Unholy Murder

by Lynda La Plante

  *

  Out in the street, Barnes inhaled deeply, then lit a cigarette. ‘I feel a lot better after that.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be on their Christmas card list anymore, let’s put it that way,’ Stanley joked. ‘The look on Malone’s face when he heard Stephen Phillips’ name and realised who you were was priceless,’ Stanley remarked.

  Barnes grinned. ‘Did you notice Meade’s little screw-up just before Malone walked in?’

  ‘No. It’s clear he’s lying but he seemed to have a plausible answer for everything you put to him.’

  ‘In his fit of anger, he blurted out that he never knew Missy Bailey. If he didn’t know her, how on earth did he know her nickname?’ Barnes said, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

  *

  Before leaving for Canvey Island, Jane popped into Bromley and spoke with the SOCO. She asked him to take the negative Scott Davies had given her to the Met’s photographic department and have an A3 enlargement done of the group, as well as an individual photo of Meade and Missy and a close-up of their hands.

  As Jane drove, Boon flicked through the 1963 flower calendar Davies had given them.

  ‘There’s a flower in here called Camellia japonica, commonly known as Sweet Jane. There’s also Digitalis purpurea, which is foxglove and—’

  ‘I didn’t know you were into plants?’ Jane remarked.

  Boon held up the calendar with a grin. ‘I’m not. I’m just reading out the photo captions.’

  Jane shook her head, smiling. ‘Right. We’re in Canvey Way. Can you grab the map and give me the directions to the convent?’

  He put the calendar away and picked up the AA route map. It wasn’t long before they got to their destination.

  ‘Blimey, it looks just like a big modern house. I’d never have guessed it was a religious building if it didn’t have that cross on top,’ Boon remarked as they pulled up outside the convent.

  They were let in by a young sister, who took them to the Mother Superior, Mother Lynne’s office. Jane told her why they were there.

  Mother Lynne nodded sadly. ‘I heard the appeal for information on the radio. It beggars belief that someone could do that to a child of God.’ She made the sign of the cross. ‘What brings you to our convent?’

  ‘One of our priorities is to trace and interview anyone who used to live or work at the Bickley convent during the relevant time period.’

  ‘I never worked there myself, so I don’t think I can help you,’ Mother Lynne said.

  ‘We believe a Sister Margaret Wilde did, and were told she now lives here,’ Jane said.

  ‘Yes, she does. Sister Margaret’s been with us for about three years.’

  ‘If it’s convenient we’d like to speak with her, please.’

  Mother Lynne looked concerned. ‘Sister Margaret is in our care wing. She’s seventy-seven now and has dementia.’

  ‘Then she’ll have no memory of her time at the Sisters of Mercy, I expect,’ Jane said. It looked as if they’d made a wasted journey.

  ‘She has good days and bad days with her memory,’ Mother Lynne said. ‘She can also be quite cantankerous at times. I’m more concerned about the effect discussing a murder might have on her peace of mind.’

  ‘Is she aware of our press appeal?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Not as far as I know. She doesn’t have a television and has no interest in the newspapers. Most of the time she listens to music on her old record player and reads books . . . though it takes her weeks to get through them as she often forgets what’s happened and has to start all over again.’

  Jane nodded. ‘I understand your concerns, Mother Superior. We were told Sister Margaret knew our victim. It’s also possible she reported her to Bromley police as a missing person. I’m happy not to mention that our victim was murdered, but anything Sister Margaret can remember might help us to find who was responsible for her death.’

  Mother Lynne paused for thought before answering. ‘To engage with Sister Margaret, you will need to speak slowly and clearly, using simple words and short sentences.’

  Jane nodded. ‘We won’t cause her any undue stress.’

  As they walked along the care wing corridor Jane could hear the sound of loud music coming from one of the rooms.

  ‘Someone likes their music,’ Jane remarked.

  Mother Lynne sighed. ‘It’s coming from Sister Margaret’s room. We’re constantly having to tell her to turn it down. It upsets the other residents on the wing.’

  Boon whispered to Jane, ‘It’s “And the Glory of the Lord” from Handel’s Messiah.’

  ‘Another opera?’ Jane said, wondering if he was pulling her leg again.

  ‘Actually, technically it’s an oratorio,’ he added.

  Sister Margaret’s room was modestly furnished with a reclining hospital bed, a comfortable armchair, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers with six small wood carvings of animals on it.

  Sister Margaret was sitting in the armchair next to the bed, staring out of the window. She was a plump woman with long grey hair and a lined face. Jane thought she looked a lot older than Mother Lynne had said.

  ‘Hello, Sister Margaret. How are you today?’ Mother Lynne said.

  Sister Margaret continued staring out of the window and said nothing. Mother Lynne turned the record player on the bedside cabinet off.

  Sister Margaret glared at her. ‘Why did you do that?’

  Mother Lynne knelt down beside her and touched her hand. ‘There are some police officers here who’d like to speak to you,’ she said.

  Sister Margaret looked at Jane and Boon with a stern eye. ‘If they’re real police why aren’t they wearing uniforms?’

  Jane showed Sister Margaret her warrant card. ‘We’re detectives, Sister Margaret. We don’t wear uniforms,’ she said.

  ‘Would you like me to stay while they talk to you, Sister Margaret?’ Mother Lynne asked.

  ‘Do what you want. I don’t care, now you’ve turned my music off,’ she replied tersely.

  ‘I think she might be having an off day,’ Mother Lynne whispered to Jane. ‘I need to have a word with one of the nursing sisters. I’ll be back shortly.’

  Jane realised it would be a difficult, as well as pointless, interview. ‘I’m Jane and this is Simon . . .’

  Boon showed her his warrant card. ‘I’m a detective as well.’

  Sister Margaret laughed. ‘Simple Simon met a pieman, going to the fair.’ She laughed again and Boon smiled.

  Jane knelt next to her. ‘Do you remember when you lived at the Sisters of Mercy convent in Bickley?’

  ‘Where’s that?’ Sister Margaret asked with a puzzled look.

  ‘Bickley, in Bromley, London. The Mother Superior was called Adele Delaney.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Yes. You were both there together and used to run the orphanage.’

  ‘What orphanage?’

  Jane turned to Boon who was looking at the carved ornaments on the dressing table.

  ‘Can I have the folder a minute?’

  He handed it to her and Jane took out a copy of Julie Dorton’s 1958 convent photo.

  ‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture?’

  Sister Margaret peered at it, then smiled. ‘Is that me, sitting on the bench?’

  Jane smiled. ‘Yes, it is. Do you know who this is next to you?’ she asked, pointing to Adele Delaney.

  ‘It’s the Mother Superior?’

  ‘Yes! Can you remember her name?’

  ‘No.’

  Jane was baffled. ‘Then how did you know it was the Mother Superior?’

  Sister Margaret looked at Jane as if she was stupid. ‘Because a Mother Superior is in charge and always sits in the middle.’

  Jane sighed, put the photo back in the folder and looked at Boon.

  ‘I think this is a pointless exercise. We may as well head back to the office.’

  ‘Can I have a chat with her?’ he asked.

  ‘Is there any
point?’

  ‘Hi, Margaret. I’m Simon.’

  She smiled. ‘The pieman’s friend!’

  ‘That’s right, you remembered me,’ he replied with an over-exaggerated smile, then picked up the record sleeve. ‘What’s your favourite piece in Handel’s Messiah?’

  ‘“The Hallelujah Chorus”,’ Sister Margaret replied.

  He smiled. ‘That’s my favourite as well. It’s at the end of part two, isn’t it?’ Sister Margaret nodded. ‘Were the words taken from the bible?’ Boon asked.

  ‘They’re from the Book of Revelation. “Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth . . . And He hath on His vesture and on His thigh a name written, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords . . . And He shall reign for ever and ever . . .”’

  ‘Hallelujah!’ Boon said. He turned on the turntable, gently placed the needle on the LP and turned the volume up a little. As the violins came in and the chorus of ‘hallelujahs’ began, Margaret smiled, closed her eyes and started to move her hands as if she was conducting.

  Jane whispered to Boon, ‘We haven’t got time to sit and listen to music with her.’

  ‘Be patient, sarge,’ he replied as Sister Margaret started to sing along softly to herself.

  To Jane’s surprise Boon suddenly joined in:

  ‘King of Kings . . . forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’

  Sister Margaret opened her eyes, then she joined in the chorus singing, ‘Forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’ in a cracked but still impressive voice.

  Jane began to understand what Boon was trying to do. He turned the music down.

  ‘May I say, Sister Margaret, you have the most beautiful voice. It’s as if I were listening to an angel singing!’

  Sister Margaret smiled. ‘And you are a very good baritone, Simon.’

  ‘I see you have other skills as well,’ Boon said, picking up a large hand-carved wooden ladle from the chest of drawers. ‘This is lovely. Did you make it?’

  ‘No. My friend made it. She gave it to me as a present.’

  ‘What was your friend’s name?’ he asked.

  ‘Mother Adele.’

  ‘Did she make all these lovely little animals, too?’ Boon asked, pointing to the miniature figures, amongst which were a mouse, a rabbit and an owl.

  ‘Yes. She’s very good at carving wood,’ Sister Margaret replied.

  ‘Could I borrow the little owl to show my friend the pieman?’ Boon asked.

  ‘As long as you bring him back,’ Sister Margaret replied, wagging her finger.

  ‘I will, and thank you.’ Boon slipped the owl into his pocket, then removed the calendar from the folder and handed it to her.

  ‘This is for you. There are some pretty flowers in it.’

  Margaret looked at the cover picture, then the next. By the fifth one a tear was trickling from her eye. ‘These are the gardens where I used to live.’

  ‘Did you plant the flowers and look after them?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. We all did.’

  ‘Mother Adele as well?’

  ‘Yes. She taught me a lot about plants and how to make tea and herbal remedies from them.’

  Boon removed the copy of Dorton’s photograph. ‘Is your friend Mother Adele in this picture?’

  Margaret scrutinised it, as if she’d never seen it before. ‘That’s her there, on the bench next to me.’ She pointed to Adele Delaney.

  ‘You never cease to amaze me, Boony,’ Jane said with a smile.

  He didn’t acknowledge her, maintaining eye contact with Sister Margaret. ‘Is there anyone else you remember in the picture?’

  Sister Margaret scanned it again. Her eyes started to widen, and her nostrils flared. She pursed her lips and her head started to shake angrily.

  ‘Who is it you recognise, Sister Margaret?’ Jane asked.

  ‘He’s a bad man. God will punish him for his sins!’ she exclaimed.

  Jane and Boon knew she was talking about Meade as he was the only man in the photograph.

  ‘What was his sin?’ Jane asked, watching Margaret’s face turning red with rage.

  There was fury in her eyes. ‘He broke his vow of chastity to Almighty God! He is a fornicator, a sinner who will suffer in purgatory,’ she shouted.

  ‘Who did he break his vow with, Sister Margaret?’ Jane asked.

  She prodded the picture with her finger. ‘With her, with her. May God forgive us our sins.’ Sister Margaret threw the photograph to the floor and broke down in tears.

  ‘What on earth is going on!’ Mother Lynne exclaimed as she entered the room. She embraced Margaret to calm her.

  ‘She became upset when we showed her an old group photograph taken at the convent, I’m afraid,’ Jane said.

  Mother Lynne glared at Jane and Boon. ‘I’d like you both to leave.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mother Superior. We didn’t intend for this to happen,’ Jane said.

  ‘Please, just leave.’

  *

  Jane and Boon walked in silence to the car, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Boon spoke first. ‘She was obviously talking about Meade and Missy Bailey.’

  Jane nodded. ‘This is a step forward for us, but as evidence in court it’s worthless, due to her state of mind. Did you hear the last thing she said?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I was distracted by Mother Lynne walking in. I heard something about forgiving sins,’ he replied.

  ‘She said, “May God forgive us our sins.” It could be she was referring to herself and others.’

  Boon removed the owl from his pocket. ‘I wonder if this is made from birch wood like the slivers found on the knife tip and Missy’s habit.’

  ‘If it is, that makes things even more interesting. Mother Adele clearly knew how to handle a whittling knife. Phone Julie Dorton when we get back. Ask her if she knew anything about Mother Adele being a whittler. At least she’s a reliable witness.’

  ‘You think Adele Delaney might have killed Missy?’ he asked.

  Jane sighed. ‘I don’t know, it’s all so bloody confusing now. You could argue Mother Adele and Meade both had a motive. However, if Meade and Missy were intimate enough to be touching hands in the photo, it begs the question, why would he want to kill her?’

  ‘Maybe Meade just turned on the charm because he wanted to have sex with her,’ Boon suggested.

  Jane found herself thinking about Nick and wondering if he had used her in the same way. Could it be that his surly, offhand attitude was a deliberate ploy to get her to end the relationship now that he’d got what he wanted?

  ‘If they were in a sexual relationship, it would have to have been away from the convent. Maybe at the presbytery,’ Jane said. ‘Then again, if Missy realised Meade had an ulterior motive, or thought she was being used, she might have threatened to report him to the bishop, which could be a motive for killing her.’

  ‘I’d say it would be a pretty strong motive,’ Boon agreed. ‘He’d lose everything if the Church threw him out.’

  Jane couldn’t stop thinking about Nick and changed the subject. ‘That was good work, getting Margaret to connect with her past. At first I thought you were pulling my leg about the music being from Handel’s Messiah.’

  ‘My father was a professional musician, so I grew up listening to that kind of music. I’m sorry the conversation with Sister Margaret went a bit pear-shaped at the end.’

  ‘Don’t be hard on yourself. You’ve got a good way with people. I was getting nowhere with her.’

  ‘My grandad suffers from dementia. Thankfully, he’s not in a home as my grandmother looks after him. She taught me how to communicate with him. I visit when I can. We do jigsaw puzzles, word games, listen to classical music and look at old photographs to try and stimulate his mind. Sometimes he knows who I am, but more often than not he doesn’t,’ he said sadly.

  ‘I’m sure he’s very fond of you, Simon, and your company means a lot to him.’

  ‘I’ve
got a confession to make,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Spit it out,’ she said.

  ‘What I said yesterday about mixing business with pleasure was wrong.’

  ‘What made you say that?’ Jane asked, wondering if he’d overheard her on the phone to Nick.

  ‘I’m meeting Becky Rogers for a drink after work later. I’ve told her it’s strictly social and I won’t discuss the case with her.’

  ‘That’s fine by me, but I wouldn’t tell anyone else for now.’

  ‘We’re also going on a proper night out on Saturday.’

  Jane forced a smile. ‘She’s a nice girl . . . I really hope it works out for the pair of you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘How did it go with Meade?’ Jane asked Stanley as she and Boon walked into the incident room.

  He waited until she was up close before replying. ‘It’s best we discuss it in Barnes’s office.’

  ‘I’ll give Julie Dorton a call about whittling, then join you,’ Boon said.

  ‘What’s whistling got to do with anything?’ Stanley asked with a bemused look.

  Jane laughed. ‘Whitt-ling, as in carving wooden animals. It might be integral to the investigation.’

  ‘You’ve totally lost me,’ Stanley said.

  ‘I’ll explain why after you’ve told me about Meade.’

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘That would be nice,’ Boon replied.

  ‘Then get us a coffee when you’ve finished your phone call,’ Stanley said, handing him a pound note.

  ‘Where’s Barnes?’ Jane asked, seeing he was not in his office.

  ‘The commissioner wanted to speak with him,’ Stanley said, sitting at Barnes’s desk.

  ‘Has the shit hit the fan?’ Jane asked.

  ‘We won’t know for sure until Barnes gets back. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘Do you want to wait for Boony?’

  ‘You can fill him in later.’ Stanley proceeded to tell Jane about the meeting with Meade.

  Jane listened carefully, taking notes so she could compare what Meade had said with everything they knew so far about him.