by Jo Spain
The crowd sat up. This was the most engaged they’d been in an hour.
‘You will have seen the dreadful news concerning the poor woman who was found, murdered, in the Phoenix Park on Friday. I am sad to say that the victim was, in fact, our own Mother Attracta from the convent.’
Father Seamus paused to let his words sink in. There were several gasps from the congregation, followed by shocked mutterings.
The priest held up his hands for silence. The last voice to be heard was the little chap sitting to the right of Tom, who hadn’t realized a hush was descending and chose that moment to say, excitedly, ‘Does that mean we’re getting a day off school?’ to his friends.
This innocent remark earned him a clip around the ear from his mother. Turning from the row in front, she reacted with impressive speed to his embarrassing faux pas.
The sharp sound reverberated in the silent church.
Noticing Ciaran and Tom had witnessed the slap, the mother blushed furiously and spun back round in her seat, no doubt mentally adding her humiliation to the list of things she would chastise her son for later.
Father Seamus cleared his throat impatiently.
‘This is clearly traumatic news for all of us. A very senior investigation unit has come down from Dublin. They have assured me personally they will do everything in their power to ensure whoever committed this heinous act is brought to justice. When we have details of Mother Attracta’s funeral I will inform everyone, as I’m sure you will all want to attend.
‘I must also tell you that the sisters will be organizing lunch as usual after Mass. They are undeterred in their duties, and for that I think we must, as a community, honour their bravery and dedication by gathering in the parish hall.’
The woman directly in front of Tom leaned across to the slapped boy’s mammy.
‘I’ve a bloody roast beef in the oven. What am I supposed to do with that?’
‘May you go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.’
With this phrase, the priest signalled they were free to leave.
Ciaran turned to Tom. ‘Is he growing on you yet?’
‘Like fungus. I’ve lost my appetite. But let’s head to that lunch, anyway, will we?’
*
Outside the church, Willie had just pulled up with Ray, Michael and Laura. A second car parked behind with two uniformed guards inside.
Laura looked pale. The inspector made a mental note to ask her about her aunt’s file.
‘Most of the villagers are heading round to the nuns’ lunch,’ he told the team. ‘The priest just made the big reveal from the pulpit. Michael, I want you to pull him out of that hall and get his alibi for the twenty-four hours in question. Ciaran will help you. Ray, can you head up to the nursing home and talk to a Barney Kelly there about Mother Attracta? He’s the old Kilcross sergeant.’
‘Did you say Kelly?’ Laura interrupted.
Tom raised his eyebrows quizzically.
‘I saw his name written down earlier,’ she said. ‘There’s something I wanted to ask him. It relates to the laundry.’ She directed this to Ray, hoping he’d let her go in his place.
Ray shrugged. ‘No problem with me, Laura.’
‘Right,’ Tom said. ‘Well, it might do no harm for him to know you had a relative in the place, Laura. Ray, are you okay to talk to those in the village who aren’t at this lunch? Use one of Ciaran’s lads for guidance on who will be at home. By the way, did you talk to the toll company?’
‘I did. They’re going through the CCTV footage from the booths. But it’s a lot of hours’ worth, and we gave them several registrations. It could take a while, but HQ is helping.’
‘Okay. Keep me posted. Willie, I can hear your stomach from here; you’d better come to this lunch.’
*
The large parish hall was square with a stage at one end, stacked with plastic chairs. A long trestle table ran down one side, and it was here that the sisters had laid out the afternoon’s repast. Villagers sat in groups at circular tables dispersed around the hall.
The nuns were wearing aprons and dishing out hot lunches, while children greedily and impatiently eyed the delectable sweet treats that awaited them for dessert.
A door at the end of the hall led to a kitchen, where food could be prepared for dances and other events. It was from this door that Father Seamus now emerged, having changed out of his official vestments.
Ciaran tapped Michael’s shoulder, and nodded towards the cleric.
The priest had armed himself with a plate, and was making a beeline for the roast chicken and honey-glazed ham, when they approached.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, without taking his eyes off the food.
‘I’m afraid lunch will have to wait, Father. We need to get that list you promised Inspector Reynolds.’ This was Ciaran.
Father Seamus looked incredulous.
‘Really? You need it right now? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘I’m sorry, but this takes precedence.’
The two men stared at each other.
Father Seamus broke first.
‘Oh, very well. We’ll go across to the house. I need to check my diary.’
‘After you,’ Ciaran offered politely, holding his hand out in the direction of the front door.
‘May I at least get my coat?’
‘Of course. We’ll wait for you here.’
Leaving Ciaran and Michael to shepherd the priest, Tom went into the kitchen in search of Sister Clare.
There, he found several nuns. Sister Gladys sat snoozing in the corner, her feet elevated on a stool and a newspaper propped on her lap. A half-cup of tea was perilously balanced on the arm of her chair.
Another sister was sweeping the floor vigorously around Gladys, uncaring as to whether her chore woke the woman.
Tom rapped on the open door to get their attention. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Sister Gladys’s eyelids twitch.
‘Good afternoon, Sisters. I wonder, is one of you Sister Clare?’
The tall nun drying dishes placed her hand on her breast.
‘I’m Sister Clare,’ she said.
She was an older woman, perhaps in her late sixties. She had been good looking in her youth, and her features were still strong, her cheekbones quite elegant. Her forehead, however, was creased with worry lines, and an unfortunately placed wart dominated her chin.
‘Could I have a quick word?’
The nun nodded and followed him out.
Tom had noticed a stack of fold-up chairs in an adjacent dressing room. He pulled out two chairs and opened them, chivalrously offering the nun the first.
She collapsed with a sigh, and tried to make herself comfortable.
‘It’s good to get a rest. I’m getting too old for all this work,’ she said.
‘Forgive me if I’m being impolite, but how old are you?’
‘I’ll be seventy in January.’
‘Positively sprightly compared to Sister Gladys, eh?’
She smiled. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate her, Inspector. She plays her age very well. Like now, for instance. She’s in the back there pretending to be asleep so she won’t be asked to do anything. But if someone decided to throw an impromptu party and produced a drop of Jameson, she’d be up on a table doing a jig.’
Tom smiled at the image.
The nun looked around at the costumes. ‘This is Sister Concepta’s favourite room, Inspector. She loves performing in plays. Quite the little actress.’
Tom frowned.
Seeing he’d no intention of responding to her poisoned arrow, Sister Clare spoke again. ‘I told your officers everything. I don’t think I’ve anything to add.’
‘If you remember anything else, of course, that’s important. But actually I want to pick up on something you said last night. I believe you were good friends with Mother Attracta?’
‘I knew Attracta for a long time.’
‘Yes, you were both in the convent when Mother The
resa was in charge. Was it the case that you were originally meant to succeed the Reverend Mother, Sister?’
The nun looked down, straightened her tunic. ‘That’s hardly relevant now, Inspector.’
He waited.
She made eye contact and smiled, bitterly. ‘What is it? Do you think I was passed over and have nursed a grudge for twenty years? That I decided this week I’d had enough?’
When Tom said nothing, she laughed. It was a thin, unpleasant sound.
‘Isn’t it funny how people call it the past and yet nobody lets it go? Could I really have been Mother Attracta’s friend if I’d been angry for that long? Yes, I should have been the next Reverend Mother. I was the more popular. I was the more learned. But you know what they say. Pride always comes before a fall. Attracta won the vote. Was I happy then? No. Did I learn from it? Yes. I had to accept that decisions are always made by a higher order. Attracta won, fair and square. Despite what some may say . . .’
Tom was impressed at the subtle and innocuous delivery of the final killer sentence.
‘What might some say, Sister?’
The nun sighed, as though he had pressed hard for the information and she would now have to unwillingly divulge it.
‘Some of the sisters believed Mother Attracta fixed the vote. It was nonsense. They only said it because her victory was unexpected. Attracta had been charged with bringing the ballot box to Father Seamus – perhaps because, as many of us thought, she hadn’t been in the running. As it turns out, she had.’
‘Is there a suggestion she interfered with the ballot box?’
‘Only from those who supported my candidacy. But I put it to bed. I consulted with Father Seamus, and he assured me categorically that the seal on the box had not been broken. It was wrong of me to even think such a thing, but there were so many rumours. Once I, the expected winner, had endorsed Attracta’s victory, no one else challenged it.’
‘It was magnanimous of you to support Mother Attracta and to become good friends with her after such an episode,’ he said.
‘Oh, we were friends before, Inspector.’
Sister Clare’s voice was cold. Tom understood immediately what Ray and Michael had meant. This woman had hated Mother Attracta.
‘Will you be the new Reverend Mother?’ he asked.
‘These days the job suits a younger woman. There will be a vote, of course. I will probably be asked to go forward. But I have no interest in it now.’
Tom believed her, if only because he knew she realized she didn’t have the popular support among the other nuns to win. So the theory that she might have killed Mother Attracta to take over her role didn’t stand up. But as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.
‘Sister, I believe you were the one who rang Father Seamus and left a voice message for him on Thursday. May I ask why you left a voice message when your call was so crucial?’
Sister Clare frowned. ‘I’m not an idiot. I must have rung Father Seamus more than a dozen times – on his home phone and on his mobile. When he didn’t answer, I left a message.’
‘You rang his mobile and he didn’t answer?’
‘It was turned off. That voice came on, the one that tells you the user doesn’t have a mailbox set up. So I couldn’t leave a message, but I left one on the home phone. And I called to his house. But there was no answer. I assumed he’d pick up the voicemail soon enough.’
Tom didn’t let anything show on his face.
‘Thank you, Sister. I should let you return to your duties.’
He stood up, extending his hand to support her as she rose.
‘I really do hope you find the person who killed her, Inspector. No matter what anyone has done, no one has the right to play God and take someone before their time.’
He stood in the doorway of the small room, looking at her retreating back.
‘No matter what anyone has done . . .’
That said it all about Sister Clare’s view of Mother Attracta.
Chapter 32
Ciaran and Michael were waiting impatiently and uncomfortably on dated, course-fabric armchairs when the text message alert came from Tom.
Ask him why his mobile was turned off Thursday
The detective leaned across and showed the phone screen to Ciaran, who raised his eyebrows.
The room had a general unlived-in feel. A light sheen of dust coated the unimaginative furnishings, a sure sign the priest was not coping too well without his cleaner. The heavy curtains may once have been burgundy but were now mottled and faded. A hard-backed scratchy green couch made a set with the two armchairs, and a shabby old sideboard was heaving with unappealing religious texts.
Father Seamus had directed them into this room. After the priest had gone upstairs, Ciaran told Michael that the comfortable sitting room was across the hall, available to a better class of guest.
They could hear his footsteps above them.
He’d been up there for ten minutes already, supposedly checking his diary.
Ciaran sighed loudly. ‘Think we can arrest him for time wasting?’
‘I’m not sure ten minutes qualifies . . . I think this is him, at last.’
‘I hope this is satisfactory,’ Father Seamus said, entering the room. He oozed irritability.
Michael cast his eyes over the sheet of scrawled handwriting.
The priest had followed his instructions to the letter and provided a full itinerary of what he had done over the twenty-four hours in question.
Thursday seemed to be accounted for by a drive to his former colleague Father Terence and numerous visits to residents in the village. The declaration that he ‘watched television’ on Wednesday night was the only uncorroborated period in the priest’s alibi.
He handed the sheet to Ciaran, who read it slowly, then glanced up at the priest before looking down at the sheet again. When he lifted his head, Michael expected him to say something about the list.
Instead, the sergeant just nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Father Seamus. Can you tell us why you had your mobile phone switched off on Thursday?’
The priest blinked furiously, his body tensed.
‘I didn’t –’ he started, and then stopped. He waved his hands dramatically. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now. The battery died.’
‘Earlier, you said the sisters hadn’t rung you on your mobile,’ Michael said.
‘Well, that’s correct. No one rang me – they obviously couldn’t get through.’
‘All right, then. That’s all we need for now,’ Ciaran said.
The priest looked relieved.
‘Good,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ve a little bit of work to do here now I think of it, so I won’t go back to the hall.’
The two men struggled into their coats while the priest held open the front door, anxious to be rid of them.
Michael noted three locks on the inside of the door, and wondered why the priest needed so many.
Father Seamus saw him staring. ‘You’ve noticed my little bit of security. Unfortunately, I have to be cautious. I keep the money from the parish collection in the house until it’s lodged in the bank. There’s always a chance of it proving a temptation for some desperate soul.’
‘Has it happened before?’ Michael asked.
Ciaran raised an eyebrow, and shook his head dismissively.
Feeling the need to justify himself in the face of Ciaran’s obvious scepticism, the priest jumped straight back in.
‘There’s always a first time. Isn’t prevention better than cure? I’m sure the sergeant would rather I kept my doors tightly locked than turn up at the station with a bloody nose and an empty collection bag.’
Neither man spoke until they were out the gate and Father Seamus had shut the door.
As they started to trudge through the snow, Michael turned to Ciaran. ‘What’s really with the locks?’
‘No idea. We have petty crime from time to time. It’s usually a teenager acting up, and I generally know t
he bad apple. But this parish is neither rich enough to have a big offertory on a Sunday nor blasphemous enough to break into the priest’s house to steal it. It’s a security measure, all right – just not for what he says. My guess? He’s been siphoning off the collection plate for the last few years and has a big stash of coins in the attic. He’s up there every night counting them like Silas Marner.’ Ciaran chuckled at his own joke.
‘His statement,’ Michael said. ‘He seems in the clear on Thursday, anyway. Aside from the drive, he spent most of the day in the village.’
‘Yes. Even with people who weren’t here.’
Michael stopped dead in his tracks. ‘What do you mean?’
Ciaran pulled out the list. ‘He said he called in on Larry O’Farrell. Well, Larry’s sister was taken into Limerick City General on Wednesday evening. Larry was in the pub when he got the call. He dropped into the station and asked me if he had drunk too much to drive himself up. He’d had seven pints at that stage, so I advised him to go home and sleep it off. To the best of my knowledge he drove up there on Thursday morning and hasn’t been back since. It’d be very rare for him to leave the village, mind, but he did this week.’
Michael’s eyes widened. ‘So Father Seamus has given a false alibi? We should go back.’
‘And do what? Arrest him? Let’s not be too hasty. We’ll check Larry’s house just in case – and then the rest of the list. If it’s just Larry, the priest will claim he got confused. But if he’s made another little mistake . . . well, then Father Seamus has some explaining to do.’
Michael looked back at the priest’s house. A movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye.
The priest must have been looking out at them.
‘If you’re sure,’ he said, uncertainly.
‘He’s going nowhere, lad. Don’t worry. It will take us less than an hour to get this checked.’
They walked deeper into the village.
‘Aren’t most of the villagers in the hall?’ Michael asked.
‘Not the ones on this list,’ Ciaran replied. ‘Father Seamus only makes house calls to incapacitated and lost souls. We’ve a couple of houses and the pubs to drop into.’
Michael tried to bury a sense of foreboding. If the priest had given them a false alibi, maybe he would take this opportunity to flee the village. He could be packing even now. The detective withdrew his phone from his pocket.