‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’ he managed to get out, before the tape was slapped on his mouth.
‘Recognise me now?’ the engineer asked with a wide smile on his face, pulling Mearns into a standing position.
The two men stood face to face and Mearns could smell the engineer’s breath. His body started to shake as it dawned on him who the man was.
Walking back into the bedroom hours later, the man couldn’t resist one last look to satisfy himself that this time he had accomplished the task fully. There were certainly no signs of life. The body was laid out on the bed; the duct tape still on his wrists. The tape on his mouth had been removed so he could answer questions; then placed back. Mearns’ jeans were down close to his ankles and the wounds around his genitals were only seeping now. The bedcovers were soaked with bodily fluids. The smell of sweat, urine, faeces and congealed blood permeated the room. The man smiled. Patrick Mearns had known exactly why he had died.
He walked around for a final check, reviewing his actions to make sure no evidence was left behind. The alarm was reinstated and the cup he had handled, went into the workman’s pack. The shoe coverings would be left on until he was safely in his car. Even the coffee spilled when thrown in Mearns’ face was wiped up. Subduing him had been so easy. Finally, he stepped back into the kitchen. As he did, Mearns’ cellphone vibrated on the kitchen counter. It was nearly three a.m. He looked at the caller ID and smiled before putting the phone into his tool bag.
Chapter 19
Towelling herself off from the shower, Annie reached for her robe and went into the kitchen to put the coffee maker on, before shuffling back into the bathroom in search of some painkillers. Her head ached from too much wine the previous night. Swallowing two tablets with a full glass of water made her realise the extent of the dehydration. A bowl of milky cereal didn’t appeal, so instead she popped two slices of raisin bread into the toaster. She was starting to get addicted to raisin bread, which given the calories, wasn’t a good thing. Today she made an exception.
Sitting down at the table to wait for the toaster, Annie thought about the men in her life and how different they were. Dave is so easy-going and funny, I really enjoy his company. He makes me laugh so much. Charlie is much more serious, more like Paul personality wise. Then again, Charlie has had a lot on his mind ever since we’ve met: with his sister’s assault, his leave of absence from the army, the police investigation into John Hardman and the reality of what his sister experienced at a young age. Now he’s facing more weeks of her rehabilitation and then a decision about whether to return to active duty. There are a lot of things for him to work through. I don’t even know how I fit into all of this or even if Charlie considers us a couple.
Annie filled her coffee cup and buttered the raisin toast. Maybe she was being foolish starting another relationship. Glancing at the date displayed on her cellphone, her stomach churned. If things had been different, today would have been her wedding day. What was Paul, her ex-fiancé, thinking right now? Would he be thinking of her? In fact, looking at the clock, she realised, with the time difference, the wedding ceremony would already have started. No wonder she was feeling strange. She still couldn’t think about Paul without getting upset, especially knowing how devastated he’d been by the broken engagement. Paul had moved to Manchester to be near her, transferring from a good job in the homicide squad in Aberdeen to join the narcotics squad in Manchester, where he remained. Annie knew when she got back he’d want to see her. There was also her mother, still harbouring the hope that the two of them would get back together.
The bite of raisin toast turned into an unappetising mush in her mouth. Time to get to work, she thought, before I wallow in too much self-pity. Why couldn’t she be sure about Charlie? Maybe she would never be sure about any man. That thought was too frightening to contemplate.
*****
Ellison was already at his computer when Annie arrived in the squad room.
‘Morning Detective, how are you this morning?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Annie replied, ‘and remind me to stop after two glasses of wine next time. My head’s still pounding.’
‘So, there will be a next time, will there?’
Annie gave him her best glare, which then turned into a grin.
‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re early. The bishop’s secretary has been on the phone. He can’t make our meeting this afternoon.’
‘Oh,’ said Annie interrupting his flow, ‘that’s annoying.’
‘But,’ Ellison continued, ‘he’s free to see us in an hour. We’ll need to leave in about forty minutes. Best thing you can do is get yourself some coffee. Wouldn’t want the bishop spotting you having a hangover, would we?’
‘I’m Scottish Presbyterian,’ Annie replied, ‘so I don’t have to worry about confessing all my sins. I’ll make the coffees. Even with a headache, I can detect a subtle hint.’
In the kitchen, Annie was tempted to take a couple more painkillers, but not enough time had lapsed since the first two. The coffee would have to help instead. As she poured the drinks, Annie noticed a box of doughnuts, with a note on top in Ellison’s handwriting. Help yourselves, no calories. Annie smiled as she took the two coffees and the box of doughnuts through. She was in the middle of a honey-dipped one when Bronski arrived.
‘Not very healthy, Detective,’ he joked as he put his jacket on the back of his chair and stood reading his pink slips. As usual, he wouldn’t sit until the messages were read. Once he did, he turned to her and Ellison. ‘So what’s the agenda today?’
The arrangement agreed was that Annie and Ellison would interview the bishop and then Annie would do some further work on the Hardman files in the afternoon. The two detectives left a few minutes later, so as not to be late for the meeting.
*****
The Catholic community must have some money, Annie thought, as the bishop’s secretary led them into his office. The paintings lining the staircase were originals and there was a series of portraits of a number of popes. Annie only recognised Pope John Paul. The leather seats they were shown to were very plush and Annie fancied having one in her apartment. The bishop’s desk was a deep mahogany, adorned by gold edgings. Her reverie was broken when the bishop entered the room.
Ellison took the lead. ‘Thanks for seeing us Bishop O’Brien. We know you have a busy schedule. We’re investigating the murder of Father Brian Bannister.’
‘So sad,’ the bishop remarked, his hands folded on the desk. ‘I’ve spoken to his dear mother. The woman is bereft. I understand the funeral may be next week. I‘ve offered to conduct the requiem Mass myself. Marion Bannister was very grateful. I hope you’re not here to tell me there’s any delay in releasing the body.’ The bishop leaned forward and gave Ellison a long stare.
At that moment, Annie was relieved she wasn’t born a Catholic. The pomposity annoyed her. It seemed his schedule was more important than their investigation.
‘No, sir, we’re not here about the funeral. We need to ask you about any complaints made against Father Bannister.’
The bishop gave Ellison a long stare again. Then he picked up his phone. ‘Dorothy, please bring me Father Bannister’s file.’
‘I know you have a job to do, Detectives, but I would appreciate it if the contents of the file are not made public, at least until after the funeral. Marion Bannister has to have her moment to grieve.’ His facial expression hardly changed.
‘Sir, this is a murder inquiry. I can’t promise anything. We need to see if there’s anything relevant in the file,’ Ellison replied.
‘Is there anything specific you’re looking for?’ the bishop queried.
Ellison couldn’t see any reason not to ask about Tony Amato. ‘We interviewed Tony Amato as part of our inquiries and he said that he’d complained to you about Father Bannister.
We need to check it out. We also need to see if there are other complaints and whether there’s any pattern.’
The bishop sat back in his leather chair. ‘I don’t recognise that name.’ Before he could continue, there was a knock on the door. The bishop’s secretary ignored the two detectives as she passed the file over to her boss.
Annie noticed that it was fairly thick and wondered whether this was typical or not. She suspected not.
The bishop squared the folder up and then opened it carefully, as he spoke again. ‘I knew Brian myself, several years ago. I was leaving St Mary’s as he joined the parish. It was only his second assignment and he was really enthusiastic. Took over the Sunday school, got involved in the youth club, very popular with the children and their families.’
Annie hoped the grey-haired man didn’t notice her wince. Typical pattern she thought to herself.
He flicked through the file. ‘No, nothing from Tony Amato. I expect you’ll want the whole file to look through yourselves. There are other complaints.’ Ellison indicated they would. The bishop picked up the phone again. His secretary came back into the room. ‘Dorothy, will you photocopy each page for us and put them in a new file and then let the detectives have the original.’ The woman took the file and left the room.
Annie wondered how much the secretary knew of what this was all about. She must do the filing and type his letters.
‘Now detectives, is that all?’
‘One more question, sir. Have you been contacted by a Detective Peter Baxter from the New Haven force, in relation to Father Bannister?’ Annie asked.
The bishop cupped his hands and leaned his chin on them, before he looked up at Annie. ‘I don’t believe I have, Detective, but without looking through the file, I can’t be definite.’
Annie held back, not believing a word that the bishop had said. Talk about protecting his priests. She wondered if Ellison would challenge him.
It was the bishop who ended the silence. ‘Are we finished?’ The two detectives stood up but the bishop didn’t offer his hand again. He simply gestured to the door.
Dorothy was at her desk, putting the papers in order. Annie watched the woman for a moment guessing she must be near retirement age and obviously quite experienced from the way she was organising the work.
‘There you are, Detectives.’
Annie took the file. ‘I guess you’re familiar with all the correspondence that comes through this office?’
‘Of course,’ Dorothy replied. ‘I open everything, stamp the date received and put it into files, ready for the bishop to read and action, as necessary.’
‘We’re looking for one piece of correspondence in particular,’ Annie continued, ‘from Tony Amato. The bishop didn’t spot it in the file when he flicked through it.’
‘I haven’t looked in detail again, while I’ve been photocopying, but I can assure you that if a letter had come into this office relevant to the late Father Bannister, it will be in that file.’
Annie persisted, ‘Couldn’t be filed elsewhere, say under complaints or by his former parishes, for example?’
Dorothy glared at Annie. ‘Detective, I expect you’re good at your job. I assure you that I’m very good at mine and have been for over thirty years. Now, is there anything else?’
When they got outside, Annie sighed. ‘Do you think that’s the whole file?’
‘Annie, you have to trust somebody. Poor Dorothy, I bet she wishes she was back in Kansas.’
Annie laughed at Ellison’s reference to the Wizard of Oz. She remembered her mum taking her to see it once when it was undergoing a revival of interest. It was the original with Judy Garland. The wicked witch had given her nightmares. She retorted, ‘Just because you were an altar boy.’
‘Yeah and I was also confirmed by the very same bishop.’
Annie smiled. ‘Think he knew that?’
‘I doubt it, he’s done thousands in his career.’
‘So you don’t need to excuse yourself from the case for a conflict of interest?’ Annie teased.
‘My name won’t be appearing in any file in his office, I can assure you of that much,’ Ellison retorted. ‘Want a bite to eat before we head back?’
‘Good idea, I’m suddenly starving.’
Ten minutes later, they had ordered. Ellison had the file with him. He was about to open it when he glanced across the table. His colleague had a really subdued expression on her face and looked as if she were miles away.
‘What is it, Annie? Want me to take you back to Dorothy to apologise or maybe you want to convert to Catholicism and ask the bishop for some lessons.’
Annie laughed. ‘Not quite.’
‘What then, still feeling sick?’
‘Hmm, but not from the wine last night.’ She hesitated for a few seconds and then without looking at her colleague said, ‘Today was supposed to be my wedding day.’
Ellison vaguely remembered Annie mentioning a fellow cop back home, although she’d never shared the full story with him. Maybe she had with Hegarty. He reached across placing his hand over hers. ‘Want to talk about it?’
Annie didn’t attempt to move hers. ‘I’m not sure. I kind of feel numb about the whole thing. Maybe that’s why I drank so much last night. It was probably in my subconscious. I can’t even remember what my dress looked like.’
Ellison moved his hand as the waitress came over with their plates. He wondered if they’d get that moment back. At least Annie hadn’t withdrawn her hand.
Chapter 20
Turn the key in the lock. Keep things methodical. Straight into the bathroom. Strip off and put outer clothes in the plastic bag. Now the shower, as hot as I can stand it. The water feels good – cleansing. Look at those rivulets running down my legs. They remind me of the blood oozing out between Patrick’s legs.
His betrayal had been the worst part of the whole scenario. We were friends, or at least I’d thought we were. Hadn’t we done everything together until he got friendly with the others? That night though, I thought we’d gotten some of the old friendship back: the party invite, letting me use his room, giving me beer. Had they planned it all along? That was the question I’d wanted the answer to for a very long time. At last I know.
Patrick’s pleading was pathetic: the offer of money or anything I wanted. What I wanted most, he’d been instrumental in taking away from me. He said he was sorry, but that was out of fear. If he’d been truly sorry, why hadn’t he ever said so before? Why did he pretend it never happened? How could he get on with his life, make a success of himself after what he’d done? No, the sorry was too late, way too late.
Yet he told me a lot of interesting things. I’m glad I saved the best till last. I knew it had been his idea all the time.
Things to do now. Time for my early morning run. The backpack needs to be dumped. I’ve got a different route planned out – different dumpsters.
Chapter 21
‘Atkinson & Mearns,’ the secretary answered. ‘No, I’m afraid Mr Mearns has been delayed. I’ll ask him to call you as soon as he gets in.’ Elizabeth Mason was concerned. It wasn’t like her boss to be late. Thankfully he had a clear morning. The afternoon, however, was completely booked up. She’d already tried his cellphone and his apartment phone. Both were going to voicemail. She knocked on the senior partner’s door. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Atkinson but Mr Mearns has still not arrived, which is very unusual for him, as you know. I’ve tried all his numbers and they go straight to voicemail. I’m worried about him.’
‘Maybe he had an appointment away from the office he forgot to tell you about,’ Clive Atkinson offered trying to calm the woman down. But he knew she wouldn’t settle until she’d heard from Mearns. ‘Is there anyone else we can call? Maybe there’s an apartment supervisor who could check to see if he�
�s at home.’
‘I’ll try that, sorry to disturb you.’ It took a few minutes but she finally managed to find a phone number for the apartment block and managed to speak to the building superintendent. When he didn’t seem too concerned about her boss, Elizabeth Mason became exasperated. ‘Mr Capelli, I’m coming over. We need to check his apartment. He could’ve had a heart attack or something. He’s never late for work.’
‘Look Miss, it’s a long way for you to come. I’ll have a look. I’m sure you’re worrying about nothing. Give me your number and I’ll call you back.’ Jim Capelli put the phone down. He had a million and one things to do today, without having to look out for residents who didn’t turn up to work. He only vaguely knew Patrick Mearns, not the friendliest of the residents. The woman from his office sounded like the insistent type, though. If he didn’t check it out, he knew she’d call again. Better to get it over with.
It took him ten minutes to get over to Mearns’ block. He walked around the outside first and spotted Mearns’ car, parked in his numbered spot. He entered the back door to the apartment block using his passkey and turned right down the corridor, walking to the front of the building. He used the vestibule phone to buzz the apartment. That would give the guy a chance to answer and resolve the matter. Capelli buzzed twice in case Mearns was asleep or in the shower. No reply.
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