‘It’s a copy of every bloody report I’ve had to do for him in the nine months I’ve been here. He got screwed over once when he was given duff information by another officer, who then denied what he’d said when the job went tits-up. Barnes ended up getting a reprimand. He quickly learnt the lesson that signed reports can’t be denied.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise . . .’
‘Please, Jane, for my and everyone else’s sake, just do the bloody report. Barnes will be in his Orpington office at ten.’
‘He wants me to take it to him?’ Jane asked.
Stanley sighed. ‘No, put it in a stamped envelope. I’ll post it to him on my way home.’
‘There’s no need to be facetious. I’m just surprised he’d want to meet me.’
‘I’ve no doubt you will do a decent report, but there’s bound to be a few questions he’ll want to ask.’
‘I asked Boony to run our victim’s description through the Missing Persons Bureau,’ she said hesitantly.
‘I don’t mind that under the circumstances.’
‘Am I OK to do some overtime to finish the report?’
‘Of course, Boony as well. You’ve both worked hard today in pretty shitty conditions.’ He wagged his index finger at her. ‘And no further investigation until Barnes gives you the go-ahead, understood?’
She realised it was pointless asking if she could speak to Father Floridia. She stood to attention and saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’ Then as she walked towards the door, she suddenly spun on her heel. ‘I just remembered something I forgot to mention earlier.’
‘God help me. What now?’
Jane told him about the jemmy marks on the rim of the coffin and why she and Boon suspected Barry the builder had opened it and stolen a crucifix from around the dead nun’s neck.
‘He must be a sick bastard to steal from a dead nun! Get a couple of the late-turn detectives to nick him and search his home address ASAP.’
‘I haven’t got a home address for him. He was leaving the site as we arrived. Me and Boony were going to nick him tomorrow morning.’
‘You’re meeting Barnes. Get Boony to do it with a couple of the lads and some backup. If Barry resists arrest, they’ve my authority to give the scumbag a good right-hander.’
Jane felt a bit miffed at not being able to take part in Barry’s arrest, but knew her meeting with DCS Barnes was more important, especially if she could persuade him to form a murder squad. She nodded and went back to the CID office.
‘How did it go with mispers?’ she asked Boon, who was sitting at his desk doing some paperwork.
‘Do you know they get about 25,000 misper reports a year. Nearly fifty per cent of them are under eighteen, with thirty per cent in the eighteen to thirty age range, of which females make up—’
‘Anyone matching our nun’s description?’ Jane interrupted, wanting him to get to the point.
‘The officer I spoke with said it will take a few days to trawl through the sixties females aged eighteen to thirty. He’d never heard of a nun being reported missing and he’s been working there for fifteen years.’
‘That’s an interesting point,’ Jane remarked.
‘What is?’
‘That he’s never heard of a nun being reported missing. If a nun did suddenly disappear from a convent it should have been reported, and would then in turn attract press attention.’
‘So, there might have been a previous investigation into her disappearance, years ago?’
‘It’s possible, if there were any suspicious circumstances, so we might get lucky with mispers.’
‘Not if it happened in the late 1800s or early 1900s. We can only go as far back as 1929 when the Missing Persons Bureau started. Plus, she may not even be from the convent,’ Boon replied.
‘Whatever the case we need to do all the necessary checks to try and find out who she is. When you were at the building site, did the manager mention what time they started work?’
Boon shook his head. ‘Not to me personally. Dermot asked if he should come in tomorrow and the manager said yes as there was a big brick and breeze block delivery. I think he suggested they start at seven thirty. Obviously Barry wasn’t there, so it’s unlikely he’ll turn up if he thinks the site is still shut down.’
‘The manager must have his home address, though.’ Jane worked out some timings in her head. ‘Right, I’ll meet you in the bottom lane by the site at seven. Get a couple of uniformed officers to come with you. Hopefully Barry doesn’t live far away. We should be able to search his premises in an hour or so.’
‘Why the rush?’ Boon asked.
‘I’ve got to be at DCS Barnes’s office in Orpington with my report by ten.’
‘I can deal with Barry if you want,’ he offered.
‘I know you could, but I’d like to be there and hear what he has to say for himself. You can make the arrest.’
‘Thanks, sarge. If Barry admits nicking the crucifix, you’ll have plenty of time to spare.’
‘Somehow, I don’t see him putting his hands up and saying, “Fair cop, guv.”’
‘Do you want any help with the report?’
‘No, thanks. You’ve done a good job today. Get off home and have an early night.’
‘Thanks, sarge. Sorry about the incident with the nun’s head.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she didn’t take offence.’
Jane sat at her desk, put a piece of paper in the typewriter and opened her notebook. She noticed Father Floridia’s name and phone number and remembered she had promised to call and update him about the coffin. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. Jane realised she knew very little about St Mary’s Convent, or the practices of the Catholic Church, and Father Chris’s knowledge could prove invaluable in trying to identify the nun. She went to Stanley’s office.
‘Sorry to bother you, guv. There’s quite a bit of distraction in the office and it’s hard to concentrate. Is it OK if I type up my report at home?’
‘I don’t care where you do it as long as it’s done by ten in the morning.’
‘Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning after my meeting with Barnes.’
‘You’ll be fine. Whatever happens, he knows he can’t brush a nun’s murder under the carpet. It’s just a question of manpower and the cost of investigating something which may never be solvable.’
‘I know,’ Jane said. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted like I did at the mortuary or here earlier.’
‘It’s all right. I get why you’re upset over the way you’ve been treated in the past. There’s many an officer who would have handed in their warrant card by now.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘It’s crossed my mind a few times.’
‘That’s the thing I most admire about you, Jane. You’re a fighter, not a quitter.’
‘It’s good to know you’re on my side.’
‘I always have been, Jane. I remember the first time I met you in the back of an observation van in the early seventies.’
She laughed. ‘So do I! You told me to keep watch and then went to sleep.’
He grinned. ‘Happy days. For what it’s worth, my advice is not to bottle things up and let them eat away at you. Listen to other people’s viewpoints, then speak your mind calmly and objectively.’
Jane knew he was right, though it seemed odd coming from Stanley. This wasn’t the scatterbrained man she’d worked with when he was a DC and DS. Promotion to DI seemed to have somehow made him a lot more thoughtful.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was a slight drizzle of rain falling as Jane knocked on the door of the old Victorian presbytery, tucked round the back of St Mary’s Church. The paint on the timber sash window ledges was peeling away and in need of repair, as was the slate roof which was missing a few tiles and covered in moss.
As she waited, Jane knew she should have asked Stanley’s permission to tell Father Chris about the murdered nun, and he probably would have told her to wait and see what Barn
es had to say. But as she’d told Father Chris she would update him after the coffin was opened, Jane felt it only right that she did it personally.
Thirty seconds passed and there was no answer. Jane wondered if he was out and knocked again a little louder. She was about to leave when the door opened a bit and Father Chris stuck his head round. Jane could see his hair was dripping wet.
He seemed surprised to see her. ‘Detective Tennison. Please excuse the state of me . . . I was just having a shower.’
‘No need to apologise, Father. I should have phoned ahead to let you know I was coming.’
‘Is it about the coffin?’
‘Yes, but I can call back tomorrow.’
‘No, please come in. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be right with you. The living room is first on the left,’ he said.
The door creaked open, allowing Jane to see Father Chris holding a thigh-length towel round his slim waist. He had broad shoulders with muscular arms and his calf muscles flexed as he briskly climbed the stairs two at a time. When he got to the top, he started to remove the towel and Jane smiled to herself as she glimpsed the cheeks of his backside.
The small living room was tidy, but sparsely furnished, with two shabby grey armchairs, a side cabinet, and an old oak writing desk with matching chair by the window. The green-painted plaster walls had numerous cracks and the carpet was threadbare in some places. The smoke from the log fire gave off a nice woody smell, reminding Jane of her family home when she was a child. She was surprised that the only religious objects in the room were a wooden crucifix above the fireplace and a large bible on the writing desk.
She also noticed there was no television. A transistor radio was on the side cabinet, alongside some framed photographs, which Jane presumed were of Father Chris’s parents. She noticed a picture of him suspended in mid-air, in a hitch kick position, about to land in a long-jump pit. He looked to be in his early twenties, and she could see a large, terraced stadium in the background, filled with spectators.
‘Would you like a coffee or tea?’ he asked as he entered the room wearing a grey tracksuit and flip-flops.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I see from the photograph you were a long jumper.’
‘That was actually the last competition I jumped in.’
‘Where was it?’
‘Meadowbank Stadium, 1970. I represented Malta.’
The place and year rang a bell with Jane. ‘You were in the Edinburgh Commonwealth Games?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t win a medal. In fact, I was second to last.’
‘It’s still a fantastic achievement to have represented your country in such a prestigious event. Your family must have been very proud of you,’ Jane said.
‘My parents were there. The whole thing was an experience I’ll never forget.’
‘How old were you then?’
‘Twenty-one. I became a priest shortly after, so that was the end of my long-jumping career.’
‘You obviously still keep yourself fit,’ she said, recalling the site of his semi-naked body.
‘I try to run three or four times a week or go to the Walnuts Leisure Centre.’
‘Where’s that?’ she asked.
‘Just near Orpington police station. There’s a 33-metre swimming pool and gym.’
‘I’ve only recently moved to Chislehurst and haven’t been to Orpington yet. I’ll have to check it out sometime as I like to try and keep fit.’
He removed the fireguard and put some more logs on the fire. ‘Let me take your coat.’
Jane removed her coat and handed it to him.
‘Please, take a seat,’ he said, then hung her coat in the hallway. He sat down in the other armchair. ‘What was the outcome with the coffin?’
‘There was a female body inside dressed in nun’s clothing.’
‘That’s sad. Do you know her name?’
‘At the moment we have no idea who she is or when she died. Does the diocese keep records of all the nuns who lived and worked at the convent?’
‘I’m not certain, but I would think so. I had to give them my details and next of kin should anything happen to me. I suspect the convent would have kept their own records as well. They would have been passed on to the diocesan archives when the convent closed.’
‘Where are the archives kept?’
‘Archbishop’s House in Southwark. I’m sure the diocese will arrange for her to be reburied in a cemetery.’
‘I was wondering if you’d informed the bishop about the coffin?’
‘No. I was waiting to hear back from you first. I’ll call him now.’ He walked towards the phone on the writing desk.
‘This may sound odd,’ Jane said, ‘but I’d be grateful if you didn’t just now.’
He turned back to her with a puzzled look. ‘Why?’
Jane realised she’d dug a bit of a hole for herself. ‘I shouldn’t really be here discussing the investigation. My senior officers won’t be very pleased with me if they find out.’
He frowned. ‘And I’m afraid Bishop Meade will be angry with me if he finds out I didn’t tell him.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you tomorrow. Look, I’d better go . . .’
‘This is putting me in an awkward position as well,’ he said. ‘Is there more to the nun’s death than you’re telling me?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t say at the moment,’ Jane said.
‘Trust works both ways, detective,’ he said with a meaningful look.
Jane sighed, but felt she had no other option than to trust him. ‘The post-mortem revealed she was murdered.’
‘Murdered? Bloody hell! How was she killed?’ he asked, clearly stunned. ‘I’m sorry, I apologise for swearing.’
‘Tragically, she must have suffered a slow, agonising death,’ Jane said before telling him about the examination of the coffin and the post-mortem findings.
Using his right hand, Father Chris traced the sign of the cross.
‘In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sanсti. Amen.’ He held his hands together, eyes closed in silent prayer for a few seconds before looking up at Jane with a sorrowful expression. ‘It saddens me when I hear what human beings are capable of doing to each other.’
Jane was moved by his words. ‘If whoever killed her is still alive, I’m determined to find them.’
‘I hope you do.’
‘We also think a builder on the site forced open the coffin and stole a crucifix from the nun’s neck. The outline of a cross and chain was on her clothing.’
He shook his head in disgust. ‘That’s sickening. But you do realise a crucifix and a cross are not necessarily the same thing.’
‘Really?’
‘A crucifix is a cross with Jesus depicted or engraved on it. A cross is just a plain cross, though a nun’s cross often has the Sacred Heart of Jesus engraved on it.’
‘Is it the same as a normal heart shape?’
‘Pretty much. The symbol represents Jesus’ love for all humanity. It can be depicted in different ways. The most common is a heart with a circle of thorns, which represents the crown of thorns placed on Jesus’ head. There may also be a cross on top of the heart, which represents the crucifixion.’
Jane nodded. ‘That’s useful to know when we search the builder’s premises.’
‘I spoke with my housekeeper after you left this morning,’ Father Chris said. ‘I didn’t mention the unearthed coffin but asked her about the convent. She said it was an orphanage with about twenty or thirty children living there. Apparently, there was a fire and the convent closed, but she couldn’t remember exactly when.’
‘The building site manager mentioned there was a school which burned down before the convent closed. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning with my detective chief superintendent. I don’t know what course of action he will take – or if I’ll still be involved in the investigation. He may even contact the bishop himself. So I’d be grateful if you could keep this conversation
between the two of us.’
‘Of course. The last thing I want to do is get you into trouble. I appreciate your honesty, and I’m still happy to help in any way I can.’
Jane gave him a relieved smile. ‘I could do with your help to identify the nun.’
He nodded. ‘Will you call me after you’ve spoken with your chief superintendent?’
‘Yes. I’ll only tell him about your offer of assistance. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it as well.’
‘Thank you for confiding in me. Is there anything you need from me just now?’
‘There’s a million questions I’d like to ask you about nuns and the Catholic Church, but they can wait until tomorrow.’ She looked at her watch. It was half past seven. ‘I’d best get off home. I’ve a lengthy report to type up.’
‘Have you had supper yet?’ he asked.
His question surprised her. ‘I was going to get a takeaway on the way home, actually.’
‘I’ve some soppa tal-armla simmering on the stove. It should be just about ready and there’s plenty for two.’
She was in two minds. Staying a little longer would give her the opportunity to discuss the case a bit more, but it would also mean a late night typing her report. She didn’t want to appear rude by declining his offer, although she didn’t have a clue what he was cooking.
‘I don’t want to put you to any bother,’ she said in the end.
‘It’s no bother at all. I’ve a small table in the kitchen where we can eat. Please, after you,’ he said, ushering her through the living-room door before him.
The small kitchen was antiquated, with Thirties-style green cupboards, a stone floor and an old gas stove, which reminded Jane of the one her grandmother had. A Raleigh drop-handle racing bike was resting upside down against the kitchen table, with one wheel on the floor next to it.
‘Excuse the bike. I got a puncture this afternoon. I need to repair it so I can get out and about tomorrow.’ He opened the back door and put the bike and wheel outside.
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘My vows of poverty mean I can’t have one. The bike keeps me fit; though I must admit I dislike riding in the rain.’
A pot was simmering on the stove, giving off a mouth-watering aroma which instantly made Jane feel hungry.
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