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Kevin Wood
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7:00 AM 24th September 2021
fiction

Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 44

 
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Hypothetical questions are much abused by people wanting to know exactly how much trouble they are in. Typically, there will be a follow-up question regarding how to mitigate the trouble. I will confess to being bemused by this practice as it represents a strange doublethink. The person doesn’t admit guilt because it’s only “hypothetical”, but the way they are asking makes it plain they are guilty. Even if they are asking “for a friend”.

On this occasion, the Rev. Graham Walters had phoned to ask how best to dispose of one or two bodies. He is part of the Diocesan Finance Office, and we all know that financial meetings can get a bit tetchy. Still, I thought it more likely to be related to his involvement in a secret heretical society known as The Sons of Jesus Lemurian. Unknown to him, I was in the process of dismantling his cabal, but it did not seem necessary to burden him with that knowledge. Indeed, he was the type who, rather than being burdened, would have someone else burdened on his behalf. Hence his purely hypothetical question.

“Well,” I said, “As we are only talking in purely hypothetical terms…”

“Purely hypothetical.”

“…Let us assume it is two bodies. The manner of death might affect your choices, so perhaps you could theorise as to how they died.”

“Shall we say they were bludgeoned repeatedly around the head with a brass candlestick?”

I gave a chuckle and said, “Oh, Graham, you’re making this sound like a game of Cluedo! The curate in the vestry with the candlestick and so forth.”

“Vicar in the crypt. For the sake of argument.”

“Ah, so there’s a theoretical problem of blood on the stone flags as well?”

“Er, yes. How do I get rid of that?”

“I will just ask my housekeeper – Abigail!” I called.

She poked her head around the door and said, “Yes, David?”

“How would you get blood out of stonework?”

“I usually wipe it up with a sponge and cold water. That always leaves some stains, so then give it a good scrub with washing soda. A quick rinse with cold water, and no one is any the wiser.”

“Did you get that, Graham?” I said into the phone.

“Washing soda, right, yes.”

I scribbled a quick note describing the situation to Abigail. She is very good at such things, but I suppose body disposal is just a form of housekeeping.

“So, two vicars suddenly attacked each other with candlesticks?” I prodded. “Theological debate has certainly become more intense at the Minster of late.”

“It wasn’t like that,” said Graham, forgetting the entire hypothetical nature of the discussion. “Michael and James were debating those writings you gave me. The Gospel of Jesus of Lemuria. A couple of Martin Dawson’s friends were there, and they went wild!”

“What happened then?” I asked. I didn’t want to put the phone on speaker, because that’s always obvious, but I held it so that Abigail could hear too.

“I’m not sure. It was all a bit confusing. We had the main lights out and were using candles. I remember Martin’s friends shouting “Anathema” and grabbing the candlesticks. I ended up with a church warden’s stave in my hand, but I don’t know how effective it was.”

“Most unpleasant. What happened after that?”

“Well, it kind of stopped as quickly as it started. Martin’s friends were lying on the floor, as were Michael and James.”

“I see…”

“Hypothetically speaking, that is,” added Graham quickly. “This is all purely hypothetical.”

There was no trace of compassion in his voice. Four people dead, and he was only concerned with the inconvenience. This is one of the reasons why I am happy to see the end of The Sons of Jesus Lemurian. As a sociopath, I really have to try hard to achieve compassion, and frankly, I don’t enjoy it very much. Yet someone like Graham will discard it in an instant for his own advancement.

“Mm. Well, while we are talking hypothetically, where might Martin have theoretically been during this altercation that didn’t happen?” I asked. I was interested in this as Martin was the other person I had presented with faked up secret writings. When I had created The Gospel of Jesus of Lemuria, I had produced two copies, each a little different, one for Graham, one for Martin.

“Oh, Martin would have just stood there, watching. He wouldn’t have said a word if he had been there, but of course, none of us were there, because this is entirely hypothetical. I think there’s something a little strange about him,” said the man who believed in long lost continents and probably lizard people as well.

“What happened next?”

“I dragged Michael out of there and hid his body. When I went back for James, the other two were already gone, and no sign of Martin.”

“Are the bodies safe?”

“I think so.”

“Do they have any relatives?”

“No. None of us do. That’s why we got together, to share a mutual interest in, uh, ancient archaeology.”

“Leave it with me,” I said, “I will contact you soon. Clean up the blood, but otherwise do nothing.”

I hung up and raised my eyebrows at Abigail.

“Normally, I’d suggest putting the bodies in a car and rolling it off a bridge,” she said. “But it turns out someone’s already done that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Martin Dawson, I’m assuming. Two vicars from the Minster. You know that road over towards Sending?”

“Long hill, hump-back bridge, then a right angle bend?”

She nodded. “Car didn’t make the corner. Killed on impact.”

“Ideas?”

“The bodies are safe, it’s not an immediate problem. Wait for an opportunity, that’s what I’d do.”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s five dead by my reckoning,” she added, “if you count that one that fell off the tower of the Minster. You stopped me killing them, and now they’re doing the job themselves.”

“I had no reason to believe they’d start killing each other. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“You thought they would just sit there, debating amongst themselves?”

“This is the Church of England.”

“Well, it looks like they’ve thrown that off.”

“Indeed. Now I will take a little walk.”

“Vicaring?”

“Thinking,” I replied, putting on my jacket.

I headed down Cornwall Street, which is on the other side of the road, almost opposite the Vicarage. A little way down there is the entrance to the allotments. I find it useful to distract myself when there is a tricky problem to solve, and the allotments were as good a place as any. The five-bar metal gate was propped open with half a breeze block, so I entered.

Walking down the crooked path between allotments, I came to one which had its boundary fence topped with rusty barbed wire, and a certain smell of offal. Within a Victorian style greenhouse, a man was tending enormous leeks. I admit, I found his obsession fascinating, although I wasn’t sure why.
After a while, he saw me watching, and came out.

“What do you want now?” he asked. His tone was not the most pleasant.

“I am curious. Why do you only have one greenhouse? Surely you would you benefit from another?” I asked.

“Too expensive. A proper one like this costs four figures. Then I’d have to kit it out.”

“But you would like one?”

He just stared at me for a moment, then turned on his heel and went back inside. Marginally more successful than my first encounter with him. I nodded to myself and continued walking. It was a pleasant day, and it was intriguing to see what had been built using traditional allotment materials of rusty corrugated iron, old baths, asbestos and broken glass.

“Ah, vicar,” said a voice. I turned and saw Maurice the competitive delphinium grower. I smiled, and he ask me, “What is your opinion of the ontological argument for the existence of God?”

Disclaimer: Rev. David Wilson appears to be unable to distinguish between a hypothetical scenario and reality. The Rev Graham Walters has quite clearly stated that he is talking about the hypothetical deaths of “Michael” and “James”, yet the unwarranted assumption is made that the events described have happened.

A map of Sutley may be found here:
https://kevinwoodauthor.com/SutleyMap.htm

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