by Jo Spain
‘Yes, it used to service a far bigger community. What you see from the front is not even the full building. There are two more wings off to the back. We’d other buildings on the land but they’ve been demolished. Oh, look at me standing here talking and you only at the door. Would you like to leave your bags in your rooms and then I’ll give you the tour? We’re having a late dinner to accommodate you. You can meet everyone then.’
‘That would be perfect,’ Tom said.
He was eager to see the sisters at their most relaxed, and a dining setting suited that. They would all be on their guard during the interviews.
‘So that is where you found the . . . disturbance?’ He cocked his head, indicating the cordoned area.
‘It is. I’m afraid Sergeant McKenna was very cross with us for cleaning up.’
‘Why on earth did you?’ Ray asked.
The nun shrugged. ‘I can only apologize. Some of the sisters were very distressed. And when no guards came . . . well, we couldn’t just leave it like that. There was glass everywhere. I should have told you earlier.’
‘Nobody’s been near it since the police team came?’ Tom asked.
‘Oh, no. Of course not. Shall we?’ she pointed to the large oak staircase. ‘Your rooms are just up on the balcony.’
The accommodation was as she had described it to Ray – basic but cosy. A narrow single bed filled one side of Tom’s room, made up with freshly starched sheets and grey woollen blankets. A small locker with a basic reading lamp and a pine wardrobe completed the furnishings. The only splash of colour came from the blue curtains drawn across the window.
He removed his suit jacket and opened his bag, from which he pulled out a dark fleece to throw on over his shirt and tie. A little note fluttered from its folds as he shook it out.
In case you’re tempted to find warmth in the arms of one of the nuns – try this instead. Your long-suffering wife xxx
Tom smiled. He put the piece of paper back in the bag just as there was a knock on the door.
Ray came in. ‘So you’ve no tea and coffee facilities either? I think we should complain.’
Tom ignored him and sat down to slide a spare pair of shoes under the bed.
Ray plonked down beside him.
‘Are we getting comfy here?’ Tom asked, amused.
‘My room is as boring as this one.’
‘The room you’ve been in for five minutes?’ Tom sighed.
Ray was a complex character. He could be ferociously smart. He had insights that set him apart from other detective sergeants the inspector had worked with. He was kind-hearted and dedicated and loyal. But he could also be incredibly immature.
Sometimes it was like raising a second child.
Willie was on the landing when they emerged from Tom’s room.
‘Are you two bunking together? Top to toe, is it?’ he chuckled. ‘I might head back into the town and see if I can get a packet of cigarettes.’
‘I doubt you’ll find anywhere open,’ Tom said.
‘No matter, I’ll just have a look,’ Willie said. ‘Unless you need me?’
‘No, no, you give the car a spin. In case the engine cools down.’
Michael and Laura had just come out of their rooms.
‘Right.’ Tom rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s get acquainted with this place.’
Chapter 17
A multitude of appetizing aromas hit the detectives when Ray pushed open the heavy kitchen door, from the savoury dishes bubbling on the cooker to the sweet, sticky cakes resting on countertops. Two middle-aged sisters moved to and fro between a centre island and a large range cooker, set amid the cupboards on the back wall.
The right side of the kitchen had been kept as an old parlour-type area. Here, there were three comfortable-looking armchairs and an old-fashioned dresser with an assortment of bottles and glasses on its shelves.
As Tom stood on the threshold, a door beside the chairs swung open and Sister Concepta emerged from what looked like the dining area.
‘Inspector,’ she greeted him.
Michael, bringing up the rear, let go of the door, which promptly slammed shut with an almighty bang, making everyone jump.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
The two cooks cleaned their hands on their aprons as they walked around the island to meet the new arrivals. Sister Concepta made the introductions.
‘Inspector, this is Sister Mary.’ She indicated the larger of the two women. ‘And this is Sister Fidelma.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Sister Mary said, beaming. ‘We don’t get very many visitors here. It’s wonderful to have new people to cook for.’
Tom could see now that the busy kitchen and all its wonderful smells were for their benefit. He found it slightly incongruous that they were being so well received, considering the circumstances.
As though reading his mind, Sister Mary’s face flushed and she spoke again.
‘I mean, if it wasn’t for the awful event that has brought you here.’ She cast her eyes to the ground and blessed herself.
‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, nonetheless,’ Tom said, smiling.
Laura displayed nothing but professionalism – Tom had to admire her restraint. He suspected she was mentally assessing each nun for any potential complicity in her aunt’s death.
‘There was a fifth in your group?’ Sister Concepta said.
‘My driver. He’s in the village having a scout around,’ Tom answered.
The nuns exchanged puzzled glances.
‘There’ll be nothing except public houses open at this hour,’ Sister Mary said.
‘I can’t see that upsetting him too much,’ Tom replied.
After establishing that dinner would be in forty-five minutes, they set off on their tour of the convent. They started at the cordoned-off area in the entrance hall.
‘That door behind the police tape opens on to the corridor you saw from the front of the house,’ Sister Concepta told them.
Tom nodded. ‘There was nothing disturbed in there?’
‘Not that we could see.’
‘Where does the corridor go?’
‘Nowhere.’ Sister Concepta shrugged.
‘Oh?’
‘It runs along the front of the house and then it just stops. We used to keep plants in it, like a sort of conservatory. It catches the sun beautifully. There were windows on the inside wall then as well, for the house, but they were knocked out and replaced with alcoves. It looks pretty, but it serves absolutely no purpose.’
‘So why would Mother Attracta have been in this part of the hall late at night?’ Ray asked. ‘Was she at the coat rack, maybe?’
‘We have a tradition,’ Sister Concepta replied. ‘Every evening candles are lit in each of the alcoves. It’s to welcome lost souls, give them a guiding light. They’re extinguished before we go to bed. That was Mother Attracta’s task.’
‘Where do the lost souls go after hours?’ Michael mumbled to Ray, who smirked.
Sister Concepta heard Michael, and a hint of a smile danced on her lips.
‘As I said, it’s just a tradition. But don’t worry, we leave the electric overhead light on for the lost souls.’
‘So she could have been performing this task before she was assaulted?’ Tom asked, ignoring Michael and Ray.
‘I think so. The candles looked to have been put out.’
Tom tried to imagine the turn of events that night. Mother Attracta must have walked down the corridor performing her duty. When she arrived back at the entrance hall, she had been attacked.
Was she taken by chance, or did someone know that this was her specific nightly routine?
He examined the vase on the table, then the light switch and the wall surrounding it. To his left, just beside the front door, stood the huge old-style coat rack.
Something didn’t fit.
If she’d been attacked coming out of the door, then why was the blow to the back of her skull? The door opened into t
he corridor, so she would have walked out to the hall without anything obscuring her view. There was no space to stand flat against the wall to the left or right. He supposed someone could have hidden behind or even inside the coat rack on the left. Unless she hadn’t been alone in the hall and she had walked out ahead of her assailant.
‘You said a vase had been smashed?’ Tom asked aloud.
‘Yes, that one’s a new vase. We always keep fresh flowers in the hall. Oh!’ Sister Concepta’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Do you think he hit her with that, Inspector?’
Tom noted she used ‘him’. Most people assumed the perpetrator was a man when faced with a violent murder.
‘That morning, Sister; describe to me what you saw.’
‘I don’t need to describe it, Inspector. I can just show you, if you like.’
Tom cocked his head, puzzled. ‘Show me how, Sister?’
He’d a daft notion when she said it that the sisters were going to re-enact the scene; a morbid take on a Christmas play.
‘I took a picture before we cleaned up.’
He almost laughed.
The nun withdrew a mobile phone from her skirt pocket and scrolled through its photo album.
‘It’s not the best quality, I’m afraid, but you can probably load it on to the computer and enhance it.’ She noticed the amused looks on the detectives’ faces. ‘We’re not complete idiots.’ She smiled and handed the phone to Tom.
The picture on her Nokia was small. Tom squinted at the image; it showed the door, coats and table. Blood was sprayed across the wall above the table, which itself was covered in strewn lilies and broken glass.
He looked down. They were standing on a multi-coloured but predominantly red carpet. It would be difficult to see a bloodstain, but fabric was less easy to clean than wood. Hopefully forensics would pick up something.
He looked at the picture again. He noticed one anomaly. In the photo, a candle in a clay dish also sat on the table.
‘There’s no candle on the table now, Sister. But there is in the photo.’
‘We don’t normally keep candles there. That was the candle from the last alcove. We put it back later that morning.’
‘And do you know why it would have been on the table? It’s not at the end of its wick. Would Mother Attracta have used it as a light to come back down the corridor?’
‘She usually turned on the overhead light before she went into the corridor. Otherwise, as you say, she’d be in the dark on the way back. As I said, we leave that light on overnight.’
‘Did you have a power cut that night, perhaps? Did anybody notice the lights going out?’
Sister Concepta thought for a moment. ‘I didn’t notice anything . . . and nobody has said anything.’
‘Do you know where the fuse box is?’ Ray asked.
‘Yes, it’s in the kitchen. The corridor light is that switch there.’ She pointed to the wall behind Tom. ‘Actually, now you say it, the fuse for that light did blow a few times in the last few months. I remember Mother Attracta complaining about it. Shall we, Inspector?’ Sister Concepta indicated that they should move on.
Tom could see she was unsettled at their current location. That couldn’t be easy, he thought. The main hall – no avoiding it.
The nun showed them the offices and the corridor that led to the kitchen. The inspector had decided to leave a detailed search of Mother Attracta’s office and bedroom until the morning.
Sister Concepta had finished showing them the second floor when Tom lobbed the bomb.
‘And where were the girls’ rooms?’ he asked, closely observing the woman in front of him. ‘Sister, I wonder why you didn’t tell us when we met earlier that this convent had originally been a Magdalene Laundry?’
Sister Concepta stopped short. The lighting was low but Tom could still see the glow in her cheeks.
‘Why would I, Inspector? I went to Dublin to identify Mother Attracta’s body. Why would the convent’s history be relevant?’
‘Mother Attracta was murdered,’ Tom replied, evenly. ‘And the laundries are gaining in notoriety.’
Sister Concepta chewed her lip. ‘To be honest, it isn’t something I would bring up willingly.’
Tom said nothing, waiting for her to continue. He sensed Laura had stopped breathing.
‘What happened in the laundries is misunderstood and often miscommunicated. Not all servants of the Church have misdeeds on their conscience.’ The nun held her head high, but her tone was defensive.
‘Is what’s being said about the laundries not true?’ Ray asked.
She considered for a moment. ‘I think there was a strict regime in the laundries that many might perceive as overly harsh. But talking about what went on then is out of context now. They were different times, and society had different norms. People forget that. Families sent their daughters to the laundries. Nuns didn’t go stealing girls from their beds. They were sent here, or they came themselves as a last resort, seeking asylum.’
Laura bristled and gave a dismissive ‘humph’.
Sister Concepta shot her a look and the two women locked eyes. Laura broke the contact first, giving Tom a sideways look.
‘It’s not entirely true, though, is it?’ Ray probed. ‘Not all families sent their children here willingly. In some circumstances they were encouraged to do so – by the Church. And even when it was unprompted, couldn’t you argue that society was so conditioned and cowed by the Church’s influence that many felt they had no choice?’
The sister bowed her head. ‘I don’t defend everything, Detective. But there are always two sides.’
‘Will the Church let the other side be told?’ Ray asked, refusing to back down.
Sister Concepta returned his gaze, unblinking. ‘Maybe we can have a conversation about the history of the Church and the state before you go. In any case, in answer to the original question, the dormitories the girls slept in are on the third floor.’
Tom had tired of the sparring match. He felt sorry for the nun. She was young – probably the same age as Ray – and couldn’t possibly carry the burden of responsibility for what had happened decades ago.
He was only a little sorry, though. Some of what she had said seemed genuine, and probably progressive for a nun, but mostly it had sounded like a message straight from a public relations manual. And she had been unconvincing in her delivery. He suspected the Church would be spinning some of those lines in the not too distant future.
‘Can we see the dormitories?’ Laura asked.
‘If you like.’ Sister Concepta’s tone was clipped.
Tom sensed it was better to see the dormitories now.
Fascination with the convent’s ghoulish history was understandable, but maybe viewing empty rooms would put their curiosity to bed.
Chapter 18
The third floor looked, to all intents and purposes, like the one they had just left, yet there was an atmosphere on the forbidding landing. Laura shivered when they arrived at the top of the staircase, and Michael felt goose pimples on the back of his neck.
‘I’m sorry, the heating’s never on up here, that’s why there’s a chill,’ Sister Concepta said, as she flicked on the light.
A perfectly rational explanation, Tom thought, ordering the butterflies in his stomach to cease fluttering.
‘This way, please.’
‘When did the convent stop being a laundry?’ he asked, as they approached the first room.
‘In 1985,’ she answered.
The nun withdrew a large ring, jostling with keys, from her pocket.
‘Did you know the convent had been a laundry when you came here?’
She hesitated. ‘Yes. I did,’ she answered, before turning the correct key in the door.
‘Why are the rooms kept locked?’ Ray asked.
Sister Concepta cocked her head, as though asking herself the same question.
‘They just are,’ she finally answered, with a shrug.
She opened the doo
r, and the hall light spilled into the darkened room.
They walked into the first dormitory.
The tension among the detectives was palpable, but it quickly dissipated. The room was completely empty.
‘Sorry, I should have remembered, this room has been cleared,’ Sister Concepta said. ‘You want to see what the dormitories looked like when they were in use.’
The tone of her last sentence was deliberately sharp, calling out their morbid fascination for what it was.
Did the dormitories pertain to the investigation? Tom mused. Perhaps, if the killer’s motive were retribution.
He looked at Laura. The strain on her face was evident. The rest of them might be indulging in gratuitous macabre curiosity, but this was very real for her.
The nun opened the next door.
As they stepped over the threshold, it felt as though the temperature dropped further.
Time stood still.
Along the walls on either side, the bare metal frames of beds stood where they had always stood. Between each one sat a tiny locker. This was all the personal space afforded the young women in which to store their worldly belongings. At the end of the room a long washbasin sat atop a wooden cupboard, between two windows. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs glistened silver in the corners of the room.
The nun flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.
‘Bulb must be gone . . .’ She shrugged.
Tom suspected the light just refused to shine in this crypt-like space.
He kept an eye on Laura, trying not to react when she moved hesitantly to the windows at the end and peered downwards. He watched the back of her copper hair, caught in the glow of the unnatural light that streamed in through the window, and shuddered, imagining her walking in the ghostly footprints of her aunt, who had made her way to such a window decades before.
The inspector turned to Sister Concepta, who was openly staring at Laura.
‘Where are the toilet facilities?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, do you need to . . .?’
‘No. I mean, where did the girls go? In this room and the last, between them there must have been sixteen beds. I see a washbasin, but no toilets.’