by Paul Gitsham
‘Not a surprise,’ grunted Sutton.
‘I imagine there’s nothing on the PNC?’ asked Warren.
‘No, and I’ve a negative from local forces in the areas where he worked. It looks as though as far as the police were concerned, Madden was flying under the radar.’
‘Assuming he was guilty of the allegations,’ cautioned Warren. ‘Let’s not forget that Father Daugherty was falsely accused, and Father Madden wasn’t actually named directly on the site. It might not even have been him, there’s no date given as to when the alleged offences took place.’
‘Should we visit the school and find out if anyone knew anything?’ asked Sutton.
Warren thought for a moment. It was the obvious next step. If nothing else, they owed it to Father Madden to find out if he really was targeted for his alleged past actions, or an entirely innocent victim. They might even find a suspect.
However, after their argument the previous day, he was reluctant to send Tony Sutton before they had a chance to talk. The man was tired and grumpy; Warren wanted someone with a bit more tact.
‘Good idea. Hutch, fancy a day out?’
‘I’ll fetch my Thermos from the car.’
‘Whilst Hutch is visiting Blessed Mary Primary School, I want Tony to supervise a team looking for overlap between these three victims and the late Father Dodd. So far, we know that all four priests had spells as school chaplains within the Herts and Essex diocese, and all of them were “retired” by Bishop Fisher, who may or may not have been aware of their behaviour through confession. Our killer is likely using Survivorsonline, but are there other connections?’
If Sutton perceived Warren asking Hutchinson to go and visit the school, rather than him, as a slight, he gave no sign of it.
‘Did the men’s lives previously overlap before this?’ continued Warren. ‘I’m going to look into authorising warrants to demand pupil rolls and staff records for all of the schools and institutions involved. Let’s see if any individuals crop up more than once.
‘I’m also going to speak to DSI Grayson about getting the Sexual Exploitation Unit involved. We need any of their intelligence that isn’t on the wider HOLMES system or the PNC. The nightmare scenario is that there’s some sort of paedophile ring operating here.’
With the meeting finished, everyone scurried off to their assigned jobs. Sutton sidled up alongside David Hutchinson.
‘They’re slippery buggers, Hutch. Don’t let them wriggle out of giving you the information you want.’
‘Noted, Tony.’
Warren looked at Sutton’s back as he left and suppressed a sigh. They really needed that talk.
Chapter 78
Forensics from Father Madden’s murder were coming in. Headquarters at Welwyn had sent additional CSI teams to supplement those already working at the abbey and in the retirement home.
Rachel Pymm had taken a break from supervising the team reading through Vernon Coomb’s photocopied notes to enter the data into the computer as it flowed in. Already, the rope used to hang him had been identified as of the same brand as two other coils of rope found in the abbey’s tool shed, although there was no way to determine if that was significant or a coincidence.
‘Luckily for you, though not so lucky for those of us working down there, the escape tunnel is partly flooded.’ Gupta’s voice came through clearly over the briefing room speakerphone.
‘That’s left us with some clear footprints leading to and from the entrance to the priest hole and Father Madden’s room. Unfortunately, the impressions don’t match any of the prints we already have on file from this case. Size ten men’s work boots.’
‘Well, we still have both pairs of Rodney Shaw’s work boots in evidence, so if it was him, he’s wearing a third pair,’ said Sutton.
‘There is more though,’ the CSI continued. ‘These mysterious boot prints match impressions around the outside entrance to the escape tunnel, suggesting that the killer may have entered the house through the unblocked tunnel entrance.’
‘Which makes sense,’ agreed Warren.
‘The problem is that we can’t find any prints leading away from the tunnel entrance.’
‘It was raining that night, could the marks have been washed away?’ asked Sutton.
‘Quite possibly. But there are other inconsistencies.’
‘Go on.’
‘In the corridor outside Father Madden’s room, there is a mess of footprints, suggesting the killer walked between the priest hole and his room several times. There is also mud on the rungs of the ladder, and some small spots of blood, which fits with the narrative that the killer entered the escape tunnel, climbed the ladder, then entered Father Madden’s room. The killer then led Madden, probably at knifepoint, back to the priest hole and made him climb down the ladder. There are black cotton fibres on the ladder, matching the black cotton shirt that Father Madden was wearing. The only fingerprints that we have found on the ladder are the deceased’s.’
‘Could Father Madden have actually climbed down that ladder? He was waiting for a new hip,’ asked Sutton.
‘I asked Professor Jordan, and he said that it would have been very painful and slow going, but if he was in fear for his life, then yes, it was probably possible.’
‘You said that the killer walked between Father Madden’s room and the priest hole several times,’ said Warren. ‘This scenario only needs two trips there. Do we know if the suicide note was written in Father Madden’s room and left behind before he was taken down the ladder, or if it was written down in the escape tunnel? That would account for at least one more trip.’
‘There might be trace evidence on the suicide note that can answer that question, but don’t get your hopes up, Forensic Document Analysis are still trying to match Father Madden’s handwriting samples to the note. There is another potential suggestion, but Andy and I can’t decide what we think. It does fit with the lack of footprints at the tunnel exit.’ Gupta sounded a bit unsure.
‘Go ahead, I’m all ears.’
‘One set of footprints looks as though it might be heading down the corridor, away from Father Madden’s room, in the opposite direction to the priest hole. It’s unclear, and the print is badly smeared. There is also only one pair of prints.’
Warren tried to visualise it in his mind’s eye, but struggled.
‘What’s your interpretation?’
‘The killer returned from the priest hole and then started to walk down the corridor. The footprints end because the killer took the boots off.’
Warren saw the implication immediately.
‘Which suggests that the killer didn’t exit by the tunnel, but headed back into the house.’
‘Jesus, were they still in the house when we arrived?’ finished Sutton.
Chapter 79
Primary schools had certainly changed since Detective Sergeant David Hutchinson had attended one. Or his kids had, for that matter. Signing in at the reception desk, he caught glimpses of brightly-coloured corridors through the reinforced glass partition that separated the warm, loving environment of Blessed Mary, from the dangers of the outside world. The faint sound of children singing drifted to his ears. He placed the laminated visitor’s badge around his neck.
‘Sorry to keep you, officer, Mr Morris will see you in his office. I’ll get the duty students to take you down there.’
On cue, an earnest looking boy and girl, about 10 years old, appeared. The green lanyard for his badge signalled that he had undergone enhanced DBS checks as a police officer, and could therefore be trusted to walk to the head’s office, escorted by a child. A sad reflection of the times, Hutchinson mused, although if today’s tighter precautions had existed a few years ago, they might not be in the current mess.
The hallways seemed a lot smaller than he recalled, but the echoing squeak of his rubber-soled shoes took him right back; the smell from the kitchens was a lot more pleasant than he remembered.
Eventually they arrived at Morris’
office. The two children politely wished him well and headed back to reception. Hutchinson wondered if the well-scrubbed youngsters were typical of the school’s pupils or if they were selected especially for the role. Thinking back to his own school days, he doubted he would have been top of the list when choosing who visitors should first meet.
Linford Morris was a trim-looking man with a neat beard, flecked with grey.
‘I see you also worship the Toons,’ noted Hutchinson, nodding towards a Newcastle United flag that was at least as large as the image of the Virgin Mary beside it.
‘It’s part of my penance, for my past sins. When we converted to an Academy last year, I did suggest renaming ourselves St James’ Park Academy, but some philistine said that people would get confused with the London Underground station.’
‘The apostrophe’s in the wrong place,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Well what can I help you with DS Hutchinson? I doubt you’ve come here to commiserate over our team’s poor performance.’
‘Father Frank Madden.’
Morris’ eyes narrowed.
‘Yes, he was our school chaplain for a number of years, until he retired, back in 2011, if I recall. What about him?’
‘It’s not yet public knowledge, however he has passed away.’
Morris paled.
‘He wasn’t … you know …?’
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics as yet, but the death is suspicious.’
‘Good Lord.’
‘I wonder if you might have any thoughts about Father Madden’s death?’
Hutchinson watched the man carefully.
Morris picked up a pen on his desk and inspected it, before replacing it in exactly the same spot. His words were similarly precise.
‘Father Madden was highly regarded and much-loved by the many staff and children that have passed through our school in the twenty-odd years that he was school chaplain.’
‘I see. Do you know why Father Madden retired? He was still relatively young.’
‘I believe that he was suffering from some mental health issues.’
‘Can you elaborate any more on those issues?’
‘I’m afraid not, I wasn’t a party to those discussions.’ He paused. ‘Could his death have anything to do with his mental health problems?’
Was that a note of hope in his tone? Although it was now common knowledge that Fathers Nolan and Daugherty had been murdered, rather than committing suicide, it was possible that Morris wasn’t aware of that development. As yet, nothing had been released to the press about the link to child abuse, but doubtless speculation was rife on social media. If Morris was aware of any unreported allegations about Father Madden, he might be worried that they could be a trigger for murder. It was small wonder he was hoping for a suicide due to unrelated mental health issues.
‘I’m afraid that I can’t comment on the specifics of the case yet,’ said Hutchinson.
He chose his next words carefully.
‘Were you aware of any allegations of inappropriate behaviour by Father Madden.’
Morris spread his hands, an unconscious attempt to give the appearance of openness. Hutchinson wasn’t fooled.
‘There were no allegations of inappropriate behaviour from any of our children, or their parents towards Father Madden.’
‘That wasn’t exactly what I asked, Mr Morris.’
Hutchinson settled back in his chair and waited. He could see that Morris was conflicted. On the one hand, he had the reputation of his school to consider. But on the other hand, he was clearly uncomfortable about lying to protect that.
‘As I said, there were never any allegations made to me, or the governing body, by students, past or present, or their parents about Father Madden’s behaviour.’
‘But?’
‘It was well known that Father Madden liked a drink. And that on occasion he may have been under the influence of alcohol in school. Now and then, his words might be a bit slurred, and a couple of times he nodded off in assembly – although to be fair, when you’ve sat through year two singing “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” every Christmas for the past twenty-odd years …’ The man smiled weakly. Hutchinson remained impassive.
‘Anyway, one of our staff felt that Father Madden was a little too familiar with some of the children. He would sometimes sit them on his knee when they were reading to him. He came to me and expressed his concern.’
‘What did you do, Mr Morris?’
Morris paused.
‘You see, what you have to realise was that nobody ever complained and nobody ever saw him touch a child. I mean it was probably completely innocent. Father Madden had been a priest for decades. That sort of behaviour was perfectly normal back when he started.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I had a quiet word with him. Explained that times had changed, and that he needed to be more careful – to protect himself, if nothing else.’
‘What was his response?’
‘He was very embarrassed, obviously.’
‘And was that the end of the matter?’
Morris sighed.
‘Unfortunately, no. A few weeks later, a different member of staff also came to see me. He said that Father Madden had clearly been the worse for wear during a practice for the year six confirmation mass. One of the little boys was not a very confident reader and was very nervous. Father Madden suggested that he went and practised his reading with him on his own. When the teacher went to fetch him a little later, he was sitting on Father Madden’s knee.
‘I get the impression that the two teachers may have spoken about it, and one may have encouraged the other to come and see me, but I don’t think that matters.’ Morris picked up the pen again, and carried on scrutinising it as he continued speaking.
‘Sometimes, you just know. My two colleagues are very experienced teachers, and neither of them had any grudge against Father Madden. I went to the head of governors and we spoke at length.
‘Neither teacher had witnessed Father Madden actually touch a child inappropriately, nor had we had any complaints. In our opinion, there were no grounds to involve the police.’
Hutchinson forced himself to remain quiet.
‘In the end, we decided to ask the diocese for advice. I had specifically told Father Madden not to be so tactile, so he had deliberately ignored my instructions. Furthermore, it was clear that he needed help with his drinking. Bishop Fisher himself spoke to Father Madden and within a couple of weeks, he announced his retirement.’
Chapter 80
Warren had had enough of Tony Sutton’s negativity towards the church. Sutton had been snide and down-right dismissive from the moment he met Bishop Fisher. Warren had no worries at all that these feelings were in anyway impairing Tony Sutton’s ability to do his job; the man was far too experienced for that to happen. However, it didn’t look professional, especially in front of junior officers. His comments to David Hutchinson at morning briefing were not in themselves a cause for concern, but Warren’s discussion with Susan earlier that week before was still on his mind.
Warren could understand a dismissive attitude towards a religious institution if the man was an atheist. Perhaps even if he was of a different faith, although in Warren’s experience truly religious people tended to be generally tolerant of others’ differing beliefs. Yet Sutton was a religious man who went to church each Sunday. Warren knew that Sutton wasn’t a Catholic, but why the attitude? As far as Warren knew, his friend’s background was squarely English – there were no hints of Irish or Scottish ancestry that might have left a sectarian outlook. What was the issue?
As his direct line manager, Warren could just have him in the office for a chat. He could even put him on a warning, but Warren already felt bruised over their previous encounter over his supposed treatment of Moray Ruskin. Warren wasn’t sure that his protective attitude towards the probationary constable was unduly influenced by Gary’s death, but it had taken a lot of backbone f
or Sutton to stand up to him the way he did, and Warren felt he owed the man the same.
Warren looked at his watch. It was getting on for lunchtime. He’d seen Sutton place his insulated lunch box on his desk when he’d come in that morning, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to persuade him to ditch the healthy sandwiches his wife had been forcing him to eat and join Warren for something more substantial.
That decided, Warren slipped his jacket on and headed towards Sutton’s cubicle.
‘What can I do for you, boss?’
Sutton was busy at his computer, working his way through an email inbox that looked almost as full as Warren’s.
‘Fancy a working lunch, Tony?’
‘Sounds good, I need to do something a bit different.’ Sutton grabbed his lunchbox.
‘My treat.’
‘Now you’re talking,’ said Sutton, placing his sandwiches back on his desk.
The two men headed towards the lift.
A fine drizzle had started and the two men had to jog towards Warren’s car.
Sutton was out of breath, but it didn’t stop him commenting on Warren’s choice of radio station as soon as he started the engine.
‘Seriously, Chief? Absolute 80s? You’re 41. Have you still got all those dodgy compilation CDs? What were they called, “Guilty Pleasures”?’.
‘Stop fiddling with that glove box, or you’re walking in the rain,’ ordered Warren.
‘The offer still stands for me to educate your ear. Just say the word and the next time you and Susan come around, Marie and I will help the pair of you.’
‘Tony, you celebrated your forty-seventh birthday a month ago and yet you still listen to the chart show. I bet even Moray has grown out of Radio One. Does Josh know that his old man is so “down with the yoof”? What do his university mates think of him having such a cool dad?’
‘With all due respect, sir – piss off.’
Warren laughed. It felt good to be away from the office. And Tony was right, it was about time the four of them got together for a meal. He made a mental note to arrange a date as soon as the pace of their current case slowed.