Unholy Murder

Chapter Twelve

Approaching the Elephant and Castle roundabout, Jane asked Father Chris for directions to the archbishop’s house.

‘Take the second turning off the roundabout. Go straight up and you’ll see St George’s Cathedral. Archbishop’s House is just next to it. There’s a courtyard you can park in,’ he told her, sounding more relaxed than earlier.

‘Do you cycle all this way?’ Jane asked.

‘Sometimes, but if the weather’s bad, I get the train to Waterloo and walk down.’

Jane saw the cathedral tower come into view.

‘It’s a big cathedral. I’ve lived and worked in London all my life and never even knew it was here.’

‘It was built in 1848 then severely damaged in a German bombing raid during World War Two. An oddly named man called Romilly Craze designed and rebuilt it as a gothic revival cathedral, which opened in 1958. Pope John Paul II will be attending a service there when he visits London next month.’

‘You mentioned yesterday that Archbishop Malone was in Rome organising the Pope’s visit.’

‘Bishop Meade is standing in for him while he’s away. The courtyard is just over there on the right,’ he said, pointing.

After parking, Jane picked up the photographs and followed Father Chris to the main entrance in St George’s Road, with its ancient-looking arch-shaped dark oak doors.

Father Chris lifted the heavy brass knocker and banged it down on the door three times.

‘Getting a reply sometimes takes a while. I wish they’d get a doorbell or one of those fancy intercom things fitted,’ he said, and knocking again.

‘Just coming,’ a voice called out from the inside. The door was opened by a young priest wearing a white clerical collar and black cassock with a brown tasselled rope tied around his waist.

‘Good afternoon, Father Chris,’ he said. ‘Please come in.’

Entering the building, Jane was impressed by the vestibule with its arched ceiling, which opened onto a stone staircase. She was surprised to see a Thirties-style lift, with gold-coloured ornamental door grilles in the middle of the stairwell, looking rather rickety and out of place.

‘Bishop Meade is expecting you and Detective Tennison. Would you like a coffee, tea or a cold drink?’ the priest asked.

They both opted for coffee and the priest told them he would bring their drinks to the archbishop’s office, which Bishop Meade was using while he was away.

‘Are we using the lift?’ Jane asked warily.

‘We’ll use the stairs. The office is on the first floor.’

‘That’s a relief,’ she whispered to herself.

The Victorian-style room turned out to be almost as big as the Bromley CID office. The walls were covered with dark wood panelling, apart from the far end, which had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There were two stained-glass windows, one depicting Jesus on the cross and the other the Virgin Mary praying.

The bishop was sitting near the bookshelves at a carved oak pedestal desk. In front of the desk were two walnut armchairs with velvet-covered seats.

The bishop removed his moon-shaped glasses and stood up. He was a short, chubby-cheeked man in his late forties or early fifties, with thin black receding hair, partially covered by a rose-red skullcap. He wore an ankle-length black cassock trimmed with rose-red piping matching the buttons down the front. A large plain gold cross and chain hung from his neck down to a red cloth sash, tied around his midriff. A short, red-trimmed black cape hung from his shoulders.

The bishop raised his right hand towards Father Chris who bowed and kissed the large gold ring, set with an amethyst, that was on his third finger.

Father Chris looked at Jane. ‘May I introduce you to His Most Reverend Excellency Robert Meade, Bishop of the Diocese of Southwark. Your Excellency, this is Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison of the Metropolitan Police, Bromley.’

Bishop Meade held his right hand out to Jane who gave a little bow of her head as she shook it.

‘Welcome to Archbishop’s House, Detective Tennison. Please take a seat.’ He indicated the two chairs opposite his desk.

Jane was about to sit down when Father Chris nudged her and shook his head. They waited until the bishop was seated at his desk again and then sat down.

The young priest entered holding a tray with three coffees in bone china cups.

‘Is there anything else Your Excellency requires?’ the priest asked.

The bishop shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’ He turned to Jane.

‘Thank you for coming to see me, Detective Tennison. The Church will do everything it can to help regarding the unearthed coffin. Father Floridia told me you found the body of a nun inside the coffin.’

‘Yes, that’s correct, sir... I mean, Your Excellency.’

‘Under the circumstances, Bishop Meade will be fine,’ he smiled. ‘Father Floridia briefly told me the situation surrounding the discovery last night. I wonder, though, if you would be kind enough to go over it for me in more detail so I can take some notes and decide how I can best help you.’ He opened a large leather notebook and picked up a fountain pen from his desk.

‘May I take notes as well?’ Jane asked.

‘Of course. I was expecting you to.’

Jane recounted how the coffin had been found and how one of the builders had forced it open while on the site and stolen a cross from around the nun’s neck, which they had subsequently recovered.

Bishop Meade sighed and shook his head. ‘May God forgive him.’

Jane removed the photographs of the cross from the envelope. ‘As you can see, the cross is engraved. We are assuming the nun lived at the convent and I was hoping the initials and date might help us identify her.’

He looked closely at the photographs as Jane continued.

‘Father Floridia mentioned that you keep records of all the nuns who lived and worked in the diocese.’

‘That is correct. The archives are kept in this very building. They contain a wealth of material from the establishment of the diocese in 1850 to the present day, including information on our clergy, both living and deceased. It’s possible the initials MB may not be the initials relating to the nun’s birth name, however.’

‘Father Floridia did explain the complications concerning the initials,’ Jane said. ‘Would it be possible for me to visit the archives and look through the records?’

‘Of course. However, it might be quicker if I spoke with our archivist, Bree Parkin. She has extensive knowledge and is experienced in searching the records for all sorts of things.’

‘That would be very helpful,’ Jane replied.

The bishop held up the photograph of the engraved cross. ‘Could I keep this to show Mrs Parkin?’

‘Certainly.’ Jane recalled what Barnes had said about using the question of the land being consecrated as a cover, and explained about the sale of the Sisters of Mercy convent in the mid-sixties to a building developer.

‘I remember hearing about it at the time,’ the bishop said. ‘It’s always sad when a convent that does so much for orphaned and destitute children has to close.’

‘The developer is adamant his solicitors told him there was no consecrated ground when he purchased the land. I have told them to stop all digging work until we can ascertain if this is correct.’

The bishop nodded. ‘His solicitors would have liaised with the diocesan solicitors regarding the purchase of the convent and completed a “petition for faculty”, which is required before any development or reconstruction work can commence on consecrated land or buildings.’

‘So once that’s granted, the land and buildings are officially deconsecrated?’ Jane asked.

Meade smiled. ‘Not quite. In basic terms, deconsecrating is the act of removing a religious blessing from something that was previously consecrated by a priest or bishop. In respect of a church, anything which has been blessed and dedicated to the use of God must be removed: the crucifix, the vestments, the stations of the cross, holy water and so on...’

‘Would the petition cover moving the remains of any convent nuns or other bodies to another graveyard?’ Jane asked.

‘No. A further “faculty” would need to be granted by the bishop of the diocese for any exhumations to take place. If a body lies in consecrated ground, disinterment — without a faculty — is an offence under ecclesiastical law and the 1857 Burial Act.’

‘Would the archives have a record of any consecrated ground on the old convent site?’

‘I am aware the archives hold material relating to finance and property, so there may well be records regarding the sale of the old convent. I’ll ask Mrs Parkin to look into that as well,’ the bishop said.

‘Thank you. I don’t wish to appear rude, but do you know how long it might take to get a result?’

‘I’ll speak with Mrs Parkin this afternoon. She doesn’t work weekends, but hopefully she might have an answer for you by Monday or Tuesday at the latest.’

‘That would be fine. Thank you for your assistance. I really appreciate it.’

‘Do you have any photographs of the nun’s body?’

‘Not with me, but I can arrange for one to be delivered to you.’

‘Don’t worry, it was merely a curiosity to know how she looked.’

‘Unfortunately, her body was mummified with adipocere so she’s unrecognisable.’

‘How sad. Let’s hope we can find out who she was. May I ask when her body will be released to us for reburial?’

‘That’s a decision for the coroner. He has said that he would like us to identify her first, but I think that might just be a standard formality.’

‘I understand. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, I think that’s about it for now,’ she said.

The bishop turned to Father Chris. ‘You’ve been very quiet, Father Floridia. Is there anything you’d like to add?’

‘No, Your Excellency. I’ve merely been an intermediary, who thought it best to let Detective Tennison explain the circumstances.’

‘You’ve acted appropriately. When the nun’s body is returned to us, I’d like you to conduct the service at her reburial.’

‘Thank you, Your Excellency. I’d be honoured to do it.’

The bishop stood and proffered his right hand to Father Floridia, who stood then bowed and kissed the amethyst ring.

‘I thought that went well,’ Jane said as they walked back to her car.

Father Chris looked uncertain. ‘Do you? I think he was suspicious of me being so quiet.’

‘Then surely he’d have asked more questions,’ Jane replied, trying to sound upbeat.

‘That’s the thing,’ he said. ‘Normally he asks a lot of questions and chats away for ages. Why didn’t you show him the pictures of the coffin?’ he asked.

‘You told me a nun wouldn’t normally be buried in a metal coffin. If I’d shown him the photographs, it might have made him suspicious about her death.’

He sighed. ‘He’s not going to be happy when he knows the truth.’

‘Don’t worry, that’s my problem, not yours. Besides, he might realise the police were in a difficult position and be more sympathetic than you think.’

Father Chris didn’t look convinced. ‘Why does Barnes want the nun’s murder kept quiet, anyway? Surely it would make more sense to just be open about it so as not to upset Bishop Meade.’

Jane didn’t want to tell him about Barnes’s painful experiences with the Catholic Church. ‘I don’t know. I’d never met him until this morning. It’s not for me to question his decisions.’

He gave her a sideways look. ‘Does he also suspect a priest or nun might be involved?’

‘Like I said before, we have to consider it as a possibility...’

‘I don’t think such a thing is possible,’ he said firmly.

A sad-faced Father Chris sat silently staring out of the passenger window on the journey back to the parsonage. Jane wanted to ask some more questions relating to the investigation but decided it was better to leave him to his thoughts. Eventually they pulled up outside St Mary’s.

‘Would you like to know the result of the archives search when I get it?’ she asked, trying to engage him in conversation.

He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you. If I’m doing the reburial service, I’m sure Bishop Meade will give me the details. Thanks for the lift,’ he said, getting out of the car.

Jane could see he was still upset. She got out of the car and followed him.

‘I’m only doing my job, Father Floridia. The thought that anyone could commit such a heinous crime revolts me. All I want to do is find who is responsible... no matter who it is!’

He turned around sharply. ‘You have no idea what it means to be a priest or nun.’

‘Then enlighten me.’

‘When a priest is ordained, he becomes a new man, one who can say with St Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” He is changed not because of what he can do, but because of what he has become. He carries out his work in the power of Christ, not in his own power. It is inconceivable to me that a man or woman who has heard God’s calling and accepted his Holy Orders could commit, or even contemplate, the murder of another human being.’

Jane realised it was pointless carrying on the argument, and didn’t want to drive a wedge between them. ‘I realise this whole situation can’t be easy for you.’

He looked sad. ‘You don’t know the half of it, Jane. I think it would be best, for both of us, if we don’t contact each other again,’ he said with regret in his voice.

‘If that’s what you want,’ she replied, taken aback.

‘As I said, it’s for the best.’

Father Chris walked away.