Chapter Thirty-Six

Cassie pushed open the heavy oak door of Agios Ioannis, aka St John's Greek Orthodox Church, up on Camden's northernmost fringe. The interior made her gasp. It was a vast space, with upper galleries on either side, but the sombre gloom focused the gaze entirely on the huge image of Christ that covered the entire wall above the altar. Picked out in mosaic his stern face, dark-eyed and bearded, glowered out of a sea of gold, his right palm held aloft in a gesture that could be a blessing – or a terrible warning.

The overriding impression: Jesus wasn't happy .

Babcia had called her to say she was on her way to some God-bothering event at Chrysanthi's church. ‘Come and meet me there, tygrysek ,' she had said. ‘It's only for an hour and we can have lunch afterwards at that new Polish café.'

Cassie had agreed: she wasn't on call that weekend and she was intrigued to observe Chrysanthi in the place of worship that meant so much to her. A little gaggle of ladies off to one side of the main body of the church caught her eye. From their movements and the chink of china they were clearing up tea things. Recognising Babcia's tiny and shockingly bent figure gave her a jolt – when did she get so old?

As she drew near, Chrysanthi emerged through some plush velvet curtains in the rear wall, and leaned down to take a stack of china from her grandmother. She looked taller than Cassie remembered – she must have towered over her daughter. Funny how two tall parents could produce such a tiny child.

Cassie saw a shadow fall across Chrysanthi's face and turning she was met by a startling sight: an elderly priest, tall and stooped, in long black robes, topped with a headdress affair. He had a dirty white beard that reached his sternum and the craggily forbidding features of some Old Testament prophet who'd just spent forty days in the desert. He stared at Cassie's piercings and tattoos, looking aghast.

She stared right back, tempted to say, What, I look weird?

It struck Cassie that they must look like a tableau in a medieval illuminated manuscript, titled something like The Saint is Visited by a She-Devil . Finally dragging his eyes from her, he turned to Chrysanthi. ‘Come into my office, we need to finalise the funeral details,' before sweeping away, his long robe hiding his feet so it looked like he was on castors.

‘Nice to meet you too,' Cassie murmured to herself.

*

In the Polish café, Babcia fixed the young girl who took their order with a beady stare and interrogated her in Polish. The poor girl looked terrified, but whatever she said in return seemed to satisfy Weronika. ‘ Dobzre ,' she said, handing back the menu.

‘What was that about?' asked Cassie.

‘I was checking that they use proper dried ceps in the pierogi and not some cheap imitation,' said Babcia. ‘You can't be too careful, eating out.' Then she took Cassie's hand across the table. ‘You have shadows under your eyes. Is something bothering you, tygrysek ?'

Cassie dropped her gaze. No way was she about to tell Babcia what happened last night. Not only would she be terribly upset – who knew what she might do? She might be old but she was made of tough stuff, forged in Stalinist Poland, might even take the law into her own hands to deal with someone who'd hurt her granddaughter.

‘It's Bronte – you know, Sophia. I guess her murder has got under my skin because we were in the same class.' She shrugged. ‘I just can't bear the thought of the killer getting away with it.'

Babcia's eyes grew hooded. ‘Her mother needs a resolution too.' She stopped to let the waitress lay their cutlery and pour their water from a proper old-fashioned china jug. ‘ Dziekuje ,' she thanked her, before going on. ‘She said a strange thing to me earlier today.'

‘What?'

‘She said that she had "always been afraid that God would take Sophia".'

‘Really? Why?'

‘As a punishment for sin.'

‘Sophia's sin? What had she done that was so bad?'

Babcia shook her head, her gaze inwards. ‘I don't know. The drugs? Sex with bad men? But you should forgive your own flesh anything. Anything .'

‘Did she say any more?'

‘No. I think she regretted saying it. She changed the subject.'

The girl brought their pierogi , swimming in melted butter and topped with crispy onion, and they started eating.

‘That priest dude gives me the creeps,' said Cassie with a visible shudder.

‘Father Michaelides.' Babcia pulled a worldly sigh ‘He's very traditional, like most priests of his generation. I heard that he barred a woman in her thirties from taking communion because she had two children, both in their teens, and therefore wasn't in a state of grace to receive holy wafer and wine.'

‘Because it meant she must have been using contraception? Jeez.'

Babcia nodded. She impaled a pierogi on her fork, but before taking a bite, paused, frowning. ‘I'll tell you something strange. Chrysanthi makes konfesja every week with the other women, but twice I've been to mass at that church and she didn't go up and take communion either time.'