Ep 1

Foxley village was a happy little community when the year 1600 began. Despite terrible deprivations, one thing bound everyone together. Fear of the Almighty.

On this day, the investigating magistrate had mounted his trusty steed for the short ride to Baker farm. Rather overweight and known for his acid tongue, his arrival was usually greeted with an overwhelming sense of fear and alarm. Today however, was destined to be different.

By his side, four armed horsemen followed for protection. Members of the militia, and armed with swords, no ruffian or highwaymen would dare interrupt this official.

As he dismounted at the farm, noting the usual pleasant odours, the unhappy farmer greeted him happily.

“Ta for coming, good sir. You are prompt at least.”

“I really have no time for this Tilsy, just show me will you.” The farmer took the party over to the east field and pointed at the dead sheep.

“Another four were like that this morning. That is seven since Monday.”

The investigating magistrate entered the field and made his way over to the stricken animals.

“Could there be wolves at work?”

“Nay sir. I been here now forty years and seen none of those wretched creatures.”

The magistrate knelt by one of the animals and felt the cold woollen coat.

“No sign of age or attack I see. Tis very strange.”

“That is why I summoned you sir,” the farmer said.

He paused.

“There is something else you should see.”

He led the official over by the crude fence and pointed at a brown patch of disturbed earth. The magistrate gazed down at the pentagram that someone had drawn.

The official looked grim.

“Tis sign of the devil himself,” he hissed. “It would seem that your animals are cursed by Lucifer himself.”

The magistrate stood slowly.

“I want all the creatures burnt at once. Do you hear?”

“Aye sir, will do as instructed.”

The official gazed across to the nearby wood and saw a small wooden cottage standing quietly.

“Who doth live there?”

The farmer smiled.

“Gretta Gurn sir. A pleasant old woman now she is.”

The official wiped his sweating brow.

“We shall have a word with this woman.”

He left the farmer to carry out his strict instructions and led his party over to the well-kept wood cottage. Ignoring the usual custom of knocking, he simply barged inside.

“How! Oh tis you magistrate?”

The owner quickly calmed down as the party entered. The magistrate saw the open fire and the wrought iron pot, which hung over it. He marched across the floor and peered inside.

“What is this you cook?”

“Tis broth sir. Helps me keep the awful cold out.”

The magistrate saw a wooden spoon nearby and used this to remove some of the thick broth. He smelt it carefully and huffed. As he put it down again, a black cat suddenly jumped upon the crude table. The four militiamen yelped with fright and even the official was a little disturbed. He stared coldly as the animal stared back.

“What manner of devilry is this?” he roared. “How dare you bring familiars into this God fearing community!”

The old woman was rightly horrified by his reaction.

“Tis only Emily sir. She be no harm at all.”

The magistrate had seen enough.

“Take her at once to the wretched farm.”

The woman was hauled out roughly and the official followed at a discreet distance. When they arrived, the farmer was less than pleased.

“What be doing sir?”

“She is in consort with Beelzebub sir. I mean to deal with her at once.”

“She be no witch,” the farmer protested.

“I know the signs sir. Have you a rope?”

The farmer nodded and raced off to fetch it. When he returned, the magistrate took it.

“Take her to the river.”

It was about a mile to the old river, and when they arrived, the woman was bound tightly. Still yelling the ignored protests, the magistrate gave the terrible order.

“Swim her!”

The militiamen promptly tossed the victim into the cold liquid as the magistrate looked on happily. The farmer stood at his side, horrified by their actions.

The woman struggled violently in the drink as the magistrate said, “See how she struggles against God’s holy fluid. If she drowns of course, then she is innocent and will be blessed.”

The woman struggled to the bank and was grabbed at once.

“She be guilty of witchcraft,” the magistrate declared solemnly.
He stroked his brow for a moment.

“The law demands a burning sir,” one of the militiamen reminded him.

“I know this sir. I have other matters to consider.”

“What other matters?”

“Matters of state. Something you know naught about. I cannot risk creating public panic. The minister is well known for his disdain at such burnings.”

“Then you must decide another punishment.”

The magistrate gazed down at the exhausted woman and nodded.

“Draw thy sword and remove her filthy head. The farmer here shalt burn her unholy corpse.”

Before the farmer could say a word, the militiaman’s sword swept down and sent the woman into a far more pleasant life.
 
Ep 2

Four hundred and twelve years had now passed since that tragedy. The village had grown into a bustling town where hopes and aspirations could thrive, or be shattered forever.

The old river had dried up long ago. The old bed could still be followed of course, as long as you did not mind being barged from it by a horse and rider. The river had become a welcoming bridleway.
Cathy had brought her twelve followers to this cruel place. To them she was divine. To them she was God. As she stared at the bridleway she said, “In this very spot the witch was soaked before being sent on to Satan himself. Only recently though, the damned people rebuilt that Tower of Babel. They ignored our timely warning. Now they shalt pay!”

At these words, a follower known as Trudy made the call.

Peter was a hard working insurance salesman whose office was located upon the top floor of Jubilee Tower. When his mobile rang, he made an excuse and made his way to the gents.

“Yes? I understand. Of course I know where the explosives are. That dummy run proved our plan will work. You want them planted tonight? No problem. I’ll set the timer for nine on the morrow. Bye.”

He smiled coldly before returning to his day job.

Trudy smiled.

“He is ready.”

Cathy nodded.

“Let us go to Foxley and decry their evil ways.”

Singing hymns and shaking their happy tambourines, the group of self-proclaimed disciples set off to do battle.

“I don’t care Nixon,” Charly said sharply pacing the floor of the interview room. “Whoever planted that fake bomb is still a threat.”
Sergeant Percy stood at the door watching carefully as his boss tried to explain.

“Everyone has a tight alibi Charly. Even the damned boss. All the guards were checked as well. You know all this.”

“Why do you think it happened? What was the point?”

“To create fear,” Percy said.

Charly shook his head and said, “That is far too obvious mate. I strongly suspect it was simply a test run. Let me tell you both this. I’m about to take a ruddy holiday!”

“Who would want to destroy it anyway?” the DI asked. “You are suggesting an inside job that simply does not hold water.”
“Only because you are not looking deep enough.”

“We are doing our best,” Nixon protested. “You seem to have forgotten how busy we have been.”

Charly knew perfectly well of course.

“At least emphasise a constant check upon the basement eh?”

Percy smiled.

“We are already doing that mate.”

The door suddenly swung open, nearly colliding with the sergeant. A head popped through and said, “Those religious freaks are in town sir.”

“Thanks. Now our boys will be really busy now.”

“What religious freaks?”

“We got a call from our colleagues at Trimley that a group of women were heading our way Charly. They call themselves Cath’s Angels.”

Charly smiled.

"Another cult built upon sand. It won’t last.”

“Let’s hope you are right,” Nixon said. “Before I go for a break Charly, let me say this. If anything turns up I’ll let you know okay?”

“That will do for now Nixon,” he said glancing at his watch.

“Crikey! It’s gone noon already.”

“Time for lunch Percy,” the DI said standing. “Pop in again Charly, if you come up with anything.”

As he was leaving, he heard the loud singing and ringing of music towards Market Street and decided to take a look.

“At least I’ll get something to eat,” he grumbled.

Entering Market Street, he noted the familiar presence of the street women. He ignored them of course, staring at the twelve women who had brought the traffic to a halt.

“You sinners! Your utter damnation is at hand! Turn away from your evil vices or face the true wrath to come!”

A hand tapped Charly’s firm shoulder.

“Quite a sight eh?”

“Hello Grant. Damn strange women if you ask me. That must be the guru.”

Grant shook his head, the long grey beard swaying in the gentle breeze.

“I heard them at Trimley mate. That’s Cathy. According to her, she is the Godhead.”

Charly grinned.

“Damn stupid fools. Why do they believe her?”

“They need someone to look up to mate.”

Charly recognised the tone.

“You are speaking from experience I see.”

“Back in the late seventies, I hooked up with another group. Called themselves Sinners of Christ. That’s when my poncho arrived. Not to mention pot.”

“Ever take that thing off?”

“Only for a bath. It’s part of who I am now.”

“Why did you leave that group?”

Grant thought back to those happy days.

“They wanted to change the world through violence. I could not agree and even argued against it. So they told me to leave.”

“Are they still around?”

Grant shook his head.

“In 1982 they jetted off to Argentina. You know, just before the Falkland’s war. Within hours, the entire group had disappeared. The junta probably murdered them.”

Cathy was now pointing at the street girls.

“Dressed as peacocks but filled with rancid lust! How dare they walk the good earth!”

Charly had heard enough.

“Come on Grant. I need some lunch.”

They found JO JO, and sat at the table whilst looking at the cafe’s menu.

“What are you having mate?”

“Sausage roll and chips. How about you Grant?”

“A simple pie I think. After this I’ll go for a walk.”

Charly knew where of course.

“Foxley Wood again? What is the fascination?”

“I love blending with nature. Where will you be off to?”

“I need to buy tulips for my parents. Then it is off home.”

They ate slowly as the women continued their bloodcurdling threats.
Despite the thickness of the glass, their leader’s voice could still be heard.

“Damn your vices and greed. Damn your Tower of Babel!”

Charly dropped his cutlery with a loud clatter.

“What’s up?” Grant asked.

“That name mate. Now it all fits together.”

He pulled his mobile free and rang the number.

“Listen Nixon. I’m in the cafe on Markey Street. Get over here at once eh? I think your tower case is about to be cracked.”

Grant glanced outside to the women and raised his eyebrows.

“They are not behind that mate. Threats and bluster are not crimes yet you know.”

“Never you mind. Ah, here comes the friendly detective.”

Nixon and Percy walked in briskly and sat down.

“This had better be good,” Nixon said.

Charly pointed to the women.

“Cathy mentioned the Tower of Babel. I’ll bet my arse that she was behind our little escapade.”

Percy laughed.

“How could those idiots plant such a fool thing? The security desk would stop them.”

“They certainly did not break in either,” Nixon added.

“Didn’t I mention an inside job?”

“You think they have someone at the insurance firm?” Percy asked.

“Why not? These groups attract perfectly reasonable individuals at times.”

“It’s too much of a long shot,” the DI protested. “She was probably quoting biblical text.”

“I agree Nixon,” Grant chipped in. “Cath would never cross that line.”

“Do you still have that scanner of yours?”

Grant looked suddenly cagey.

“What scanner?”

“Look, I know that it is illegal to use but I’m sure the DI will overlook it.”

“It’s at home. When I finish this I’ll bring it over to your flat.”

“What are you scheming?” the DI asked.

“Tell me this.” Charly said. “Can you arrest those women at present?”

The DI glanced outside as Cathy raged.

“Fire and lightening shalt smite the wicked! Repent!”

“Of course not. It’s their right of free speech you see.”

“So we set a trap for them.”

Percy looked puzzled.

“Oh for crying out loud! She must have a ruddy mobile. That scanner will detect its activation signal which will give us the number.”

“Then we phone her?” Nixon asked.

“Grant makes the call. Says something along the lines of can you help me destroy Jubilee Tower. An angel ordered me to contact you.”

“She may fall for that rues,” Grant said.

“I’ll go along with it for a while. When Grant arrives I’ll give you both a lift.”

After lunch, Charly hurried home to Christine and waited for the DI and Grant to turn up. Around fourteen hours, they both arrived and Grant switched the scanner on.

“We will need to get pretty close,” he warned.

“They are still on Market Street,” the DI said. “Let’s pay them a visit.”

“I still cannot believe she would plan such a thing.”

“I know Grant,” Charly replied. “My guts disagree with you though.”

As the plain vehicle drew into the street, Charly said, “Slow down Nixon. Otherwise Grant won’t get a lock on.”

The car slowed and Grant studied the screen.

“Got it!”

“Okay,” Charly said with a smile. “Draw up here and Grant can call.”

When the vehicle came to a stop, Grant coughed and dialled quickly.

There was an agonising wait.

“Hello, I heard you at Trimley. I hate that ruddy tower you know. I was visited by an angel who commanded me to destroy it. Any ideas?”

As the reply came, the call was being recorded.

“I’ll see you at four then. Bye.”

Percy smiled.

“Seems your hunch was right Charly.”

“Where are you to meet?” Nixon asked.

“Foxley Wood.”

“I’ll have you wired and we will have a snatch team on standby.”

When four o’clock came, the sixties personality was standing within the deep woods as Cathy and her gang approached from the town.

“Nice to see you again.”

“I remember you,” Trudy said. “Love the poncho.”

“An angel sent you?” Cathy asked.

“He certainly did. Told me to pass on the message.”
Cathy nodded and indicated Peter.

“He works at Jubilee Tower. Plans to blow it up too. What is your area of expertise?”

“Spent ten years inside for arson. That tower uses gas heating. Set fire to that and bang!”

Cathy was pleased.

“You two can work together then. Peter will let you in and then plant the Semtex. You can arrange a little diversion.”

Grant smiled.

“Would love too.”

From a well-hidden position, the DI barked, “Zebra two, go, go, go!”

From seemingly nowhere, armed police ran forward screaming, “Armed police! Stay where you are!”

Cathy glared at Grant with blazing eyes.

“Damned Judas!”

She reached inside her rear pocket and moments later plunged the knife into the startled man’s throat. As he screamed, two shots rang out. Cathy whirled as the bullets struck home before falling face down upon the mushrooms that grew there.

Charly and the DI ran forward as the suspects were cuffed. They saw the bleeding form and raced toward him.

“Grant!” Charly yelled turning him over.

The open eyes and blank look were more than enough.

“He’s copped it mate,” the DI said softly.

Charly stared in silence, as the group were led away.
 
Ep 3

Two weeks after the bitterly sad funeral, Charly stood at his parent’s grave holding the requested tulips.

“Sorry for being late. Things just got on top of me.”

He knelt and replaced the withering daffodils.

“We lost Grant by the way. Only three came to the cremation. Only friends he had apparently. The group behind it are in jail and Nixon says they should get six years for conspiracy. As for Peter, he should get twenty years. The price for being the bomber I suppose.
They found the Semtex hidden behind the loo. Anyway, I have to go now eh? ”

He stood as thunder rumbled overhead. He gazed toward the stone church with the odd Norman tower before turning to leave.

“Hello Charly.”

A mirror image of himself stood before him.

“You did well you know. Mind the brick.”

The vision faded as Charly shook himself.

“What brick?”