Forgive Me Father

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Closest match looks like strawberry, you know the little seeds on the outside of the fruit?’

  Pulling into the station car park, Warren thanked her and hung up.

  Impatient to see if an idea he had been developing since the phone call was correct, Warren used the internet browser on his phone as he waited for the lift to CID. Opening the website of Middlesbury Abbey, he navigated to the gift shop. By the time he entered the main office he’d found what he was looking for.

  For an eye-watering price, one could purchase a 340g jar of jam made from the abbey’s home-grown strawberries.

  * * *

  ‘It’s a bit early in the season for this year’s strawberries to be ripe, but the floor of the greenhouse is covered in dried seeds from previous years. Anybody spending a significant amount of time in here would pick up a few of them.’

  Gupta and her team were already on site and so it had been the work of moments to seal the greenhouses occupying the south-facing wall of the walled garden.

  ‘There’s access to running water from a standpipe, with a hose attached,’ she continued. ‘According to Professor Jordan, a preliminary report from the limnologist suggests that the diatoms found in Father Daugherty’s tissue correspond to our local tap water.’

  ‘What else have you found?’

  ‘A wooden garden chair and a balled-up towel. It’s no longer wet, but it’s stiff, as if it was allowed to dry in that position. The concrete paving slabs surrounding the chair are also cleaner than the rest of the greenhouse.’

  ‘Suggesting they were washed down?’

  ‘Possibly, although I think it more likely that it was just caused by over-spilling water.’

  It took a moment for Warren to put together the clues. When he did, he could scarcely believe what he was saying.

  ‘Are you suggesting that Father Daugherty was water-boarded?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet against it.’

  Warren was stunned. Waterboarding involved placing a towel over a victim’s face and then pouring water onto it, simulating the feeling of drowning. The US Army euphemistically referred to it as an ‘enhanced interrogation’ tactic; to everyone else it was torture.

  Father Cormac Nolan had been burnt alive; now Father Gerry Daugherty had been subjected to torture. Whoever the killer was, they were a sadist and he or she needed to be taken off the street and locked away.

  Warren’s musings were interrupted by a call from the other end of the greenhouse.

  ‘You need to come and see this, Meera. Bring DCI Jones with you.’

  Warren followed the CSI along the plastic boarding. The far end of the greenhouse opened into a brick-built shed. A chipped porcelain sink with a dried cake of soap stood in one corner. The rest of the space was taken up by watering cans, trowels and other tools that Warren vaguely recognised, but couldn’t name. Even through the mask, Warren could smell the familiar scents of his childhood; Granddad Jack had been a keen gardener and Warren had loved the warm, damp smell of his greenhouse and the dry, earthy scent of his shed.

  The CSI triumphantly held up a pair of work boots. Turning them towards Warren and Gupta, he pointed out the black marker pen on the ankle.

  ‘R.S.’

  ‘Looks as though the boots we took from Rodney Shaw weren’t the only pair he owned,’ said Warren.

  ‘And that’s not all we’ve found.’

  He pushed back the shed door. Hanging on a hook was a mud-covered, green wax jacket.

  Thursday 5th March

  Chapter 37

  At 5 a.m., when Rodney Shaw was arrested for the second time, he was still in his nightwear. Despite his protestations, he was given a police-issue tracksuit and his hands were covered in plastic bags to preserve anything caught beneath his finger nails.

  With Shaw safely placed in the back of a police car, the crime scene investigation team were free to enter the flat he had occupied since he and his wife separated. This time the search warrant stated clearly that the house, his car and any relevant outbuildings were to be searched for material relating to the murders of Fathers Nolan and Daugherty. A similar search warrant was also being executed at his family home. This time there was less need to ensure that the search didn’t over-stretch its original remit and so Warren was happy to leave the searches to be supervised by Sergeants Richardson and Hutchinson.

  * * *

  Shaw opted to stick with the same duty solicitor as his previous arrest. After setting up the PACE recorder, reminding Shaw of his rights under caution again, and introducing Tony Sutton, Warren got down to business.

  ‘First of all, as you are aware, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Father Gerry Daugherty. Before we start, is there anything you wish to tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Mr Shaw, please could you tell me what you were doing on the night of Saturday the twenty-eighth of February until the early hours of Sunday the first of March?’

  The approach to interview had been decided upon the previous night. They already knew that Shaw was lying about his movements the evening that Father Nolan had been murdered. Consequently, Warren decided to put the first murder to one side. Revealing that they knew about his lies from then might make him clam up and start ‘no commenting’, a cycle that could be hard to break someone out of.

  ‘I was on my own, watching TV. Then I went to bed.’

  ‘So you have nobody who can vouch for your whereabouts?’

  ‘No, I was alone.’

  ‘What about your daughter? I thought she visited you on the weekend?’ asked Sutton.

  Shaw scowled. ‘Funnily enough, her mum was reluctant to let her come over after you lot came crashing in last week. God only knows what she’s going to think after you appeared at their house this morning.’

  Warren ignored the implied rebuke.

  ‘What did you watch on TV?’

  He shrugged, ‘I think I watched the news, then stayed up for Match of the Day and the Football League Show.’

  ‘Who played?’

  ‘I dunno. Fulham and Derby County, I think.’ He paused. ‘Yeah, Fulham won two-nil. Both goals in the first half.’

  Warren made a note to get that checked out, however he knew it was hardly conclusive. Shaw could easily have recorded the match or looked up the highlights online. Besides which, that only accounted for the latter part of the evening. Father Daugherty’s body had been found at 2.30 a.m. and he’d last been seen at about 7 p.m., before he headed out for his post-dinner walk. That left a window of seven or so hours.

  ‘What did you do in the hours before then? Did you go out?’

  ‘No, I stayed in all day and pottered about the house.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Just stuff.’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  Shaw flushed.

  ‘I dunno, I can’t remember.’ His voice rose. ‘can you remember what you did all day Saturday? It was my day off, and I’d had a shit week, thanks to you lot. I just didn’t feel like going out or doing anything.’

  ‘OK, let’s move on. I believe that you keep a number of keys to various locks around the abbey grounds in your house. Why do you do that?’

  ‘For safekeeping and in case I get called out during the night. I also have some on my own keyring for locks that I use every day.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The main tool shed and the greenhouse, as well as the visitor centre and toilet blocks.’

  ‘And what keys do you have at home? For safekeeping.’

  ‘You already know this. You took them last week.’

  ‘Remind me.’

  ‘The main front gates, rear gate and visitor side gate, the chapel and the undercroft. Also, the front door and rear doors to the retirement home, the gift shop and the ticket booth.’

  ‘What about other keys?’

  ‘I don’t have copies of them, they’re hanging in the vestry. As you already know.’

  ‘Do you have a copy of
the key to the padlock to the gate down by the old mill house that lets people through the gate by the bridge?’

  ‘No, I can’t remember the last time it was even opened. The key for that should be in the vestry.’

  Warren made a show of writing that down.

  On cue, Sutton opened the folder in front of them.

  ‘Do you recognise these boots?’

  He passed the colour photograph across the table. Shaw squinted at it.

  ‘Yeah, they’re my spare ones. I keep them in the greenhouse.’

  ‘And what about this jacket?’

  Sutton pushed a second photograph across the table.

  ‘Looks like the one hanging up in the greenhouse. It’s an old one I use if the weather’s really crap, or I’m going to be doing something really dirty.’

  Sutton thanked him and put the photographs back in the folder.

  ‘Does anyone else borrow these clothes, Mr Shaw?’

  ‘I doubt it. My apprentice has feet like canoes, he’d never get into my boots and he’s not been here long enough to do any really dirty jobs.’

  Warren also wrote that down. The unknown fingerprints found on the petrol can used in the arson on Father Nolan had already been matched to the apprentice, and his alibi for that night was sound; he’d get someone to confirm that the boots couldn’t fit the lad, but the teenager had been all but ruled out of the enquiry.

  Shaw shifted in his seat, his face was a mixture of irritation and nerves.

  ‘When was the last time you wore these boots, Mr Shaw?’ asked Warren.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I usually wear my other work boots, but I haven’t seen them since you took them last week.’

  ‘So what shoes have you been wearing at work?’

  ‘Well first of all, I’ve barely been to work. Even when I’ve not been wasting my time sitting in here, on trumped up charges, there’s been hardly any point going in. For most of the past ten days the whole bloody place has been covered in police tape. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s spring and I’ve got stuff that needs doing.’

  ‘Which shoes have you been wearing?’ repeated Warren.

  ‘My trainers. You know, the white ones you took last week and gave me back covered in black fingerprint powder.’

  Warren made another note.

  Shaw’s eyes flicked towards Warren’s notebook. Warren casually closed it before Shaw could read what he had written.

  ‘Tell me about your relationship with Father Daugherty.’

  ‘Everyone loved Gerry. He was a lovely man. Very funny.’

  ‘What about you? Did you speak to him very often.’

  ‘Sure. I’d often see him around the house if I was up there doing a job.’

  ‘What about in the grounds? Did you ever work together in the gardens?’

  ‘Gerry? No chance. He could kill a plastic Christmas tree.’

  ‘So he never helped out in the greenhouse?’

  ‘No. I doubt he ever set foot in there.’

  ‘Father Daugherty was found face down in the river, but the gate to the bridge was locked with a padlock. Have you any idea how the killer might have been able to open those gates?’ Sutton asked.

  ‘With a key presumably.’

  ‘Where would he get the key?’

  ‘From the vestry, I suppose.’

  ‘The key is still hanging in the vestry.’

  ‘So the killer must have returned it.’

  ‘That’s a bit risky, don’t you think?’

  ‘The whole thing sounds risky.’

  ‘Do you have a copy of the key?’

  ‘I already said I don’t.’

  ‘Well, presumably the padlock came with two keys when it was bought. Where is the second one?’

  Shaw’s forehead creased.

  ‘I think they’re both on the hook in the vestry.’

  ‘We found only one, so where is the second key?’

  ‘I dunno, I guess the killer must still have it.’

  Warren made another note.

  ‘OK. Let’s go back to the jacket hanging in the greenhouse. You only wear it in bad weather?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When was the last time you wore it?’

  ‘A few weeks ago, maybe? Some fencing blew down. Eventually I had to go out and fix it, even though it was raining.’

  ‘And you haven’t been down to the river in it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case, could you explain why there are fibres from this coat at the scene of Father Daugherty’s murder? Also, why is there dust from the wall that Father Daugherty was lifted over on the coat, and on the soles of your spare work boots, footprints from which have been found next to the bridge?’

  Shaw’s mouth dropped open.

  Warren opened the folder again and removed a second photograph. A close up of a padlock key.

  ‘This key fits the padlock to the gate by the bridge over the river. It is the matching key to the one still hanging in the vestry. It was found in the inside pocket of your wax jacket.

  ‘I am going to ask you again. Were you involved in the murder of Father Gerry Daugherty?’

  Chapter 38

  ‘We’ve got him on the back foot over Daugherty,’ started Warren.

  It was now coming up to 8 a.m. and Shaw had requested a break, after again denying the murder of Father Daugherty.

  Since he’d been dragged from his bed at 5 a.m., they couldn’t say no. Not that Warren wanted to. Between drafting the request for a warrant and picking it up from the duty magistrate on the way to Shaw’s, Warren had managed only a few hours of sleep himself.

  Tony Sutton looked similarly tired, his skin grey, his hands shaking from too much coffee. Moray Ruskin looked as fresh as a daisy; he wasn’t even wet from the unexpected rainstorm outside. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Rachel Pymm, who had been unable to hold her umbrella properly whilst using her walking sticks. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and her glasses were steamed up. She was not in a good mood.

  ‘I’ve got Shaw’s mobile phone records from the night of Father Daugherty’s murder. Unfortunately, it matches what he says. His handset didn’t leave his house all day Saturday or Sunday.’

  ‘He could have remembered to leave it at home this time,’ said Sutton. ‘Anyone who watches TV must know that we can track their movements if they carry it with them.’

  ‘What about calls?’

  ‘Nothing much. The last call is to his wife, late on Friday evening, and a text to his daughter immediately after.’

  ‘Which would match what he said about her refusing to let him see his daughter over the weekend,’ said Ruskin.

  ‘What about his car? Any sign of it on traffic cameras?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Chief,’ responded Richardson. ‘Nothing on any of the static ANPR cameras near the abbey, or from the junctions closest to his house. As far as we can tell, his car didn’t leave the vicinity of his house all weekend.’

  ‘That might not mean anything,’ said Warren. ‘We found a mountain bike at his flat Everything that was used to kill Father Daugherty was at the scene of the crime, including his jacket and boots. He could easily have travelled there by bicycle.’

  ‘Could his bike fit in the back of his car?’ asked Ruskin, suddenly.

  ‘Good question, that could explain how he travelled to Father Nolan’s murder undetected,’ said Sutton.

  ‘His car is a Volvo estate,’ said Warren. ‘If he took the wheels off it might.’

  ‘I’ll get the CCTV team to look for bicycles on their footage,’ said Mags Richardson.

  ‘We should also get Forensics to check his tyres for mud and trace evidence,’ suggested Sutton. ‘That might indicate if he cycled into the abbey grounds.’

  ‘Good suggestion. Meanwhile, any luck with his computer?’ asked Warren. One of the first things the CSIs had seized was Shaw’s rather elderly desktop PC.

  ‘It’s with Pete Robertson down at Welwyn. He’s looking
at it as we speak,’ said Richardson.

  ‘Good. Interrupt us if anything relevant turns up.’

  ‘I think we’ve pushed the death of Father Daugherty as far as we can at the moment,’ said Sutton. ‘His solicitor is going to claim all the evidence so far can be explained away as circumstantial. We don’t even have his fingerprints on the padlock key.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s come back to it when we have more forensics, we’ve got plenty of time. Speaking of which—’ Warren looked at his watch ‘—I think he’s had a long enough break. Let’s see what he has to say about Father Nolan.’

  * * *

  Rodney Shaw looked less nervous, and more annoyed when the interview resumed. His solicitor opened the proceedings.

  ‘This is the second time that my client has been arrested on spurious charges with only circumstantial evidence to back up your claims. Even if your forensics team have successfully placed Mr Shaw’s spare jacket and boots at the scene of Father Daugherty’s death, those items of clothing hang in an easily accessible greenhouse. You have yet to show me any convincing evidence that Mr Shaw was the person wearing those clothes, or that he placed that padlock key in the pocket.

  ‘It’s clear that you don’t have anything substantial on my client. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you’re getting desperate to be seen to be doing something. Well, my client objects to being used in this fashion. I insist that you either charge Mr Shaw or end this charade and release him.’

  Warren waited until the solicitor had finished.

  ‘What was your relationship like with Father Nolan?’

  Shaw blinked, clearly nonplussed by the change of subject.

  His solicitor spoke up, her irritation clear in her tone.

  ‘I thought there was something a bit fishy last time. I’ve never seen that sort of treatment for a simple accusation of theft.’ She paused. ‘Rest assured, DCI Jones, I will be going over that previous search to make certain you didn’t overreach yourself. I will also be reviewing the transcript of the interview, paying particular attention where your officers denied that the arrest was in relation to the murder.’

  Warren ignored her bluster; Pymm had been careful in her choice of language.