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'Are you all right； Vicar？' the eyebrows raised slightly。
'But of course；' the clergyman chuckled； then burst into a torrent of laughter。 'I have just pleted a cremation； sir。 Would you care to e and see for yourself？'
Detective Inspector Groome's spine tingled and he nodded。
'OK； Vicar； lead on。 I'd be interested to see what you've been up to all night。 The bishop was getting very worried when he realised you hadn't returned。 。 。 '
CHAPTER THREE
'THAT is all I can tell you； Sabat。' Bishop Boyce fingered the wart on his lower lip nervously and decided he didn't like the man seated opposite him one little bit。 Self…confident to the point of arrogance and no vestige of respect。 He hadn't requested permission to light that rank…smelling Meerschaum pipe； either。 The fact that the bishop was smoking a cigar was no excuse for visitors to this study to partake of the pleasures of tobacco。 Nevertheless； this man's presence was a necessity now that Vicar Cleehopes had failed in his exorcism and was at this moment babbling incoherently about the importance of cremation in a mental hospital。
Sabat didn't like clergy； his obvious contempt ranged from bishops down to curates。 Nevertheless there were times when he was forced to co…operate with them in order to fight against his enemy； the principle of evil made flesh。
Had he not satisfactorily concluded that business of those who sought to resurrect the bones of one who ranked as the devil's henchmen in the years when he walked in human form？' Now yet another form of evil was abroad； one which consumed corpses in unholy cremation and rendered a petent exorcist to a mindless being。 And Sabat had known Cleehopes during his own days in the ministry before Mark Sabat had cast off his holy orders and joined the ranks of the SAS。
'Certainly I'll look into this business； Bishop；' Sabat permitted himself a rare smile that seemed to accentuate the three…inch scar down his left cheek； a white blaze in a sallow plexion。 'I'll need to work unhindered； though； and in my own way。 Perhaps you would be good enough to inform this Detective Inspector Groome accordingly。'
Bishop Boyce nodded； drew heavily on his cigar； and studied the other with reluctant admiration。 This man was as hard as they came； one hundred and eighty pounds of sheer solid muscle。 Aquiline features made all the more fierce by that vivid cheek scar and sallow plexion。 His height was deceptive when he was seated but when standing he was well over six feet。 Black hair falling to the collar of his dark corduroy suit。 It wasn't a suit if you looked more closely； the jacket was a shade or two lighter than the trousers。 In some ways he reminded Boyce of a western gunfighter； only a thousand times more dangerous。 By repute Sabat was not a man to be trifled with； when you met him you realised that the stories you'd heard weren't just wild rumours。
Sabat had once been in the priesthood； the very thought had Bishop Boyce biting hard on his cigar。 There was nothing Christian about this guy。 Rumour； again； had it that Sabat had undergone a youthful homosexual experience which had driven him to the Church to seek repentance。 Instead he'd found a burning hatred and had cast off the cloth in favour of an SAS uniform； a potential killer seeking a means by which to mit legalised murder。
There'll be a fee；' Sabat's eyes hardened like chips of dark granite。 An oblique jibe that he savoured。
'I rather thought there would be；' the bishop regarded him coldly。 'I've never had to pay an exorcist before。'
'It might not be a straightforward exorcism。'
'What d'you mean？'
'You haven't told me about Bishop Avenson；' Sabat inclined his head towards the oil…painting which hung to his left。 'Whatever's going on it goes back as far as 1742； maybe a lot further。 Avenson was found all burned up； just like Owen。 And your last exorcist was discovered with an obsession for bonfires。 We're not up against just an ordinary spirit。 Whatever it is； it's dangerous and I don't risk my life； maybe worse； for nothing。'
Boyce started visibly。 Damn this Sabat fellow； he'd been researching the history of St Monica's。 The prying type。
'I didn't think Avenson's fate could possibly have anything to do with what happened in 1982； nearly two hundred and fifty years later。'
'Nothing can be overlooked。 I'd say there's a direct link。 Tell me； Bishop； this guy Cleehopes； what had he been burning on the bonfire？'
'Just grass and weeds。 We had a mowing contractor in to tidy up the churchyard about a fortnight ago and he'd left a pile of cuttings。 Cleehopes apparently set fire to them。'
'Nothing else？'
'Not as far as I know。 The police sifted through the ashes but they never told me they'd found anything。'
'Well； I'll check with Groome anyway。 Now； the fee； Bishop。 I work for five hundred a week plus expenses。'
'Daylight robbery；' Boyce's thick lips tightened； the end of his cigar glowing red。
'Not when you take the risks I take。 However； if you think I'm too expensive 。 。 。
The bishop pulled a drawer open； took out the diocesan expenses cheque book。 His orders had e from a higher authority； from Westminster itself where he had been informed that Sabat had worked for the Church before。 It was neither Bishop Boyce's own money nor his place to argue。 Hastily he scribbled out a cheque； tore the perforation and slid the oblong of yellow paper across the desk。 T just hope you get it all settled up in a week； Sabat。'
'So do I；' Sabat smiled humourlessly beneath his heavy moustache。 'I'll need acmodation； too。'
'You can have the use of the curate's house；' the bishop's eyes hooded。 'And I'll be glad if you'll be as unobtrusive as possible。 The newspapers have gone to town on this business and this kind of publicity doesn't do the Church any good。'
'You won't even know I'm around；' Sabat smiled again and turned on his heel。
After the door had closed behind his visitor； Bishop Boyce drew heavily on his cigar。 Sabat made him uneasy； the tall dark man wasn't like other men； more like a hunting beast of prey and you just hoped it wasn't you he was after。 Because if he was he'd run you down for sure。
There was a frown on Sabat's face as he made his way through the palace to where his silver Daimler stood sedately。 He didn't like Boyce and that wasn't just because the man was a 。hypocritical bishop。 He had the kind of intuition that Sabat had learned not to ignore in the past； inbuilt alarm systems in his own body sounding a warning。 He would not ignore them。
It was that painting hanging in Boyce's study that he could not get off his mind。 Bishop Avenson … a portrait of evil。 God； the likeness was uncanny； enough to have every nerve in Mark Sabat's body tensing like steel cables at full stretch。 The features； the expression； so reminiscent of his own brother Quentin； the most evil man this century！
Sabat slid behind the wheel of the Daimler and sat there st