The Bosch Deception by Alex Connor

himself. Surprised, Father Michael had glanced at him as he knelt, his profile fixed, his eyes closed. And suddenly he had felt a terrible unease. Without wanting to make it too apparent that he was moving away, the old priest had waited for a couple of seconds and then begun to slide along the pew. But he had only moved a little when the stranger’s hand reached out and gripped his wrist.
    â€˜A moment,’ the man had said, still staring ahead at the altar. ‘I haven’t finished praying.’
    Father Michael had remained where he was, the stranger still holding on to his arm as he prayed, lips moving silently.Finally he had released his grip and slid back into the pew. Without looking at the old priest, he began talking again.
    â€˜You know Nicholas Laverne.’
    There was a moment’s hesitation, Father Michael being uncertain how to respond.
    â€˜You
do
know Nicholas Laverne,’ the big man had repeated, still staring ahead. And that had been the most chilling aspect of him – his refusal to make eye contact. ‘I’ve seen him come here, so you must know him. He was a priest here once, under your guidance.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Father Michael had agreed reluctantly. ‘I know Nicholas Laverne.’
    â€˜He was thrown out of the Church.’
    â€˜He was excommunicated, yes.’
    â€˜And yet he came back to visit you after so long. Why was that?’
    â€˜He can come back to see me at any time he wants. Nicholas has not been banished from here.’ Afraid, the old priest had stared at the stranger’s profile. ‘Who are you?’
    Carel Honthorst ignored him. ‘Why did Nicholas Laverne come here, Father?’
    â€˜I don’t have to talk to you. You have no right to question me.’
    â€˜And yet I am,’ Honthorst had replied, turning his head slowly. In the dim light his eyes had fixed on an area just above the priest’s head. ‘These are simple questions, Father. Nothing to worry you.’ He had paused, then changed the subject. ‘You know Holland?’
    â€˜A little.’
    â€˜Hieronymus Bosch was a great painter.’ His head had turned away again and he was staring up at the stained-glass window. ‘People copied him all the time. They say he was good at Hell.’ Honthorst had paused, then tapped the old priest’s knee, a gesture that was at once both familiar and threatening. ‘Tell me what Nicholas Laverne told you.’
    â€˜We talked about the old days—’
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ the Dutchman had retorted, glancing at his watch. ‘I don’t have much time, so we must hurry our conversation. What did Nicholas Laverne tell you?’ His large hands were resting on the back of the pew in front and a sigh escaped him. ‘Tell me, or I will hurt you.’
    Shaken, Father Michael had glanced around him. There had been no obvious escape route, and he was an old man who would have been easily out run. But despite his feelings of antagonism towards Nicholas Laverne, he hadn’t wanted to betray him.
    â€˜Nicholas and I talked about old times. Nothing more.’
    Honthorst’s fist slammed into the priest’s stomach with all the force of a lump hammer. Buckling over, Father Michael had then felt the Dutchman tenderly straighten him up against the back of the pew, smoothing down his vestments. Then he had picked up the priest’s rosary and held it in front of Father Michael’s face.
    â€˜Tell me, or I’ll make you eat every one of these
beads
 …’ His fingers had closed over the attached crucifix. ‘And then I’ll ram this down your throat.’
    Terrified, Father Michael blurted out: ‘He was asking about The Brotherhood of Mary.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜He had a chain.’
    â€˜He had a chain,’ Honthorst had repeated. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What did he tell you about the