Forgive Me Father

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Well he’d never been arrested, so from our point of view, it was recorded as NFA. But in the end he went off with stress and the last I heard he’d retired, the poor bastard.’ Ingram shook his head. ‘It was a real shame. I knew him as part of the wider community and he was a really nice man. He would do anything to help those kids, that’s why he was going to speak to her parents. He was worried about her. There were never any similar allegations made against him, not even historic accusations where more alleged victims came forward after all the publicity.’

  ‘What happened to the girl?’

  ‘Nothing in the end. There was some talk of a managed move to another school for a fresh start, but a statement from Father Daugherty claimed that he forgave her. The school decided that to exclude her would not only identify her, it could be seen as punishing someone who the whole school saw as the victim, as well as discouraging real victims from coming forward in the future.’

  ‘Are you still in touch with the accuser?’

  ‘Nah, never heard another peep from her. Eventually the whole thing blew itself out. To be honest, until you called me about it, I hadn’t thought about it for years. The saddest thing was what happened to Father Daugherty. A couple of the local muckrakers, who as usual knew bugger all about what had really happened, claimed that he had been sacked for child molestation, although I don’t know if anyone really believed them. Still, it ruined the reputation of a good man, it’s no wonder he never came back to the school.’

  Chapter 50

  ‘I’ve finished reading the printed manuscript in the lever arch folder,’ said Pymm. Her tone was reproving. ‘It was a bloody mess, if I’m honest, nowhere near a complete first draft, and it was covered in red pen.’

  ‘What have you found out?’

  Pymm shifted slightly in her chair.

  ‘First, the good news. In amongst far more than I ever wanted to know about the funding model for a thirteenth-century abbey, and some admittedly cool plans showing priest holes and escape tunnels, there was the deathbed confession that Vernon Coombs told you about.’

  ‘And did it match his account?’

  ‘Well, the way it was told in the manuscript was the same as the way you said he relayed it to you. He also cites other accounts from diaries around the time it occurred. Fortunately, he is a great believer in the numbered footnote, so my next job will be to pull out those references from the cardboard box mountain that is blocking my sunlight.’

  ‘What’s the bad news?’

  ‘It looks as though that was the chapter he was working on when he became too ill to write any more. He only names one of the alleged abusers, the one that was drowned. IT have finished scanning the computer files on the memory stick you supplied for malware and emailed me a copy. I’m going to see if he has any more complete drafts that he hasn’t printed out yet, but it won’t be quick. He wasn’t the most organised worker, everything is in separate numbered files that don’t correspond to the chapter numbers in the printed manuscript.’

  ‘Do what you can. I presume that you are here to ask for more help?’

  ‘Yes please. Those boxes are filled with reams of copied documents and scanned pictures. I had a look inside and they’re numbered, but they aren’t in order and the photocopier wasn’t the best.’

  She held her hands out; the fingers shook slightly. ‘I don’t have the dexterity to go rooting through these boxes, especially if I’m wearing gloves, and I can’t deal with that much paper sitting down.’

  ‘Of course, I completely forgot. I’ll arrange that team immediately,’ said Warren, embarrassed that the welfare of a member of his team had slipped his mind.

  ‘Thanks, Chief.’ Pymm gave a small smile. ‘I’m working from home tomorrow as I have a hospital appointment in the middle of the day. I’ll tackle the computer files, assuming the remote access server isn’t down again.’

  She heaved herself to her feet as Warren handed over her crutches.

  ‘Well, don’t overdo it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir, I know my limits.’ She paused. ‘Sorry, I get a little snappy when I’m tired.’

  Warren took the hint. ‘I’ll put in the request to HR immediately.’

  Thursday 12th March

  Chapter 51

  7.30 a.m. and Warren and Tony Sutton were updating Grayson before the general 8 a.m. briefing. Grayson was wearing a freshly pressed uniform. Immediately after, he was meeting with several members of the force’s most senior officers and Bishop Fisher’s successor, the current Bishop of Hertfordshire and Essex.

  The appointment was both a courtesy to assure the church that the murders were being taken seriously, and a means of forging links with the diocese to ensure their full cooperation with the investigation. Warren’s gut was telling him that the case was likely to uncover some uncomfortable truths and that they were going to need as much assistance as possible.

  Warren’s interview the previous day with Sergeant Ingram indicated that sexual misconduct might not be the motivation behind the two priests’ murders, nevertheless, he wasn’t prepared to entirely dismiss the idea. Especially given Rachel Pymm’s confirmation that Vernon Coombs’ tale of sixteenth-century sexual abuse seemed to be correct.

  ‘It’s a hell of a story,’ said DSI Grayson, ‘but it seems pretty far-fetched. Sometimes coincidences do happen. Look at anything hard enough and you’ll start to see connections that don’t exist.’

  ‘I agree that the murders are similar to the methods supposedly used by Simon Scrope to avenge his brother’s mistreatment,’ said Warren, ‘but we can’t find any evidence that either priest was involved in sexual abuse. Sergeant Ingram was adamant that Father Daugherty was falsely accused and that the student eventually withdrew the allegation. As for Father Nolan, we haven’t found anything at all.’

  ‘All that tells us is that the motive or the reason these men were chosen were different to the original murders,’ interjected Sutton. ‘I still think that the killer is familiar with the stories about the abbey’s past. I think we need to continue looking at who else might have had access to the same sources as Vernon Coombs.’

  ‘The question is how do we do that without showing our hand? Ideally the killer won’t know that we suspect a link, but I don’t know if Vernon Coombs had told anyone of his suspicions before he met me – although obviously, he didn’t tell anyone afterwards.’ Warren cringed inwardly at how callous his words sounded. He still felt sad that he was probably the last person to have a meaningful conversation with the dead reporter.

  ‘Perhaps he made a note in his files, so that he could acknowledge their assistance later?’ Grayson’s words were clearly more optimistic than he felt.

  ‘Perhaps, but Rachel says the work was pretty disorganised. She and her team are looking for anything that might help.’

  ‘What about this supposed false accusation against Father Daugherty?’ asked Grayson.

  ‘From what we’ve heard from the school liaison officer that dealt with the original complaint, it was likely to be just that. I’ve asked Hutch to dig a little deeper and see if the No Further Action was justified, and also track down the complainant’s whereabouts, to see if they have an alibi. The Social Media Intelligence Unit are looking at her social media posts, to see if she has expressed any strong views about the Church’s recent problems, or if she has any ongoing links to people in the local community that could have been involved in the killings.’

  ‘Good work, keep me posted.’

  Chapter 52

  Moray Ruskin looked even more keen than usual when he appeared at Warren’s office door.

  ‘We have a report back from forensics about the padlock key found with Father Nolan’s body.’

  ‘Oh? I thought they’d already done the fingerprints and other trace evidence,’ said Warren.

  ‘They had, but Andy Harrison noticed some scratches on the key and followed what he called a “hunch”.’

  ‘Go on, Andy’s hunches usually lead som
ewhere interesting.’

  ‘He reckons that the scratches could indicate that the key has been clamped, for example in a key copying machine.’

  ‘OK, but we know that the key is a copy; Rodney Shaw has the master key. The spares are kept in the vestry and Shaw has the masters for safekeeping.’

  ‘Well, not quite. The padlock to the tool shed is relatively modern, probably only about ten years old, so the key in the vestry is actually one of the original two keys supplied when the lock was bought. Technically, both the key in the vestry and Rodney Shaw’s copy are masters.’ Ruskin looked smug.

  ‘So what you are saying is that the key found with Father Nolan – which we believe is the one from the vestry as it has that blob of paint on it – was itself copied?’

  ‘It’s not conclusive but it looks that way. And furthermore, CSM Harrison thinks it was copied recently. Something about the cleanliness of the scratches and the lack of oxidation.’

  The importance of the revelation struck Warren immediately.

  ‘If that’s true, then it raises the question, why would Rodney Shaw need a second copy of a key he already has? And if it wasn’t Rodney Shaw who made the copy, then who did?’ Was this evidence that Shaw was not the killer? Or was it an elaborate ruse to throw them off?

  ‘Is there any way that we can find out where the key was copied?’ Warren felt he probably already knew the answer, but he needed to ask anyway.

  Ruskin shook his head.

  ‘No, I asked that as well. The scratches don’t really carry any meaningful information. If we had the very same key cutting machine in front of us, Andy said he may be able to match the scratches to whatever imperfection on the clamp caused them, but even then he’s not convinced. As for the key and padlock, it’s a generic brand that has been sold for years everywhere from hardware stores to large supermarkets. It isn’t a security key, so you can walk in off the street without any questions asked and have it copied whilst you wait.’

  ‘I’m not even going to ask how many key cutters there are in Middlesbury, let alone the rest of the county.’

  The excitement of the find had all but gone. It was possible that the murders had been planned for months, even years. They key could have been cut at any time in that period. If they had a hard suspect, Warren supposed they could always show a photograph of them to staff in those shops, but they must see dozens of customers each day, and there was nothing especially memorable about the key.

  Perhaps the killer paid using a card – an oversight for sure, but not impossible – they could trawl through all of the cutter’s sales for the past couple of years and see if any familiar names jumped out.

  If the killer had the key cut relatively recently, they could always look through any CCTV footage that hadn’t already been recorded over. Combining the time stamps for sales of cut keys – they wouldn’t need to rely on credit card sales, cash would also be recorded – would allow them to narrow down the amount of video that needed to be examined, but it would still be considerable. It also relied on the cutters having a modern till that recorded the type of each sale.

  It would be a mammoth job and extremely expensive. Would DSI Grayson be prepared to sign off on it?

  ‘I had another thought, sir.’

  ‘Go on.’ Warren braced himself for even more expense.

  ‘Well, I figured tracking down who copied the padlock key might be a bit of a stretch. But then I got thinking. If they needed a copy of that key, then presumably they also needed a copy of the keys to the chapel and the undercroft.’

  ‘Have they been copied?’ Warren perked up immediately. Those keys were over a hundred years old. Surely they’d stick in the memory more than a modern padlock key?

  ‘Impossible to say, the keys are covered in all sorts of dings and scratches.’

  Warren’s excitement faded.

  ‘But then I went into the key cutter’s pop-up shop in the supermarket and he reckons that keys that old wouldn’t be cut by a regular key cutter. They only do mass-produced keys, as they have to use a commercially available blank. If you want a key like that copied, you would need to use a specialist locksmith.’

  Ruskin’s excitement was infectious.

  ‘Brilliant work, Moray. Get on it.’

  Friday 13th March

  Chapter 53

  The village of Copperston had been home to Fullbright and Sons Locksmiths for over two hundred years. The village was only eighteen miles from Middlesbury, but first thing in the morning, it took over an hour to cover that distance. The shop opened at 8 a.m. and so Ruskin had decided to drive there before work. By the time he arrived back at his desk it was late morning, and he was in a foul mood.

  ‘Why the hell do the dustbins need to be collected in rush hour? Seven until nine is the busiest part of the day on the road in literally every town and city in the country; you’ve got people going to work and parents doing the school run, so which idiot in the local council thinks it’s a good idea to block the roads with a sodding great bin lorry? What is so urgent about collecting bins that it can’t wait until when the traffic has died down?’

  ‘Productive trip, Moray?’ asked Pymm mildly. She pushed an open cake tin across her desk. ‘Joey wanted to make cupcakes for his friend’s birthday. This is the first attempt; they’re a funny shape, and an even funnier colour, but they taste OK.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Ruskin chose a bright green one. ‘Alex has decided to go sugar free for Lent, so there’s bugger all worth eating in the cupboards at home.’

  ‘I had no idea Alex was religious,’ said Pymm.

  ‘He’s not. He just wants to look his best for our wedding.’

  ‘What did you find out?’ asked Warren, who’d heard Ruskin’s rant from across the office and come over to investigate. He helped himself to a purple cake.

  ‘The good news is that the cutter remembers the keys. They were custom jobs and he had to take a mould because the customer couldn’t leave them for the time it would take to get them made.’

  ‘That fits with him needing to return them to vestry before anyone noticed they were missing,’ said Pymm.

  ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that we have a name or a description?’ asked Warren.

  ‘I’m afraid not. He says that the customer was a man, but he doesn’t recall any other details. However, he was able to track down the order. It was placed on Friday the sixteenth of January and collected a week later on Thursday the twenty-second, paid for in cash. The name given by the customer was Bob Smith, but there’s no way to be sure that was his real name. He did give a mobile phone number as a contact, for when the keys were ready for collection. I’ll send it to you, Sarge, to see if you can do anything with it.’

  ‘Well, fingers crossed,’ said Warren, although he suspected the phone was probably unregistered. The killer had left precious few clues so far.

  ‘Was there an invoice or any other paperwork that the killer might have touched?’

  ‘No. The owner is pretty old school. He writes down his orders in a ledger and then transfers them to a spreadsheet once a week. He gives the customer a ticket, but doesn’t retain it when they come back in. The customer doesn’t need to sign anything.’

  ‘The keys were cut almost two months ago,’ said Warren. ‘What are the chances that any CCTV footage is still available?’

  ‘None for the locksmith’s, he doesn’t have any cameras. There are a few more shops nearby, but I didn’t have a warrant to go demanding footage.’

  ‘Get Mags on that. Ask her to send some officers over to secure what they can, plus any traffic camera footage from either of those two dates and CCTV from the train station. If we can place any suspects in that area, we’ve got the start of a case against them.’

  ‘Anyone we should be looking for straight off the bat?’ asked Pymm.

  ‘Rodney Shaw is an obvious one, as is Lucas Furber, although I doubt he has access to a car. Otherwise, cross-reference licence plates with any vehicles asso
ciated with the abbey.’

  * * *

  ‘The Social Media Intelligence Unit have found something that might be useful,’ said Pymm. She was leading the afternoon briefing.

  The wall-mounted screen changed to that of a web browser. The website was basic but functional. The banner image at the top of the page was a stylised black and white image of a small child, head down, hugging their knees, a teddy bear on the floor next to them. A single line of text below stated, ‘we believe you’.

  ‘Survivorsonline.net. It’s a website for survivors of sexual abuse. It skirts pretty close to the edge in terms of libel, as it isn’t afraid to name alleged abusers or publish unsubstantiated rumours. Unfortunately, it’s hosted overseas so shutting it down isn’t possible and they aren’t silly enough to name anybody with enough clout to take them on in court.’

  Pymm selected a link.

  ‘The site is essentially a collection of chat forums, moderated anonymously. There are sections for survivors of childhood abuse, adult abuse, elder abuse and also advice for those still undergoing abuse or harassment. They also have a specialist sub-forum dedicated to those abused by religious organisations, including the Catholic Church generally, and Catholic institutions such as schools and orphanages.

  ‘The site won’t appear on most web searches, because its robot.txt file has a “disallow command” to ensure mainstream search engines skip over it and don’t index it. However, once you’ve found it, it’s not too difficult to join and take part.’

  ‘So how do abuse survivors find it?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Mostly by invitation. Current members hang around in publicly available chatrooms or social media pages and they send the link privately to those that they think they can help.’

  ‘So what is the link to our victims?’ asked Warren.

  ‘We’ve got a hit on Father Cormac Nolan.’

  ‘What have you got?’