Skinner's Mission

68

The Roman Catholic Metropolitan Cathedral of St Mary is probably the most understated seat of any of that Church’s British Archbishops. Dwarfed by its neighbours, the St James Shopping Centre and the monstrous New St Andrew’s House, it sits in relative anonymity, looking out at Paolozzi’s massive bronze sculptures, across Picardy Place, past the statue of Sherlock Holmes, over the seemingly eternal gap site and on to the northern slopes of Calton Hill.

Unlike its Episcopalian namesake a mile and a half to the west, it has no impressive spires, no tower of bells, nothing other than a flight of wide steps leading up to its ever open doors.

Morning mass had just ended as Sir James Proud stepped out of his car, picking his way around the puddles and the heaps of fast-melting snow, and climbed the stairway, past a trickle of departing worshippers. He was dressed, as was almost invariably the case during his working day, in full uniform, complete with black military belt. Automatically he swept off his cap as he entered the cathedral, looking round until his gaze fell upon a young curate. He advanced upon the priest.

‘I’m looking for his Eminence,’ he said. ‘He is expecting me,’ he added, to quell the surprise in the young man’s eyes.

‘In that case, sir, if you’ll follow me.’ He led the Chief Constable up the aisle, making a blessing at the altar, before turning across the nave, and heading for a side exit. They stepped into a small corridor, on the far side of which was a heavy oak door. The young priest rapped hard with his knuckles, and opened it, on a muffled shout from within.

Sir James nodded his thanks and stepped past him into the room. ‘Hello, Gilbert,’ he said, smiling and offering his hand. ‘Good of you to see me at such short notice.’

Cardinal Gilbert White, acknowledged leader of the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland, crossed his spacious study, greeting him warmly. ‘Nonsense, Jimmy. We are princes, you and I: you of the City, I of the Church. A simple courtesy between us which you would have extended to me also.’

The small eyes twinkled beneath the round red skull-cap. ‘Besides, you fascinate me as always. “A very delicate and confidential matter,” you said. These sources of yours never cease to amaze me. But how did you know this time? It was only confirmed yesterday afternoon.’

Proud stared at him, confused. ‘I’m sorry, Gilbert, but I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.’

‘Ahh. Have I let the cat out of the bag? You’re not here to ask me about the Papal visit?’

‘No indeed, although it’s nice to have advance warning. When is it?’

‘In October. He’s addressing a Special Assembly of the Church of Scotland.’

The Chief Constable clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh no. He isn’t, is he? The policing of that will be a nightmare. Couldn’t you talk him out of it?’

‘I tried, Jimmy, believe me, but I understand that the idea was suggested by the Leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition during a recent audience.’

‘Then I hope that the irresponsible fool loses the next election. We’d better waste no time on this. I’ll arrange for Jim Elder, my ACC Ops, to meet your people, and the Church of Scotland, as soon as possible.’

Cardinal White nodded, ushering his guest towards two red armchairs on either side of a gas-fuelled open fire. ‘If that wasn’t it, then what is your delicate matter, may I ask?’

‘It’s something that Bob Skinner asked me to raise with you,’ said Proud.

The Cardinal’s eyebrows rose. ‘The famous Mr Skinner. What have we done to attract his attention? How is he, incidentally? Recovered from that incident, I trust?’

‘More or less, yes. He’s back in harness. The thing is, our CID people are investigating a murder. It happened in a car showroom in Seafield last Wednesday. During the course of our enquiries, we discovered that one of your clergy, Father Dominic Ahern, had been in the area at the time.

‘When we asked Father Ahern if he had seen anything near the showroom, he said that he had. We then ran into an area of difficulty. Father Ahern felt unable to tell us any more.’

‘Ahh,’ said the Cardinal, hunching his shoulders beneath his dark robe, ‘I think I understand. A matter of confessional sanctity?’

‘Yes.’

‘In which you realise I cannot intercede?’

‘Of course not, Gilbert. I must tell you at once that Father Ahern has behaved with absolute propriety in this matter. But in the light of the limited responses which he felt able to make to our questions, I have a couple of things to ask you.’

Cardinal White nodded. ‘Go on. I’ll see what answers I can give you.’

‘The first is easy. Before Father Ahern became parish priest at St Magdalena’s, what was his posting?’

‘That’s easy indeed. He was priest of St Teresa’s, one of our smaller charges, in Morningside.’

‘Right. Now can I ask you, does each of your churches keep a record of its parishioners?’

The Cardinal laughed. ‘Too right we do. And the archdiocese keeps an overall record, centrally.’

‘Then I’ll come to the point. Gilbert, we have deduced, not from anything Father Ahern told us, but from what he didn’t, that the man we want for that murder is likely to be a Catholic.

‘Purely as a speculative exercise, you understand, and on the basis that nothing you let us see would be required as a production in evidence, would you be prepared to let us look at the list of male parishioners of St Teresa’s?’

Cardinal White looked at him in surprise, his small eyes widening in his puffy face. ‘St Teresa’s? Not St Magdalena’s?’

‘That’s right.’

The churchman stared into the fire, considering the question. ‘Purely speculative, you say?’

‘That’s right.’

‘There’d be no attempt to call Ahern as a witness, or interview him further?’

‘None. Plus, no-one but Bob Skinner would see the material you gave us, and it would be returned to you or destroyed as soon as it had been assessed.’

The churchman looked at the Chief Constable, long and slow. ‘With all those provisos, yes,’ he said at last.

‘How long will it take you to make it available?’

Cardinal White laughed again, merrily, as he pressed a button beside the fireplace. ‘About five minutes. This is very nearly the twenty-first century, Jimmy.’ The study door opened, and the young curate entered. ‘We keep all our records on computer these days. I take it that a three-and-a-half inch floppy will be okay.

‘You can just wipe it when you’re finished.’