The Pope Of Comber

Epilogue

Time to move on

Baxter's office 36 hours after the incident 7:45 Hrs

Baxter stood staring at the huge painting on his office wall. He still couldn't sleep and decided to spend most his time in his office alone. There was something about the room that always helped him think straight. As he stood there transfixed, facing the painting in front of him. A part of him suddenly wanted to rip it off the wall and tear it apart with his bare hands.

In his minds eye that was what he was contemplating. But in his heart he couldn't bring himself to do such a terrible thing. He felt disgust raging within him. After all that had happened over the last few days and still there was a part of him that could do no wrong. Perhaps it was a weakness within him, he reasoned?

He reached out towards the painting without consciously thinking about it and was almost touching its surface when he heard a loud throaty cough from behind him.

He promptly turned and there standing in front of him was the figure of a tall well dressed man, at a guess a good six feet in height. The man looked to Baxter at first glance be in his late fifties or mid-sixties. But perhaps by the looks of the tall mans full head of grey hair and the numerous crinkles on his face and forehead maybe he was, even older?

'Sorry Mr Baxter...I didn't mean to startle you. My name is Mr Jones. I'm from the British Home Office.' The tall man said in a perfect upper class posh English accent.

Baxter was a little taken a back by the sight of Mr Jones, not many people he knew wore expensive three piece navy pinstriped suits. Or for that matter carried a large full length umbrella by their side. The only thing missing to complete the picture of a true English-Gentleman was a bowler hat on his long-thin head.

'I'm sorry' Baxter said in his best posh voice 'I already feel at a disadvantage--you know my name and yet we have just met?'

Jones didn't smile. In fact there was no sign of any emotion on his face whatsoever. At first Baxter through Mr Jones hadn't understood him and he was about to ask the question again.

'There's quite a lot I know about you Mr Baxter...' Mr Jones didn't finish his sentence. As Baxter had put his hand up to stop him speaking and said smiling 'Look Mr Jones...Just call me Will if you don't mind? And what is your first name?'

'I would prefer if we just used our Sir names, for now Mr Baxter!' Jones said without any visible emotion.

'I see...!' Baxter said defensively 'Look Mr Jones, what exactly is this about?'

Jones put his right-hand up in front of him, like a policeman stopping an approaching vehicle. Baxter noticed he was wearing expensive dark tanned leather gloves on his hands.

'I am not here to play games Mr Baxter. I do assure you of that. I will take up very little of your valuable time. But I will appreciate it if you hear me out for the next few minutes.'

Baxter stood behind his desk not sure what was about to happen next. There was something quietly confident and a little spooky about Mr Jones. But he couldn't quite put his finger on just what it was at that precise moment.

'I do know what happened here, or to be precise, what occurred beneath our feet should I say.' Jones tapped one of this expensive highly polished brown leather shoes on the wooden floor 'I believe you have met both my colleagues you know them as Jane Downs and Bill Hardy?' Jones looked deep into Baxter's eyes as he spoke. Baxter never lost eye contact with the mysterious Mr Jones. But there was something very weird about Jones's eyes. Perhaps, Baxter thought, Mr Jones was wearing contact-lens?