by Jo Spain
Laura blanched and felt bile rise in her throat. She stepped away from the file momentarily and placed her hand on her stomach.
There was a quick movement behind her, and Sister Concepta grasped her elbow.
Laura pulled away roughly, and looked at the nun accusingly.
‘Are you okay?’ the sister asked, concerned. ‘You’re very pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ Laura snapped. Then, gathering herself, she asked, ‘Could I possibly have a glass of water?’
‘Of course.’
Sister Concepta left the room hurriedly.
Laura returned to the pages. Each visit by her grandparents had been noted, until they stopped coming. No details were recorded, however, about the traumatic nature of these visits.
Laura estimated from the dates that the visits had ended when her gran had died. She didn’t know why her grandad had ceased his efforts. Maybe he was just a man of his time, unknowing of the ways of women, in thrall to the Church, and unable to see how he could help his daughter. Laura feared he might have also blamed Peggy a little for his wife’s premature death.
She came to the last two pages of the file. There were no disciplinary actions listed towards the end of Peggy’s life in the convent. According to the notes she had become almost catatonic. She didn’t speak, barely ate.
In September 1974, Peggy’s suicide was recorded. Almost ten years to the day after she had been admitted, she hanged herself. The entry was stark – just a date and the fact that it was suicide.
On the next page, a final handwritten note:
Father Patrick has kindly allowed us to bury Annette in the village cemetery in an unmarked grave. She cannot, for obvious reasons, be buried within the convent’s walls. The violence against her body that she exhibited in life eventually led to her death and she must face an uncertain eternity as punishment for this unholiest of sins.
Garda Barney Kelly has been in to see us again. This young man appears to have an unnaturally active imagination for a police officer. Despite there being no sign of foul play and the fact that Annette was clearly disturbed, he continues to query what led her to do this. I have had to ask Father Patrick to intervene because the officer’s visits to us have become a cause of upset for the other girls.
There were no further entries. Laura flicked back through the file to see if she had missed anything.
She was staring at the last page again when the door opened and Sister Concepta walked in, followed by Ellie.
The sister placed a glass of water on the old window sill beside Laura, then left the room without saying anything.
Ellie, still in her white forensic gear, looked at Laura with a mixture of awkwardness and compassion.
As the heat rose in the detective’s cheeks, she turned and grabbed for the glass of water, but she fumbled and sent it flying to the floor. The glass didn’t smash but the water fanned out around Laura’s feet.
She groaned.
Ellie crossed the room and picked up the glass before Laura could even bend her knees. She placed it back carefully on the sill and stood beside the detective, clearly unsure of what to say.
‘What did she tell you?’ Laura asked, irritable in her embarrassment.
Ellie bit her lip. ‘Just that you were in here looking at a personal file. She thought you might need someone, other than her, for support.’
Laura threw her hands out to her sides.
‘Amazing how supportive nuns are nowadays, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘All things considered.’
Ellie looked at the file still sitting on the box.
‘A relative?’ she asked.
Laura nodded.
‘I’m sorry. Were you close?’
‘Not close at all. She was my aunt, but I never met her.’
‘But she was in the laundry here?’ Ellie asked. ‘Tell me to shut up if you want. Jack told me on the way down what this place used to be and . . . what happened here.’
‘Yes, she was here.’
‘For long?’
‘From 1964 to 1974.’
Ellie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Ten years? That’s awful. What happened when she got out?’
‘She died here. She was sent here, utterly traumatized, and never recovered. She wasn’t allowed to recover.’
The other woman looked horrified.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, eventually.
‘Do you know something?’ Laura said. ‘The nuns who ran these places were absolute bitches. All of these boxes contain pages and pages of misery.’
She felt a ball of rage building and roughly shoved the side of the box nearest her, sending it crashing to the floor and into the wet puddle she’d made.
Ellie jumped back, startled.
Laura clasped her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh God! Oh God!’ she repeated, lifting the box to safety as if it were a baby.
She grabbed the hem of her cashmere cardigan and attempted to dry the cardboard, getting more frustrated as the unabsorbent material proved useless.
Ellie gently took the box from her and sat it back on its pile.
‘Hey, it’s just a splash of water,’ she said.
Laura nodded, feeling numb. ‘I know. I’m okay. I just want a minute. You need to get back to your work.’
‘Are you sure? Can I get you anything?’
‘I’m fine.’
Ellie gave her an uncertain look but let it go.
Laura watched her retreating back, and wondered why the other woman had to be so beautiful and so bloody kind too.
It really was very inconsiderate of her.
Chapter 30
The hall was in complete darkness when Tom and Ray arrived back downstairs. Ellie had sealed the windows to keep out the light. She was working with luminous light sticks, attempting to detect vestiges of blood.
When they could see that she was finished, Tom flicked the lights back on.
His hopes were dashed as Ellie rested back on her heels and shook her head.
‘Nothing so far. Not even a fingerprint. And there should be plenty, given the number of people who live in this house.’
‘It’s something the Church seems to excel at,’ Ray said. ‘Cleaning things up.’
‘Not a Catholic, then, Detective?’ Ellie raised her eyebrows, interested.
‘Begrudgingly,’ he conceded. ‘I’m hedging my bets with the big man.’
‘What next?’ Tom asked.
‘I’m going to move into the corridor. But if you are sure she was attacked out here, I don’t know what that’s going to reveal. Jack is fingerprinting the doors and windows.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘We’ve a lot of fingerprints to eliminate for the outside exits.’
Tom felt his shoulders sag.
How the hell could Attracta have been bludgeoned and kidnapped from this hall without any forensic evidence being left behind? Sister Concepta had told them it was Sister Gladys who suggested the area be cleaned. Was it possible, though, that whoever had killed Mother Attracta had put the idea into the elderly nun’s head?
Seeing his disappointment, Ellie filled the silence.
‘I’ll keep going,’ she assured him. ‘Hopefully something will turn up. You think she could have been taken up to Dublin in one of those cars outside?’
‘It’s one possibility.’
She nodded slowly, her face clouded in thought.
‘It’s probably a stupid question, and I’m sure you’ve done it already, but . . . have you asked the toll company for CCTV footage from when she went missing?’
Tom looked puzzled. ‘Toll company? We didn’t come through any toll booths on the way here.’
Ray frowned. ‘Really? We did. Which way did Willie take you?’
‘The usual way – the dual carriageway and then off at Rathspillane.’
Suddenly it dawned on Tom. ‘They’ve opened the new motorway section. Of course. That’s how you and Laura got to the petrol station before us.’
Ray chuckled. ‘
Trust you old men to stick to the tried and tested. You added about twenty minutes on to your journey there.’
Tom turned to Ellie. ‘Well, I didn’t think to check because I didn’t realize there was a toll plaza. It’s lucky we have you here, and we don’t have to wait for that idea to occur to Ray.’
Ellie smiled. Ray glared at Tom.
‘I’ll get the licence plates outside, then, shall I?’ he said, his voice petulant.
‘If you’d be so kind.’
Ray opened the front door, to be greeted by the Kilcross sergeant.
‘Ciaran.’ Tom strode over and shook the other officer’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’
The sergeant cast an appreciative eye over Ellie, as she made her way into the corridor.
‘Anything from forensics?’
Tom shook his head.
‘Those bloody idiot nuns. Oh! Whoops. Good morning, Sisters.’
The sergeant dropped his head respectfully, hiding his blushes, as the nuns trooped into the hall from the kitchen, carrying baskets and flasks. Most of them ignored him as they filed out the front door.
‘We’re heading down to the village now, Inspector,’ Sister Concepta said. ‘We don’t want to let this tragedy or the weather come between us and our duties. Will we see you down there for lunch?’
‘Possibly, Sister. There are a couple of things I need to follow up on after last night’s interviews. Please take care driving, there’s a lot of snow on the ground.’
‘We will. Are we to keep quiet about Mother? It’s just, I’m not sure I can guarantee it.’
‘I don’t expect you to, Sister. We’ll be releasing her name today, and you can expect the media to descend. They’ve been clamouring to know the identity of the victim since we found her. They will come to the convent, I’m afraid.’
‘We’ll close the gates,’ she replied, and then added, ‘though the horse has bolted.’
‘Down to the village,’ Ciaran scoffed, when the nuns had left. ‘Geographically, the village is “up”. It just shows you how their minds work.’
‘Exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. Shall we?’
They made their way to the sitting room. Inside, Ciaran took up residence in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind his back to warm them.
‘I’ve more time for the nuns than I’m letting on,’ Ciaran said. ‘Some of them, anyway. They do great work in the village. Visit the nursing home every week. Take care of some of the folk not yet in the nursing home.
‘They run little allotments for the kiddies in the school – teach them how to sow vegetables, that kind of thing. There’s a genuine goodness in some of them. Sister Concepta is a lovely woman. Would have made a good wife in another life. Attracta was a different kettle of fish, Inspector.’
‘No need to stand on ceremony, Ciaran. Tom’s fine.’
This was technically the sergeant’s patch, and Tom wanted the other man to see him as an equal.
‘Well, to be honest, Tom, dreadful and all as it sounds, there’ll not be many people around here who’ll miss the Reverend Mother.’
‘Last night we interviewed the women who lived with her, and virtually all of them said the same,’ Tom said.
‘I didn’t have a lot of dealings with her personally, because she didn’t throw her lot in with the other nuns in their community work. But when I did run into her, well, she was as condescending as that other old blowhard, Father Seamus.’
‘Should we be looking at any of the villagers?’ Tom asked.
‘No one springs to mind. She kept to herself – and whatever routines they have here. Praying and the like. But this village is not a haven of godliness just because it has a big convent on its doorstep. Fifteen years ago, I had a local fellow – as normal as you like – worked his small bit of land all day, down the pub twice a week for two Guinness and a Jameson. One day, he went home, shot his wife in the head and then put the gun in his own mouth. No explanation.’
Tom had a vague recollection of the tragedy.
‘Nobody has been acting strangely over the last few days,’ Ciaran continued. ‘I don’t think anyone even knows she’s missing. I do know one person who’ll be happy to hear that she’s dead.’
‘Who’s that?’
Ciaran hesitated before replying. ‘My old boss, Barney Kelly. He was the sergeant before me. He hated her. But he’s in the old folks’ home now. I call in once a week. Some of the younger lads do, too. His wife died a few years ago. No kids.’
‘Do you know why he hated her?’
‘Not the specifics. But he had no time for the place when it was a laundry, that’s for sure. He would have been ahead of his time like that. The lads in our station would have been more likely to send their shirts down for cleaning than to give out about how the place was run. I suppose that was how it was then. Nobody knew.’
Tom had heard the phrase ‘nobody knew’ about many situations and on more occasions than he cared to remember. When you scratched the surface, most people usually did know.
But it was easier to pretend they didn’t.
‘Would he mind having a chat with us?’ Tom asked. ‘His mind is still intact? I want to dig into Attracta’s background.’
‘He’d enjoy it. The old beggar’s not in the home because he’s lost it. He signed himself in. He likes being taken care of. There’s a little Filipino woman in there, I think he has her in mind as a second wife,’ Ciaran chuckled.
‘The priest claims he was out all day on Thursday,’ Tom said. ‘One of my detectives is picking up exact times from him later. Would you be able to give us a hand checking the priest’s alibi? I imagine it will require some local knowledge.’
‘Not a problem. Is Seamus a suspect?’
‘Would you suspect him?’
A log crackled on the fire and spat a shower of tiny sparks. The fireguard did its job; nothing broke through.
Ciaran cocked his head sideways.
‘On the one hand, I’d say he got on better with Attracta than anyone else. On the other, the man makes my skin crawl. I wouldn’t have had him down as the murdering type. He’s what I’d describe as all mouth and no trousers, hides behind the cloth. But maybe I have him wrong.’
‘We’ll add his to the list of car registrations to check with the toll company. I can’t imagine that whoever did this was stupid enough to get caught on CCTV, but maybe we’ll strike lucky. Anyway, it’s time to start questioning the locals to see if they saw anything suspicious on Wednesday.’
‘I have two lads helping me in the station. They’ve started making general inquiries about strangers in the village in the last week or two. It’s the kind of thing that’s noticed.’
‘You should know something else about Attracta’s murder . . .’ Tom lowered his voice and told him what had been done to the nun’s body. ‘The ultimate cause of death was cardiac arrest,’ he concluded. ‘But it was horrifically violent. Before and after.’
Ciaran was visibly shocked. He blew out air from his cheeks.
‘I’d no idea.’
‘The nuns aren’t aware of it. I wanted to see if anyone gave anything away. You know, Father Seamus never asked me.’
‘Asked you what?’
‘How she died. He was more concerned with getting out of here. I didn’t give Concepta the details, and most of those we interviewed last night tried to get us to hint at what had happened. But Seamus never asked.’
Ciaran absorbed the information, nodding.
‘Considering what was done to the body, you’d lean towards a man, wouldn’t you?’ he mused. ‘I guess that places Seamus high on the suspect list.’
Tom checked the time on the clock over the mantelpiece.
‘I think we can make Mass. Fancy hearing the word of God?’
‘I’m not sure that’s what comes out of Father Seamus’s mouth, but sure, let’s give it a whirl.’
Chapter 31
‘If you ask me, the snow and ice probably make these roads more pa
ssable. The council is happy to leave bloody potholes large enough for sheep to drown in. They let Dublin grab all the road maintenance money.’
Ciaran kept up his running commentary on the inadequacies of rural local authorities the whole way into Kilcross.
By daylight, Tom could see how picturesque the village was. The Christmas season suited it. Most of the houses had small, gated gardens and, even covered in snow, the neatly pruned bushes and winter border plants were visible. Lights twinkled again this morning in the decorated windows, and most of the front doors were adorned with holly wreaths, replete with red berries and gold painted bells.
The various pubs on either side of the road revealed an impressive ratio of drinking houses to residential homes, unique to rural Irish towns and villages. An attractive olde worlde sweet shop lay incongruously between two pubs named, bizarrely, for their original respective owners, Smith’s and Smyth’s. Tom wondered whether both pubs had loyal, exclusive customers, or whether the punters flitted unfaithfully between the I and the Y, perhaps pausing en route for a quarter of humbugs.
The road led to an open triangular green, on the north side of which stood the church. Its stone spire soared into the leaden grey sky. In better weather, it would cast an oppressive or comforting shadow over the village, depending on your religious views.
Ciaran parked his squad car irreverently on the footpath below the steps leading up to the main church door.
Inside, there were roughly two hundred people gathered. It wasn’t a huge number, but Tom knew this was probably most of the village.
The sergeant indicated the back row. Three young boys and one deck of Top Trumps were its only other occupants.
The boys’ faces exploded into red blotches when they realized they were being joined by the village’s most senior policeman and another official-looking man.
At the altar, Father Seamus coughed loudly to remind the congregation he was the most important person in the building.
*
When Mass was over, the cleric cleared his throat again.
‘Now, before we go, I have an announcement,’ he said, solemnly.