Unholy Murder

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘OK. Wait and see if the diocesan archive search gives you a name, then do it.’

  ‘Whatever the outcome, I think Father Floridia’s assistance might still be useful. The convent is a stone’s throw from his church. Some of his parishioners have probably lived in the area for years and might have known some of the nuns. We might need to speak to them at some point, so Father Floridia would be a good means of introduction.’

  Stanley snorted. ‘He’s already turned his nose up once . . . don’t be surprised if he does it again.’

  Jane wasn’t going to be put off. ‘I’ll let him calm down over the weekend and contact him on Monday or Tuesday.’

  ‘Fine. Do your report then head off home and get some rest over the weekend. I suspect you’ll be pretty busy next week. Well done today. Keep up the good work.’

  *

  Jane left Stanley’s office, then phoned the forensic laboratory and got put through to DS Johnson.

  ‘Hi, Jane, what can I do for you?’ Lloyd asked.

  She told him about the nun’s cross, the relevance of the date and initials on it and her conversation with Bishop Meade.

  ‘How’s the work on the fibres you recovered going?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I don’t think the fibre expert has had a chance to start on them yet. Give me a second and I’ll go and ask her.’

  ‘It’s OK, there’s no rush. Could you ask her to check the fibres from the nun against the rope she was wearing around her waist?’

  ‘You think she was strangled with her own rope.’

  ‘No, but I saw a priest today at Archbishop’s House who was wearing one that looked exactly the same.’

  ‘Bloody hell – you think a bloody priest did it?’

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  ‘Start what?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve got the weekend off. Do you fancy having that drink and a catch-up on Saturday evening?’

  ‘I’d love to, Jane, but I’ve already made arrangements for Saturday night.’

  ‘Oh, right. Maybe some other time then?’ she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  ‘Definitely. Your choice where we go. I’m paying and no arguments. I’ll speak with the fibre expert right away, then get back to you with a result – probably Monday as the lab shuts at the weekend.’

  Jane thanked him, then called Sam Pullen.

  ‘Hi, Sam, it’s Jane. I’m not working Sunday, so are you still up for a lunchtime meet?’

  ‘Of course. Do you still want to meet at London Bridge?’

  ‘I don’t mind . . . whatever’s easiest for you.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Chislehurst.’

  ‘Bloody hell, we’re nearly neighbours. I live in Mottingham. Tell you what, let’s meet at The Bull’s Head.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  Sam laughed. ‘On your doorstep. Do you get out much?’

  ‘I only moved here a few weeks ago. I don’t know the area at all.’

  ‘Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at midday.’

  Jane put the phone down and had started typing her report when DC Boon walked in, holding five large maps and a bulging folder.

  ‘Looks like you’ve been a busy boy at the Civic Centre,’ Jane remarked.

  ‘I felt a right prat walking up the road carrying all this stuff. I could hardly see where I was going, then nearly got run over by an old boy on a mobility scooter.’

  Boon dropped the maps and folder on his desk.

  ‘So what have you got for me?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Everything you asked for . . . except the stuff on the kids,’ he said, pulling his chair over to Jane’s desk. Taking his notebook from his jacket pocket, he opened it and sat down. ‘The council don’t keep records of children who lived at the convent orphanage. However, they said many Catholic children’s homes are organised by the Catholic Children’s Society, who should hold records of the homes they operated. The local one is based in Westminster. If we don’t have any luck with them, they suggested checking with the diocesan archives in Southwark. Talking of which, how did it go with the bishop?’

  ‘Pretty well. Fingers crossed we should have a name by Monday or Tuesday. I see you got some plans.’

  ‘Yes, they printed them on a big copier they had. There are drawings of the old convent, the renovations from the sixties, and the plans for the current development. The folder’s full of paperwork relating to the development applications and approvals.’

  ‘Is any of the ground consecrated?’ she asked.

  ‘They didn’t know the answer to that question but did say if it were, a priest or bishop would have to deconsecrate it before any building work could start. Again, they said to check the diocesan archives. I got the impression they couldn’t be bothered to look through all the documents, but they said the answer should be in there somewhere.’

  ‘Judging by the size of the file, there’s a lot to look through,’ Jane said.

  ‘I can start now if you like,’ Boon suggested, getting up from his chair.

  ‘It’s OK. You’ve been on duty since six so why don’t you head off home?’

  ‘I’m on a bit of a high, to be honest,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel tired. Shall I start on the plans or the paperwork?’

  ‘Whatever suits you,’ Jane said, with a smile.

  ‘Documents it is then . . . or should I do a report on the Barry May arrest and my visit to the planning office first?’

  ‘Do the report. DCS Barnes will no doubt want to read it on Monday. I’ll take the plans home with me and have a look at them over the weekend,’ Jane told him.

  *

  By seven the office was empty apart from Jane and Boon. She’d finished her report and looked up to see how he was doing. She tried not to laugh, watching his head fall forward and jolt up again as he struggled to concentrate and stay awake whilst typing his report with two fingers.

  ‘You nearly finished, Boony?’ she asked in a loud voice.

  He quickly sat upright. ‘Nearly, sarge. I’m on the last paragraph.’

  Jane went to the store cupboard in the corner of the room and removed a large exhibits bag. She picked up the plans from Boon’s desk and put them in the bag.

  ‘Do you want me to look at the building documents over the weekend?’ Boon asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it,’ she said, picking up the folder and putting it in the exhibits bag.

  ‘I know what to look for,’ he said, sounding offended.

  ‘I’ve not got anything planned for the weekend so I’ve plenty of time to spare. No doubt you’ll be playing football for the Met.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a game against Essex police tomorrow. Inter-police games are always bloodbaths.’

  ‘Don’t get yourself injured. I need you on my team, fit and healthy.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he grinned. ‘Do you reckon Barnes will form a full murder squad?’

  ‘I think he’ll have to. So far, everything points to our victim being murdered between 1958 and 1965, when the convent was sold. That time span means whoever killed her could still be alive.’

  ‘I hope Barnes puts me on the squad.’

  ‘I’m sure he will. He’s already let you continue working on the investigation with me. Your knowledge of the case works in your favour. It’s also useful to anyone else who comes on the team. Have a good weekend and I hope you win the game. Be here at eight on Monday morning and we’ll go over everything before the meeting with Barnes. Then you can head off to the magistrates’ court for May’s first appearance.’

  *

  Driving home, Jane felt her stomach rumbling. She stopped at the fish and chip shop in Chislehurst High Street and ordered cod and chips, then nipped to the nearby off-licence. Looking in the refrigerated section, she noticed a bottle of Blue Nun Liebfraumilch. ‘Must be a sign from God,’ she said to herself as she picked it up, along with a
bottle of white wine for her neighbour, Gerry.

  After parking on her driveway, she popped round to Gerry’s to give him the wine.

  ‘Hello, Jane, has the light bulb blown again?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s working fine. I bought this as a thank you. I hope you like Chardonnay,’ she said, handing him the bottle.

  ‘It’s mine and Vi’s favourite. Thank you so much. Why don’t you come in and have a glass with us?’

  ‘I’ve just bought some fish and chips and I don’t want them to get cold, but I’d love to another time.’

  He smiled. ‘I look forward to it. And don’t forget I’m here if you need me.’

  ‘Actually, as it happens, the cold water tap in my kitchen sink is dripping all the time . . .’

  ‘I’ll get my toolkit,’ he said instantly.

  ‘No. It’s OK, tomorrow will be fine. I’m not working, so morning or afternoon would be great.’

  ‘I’ll pop round after I’ve taken Spud for his morning walk. Goodnight.’

  What a lovely man, she decided as she walked to her door.

  *

  Jane thought the fish and chips were pretty good and the Blue Nun wasn’t too bad, either, if a bit sweet for her liking.

  She washed and changed into her pyjamas, before pouring herself another glass of wine, then fetched the exhibits bag containing the plan drawings and documents file from the hallway. She didn’t feel like reading through the documents, so randomly pulled a plan out of the bag, unrolled it, and laid it out on the living-room floor. It was a copy of the original plans for the redevelopment of the convent buildings, dated August 1964. Looking at the plan, Jane remembered she’d promised Nick Durham she’d call him after her meeting with the bishop. She looked at the wall clock. It was nearly nine and she wondered if he’d be out on the town on a Friday evening, unlike herself. Removing his business card from her coat pocket, she dialled the home number.

  He picked up after two rings. ‘Nick Durham speaking.’

  ‘Mr Durham, it’s Detective Sergeant Tennison. Sorry it’s late, but I thought I should call and update you.’

  ‘Is it good news or bad news?’

  ‘A bit of both,’ she said. ‘My DI said it’s OK to knock down the burnt-out buildings but don’t do any digging there.’

  ‘Thanks, that’ll keep the lads on the site busy for now. What did the bishop say?’

  ‘He couldn’t give me a definitive answer regarding any consecrated ground on the land. But he did say the diocesan archives would keep a record. He hopes to have an answer for me by Tuesday at the latest.’

  ‘I spoke with my dad again after you left. He’s adamant his solicitor told him the land and buildings were deconsecrated before the sale of the convent. He was also told there were no grave sites on the land.’

  ‘If he’s right, the diocesan archives should confirm it and you can start work again.’

  ‘I hope it’s right, or my dad might have to move in with me,’ he laughed.

  ‘Your dad lives there?’

  ‘Yes, in the old chapel.’

  It suddenly dawned on her why she’d thought Nick Durham looked so familiar. His father had to be the man with Bella, the Golden Retriever, who went into the old chapel and returned with an umbrella.

  ‘Hello? Sergeant Tennison? Are you still there?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Yes. Sorry, I got distracted,’ she replied, wondering why Nick’s father had never mentioned he was the original developer who had bought the convent and its land. ‘I’ve got to go, Mr Durham, I have some paperwork I need to finish tonight. I’ll ring you as soon as I get a definitive answer from the bishop.’

  ‘Well, thanks for calling . . . oh, before you go, I spoke with our electrician about your wiring. He said he could have a look at it next Saturday.’

  ‘That would be great, thank you.’ She tried to sound pleased, but her head was full of unanswered questions about Thomas Durham’s behaviour.

  ‘There is one other thing . . .’

  ‘I’ve really got to go, Mr Durham.’

  ‘Will you . . . have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ he asked.

  Jane hesitated. She knew it wouldn’t really be proper.

  ‘Please say yes. If you don’t, I’ll feel totally rejected and might have to hang myself,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I can’t resist your charm anymore. I’ll ring you in the morning for the details.’

  ‘I’ll book a table for two at the Fantail in Farnborough Village. I think you’ll like it,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure I will. Speak to you tomorrow.’ She put the phone down, feeling slightly guilty.

  Although she liked Nick Durham, she’d only accepted his dinner invitation to learn more about his father, who she strongly suspected was hiding something. She sat at the dining-room table, opened her notebook, and thought hard about the two occasions she had met Thomas Durham, then started to make some notes.

  When Boon had said a coffin had been ‘dug up’, Thomas Durham had looked concerned, and yet never mentioned that he’d renovated the convent or his son’s involvement in the current development. It was also odd he’d not contacted his son immediately about the coffin or told him he already knew about it when Nick had called him on Thursday evening.

  Jane remembered Thomas Durham looking angry when she saw him coming out of the site office in the morning. He’d clearly had an altercation with Lee Holland, who she now knew had lied to her when he’d said he didn’t know him. So what were Holland and Durham so worried about that they had to lie? Could Father Chris be right about someone outside of the Church being involved in the murder?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jane was woken by the sound of someone knocking on her door. She looked at the alarm clock. It was eight o’clock.

  ‘Hang on, I’m just coming,’ she shouted as she got out of bed and put on her dressing gown, before hurrying downstairs to open the door.

  ‘Morning, Jane,’ Gerry said, holding up his toolbox in one hand and an adjustable spanner in the other. ‘Oh, sorry, have I woken you up? I can come back later.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I was already awake. Please, come in,’ she said.

  He looked at the tap. ‘Oh dear, it’s dripping quite badly.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on. What would you like?’ Jane said.

  ‘Cup of tea’s fine. Best you fill the kettle up first as I’ll have to turn the water off at the stopcock. It’s usually under the sink.’ Gerry squatted down while Jane filled the kettle.

  ‘It’s a bit stiff. I’ll give it a squirt of WD40 to loosen it for you.’

  Jane made two cups of tea, gave Gerry his and watched as he removed the tap handle and stem.

  ‘As I thought, the washer’s had it.’

  ‘There’s a hardware shop in the high street. Shall I pop down there and get a new one?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I’ve got plenty in my toolbox,’ Gerry said, removing a plastic bag filled with different-sized washers.

  It took him a couple of minutes to replace the washer and refit the tap. He turned on the mains supply, let some water run through the tap, then turned it off and stood back.

  ‘There you go, Jane. Job done,’ Gerry said looking pleased.

  ‘You’re a star, Gerry. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I like fixing things, and washers are two-a-penny.’

  ‘I’ll get you another bottle of wine then.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t need to do that,’ he said with a smile. ‘Anything nice planned for your day off?’

  ‘I’m out for dinner this evening,’ Jane told him. ‘But I need to pop into work this morning to sort a couple of things out.’

  ‘Going anywhere nice for dinner?

  ‘A restaurant called the Fantail in Farnborough Village. I’ve not been there before.’

  Gerry looked impressed. ‘A special occasion?’

  ‘Not really. Someone I met through work invited m
e,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, he must think a lot of you if he’s taking you there. I’ve heard it’s very fancy.’ Jane now felt even more uncomfortable about accepting Nick Durham’s invitation. She wondered if she should cancel it, and instead speak with DCS Barnes and Stanley on Monday and ask for permission to officially interview Thomas Durham and Lee Holland.

  *

  Arriving at Bromley, Jane went straight to the custody room and spoke with the uniformed sergeant.

  ‘There’s a couple of things I need to ask Barry May. Can I have a quick word with him in his cell?’

  ‘If it’s related to the offences with which he’s charged, it needs to be an official interview under caution,’ he told her.

  ‘It’s not. It’s an off-the-record chat about some of the people he works with.’

  He handed her the cell keys. ‘That’s good enough for me. You might not get much out of him, though. He’s not been very happy since DI Stanley and Boony had a polite word in his ear about using his wife as a punch bag. All I got when I offered him breakfast was “Fuck off and leave me alone.” You want an officer with you in case he kicks off?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’

  Jane slid the cell wicket open and looked in. Barry’s lip curled when he saw her.

  ‘Barry, I need to have a word with you.’

  ‘I’ve already admitted what I done, so just leave me alone.’

  ‘It’s not about anything you’ve done.’

  ‘You deaf or something. I don’t want to speak to you!’

  ‘It would be in your interest to help me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If the answers you give me are helpful, I’ll tell the judge dealing with your case that you made a full and frank confession and assisted my inquiries. A good word from me could mean a suspended sentence as opposed to a custodial one.’

  Barry thought about it. ‘All right. What do you wanna know?’

  Jane opened the cell door and went in. ‘Is Thomas Durham involved in the current redevelopment at the old convent?’

  ‘He’s retired, but he still pokes his nose in on the site and moans if we ain’t doing things right.’

  ‘Does that upset Lee Holland?’

  ‘Nah. Thomas and Lee go way back. They’re old mates. It’s me and Dermot he moans at.’