‘He’s forty-five.’
‘Ah well, anyone over forty is in the running for a telegram from the Queen according to Petrie,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said with a smile. ‘What impression have you gained of him?’
‘He’s polite, very keen on the past as you might expect from an antique dealer. I’d guess that he ran an honest business and that he really cares about the things he sells. He talks a lot about his dear mother, Rose, whom he claims to have adored though I get the impression she was one of those suffocatingly sweet mothers who hang on like grim death to their bachelor sons. He waited nearly five years after her death before he married. He met Crystal Hayes at a trade fair.’
‘Is this Caroline Hayes’s bag?’ He stooped to pull it from beneath the bed.
‘A soft-topped suitcase, yes.’
‘We’d better take a look.’
He lifted it to the table and unzipped it.
‘Navy-blue sweater, blue T-shirt, pair of jeans, two pairs of socks, a pair of slippers, a pair of shortie pyjamas, both blue, a brown dressing-gown, some underwear in a plastic folder. Tissues. This is pretty.’ He picked up the black embroidered lacy handkerchief.
‘Crystal gave it to her. She was so nervous about actually asking for my help that she actually dropped it in chapel, hoping that I’d follow her.’
‘Toothbrush, toothpaste, moisture cream, flannel and soap, a bath towel. That seems to be it. Ah, there’s a pocket at the side.’ His fingers dug within and emerged.
‘That’s the initial letter that Crystal sent her as a sign that she needed help,’ Sister Joan said. ‘It wasn’t on its chain.’
‘Looks like real gold.’ He turned it over in his palm.
‘John Hayes, their father, bought a gold initial for Crystal and a silver one for Caroline. She was wearing it beneath her sweater.’
‘Her coat isn’t here,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Was she wearing a coat? It’s still a bit chilly in the evenings.’
‘A brown coat, straight cut and rather long. It was a bit shabby – but you saw it.’
‘Saw what?’
‘The coat. I mean Caroline Hayes in the coat. She went to the police station and told them her sister was missing.’
‘She didn’t tell me.’
‘But she said—’ Sister Joan closed her eyes, summoning memory. ‘She said that she’d been down to the police station and spoken to a detective sergeant called Mill. Tall, dark and good-looking.’
‘From which description you recognized me immediately. Thank you, Sister.’
‘She mentioned the name Mill. I’m certain she did.’
‘Then it’ll be in the report book.’
‘No, it isn’t. I asked if she had been there making enquiries – I wanted to make sure she’d told me the truth. Constable Brown confirmed that he’d spoken to a Miss Hayes but hadn’t put it in the book.’
‘Someone tries to report a relative missing and he doesn’t enter it in the book? What the devil is Brown playing at?’
He strode to the door, pulled it wide and summoned Constable Brown in a tone that boded ill.
‘Sir?’
‘Well, he’s tall and dark,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said with a faint grin. ‘You haven’t been passing yourself off as me in my absence, have you, Brown?’
‘No, sir, not at any time,’ Constable Brown said, looking more affronted than usual.
‘But a Miss Hayes did come in making enquiries?’
‘About her sister? Yes, sir. She asked for you but you weren’t in the office. I dealt with the matter and she left.’
‘You didn’t enter it in the book?’
‘Constable Petrie was duty officer that day,’ Constable Brown said with hauteur. ‘It was for him to make entries.’
‘I’ll have a word with Petrie. Can you describe this Miss Hayes, Brown?’
‘Thin, brown hair tied back, no make-up,’ Constable Brown said. ‘She was wearing a rather shabby brown coat. Very ladylike in her manner.’
‘Thank you, Constable. We’d better get things cleared up here pretty quickly.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Constable Brown darted a look at Sister Joan that conveyed his private opinions and departed.
‘Good-looking, d’ye think?’ Detective Sergeant Mill glanced at Sister Joan with a hint of mischief.
‘Some ladies might think so,’ she said demurely. ‘Being a religious—’
‘Your mind is on higher things. Don’t scowl, Sister! A little teasing doesn’t hurt anybody and you’ve had a pretty nasty shock today.’
‘I’m getting accustomed to them,’ she said wryly. ‘Alan, what do you think happened here today?’
‘Hazarding a guess,’ he said slowly, looking round, ‘Caroline Hayes unlocked the door and let someone in.’
‘She wouldn’t have done that,’ Sister Joan objected promptly. ‘She was scared of being seen by anybody.’
‘Then she opened the door to someone she knew. Her sister?’
‘Crystal? Yes, she’d have opened the door for Crystal but she came here to look for her so why—’
‘Someone might’ve stood outside and pretended to be Crystal? Taken her off guard?’
‘It’s possible I suppose.’
‘There’s no chain on the door. She only had to turn the key and someone outside could have barged in. Is Caroline Hayes an athletic kind of woman?’
‘Thin and a bit droopy,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She doesn’t have much go in her.’
‘So someone could have burst in and overpowered her?’
‘Yes. Yes, I think so. There don’t seem to be any signs of a struggle.’
‘The bed looks untidy.’
‘Yes, I did notice that,’ Sister Joan said. ‘When I came by before the blankets were all neatly folded. Caroline’s a neat, schoolmarmish kind of person.’
‘What’s her job?’
‘Shorthand typist. She temps.’
‘And if the intruder had a knife? We’ll get the forensic chaps in at once. If there was blood spilt here there’ll be traces.’
‘You think Caroline Hayes is dead, don’t you?’
‘I think there’s a strong possibility.’
‘Then it’s my fault,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I ought to have insisted on going with her to the police at once. Instead I allowed her to talk me into waiting a day or two and I left her here.’
‘She was a grown-up person,’ he said firmly. ‘She had the right to choose. You can take a little of the blame for not reporting finding John Hayes’s property at the Peter house – you didn’t break in?’
‘Of course I didn’t break in,’ Sister Joan said indignantly. ‘Michael Peter asked me to have a cup of tea with him, and I needed to visit the bathroom.’
‘You and Michael Peter seem on remarkably cosy terms for two people who hardly know each other.’
‘I went back to the old chapel to see if I could find any more clues, and he just happened to come along, that’s all. I’ve been in his shop twice. The first time to ask in a roundabout way about his wife. He was pretty curt with me for which I can’t blame him. Afterwards I had to go there on convent business.’
‘Sister Hilaria won the lottery?’
‘From your mouth to God’s ear!’ She grinned at him, feeling guilt lift. ‘No, it’s to do with a gift for Father Malone from Father Stephens. Anyway I bought what was wanted and then Mr Peter gave me a private tour of the costume exhibition.’
‘What exactly did you buy?’
‘A communion chalice. The one that Father Malone uses in church is only silver washed, and not very handsome. Michael Peter had a very handsome one he’d picked up at a church auction and he let me have it for seven hundred and fifty pounds.’
‘You must’ve charmed him out of his socks. Come on. I’ll drive you back to the convent.’
‘But what happened here?’ she protested. ‘After the person unknown burst in?’
‘There must’ve been some kind of struggle.’ He l
ooked about him frowningly. ‘The blankets are untidy as you told me and outside in the boot of the car were the sweater and skirt – for some reason whoever it was stripped them off and bundled them there.’
‘And propped the boot with a piece of wood so that somebody’d be bound to notice them?’
‘Killers sometimes play games.’ There was no amusement in his eyes.
‘And Mrs Rufus? She must’ve been killed first.’
‘When did you last speak to Caroline Hayes?’
‘This morning. At about eleven forty-five, maybe a little after that. I told her that I suspected the dead man I found had been her father. She didn’t seem to take it in properly. Shock, I suppose. Anyway I told her that we ought to inform the police as quickly as possible. She promised to do that.’
‘But you didn’t go to the police.’
‘I was due back for lunch and she wanted more time anyway. I told you that I ought not to have listened to her.’
‘Then you drove down again into town.’
‘To buy some things Sister Perpetua needed from the chemist. I was about to drive back when I saw the florist’s shop and I thought it might be a nice gesture to put a few flowers on the grave. The rest you know.’
‘Right then.’ He glanced at her as they left the schoolhouse and walked to the car. ‘I’ll run you back in my car and drive your van over tomorrow morning. We’ll have to take your prints down at the station for the purposes of elimination. You know the routine.’
‘Will you find Caroline Hayes?’
‘Alive or dead,’ he said grimly, buckling his seat belt. ‘There are things here that don’t add up, Sister. I’ll be very interested to hear what Michael Peter has to say.’
‘Are you going to arrest him?’
‘Invite him in for questioning. Look, his wife’s been missing since Easter, and she sent a signal for help to her sister. Mr Peter told you that his wife was on holiday in France which obviously isn’t true, and if the suitcase found on the embankment is really his property then he’ll have to explain why he was throwing his wife’s clothes away. And you found the items belonging to his father-in-law in his bathroom. Add to that the fact that his housekeeper has been found in the cemetery with the back of her head stove in and that his sister-in-law has disappeared under decidedly odd and suspicious circumstances and, to put it mildly, he’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.’
‘Don’t swear,’ she said automatically.
‘You want to be in on the questioning? It can be arranged.’
‘I’d much prefer it if you kept my name out of it,’ she said promptly. ‘You don’t have to tell him who found the items in the bathroom, do you?’
‘I’m applying for a search warrant the minute I’m back in town. I’ll let you know if anything happens before tomorrow morning.’
‘No, save it until tomorrow,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m a nun first and last, and anything else has to come a very long way behind. You can drop me here. There’s Sister Martha coming.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’ Letting her out he said, the teasing back in his eyes, ‘You’re not sorry that I’m back, are you, Sister?’
‘Of course not. I shall be very happy to see Constable Petrie back at his post too,’ she answered demurely, and went to meet Sister Martha, hearing the grinding of gears as he turned and drove away again.
TEN
‘I understand that Detective Sergeant Mill has returned early from his holiday,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Yes, Mother Prioress. Apparently he got bored.’
‘A pity,’ Mother Dorothy gave a little cough. ‘A hardworking police officer ought to allow himself sufficient time to unwind, to strengthen the links with his family. You know, Sister, we religious are very fortunate. Our vocation gives us such joy that we never need to take a rest from worship even when we are engaged in the most mundane of tasks. Is there anything you wish to talk to me about?’
‘I don’t think so, Mother Dorothy. Oh, I am expecting a letter from St Catherine’s House. Hopefully it will arrive tomorrow morning. May I have it as soon as it comes?’
All save urgent letters were distributed on Saturday mornings, having by then been read and if necessary censored by the prioress. Sister Katherine, in a rare moment of humour, had once observed, ‘I don’t expect ever to be elected prioress but if I am then it must be great to get to read all the letters before they have “applepie” scrawled over the interesting bits!’
‘I take it that this letter is connected with the unfortunate man who died in the old chapel?’
‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’
‘The young officer who so kindly brought the items that Sister Perpetua had ordered spoke of a body being found.’
‘Mrs Rufus,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She was found in the cemetery with her skull fractured. She was Mr Peter’s housekeeper—’
‘And kindly allowed you to telephone from the house after your discovery. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace.’
‘Amen,’ Sister Joan said.
‘I will hand the letter to you immediately it arrives,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Is our van to be returned soon?’
‘Detective Sergeant Mill is bringing it back in the morning, Mother. I will have to drive it back down to town in order to have my fingerprints taken.’
‘For purposes of elimination, I trust?’ Mother Dorothy raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, of course!’
‘If I were you, Sister,’ Mother Dorothy said, ‘I’d leave a set of my fingerprints permanently down at the station. It would save the inconvenience in the future.’
‘I think that’s against the law,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Happily we are constrained by a higher law. We had an excellent discussion this afternoon on the corrupting influence of adoration bestowed in the wrong place. Sister David very kindly took notes for you. Was there anything else?’
‘May I miss recreation and spend the time in chapel?’ Sister Joan asked. ‘I need to catch up on my devotions.’
‘But not at the expense of your sisters,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘They would greatly miss the lively tone you bring to recreation, Sister. If you wish to pray you may remain behind in chapel after the final blessing for two hours.’
‘Thank you, Mother Prioress.’
It was more than she had hoped. Worship was like food, she thought, as she joined the line mounting the staircase. Too much satiated the mind; too little left a gnawing emptiness.
Making the customary small announcements just before chapel ended, Mother Dorothy said, ‘Certain rumours regarding local events may or may not have reached you. There has been a murder in the village. I tell you this so that you may remember the victim, Mary Rufus, in your prayers. Sister Joan has been excused community duties for a few days as she is helping the police in their enquiries, but she has requested extra time for her religious observances. I have therefore granted her leave to remain behind in chapel after the grand silence has begun, which makes her responsible for locking the inner door. Thank you, Sisters.’
One or two glances, amused, faintly critical, were cast in Sister Joan’s direction before eyes were lowered again and the first decade of the glorious mysteries intoned.
When she knelt to receive the Blessing she gave her superior a fleeting smile of gratitude. Mother Dorothy had a way of smoothing one’s path which contrasted with her crisp efficiency, or perhaps was part of it.
She rose and stood aside as Mother Dorothy turned to leave and Sister David moved to extinguish the candles on the altar. A moment more and silence reigned. Only the sanctuary lamp glowed redly in the dark and not even the early summer wind beyond the walls penetrated the calm. Sister Joan moved back to her accustomed place and knelt, forcing worldly matters out of her consciousness. She would ask for some enlightenment, she decided, for a way forward to be shown her so that this messy affair could speedily be resolved and she could return to her real task.
; Enlightenment didn’t come. Instead images whirled in her mind. The sickly sweet scent emanating from the body of John Hayes, the skeletal grin of Michael Peter, the wide, bewildered gaze of Caroline Hayes, the gruff kindliness of Mrs Rufus. Where were the two sisters now? Crystal and Caroline. Caroline and Crystal. Michael Peter must have fallen hard for a much younger woman in order to abandon his long bachelorhood and take a wife. And Crystal? Had she heard the chink of gold coins and decided to take what was on offer or had she felt something for the middle-aged man she’d married? The problem was that people presented only their outer personalities to others. It was too risky to appear naked and unadorned before humankind.
One person had died of natural causes; another had been murdered; two had vanished. She jerked her head up, willing away sleep.
Outside in the corridor a soft padding sound broke into her thoughts. She rose from her knees, sat for a moment, listening, then slid noiselessly from her place. The door into the corridor from the chapel was edged with baize to prevent its opening and closing from disturbing devotions. She opened it sufficiently wide to look out into the passage with its dim bulb glowing overhead. The padding became a scampering, and a furry shape leapt at her.
‘Alice!’ Inadvertently breaking the grand silence Sister Joan regained her balance and shook her head at the miscreant who immediately dropped to her haunches looking contrite.
Alice had no business here. She was supposed to be in her basket in the kitchen. Presumably she’d sensed someone in the chapel and come along to investigate, a sign, Sister Joan hoped, that she might have begun to take her role as guard dog more seriously. For a moment more she hesitated and then, moved by an impulse of which she was certain she would later be ashamed, she went to the outer door and drew the bolt.
‘Go to bed!’ She mouthed the words at Alice and went back into the chapel. For the next hour at least she was secure in the knowledge that nobody could get in from the outside.
It was past midnight when she returned to full consciousness of the material world. No great insights had come but she felt more resolute, more clearheaded. She drew back the bolt on the outer door, went through to the main hall and secured the connecting door, looking about her but seeing no sign of the dog. Presumably Alice had gone back to the kitchen. Sister Joan went across to the kitchen wing, trod softly past the infirmary and saw Alice, a dark bulk, curled demurely in her basket. Everything was as it should be within and the problems of the outside world could keep until morning. She moved to twitch the kitchen blind into place and froze, her hand without motion on the edge of the blind, her heart suddenly racing.
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