Unholy Murder

by Lynda La Plante

  Nick showed her round the rest of the house and the more she saw the more she fell in love with it.

  ‘Did you design this as well?’

  ‘I’d like to say yes, but I’d be lying. The layout was the original architect’s idea, but I redesigned the interior about six years ago.’

  ‘How do you come up with such wonderful and creative ideas?

  He shrugged. ‘I like to think big and bold. It’s always been about a sense of scale for me. There’s no particular “Nick Durham” look. Every house and interior design is different and individual to the client paying for it. Satisfying them is what it’s all about, regardless of what it takes. If you care about your dream enough, you’ll find a solution.’

  ‘Well, this would certainly be my dream home,’ she said. She noticed the painting of an attractive, smiling, blonde woman in her late fifties above the fireplace. ‘Is that your mother?’

  He nodded. ‘I had a painter do it from one of the last photographs of her.’

  ‘She’s beautiful. And you have her blue eyes.’

  He looked away. ‘Would you like to see the cellar?’

  Jane nodded. She could tell he still found it difficult to talk about the loss of his mother.

  ‘Be careful on the spiral stairs. The stonework can get quite slippy this time of year, so use the rope rail,’ he said, flicking on the light switch.

  As she stepped carefully down into to the dank stone chamber, Jane was glad she’d worn her brown knee-length winter boots, as the rubber soles had a good grip on them. Nick was wearing soft leather-soled shoes and would have gone flying halfway down if he hadn’t grabbed the handrail.

  ‘It’s a lot bigger down here than I imagined,’ Jane said.

  He nodded. ‘There are some old empty stone crypts right at the back. My dad told me they used to use it as a cool storage place for nuns’ bodies before their funeral.’

  Jane realised it was likely empty coffins had also been stored in the cellar. She felt a cold shiver run through her body as she wondered if this could be the very place the nun had been murdered. She suddenly felt something touching her backside and let out a yelp. She saw Nick smile and was about to give him a mouthful when she saw the dog.

  ‘Naughty girl, Bella. You mustn’t jump on Jane like that,’ Nick said as he bent down and stroked the dog.

  ‘Everything all right down there?’ a voice shouted from the stairwell.

  ‘Yeah. It’s just me, Dad.’

  ‘You had me worried there, son . . . anyone’d think you’d just seen a bloody ghost,’ Thomas Durham said, descending the stairs.

  Nick winced as he looked at Jane and whispered, ‘Sorry, sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks.’

  Jane’s heart was still racing, but she could see the funny side. ‘That really scared the crap out of me,’ she whispered back as she saw Thomas approach.

  ‘I believe you two have already met,’ Nick said.

  Thomas nodded. ‘Detective Sergeant Tennison, as I recall.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you . . . again.’ Jane smiled and they shook hands.

  ‘So, what brings you to my house?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s not here in a formal capacity, Dad. We went for dinner last night and I offered to show Jane around the chapel.’

  ‘It’s beautiful house, Mr Durham,’ Jane said.

  ‘Please call me Thomas or Tom. Yes, it’s my own bit of heaven . . . thanks to Nick’s interior design talents. It was a bit drab before he got to work on it.’

  Nick told his father about the 1851 plans of the convent and the markings of what he thought might be a tunnel from the cellar to the outbuildings.

  Thomas looked thoughtful. ‘Although we refer to it as a cellar now, most of what you see down here was in fact a crypt.’ He walked towards the wine storage area. ‘This end of the tunnel was already blocked off when I bought the convent.’ He turned on a light switch.

  Jane could see the red brick wall at the end of the six-foot-long wine cellar.

  ‘This area was already a wine cellar,’ Thomas continued. ‘The racks are the original ones, and the bottles at the far end were already down here. Whether they were used for communion or the nuns’ personal consumption, I don’t know. I did try one once, but it tasted like vinegar. I’ve kept them as a reminder of the past.’

  ‘I see you still haven’t bothered to get this wall repaired,’ Nick said. He looked at Jane. ‘Whoever originally built this was a crap bricklayer. It’s uneven and the cement mix is so poor it’s crumbling away.’ Nick rubbed his hand against the bricks, then tapped with his knuckle, causing some of the cement to crumble onto the floor. ‘You need to get this looked at, Dad, before it falls down.’

  ‘I know, son. I’ll get one of the brickies on the site to have a look at it.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘You’ve said that before. I’ll speak to Lee tomorrow and ask him to have a look; that way, I know it will get done.’

  Thomas frowned. ‘I’m not totally incapable. I’ll speak to him myself, thank you,’ he snapped.

  Jane wasn’t sure if he was agitated because Nick had mentioned Lee’s name in front of her, or if this was the normal way they talked to each other.

  ‘It’s quite a spooky place,’ Jane said. ‘Nick mentioned the bodies of the dead nuns were kept down here,’ she added, to see what Thomas might add.

  ‘Apparently so,’ he said. ‘I was told they would hold an all-night prayer vigil down here for the departed on the evening before the funeral. I’m glad to say there were no bodies or coffins left behind when I bought the place.’

  ‘Some of his friends think it might be haunted,’ Nick grinned.

  Thomas laughed. ‘The only ghostly occurrence down here has been the disappearance of some of my more expensive wines, which bizarrely occurs whenever Nick visits me,’ he said.

  ‘I get the blame for everything, Jane . . . even the ghosts,’ Nick replied with a smile. He turned to his father. ‘The tunnel on the map appeared to extend to the burnt-out buildings.’ Jane was relieved he’d brought it up, so she didn’t have to.

  Thomas nodded. ‘It did, son, but our survey at the time revealed the fire caused the collapse of the tunnel under the outbuildings. That’s why the current build is well away from the old buildings, which will be turned into a garden and a car park.’

  If that was true, Jane realised, then if the nun’s body had been moved using the tunnel, it must have been before the fire, so it must have been done by someone connected with the convent.

  ‘Do you like red wine and cheese, Jane?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He picked a bottle from the rack and held it out. ‘Would you like to try a ’61 Médoc with some camembert and English cheddar?’

  ‘Thank you, that would be lovely,’ she replied, sensing he was trying to impress her.

  They walked up the stairs to the kitchen, and Thomas opened the wine, sniffed it, then poured it into a glass decanter and left it to breathe. He then prepared the cheese and cut some slices of freshly baked brown bread. ‘I made this myself,’ he said proudly. He presented the bread and cheese on a large wooden board with a slicer, and handed out side plates, side knives and napkins. Placing three crystal wine glasses on the kitchen breakfast bar, Thomas poured the wine.

  ‘The Médoc is arguably the most famous red wine district in the world, home to many of the greatest and most renowned names of Bordeaux. Please follow my lead, Jane.’ He picked up his glass by the stem and gently swirled the wine, before sniffing it.

  Nick sighed. ‘I must have seen and heard this a thousand times.’

  Jane whacked him on the arm. ‘Don’t be so rude to your father,’ she said.

  Thomas smiled and continued. ‘With few exceptions, the region produces only red wine, and no white wine has the right to be called Médoc.’ He took a sip, let it linger on his palate, then swallowed. ‘Nectar of the gods,’ he beamed.

  Jane raised
her glass. ‘Cheers.’

  Jane thought the cheese went well with the wine and the homemade bread was delightful. Thomas asked her about the site and when they’d be able to reopen. Jane repeated everything she’d told Nick. ‘The site might be able to open again within the next few days, but the final decision is up to my DCS.’

  Thomas frowned. ‘I understand the decision to reopen the site is not yours to make. However, when I purchased the old convent, I had my solicitors go over everything with a fine-tooth comb. They reassured me the buildings and land had been deconsecrated.’

  Jane wondered if he was telling the truth. ‘Can you remember who carried out the deconsecration?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was told it took place after the nuns moved out and before the convent was put up for sale, which was nearly two years before I actually bought it.’

  ‘Did the diocese oversee the sale?’

  ‘Yes, a bishop and their solicitors did.’

  ‘Can you recall who it was? I may need to speak to him.’ She doubted it was Bishop Meade, as he would probably have been a lowly priest sixteen years ago.

  He shrugged. ‘I can’t remember his name now. Their legal department consulted with my solicitors. But the original documents should be stored at our office.’

  ‘I had a quick look but couldn’t find them,’ Nick said, then looked at Jane. ‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have thrown them away,’ Thomas said, testily. ‘I suppose my previous secretary might have had a clear-out when we moved to our current office a few years ago.’

  Jane thought he looked agitated. ‘It’s OK. I got a copy of the planning documents from the Bromley planning department. I’ve yet to read through them all but I’m sure the answers will be in there.’

  When they’d finished eating, Nick cleared the table and put the dishes and cutlery in the dishwasher.

  ‘Please excuse me, Jane, but it’s time for my afternoon nap. You are welcome to stay and have a look around.’

  ‘Nick has already given me the tour. Thank you for your hospitality.’

  ‘We’ll be off now, Dad,’ Nick said. ‘I know how much you need your beauty sleep.’

  ‘See what I have to put up with, Jane? He’s always been a cheeky so-and-so. If his mother were still here, she’d put him in his place.’

  ‘Good to see you, Dad,’ Nick said, giving him a hug.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you again, Thomas,’ Jane said.

  He shook her hand. ‘You keep him in his place, Jane – and make sure he takes you to the Ivy next time.’

  Thomas followed them out to Nick’s car and waved them goodbye. When they were out of sight he returned to the chapel and immediately picked up the phone. It connected after three rings.

  ‘Lee Holland speaking.’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this. Nick is dating that Tennison policewoman.’

  ‘What, the one who’s dealing with the coffin?’ Lee asked.

  ‘Yes, that one!’ Thomas barked.

  ‘Jesus Christ, what are we going to do, Tom? We could go to prison if she finds out what happened.’

  ‘I know that! If she interviews Archbishop Malone it could open up a whole can of worms and ruin us and the company. If you’d have done what I told you years ago with that bloody coffin we wouldn’t be in this mess now!’

  *

  On the journey back to Chislehurst, Nick invited Jane to stay the night.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got a meeting with one of my DCs at eight, then one with my DI and DCS. I’ve also got to look through those bloody planning documents and type up my notes for the meetings.’

  ‘I can help you with the planning documents.’

  She smiled. ‘There’s no way we’d get any work done sitting in the same room together.’

  ‘I promise I’ll behave,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘OK,’ he sighed, ‘I give in. Can I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course. I should be finished by five.’

  ‘I’ll do some design drawings tomorrow to give you some idea of what you could do downstairs, then bring them round in the evening.’

  ‘I’ll cook a meal for us then. But I have to warn you, I’m no Delia Smith.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said with a grin. ‘I see you more as the Fanny Cradock type, anyway.’

  ‘In that case you can be Johnnie, and I’ll boss you around,’ Jane quickly retorted, making Nick laugh.

  ‘Do you like soup?’ she asked, deciding she’d have a go at Father Chris’s widow’s soup recipe.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.’

  Nick followed Jane into the house to get his drawing book. They kissed briefly and he walked back to his car. Standing at the front door, Jane saw Gerry walking around Nick’s Jaguar and looking inside. She watched as the two men had a brief conversation and then Gerry got in the passenger seat.

  Nick waved. ‘I’m going to take your neighbour for a quick spin. See you tomorrow.’

  Jane waved back as they drove off. After spending time in Nick’s company and then making love with him, everything felt natural and easy between them. She knew she had strong feelings for him, which he had reciprocated. ‘Could he finally be Mr Right?’ she asked herself.

  Jane put her house keys in the bowl next to the hallway telephone, then noticed the notepad with Jack the mortuary technician’s phone number on it. She was in two minds about calling Jack but decided it might be better to do it now, as he would probably be busy on Monday morning. She dialled the number and he answered.

  ‘Hi, Jack. It’s DS Tennison here. I was told you wanted to speak to me about another priest visiting the nun.’

  ‘Oh yes, thanks for calling me back, sergeant. It may be something and nothing, but it was quite distressing at the time, so I thought I should let you know about it. Anyway, yesterday morning I was doing a suicide post-mortem with Professor Martin. Poor chap jumped off his balcony on the tenth floor of a tower block. He was quite a mess, I can tell you—’

  Jane interrupted, sensing it was going to be a long-winded account. ‘DC Lyons mentioned the bishop had sent another priest down to say a prayer for the nun. In fairness, the bishop didn’t know Father Floridia had already done it, so there’s actually nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I wasn’t worried, sergeant. But I thought the priest’s behaviour was a bit bizarre when he was alone with the nun’s body in the chapel of rest. It was very different to the way Father Floridia behaved.’

  ‘I guess they all have different ways of praying,’ Jane said, losing interest.

  ‘I’ve seen many priests and vicars say a prayer for the dead at the mortuary,’ Jack continued, ‘but this was the first time I saw one get down on his knees and cry.’

  Jane was suddenly interested again, and wanted more detail. ‘And you actually witnessed this?’

  ‘He didn’t know I was watching. I forgot to close the curtain on the door window. The priest had his back to me.’

  Jane picked up the pen and notepad from the phone table. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘What, from the moment he came in . . . or just what he did in the chapel?’

  ‘From the start would be good, but go slowly. I need to write it all down.’

  Jack said that he was in the mortuary when he heard the door buzzer. He asked who it was over the intercom and a man said he was a priest, who’d been sent by the diocesan bishop to view the body of the nun found on a building site.

  ‘I went to the door and saw a man dressed like Father Floridia, but with a purple shirt.’

  ‘Did he say his name?’

  ‘No. I had no reason to doubt he was a priest and didn’t ask. He sat in the waiting room while I prepared the body. When I returned, he asked if I knew how she’d died. I told him I didn’t, and her death was still under investiga
tion. He also asked if he could see the coffin as he’d need to arrange for a similar one to be provided for her reburial.’

  ‘Did you show it to him?’

  ‘Yes. Shouldn’t I have done?’

  ‘How did he react when he saw it?’

  ‘He didn’t say anything, but he looked shocked, then I took him to the chapel of rest to pray for her.’

  ‘Tell me exactly what he did, Jack.’

  ‘He stood by her, laid his hand on her chest, then shook his head from side to side. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and put his head in his hands. It seemed to me he was in a very distressed state. I felt a bit awkward watching him, so I moved away and waited for him to come out, which was about three or four minutes later.’

  ‘So, you never actually saw him crying?’

  ‘It was pretty clear he had been from the state of his eyes. He asked me where the toilet was. I showed him and when he came out, he’d obviously washed his face and composed himself.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘No. He just left the building and got in a car.’

  ‘What sort of car was it?’

  ‘It was a black Ford Granada. Someone else was driving and he got in the back.’

  Jane could understand Bishop Meade sending someone to the mortuary, but clearly what Jack had witnessed was most odd. Then something very worrying struck her, and she knew the questions she asked Jack mustn’t be leading ones.

  ‘Did the priest wear any jewellery?’ Jane asked.

  ‘He had a large gold cross hanging from his neck.’

  ‘Anything on his hands?’

  Jack thought about it. ‘Yes, he wore a gold ring with a large round purple stone.’

  Jane felt her pulse quickening. ‘Can you remember which hand and which finger it was on?’

  ‘His right hand, but not which finger. Sorry.’

  ‘Take your time and describe the man to me, please.’

  ‘He was about five feet six, in his fifties, with a round face, black hair and slightly balding.’ He paused. ‘Can I ask why you need to know all these details?’

  ‘I can’t tell you at the moment, Jack. I’m really grateful for everything you’ve told me, and I’d ask that you keep it between us for now.’