to restore himself to clerical order Harry had disappeared outside and picking up the abandoned flashlight had taken the path around to the far side of the church, where out of view of James and the three amigos he lobbed the unspent bullets in a wide arc over the nearby graves, hitting the thick undergrowth of branches that coated the boundary wall between the church and what seemed to be some rough open fields beyond. Hearing, rather than seeing the slight quiver of frozen stems, almost certainly brambles, he decided that the unless the police opted for a fingertip search, an unlikely waste of manpower given that no murder had been committed and no one was missing, James should be safe from accusations of premeditation. Returning to the church porch to stoically await the inevitable arrival of the Her Majesty's Constabulary he cast a cursory eye over the bound prisoners, one wriggling furiously but unable to breakout from Harry's secure bonds while the other two, still dazed, where beginning to stir a little. From the sound of the sirens, nemesis, in the law enforcing form PC Plod and his companions was about to descend any second.
Sure enough three cars with brilliant flashing lights screeched to a halt just outside the church, one Harry noticed performing a very creditable emergency stop as they narrowly avoided crashing into the unlit van. Their arrival coincided with that of James, now with a narrow band of white decorating his throat. Taking in the distinctly unfestive flashing blue bulbs, whose rays were creating a hostile complement to the white chilled surroundings he murmured in Harry's ear, "Three cars, a bit excessive surely."
Harry agreed silently but knew the reason. Jane must have dialled the emergency number he'd given her, a hotline which when linked into the police switch board shrieked MI5 involvement. Not wishing to enlighten James the pair of them waited quietly and still as statues while six policemen hauled themselves out of the cars and crashed through the gateway at speed, two of them wielding lamps that had a search beam like a lighthouse. Caught in their strong light Harry and James were forced to blink like trapped rabbits as a harsh voice shouted out no nonsense instructions,
"Drop your weapon and kneel, we have you covered."
James, the law abiding model clergyperson seemed inclined to cooperate, but on second thoughts having taken his lead from Harry who remained standing bolt upright, only succeeded in producing a movement that looked like a genuflect as he part dipped before bobbing up again. Harry holding out the gun, yelled back into the dazzling beams.
"As you can see it is broken, it is also not loaded, but here." With that benediction he sent it skidding across the gravel to rest approximately half way between themselves and the police. Hissing at James as he did so, "Hold up your hands," matching the action himself as he informed the speaker.
"You'll find the real criminals on the ground, ready for your attention. And could you move the light a trifle. I do understand why you feel obliged to watch us but we can't help if half blinded."
While no verbal indication that Harry's request had been heard came, the beam did veer a little to the side. While four of the officers of the law took in the scene before them, consisting of three men bound and gagged, the van at the church entrance, judging, by the crashing and occasional swear word whistling through the air, a couple had been delegated to examine the area in which the group had been working prior to James' attempts at apprehension. From the hostile greeting afforded to Harry and James by the police presence it would seem that some discreet soul had not informed them that a member of MI5 was involved. For now, while not about to break his cover, Harry was mentally occupied in working out the relative seniority of the officers who were continuing to detain them. Uniformed, the highest ranking individual seemed to be the Sergeant who was barking out the orders. Harry trusted that those examining the crime scene would be quick in reporting back, his arms were begin to ache in sympathy with his knee and shoulder, a feeling that was only adding to his sense of annoyance. He and James had actually caught a group of thieves in the act, captured them and now they were being treated as the criminals. He'd be having a few unamiable words with Towers about this when he was next bidden to Whitehall for a consultation on the failings of law and order.
After what seemed to be an age one of the officers who'd gone to view the work of the gang inched their way back and muttered something that Harry couldn't quite hear into his senior's ear. Whatever it was seemed to part satisfy the man who fancied he was in charge, the poor benighted soul remaining unaware as to who exactly he had standing before him.
"Very well, hands down but keep them in sight. I'm sending one of my officers to collect the gun. Who does it belong to?"
He was staring directly at Harry as he said it and was in consequence totally astounded when James called out, "Mine, I do have a licence for it." Ignoring this last and having examined the gun handed to him by his minion the next questions arrived.
"What sort of vicar carries a shotgun? What exactly is going on here then? You first. " Harry seething at the brusqueness with which he was being addressed nonetheless complied, taking advantage of the opportunity to set the outlines of the story.
"I was approaching the church from over there, the road leading from the green, when I heard a noise in the churchyard. I thought it sounded violent so I sent Mrs Townsend, the lady whose call I assume brought you here, to ring for help while I went to see what was happening. I saw a figure, who I now know to be James Endersley, being attacked by a group of men. I went to his aid and between us we managed to overpower them."
The officer made a noise which sounded unconvinced, but nodded to James as he asked in a disbelieving tone, "And now your story Reverend." The inflection being on the word story.
James took a deep breath as he prepared to mentally ditch both the dog collar and the ninth commandment, salving his conscience with the theologically dubious argument of the 'white lie' for the greater good.
"I was going to the church to prepare in advance for the Christmas services when I saw this group, when I challenged them one came at me from a blind spot and as they attacked I fought back. I thought I was going to be knocked unconscious until this gentleman arrived to help me."
The Sergeant looked less than convinced as he almost snarled, "So why the gun?"
"I usually carry it with me at night when no one is around. In fact ever since the churchwarden at Great Levington was beaten up by a group of thugs after the church collection." Even in the darkness the Harry, while applauding the embellishment to their agreed tale, could detect the police sending out telepathic hate waves at this inspirational reference to their previous failure, "I carry it as a deterrent, as you can see it isn't loaded. I occasionally go shooting with my patron."
After a pause the Sergeant addressed Harry again, "So what were you doing strolling around the village in this temperature at this time of night, and your relationship with Mrs Townsend."
Harry's rising level of irritation was woven into the snap of every syllable."That last is not really your business officer, but for your information she is a longstanding friend of thirty years plus, we were at university together. She had attended the service earlier this evening and thought she'd left a scarf in the Hall so we came down to get the Hall keys, when the Vicarage was empty we thought we might find the vicar at the church."
"And will your friend endorse this tale?"
The salacious emphasis on the word friend was almost encouraging Harry to throw caution to the wind and embark upon his second round of assaults for the evening. He was prevented only by the thought that anyone interviewing Jane with a like insinuation would receive a very short shrift, and that would be despite the earlier interlude in her sitting room, the thought of which was still making him writhe with embarrassment. Needing to answer he replied with a calm he did not feel,
"Absolutely."
Thankfully Jane hadn't witnessed the events after he's sent her scuttling for help and therefore could not contradict the carefully constructed, partly true, partly doctored narrative.
After a long pause the Sergeant finally came to a decision.
"Very well we will ask her, but in view of the condition of these gentlemen I am obliged to caution you. I'm further advising you that you will be taken to our station interviewed with a probability of being charged with GBH or possibly attempted murder."
So will Harry spend Christmas behind bars? Thanks for reading this far and if you have a moment please review. Just in case anyone is wondering lead being stolen from church roofs is a problem in the UK.