A Jess Bridges Mystery
‘Is there a Mr White? I mean, Lisette’s father? Is he in contact?’
‘No, he’s never been in the picture. I conceived Lisette through a sperm donor. I was in my late thirties, aware of the biological clock ticking and there was no prospective man in my life so I took matters into my own hands.’
The man next to me grumbled and prodded me with his elbows as he plugged himself into noise-cancelling headphones. At least now we had privacy.
‘Literally your own hands, like with a turkey baster, or via a clinic?’ I was a details kind of person.
This shocked a laugh out of her. ‘Clinic! A clinic!’
‘It’s just that you hear of … OK, never mind. Go on.’
‘I believed that Lisette had never felt the lack of a father, that I was enough for her. And my parents were alive then. My own father was an excellent role model.’
I elbowed the fat guy back as I shifted. ‘It’s OK, Tanglewood, you don’t have to justify your choices to me. But if you do want an opinion, that all sounds fine and natural. Well, not exactly natural, but fine. Loads of people grow up in unconventional family settings these days.’ I was blithering so I shut up.
Her voice turned wistful. ‘Lisette started raising the subject of her biological father when she turned eighteen. She wanted to know if there was any way of tracing the donor. The anonymity law was changed in 2005 but that was too late for her as it wasn’t retroactive. It depends on whether the donor chose to lift his anonymity. Last I heard, he hadn’t and that sent her into a … well, a lost state. I think she was looking for some replacement father figure. She ended up joining this peculiar community near Oxford. It’s in a village called Kingston Beauchamp. Have you heard of it?’
I shook my head, regretted the movement, then said, ‘No, but I’ve not lived in Oxford long.’
‘It’s out towards Swindon in the Vale of the White Horse.’
That was undiscovered country to me as I didn’t have a car. ‘Right, the geoglyph.’
‘You actually know what that is? I’m impressed.’
‘Earth pictures, like the Nazca monkey in Peru and the Marree man in Australia.’
‘That’s right. I thought only a few people in my academic area talked about them.’
‘I like that stuff and I go down lots of rabbit holes on YouTube. Landing zones for UFOs and all that? The theories are so crazy they make me feel sane.’ I’d better change the subject. I was admitting rather too much. ‘What kind of community has she joined?’
‘They call themselves the Children of the White Horse.’
I pulled a face. ‘I hadn’t realised your daughter’s search for a father had gone quite so bestial.’
Tanglewood gave a sour laugh. ‘It’s a cult really, or a scam. I can’t work out if the leader actually believes what he preaches.’
‘It has to be a “he”, of course.’
‘He calls himself Father Oak.’ Her tone was admirably sarcastic. ‘He likes beautiful young women. Like my daughter.’
‘So you think she’s got tangled up – sorry, no pun intended – with some scammy sex cult?’
‘Druidic spiritual exploration, according to the website. Lisette told me she thought I’d approve, seeing as how I study these things for a living. I don’t approve. This one is rooted in nothing but the ego and earthy imaginings of Father Oak. I can’t see a genuine druid recognising any of his beliefs in what that man teaches. Anyone who knows anything about ancient belief systems would laugh at it.’
‘You told your daughter this?’
‘I did.’
‘And let me guess … she said you didn’t understand, that sexy Oakman knew better than you, which means she now knows better than you, and you should stop raining on her druidic parade?’
‘Or words to that effect.’
‘OK. I get that, but what do you think I can do about it? I would think it’s a question of time until she gets fed up with the lifestyle or sees through the guru.’
‘Archpriest apparently.’
‘Archpriest Oak. Wow. That doesn’t sound corny or anything.’
‘That’s what I hoped for the first eighteen months – that Lisette would see how bogus this all was. But now I’m no longer content to do nothing and let the brainwashing continue. She’s not going to come to the realisation on her own. She needs help.’
‘What kind of help? Isn’t this more Michael’s bag, something needing psychological intervention?’
‘No, I need a more practical intervention.’
‘Like what?’
‘I need you to join the cult and persuade her to leave.’
‘What?’ I opened my eyes with a jolt. Yes, she was still there and I hadn’t dropped off to sleep.
‘I’ll pay you very well for your time. Twenty thousand pounds – that’s what I can pull together from my savings. I can’t reach her so I’ve decided that I’ll spend every last penny getting her out. Will you help?’
I rubbed my eyes. ‘Am I still drunk? You’ll pay me twenty thousand pounds to join a sex cult?’
‘Ten thousand up front. The other ten if you get her out.’
It was time to be honest. ‘For that money you can get someone better. I did work undercover recently on a film set but in very different circumstances. I don’t have a lot of experience.’
She counted off the points in my favour on the fingers of her left hand. ‘You’re experienced with looking for people; you are unknown to my daughter and these cult people; you’re highly recommended by Petra; you’re young and blonde. Yes, I think I have the right person.’
She could have finished off the finger counts by adding ‘strapped for cash’ and ‘recklessly impulsive’. Many people would run screaming at the idea of joining a sex cult; for me that sounded like a grand idea. In fact, I should’ve thought of it before.
‘OK, I’ll take the job.’ I gulped down the ginger beer. It was only a dinky can so it didn’t take more than a few swallows. If I was going to do this, I was going to have to be on my best form. I needed to kick this hangover to the kerb. ‘Wake me when we land.’
Chapter 7
Jess
‘You’re not doing it.’ Michael was steaming as we took the car home from the airport. ‘When I sent you to speak to Dr White, I did not expect her to ask you to do something so outrageous!’
‘So it’s “Dr White” now, is it? Not Tanglewood?’ I wondered how much the driver was hearing. Michael hadn’t been discreet, blurting out emotive words like ‘cult’ and ‘sexcapades’ so I’d bet our chauffeur was taking in every word. I patted Michael’s hand. ‘Michael, may I remind you that you aren’t the boss of me?’
‘Have you asked Charles what he thinks?’
Charles Haslam, Michael’s friend, was also my doctor and had steered me through some very rough patches in my mental health. ‘No, I have not, as we only just got off the plane.’ I checked my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair apparently was something of a calling card for this cult. You either had it naturally or got yours dyed so you could join the White Horse followers.
‘I know Charles and he’ll agree with me.’ Michael actually got out his phone to make the call like he could appeal to VAR, the video assistant referee. ‘He’ll tell you that you’re giving in to your impulses again.’
‘No, he wouldn’t, because he signed me off. I’m cured, didn’t you know?’ Michael shook his head. He knew, and I knew, that you can’t be cured of what I’ve got; you’re just temporarily stabilised. ‘I’m acting rationally and sensibly.’
‘Jessica—’
‘No, Michael, I am.’ I pushed down the hand holding the phone. ‘I have a business and, if I do this right, I’ll earn a huge chunk of what I need to invest in it properly. I can’t continue bumping along hand to mouth. With this kind of money I can get my own place and stop lodging with Cory.’
‘I thought you liked Cory?’
‘I do, but she has her family and it’s a squeeze. I can’t run my business professionally from a back bedroom.’
He grunted but he couldn’t argue with the truth.
‘And how much risk do you think there is in some latter-day flower-power thing? They’ll be eating lentils, making love, plaiting garlands. I’ll slip in, make friends with Lisette, see how the land lies, and hopefully disillusion one brainwashed daughter.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m doing it.’
Michael’s opposition actually helped. We’d had a rocky five years living together and I had finally learned to enjoy disappointing him. If he had approved, I think I might’ve had colder feet but, at this moment, they were toasty warm.
‘I see you aren’t listening,’ he grumbled.
‘I am. I just don’t agree with you.’
‘So when are you going to do this?’
‘I can’t see any point in delaying. I thought I’d hitch over there tomorrow.’
‘Hitch?’
‘It’s not on a bus route and it’ll look out of character if I turn up in an Uber. I’m supposed to want to live off-grid.’
‘I’ll drive you.’
‘Oh, Michael, you don’t have to do that!’
‘I know I don’t, but I feel responsible. You would never have met Tanglewood if you hadn’t come to keep me company in Frankfurt.’
‘But you only asked me to cheer me up after they arrested my dad for stalking. And we both had fun. No favours owed on either side.’
Michael gave a grumpy huff.
‘Anyway, she was set on this course of action before she went. I just swam right into her orbit. I think she sees it as confirmation.’
‘Confirmation of what?’
‘That this was meant to be. She believes in fate.’
‘Of course she does. She studies paganism.’ We turned into Cory’s road where I lived. ‘All right. What time do you want to go?’
‘There are no official opening hours at the commune. I was thinking of arriving around noon.’
‘I’ll pick you up at eleven.’
I leant over and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for the Frankfurt trip, Michael. I had a blast.’
He gave me one of his genuine smiles, the sort I used to spend so much time fishing for when we were together. He was much more generous with them now. We were both nicer people when we were apart. ‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’
‘Bloody pelicans,’ I said.
‘Yes, I mean, what did the pelicans ever do for us?’
‘You’re parroting me now!’ Laughing, I scrambled out and grabbed my carry-on from the boot. ‘See you tomorrow, sunshine!’
‘Call me if you come to your senses and I’ll take you out for a pub lunch instead.’
‘Goodbye, Michael.’
The car drove away and I picked up my case. Time to tell my landlady what I was up to.
***
‘A cult? Oh, that’s so exciting!’ Cory was in many ways Michael’s opposite. Whereas he was always preaching caution, Cory found her life much enlivened by my shenanigans. In her mid-thirties and recently divorced, she was looking to find a little sparkle in her life again. As her own had gone flat, she depended on me to provide the fizz. Tucking a lock of her chin-length brown hair back behind an ear, she delved under the grill and returned victorious with only a little smoke. She placed a fish finger on Leah’s plate. The three-year-old began carefully to dissect it, taking off the orange breadcrumbs to leave the pallid white interior exposed.
‘I think she’s going to be a doctor, or a pathologist,’ I predicted, dipping a breadstick into the hummus Cory had put out for us grownups.
Benji frowned at his charred offering. ‘Mum, you’ve burned it.’
On cue, the kitchen smoke alarm started to beep. Knowing my role in this frequent drama, I grabbed a magazine and waved it under the sensor while Cory pumped the backdoor to and fro to dispel the fumes. Our little rescue team was effective in record time and we returned to our places.
‘Always good to check the alarm is working,’ I told Benji. He continued to scowl. ‘How is it that a F I V E-year-old can see through us?’ I asked Cory, spelling it out.
‘Because we are transparent,’ she said. ‘Eat up, love. There are children around the world who would be grateful for a meal like that.’
Benji poked his fish finger. I had to say, I was in his camp on the attractiveness of what he’d been served.
‘You did not just say that, Cory!’ I hissed. ‘That’s such a terrible old chestnut.’
‘But it’s true.’ Cory was a development expert and assessed international aid programmes for refugees, among other things. She’d just come back from a week in Beirut and had been particularly depressed about the state of the world ever since. I needed to help her lighten up or Benji would be carrying the cares of our pitiful times on his shoulders. I swooped down and stole his blackened fish finger.
‘I don’t know about poor children but there’s a Jessica who wants it!’ I gulped it down, carbon and all. ‘Yum!’
Benji sniggered. ‘Mum! Jess stole my dinner!’
‘You can have mine,’ I told him, offering him a blob of hummus on the end of a breadstick.
‘Yuck!’ He batted it away so it fell to the floor.
‘OK, kiddo, this is war!’ I told him, and handed him a new breadstick. We had a quick fencing match which resulted in yet more crumbs on the tiles as our swords got progressively shorter. Leah watched us with clinical detachment, chewing her fish, while Cory smiled fondly at the mess we were making. As she always said, what were brooms for?
Benji was supplied with a slightly less charred specimen, and soon mealtime was over. The children were sent off to change into their pyjamas, and I helped with the clean-up. After all, I had made most of the mess.
‘How long do you think you’ll be gone?’ Cory asked, switching on the dishwasher.
‘A week maybe? Two? It depends how difficult it is to talk some sense into Lisette.’
‘Might take longer than that.’ Cory filled the kettle as I emptied the crumbs into the food bin. ‘Have you ever had anything to do with anyone in a cult?’
‘Er, no?’
‘I had a friend who got caught up in one once. Took years for him to break away and, to be honest, he’s still not a fully functioning member of society even now. He finds how we live so weird.’
‘It is, isn’t it? Everything is weird when you stop and think about it.’
‘True, but it’s like driving. If you start to think too much about it, you’ll lose the knack and drive into a wall.’
‘So we shouldn’t think too hard?’
‘Exactly. Where is this cult anyway?’
‘Very near the White Horse, in a village called Kingston Beauchamp.’
‘That’s a strange coincidence.’ She spooned some decaf into the coffee pot.
‘What is?’
‘It’s been in the news. A girl’s body was found up there a day or two ago. I don’t think they’ve identified her yet. I imagine the place will be swarming with police.’
‘Oh.’ I wondered if my favourite policeman was on that investigation. In the wild swimming case a few months ago, I’d found myself a little intrigued by a certain inspector in Thames Valley CID. I have to admit that I’d been enjoying a few daydreams where I didn’t come quietly with him, if you know what I mean.
‘I haven’t heard that there’s any connection with your commune but …’ She called up the story on the BBC local news.
I scanned the piece quickly. ‘It’ll make slipping in more difficult. They’ll be wary of outsiders.’
‘You’ll have to find a way of earning their trust.’
‘Hmm.’ I accepted the coffee she’d poured me and added some milk. ‘I wonder …’
Cory smiled indulgently. ‘I can see your mind is working overtime.’
‘I was just wondering how I can get a foot in the door. I need someone to vouch for me, or some other reason for being there.’ An idea came but it would all depend on whether Michael would play ball. ‘How do you think I can best persuade Michael to have a blazing row with me in front of someone from the commune?’
‘Give him a back rub?’
That would probably do it but I didn’t want to revisit that page in our relationship.
‘Any other suggestions?’
‘You could offer to do him a favour in return at a time of his choosing.’
‘Like feed his cat when he’s away? I’d do that anyway.’
‘He doesn’t have to know.’
‘Do you think he’ll go for it?’
‘Jess, you know the man far better than me. Do you think he’ll like having you in his debt?’
‘Oh yeah, he’ll like that.’
***
Michael and I took the exit off the A420 to head for the village.
‘This is ridiculous,’ muttered Michael.
‘But you’ll do it?’
He grunted, which I interpreted as a ‘yes’.
‘We just need to find the right person, you get mad at me, and I flounce off to weep.’ I finger-combed my hair, having left it loose. A little rinse had taken me a few notches up to almost white blonde. I was hoping this would attract the eye of my target. ‘I haven’t been this colour since I was five.’
‘And this is exactly the kind of idiotic plan a five-year-old would come up with.’ He clearly had never met Benji who wouldn’t do anything so foolish. He sighed. ‘OK, Jessica, where do you want to stage this row of yours?’
‘It’ll have to be somewhere public. Let’s have that pub lunch you mentioned and see who turns up. From the pictures online, the commune people stand out in their white robes. It shouldn’t be hard to find one.’
We turned into the car park of the Smithy Arms to find it surprisingly full for a Monday. Some of the cars belonged to the police. What were the chances of meeting someone we knew? Michael advised the police on cases involving psychopathic killers.
We exchanged a look.
‘Shall we try something else?’ Michael suggested.
‘You have an idea?’
‘Ring the doorbell.’
‘That’s your plan?’
‘You have to trust me. We can still have our argument, but let’s make it hit the right target. The last people you want knowing you’re here are the police. They’ll blow your cover in two seconds.’
He had a very good point. ‘All right, let’s ring that bell.’
Chapter 8
Michael
There was something about spending an extended period of time with Jessica that always ended up with him doing something insane. This was no exception, thought Michael. At least this way, taking her right to the front door, he would get to see exactly what she was letting herself in for and, if necessary, he could drag her away if he judged it too dangerous.
They approached Kingston Manor. The gates were wrought iron, supported by stone pillars topped with statues of lions with long curling tails. They each held a shield with the coat of arms of the family who originally built the place. Through the gateway, Michael could see the house at the end of a short tree-fringed drive. A few brown leaves were drifting down in a sombre kind of confetti. The style of architecture appeared to be eighteenth-century neoclassical, fawn stone and balustrade pediment, perfectly symmetrical. The manor was the kind a great lord would have termed a hunting box as it only had one wing and, at a guess, about thirty rooms, but to modern eyes it was palatial.
‘Nice place,’ said Jessica laconically. ‘Being a cult leader must pay well.’
He steered the car to the right so he could reach the intercom.
‘Doesn’t really go with the whole druid thing, does it? Electronic security? I’d’ve thought a couple of elves with staves would’ve been more in the spirit,’ she commented.
Only Jessica. ‘The manor is rented. I imagine this was put in by the owner.’ He buzzed.
They waited.
He buzzed again. This time the intercom crackled. The voice was female. Impatient. ‘Yes? If you’re a reporter, we’re not giving any more interviews.’
‘No, I’m a doctor. Dr Harrison from Oxford University. I need to see Mr Oak on a confidential matter. It’s urgent … about a case of mine.’
‘Wait one moment.’
Jessica’s brows shot up. ‘A doctor?’ she mouthed.
‘Technically I am, a Doctor of Psychology. If the person on the other end makes links to an unspecified urgent medical matter, then that’s her affair. And you’re my case,’ he explained aside.
‘Nutcase?’ Jessica sniggered.
The gatekeeper was back. ‘All right, Dr Harrison, you can come as far as the entrance and explain your business to Father Oak in person.’
With a smooth movement the gates swung open, first the left, then, after a fraction of a pause, the right.
‘Clever,’ said Jessica. ‘You got us in.’
‘Curiosity got us in.’
‘Anyone would think you might know something about how the human brain works, Dr Harrison.’
‘People hate mysteries. If they refused to see me, it would bug them not knowing what I wanted.’
‘But you’ve only got us as far as the hallway.’
‘Have a little faith in me, Jessica. I’ve met this type before.’
‘What type?’
Michael raised a brow.
‘Oh my God, you think he’s a psycho?’
‘He’ll at least have a narcissistic personality disorder. He’s a cult leader – it goes with the territory. Watch your step, Jessica. I mean it.’
‘I know, I know. I’m not interested in him. I just want to help Lisette. I’ll keep out of his way.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get too interested in you.’
It took Michael a while to get out of his car. Jessica had become quite good at offering just the right amount of help, steadying the wheelchair during transfer but letting him do the brunt of the work.
‘You’re my much put-upon research assistant, agreed?’ he told her. ‘Anything I say in there is for effect.’ He had already told her this on the drive here but he was worried she would take it to heart. Sometimes home truths leaked out when you were acting angry with someone.
‘Got it, captain.’
‘Look less … perky.’
She turned her nervous smile into a sulk. It was unlikely to stay on her face long because her default setting was cheerful, so they had better hurry up, he surmised.
‘I apologise in advance; I’m going to imply you provide more than just note-taking. I want to make him think you’re easy.’
She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘Michael, stop fretting. We’ve got this.’
Of course a house like this didn’t come with anything so civilised as a ramp. Jessica went inside to see if she could locate one and returned with two hefty men wearing what Michael would’ve described as kaftans. Both had bleached hair.
‘No ramp, sir, but I did find these nice young men to help,’ she said.
The two seized the chair and lifted Michael bodily up the flight of six steps. He felt like he was in some opera scene: Arrival of the King of Sheba.
‘Thank you,’ he said to his Nubian slaves, not feeling very thankful at all.
They opened the doors and stood either side, making his arrival far more ceremonial than he had intended. He entered, Jessica following a few steps behind. Father Oak – for it had to be the man himself – was waiting on the bottom step of a flight that went straight up behind him. It then split in two before joining the upper floor. The hall was a marble chessboard of white and grey tiles. Ancestor portraits looked down on them, their silks and satins at odds with the plain white cotton worn by the Children of the White Horse.
Seeing that Michael was in a wheelchair, Father Oak relinquished his advantage of the stair and approached, hands out in welcome or blessing. He was in early middle age and could be described as a good-looking man. His black hair was silvered at the temples in distinguished ‘trust me’ wings. Interesting that he was the only one to have his dark colouration. Another way of separating himself out, Michael supposed. Oak’s eyes were an almost hypnotic blue ringed with black, very intense and calculating. He radiated charisma as so many of his kind did.
‘Dr Harrison.’ Oak’s eyes went to Jessica. She had cleverly stood in a patch of sunlight so she was spotlighted. Jessica knew a thing or two about psychology as well, Michael acknowledged.
‘This is my … er … assistant, Jessica. Jessica, stop daydreaming and do something useful.’ He made his tone snappish and overly familiar towards her, acting the part of a misogynistic academic. ‘I apologise for arriving unannounced, Mr Oak, but I couldn’t think how else to introduce myself. You see, I’m afraid I’ve lied to you.’