Unholy Murder

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Would you mind writing down the names of everyone in the photograph you can remember?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Julie went and got a notepad and set to work.

  ‘Do you have any more photos like this?’ Boon asked.

  Julie shook her head. ‘We had a convent group photograph taken every summer. Mother Superior hung them in the “off limits” playroom. When we knew we had to leave the convent, I got the job of packing up the stuff that was in there. I took this as a memento of me and Missy and the year we took our final vows.’

  Jane realised Meade looked a lot different now and doubted she’d have recognised him without Julie pointing him out. She saw the photograph had ‘Sisters of Mercy Convent 1958’ printed on the bottom and turned it over. She found what she was looking for. On the back was a sticky label with ‘Scott Davies Photography’ and an address in Market Square, Bromley.

  ‘Would you mind if I took this photograph with me?’ Jane asked.

  *

  The incident room was a hive of organised activity and urgent voices. Every phone was manned by detectives, trying not to talk over each other as they spoke with members of the public who had seen the six o’clock news. The caller’s details and information were recorded on the appropriate forms, which on completion were taken to Barnes’s office, where he and Stanley assessed and prioritised them for any immediate action.

  ‘You got anything that mentions Mead or Malone yet?’ Barnes asked Stanley.

  ‘Nope, nothing. I’ve got a few with possible names for nuns at the convent, but they’re all Sister this and Sister that – not a surname on any of them.

  ‘Same here. I thought we might at least get a call from a nun who’d lived there,’ Barnes sighed.

  ‘If they lead a sheltered life, they might not watch TV or read newspapers,’ Stanley remarked.

  ‘That’s true. At least we are getting people calling in, so fingers crossed.’

  Stanley held up a few information forms. ‘There’ve been a few calls from people who said they were kids at the orphanage. They all mention the strict regime handed out by the Mother Superior and some of the nuns.’

  ‘I’ve got a few here too, but no mention of Meade being an abuser. We need to prioritise the calls we’ve received, then I’ll get some of the team to interview the former pupils.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘I’ve already told you there’s no need to knock,’ Barnes shouted, thinking it was a detective with more information forms.

  Jane walked in, with Boon behind her carrying the convent photograph.

  ‘You two took your time.’

  ‘Less haste, more speed, sir,’ Jane beamed.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for flippancy, Tennison.’

  ‘We think we’ve identified our victim,’ Jane said.

  ‘And we’ve got proof Meade knew her,’ Boon added, holding up the photograph.

  Barnes’s face lit up.

  ‘Who is she?’ an energised Barnes asked.

  ‘Her name’s Melissa Bailey, also known as Sister Missy, born fifth of August 1940. Her parents live in Kingston, Ontario. She became a novice at the Sisters of Mercy convent in February 1953 and took her final vows on the twentieth of February 1958.’

  ‘The date on the cross. That’s bloody brilliant. Well done, you two.’ Barnes beamed.

  Boon put the photo down on Barnes’s desk and pointed out Melissa and Julie.

  ‘The priest in the back row is—’

  ‘The illustrious Father Bob,’ Barnes said, picking up the photograph to have a closer look.

  ‘Julie Dorton confirmed it’s Robert Meade,’ Boon added.

  ‘Meade was clearly well-liked, so I didn’t press her about him abusing the children. I figured it would be better coming from an actual victim if we trace one.’

  Barnes nodded. ‘Tell me everything that Dorton said, chapter and verse.’

  Jane recounted the interview from memory and Boon added other salient details from his notebook.

  ‘Well done, the pair of you. Dorton’s information is another step in the right direction. It yet again proves Meade is lying.’

  ‘I can’t say I was sorry to hear Mother Superior was dead after the way she treated those poor children,’ Boon remarked.

  ‘Julie’s account suggests Missy didn’t even get out of the front door of the convent before she was murdered,’ Jane said.

  ‘Dorton might have lied about her relationship with Missy because she was involved in the murder?’ Stanley suggested.

  Jane shook her head. ‘I’ve no reason to doubt her whatsoever. I certainly don’t think Julie was putting on the tears for effect. She also got a severe beating from Sister Margaret.’

  ‘OK, fair enough, but it’s a question that needed to be raised,’ Stanley said defensively.

  ‘If Missy was murdered inside the convent when she was attempting to leave, it was probably in the early hours of the morning, which rules Meade out as he lived a mile—’

  Barnes interrupted. ‘Come on, Jane, it’s bloody obvious Meade is lying through his teeth and involved in some way. Who’s to say Sister Missy didn’t go there to confront him if he was abusing the children?’

  ‘I’m not doubting he’s involved. I’m just saying it makes him less likely to be the killer if he was tucked up in bed. It’s also a bloody long way to drag a coffin from the presbytery to the convent,’ Jane replied.

  ‘Not if there’s two people carrying it. I’d bet a pound to a penny Malone is involved in some way,’ Barnes insisted.

  Jane told Barnes about Julie’s meeting with the then Bishop Malone: how he wanted to protect the good name of the convent and grant Sister Missy a dispensation so it appeared she’d left the sisterhood of her own free will.

  He nodded. ‘That just confirms my suspicions about Malone.’

  Boon raised his hand. ‘Can I say something?’

  ‘I know Julie’s account suggests Mother Superior and Sister Margaret thought Sister Missy ran away, but it’s clear they both had violent tempers.’

  ‘It’s a valid point, son, but Missy’s post-mortem revealed her death was extremely violent and has all the hallmarks of a male assailant,’ Barnes said.

  Jane thought there was more merit to Boon’s idea. ‘They could have been involved in a cover-up . . . or forced into one by Meade or Malone.’

  ‘I agree, that’s possible,’ Barnes conceded.

  ‘Well, Mother Superior can’t help us as she’s dead,’ Stanley remarked.

  Barnes rubbed his chin. ‘We still need to confirm it, and trace Sister Margaret.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Boon, go and phone the hospice and see if you can get hold of Sister Suzanne. Tell her you spoke with Julie Dorton. Confirm Mother Superior’s death and see if she knows where Sister Margaret is. Also, ask if someone from the team can interview her tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Boon said. He quickly left the office.

  ‘This case is a real can of worms,’ Barnes said. ‘The diocese will close ranks. They’ll speak to us, but they will lie through their teeth to protect their own and the reputation of the Church.’

  After the meeting, Jane spoke privately with Stanley in the squad room. She asked him what was happening about searching the convent grounds and development site for other bodies. He told her that Barnes had spoken with Richard Eaves, the anthropologist, and sought his advice about looking for buried bodies.

  ‘What did Eaves say?’ Jane asked.

  ‘He’s going to speak with the university archaeology department. Apparently, they’ve got some new-fangled machine called a ground penetrating radar that looks for underground anomalies.’

  ‘Can it find human bodies?’

  Stanley shrugged. ‘They’ve never used it for that, but they’re willing to give it a try. To be honest, I just think he’s going through the motions to cover his back, since we’ve not a shred of evidence any children or other nuns were murdered.’

  ‘Did they say how long it will take?’ Jane as
ked, thinking of Nick’s predicament.

  ‘A week or two. If they find nothing, then I guess the building work can recommence.’

  When Stanley was out of earshot, Jane picked up a phone and dialled Nick’s office. There was no answer, so she tried his home phone.

  ‘Hi, it’s me. I’ve got a bit of good news for you. You might be able to reopen the site in a week or two.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when it happens,’ he replied dismissively. ‘My father just called. He’s not feeling well, so I need to go.’

  ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ Jane asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know, have you?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m really stressed at the moment. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ Nick put the phone down.

  Jane wondered what on earth was bothering Nick. If he was having second thoughts about their relationship, she’d rather he be honest and say so. She racked her brain thinking of what she might have said or done to upset him, but nothing came to mind. She couldn’t go on like this, however: she had to talk to him face to face to find out what was going on.

  Barnes walked into the squad room with a wad of information forms, which he handed to the civilian indexers.

  ‘I’ve marked up the ones that need further action and NFA’d the others. Some of the information received from former convent pupils is high priority. Allocate them to members of the squad to carry out interviews ASAP.’

  Barnes saw Boon putting the phone down. ‘Any luck with Sister Suzanne?’

  ‘She’s happy to be interviewed and confirmed Adele Delaney is dead. She’d also heard through the grapevine that Sister Margaret Wilde is at a convent on Canvey Island. I rang the local Essex Old Bill. They said there’s a Sisters of Mercy convent on the island, which also has a large Catholic school on the site.’

  ‘Another home for abusers and the abused, no doubt,’ Barnes said, shaking his head.

  ‘According to the officer I spoke with, there’s no orphanage. But the school has a couple of hundred local kids. I’ve got the address and phone number. Shall I give them a ring and make an appointment to speak with Sister Margaret tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I don’t want her to know we’re coming,’ Barnes said. He called Stanley and Jane over. ‘Tomorrow morning, me and Stanley will pay Bishop Meade a visit. Boon’s got a possible location for Sister Margaret. Tennison, I want you to go with Boon to the convent on Canvey Island. If Sister Margaret is there, interview her – and don’t go easy on her.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jane replied.

  ‘As things stand, are you going to arrest Meade tomorrow?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘You were right to question my decision earlier,’ Barnes replied. ‘The press conference and talking about Stephen’s death got me worked up. I think we need to turn the heat up slowly with Meade. Make him squirm a bit in a preliminary interview.’

  Stanley nodded in agreement. ‘I gave Special Branch at Heathrow a call. Malone is booked on the seven o’clock BA flight which lands at ten. It will take him at least forty-five minutes to travel back to Archbishop’s House.’

  ‘We’ll leave here about half nine to interview Meade,’ Barnes replied.

  ‘Don’t you think we should aim to be there for nine, in case the archbishop returns?’ Stanley said.

  ‘On the contrary. I hope the son of a bitch does turn up!’ Barnes said.

  ‘What happens if they don’t let us into the diocesan offices?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘Then I’ll kick the bloody door in,’ Barnes said.

  ‘Are you going to interview Malone as well?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘Not yet. I want to make him squirm a bit first, too,’ he grinned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jane established the time in Ontario was three in the afternoon. She phoned the Kingston police department and spoke with a Detective Inspector Tremblay. Jane told him she was investigating the murder of a woman they believed to be Melissa Bailey, who’d been a Kingston resident until 1953, when she came to the UK to become a novice at a convent in Bickley. The inspector seemed shocked when Jane told him how Melissa had been murdered.

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help,’ Tremblay said.

  ‘We’re almost certain our victim is Melissa Bailey, but we don’t have a confirmed identification due to the state of her body. I don’t have Christian names for her parents, but I’m led to believe her father is a university lecturer,’ Jane told him.

  ‘There’s a university here called Queen’s,’ he said.

  ‘I’d imagine Mr Bailey must be in his fifties or sixties by now, so he may be retired,’ Jane replied.

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll get on to Queen’s University right away. If I trace the Baileys, would you like me to inform them their daughter might be dead or ask them to call you?’ Tremblay asked.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could tell them in person,’ Jane said. ‘I think it would be better if they know what happened to Melissa before speaking to me hundreds of miles away over the phone. I’ll fax you over a copy of the dental chart our forensic odontologist made. Hopefully, if you trace Melissa’s parents, their family dentist might still have her old records and could do a comparison to give us a positive ID.’

  ‘If I do get your victim’s dental record, I’ll get our forensic dentist to check it as well. I wish you well in your investigation, Detective Tennison. As soon as I locate the Baileys, I’ll call you.’

  After a meal in the canteen, Jane typed up her reports, and it was nearly nine before she got home. She was so tired she went straight to bed but tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about the last two phone conversations she’d had with Nick, and his coldness towards her. She knew she’d done nothing to upset him, so why did it feel as if he wanted to end their relationship?

  Jane thought about Thomas Durham and wondered if he was one of the builders Julie had seen fixing the convent roof. If it was him, and maybe Lee Holland, too, it meant they had deliberately not mentioned their connection to the convent before Missy had been murdered. Thomas Durham suggested he’d had nothing to do with the convent until long after the fire, but Jane also wondered if he was the builder who’d deemed the tunnel unsafe and bricked up the crypt door. Then something else worrying struck her: was it possible Thomas had revealed something to Nick about the convent, and that was what was forcing him to end their relationship?

  *

  Jane woke early, still tired from a restless night. She had a quick shower and got dressed.

  ‘Morning, Jane,’ Gerry said as she was about to get in the car. Spud relieved himself on the grass verge.

  ‘Morning, Gerry. How are you and Spud today?’ she replied, walking over and stroking the dog.

  ‘We’re both well, thank you. Another early start?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a really busy day ahead of me.’

  ‘That’s a nice Range Rover your boyfriend Nick has, though I prefer the Jag.’

  ‘He uses the Range Rover for work. It’s more reliable on muddy building sites than the Jag,’ Jane told him.

  ‘I thought about getting a Range Rover myself. But I realised it wouldn’t be very practical for a small dog like Spud trying to get in and out of it.’

  Jane tried not to laugh. She doubted very much he could afford a Range Rover. But she also wondered how he knew Nick had one.

  ‘Did Nick take you for a spin in it?’

  ‘No. I saw him parked up when I was walking Spud last night.’

  Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘Outside my house?’

  He pointed. ‘No. Just up the road. I went over and said hello.’

  ‘What did he say?’ a curious Jane asked.

  ‘Not much. He said he had to go and see his father. Then he drove off.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About nine.’

  Jane wondered if she’d just missed Nick before getting home, or perhaps, feeling guilty f
or his earlier behaviour, he hadn’t had the courage to knock on her door. Either way, she wished she’d been able to talk to him and sort things out between them. As she drove to work to pick up DC Boon, she tried to focus on the day ahead.

  *

  Knowing the Dartford Tunnel into Essex would be busy during rush hour, Jane and Boon decided to go to the photography shop in Bromley before travelling to Canvey Island.

  It was just before nine and the small shop in Market Square wasn’t open yet, but the sound of a man singing loudly inside could be heard on the street.

  ‘He’s got a good voice,’ Boon remarked.

  ‘The song sounds familiar,’ Jane said.

  ‘It’s the Toreador song from Carmen.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Since when were you into opera?’

  ‘I’m not but my dad is.’

  Jane knocked on the door and the singing stopped.

  A man in his mid-fifties with shiny grey hair opened the door. He was dressed in a tweed suit, white shirt, and tartan bow tie.

  ‘Come away in. I was just about to open. Are you delivering for development or collecting photographs?’ he asked cheerily. He had a pleasant Scottish accent.

  ‘Neither. I assume you are Scott Davies, the owner?’ Jane asked, holding up her warrant card.

  ‘I am indeed, and have been for nearly thirty years. How can I help you, officer?’

  Jane told him she and Boon were investigating the murder of a nun from the convent.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I read the News Shopper. I used to go to the convent every summer and take a photograph of them all. It was such a shame it had to close after that dreadful fire. The sisters were lovely lassies, and the wee ’uns were so well-behaved. It was a lot easier to get them organised for a group photo than it was a bloody wedding party, I can tell you.’

  ‘We were wondering if you kept copies of the photos you took at the convent,’ Jane asked.