everything but the boy was out of it. Until . . . the sun comes up one morning. The
boy’s gone. They went looking for him. No sign. He’d upped and left in the night. One night, two nights, three nights. On the third night, the hammer fell.
‘He came back and attacked his family in their beds. The other families got it when they heard the screams and came to intervene. The boy escaped from the mob but, as he did so, he took a
machete. He came across a goatherd, a young boy. Then he came across the goats. They found what was left of the boy in twelve separate places. The news spread, and there was a panic. Sebastian was
twelve miles away. Hundreds of men gathered to hunt down the demon-possessed child. They caught up with him and, just after that, Sebastian arrived.
‘This boy, he was on a rock, surrounded, raving at the crowd, machete swinging. No one would go near him but Sebastian. He commanded the spirit out of the boy. The spirit knew Sebastian.
We’ve been waiting for you
, it said through the boy. Then it left the boy. And everything went quiet. For a few days. Then, ten miles north, another case of child possession, another
massacre.’
‘Grimly reassuring, isn’t it?’ said David Rosen.
‘What?’
‘It’s not just the developed countries that cop it when a teenager flips out.’
Rosen considered the contrast. If they’d been in Milwaukee, these ‘possessed’ children, armed with subautomatics, there’d have been a much bigger body count. They’d
have gone into the school dining room and blasted indiscriminately.
We blame TV and video games; they blame the devil
, he concluded.
He asked, ‘How come Father Sebastian ended up being lynched?’
‘He had a powerful gift. Devils recognized him, just as they recognized Christ in the Gospels. They were scared of him. He cast out ten devils in three months, and each time the spirit was
different, stronger. How did he end up getting lynched? The tenth devil took up residence in Sebastian, the tenth devil was the devil, Satan himself, according to the Kenyan first-hand
accounts.’
‘Are you saying—’ Rosen chose his words as carefully as if he’d been picking nettles with his bare hands. ‘Are you saying that Father Sebastian followed the pattern
of those other murderous, possessed men and women, and actually massacred people under the influence of an evil spirit?’
‘The story goes cold there. He was attacked by the mob, subjected to a brutal beating and left for dead. I can see your scepticism, Detective Rosen, it’s written all over your
face.’
‘No, Alice, I believe you. I believe the surface of this history. I just don’t know how Sebastian Flint could survive that.’
She pulled out a placebo cigarette from her handbag and sucked hard on it. There was a lengthy silence.
‘So, he survived the lynch mob. What happened next?’ Rosen encouraged her to go on.
‘He was found three days later by a safari bus and was taken to the nearest medical centre. When his identity became clear, he was collected by a local diocesan representative.’ She
paused. ‘I need to pay a visit,’ said Alice, standing. ‘Stay there.’ She wandered off to the ladies.
From a dirt road in Kenya to a monastery in Kent? It was the stuff of legends and Rosen hoped it wasn’t true. He spiralled quickly through a grim chain of thought. If it
was
true
and Father Sebastian had acted like all the other demon-possessed people he had exorcised, that made him a mass murderer. And if that was the case, he should be extradited back to Kenya and the
Kenyan police needed to reopen some cold cases.
Rosen ran through the logic of the detail in Alice’s story. How could a man at death’s door survive the heat of the African day and the cold of the tropical night with no water or
shelter?
The wind pummelled the darkened windows. Alice returned and sat down.
‘If they find out I’ve told you all this, I could lose my job,’ she said.
‘They’ll
boy’s gone. They went looking for him. No sign. He’d upped and left in the night. One night, two nights, three nights. On the third night, the hammer fell.
‘He came back and attacked his family in their beds. The other families got it when they heard the screams and came to intervene. The boy escaped from the mob but, as he did so, he took a
machete. He came across a goatherd, a young boy. Then he came across the goats. They found what was left of the boy in twelve separate places. The news spread, and there was a panic. Sebastian was
twelve miles away. Hundreds of men gathered to hunt down the demon-possessed child. They caught up with him and, just after that, Sebastian arrived.
‘This boy, he was on a rock, surrounded, raving at the crowd, machete swinging. No one would go near him but Sebastian. He commanded the spirit out of the boy. The spirit knew Sebastian.
We’ve been waiting for you
, it said through the boy. Then it left the boy. And everything went quiet. For a few days. Then, ten miles north, another case of child possession, another
massacre.’
‘Grimly reassuring, isn’t it?’ said David Rosen.
‘What?’
‘It’s not just the developed countries that cop it when a teenager flips out.’
Rosen considered the contrast. If they’d been in Milwaukee, these ‘possessed’ children, armed with subautomatics, there’d have been a much bigger body count. They’d
have gone into the school dining room and blasted indiscriminately.
We blame TV and video games; they blame the devil
, he concluded.
He asked, ‘How come Father Sebastian ended up being lynched?’
‘He had a powerful gift. Devils recognized him, just as they recognized Christ in the Gospels. They were scared of him. He cast out ten devils in three months, and each time the spirit was
different, stronger. How did he end up getting lynched? The tenth devil took up residence in Sebastian, the tenth devil was the devil, Satan himself, according to the Kenyan first-hand
accounts.’
‘Are you saying—’ Rosen chose his words as carefully as if he’d been picking nettles with his bare hands. ‘Are you saying that Father Sebastian followed the pattern
of those other murderous, possessed men and women, and actually massacred people under the influence of an evil spirit?’
‘The story goes cold there. He was attacked by the mob, subjected to a brutal beating and left for dead. I can see your scepticism, Detective Rosen, it’s written all over your
face.’
‘No, Alice, I believe you. I believe the surface of this history. I just don’t know how Sebastian Flint could survive that.’
She pulled out a placebo cigarette from her handbag and sucked hard on it. There was a lengthy silence.
‘So, he survived the lynch mob. What happened next?’ Rosen encouraged her to go on.
‘He was found three days later by a safari bus and was taken to the nearest medical centre. When his identity became clear, he was collected by a local diocesan representative.’ She
paused. ‘I need to pay a visit,’ said Alice, standing. ‘Stay there.’ She wandered off to the ladies.
From a dirt road in Kenya to a monastery in Kent? It was the stuff of legends and Rosen hoped it wasn’t true. He spiralled quickly through a grim chain of thought. If it
was
true
and Father Sebastian had acted like all the other demon-possessed people he had exorcised, that made him a mass murderer. And if that was the case, he should be extradited back to Kenya and the
Kenyan police needed to reopen some cold cases.
Rosen ran through the logic of the detail in Alice’s story. How could a man at death’s door survive the heat of the African day and the cold of the tropical night with no water or
shelter?
The wind pummelled the darkened windows. Alice returned and sat down.
‘If they find out I’ve told you all this, I could lose my job,’ she said.
‘They’ll
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