How the Dead Speak

by Val McDermid

  ‘It’s preyed on your mind all these years, though. There must have been something about what they said that made you think there was truth in it?’

  Louise sighed, her eyes pleading. ‘Look, I don’t have any evidence. There were . . . incidents. This girl in my family group – they called us family groups, which was just laughable because so many of the girls came from dysfunctional families and now they’d been shunted into a so-called family that was every bit as fucked-up as what they’d left behind. Anyway, this girl in my family group, Jaya her name was, she got caught stealing food from the kitchen – which was fucked-up in itself because the food was so shit. But we were always on starvation rations, always hungry, so Jaya stole some bread rolls from the kitchen, only she got caught.’ She ran out of momentum and stopped.

  Paula waited, then prompted her gently, ‘What happened to Jaya?’

  ‘Thou shalt not steal. Seventh Commandment. The nuns were shit hot on the Ten Commandments. It’s a pity the bible didn’t think of including, “Thou shalt not batter the living daylights out of the children in your care.”’ Bitter anger was creeping into Louise’s voice now. ‘One of the nuns hit her so hard with a rolling pin she broke her arm.’

  Medical records, Paula thought. There had to be medical records. ‘Did they take Jaya to hospital?’

  Louise made a scornful noise. ‘Did they buggery! A couple of the nuns were trained nurses, they dealt with everything in-house. Except a couple of times. One girl had a burst appendix, she’d been complaining of stomach pains for days but they paid no bloody attention. Another one – I don’t know exactly what happened but she was asthmatic and she got a bad chest infection. Anyway, both times they weren’t there one morning. Supposedly they were off to hospital, but they didn’t come back. One of the girls in my family group asked when the asthmatic lass was coming back and Sister Catherine just said they’d sent her to the convent in Ireland because the sea air would do her good.’ She looked close to tears. ‘But now there’s all these skeletons turning up . . . What if they never went to hospital at all?’

  ‘We’ll be doing our best to establish the identities of the people buried in the grounds. Right now, we don’t even know how long they’ve been there. It might be that they were all buried there years before you ever went to St Margaret Clitherow.’ Paula’s voice was calm and reassuring even though inside she was raging. What sort of interpretation of Christianity was this? It gave a whole new meaning to ‘suffer little children’.

  ‘That was always the story we got when girls disappeared: they’d been sent to Ireland for the sea air. Or they’d been sent to York because they’d made unsuitable friendships. Or their parents had turned up and reclaimed them, which I always thought was bollocks until it happened to me, so maybe that story was true. But other times, girls were sent to the punishment cells and we never saw them again.’ She looked down at the table and let out a long, shuddering breath. ‘I think maybe we wanted to believe what we were told because the alternative was just too grim to take in.’

  ‘I’d have been the same, I’m sure. When you know people, even if they’re deeply unpleasant, it’s hard to picture them as killers.’ A pause. ‘The ill-treatment – was it just the Mother Superior, Sister Mary Patrick, who carried it out?’

  Louise shook her head. ‘No. It was standard treatment. The old nuns were the worst, they treated us like dirt. Talk about taking the sins of the parents out on the children – it was what they lived by. Because we’d ended up there, we were automatically sinners. It felt like they were determined to beat the sin out of us. There were three or four of the younger sisters who still had a bit of kindness about them, but only when the old bitches weren’t looking.’

  ‘Did you or any of your friends ever consider complaining?’

  There was naked despair in Louise’s face. ‘Complain? Who could we complain to? The priest didn’t want to know. If you talked to him, he’d grass you up to Sister Mary Patrick. Same if you wrote to your family or spoke out of turn to anybody visiting the perfect bloody Maggie Clit school. Sister Mary Patrick just turned on the charm and reminded them that these girls were here because nobody else could manage them, lying came to them as easily as breathing. And God help you when she got her hands on you afterwards.’ She scoffed. ‘What am I saying? God help you? He never helped us.’

  ‘After you went back to live with your father, did you ever tell him what went on inside the convent?’

  Louise chewed her bottom lip. ‘No. Sister Mary Patrick said that if I ever spoke a word against her or any of the nuns, she would destroy any chance I had of making my way in the world. She’d tell everyone what a lying, scheming, thieving little bitch I was.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘You’re not Catholic, are you?’

  Paula shook her head. ‘I’m nothing.’

  ‘The Church still has massive power over people’s lives. Even though you know in your heart you should be able to stand up to what they threaten you with, it’s hard to defy them. There are a lot of good people in the Church, don’t get me wrong. But we’re just beginning to find out now how many evil people did terrible things to children and hid behind the Church to get away with it.’ A single tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Even now, today, I feel like a traitor. I bet hardly anybody’s come forward out of all the girls who went through Maggie Clit’s.’

  ‘You’re the only one so far.’ Paula owed her that. ‘You’re the bravest, no question.’

  Louise shook her head. ‘I’m not brave. I’m bloody terrified. My dad and his wife, they go to Mass. If this comes out, if I have to go to court and talk about this, it’ll blow a hole in their lives. But all those dead kids – somebody has to speak for them, right?’

  Before Paula could answer, there was a soft tap at the door and Karim poked his head into the room. He flashed a smile at Louise, then said, ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, guv, but you’re needed upstairs. Now.’

  ‘Thanks, Karim.’ He withdrew and Paula turned back to face Louise. ‘I think you’ve maybe had enough of an ordeal for today anyway. I will be back in touch with you, and in the meantime it would be very helpful if you could make a list for me of all the girls you can remember. And all the nuns too.’

  Louise nodded, gathering herself together and sniffing hard. ‘You’ve been really lovely, thank you for believing me.’

  Paula knew they would go over every detail of Louise’s story but she had no doubt it would check out. Sometimes, you just knew. She showed Louise out of the station and headed back upstairs. Karim was hovering outside the squad room. ‘What’s going on?’ Paula demanded. ‘That was a key interview. Lucky for you we were at a good place to break.’

  ‘They’ve found more bodies out at the Blessed Pearl,’ he said. ‘Only these ones are different.’

  27

  It’s always easier to do the same thing than to reinvent the wheel. But sometimes we need to examine our way of going about things to see whether we might be able to do it more effectively. We need to be willing to integrate new elements into our process if we’re to avoid becoming stale and inflexible.

  From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL

  Given that meditation was supposed to produce a sense of calm and well-being, an observer would have to conclude that Tony Hill hadn’t quite got the hang of it. At the end of his first fifteen-minute broadcast, he’d looked more like a man who’d just been for a run. Uphill and into a strong wind. His face had been red, his body perspiring and his hands clenched into fists. He’d hoped his listeners had achieved a greater level of inner harmony. Otherwise he’d probably not have a second chance behind the mic.

  He’d peeled the headphones off as Razor Wireless segued into a pre-recorded preview of the weekend’s football. He’d leaned back in the chair and exhaled, rolling his head and feeling the crepitation in his neck. Then he’d jumped to his feet, trying to look like a man on top of his game and given a thumbs-up to Spoony on the other side of the glass. Spoony’s face had been impassive and he’d
turned away to fiddle with the faders on his deck. Nervous, Tony had emerged from the booth and grinned at Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. ‘All right?’ he’d said.

  Spoony had glanced across at him. ‘Never heard anything like it. Quite fucking remarkable.’ No clue in his tone as to whether that was a good or a bad thing.

  ‘I suppose it’s hard to tell, when you’re working in here rather than listening to it in your cell. I guess I’ll just have to wait for feedback from the listeners, eh?’ Tony had known he was gabbling but he couldn’t stop himself.

  Spoony’s mouth had twisted in a one-sided grin. ‘You’ll get feedback, all right. Same time next week, then? Unless we get overwhelmed with negative criticism, obviously.’

  Tony could still remember how embarrassed he’d been at the level of relief he felt. He hadn’t been that desperate for approval since he’d been trying to impress his PhD supervisor with the innovative brilliance of his thinking.

  ‘Load of bollocks, mind,’ Tweedledum had muttered as Tony left to walk back down the block to his cell.

  He had a feeling he was going to hear that again before the day was out. But he made it back to his wing that first time without encountering anyone eager to share their response. Or maybe they just didn’t know who he was. He’d almost reached the sanctuary of his cell when Kieran came bounding up to him. ‘That was all right,’ he said, giving Tony a friendly punch to the shoulder. ‘Never done nothing like that before and I got no idea if I was doing it right, and I did feel a bit of a divvie, but I can see there might be something in it.’

  ‘Thanks. I felt a bit like I was walking out on a high wire. I hope everybody’s as chilled about it as you are.’

  ‘I doubt it, mate. You’ll probably get the piss taken out of you something chronic, but I don’t think anybody’s going to deck you over it.’

  That had been months ago. Now Tony arrived at his cell to find Kieran leaning against the door jamb. From his back pocket, he pulled a tightly folded newspaper. He’d somehow acquired a friendly prison officer who passed him a paper every couple of days. It was never that morning’s edition, and it was only ever a tabloid, but it was a slender line of connection to the outside world. Kieran tossed it over to him. Caught by surprise, Tony nearly fumbled it but managed a comedy save. Since he’d joined the Razor Wireless community, Tony had earned the right to share this bounty.

  ‘Page four,’ Kieran said. ‘Right up your street, I would have thought.’

  He waited while Tony found the page and read the story of human remains found in the grounds of a convent on the outskirts of Bradfield. He vaguely remembered Bradesden. Part of the canal network ran across the edge of the village and he’d cruised down there one summer’s afternoon in Steeler with Paula, Elinor and Torin. They’d had a picnic in a charming little basin a mile or so further down then returned to his mooring in Minster Basin. In his mind’s eye, he summoned up a straggle of low cottages and a square church tower. Nothing that resembled a convent, though.

  Up to forty sets of bones, apparently. They’d literally start with a head count, he thought. Skulls were unmistakable; everybody had one and only one. He imagined they’d turn out to be historic, the relics of some Victorian outbreak of cholera or typhoid. There would be a fuss for a few days then it would all be consigned to the dustbin of history. No grieving relatives to put pressure on for a full investigation.

  It was the kind of thing Carol would have taken a quick sideways look at then passed along to a regular CID unit. Look away now, nothing to see here.

  ‘What about them nuns, then?’ Kieran could contain himself no longer. ‘You think they were all at it, or was it just one mad serial killer nun? Stalking the convent like a homicidal penguin?’

  ‘I think it’s more likely that it was something like Spanish flu. The article suggests the bodies were children, and if I remember right, it was the young who were most susceptible to that.’

  ‘Flu? What, like my nan gets a jab for every winter?’

  ‘It killed somewhere around a hundred million people right after the First World War. So if this place was a children’s home then, it’d make sense.’

  ‘Aw,’ Kieran groaned. ‘There was me thinking we could have a juicy little programme on the Razor, you doing your very own Mind of a Murderer about the killer nun of Bradesden.’ He put on a spooky voice. ‘Death stalked the aisles of a Northern nunnery, not caring where he struck with his scythe. The instrument of death? A bride of Christ who turned into the Bride of Frankenstein.’

  Tony couldn’t help laughing. ‘Is that what you think I used to do on the outside?’

  Kieran grinned. ‘It probably wasn’t as much fun as that, am I right?’

  ‘It was never what you’d call fun. But it was rewarding when we got it right. Because it usually meant stopping someone before they took more lives.’ He let himself remember that sense of satisfaction. One he’d probably have no opportunity to know again.

  ‘So will you go back to that when you get out of here?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘No chance. Can you imagine what the likes of this’ – he slapped his hand against the paper – ‘would make of it? Fox in the henhouse would have nothing on me.’

  Kieran shrugged. ‘Yeah, but you could argue, set a thief to catch a thief. I bet you could have your own TV show. A podcast at least. You’re writing a book about all them killers you helped put away, right? People are going to be all over that. And most people can’t be arsed reading a whole book, so they’re going to want to watch it or listen to it. Mate, you’ll have it made. You’ll be the People’s Profiler.’

  It was, Tony thought, a horrifying prospect. The worst of it was, Kieran was probably right. And after all, what else was he good for?

  28

  People sometimes mistakenly believe that profiling serial offenders is about making assumptions. The reality is that it’s based on probability. When I look at a case file, I’m always consciously looking for similarities. The key to our present behaviour lies in our past. And the key to understanding present crimes is often through the lens of the past.

  From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL

  Rutherford was sitting on a desk at the far end of the room, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look happy. The rest of the team were scattered around, except for Alvin, who was still at the crime scene. ‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘We’ve found a second deposition site, thanks to the cadaver dog I organised.’ He stood up and pointed to a plan of the site. Using a laser pointer, he circled the area where the skeletons had been uncovered. ‘First indications are that there are the remains of around forty young people in this area.’ He moved the red dot to the side of the convent building. ‘Round here, close to the perimeter, there’s a kitchen garden and half a dozen raised beds for growing herbs and vegetables. The dog showed initial interest in this raised bed here—’ He indicated the first oblong on the drawing. ‘And subsequently . . . ’ The red dot landed a further six times.

  ‘By happy chance, Alvin was on site.’ Rutherford didn’t sound in the least happy. ‘There was some debate with the forensics team and the university archaeologists about the best way to proceed, but DCI Fielding decided that time was of the essence so they dismantled the timbers around the raised bed to make excavation easier. Once they’d cleared the plants away and started scraping the soil layers down, they found a body-shaped mass wrapped in black bin bags. The body appears to be the size of a young adult. It’s being removed to the mortuary where it’ll be unwrapped and autopsied.

  ‘So we’re looking at something very different here. Different disposal, different victim profile, different wrapping.’ He shook his head and sighed heavily. ‘If the dog’s right, it looks like we’ve got two separate sets of serial murders in the same place. What are the chances of that?’

  ‘Maybe it’s the same killer. Or killers,’ Sophie volunteered. ‘For whatever reason, they changed their methodology.’

  ‘There’s no point in speculating
till we hear from the pathologist and the forensics team. And the body-recovery crews,’ Rutherford said repressively. ‘Alvin is on site with a watching brief for us. Meanwhile we forge ahead with the initial inquiry. We need to make as much progress on that as we can so we’re able to take the lead on what looks like a second investigation. Sophie, what’s coming out of that so far?’

  Sophie consulted her tablet. She was clearly in her comfort zone here. She listed the different actions being taken on the ground and in the lab. ‘DC Chen is working on identifying the nuns based at the convent and the girls who lived and were schooled there. Once we have a list, we’ll allocate interviews to officers.’

  ‘Chen, where are you up to?’

  ‘I know where the nuns were dispersed to. And DS Nisbet has some leads on a few girls via the local authority. I’ll have a much fuller picture by tomorrow.’

  ‘Good work, Steve. Chen, pass on what you have to Sophie’s incident room team, and pull all the stops out to find out what you can ASAP. Legitimately, DC Chen.’ There was a clear warning in his voice.

  They’d be here till Christmas if Stacey heeded him, Paula thought. ‘Sir?’

  ‘DI McIntyre? Something to report?’

  ‘I’ve just conducted an interview with a former resident of St Margaret Clitherow Refuge. And if what she’s telling us is the truth – and I’ve no reason to doubt that – then we’re going to be looking at live cases to pursue, not historic ones we can draw a line under. According to her, the nuns dished out brutal punishments. And they kept difficult girls in solitary confinement, sometimes without food.’

  ‘Why am I only hearing about this now? You need to keep me abreast of developments, Inspector.’ Rutherford’s accent became noticeably broader when he was irritated. That would be a useful indicator for future engagements, Paula thought.