by Jo Spain
‘Isn’t it amazing to think that while nuns were being raped and murdered in El Salvador for trying to help an impoverished, frightened people, nuns like Mother Attracta were lording it over people in Ireland as if the clergy inhabited some kind of moral high ground?’
Tom shifted in his seat. His mind raced as he wondered whether Sister Bernadette was trying to make some kind of indirect confession.
‘The point is, Inspector, I learned to disappear. Sometimes, when I’m around the sisters here, I just go off and find my own space. I often walk, or pray or read in my room. I enjoy the solitude. And yesterday I went for a very long walk around the back paths of the village, snow and all. Silly, I know, especially when you see what happened to Gladys this morning. I just needed fresh air and peace. I met no one.’
Tom cupped his chin in his hand. ‘Sister, you told us you slept for a period of time on Thursday and that you then went down to the kitchen for supper. How many hours were you asleep? What time did you go to your room?’
She shrugged. ‘Three, four o’clock? I didn’t check. I woke at 7.30 p.m.’
‘And when you went to the kitchen, who did you see specifically?’
‘I’m not sure I saw anyone.’ Her voice was low.
‘You said, Sister, in your interview—’
‘I know what I said.’
‘Were you lying?’
She shook her head. ‘Not intentionally. I knew you were trying to establish if I had an alibi. It turns out I hadn’t.’
Tom sat back and observed the woman, wondering what other deceptions she was capable of.
‘You’re not always afraid, though, are you?’ he said. ‘It was audacious to start compiling the laundry records with Sister Concepta.’
Sister Bernadette sat up a little straighter in her chair. ‘So you know about that. I’m not sure how much daring I showed. Running around at night, hoping we wouldn’t be caught. Real courage would have been doing it openly, surely?’
‘You did what you could. I just have one more question. The first night I stayed here, I looked out my window and thought I saw you looking over at me. Were you?’
She blushed. ‘I thought you’d seen me. I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking out at where the foundations stood for the laundry and the orphanage. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about those girls. Then I saw you at your window, and I pulled my curtains.’
She sounded plausible, though the fact she was dwelling on the laundry’s past gave him pause for thought.
‘I think that will be all for now, Sister.’
A few minutes later, Michael stepped into the room to find his boss staring out the window, deep in thought.
‘Well?’ Tom asked.
‘No one remembers seeing her on Thursday. For most of the day. Do you have enough to take her to the station for formal questioning?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not yet. Not having an alibi does not a murderer make.’
‘What does your gut say?’
Tom looked out the frost-covered window for another moment before he answered.
‘I have a feeling she’s keeping something from us. We need to start looking into her background. Discreetly. She’s been looking at those files for years – it can’t have escaped her attention that girls got pregnant while they were in the laundry.
‘Religion is an honourable vocation for her, and Ray suggested our killer could be on some kind of holy mission. I’ve been pondering another direction altogether, involving one of the laundry girls. But if Bernadette was that badly affected by what happened when she was abroad, maybe a few screws have come loose and she’s on a crusade against members of the Church here.’
He sighed. ‘I’m going to ask some more questions about those rape allegations. Maybe Sister Clare this time. Her memory seems pretty sharp.’
Chapter 45
Tom was on his way to interview Sister Clare when he met Ray and Ciaran coming in the front door.
‘We’ve something interesting, boss,’ Ray said. ‘I found these on the priest’s computer.’ He held a sheaf of printouts in his hand. ‘I gave the computer a cursory going over yesterday but I had a proper go at it in the station this morning. We’ve moved all the evidence there, by the way. It took me a while but I searched through the priest’s emails from the last couple of years.’ Ray’s face was grim. ‘Wait until you see this.’
There were twenty emails in total. Tom scanned their contents. The first one read:
You are not fit to call yourself a man of God.
Each email got progressively angrier until the last:
How many children did you father, you evil man? You will rot in hell for what you did. Do you think about all the poor girls you raped when you stand at the pulpit moralizing? Do you remember their suffering? Have you ever imagined their anguish when their babies were torn from them? There is a circle of hell that Satan created for people like you. I hope you die screaming. You will never be forgiven for what you did.
EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL
The venom of the last line was visceral, as though the writer had wanted to carve the words onto the screen.
Tom felt a shiver run down his spine.
None of the messages were signed. The email address was a letter and a series of numbers, R1219, at a Yahoo! address.
‘Is this just a random combination, or does the address mean something?’ Tom asked.
‘I thought at first it was an anonymous jumble,’ Ray said, ‘but the writer was sending him another message. I was thinking about that whole religious mission angle, so I looked up biblical references. It’s Romans, Chapter 12, Verse 19.’
‘What’s the quote?’ Tom asked.
Ray produced another sheet and handed it to the inspector.
Tom read the fiery exhortation: Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
His eyes widened as he read the words. ‘Good work, Ray. Can we source the origin of the emails?’
‘I don’t have the expertise,’ the detective replied. ‘In the absence of someone from our own IT department sitting down at the computer, we’re a bit stuck to get it done in a hurry. Ciaran says there is a guy in the village who is a techie genius, but we didn’t want to ask him for help without clearing it with you first.’
‘You’ve a computer whizz in the village?’ Tom asked Ciaran.
‘Yep. The chap has just come home from the States. He was working in California, Silicon Valley. I think his roots were calling him and back he came with a shedload of money.’
‘And a fabulous American wife?’ Tom asked.
‘No, but he has had quite a few visits from a tanned young man. I don’t think it’s his son.’ Ciaran raised his eyebrows knowingly.
The man’s love life was probably the talk of the village. Up until recent events, anyway.
‘Is he trustworthy?’
‘I think he’s well used to discretion.’
‘Then get him in. Ray, contact the phone company and get the priest’s call records for the last couple of years.’
Tom looked back down at the quotation he was still holding in his hand.
‘What is it?’ Ray asked.
‘It’s this quote. It’s about the Lord avenging wrongdoing. It’s specific that those on earth are not supposed to take vengeance into their own hands.’
‘So? Maybe the person who chose the quote just wanted something about vengeance.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Maybe. There are better quotes. Anyway, I take it people are able to travel again now?’
‘It’s better, but not great,’ Ciaran replied. ‘I put chains on the tyres.’
‘Being able to move again is going to bring its own problems,’ Ray said.
‘What do you mean?’ Tom asked.
‘The B&B in the village is booked out with media and . . . er . . . at least one other interesting character. I told Ellie and Jack they’d hav
e to move down here, unless Jack can get to his family. Ellie said they might be heading back to Dublin tonight, though.’
Tom looked at him strangely, wondering who could be more noteworthy than the media. ‘Tell Ellie and Jack to get down here. I think Emmet will stay the night, and he’ll want his team. I’m going to find Sister Clare.’
As Tom turned away, all business, he missed the huge grin of pure happiness spreading across his deputy’s face, as Ray anticipated another night chatting up Ellie Byrne.
*
Tom found the nun in the sitting room. Sister Clare was alone, a book in hand. While he’d been searching for her, he’d found the other nuns making up Christmas gift baskets for children in Limerick hospital. He wondered why she wasn’t helping. She didn’t even appear to be reading the book she was holding, just staring at the page, her thoughts elsewhere.
‘May I disturb you, Sister?’ he asked.
She looked up. ‘Please, Inspector. I was just trying to distract myself from the awful events of the last few days.’
‘What’s your chosen diversion?’ he asked, pointing at her hand.
‘Oh, this?’ Sister Clare closed it and showed him the cover.
It was a copy of Wuthering Heights. Tom couldn’t hide his surprise.
She smiled. ‘You thought it would be a copy of the Bible? This is my favourite book. Yes, I know, one of the most romantic novels of all time. And I a nun.’ She placed the well-thumbed novel in her lap.
‘My wife claims it’s romantic as well,’ he said. ‘She’s studying English at the moment. But I read it in school and thought it was downright disturbing. That section when Heathcliff digs up Cathy from the grave . . . that’s a strange kind of love.’
‘Oh, you’re wrong, Inspector. It’s love in its absolute form – obsession. Your wife is correct, and I know most people enjoy the book solely for Heathcliff and Cathy. I, however, have always been interested in the other Brontë characters. They may be just obstacles to the star-crossed lovers’ lives, but they are fascinating. Such wrongs are inflicted on them. Yet, look at Cathy’s husband – he remains a good man.’
So said the nun who had spent her life relegated to the role of a bit player in the convent after Mother Attracta had usurped her rightful place as its head.
‘Anyway, it’s surely not literature you need me for. We do have book club on Tuesday nights, if you care to join us tomorrow.’
‘I wanted to talk to you about the orphanage that was attached to the convent. When did it cease to exist?’
The nun frowned. ‘Around the same time as the laundry. Why?’
‘Where are the records for it now?’ He ignored her question.
‘We gave them to the Limerick adoption authority. They decided to gather adoption records for the county in 1999.’
‘Were all of the babies in the orphanage put there willingly?’
‘Of course, Inspector. It was not the done thing back then to have a child out of wedlock.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Looking around the country now, you can see why.’
Tom was careful not to react to her words. This was not about his daughter.
‘You also dealt with pregnant girls, didn’t you? Did you build a hospital ward specifically for that purpose?’
‘We had an infirmary already in the orphanage. When any of the children or the laundry girls got sick, that’s where they’d go. We added a delivery room.’
‘Who assisted the girls in labour?’ he asked.
‘There were two sisters who were fully trained midwives, and some others who were partially trained. One of the midwives died years ago. You must be aware who the other was.’
‘No. Who?’
She looked at him, surprised. ‘The other was Mother Attracta.’
‘Mother Attracta delivered the babies?’ Tom repeated.
‘Yes, for decades. There weren’t many deliveries, though. Most unwed women went to the mother and baby home up in the city. We got maybe one girl a month.’
‘Sister, it appears that some girls got pregnant after they had entered the laundry. Given their seclusion from the world, can you explain how that happened?’
She looked at him haughtily. ‘I’m sure I can’t. Unless you’re looking for some kind of lesson on the birds and the bees.’
He leaned forward. Making his voice low and dangerous, he fixed her with a look that warned: Be careful how you reply to this.
‘Sister Clare, I looked at the file last night of a woman who entered this convent in 1973. In 1975 she had a baby. Now, were you taking the girls out to discos? Were they allowed to have young men over? Could lads have been hopping the gate and having secret forays with the girls in the fields?
‘You see, I find it hard to understand, Sister, how girls whose physical and moral care was entrusted to yourselves could end up pregnant under your watchful eyes. And I cannot imagine that, when it did happen, there wasn’t a furore and questions weren’t asked.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes when she replied. ‘Of course questions were asked, Inspector. It was outrageous. But the girls weren’t monitored twenty-four hours a day. We weren’t running a prison. Sometimes they walked around the grounds. They would work in the vegetable gardens. Boys must have got in. I assure you that such pregnancies only happened a few times in my memory.’
‘Did you ever wonder whether the girls were being taken advantage of by someone closer to home?’
The colour rose in the nun’s cheeks.
‘Before you answer me, Sister, I want to tell you that I do not appreciate being lied to. I have a good idea what was happening to those girls. Now, I can only assume that those who knew about it did not actively facilitate it but must have found it beyond belief. Or they were too cowed by the person who was perpetrating the offence to confront him. Because if anything other than that is the case, then we are talking about complicity in an unspeakable crime. And I can assure you, there is no statute of limitations on that.’
He could see he had made her revisit something so unpleasant that every fibre of her being was reacting against it. The battle raged on her face.
Eventually, she spoke.
‘There is no conspiracy here, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Yes, there was a certain suspicion at the time you speak of. If you think for one moment any one of us would have stood by if it turned out those allegations were true—’
‘What allegations?’
She caught herself, realizing she’d gone too far. There was no way back now.
‘The allegations against Father Seamus. The three girls who got pregnant claimed that he . . . had been improper in his behaviour towards them. Well, it was vindictive, of course. They cooked it up amongst themselves. As if . . . as if a man of God would do such a thing.
‘Some years earlier, a similar allegation had been made about another priest and he had to move from the parish. Not because he did anything, but because of the hurt those accusations caused. That’s clearly where the girls got the idea. It was easier than owning up to what they’d done. It was all lies.’
She nodded her head to emphasize her point. To convince him or herself, he wasn’t sure.
He observed the nun, disappointed. ‘Sister, things are going to be reported about Father Seamus that prove your version of him wrong. I would like to know exactly who made the accusations against him, and what happened to their babies. They may be needed for DNA testing.’
‘But you can’t!’ she shrieked, jumping up from her chair. ‘Do you hear what you are saying? The girls didn’t want the babies. Those children are adults now and probably don’t even know they are adopted. They will never have seen their original birth certificates. And you’d approach them – pull apart the lives they have lived all this time – and claim they were the result of rape? Are you mad?’
‘If justice demands it, Sister, that is what I will do.’
Tom knew that was something he’d avoid at all costs. But he felt so angry it was easy to make the threat.
&nb
sp; He pulled a notepad from his pocket. ‘Your memory seems to be excellent. Could you please write down the names of the women who claimed that Father Seamus had fathered their babies?’
Sister Clare gave him one last imploring look, but saw only resolve in his eyes. She snatched the paper and pen from his hand with bad grace.
When she returned it, she had written three names.
Bríd O’Toole
Noreen Boyle
Margaret Downes
‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘That will be all.’ Tom dismissed her from the room, though she had been sitting in it first.
He exhaled loudly when the door closed, glad to see the back of her.
Chapter 46
Tom rang Ian at the station, scanning Sister Clare’s list as he waited for the sergeant to picked up the call.
He wasted no time giving his instructions. ‘Ian, I’m going to read you three names, and these are the ones I want you to prioritize while you’re doing background checks on the master list,’ he said.
Ian took the names down. ‘I can give you an update already,’ he said.
‘Go on.’
‘Well, of the five hundred names, the nuns had already listed fifty of the women as deceased. That’s correct. We also found death certificates for another eighty. There may be more than that, but if they got married it will take us a little longer to find the certs. I’ve a few officers using online search facilities here; the bulk of the team is down in the General Register Office. We’re checking which surnames changed before we move on to emigration records. If you’ve narrowed it down to these three women, I can’t tell you how much easier this is going to be.’
‘I can’t categorically say it’s one of these three women I’m looking for, Ian, so you’ll have to press on with the rest. We’ll dig out their laundry files here; we already have Margaret Downes’s. This is a real can of worms. I’m not going to let up until I get to the bottom of it.’