With Our Blessing

by Jo Spain

  ‘This happened in Ireland?’ Laura asked, her voice full of disbelief.

  Willie nodded solemnly. ‘In 1990.’

  ‘I can just about imagine one of the nuns here snapping and lashing out at Attracta,’ Tom said, shaking his head. ‘Maybe killing her accidentally. I don’t understand the theatrics, though – the inscription and the crucifixion.’

  ‘Unless the killer was trying to make her look like a religious martyr,’ Ray offered.

  Tom turned to look at him. His deputy had articulated the germ of an idea that was floating around his own consciousness.

  Willie had resumed eating and was now on his third croissant. Where did he put it? Tom wondered. The man was as thin as a rake, and the only exercise he seemed to take was moving his feet between car pedals.

  ‘Willie, could I force you into some detective work?’ he asked. ‘Will you check to see if the electricity was cut off on Wednesday night?’

  The older man nodded, just as the door opened and Sister Concepta looked in.

  ‘There you are, Inspector . . . officers. I hope breakfast was satisfactory. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Breakfast was delicious,’ Tom said. ‘There was no need to make a fuss for us.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not at all. Father Seamus is almost ready to meet you. I’ve told him you’ll see him in the main sitting room, if that’s all right?’

  ‘That’s perfect, Sister. I wanted to ask you if we could have the keys for the rooms, to go over the convent more thoroughly.’

  The Sister nodded and reached into her pocket. She was wearing her full habit today.

  ‘You can have mine,’ she said. ‘I trust you. I’m leaving most of the doors open, anyway. To aid your investigation. It’s silly to have them locked all the time.’

  Another Mother Attracta rule had just bitten the dust, thought Tom.

  Chapter 26

  Michael perched awkwardly on the edge of one of the sitting-room couches. His pose reminded Tom of a teenage boy on a forced visit to an elderly relative’s house.

  The door opened, and Willie popped his head in.

  ‘Just spoke to a mate in the Electricity Supply Board. He did a quick check for me, said he couldn’t see anything off the grid on Wednesday night in this area.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Willie.’

  The other man nodded in acknowledgement and closed the door.

  ‘I’m starting to wonder if someone turned off that light switch,’ Tom said.

  They could discuss his theory no further, though, because at that moment Father Seamus entered the room. The inspector stood to shake the hand offered regally by the priest.

  Father Seamus was in his early seventies. The sparse tufts of hair dotting his head were a dirty grey. Thin-framed glasses rested on the tip of his skinny, hooked nose; the tilt of his head as he looked through them added to a general air of superiority, while also giving him an unfortunate mole-like quality. He was dressed simply, in a dark pullover with a light grey shirt and black trousers. The clothes hung lankly on his thin frame.

  ‘Inspector,’ he said, in a nasal tone.

  His grip was bony, but strong. It was strong enough, Tom mused, to wield a weapon.

  Father Seamus settled imperiously into one of the armchairs beside the fireplace.

  Tom seated himself in the second armchair, crossed his legs and steepled his hands, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.

  He said nothing. First impressions counted, and he hadn’t been won over by Father Seamus.

  The priest shifted in his chair. After another moment, uncomfortable with the silence, he spoke.

  ‘So, Inspector, you asked to see me? I am quite busy today. I’ve to be at the church for eleven.’

  ‘I suppose we’re all busy today, Father,’ Tom replied. ‘You’ve to say Mass, and we have to solve a murder. But thank you for taking the time to see us.’

  The priest studied him. He was unused to anything less than fawning respect. At least to his face. He evaluated Tom and changed tack.

  ‘I’m happy to help however I can, Inspector. Unfortunately, I don’t have the assistance of another priest at the moment. I did have a younger man, Father Terence, but he’s been away for the last six months covering another parish. I’m hoping he can return soon. If I don’t say Mass, no one will.’

  He bared yellow teeth in a smile that looked more like a grimace.

  ‘I understand, Father Seamus,’ Tom replied. ‘I imagine as the only priest in the parish you’re under a lot of pressure at the moment, which might explain why, after the sisters here reported to you that Mother Attracta was missing, you didn’t convey that message to the police.’

  ‘Ah,’ the priest said. ‘I suspected you might be wondering about that. It’s straightforward, really. You see, they left me a voice message.’

  ‘A voice message?’ Michael parroted.

  The priest nodded emphatically. ‘Yes. If I had actually spoken to one of them, of course I would have contacted the local gardaí and told them Mother Attracta was missing. But instead I got this garbled message on my home phone about smashed glass in the hall and Mother Attracta not being there.

  ‘Well, you know what women can be like when they get carried away . . .’ He gave Tom a knowing look. ‘And in any event, I didn’t even get the voice message until Friday.’

  Tom uncrossed his legs and sat forward.

  ‘Let me get this straight, Father,’ he said. ‘Are you telling me that none of the sisters spoke to you directly on Thursday?’

  The priest nodded.

  ‘Who left the message?’

  ‘Sister Clare.’

  ‘And why didn’t you hear it until Friday?’

  The priest shrugged. ‘I didn’t check the phone. Thursday was a busy day for me. I wasn’t in the house much. It wasn’t until Friday, when I picked up the landline to dial a number, that I found out I had a message.’

  ‘Don’t you have a mobile phone?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Yes. But she didn’t ring that.’

  ‘So,’ Tom said. ‘You got the message on Friday. But by Saturday you still hadn’t contacted the police. Why not?’

  Father Seamus shifted in his chair, before removing his glasses and cleaning them with the end of his pullover.

  ‘Now that we know what happened to poor Attracta, clearly I should have informed Sergeant McKenna,’ he conceded. ‘But I really didn’t understand the import of the message when I heard it. I had a lot on my mind this week, and I thought it was something or nothing. I can only offer my sincerest apologies.’

  The line was utterly rehearsed.

  ‘What were you doing on Thursday?’ Tom asked.

  The priest raised the tips of his fingers to his temples and affected a look of deep concentration.

  Michael and Tom exchanged a sceptical glance. It was only three days ago.

  ‘A lot of overdue errands, really,’ Father Seamus responded, eventually. ‘I took a walk through the village at one point to call in on some parishioners. That can take some time. They like you to stop and chat. I did some work in the church because my cleaner, Mrs Guckian, has a twisted ankle. I followed up on some correspondence, and I took a trip in the car. I wanted to visit Father Terence, to see if he’d be returning.’

  Tom fidgeted impatiently in his seat. His and the priest’s definition of busy varied wildly.

  ‘I’m afraid, Father, we’re going to need you to be more specific. I need to know the times you took these excursions. And can you remember where you were on Wednesday evening?’

  The look the cleric gave Tom was a sight to behold. His face turned purple, and he swallowed several times.

  ‘What are you implying?’ he blustered, his tone rising. ‘Are you accusing me of something? Do you understand that I have known Mother Attracta for over forty years? This is ludicrous. I hope to goodness you haven’t being asking the sisters to account for their movements. You do realize we are servants of God!’

 
Tom sat back and let the priest vent. The man was a beat off apoplectic. It had taken only the merest poke to infuriate him. While Father Seamus ranted, Tom focused on a vein that pulsated on the side of the man’s forehead.

  After more indignant protestations, the priest belatedly sensed that the man opposite him was unmoved by his outpouring. His voice trailed off and he stared at Tom, clearly deliberating whether it was worth storming out and what the ramifications of such a move would be.

  ‘You should calm yourself, Father,’ Tom said, softly. ‘We are asking everyone who knew and lived with Mother Attracta to detail their whereabouts on Wednesday and Thursday. It’s standard procedure in a murder investigation.’

  The priest swallowed, and the livid purple in his face started to recede. Seeing that his overreaction had not achieved the desired effect, he straightened the knees of his trousers and had the good sense to look shamefaced before he started backtracking.

  ‘I apologize. I’m not myself since getting the terrible news. Could I have some time to recall the exact details of my movements during the week? I’m getting old; the brain doesn’t work as well as it used to.’

  ‘Please. Take some time. I would rather you remember correctly than unwittingly give us inaccurate information. Michael here will call to the village later and collect your statement from you.’

  The priest nodded. Tom noted him surreptitiously checking his watch.

  ‘We won’t keep you much longer,’ he said.

  The priest looked up. ‘You miss nothing.’

  ‘Not much. In recent weeks, months even, had you noticed any incidents in the convent or village that gave cause for concern?’

  ‘Nothing. We have a peaceful community here, Inspector. Nobody from Kilcross would ever commit such a terrible crime. Is it not more probable that some passing deranged soul committed this heinous act?’

  ‘Anything is possible. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t rule out the people in closest proximity to the victim. Even if she was left in Dublin.’

  It was only minor, barely perceptible, but something flashed across the priest’s face when Tom mentioned Dublin. The inspector waited to see if the priest was about to offer anything.

  When he didn’t, Tom moved on.

  ‘You say you knew Mother Attracta for forty years. Did you have a good relationship?’ he asked.

  ‘I had the utmost respect for Attracta, and she for me. She was a woman of exacting standards. She knew her place in the world and the place of those around her. A very Christian woman.’

  ‘As part of our inquiries, Father, it has come to our attention that this convent housed a Magdalene Laundry. There is much being said about those laundries to imply they were not run in a very Christian manner. Would you contest that?’

  The priest sniffed. ‘I will contest any vicious untruth that is spread about my parish until the day I die. There’s a modern element in society and, yes, even in the Church, that is trying to revise history. Of course, it’s important that we in the Church listen to the people who claim they were unhappy in religious-run institutions. There are always two sides.

  ‘But I saw how the Magdalene Laundry here was administered. The sisters took care of those poor souls when the rest of the world shunned them. They took in wayward girls and unwanted girls and shared the word of the Lord with them, helped them find the right path in life.’ The priest shook his head. ‘This violence these . . . people . . . speak of, it’s out of context. You’re not that old, Inspector, but you’re also not so young that you don’t remember a world where it was acceptable to smack a naughty child, to discipline with a hand when a word would not suffice.’

  ‘You seem quite defensive,’ Tom said, quietly.

  Inwardly, he was simmering. The reports into the abuse of children in industrial schools revealed cruelty far in excess of harmless smacks. Broken bones, scaldings, starvation and manslaughter . . . Tom wondered if the priest would describe that violence as ‘out of context’.

  The same accusations were now being levelled against the Magdalene Laundries.

  ‘One can appear that way when one is being unjustly accused,’ the priest replied, tartly. ‘The laundries were set up to help pay for the nuns’ charity, and also so the girls would have good, honest work. The Devil makes use of idle hands. And the work was symbolic – in washing the dirty linen, the women were washing away their sins.’

  ‘The women who were in these institutions seem to have other recollections.’

  The priest gave the inspector a withering look.

  ‘It’s amazing what people will say when they think there’s money on the cards, Inspector. Many of those women were deranged when they went in and, no matter what the nuns tried, they were mad coming out as well. They had sinned and been rightly ostracized by their families and communities. Truly repentant people accept their guilt and try to live the rest of their life with dignity. They don’t go shouting to the gutter press—’

  Tom held up his hand and signalled for him to stop. The priest reacted as though he’d been slapped. He was used to preaching from the pulpit. He wasn’t accustomed to being silenced.

  The inspector was done with this odious man and his pious claptrap. Something told him that if he’d met Mother Attracta alive, the conversation would have gone pretty much like this.

  What did that mean for Father Seamus as a suspect? The priest considered the victim a friend, and they were obviously alike. Had their mutual hateful personalities made them allies or enemies?

  The man’s demeanour made Tom certain he was hiding something, but what?

  ‘I will let you get to your next Mass, Father,’ he said, and stood up.

  The priest looked surprised, then grateful. He stood up, too – though he was slower getting to his feet.

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. I wish you every success in your investigation.’

  As though his part in it were over.

  Chapter 27

  When Father Seamus had left, a small laugh escaped Michael’s lips, releasing the tension that had built up during the interview.

  ‘He’s a piece of work,’ he said.

  Tom stared at the closed door. ‘Did you see that look, Michael, when I mentioned Dublin?’

  The other detective paused and considered. ‘Yes, I did. It felt like he wasn’t telling us something.’

  Tom nodded grimly. ‘I think that, too. When you get his alibi details, check them thoroughly.’

  ‘He lives alone,’ Michael said. ‘The woman who cleans the church probably did his house, too. He could have been gone all Wednesday night and nobody would have noticed. And if he had taken Mother Attracta, he could have brought her back to his house. He’d know the routines here, be able to get into the convent. I’m sure Mother Attracta would have been more comfortable turning her back on somebody she knew – that’s how she could have been hit from behind, when she came out of the corridor.’

  Tom nodded again. ‘But does he have motive? In any case, he has something to hide.’

  ‘He’s not too old, is he?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Early seventies? He’s slight of frame but he’s able-bodied, and his handshake was firm. And the victim was an elderly woman.’

  They watched from the window as the priest got into his car, reversed over the deepening snow and turned out the gates.

  Seconds later, a white jeep, embossed with a Garda Síochána logo, drove in.

  ‘I hope this is Ellie and Mark,’ Tom said.

  They arrived in the hall just in time to see Sister Mary open the front door. She must have been passing through right at that moment, because her girth indicated that she rarely moved anywhere at speed.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she greeted the new guests. ‘My goodness, what an awful day. Are the roads bad?’

  ‘Not the worst,’ Ellie Byrne replied.

  A red-haired man followed her in.

  On cue, Ray and Laura emerged from the doorway across the hall. Ray’s face lit up. Laura,
catching sight of this, looked crestfallen.

  Tom felt sorry for the young female detective. She didn’t stand a chance against this black-haired beauty. Laura was a good-looking woman, but Ellie was stunning. And Ray was smitten.

  C’est la vie.

  ‘Good morning,’ Ellie smiled.

  ‘Ellie, thanks for coming.’ Tom shook her extended hand. ‘I was expecting Mark as well?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘No luck, I’m afraid. We’re too stretched. I do have a very enthusiastic helper, though. Sorry, have you met? This is Jack Doherty, another of our technicians.’ She indicated the man beside her.

  Jack nodded at Tom, sullenly. He looked to be in his thirties but with his shaggy beard and lined face, he could pass for older. Tom suspected the man was none too happy to be dragged down to the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold on the brink of the Christmas holiday.

  Ellie caught sight of the cordoned area to her left.

  ‘Is there something behind that door?’ she asked.

  Tom cocked his head. ‘Something and nothing. We believe the victim was attacked at that spot.’

  Ellie’s eyes widened. She’d cottoned on. ‘The nuns cleaned up?’

  Tom nodded.

  Ray nodded.

  Michael nodded.

  Laura just glared.

  She’d have to learn to stop broadcasting her emotions, Tom thought.

  ‘Divisional crime scene technicians came in yesterday and secured as much as they could,’ Ray said.

  ‘Right,’ Ellie said, with a bemused smile. ‘Hopefully the good Sisters didn’t use too much bleach, but there’s a reason our hospitals were cleaner when the nuns were in charge.’

  ‘Do your best,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get you both a cup of tea, and then you can begin. I want you to have a look in the vehicles out front as well. Specifically the car boots.’

  ‘We’d better get started, so,’ Ellie said. ‘That’s a day’s work.’

  ‘A full day, I’d imagine,’ Tom said. ‘I doubt you’ll get home tonight. We can arrange rooms for you here . . . there are plenty.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Ellie smiled. ‘We had a notion we’d not get home. I’m booked into the B&B in the village. Jack’s from Limerick originally and has family a few miles north.’