‘Aye, I do, but it’s the negatives I keep as they’re easier to store. Funnily enough, I was looking at them just now.’
‘Why was that?’ Boon asked.
‘To see if any of the sisters looked like the drawing in today’s newspaper.’ Davies picked up the Daily Mail to show them Richard Eaves’ artist’s impression on the front page.
‘Did you spot a likeness?’ Jane asked.
‘Ach, it’s hard to say, as the pictures are no’ very big in the viewer. You can have a wee look yourself if you like, or I can set the projector up so you can see them on a screen.’
‘The screen would be helpful, thanks,’ Jane replied.
‘Give me a wee minute and I’ll set it up in the darkroom,’ Scott said, turning the sign hanging on the door back to CLOSED. ‘Please come on through.’
There was a strong odour of rotten eggs in the darkroom, and Davies could see Boon was feeling nauseous.
‘Sorry about the smells. It’s the chemicals I use for processing.’ He turned on the ventilator fan. ‘I’ve arranged these in the order I took them. The first being in 1953,’ he said, pressing the slide control. The first one was a bit blurry, so he adjusted the focus.
Having seen Julie Dorton’s photograph, Jane and Boon were able to spot Sister Missy right away in the middle of the back row. They also recognised Julie standing next to her. Seeing the large projected image of a smiling Missy when she was eighteen and had just entered the convent as a novice brought a lump to Jane’s throat. She was a picture of innocence and beauty, blissfully unaware of the abusive world she had entered and the fate that would so cruelly befall her.
As Scott flicked through the photographs, Missy was always in the back row next to Julie and Meade was on the far left of the picture – until they came to the 1962 slide.
‘This was the last one I took before the convent closed. The lady on the left of Father Bob looks most like the drawing in the newspaper, compared with the other photos,’ Davies remarked.
‘I agree with you, Mr Davies, there is a similarity,’ Jane said, not wanting to give too much away, though she wondered why it was the only photo where Meade was standing next to Missy.
‘Did you know Father Bob?’ Boon asked.
‘Only through visiting the convent to take the annual photograph. He came to my shop once as well.’
‘Why did he come here?’ Jane asked.
‘He wanted a small copy of the 1962 photo as it was the last picture I took before the convent closed.’
Davies’s comment made Jane look more closely at the projected image. She noticed that Meade and Missy were standing so close together their shoulders and upper arms were touching. She moved nearer and peered at the photo following the position of their arms and hands. It was hard to tell, but it looked as if their hands might have been touching.
‘Seen something of interest, sarge?’ Boon asked.
‘No. I was just trying to see if I could identify Annette Gorman,’ she said casually.
‘Did you know any of the sisters by name, Mr Davies?’ Jane asked.
‘I knew the Mother Superior, but not by name. I only ever really spoke with her or Sister Margaret when I went to the convent.’
‘Do you have any photos of the sisters in casual clothes?’ Boon asked.
‘No. They were always dressed in their habits when I went there.’
‘What about at work or play?’ Jane asked, wondering if there might be an individual close-up of Missy.
‘I did ask if I could take some photographs of their daily life, but the Mother Superior said no. I’ve got some colour ones of the convent gardens, though. I suggested the flower gardens would look nice in a calendar I wanted to make to promote my business. She took me on a guided tour, explaining what all the different flowers and shrubs were. I remember she referred to them as part of her own Garden of Eden.’
‘Sounds like she was a keen gardener,’ Boon remarked.
‘Oh, yes. The gardens were the Mother Superior’s pride and joy. She was a very knowledgeable horticulturalist. Would you like to see the slides?’ Davies asked.
‘We have an appointment on Canvey Island, I’m afraid. Do you have a copy of the calendar I could take with me?’ Jane asked, not wanting to appear dismissive.
Davies looked in a filing cabinet, pulled out the calendar and handed it to Jane.
‘Could I also borrow the 1962 slide? I’d like to get it enlarged by our photographic department.’
‘I can do that for you,’ Davies said.
‘We might need it for evidential purposes in court, so I have to get it done in-house,’ Jane told him.
‘I understand.’ He removed the slide and put it in an envelope.
‘Thanks for your help, Mr Scott,’ she said.
As they walked to the car, Boon could tell something in the last photograph had piqued Jane’s interest.
‘Spill the beans, sarge. What got you excited about that 1962 photo?’
Jane told him what she’d noticed. ‘I want to get their hands enlarged to be sure.’
‘Bloody hell, you’ve got eyes like a hawk!’ he said.
‘Every picture tells a story, Boony,’ Jane smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Barnes knocked on the door of Archbishop’s House and waited impatiently for someone to answer. Eventually, the young priest, Bishop Meade’s assistant, opened the door.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked with a pleasant smile.
Barnes held his warrant card up. ‘I’m Detective Chief Superintendent Barnes. This is Detective Inspector Stanley. We would like to speak with Bishop Meade.’
The priest’s smile turned to a frown. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now.’
‘Then we’ll wait outside his office until he is,’ Barnes replied.
‘I’m sorry, but you can’t come in,’ the priest said, starting to close the door.
Barnes kept it open with his hand. ‘Please, don’t make me have to arrest you for obstructing police. Be sensible and show us to Meade’s office.’
‘This is most improper,’ the priest replied, shaking his head.
They walked in and the priest hurried up the stairs. Barnes and Stanley followed close behind.
The priest knocked once on the door of the archbishop’s office and entered quickly. Meade was sitting behind his desk doing some paperwork.
‘I’m really sorry, Your Excellency. I told these police officers you weren’t available, but they forced their way in . . .’
‘It’s all right,’ Meade said calmly.
Barnes and Stanley showed him their warrant cards and introduced themselves.
‘Please sit down. Would you like a coffee or tea?’ Meade asked.
Barnes and Stanley declined his offer and Meade said the priest could go.
‘How can I help you?’ Meade asked.
‘I think you know why we’re here,’ Barnes said.
‘I assume it’s about the nun’s death.’
‘Murder, to be more exact,’ Barnes said.
‘I’ve read the article in the News Shopper and seen your appeal for information on television. I find it rather deceitful that Detective Sergeant Tennison didn’t tell me all the facts when she came here last week. It would seem she even lied to Father Floridia.’
‘She was acting under my instructions,’ Barnes said. ‘I told her not to reveal how the victim died until we had identified her . . . which I’m pleased to say we have.’ Barnes noticed Meade’s eyes widen slightly.
‘May I ask who she was?’ he said.
‘Sister Melissa Bailey. But I think you already knew that,’ Barnes said.
Meade shook his head. ‘I can assure you I am not familiar with the name.’
‘That’s surprising, especially as you were the priest at St Mary’s and regularly visited the convent while Sister Melissa was a nun there.’
‘I went to the convent once or twice a month to read stories to the children. My i
nteraction was mainly with the Mother Superior. She was quite strict and made it clear I was not to fraternise with the sisters, apart from Sister Margaret who was her deputy. My only communication with the others was a pleasant nod, hello or good morning.’
‘Why didn’t you tell DS Tennison any of this?’ Stanley asked.
‘She never asked, and I didn’t think it relevant. Her failure to inform me it was a murder investigation made me believe there was nothing untoward. As far as I was concerned, the body could have been there since the 1850s. I made inquiries with our archivist, Mrs Parkin, then promptly informed DS Tennison of the results.’
‘I know, I was there when you called.’ Barnes looked in his notebook. ‘DS Tennison asked you if any priests had worked at the convent. You replied, “Only sisters ever lived and worked there,” so by your own admission that statement is clearly a lie.’
Meade sighed. ‘I didn’t work there in the true sense of the word. As I just said I merely visited the convent now and again.’
Barnes looked at his notes. ‘You also said Mrs Parkin told you the fire started in the bakery then destroyed all the convent records and the schoolhouse.’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
Barnes closed his notebook and tucked it back in his jacket pocket. ‘When Mrs Parkin was asked about the fire by DS Tennison, she referred to an archive document which stated it occurred in August 1962, damaging the outbuildings and school beyond economical repair.’
‘DS Tennison used subterfuge to gain entry to the archives. She lied to Mrs Parkin as to why she was there.’
‘Again, she was acting under my instructions. My question is, how did you know where the fire started and that it destroyed all the convent documents?’
‘Regrettably, I appear to have inadvertently caused some confusion. It was in fact the Mother Superior who told me the fire started in the bakery. When Mrs Parkin said there were no records relating to the convent in the archives, I assumed the fire must have destroyed them all.’
Barnes gave him a hard look, realising his answer was plausible.
‘When did the Mother Superior tell you about the fire?’ Stanley asked.
‘I can’t remember exactly when. I went to the convent to offer my assistance as soon as I heard about it.’
‘I take it you know Mother Superior Adele Delaney is dead?’ Barnes asked, knowing he couldn’t refute Meade’s answers if the information had supposedly come from her.
Meade nodded. ‘I heard she died from cancer a few years ago.’
‘Did she or Sister Margaret say anything to you about a Sister Melissa Bailey leaving the convent?’ Barnes asked.
‘No. They’d have no reason to either. If a sister chose to leave, it would be a matter for them and the bishop.’
‘Which at that time would have been Andrew Malone, I believe?’
‘That’s correct. He’s now the archbishop and currently on his way back from Rome. He will no doubt want to meet you personally, DCS Barnes. He’s as eager to solve this horrendous crime as you are.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting him again,’ Barnes smiled.
Meade looked surprised. ‘He didn’t mention you knew each other.’
‘I’m not surprised. When he was a priest in North London, I investigated a serious assault on a twelve-year-old boy who had committed suicide. My inquiries revealed Malone repeatedly beat children black and blue. He believed it was God’s will that those who were unruly be severely chastised. I was never in any doubt his actions led directly to Stephen Phillips’ suicide.’
Meade looked aghast. ‘I’ve known Archbishop Malone for many years. He would never condone violence in any way, shape or form. If your allegations were true, the Church would have investigated it and dealt with him appropriately, I’m sure.’
‘They weren’t interested in why Stephen killed himself. Their investigation was a sham to protect Malone and the reputation of the Church. Everything was swept under the carpet.’
‘I find that hard to believe, officer,’ Meade replied.
Barnes shrugged. ‘Unlike some, I have no reason to lie. And let me assure you, I will not allow the same thing to happen again. I will find out who killed Sister Melissa and ensure they stand trial – as well as anyone attempting to pervert the course of justice in a cover-up.’ He glared at Meade before continuing. ‘It’s also come to our notice that the Mother Superior and Sister Margaret were violent towards children at the convent. Were you aware of that?’
‘No, I was not. If I had seen either of them treating a child improperly, I would have done something about it.’
‘Did you give the children sweets?’ Barnes asked.
‘Yes. What’s that got to do—’
Barnes interrupted. ‘Why did you ask them not to tell the Mother Superior?’
‘Because I knew she wouldn’t approve. I really don’t see what that has to do with Sister Melissa’s death.’
‘Sometimes an act of kindness towards a child may have an ulterior motive,’ Barnes said.
Meade scowled at Barnes as he interrupted. ‘I resent your insinuation. I certainly did not give the children sweets to gain their affection or trust for any immoral purpose.’
Barnes could tell he’d touched a nerve. ‘I never said you did . . . but thanks for answering my next question.’
‘Don’t insult my intelligence, officer. It’s clear you think I was involved in Sister Melissa’s death.’
‘Were you?’ Barnes retorted.
Meade’s eyes narrowed as he stood up. ‘No. I was not! I didn’t even know who she was until now. I’ve had enough of your unfounded and outrageous allegations. I’d like you both to leave.’
‘Why did you go to the mortuary on Saturday morning?’ Barnes pressed him.
Meade licked his lips. ‘I wanted to pray for her.’
Barnes eyes narrowed. ‘Even though you thought there was nothing untoward and the body could have been in the convent grounds since the 1850s?’
‘Yes. I felt it was my duty under the circumstances.’
‘According to the mortuary technician, you got very emotional and fell to your knees in tears.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I knelt to pray for her departed soul. And I had some grit in my eye.’
Barnes shook his head. ‘You got emotional because you knew it was Sister Melissa Bailey in that coffin. You know what happened to her and who’s responsible. You shed tears of remorse for what you’d done.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you? I never knew Missy Bailey!’ Meade banged his hand on the desk.
Barnes was about to push further when he heard a voice behind him.
‘What is going on here, Bishop Meade?’
Barnes turned round and saw a tall man wearing a purple skull cap, a black cassock with a purple sash and an ankle-length black silk cape standing by the door. It was like a flashback in time for Barnes as he recognised the unblinking eyes, pale skin and pock-marked face of Malone.
Meade instantly composed himself, then bowed. ‘Your Grace, these police officers forced their way into the building. They have been most underhand in their questioning and are accusing us of trying to cover up the death of the sister who they say was murdered. I’ve asked them to leave twice now.’
Malone frowned, looking at the two police officers. ‘In future, if you want to speak to Bishop Meade or anyone connected to the Church, please make a formal request to my office. That way I can arrange for them to be represented by one of our solicitors. Tell your senior officer I will be in contact with him.’ He smiled condescendingly.
‘This is Detective Chief Superintendent Barnes. He’s in charge of the investigation, Your Grace,’ Meade cut in.
Barnes stood up and looked Malone in the eye. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘Should I?’ Malone replied dismissively.
‘You might remember the name Stephen Phillips,’ Barnes said.
Malone shrugged and shook his head. ‘Can�
��t say I do.’
‘Let me refresh your memory, then. He was the twelve-year-old you beat with a belt so frequently he lost the will to live and then hanged himself.’
Malone’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Barnes. ‘I will be contacting the commissioner about your aggressive and underhand behaviour.’
‘I’m sure you will, Archbishop Malone. But let me tell you this, murder is a crime the police investigate, not the Church.’ Barnes turned to Meade. ‘Your halo is slipping, bishop. If you wish to confess your sins, I suggest you do it to me . . . not Malone.’
‘Get out, now!’ Malone said through gritted teeth.
As he walked out, Barnes stopped by Malone and whispered, ‘You may not have murdered Sister Melissa, but I know you were involved in her murder. Believe me, this time I won’t let you cover up the truth!’
Malone waited until Barnes and Stanley had left the room, closed the door, then turned sharply to face Meade.
‘What did you tell them?’ he asked tersely.
‘Nothing, Your Grace. I did as you told me and denied knowing Sister Melissa.’
‘Well, they clearly didn’t believe you. Mark my words, they’ll be back, and Barnes will be out to destroy me as well. If you hadn’t had carnal desires for her, we wouldn’t be in this unfortunate mess.’
‘I’m truly sorry, Your Grace . . .’
‘I protected you from the start and promoted you because you had repented. I’ve been told I will be made a cardinal after the Pope’s visit. I’m not going to let you jeopardise my future. It might be best for you move to an overseas mission in Africa as soon as possible.’
‘But I don’t want to leave here.’
‘If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be here at all! Did you find the letter of dispensation in the archives?’
‘Not yet, Your Grace.’
‘Why not?’ he scowled.
‘I thought it best not to speak with Mrs Parkin personally. I didn’t want to make her suspicious . . .’
‘It’s a bit late for that now!’
‘I’ll tell the police the truth and say you knew nothing about my relationship with Melissa.’
‘You’ll tell them nothing. You’ve done enough damage as it is. We’ll discuss the matter further after I’ve spoken with the police commissioner. You had better hope I can persuade him to call his hounds off! Now get out of my sight.’
Unholy Murder Page 28