The Drug of Hope

By Francois Napoleon Jones

Four men of the Knights Templar gather in secret at Avignon in 1314. The leader, Jacques De Molay, knows he faces certain death when he is denounced by Louis IV and seeks to guard the secrets of the Knights Templar. They agree that Guy Du Busson should flee to Scotland, carrying with him the heir to the Jesus blood line; Charles De Chevalier should carry the Holy Grail to Newfoundland; and Francois Marriott should seek protection in Switzerland. Guy Du Busson finds a new life in Scotland and, using his skills as a soldier, fights the English at Bannockburn with Robert the Bruce. Charles de Chevalier finds Newfoundland, hides the Holy Grail in a complex and booby-trapped shaft over which they hold guard, and joins the Beothucks Indian tribe. Francois Marriott seeks shelter in Switzerland and founds the first bank; he also helps Leopold defeat the Hapsburgs and converts to the Jewish faith. The three men and their followers form The Sect, a secret organization that protects the true origins of Christianity.

Seven hundred years later, a young girl named Mary is ritually raped and disappears. The wife and daughter of police sergeant Sam Brooker are killed, and Sam seeks the help of his past commander in the Special Air Services, David York. As Sam and David try to unravel the secrets of The Sect, they discover they are being hunted by The Sects assassin, Crusadera deadly killer. David seeks help from his father, John McCallister, a professor of theology, and his ex bosses from MI6. He discovers that another organization, called The Cult, is also seeking their death.

Vivian Goldsmith, the daughter of the financier Roland Goldsmith, becomes involved with David, and he finds his emotions tested like never before as the circumstances throw the pair together in an epic adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781449080501

Francois Napoleon Jones

A soldier rescued Francois mother along her way to a hospital in the winter of 1947, the coldest winter in two hundred years. When her child was born, she named him Napoleon at the soldiers request. When Francois was eleven, his father left for Lebanon to visit his ill mother and never returned. Believing that his father had died, the family moved to Wilmslow and his mother remarried Lawrence Jones. However, the marriage collapsed and his mother placed Francois and his sister in a childrens home. Several months later, they were rescued from the hands of abusive foster parents by their mother to start a new life in a small flat in Cheetham Hill, Manchester. At sixteen, Francois left school to become an articled accountant, but he soon became bored and joined the army at the age of seventeen. Nicknamed Jonah, he became the leader of a group of four friends called The TerribleTwins, and they enjoyed several adventures together until he left the army when he was twenty-one. With his name abbreviated to Frank Jones, he spent two years in retail management with H. Samuel. He left the retail trade and became an industrial engineer working at Cheshire Council and then the City of Bradford Metropolitan Council. He specialized in office automation, helped design early word processing systems, and was involved in several controversial implementations that resulted in trade union strikes before staff accepted the new technology. Franks early work in office automation led to minor celebrity, and he became a lecturer and writer on the development of technology in business, coauthoring two books and several articles. From 1979 onward, Frank built and managed a series of small software companies that traded all over the world. He has been married three times and has six children. He now lives and works in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Book preview

Chapter One

The word mankind was in itself a contradiction to humans on earth because they consisted of men and women. Religion had forced the man to become the dominant force in all aspects of modern life. Religion had proved to be the drug of hope in most societies and yet divided as much as it provided cohesion. In this environment there developed a secret society called the Sect, on whom no books existed and no Web pages or other information was ever committed to electronic form or paper.

Crusader looked in the mirror and saw a physique firm and hard from strict training. When the telephone rang, Crusader picked up the telephone and answered simply, Yes.

You have the picture and the details? asked a flat, expressionless voice.

Yes, Crusader said.

Go to the place and call as instructed, said the voice.

Crusader looked at the typed details, which had a location of where to stay and details of a disguise to be used and what was to be done.

Yes, Crusader said, and put the phone down.

The instructions were always sent to a post office box Crusader rented and were typed on white paper; the photographs were always a computer printout on paper. Crusader reread the instructions and looked at the photograph for the last time before burning both items. The room was rented, and all belongings fitted into a small rucksack, which Crusader carried at all times. Crusader left the room, which had been meticulously wiped clean of prints and any hair to avoid any future investigation gaining any knowledge of the occupant.

The small room was close to the main line railway station at Kings Cross. Crusader rented lockers at several main line stations, where disguises and spare clothes were kept for various assignments. Crusader went to the left luggage area of Kings Cross, found the key for the locker, opened it, and removed the brown leather case, which contained the clothes and disguise suitable for the assignment. Crusader boarded the train and went straight to the toilet to change into the disguise and then took a seat, ready to blend with the personality Crusader had adopted.

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Mary was very nervous as she paced the room of the school doctor’s office. Nobody else was in the waiting room, as it was out of normal hours. She hoped all the signs of pregnancy were false and the doctor would confirm it was all a mistake and she could go back to being a normal eighteen-year-old girl.

In some ways, it seemed like a dream rather than reality, and she only remembered the rape in flashes of pictures, not in detail like she would have if she had been completely conscious. It had been one of the rare occasions when Mary had gone with a group of girls and boys from the two local Catholic schools to a nightclub in the center of Bradford. Mary had never been to a nightclub before and for that matter had not ventured from her studies for her A levels in months. She was not the brightest student and needed to study hard to maintain her straight-A grades, which her adoptive parents were so proud of when they attended school events. The girls at St. Josephs were strictly segregated from any contact with boys, even outside the all-girls Catholic school, and Mary had never been on a date until that day. Sally, her best friend, was the exact opposite of Mary in both appearance and in personality. Mary was quiet and modest in everything she did, very obedient and some might say subservient. She had strikingly black long hair, which gleamed with a natural glow of health that no manufactured product could achieve. It framed a strong, pretty face with a lightly tanned skin, which easily caught the sun. Her teeth were even and white like a toothpaste advertisement, and her physique that of a model, a physique she kept by joining in every sport event that the school offered. Not that she excelled in any event; she was a team player and shunned the limelight, always preferring to play team games in defense or midfield rather than attack. Sally was the exact opposite. She had short, dyed blond hair and was seen as effervescent and bubbly by her friends or disruptive and badly behaved by her critics. She attacked every boundary and rule with verve, from the strict dress code to rules concerning contact with boys. Her loving parents struggled valiantly to contain their beautiful, unruly daughter, but it was a constant battle. The boys from St. Cuthbert’s School for Boys and the neighborhood boys pursued her with a gusto that boys could only muster when a girl is known to be interested in experimenting with sex as a teenager. Mary was a surprising best friend for Sally, as they hardly ever went out together outside of school, but she was in many ways her rock, the one person she could talk to honestly and get an honest reply from. Sally had never gone all the way with sex until recently, with her latest boyfriend, Brian, who was at college and was a brother of Simon, one of the boys at St. Cuthbert’s. Brian was a final-year student at Newcastle University and had traveled home on leave, and she had met him in the crowd of boys and girls that went as a group to the local nightclub in the center of Bradford.

It was because of Simon that Sally persuaded Mary to go to Legends, the nightclub in the center of Bradford. Many boys had worshiped Mary from afar, but she always rejected their advances and avoided any contact. Mary had a plan: she would complete her A levels and go to college to become a doctor and help people in poorer countries, and that plan had no place for boyfriends who would disrupt her studies. So it was a great surprise to the group of boys and girls who met regularly to go to Legends when Mary agreed to go on a date with Simon.

It had taken Sally nearly a week of pleading before Mary agreed to get permission from her adoptive parents, Tony and Heather Bennett, devoted Catholics who rarely attended any event outside of the church. In fact, she was surprised how easily they agreed; it was after all Easter and school holidays, so one night with a group of friends did not seem excessive, and they readily agreed. There was a problem of dress, which Sally solved by lending Mary some clothes from her vast wardrobe.

Sally picked up Mary in her dad’s car, and they walked together from the parking lot to meet the large group of friends outside Legends. Surprisingly, there was a tall, broad man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, with Simon and Brian when they arrived. He was introduced to the girls as Evan, a tutor from Newcastle University who would be joining them for the evening. It all seemed a bit odd to both Sally and Mary, but with the bustle of entry into the club and the noise of music inside, they soon forgot about their reservations and joined in the excitement of the event. The club was restricted to people over eighteen and served alcohol, and the usual cycle of events was that the boys and girls would dance and drink in bursts of activity, dancing demonically and then drinking in a similar excessive manner. After several hours of this boisterous behavior, girls and boys would leave in pairs to go and have sex in cars or outside the club or would walk home together to have sex at home. Mary contemplated none of these options, and she did not drink alcohol, sticking strictly to soft drinks and dancing. She danced mostly with Simon, but on a few occasions Evan danced with her, and she was surprised how well he danced and how nice he was to talk to when they sat together. When it was about 10 pm, Mary reminded Sally that she had promised her parents she would be back at 11 pm. She wanted to leave at 10:30. Sally had just returned from a visit to her dad’s car with Brian, and Mary surmised they’d had sex, so she would not object to them leaving. It was shortly after this that she began feeling odd. Lights flashed in her head, and she felt dizzy. She asked Sally if they could leave. Sally said she wanted to stay with Brian, but Evan had offered to drive her home, and because she felt disoriented, Mary agreed. Mary felt strange walking to the car with Simon and Evan supporting her, and she wondered why her limbs felt so disoriented, as though she were drunk, and yet she had drunk no alcohol. She was a bit surprised that Evan and not Simon got in the back seat with her and Simon drove the car, but she found it difficult to talk and stay awake. When she sat in the car, she seemed in a daze and not able to control her body, and it seemed a comfort that Evan was holding her, so she did not resist. She then seemed to black out, and the next flash she remembered was that she was in the backseat of the car with her ankles uncomfortably close to her ears and Evan on top of her, thrusting inside her. Then she blacked out again. Only flashes appeared in her brain of the rape by Evan, but she remembered no pain or any struggle and no revulsion afterward, as it all seemed like a dream. She vaguely remembered arriving home with Simon and Evan supporting her and her parents taking her to her room to lie down. Most of the next day was also a blur, and she seemed to have slept the whole day, which was a Saturday, so there was not a lot of pressure from her parents to get up and go to church. When she examined herself on Sunday, she noticed her panties were stained with a red crust, which she presumed was dried semen and blood, but apart from that she had no bruises or pains or any signs of the rape. Mary knew she had been raped, but how could she prove it? She could barely remember what happened. Did she consent by not fighting off Evan? She concluded the best cause of action was silence. She was surprised on Sunday morning when Sally arrived at the house, as they usually met at church with their parents. Sally was distraught. Brian had finished with her because his parents were moving to Sunderland, and she would not be seeing him again. In a way this confirmed Mary’s decision to keep the rape to herself, as now the only witness, Simon, would also be going to Sunderland. But it seemed a bit strange two months before his A Level examinations to move schools. Mary felt disoriented for several days and was very quiet, one could say even muted, and she suspected this was an aftereffect of the drugs she had been given. Soon the days passed, and Mary forgot about the incident. Sally stopped talking about Brian, as she had found a new boyfriend, and everything would have returned to normal except for one problem.

Mary did not have her next period, which was due the following week. This was very unusual, and she began worrying about the consequences of the rape. When four weeks later she missed her next period, she reluctantly talked to Sally. Sally was shocked at the details that Mary remembered but suggested she see the school doctor, who could be discreet and would not talk to her adoptive parents.

Mary was frightened when she went to see the doctor in his office alone on a Saturday afternoon with no receptionist or patients around. She was scared when he examined her naked on the examining room table and opened her legs to check her vagina and probe inside her. She felt awkward and ashamed and wanted to cry, but she remained calm and got dressed when he told her to and waited in the waiting room while he tested a urine sample she had brought. Dr. Beecher came into the waiting room to see Sally after what seemed like an eternity.

I am afraid to tell you, Miss Bennett, you are pregnant, he said flatly as Mary stopped her pacing and looked at him. Mary dropped her head in resignation and shame. She wanted to cry, but another emotion inside her, of elation at the thought of a pregnancy and a child of her own, also struggled inside her troubled thoughts.

How long, she asked to the birth?

You will probably have a Christmas birth, said Dr. Beecher, and he paused, looking for any response. Seeing none, he continued, Most people believe a Christmas birth is rare, but in fact it is a common time to give birth. He paused again, well aware of her stepparents’ devotion to the church.

Do your parents know?

No. She was now becoming very calm and resolved. They don’t know, and I want to keep it a secret from them.

That will be difficult as the pregnancy progresses. It will become fairly obvious, unless you move away, said Dr. Beecher, peering over his horn-rimmed glasses.

I will give it some thought and make a plan after I have completed my A levels this month, said Mary.

Her mind was racing with questions for which she had no answers.

Perhaps I could help, said Dr. Beecher.

How? asked Mary hopefully.

Let me ask around, and I will come back to you in a few hours. It will perhaps be better if you don’t talk to your parents just yet or to any of your friends, said Dr. Beecher.

I will keep it to myself until I hear from you again, said Mary.

Dr. Beecher went back to his office and waited by the telephone as he heard Mary leave the office. His mind raced with the memory of her body on his surgical examination table, and he yearned for an opportunity to abuse her, using one of his hallucinatory drugs he sometimes gave patients.

The phone rang, disturbing his thoughts. The voice on the line that answered was strong and commanding without being loud.

Dr. Beecher, the voice said evenly.

My lord, I have examined her as instructed. She is perfect in every respect and pregnant with the child, Dr. Beecher said.

I hope you did not defile her in any way, Dr. Beecher, as the consequences could be very unpleasant for yourself. The voice did not threaten, but that was even scarier, and Dr. Beecher shuddered.

No, my lord, I did exactly as instructed, no more or no less. Dr. Beecher did his best to sound convincing.

Very well. Wait until she arrives home and then tell her to call the number in St. Albans, 467-2274, and ask for the vicar, Joseph Peters, said the even voice.

Make sure she calls as soon as possible, said the voice.

Yes, my lord. Dr. Beecher said.

Dr. Beecher was surprised he had a name and telephone number. This was a first since he had become aware of the Sect. He had been given no names or contacts except one, who was to be addressed at all times as my lord.

He heard the telephone click, and he knew the conversation had ended. The Sect had come to Dr. Beecher’s rescue only recently when he examined a friend of Mary’s, Sally Brooker, a little intimately and was discovered by her mother as he was about to mount her in his office.

Sam Brooker, her father, was a large, rough-looking man with a fierce-looking face that you would not want to cross. He had laid out the conditions for their silence. To intimidate Beecher and prove he was serious, Sam broke two of his fingers. Dr. Beecher was a large man and not timid, but Brooker gripped him in a paralyzing hold and broke one and then the other finger before explaining.

The Sect is a secret organization devoted to a mission, which you don’t need to know or understand. We shall keep our silence in relation to our daughter’s attempted rape on the condition you carry out our commands, which will not involve any risk. As a demonstration of our resolve, I have broken two of your fingers. The first is a punishment for the attempted rape and the second is a reminder that if you ever disobey, retribution will be swift.

In his head Dr. Beecher could still hear the snap of the fingers, and he shuddered. But he could not resist the thrill of seeing Mary’s nubile body by making her strip completely when he really only needed to test her urine sample. Still nobody would know. He spent the next half an hour reading his newspaper and then called Mary’s house and asked to speak to her.

Mary, glad I caught you, said Dr. Beecher. I have good news. Call this number when you have time in St. Albans, 467-2274, and ask to speak to the vicar, Joseph Peters.

But is he not a Protestant? asked Mary.

Yes, my dear, but don’t worry; he will help you, said Dr. Beecher.

Got to run, I have a patient to visit, said Dr. Beecher.

Dr. Beecher did not have a patient to visit but was going to visit the prostitute area at Lumb Lane and was anxious to quell his desire.

The vicar asked if you could call straight back, said Dr. Beecher.

Okay, said Mary quietly, a little scared her parents would hear.

Mary never made calls but put down the phone and called the number immediately.

Hello, Joseph Peters speaking, said a warm, friendly voice.

Hello, sir, my name is Mary, Mary said nervously.

Yes, Mary, I know this is awkward for you to telephone. Do you have a friend’s house where we could meet so we can speak more freely? the vicar asked.

Not really, said Mary.

Are you sure you don’t have even one friend? asked the vicar, his voice sounding kind and reassuring.

Well, I suppose I have Sally Brooker, Mary said defensively.

Okay. Do you know her telephone number? asked the vicar.

Not offhand, but I could get it from my notebook upstairs, Mary said.

Don’t worry. I will get it from the Bradford directory, said Joseph. Where do they live?

In Heaton Grove, close to Heaton Park, said Mary.

Okay. Go to their house tomorrow, and I will call you there, let’s say at twelve o’clock, said Joseph.

Very well, I will be there, Mary replied nervously.

Bye then, Mary. Joseph said, his voice sounding warm and sincere.

It would be natural for Mary to meet Sally and then ask if they could spend time together after Sunday Mass at St. Cuthbert’s. The girls often walked together to the Brookers’ home and talked after Mass, so it would be easy to arrange tomorrow.

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The telephone rang at a sleazy hotel in Lumb Lane, and a very scruffy, fat landlady shouted, Bridget!

Yes, you old slag, replied Bridget.

Telephone, shouted the landlady.

Bridget went to the phone and listened and then said, Yes.

Now, said the voice at the other end.

Bridget had on a very tight skirt, which showed the bottom of her crotch when she bent backward or her butt when she bent forward, and a tight top from which her two breasts protruded. She was the perfect picture of a cheap whore who worked Lumb Lane.

Bridget went back to her room, put the folded rucksack and small suitcase in a black garbage bag, and checked the room for any trace of her existence. As usual, Bridget had worn gloves during her entire stay at the one-bedroom apartment, only removing them if she met anybody outside the room.

She carefully plucked hairs from a plastic bag and put them on the pillow and then placed a dirty cup and plate with a knife and fork in the apartment. These were the real hairs from Bridget Bonds, whom she had met on the train, a prostitute who plied her trade on Lumb Lane and on the train to London once a week. It had not taken long to get Bridget to tell her story and get her to share her apartment and the costs along Lumb Lane. Of course, she was killed very soon after they reached the apartment, and her belongings remained in the apartment to prove she had been there, together with the cup and plate she had used for her last meal. The landlady would only remember the caricature that the real Bridget was and that the new Bridget now portrayed.

Bridget went outside and walked from the Victorian terraced house to the corner of the lane near a factory gate. Bridget could see Dr. Beecher trawling the lane as he searched for new flesh on which to satisfy his lust. None existed until he came to Bridget, who from a distance looked like the real Bridget.

Is that you, Bridget? Dr. Beecher asked.

No, I am Bridget’s sister, said Bridget, giving Dr. Beecher the benefit of her rear being exposed from her short skirt.

Do you want a quick shag? Bridget asked.

How much? Dr. Beecher asked, quite horny from his earlier experience with Mary.

Twenty quid for ten minutes with a condom, fifty without, and sixty if I suck your dick as well, said Bridget matter-of-factly.

Okay, I will take the works. Where is your room? asked Dr. Beecher,

imagining Bridget’s rump in his hands.

Don’t need a room, got my own mobile shagging vehicle nearby, said Bridget. Go and park behind the van on the next left.

Dr. Beecher could see the van parked just off some wasteland on the left. He seemed to hesitate, so Bridget jumped in the car.

Just park behind the van. I have a mattress in the back, she said.

Dr. Beecher parked behind the van, and by the time he was getting out of his car, Bridget was already at the back of the van opening the back doors. When Dr. Beecher peered inside, he was shocked to see a naked Bridget lying invitingly on the mattress and her sister kneeling beside her.

Come in and you can have us both.

Dr. Beecher clambered in, scraping his knee, but was surprised to feel how cold Bridget was as his hand touched her leg. He was just about to say something when a sharp pain struck him in the spine. It felt like a long hypodermic needle, pushed into his back and then withdrawn. The pain was excruciating, and he felt his vital organs contracting. He wanted to cry out but found his voice did not come from his mouth; his words were frozen in an open-mouthed gesture. His body was becoming stiff, and Bridget pulled him forward and laid him beside the real Bridget, pulling down his trousers. She removed from her pocket a used condom, which she placed on his shrunken penis, and put some sperm on Bridget’s mouth and hands.

Now, Dr. Beecher, you are used to drugging girls and raping them, so let me tell you what is happening, Bridget said, and then she arranged his arms and legs so they touched the real Bridget. You have been injected with a rare poison, which kills you in about five minutes and has immobilized you immediately. So contemplate your fate as you die. May God have mercy on your soul.

Dr. Beecher stared frightened at Bridget as she removed her wig and clothes and false breasts and began to transform before his eyes. Quickly she was changed to a flat-chested either woman or man; he was not sure which. The pain was intense, like his body being squeezed in a vice, but he could not cry out or struggle. He could not understand why she had produced the condom and why she had smeared Bridget. He died before he could resolve that puzzle.

Crusader, now dressed like a man, in tight black jeans and a bomber jacket, walked from the empty lot with the Bridget disguise back to a nearby dingy apartment that had been rented earlier in the day.

The poison supplied by the Sect did not have a name, but Crusader knew it was undetectable at an autopsy and confused the time of death. It had been used to kill Bridget as well as Dr. Beecher and would cloak her time of death. The coroner would opt for the obvious: that they both died in the act of sex from a heart attack time at approximately 2 pm, the time Dr. Beecher had picked up Bridget, as witnessed by the other prostitutes. The condom would confirm the act of sex, and no other motive would be required to close the book on a prostitute from Lumb Lane and a doctor who would soon be tainted in reputation.

Detective Sergeant Sam Brooker was soon on the scene, and based on the immediate forensic evidence, concluded the sex-mad doctor had died of a heart attack while in the act. He was, of course, surprised that was the fate of the prostitute as well, but that seemed to be the early indication. The girl’s clothes were found at the sleazy hotel close by, and samples were taken of hairs from the bed and cup and plate along with fingerprints, which later confirmed her identity. From questioning the local prostitutes, the detective learned that Bridget had been used by the doctor several times, and they remembered them leaving together that afternoon.

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Chapter Two

Crusader was dressed as Bridget again, walking the same white sandstone paving stones she had walked when she had killed Dr. Beecher. She heard the full-throttle roar of a motorbike and turned to see a small man that the other girls had warned her about, who was astride a large motorbike dressed in tight-fitting black leathers.

How much for a shag, darling? asked the man, lifting the visor of his helmet as he brought his motorbike to a standstill beside her.

Twenty quid with a condom, thirty without, said Bridget, putting her hand on the handlebars and moving close to the biker.

Twenty without, said the biker, eyeing the short skirt, which showed an inviting and firm butt.

Twenty-five and you have a deal, said Bridget. You can even keep your boots on.

Okay, hop on. I only live nearby, said the biker, passing her the spare helmet he always carried on the passenger seat.

What are you called? asked Bridget as she put on the helmet, although she knew his name already from the other girls.

Mike, he said, lowering his visor as Bridget clambered aboard the bike. What’s yours?

Bridget, she replied, gripping his waist to signal she was ready.

The small shop Mike drove to was just off Manningham Lane and only a couple of minutes’ drive on the powerful bike. Mike easily maneuvered the large bike up a narrow alleyway and parked in a small backyard at the rear of the shop, next to the shop van.

Mike fiddled nervously with the keys, which he dropped twice as he tried to unlock the rear door as he anticipated shagging the nubile-looking Bridget. She was new, he thought, and would not know his preference for hurting girls as he had sex, hoping they would scream out as he shagged them. He felt real power, and it made him feel better about himself at least once a week, instead of feeling like the downcast Michael Holmes who worked as a delivery boy and general hanyman in the second-hand furniture store. Mike managed to open the door at last and led the way to the small upstairs room he occupied as his bedroom. It was dirty and had leftover takeout food and cartons strewn everywhere. The single bed was unmade, and the sheets looked dirty. The small armchair was covered in dirty laundry, which Bridget threw on the floor.

Sit here first, Mike, and I’ll wank you off, said Bridget. That way you will be able to fuck for ages.

Mike was taken aback and sat in the armchair as Bridget unzipped his leathers and pulled out his small dick, which soon hardened in her expert grip.

Lie back, relax, said Bridget soothingly, and she put a condom on his erect penis. Just for lubrication, she said as she saw his eyes open, ready to protest. Lie back and enjoy. Close your eyes.

Mike could feel himself aroused, and he came spontaneously after a few seconds, his seed filling the condom. He opened his eyes to begin the real fun, but as his eyes were opened, Bridget plunged a stiletto deep into his left eye, burying the dagger deep into his brain and paralyzing him instantly.

Bridget knew from the other girls that Mike lived alone and the shop was closed every Sunday, so they would not be disturbed. His normal routine of picking up a girl every Saturday night had been repeated, and nobody would expect to see him again until Monday morning when he would open the shop. All the girls warned her about avoiding being tied up, for which he usually offered extra money, only for the girl to be beaten and shagged, Mike getting off usually with their screams.

Bridget placed the inert Mike on the bed, still alive, his face contorted in pain. She carefully removed the condom and sealed it with a clip and placed it in a small plastic container. Bridget had used the small container previously for the death of Dr. Beecher, when she had picked up a cast-aside condom from a customer and put it in the container. Crusader was sure they would not test the sperm at the death scene and would simply conclude the condom was Dr. Beecher’s with his sperm. But this time she knew she needed Mike’s sperm for the crime she was about to commit, as no stone would not be turned over for this crime.

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St. Cuthbert’s Church was famous for its stations of the cross, which had been designed and carved by Eric Gill, who also designed the stations of the cross at Westminster Abbey. They circled the interior of the church in white stone carvings, each depicting one scene from the crucifixion to resurrection of Jesus. The church had been built in white coarse rubble stone with ashlar dressings and a Welsh slate roof in 1890 and lay equally between the better half of Bradford and the working area of Bradford, almost like a meeting point of the worker and master, which is exactly how it was designed. The rich lived