The Strangers On The Trains ( Part 13)

James Conroy opened the large conservatory doors and stepped out into the midday sunshine. He felt a deep sense of pride as he looked at his magnificent garden. Seven acres in total and he knew every inch. He strolled across the perfectly manicured lawn and down to the small bridge that divided the cultivated from the wild. He stood for a while and looked down into the stream. It was unusually high today and he could clearly see four trout swimming against the current. It was at times like these that he wished he’d taken up fly fishing. But who knows? Maybe next year.

The stream separated the main garden from the two acres of woodlands on the other side. Although the M4 motorway was less than two miles away, the woods provided the perfect sound barrier. Most of the time all he could hear was the gentle trickle of the stream and birdsong.

He’d bought the nineteenth century mill at Hungerford six years ago. Spent all his savings restoring it to its former glory and now, at last, he could really appreciate the wonder of this beautiful old building.

The move from Oxford was exactly what he needed. The daily schedule had begun to get him down. He’d been Head of Religious studies at Kings College far too long. He was beginning to crack under the strain. Not only was it a twelve hour day, he also took seminars in the evening and lectures at weekends. He had become an “old grump” as he late father used to say. He’d started to lose his temper over the slightest things, he was constantly angry and tired, without really knowing why. His regular evening gin and tonic had turned into at least half a dozen and some days he finished the whole bottle.

So he made his decision. Time to move on. He was fifty five back then and the University reluctantly agreed to his early retirement.

Although, he hadn’t actually “retired”. More like slowed down. They still contacted him from time to time about certain projects, he gave lectures and seminars on various aspects of religion, he’d even gained a regular slot on one of those Sunday morning religious programmes talking about the “Modern Church” and how it can help in everyday life. But there was no more nine to five.

The other thing that had made him think about retirement was the Ray Samuels case. There were things that he’d seen and heard that disturbed him. He was an expert in all forms of religion and the occult but it was all research, theory, and maybes. The Samuels case frightened him, he was suddenly aware of things that were no longer just theory. They were real.

Then there was the death of his old friend Commander Alan Swan. They’d served together in Special Forces in the Falklands during the eighties. He’d always thought of Alan as being invincible. But while they were both investigating the Samuels case the Commander had suffered a massive heart attack. He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure the two were connected in some way.

He started to make his way back to the house when he heard the sound of a car engine. It seemed to be coughing and sputtering and all the time getting closer. He turned and looked at the long driveway that led down to the small country lane, just in time to see a battered old blue car struggling to make its way up the slight incline that led up to the house. He could see two people in the car and noticed the sign on the top of its roof, “Berkshire Cars”.

The cab stopped no more than twenty feet away from him. The passenger door opened and a big fat man struggled to get out of it. He sort of rolled his way out and then stood up straight and adjusted his jacket.

James recognised him, from years ago. It was Tony Palmer, more commonly known as Fat Tony. The biggest man he had ever known but also the funniest, friendliest and most trustworthy.

They’d worked together on the Ray Samuels case back in 2005. Of all the people he might have expected to get out of a cab on his driveway on that particular day, Fat Tony wasn’t one of them.

The big man waived enthusiastically, and started to walk towards him. By the time he was in earshot he was out of breath.

“Bloody hell James this is a bit remote.”

James smiled.

“That’s exactly why I moved here. Peace and quiet. Good to see you Tony.”

They shook hands, both immediately remembering the times they’d spent together six years before.

“Good to see you mate. Now, any chance of a cold beer?”

James laughed.

“How did I guess you'd want something alcoholic and not a tea or coffee? I take it this is not a social call. You want something, don’t you Tony.”

“You know me too well James. Yes I do actually. I need to pick your brains about something.”

James led the way through the conservatory and into a grand lounge. Without being asked, Tony sat himself down in a large armchair. Again James smiled.

“Make yourself at home Mister Palmer. I’ll get us a couple of drinks. No beer in the house I’m afraid. Wine?”

“Lovely jubbly.”

“Red or white?”

“Bring them both in James, we’ll start on the white and wash it down with the red.”

James walked into the kitchen laughing at the fat man’s cheek.

He re-appeared a few minutes later with two bottles of white Rioja.

“I suddenly realised that one bottle of white would be useless in your company Tony. I’ve seen you drink a whole bottle in under ten minutes, so I brought two. After this, I’ll get some red.”

“You’re a gent you are James, a proper gent.”

James poured out two large glasses and put the bottle next to Tony. He was anxious to discover what he needed to know. After a long slow gulp of wine he put down his glass.

“So come on then Tony. What do you need to know?”

Tony had already drunk his first glass and was busy filling up again.

“You know all about the Bible and all that, yeh?”

“If you’re asking me if I know about the many scriptures that make up what we now know as the Bible, then yes, I do.”

“Good. Know much about the Old Testament?”

James was getting slightly impatient with the Fat man.

“Tony, I lived and breathed the bloody thing for years. Travelled the world researching all aspects of it. Just as I have other religious books such as the Quran. Now, I don’t wish to be rude, but get to the FUCKING POINT!”

They both laughed out loud and touched glasses.

Tony put down his empty glass, opened the second bottle and started to pour. As he did so he leaned forward.

“So what do you know about the Seal Of Solomon?”

James sat back. Whatever he thought he was prepared for, that certainly wasn’t on the list. Tony could see the surprise on his face.

“Thought you’d like me coming up with that one. Now where’s that bottle of red?”