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Opus Secunda
Opus Secunda
Opus Secunda
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Opus Secunda

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Nichola Peterson has been promoted to Detective Inspector and, with her new young partner in tow,is assigned to investigate a new murder case: that of a scientist who worked for a top pharmaceutical company. But as she probes deeper, she encounters hostility and intrigue. Her investigation – and her love-life – become increasingly chaotic. And to cap it all: the mysterious Magus re-appears and reveals he was working with the murder-victim on a top-secret project...

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAlex Sumner
Release dateMay 11, 2011
ISBN9781445762975
Opus Secunda
Author

Alex Sumner

I am a novelist and writer on the Occult. After having written several non-fiction articles for the Journal of the Western Mystery Tradition, in 2009 I came out with my first novel. My books to date are: * Eternal Witch (2018) * A Fairy Story By Any Other Name (2014) * Taromancer (2013) "The Magus Trilogy" * The Magus (2009) * Opus Secunda (2010) * Licence To Depart (2011) "The Demon Detective, and other stories." * The Demon Detective (short story: 2011) * A Greater Power (short story: 2011) * Shall We Kill The President? (novella: 2012) I am also an amateur astrologer, tarot reader, and ceremonial magician. I am currently at work on both further novels and screenplays. I live in Essex, England.

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    Opus Secunda - Alex Sumner

    Saturday 6th April.

    Prologue

    From his position bound by chains on the marble slab, the victim could not see much of his captors. He tried craning his head : they had gathered round him in a circle, all wearing black hooded robes which completely hid their features.

    He had woken up just now with a pounding headache. In the course of several hours (he presumed) he had gone from begging for change from hard-hearted passers-by outside Fenchurch Street Station, via being coshed from behind by some stranger, to this predicament. Dressed in some strange gown, and chained to a cold slab in a dark room, with only a single light shining directly in his face constituting the only point of illumination.

    He sniffed. The smell of body-odour and dried urine he had had to live with all the while he had lived homeless on the streets of London had disappeared. Instead he could smell soap, and fabric conditioner. He glanced at his surroundings and wondered : would he have a bath and change of clothes ever again ?

    Now is the time for you to complete your initiation.

    One of robed figures had spoken. The unusual accent struck the victim : something like a man from somewhere on Tyneside, but rather high pitched and mincing.

    The victim wondered : " Initiation ? What initiation ? What on earth does he mean ? And who’s he talking to ? "

    As if in answer to his puzzlement, a figure stepped into his limited field of view : a man dressed, unlike the others, in a white robe. The victim felt dismay as he tried peering underneath the cowl, only to see the sinister gorilla features of someone with whom one should not mess.

    The victim noticed that the white-robed man appeared to shake – ever so slightly – as if nervous.

    The person who had broken the silence a moment ago spoke again. Brother Asmodeus – now is the time.

    The white-robed man – evidently called ‘Brother Asmodeus’ – lifted his arms up from his sides. The victim immediately saw that he held a large knife. He felt a chill go through his insides.

    Brother Asmodeus now trembled visibly. One of the other robed figures spoke : Do it brother ! Now !

    The victim got the shock of his life. He recognised that voice ! He knew it as somebody famous : if only he could remember exactly who. Someone who had appeared on television – the kind of person who regularly cropped up in news reports –

    The time for further speculation had run out. Brother Asmodeus steadied himself. He took a firm grip of the knife with both hands and, raising it high above his head, plunged it straight down into the victim’s heart.

    The pain the victim felt overwhelmed him. Instantly all collapsed into darkness. He felt that the downward momentum of the murderer’s stab driving him deep into the heart of the planet with unstoppable force.

    He felt immensely cold. Immediately before, the room had seemed quite warm, but now he likened the sudden change to plunging straight into the Arctic Ocean.

    Yet oddly enough he also felt desperately thirsty. A vague recollection flitted across his mind that this, not surprisingly, signified internal injury. He became aware of warm liquid in his throat, yet even this could not quench the terrible thirst he experienced. It had an unpleasant salty taste, and then he realised : his own blood gurgled up the back of his mouth.

    Presently though he realised he could not taste it anymore. He felt giddy – like an ocean-going ship tossed about in a violent storm. " The pain must be interfering with my sense of balance," the victim though. He tried to hold on, hoping this dizziness would soon end.

    It subsided. He realised he could not feel it anymore. Then he realised : he could not feel anything. Not the marble slab, not the chains fastened to his wrists – not even the intense pain he had experienced from the stab wound. He could not feel anything about his own body. He could not gain any impression of the room in which he lay. He had become completely numb – insensate.

    With no point of reference for his senses, he imagined himself floating in space. He appeared to expand to fill the entire universe. He had a curious feeling – his mind lay completely still, not experiencing any thoughts good or bad.

    Then – nothing.

    ****

    The two blacked robed figures who had spoken left the chamber in which the sacrifice had taken place at the head of the other cultists. They then left them in the robing room set aside for the junior members, and went to the personal changing room reserved for the Master. At the door the second said to the first : Bring Brother Asmodeus to me, I wish to see him in private.

    Yes Master, the camp Tynesider said, and bowing, turned back to fetch the new initiate.

    The Master entered his Sanctum, closing the door behind him. He threw back his cowl, and went to a table on which a bottle of Speyside Malt Whisky awaited him, next to a crystal tumbler. He poured himself a large measure.

    He heard a knock at the door. Come ! the Master shouted. The door opened : the Master’s assistant ushered in Brother Asmodeus, his white robe now drenched in the victim’s blood. The Master noted that his new follower walked with a slight limp.

    Brother Asmodeus gave a look of shock as he saw the Master with his face unconcealed. He felt uncomfortable as he remembered the terrible vow of secrecy he had sworn on first being admitted into this society. If he even considered revealing his Master’s identity to the public, not only would his life cease to hold any value, but also the lives of his nearest relatives as well.

    Leave us, Brother Paimon, the Master said. At this, his assistant bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

    The Master took an appreciative swig of his whisky. You know, he said convivially, I must have taken part in over a hundred such ceremonies as the one we’ve had tonight, and yet the thrill I experience each time never seems to diminish.

    Brother Asmodeus raised his eyebrows in surprise. A hundred, Master ? he said. What – humans ?

    Of course, of course ! The Master circled round, eyeing Brother Asmodeus carefully : the new initiate, for his part remained rooted to the spot. " I’m certainly not talking about slaughtering chickens ! That is so passé. "

    He took another sip, and then turned to face Brother Asmodeus directly.

    Tell me, the Master said. How do you feel the ceremony went this evening ?

    Brother Asmodeus hesitated, before saying : To begin with I was scared…

    Yes ? The Master sounded keenly interested.

    But as I did it – as I plunged the knife in – I felt a great sense of adrenaline, like a sudden emotional release. The Master stared at him, as if expecting more. I felt power, Brother Asmodeus admitted.

    Good. Very good ! the Master said, evidently cheered. Is this the first time you have killed a human being ?

    No.

    No ? Of course, you were in the armed forces, weren’t you ? the Master said. Did you ever see the whites of their eyes – like tonight ?

    No, it wasn’t like that, Brother Asmodeus said.

    Why ever not ?

    I was involved in tactical ops, he replied. My work consisted of using the latest military technology to find hostiles and pin-point them for the purpose of co-ordinating airstrikes. Thanks to me, thousands of Taliban soldiers are now dead.

    But you have never killed someone personally ? the Master asked. Did you not undergo basic training in hand to hand combat ?

    Oh yes ! Brother Asmodeus replied. It’s just that I never had the opportunity to put it into practice.

    Well, it seems that tonight we have taken your virginity, as it were ! He spoke in a fruity tone : Brother Asmodeus tried to remain impassive as he contemplated the innuendo. The Master went on.

    Well, you’ll be pleased to know that it gets easier after the first time. In a short while from now your basic training will be put to the test, he said. I shall be requiring you to go on a very specific mission, for the good of the Order.

    Yes, Master, the blood-stained man replied.

    There are a number of people who do not share this Order’s high ideals or standards, the Master said, his earnest tone barely concealing the menace in his voice. We’ve tried to accommodate them into our plans but, quite frankly, they’ve outlived their usefulness.

    I understand, Master.

    Within the next week you’ll receive instructions as to what to do. Mind, however, there is a precise time-schedule for everything – do you understand me ?

    Yes, Master.

    Good. The Master’s tone softened. If you do well on this, you’ll go far in this Order. I hope you appreciate the trust I’m placing in you.

    Yes Master, thank you Master, Brother Asmodeus replied. So – does this mean I’ve passed my initiation ?

    Not quite, the Master replied. Turn round.

    Brother Asmodeus, surprised by this instruction, turned around so that he faced away from his superior.

    Bend over, the Master commanded.

    Brother Asmodeus did so.

    The Master came up behind him and lifted up the back of his robe, revealing two naked buttocks presented towards him. He ran his hand over them – they were taut and muscly, as of one who regularly kept fit by playing rugby.

    Brother Asmodeus steeled himself as to what would happen next.

    The Master finished off his whisky, and put the tumbler down on a table. He came right up to his follower’s bare posterior, and hitched up his own robe.

    There is one more test for you before your initiation is complete.

    A week later

    1

    In a residential street in Borehamwood, a massive police operation, centred upon one particular house, disrupted the normally quiet routine of a Saturday night. The SOCOs (‘Scene of Crime Officers’) had removed the deceased body of its occupant to the morgue and had finished making a thorough inspection of the poor man’s house. Prying eyes of neighbours and passers-by tried to see round the barriers which the police had erected around the property, but to no avail. In the road, uniformed officers had deployed in force : some guarding the property, some directing traffic away to the road clear for official vehicles only, whilst others again conducted door-to-door enquiries, even at this late hour.

    The first the uniformed officers knew that she had arrived came to them on the evening breeze, when the passenger door to the unmarked car opened, and the whiff of very expensive yet very tasteful perfume permeated the air like a delicate, alluring floral essence. It had notes of fresh floral citrus, highlighting a natural heart of orchid and dewy blossoms with watery fruits.

    It had a slight, in no way overpowering fragrance. Yet the merest scent of it, though it danced briefly on the olfactory senses of the officers present, managed to transform the place from one of death, of crime, and of evil, into one of hope : of beauty, even. The officers present turned their head in the direction of the newcomer.

    Long and finely-toned legs emerged from the car : adorned by exquisitely tailored boot-cut trousers – black – and ending in an impressively pedicured pair of feet, clad in expensive strappy heels. Then the whole figure emerged, in a natty black ensemble which showed off her fine athletic figure. She wore the long shiny tresses of her raven-black hair up, her only concession to professionalism that evening.

    She sashayed towards the policeman guarding the barrier – and surprised him by producing a warrant card from a small handbag she carried. Instantly, like one mesmerised, he moved the barrier aside, and could not help himself rubber-necking as she passed by. She looked in every way perfect, a vision, and a pure woman.

    The policeman let out a small sigh – rather like the male populace of Rio’s Ipanema district had done when the eponymous Girl had passed them. Indeed, as this vision walked away from him, the officer in charge of the barrier could not feel just a tiny bit heartbroken as he automatically put the barrier back in place –

    Ow ! A man’s voice shouted in pain. You bloody uniform-hanger ! Do you mind watching where you’re putting that thing ?

    The policeman instantly snapped out of his trance. Mortified, he realised that without noticing he had moved the barrier back just as a man following behind the female detective, had attempted to walk through, with the result of the newcomer walking straight into it.

    He could hear several of his colleagues sniggering at the comedy of the situation.

    The policeman concentrated on the young man who had spoken sharply to him. He opened his mouth, about to give him a piece of his mind – and stopped short as he realised this fellow towered over him with the physique of a rugby player. Only a pair of slightly geek glasses took the edge off any potential menace from this man who stared at him with pure violence in his eyes. From the fact that the new fellow had used a derogatory police expression for someone whose talents extended little beyond getting dressed at the start of the shift, he instantly deduced him for a detective.

    DC Montrose – Murder Squad, he said, confirming the policeman’s suspicions as he displayed his warrant card.

    Now Colin, a voice as sweet as honey, albeit made made husky by smoking half-a-packet of Marlboro Lights every day, called over to him. " You’re not getting into any more fights with Uniform, are you ? Come along ! "

    Yes Ma’am ! Straightaway ! DC Montrose’s demeanour changed instantly, becoming deferential to his superior officer. Fawning, even. The officer manning the barrier could not help but notice this. A wry smile crossed his face.

    ’Ere, he said casually as he moved the barrier aside for DC Montrose. Did you just call her mum’ ? "

    No ! Montrose flushed with indignation. I said ma’am ! "’

    I think it definitely sounded like ‘mum,’ the officer said, dead-panning perfectly - secretly pleased to have struck a nerve. Perhaps it was just a Freudian Slip.

    Why you –

    Montrose opened his mouth to swear : but he looked round and saw the divine vision of his superior waiting for him. Instead he did his best to give the officer an evil stare, and stalked off.

    Honestly, honey, how many barriers is that you’ve walked into when we’ve been out at a crime-scene ? Detective Inspector Nichola Peterson addressed her junior colleague, as he now caught up with her. They walked briskly through Fielding’s front gate and up towards his front door. Are you sure your glasses are alright ?

    I can’t explain why it happens, Ma’am, Montrose said. Normally I’m alr… did you just call me honey ? "’

    I call everyone honey. Why ?

    No disrespect, but I would prefer it if you didn’t, Ma’am. I feel uncomfortable.

    Peterson stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. Oh Colin ! You’re not going all sexual harassment on me, are you ?

    No, Ma’am, it’s just that ... He lowered his voice. You’re embarrassing me in front of the others.

    Peterson sighed. My new partner was the most brilliant member of his class at Hendon Police Training College, she thought. Why does he have to be as emotionally awkward as a teenager ?

    Very well, she said out loud. I shan’t embarrass you any more. As you know I like to keep things as informal as possible, but I still maintain a basic level of professionalism.

    Thank you Ma’am.

    Now let’s go get this over with quickly, otherwise we’ll be at it all night. And with that she slyly turned away from Montrose’s bewildered gaze and stepped up to the front-door.

    A uniformed officer who guarded the premises let them : she leading and setting the pace, he following.

    Montrose glanced at her bottom as she walked in front of him : it looked both shapely and yet perfectly toned. Moreover, the cut of her trousers showed it off to its best advantage. He could not see any visible panty lines.

    Lust seized Montrose as he ogled the specimen of perfection floating in front of him – as it had done ever since he had joined Homicide Specialist Crimes Directorate at Scotland Yard. How he remembered thinking that they would pair him with some gruff thief-taker of the old school, like one sees on The Bill ! Instead the swaying hips of a very glamorous and bubbly woman ten years more experienced than he hypnotised him like a snake charmer. If he had had any Christian faith, he would have wanted to get down on his knees and thank God for creating him a male.

    Montrose then shook himself, and snapped out of his reverie. He cursed himself for thinking like a horny adolescent. If only he had female acquaintances to compare to this. If only I had female acquaintances, he thought.

    Ma’am, may I ask a question ? Montrose said out loud.

    You may. Peterson replied. She concentrated on negotiating her way round two suitcases that someone had left in the hallway.

    Why did we come out to the crime-scene tonight ? I mean – you interrupted your Saturday night-out, and I … well it seems that the SOCOs and uniform have this place under control.

    I had an intuition that this was particularly important, she said.

    She came to the living room, where the police had found the body, and made a quick visual survey of the place. She noticed the bag of take-away which someone had dropped and, using a small rod which every policeman carries to move objects without disturbing the fingerprints, she peered inside. Enough for one person only.

    What ? Like a hunch ?

    No ! she exclaimed. " People with bad posture get hunches. I get intuitions." She cast her eye over a table strewn with miscellaneous objects set up against one wall..

    What is that like a feminine thing ? Montrose ventured.

    " What ? Now perhaps I should be getting all sexual harassment against you ! "

    Peterson only meant to tease him, but the effect of even a mild reproach instantly petrified Montrose.

    I’m sorry, Ma’am ! It’s just that … well we’re told not to rely on things like that at Hendon.

    Alright then, Peterson turned to him. What do we know about this chap ?

    Name of the occupant was a ‘James Fielding, aged forty, lived alone," Montrose said, reading from some details which Uniform had phoned in before they had arrived.

    So - apply your training now. Give me an analysis of what you see here.

    Well, Montrose began, eager to show off his brilliance. The door leading to the garden shows signs of forced entry.

    Peterson turned and saw that Montrose had observed correctly. Very good. Go on.

    The victim had just returned from the local take-away shop, when he walked in on an intruder.

    Mm-hmm.

    The intruder had only just entered the property him- or herself when the victim returned.

    Why do you say that ?

    Because the intruder had no time to disturb any obviously valuable items like the TV, DVD player or hi-fi.

    " You’re assuming that the intruder was a burglar. She chose her emphasis carefully, to remind Montrose of the old cliché about what happens when you assume’ something.

    " Oh but he was a burglar, Ma’am ! Montrose said grinning. He stole the victim’s laptop for a start."

    How do you know that ?

    On the table Ma’am. Plugged into the wall – that’s the mains adaptor for a laptop computer. But the laptop itself is missing.

    Peterson looked round and sure enough saw a mains adaptor with no sign anywhere of a computer to which to connect it.

    Very good ! she said, impressed. Did you notice anything else ?

    He was either planning to go away somewhere, or he had just come back, Montrose said. Judging by the suitcases in the hall. By examining the contents I could say which it was.

    Well let’s go and have a look, Peterson said. She produced a pair of plastic gloves and put them on over her carefully manicured hands. Then she led him back into the hall and opened the first case so that they could both see.

    So he was planning to go away ! she said. You know how I know that ?

    Yes, Montrose said. Because if he’d just come back there would have been bottles of duty-free inside.

    No, it’s because all the clothes are freshly laundered... She caught Montrose’s eye : she realised that her partner had been attempting humour – and she had fallen for it. She shot him a fierce look.

    Sorry Ma’am, he said guiltily.

    She relaxed her expression into a smile. " Colin, you are allowed to have a joke sometime. I’m not like my old guvnor. I do appreciate humour once in a while."

    That would have been DI Croft, I take it ? Montrose said.

    Yes. Poor man. He could scowl for England. Brilliant detective, but a right old curmudgeon at times.

    She sighed wistfully, the sigh of a woman mourning for a man who died trying to save her life. She shook herself.

    Still, she said, brightening up and changing the subject. I have two reasons for believing this wasn’t a conventional burglary.

    She closed the suitcase, stood up, and headed back to the living room, her partner following.

    Really ? Montrose said, intrigued.

    Number one : dust ! She went right up to the table and squatted down next to it. Observe : there are different amounts of dust covering the objects on this table.

    Montrose bent down and peered closely at the table’s surface.

    " That means that there were several objects on this table which the intruder took, not just the victim’s laptop. From the patterns of dust left here, I would say that there were at least three lever-arch files which were usually stacked up here, she said, pointing, which are now missing. She looked round : there was a mobile phone on the corner of the table. But the intruder didn’t take the mobile, which would have been just as easy to snap up."

    Montrose had to concede that his superior certainly had a point about the lever-arch files. So you’re saying the burglar was actually after something specific !

    Yes. And what’s more : look at this table – look at what’s left here. There were mostly a number of books, magazines and printed items. These aren’t for fun : these are technical publications. This whole table is where the victim used to keep work-related stuff.

    Montrose saw the title of one book : ‘Chemistry – The Central Science.’ It looked like a professional textbook. He also spotted a recent copy of ‘The Pharmaceutical Journal.’

    Then we should go and find out all about his job, and find out what he was up to at work ! Montrose paused, suddenly struck by a thought. Gosh ! The murder might even have been pre-meditated.

    Peterson nodded, pleased that her young partner kept up to speed.

    You said you had a second reason for saying it wasn’t a conventional burglary, or was that it ?

    No, there was something else, Peterson began. She paused before explaining.

    Yes ma’am ? Montrose said, keenly interested.

    For a moment Peterson appeared at loss as she to how she could explain. Her mind went back to one day last year when, whilst out jogging near her home, she had a met a mysterious old man who had tried to tell her of a method which he used for gaining information in relation to occult-related crimes. At the time, she had not understood a word of what he had said.

    However, since then, she had taken the opportunity to piece together the references he had made. By a long process of searching on the Internet, and trying to order books through her local library, she had reached a rudimentary understanding of what he had been getting at. She had even tried once or twice to do it herself, although she still had no idea why it should work at all.

    She looked carefully at her young partner. How can I tell him the truth, without bamboozling him ? she thought. How can he even begin to incorporate it into his Hendon-dominated mindset ?

    She suddenly smiled at him. Well, Peterson said, with a twinkle in her eye, let’s just call it witchcraft, shall we ?

    2

    Tuesday morning found Montrose and Peterson, unusually for them, driving out of London. The tarmac of the westbound M4 motorway still looked damp from the overnight rain, although the bright Sun tried its hardest to transform this into a fine spring day.

    The traffic going westward with the detectives flowed relatively freely despite its volume : although the pair noted the long queues on the eastbound carriageway back in the direction from which they had come.

    Presently, they took the turn-off for Slough, and headed to an extensive industrialised area that lay along the route of the A4, the old ‘Great West Road.’ They soon found the object of their quest : a prominent sign by the side of the road, next to a set of impressive, guard-controlled entrance gates. The sign boldly announced : ‘THE LAARGE PHARMACEUTICAL CORPORATION PLC.’

    Had they stopped to read they would have noticed that in smaller print the sign also said that they now entered the English headquarters of a successful multinational company, with offices all over the world. However, given the company’s fame, this level of detail amounted to a superfluity. Indeed, most people in the country had probably used a pharmaceutical product manufactured by Laarge at one time or another.

    The

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