Forgive Me Father

by Paul Gitsham

  Warren returned the smile. ‘I can imagine. He told me that his own interest in the abbey and its history could be traced back to his childhood. From what he’s told me, it clearly has a past more interesting than many similar ruins.’

  ‘Yes, he uncovered some blood-curdling stories …’ Her voice broke off, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘I am such a fool.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Here I was, wondering what an earth a Detective Chief Inspector was doing visiting my father on his deathbed. When the hospice told me about your visit, I assumed you were an old friend; he used to have an occasional drink with police officers back when he did more crime reporting. But unless you’re a lot older than you look, he left that beat before you even joined the police.

  ‘You were there badgering him about those murders.’ Her voice started to rise. ‘What on earth do you think he could tell you about the goings on at that abbey? He hasn’t been outside that hospice since before Christmas.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, he contacted the hotline, I had no idea …’ started Warren. But she wasn’t listening.

  ‘The carers told me that he was distressed when you left, but I didn’t think anything of it. I thought to myself “at least he was with a friend when he was taken ill.”’

  ‘I’m really sorry, he called us to report some information he thought might be relevant to our investigation.’

  ‘Well, unless you’ve decided to try and charge someone with those murders from five hundred years ago, I can’t believe he had anything worth telling you about.’

  Warren couldn’t really defend himself against her accusation, without revealing details he’d rather keep quiet.

  ‘The moment you saw how ill he was, you should have left.’ She stood up abruptly.

  ‘I’m very sorry, I—’

  ‘Stop saying sorry, and save your explanations for the Chief Constable, DCI Jones. I’m sure that he will be very interested to read newspaper stories about how his officers are so desperate they’ve taken to harassing people on their death bed. You can see yourself out.’

  Tuesday 10th March

  Chapter 48

  Warren had barely taken his coat off before his first visitor of the day presented herself at his office door. He quickly rose to his feet and moved around his desk, snagging a chair as he went past. As a matter of courtesy, colleagues usually went to Rachel Pymm’s desk rather than the other way around. It must be important for her to travel across the office.

  Warren leant her sticks against his desk, as Pymm sat down.

  ‘What can I help you with, Rachel?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, sir. I’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘Go on.’ Warren perched on the edge of his desk.

  ‘You asked me to cross-reference the abbey staff and residents against the PNC. I did, but as soon as we got a hit on Rodney Shaw, I got side-tracked and stopped probing.’

  ‘So there were other criminal records on the PNC?’

  ‘Not exactly. There was nothing on the national computer. Nobody else had any recordable offences, but I forgot to check the local forces’ systems. As you know, not everything gets uploaded to the PNC. When I dug further, I found that Father Daugherty had a “No Further Action” against his name, dating from 2005.’

  Warren thought back. ‘When he was a school chaplain?’

  ‘Yes. There are almost no details, just a comment about him being questioned over allegations of improper behaviour towards a minor. No further action taken.’

  The importance of the information hit Warren like a hammer blow.

  Seeing the look on his face, Pymm started to apologise again. Warren stalled her with a raised hand.

  ‘Rachel, you are doing a sterling job. You know how information trickles into an investigation in dribs and drabs. The important thing is, we’ve got it now.

  ‘You say that the NFA was recorded in 2005, that’s not that many years ago. I wonder if the investigating officer remembers the case?’

  Pymm handed over a page from her notepad.

  ‘I have the officer’s name. He’s still with Herts Constabulary, based at Hitchin nick. Here’s his direct line, he’s back on duty tomorrow morning.’

  * * *

  ‘Stay away from Guest Road,’ said Grayson.

  Warren blinked in surprise. Pymm had left only moments before and he still hadn’t finished booting up his laptop.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Grayson flopped down into the recently vacated visitor’s chair. He also rarely visited Warren’s office.

  ‘The exact words of Chief Superintendent Brigstocke from Serious and Organised Crime. It turns out they’ve had their eye on number 68 Guest Road for the past few months.’

  ‘Why? What on Earth is Shaw mixed up in?’

  ‘It is believed to be an illegal gambling den, plus a hangout for drug dealers, pimps and other charming individuals.’

  ‘Well, that accounts for Shaw’s interest, although I didn’t think he was that big a gambler,’ said Warren.

  ‘He’s probably not, she’d never heard of Shaw. Brigstocke said that it’s a pretty amateur affair, however the gang that run it have aspirations to join the big league. Brigstocke’s team are looking at ways of infiltrating it whilst it’s still a small player and seeing if they can use it as a way into the wider network.’

  ‘Hence the warning to back off.’

  ‘Exactly. Brigstocke even suggested that Shaw might be useful to them, although I persuaded her to hold fire until we know if he’s actually a double-murderer first.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Warren. ‘I could really do without organised crime breathing down my neck, alongside everyone else.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to keep them at arm’s length,’ promised Grayson.

  Warren sighed philosophically. ‘Even if they could supply Shaw with an alibi, I’m not sure I’d believe them. Hell, the buggers could even have assisted him.’

  ‘Well if that’s the case, our investigation will take precedence,’ said Grayson. ‘In the meantime, how did yesterday’s visit to Vernon Coombs’ family go?’

  ‘Not well.’

  By the time Warren had finished describing the visit, Grayson looked pained.

  ‘If you really need that research, then I’ll back you in obtaining a warrant to seize it. If necessary, we can use the fact that he appears to have access to confidential information as an indication that he may have closer links to the murders than would be expected.’

  ‘You mean treat him as a suspect, or a person of interest?’ said Warren.

  ‘If necessary.’

  Warren puffed his lips out. ‘I agree that we could go in mob-handed, but that’s pretty dangerous. I did a bit of poking around and it turns out that she wasn’t making an empty threat; her husband is a reporter for the Mercury. We could find ourselves splashed across the front page.’

  ‘She’s right that the Chief Constable won’t be very impressed, but he’s a realist, it’ll blow over soon enough.’

  ‘I’m not worried about that, I’m more concerned that any story may speculate about a link between those fake suicides from the middle ages and the present-day murders. If Coombs is right, then our one advantage over the killer is that he doesn’t know that we are aware of any such link. If, as Coombs hinted, there were more killings to come, then not only might we be able to prevent more deaths, we might also be able to catch the killer in action.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  Warren gave a sigh. ‘A fulsome apology and your smartest suit, sir.’

  * * *

  You could say what you liked about DSI John Grayson, but when he wanted to turn the charm on, he was a master. It also helped that Vernon Coombs’ granddaughter, Lilly, was present when Warren and Grayson next visited. Grayson had just become a grandfather himself, and was by all accounts a doting uncle to several nieces and nephews of a similar age to Lilly. It was another glimpse at the man behind the façade he usually presented at work.


  ‘It’s my granddad. He’s in Heaven,’ the little girl pronounced, when Grayson asked her what she was drawing. To Warren’s surprise, Grayson took the poignant statement in his stride. ‘I’m sure he’s very proud that you are such a good artist.’

  Having at least passed that test, Warren and Grayson were allowed to say their piece, again apologising for Warren’s intrusion into her father’s final days and reiterating that they had only visited by invitation.

  By the time they left it was getting dark and Coombs’ daughter had to switch on the security lights as the two officers carried three large boxes of research, and the lever arch folder containing the partially written manuscript, out of the garage. Warren also had a memory stick in his pocket that he’d promised to copy and return immediately.

  ‘Well, at least we won’t be needing this,’ said Grayson with satisfaction as the car pulled away, removing the search warrant from his inside jacket pocket.

  * * *

  ‘Are you having a laugh?’ asked Rachel Pymm, when she saw the three boxes of photocopied research from Coombs’ room sitting on the table that had been moved next to her usual desk.

  ‘Hopefully, much of what you need will already be in the manuscript.’ Warren patted the lever arch folder. ‘Or failing that, in his computer files. Coombs’ daughter was unsure how complete the first draft was, so I suggest you read this first.’

  ‘And if it isn’t?’

  ‘I’m sure DSI Grayson will be happy to authorise the cost of a small team to go through the raw research.’

  Pymm pulled the file over. ‘Remind me what I’m looking for?’

  ‘In the first instance, the deathbed confession of Simon Scrope. It should detail the ways in which he supposedly killed those that abused his younger brother, including his father, who apparently held the victim at least partly responsible for his own abuse.

  ‘Check for similarities between the murders of Father’s Daugherty and Nolan and those described in the manuscript. Let’s see if Coombs was correct, or if he was imagining things.

  ‘Then, see if you can find any other deaths. Coombs said that there were multiple abusers. If our killer really is re-enacting deaths from this story, then there may be clues to future killings. Scrope’s confession apparently ends abruptly, so if there is more to be found it’s likely to be recorded in the monks’ diaries.’

  ‘No pressure then.’

  Warren smiled sympathetically. ‘I’ll speak to DSI Grayson about authorising a team to help you.’ He turned to leave. ‘Oh, one more thing. When handling the photocopied sheets, wear gloves. If Coombs is to be believed, he is the first person to delve into this story for hundreds of years. But it sounds as though at least some of the research was done with the help of others. Put anything that seems relevant to one side and we’ll get Forensics to see if anyone else handled the sheets. It’s a long shot, but we might find something.’

  ‘Great, sweaty hands as well,’ grumbled Pymm.

  Wednesday 11th March

  Chapter 49

  Sergeant Archie Ingram, the school liaison officer when Father Daugherty was accused of improper contact with a child, remembered the incident well, and agreed to come over to Middlesbury for a chat first thing.

  ‘I’ve gone through my original notes.’ He produced a dog-eared notebook. ‘You’re lucky. Another three months and I’ve done my thirty years. I’ll be sailing off into the sunset – or at least moving to Devon.’

  Sergeant Ingram was a large man in his early fifties. Easily six feet two, his uniform shirt barely covered his pronounced beer belly.

  ‘Back then I was link officer to a number of schools in the town. I remember this one really well, because it was unusual.’

  ‘How so?’

  Ingram sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘The one part of the job I won’t miss is child protection. Over the years, I’ve seen and heard some really shitty stuff. Unfortunately, by the time these things reach me, they’ve usually been going on for some time. The real kicker though is that often there just isn’t enough evidence to proceed. Where possible, I’ll escalate it and get outside organisations involved, but usually nothing happens. The child ends up on a register as vulnerable, but the alleged perpetrator denies everything and it becomes the kid’s word against theirs. And you know how that goes …’ His tone darkened. ‘Sometimes I read the evidence and question both parties and I just know the bastard did it. And he knows that I know. And he just smirks …’ Ingram’s fists clenched. ‘And I’d give anything to wipe that smug grin of his face.’

  ‘So what happened in this case?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I saw that, “No Further Action”.’

  ‘No, I mean literally nothing. Nothing happened.’

  ‘You mean it was a false allegation?’

  ‘Yes, she withdrew it when she realised the consequences of her lies on Father Daugherty.’

  ‘So something may have happened, but she changed her mind, or was persuaded to change her mind?’

  If that was the case, then perhaps they had their motive. Had the girl – now a young woman – spent the intervening years dwelling on the injustice of what had happened to her? Was the murder of Father Daugherty an act of revenge? And if that was the case, what was the connection with Father Nolan? Despite their best efforts, they’d found no evidence that the two men knew each other before becoming residents at the same retirement home.

  Were they even connected? Or was the death of Father Nolan a mistake?

  Ingram shook his head.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. Literally nothing happened. That’s why it stuck in my mind. True malicious allegations are really rare. As you well know, not enough evidence to proceed isn’t the same as the offence never happened.’

  ‘So how do you know that it was definitely malicious?’

  ‘To put it bluntly, the girl wasn’t very bright and had a history of saying things that were untrue. Teachers – especially male teachers – were under instructions not to be alone with her.’

  ‘Unreliable witness?’

  ‘No.’ Ingram looked annoyed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, sir. I realise that the track record of the authorities in believing vulnerable, abused victims is woeful – trust me, I’ve seen it firsthand – but in this case, it really was untrue.’

  ‘Sorry, Sergeant, I didn’t mean to sound judgemental. Take me through what happened.’

  ‘I got a call from the school safeguarding lead to tell me that an allegation had been made against a member of staff, and could I attend for a preliminary interview?

  ‘The child, a 14-year-old, year-nine pupil, had gone to her form tutor and claimed that Father Gerry Daugherty had touched her inappropriately when she was in confession. She said that he had threatened to go to her parents and tell them what she had confessed, unless she touched him back. And that when she did that, he’d unzipped his trousers and made her pleasure him. She declined to tell us what she had supposedly confessed.’

  ‘So then what happened?’

  ‘Well, the most important thing to do in these circumstances is to ensure that no young people are in any danger, so after the interview was concluded, I went to see Father Daugherty, with a view to escorting him off site whilst the allegations were investigated.

  ‘I took him back to the station and he offered to give a voluntary statement. He claimed that he had threatened to speak to the girl’s parents, but that it had nothing to do with confession. In fact, he’d caught her smoking cannabis around the back of the church car park. He was concerned that she was hanging around with the wrong crowd and he was going to have a word with her parents, who were parishioners, with a view to helping her. He said that she then completely lost her temper and told him that if he did, she’d make him sorry.’

  ‘So did he tell her parents?’

  ‘Ironically, no. He didn’t get a chance. One of the other parents of the kids she was with told them. But she must have ass
umed that he was involved and gone through with her threat.’

  ‘So how did you know it was untrue?’

  ‘Well, she was clever enough to claim the assault happened several weeks before, and that her school uniform had been laundered since, so there would be no forensic evidence. But she wasn’t clever enough to think up a plausible date when the attack could have occurred. Father Daugherty was away on a walking holiday with his nephew’s family in Devon for a week either side of when she claimed the attack occurred.’

  ‘She could have got her dates mixed up, the event would have been very traumatic,’ countered Warren.

  ‘You’re right, but by this time I think she was starting to think through the repercussions of what she had done. Obviously, since Father Daugherty was cooperating voluntarily and hadn’t been arrested, his name hadn’t been released to the papers, but the girl had told her best friend, who told her friends … after about a week, the entire school knew what had allegedly happened, with the story growing in the retelling. Parents were ringing the school and gossiping amongst themselves – fortunately, social media wasn’t really a thing back then. His car was vandalised, and “paedo” was sprayed on the church doors. In the end, he had to take a leave of absence.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘With the support of her parents, the girl retracted her accusations. Unfortunately, because of the nature of the allegations, the school was unable to give anything more than a brief statement, as they couldn’t release any information that might identify the child – although everyone knew her identity by all accounts – so a lot of the school community declared it a cover up; no smoke without fire and all that.’

  ‘What happened to Father Daugherty?’