Unholy Murder

Chapter Thirteen

Driving back to Bromley, Jane regretted telling Father Chris that a priest or a nun might have been involved in the murder. She sighed, knowing she’d find it difficult to believe if someone told her a police officer had violently murdered a colleague.

But what had he meant when he said, ‘You don’t know the half of it’? Was he referring to something that had happened in the past or the present situation?

Returning to the station, Jane went straight to DI Stanley’s office and told him about her meeting with Bishop Meade and the forthcoming archive searches.

‘Sounds like you just got away with murder,’ Stanley remarked.

Jane gave him a quizzical look.

‘I mean, you didn’t reveal to the bishop the nun was murdered. It also means DCS Barnes won’t be on your back.’

‘I’d prefer to describe it as a lucky escape,’ Jane said.

‘Whatever... it’s still a good result and Barnes will be pleased — even more so when you identify the nun. He rang me earlier for an update. He didn’t say anything about his grievances against the Catholic Church, but it sounded like he’s chomping at the bit to get a result on this case.’

Jane frowned. ‘I’m worried Barnes might be a bit too eager. What happened in the past might cloud his judgement. On the face of it Bishop Meade was very open and helpful.’

‘Believe me,’ Stanley said, ‘Barnes doesn’t rush anything. He’s always slow and methodical. If anyone in the diocese lies or tries to cover this up, he’ll give them enough rope to hang themselves... then come down on them like a ton of bricks.’

‘Will he tell the bishop it’s a murder investigation or does he want me to?’

‘He didn’t say, but my bet is he’ll want to do it.’

She nodded. ‘It looks like I won’t get a result on the nun’s identity until Monday or Tuesday. There’s not a lot more I can do until then, so should I take the weekend off as rostered?’

‘If you want. Did you ask the bishop if a priest had worked at the convent?’

‘No. It might have made him suspicious. The archives will have a record.’

‘Might be worth asking Father Floridia.’

Jane hesitated. ‘There’s a slight problem there...’

‘Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’ve managed to piss off a priest as well!’

She frowned. ‘He’s not pissed off with me. He just doesn’t want to assist me... for now.’

‘Spit it out, Jane. What did you do to upset him?’

She told Stanley about Father Floridia’s reaction when she suggested a priest or nun might have been involved in the murder.

‘Sounds like Barnes is right about the clergy being in denial,’ he remarked.

‘I don’t think he’s in denial,’ she said. ‘I just think as a priest himself, he finds it hard to accept.’

‘That’s no reason to blank you. Do you think there’s more to it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He could be stonewalling you because he’s hiding something?’

‘I don’t think so. He suggested a layperson, who worked at the convent, might have been responsible, but if that was the case, you’d expect the Mother Superior or one the other nuns to have reported her missing. Unless they thought our victim had just upped and left of her own accord.’

‘That’s possible, but unlikely. How’s it going with Missing Persons?’

‘Nothing positive yet. Maybe I should check the station archives as well.’

‘You’d be looking for a needle in a haystack. Old misper and crime reports are just dumped down there in no particular order.’

‘I could put out an all-stations memo,’ Jane suggested, ‘to see if there are any serving officers who remember dealing with a missing nun from St Mary’s Convent back in the sixties.’

‘OK. Wait and see if the diocesan archive search gives you a name, then do it.’

‘Whatever the outcome, I think Father Floridia’s assistance might still be useful. The convent is a stone’s throw from his church. Some of his parishioners have probably lived in the area for years and might have known some of the nuns. We might need to speak to them at some point, so Father Floridia would be a good means of introduction.’

Stanley snorted. ‘He’s already turned his nose up once... don’t be surprised if he does it again.’

Jane wasn’t going to be put off. ‘I’ll let him calm down over the weekend and contact him on Monday or Tuesday.’

‘Fine. Do your report then head off home and get some rest over the weekend. I suspect you’ll be pretty busy next week. Well done today. Keep up the good work.’

Jane left Stanley’s office, then phoned the forensic laboratory and got put through to DS Johnson.

‘Hi, Jane, what can I do for you?’ Lloyd asked.

She told him about the nun’s cross, the relevance of the date and initials on it and her conversation with Bishop Meade.

‘How’s the work on the fibres you recovered going?’ Jane asked.

‘I don’t think the fibre expert has had a chance to start on them yet. Give me a second and I’ll go and ask her.’

‘It’s OK, there’s no rush. Could you ask her to check the fibres from the nun against the rope she was wearing around her waist?’

‘You think she was strangled with her own rope.’

‘No, but I saw a priest today at Archbishop’s House who was wearing one that looked exactly the same.’

‘Bloody hell — you think a bloody priest did it?’

‘Don’t you start.’

‘Start what?’

‘It’s a long story,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve got the weekend off. Do you fancy having that drink and a catch-up on Saturday evening?’

‘I’d love to, Jane, but I’ve already made arrangements for Saturday night.’

‘Oh, right. Maybe some other time then?’ she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

‘Definitely. Your choice where we go. I’m paying and no arguments. I’ll speak with the fibre expert right away, then get back to you with a result — probably Monday as the lab shuts at the weekend.’

Jane thanked him, then called Sam Pullen.

‘Hi, Sam, it’s Jane. I’m not working Sunday, so are you still up for a lunchtime meet?’

‘Of course. Do you still want to meet at London Bridge?’

‘I don’t mind... whatever’s easiest for you.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Chislehurst.’

‘Bloody hell, we’re nearly neighbours. I live in Mottingham. Tell you what, let’s meet at The Bull’s Head.’

‘Where’s that?’

Sam laughed. ‘On your doorstep. Do you get out much?’

‘I only moved here a few weeks ago. I don’t know the area at all.’

‘Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at midday.’

Jane put the phone down and had started typing her report when DC Boon walked in, holding five large maps and a bulging folder.

‘Looks like you’ve been a busy boy at the Civic Centre,’ Jane remarked.

‘I felt a right prat walking up the road carrying all this stuff. I could hardly see where I was going, then nearly got run over by an old boy on a mobility scooter.’

Boon dropped the maps and folder on his desk.

‘So what have you got for me?’ Jane asked.

‘Everything you asked for... except the stuff on the kids,’ he said, pulling his chair over to Jane’s desk. Taking his notebook from his jacket pocket, he opened it and sat down. ‘The council don’t keep records of children who lived at the convent orphanage. However, they said many Catholic children’s homes are organised by the Catholic Children’s Society, who should hold records of the homes they operated. The local one is based in Westminster. If we don’t have any luck with them, they suggested checking with the diocesan archives in Southwark. Talking of which, how did it go with the bishop?’

‘Pretty well. Fingers crossed we should have a name by Monday or Tuesday. I see you got some plans.’

‘Yes, they printed them on a big copier they had. There are drawings of the old convent, the renovations from the sixties, and the plans for the current development. The folder’s full of paperwork relating to the development applications and approvals.’

‘Is any of the ground consecrated?’ she asked.

‘They didn’t know the answer to that question but did say if it were, a priest or bishop would have to deconsecrate it before any building work could start. Again, they said to check the diocesan archives. I got the impression they couldn’t be bothered to look through all the documents, but they said the answer should be in there somewhere.’

‘Judging by the size of the file, there’s a lot to look through,’ Jane said.

‘I can start now if you like,’ Boon suggested, getting up from his chair.

‘It’s OK. You’ve been on duty since six so why don’t you head off home?’

‘I’m on a bit of a high, to be honest,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel tired. Shall I start on the plans or the paperwork?’

‘Whatever suits you,’ Jane said, with a smile.

‘Documents it is then... or should I do a report on the Barry May arrest and my visit to the planning office first?’

‘Do the report. DCS Barnes will no doubt want to read it on Monday. I’ll take the plans home with me and have a look at them over the weekend,’ Jane told him.

By seven the office was empty apart from Jane and Boon. She’d finished her report and looked up to see how he was doing. She tried not to laugh, watching his head fall forward and jolt up again as he struggled to concentrate and stay awake whilst typing his report with two fingers.

‘You nearly finished, Boony?’ she asked in a loud voice.

He quickly sat upright. ‘Nearly, sarge. I’m on the last paragraph.’

Jane went to the store cupboard in the corner of the room and removed a large exhibits bag. She picked up the plans from Boon’s desk and put them in the bag.

‘Do you want me to look at the building documents over the weekend?’ Boon asked.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it,’ she said, picking up the folder and putting it in the exhibits bag.

‘I know what to look for,’ he said, sounding offended.

‘I’ve not got anything planned for the weekend so I’ve plenty of time to spare. No doubt you’ll be playing football for the Met.’

‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a game against Essex police tomorrow. Inter-police games are always bloodbaths.’

‘Don’t get yourself injured. I need you on my team, fit and healthy.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he grinned. ‘Do you reckon Barnes will form a full murder squad?’

‘I think he’ll have to. So far, everything points to our victim being murdered between 1958 and 1965, when the convent was sold. That time span means whoever killed her could still be alive.’

‘I hope Barnes puts me on the squad.’

‘I’m sure he will. He’s already let you continue working on the investigation with me. Your knowledge of the case works in your favour. It’s also useful to anyone else who comes on the team. Have a good weekend and I hope you win the game. Be here at eight on Monday morning and we’ll go over everything before the meeting with Barnes. Then you can head off to the magistrates’ court for May’s first appearance.’

Driving home, Jane felt her stomach rumbling. She stopped at the fish and chip shop in Chislehurst High Street and ordered cod and chips, then nipped to the nearby off-licence. Looking in the refrigerated section, she noticed a bottle of Blue Nun Liebfraumilch. ‘Must be a sign from God,’ she said to herself as she picked it up, along with a bottle of white wine for her neighbour, Gerry.

After parking on her driveway, she popped round to Gerry’s to give him the wine.

‘Hello, Jane, has the light bulb blown again?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s working fine. I bought this as a thank you. I hope you like Chardonnay,’ she said, handing him the bottle.

‘It’s mine and Vi’s favourite. Thank you so much. Why don’t you come in and have a glass with us?’

‘I’ve just bought some fish and chips and I don’t want them to get cold, but I’d love to another time.’

He smiled. ‘I look forward to it. And don’t forget I’m here if you need me.’

‘Actually, as it happens, the cold water tap in my kitchen sink is dripping all the time...’

‘I’ll get my toolkit,’ he said instantly.

‘No. It’s OK, tomorrow will be fine. I’m not working, so morning or afternoon would be great.’

‘I’ll pop round after I’ve taken Spud for his morning walk. Goodnight.’

What a lovely man, she decided as she walked to her door.

Jane thought the fish and chips were pretty good and the Blue Nun wasn’t too bad, either, if a bit sweet for her liking.

She washed and changed into her pyjamas, before pouring herself another glass of wine, then fetched the exhibits bag containing the plan drawings and documents file from the hallway. She didn’t feel like reading through the documents, so randomly pulled a plan out of the bag, unrolled it, and laid it out on the living-room floor. It was a copy of the original plans for the redevelopment of the convent buildings, dated August 1964. Looking at the plan, Jane remembered she’d promised Nick Durham she’d call him after her meeting with the bishop. She looked at the wall clock. It was nearly nine and she wondered if he’d be out on the town on a Friday evening, unlike herself. Removing his business card from her coat pocket, she dialled the home number.

He picked up after two rings. ‘Nick Durham speaking.’

‘Mr Durham, it’s Detective Sergeant Tennison. Sorry it’s late, but I thought I should call and update you.’

‘Is it good news or bad news?’

‘A bit of both,’ she said. ‘My DI said it’s OK to knock down the burnt-out buildings but don’t do any digging there.’

‘Thanks, that’ll keep the lads on the site busy for now. What did the bishop say?’

‘He couldn’t give me a definitive answer regarding any consecrated ground on the land. But he did say the diocesan archives would keep a record. He hopes to have an answer for me by Tuesday at the latest.’

‘I spoke with my dad again after you left. He’s adamant his solicitor told him the land and buildings were deconsecrated before the sale of the convent. He was also told there were no grave sites on the land.’

‘If he’s right, the diocesan archives should confirm it and you can start work again.’

‘I hope it’s right, or my dad might have to move in with me,’ he laughed.

‘Your dad lives there?’

‘Yes, in the old chapel.’

It suddenly dawned on her why she’d thought Nick Durham looked so familiar. His father had to be the man with Bella, the Golden Retriever, who went into the old chapel and returned with an umbrella.

‘Hello? Sergeant Tennison? Are you still there?’ Nick asked.

‘Yes. Sorry, I got distracted,’ she replied, wondering why Nick’s father had never mentioned he was the original developer who had bought the convent and its land. ‘I’ve got to go, Mr Durham, I have some paperwork I need to finish tonight. I’ll ring you as soon as I get a definitive answer from the bishop.’

‘Well, thanks for calling... oh, before you go, I spoke with our electrician about your wiring. He said he could have a look at it next Saturday.’

‘That would be great, thank you.’ She tried to sound pleased, but her head was full of unanswered questions about Thomas Durham’s behaviour.

‘There is one other thing...’

‘I’ve really got to go, Mr Durham.’

‘Will you... have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ he asked.

Jane hesitated. She knew it wouldn’t really be proper.

‘Please say yes. If you don’t, I’ll feel totally rejected and might have to hang myself,’ he pleaded.

‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I can’t resist your charm anymore. I’ll ring you in the morning for the details.’

‘I’ll book a table for two at the Fantail in Farnborough Village. I think you’ll like it,’ he said.

‘I’m sure I will. Speak to you tomorrow.’ She put the phone down, feeling slightly guilty.

Although she liked Nick Durham, she’d only accepted his dinner invitation to learn more about his father, who she strongly suspected was hiding something. She sat at the dining-room table, opened her notebook, and thought hard about the two occasions she had met Thomas Durham, then started to make some notes.

When Boon had said a coffin had been ‘dug up’, Thomas Durham had looked concerned, and yet never mentioned that he’d renovated the convent or his son’s involvement in the current development. It was also odd he’d not contacted his son immediately about the coffin or told him he already knew about it when Nick had called him on Thursday evening.

Jane remembered Thomas Durham looking angry when she saw him coming out of the site office in the morning. He’d clearly had an altercation with Lee Holland, who she now knew had lied to her when he’d said he didn’t know him. So what were Holland and Durham so worried about that they had to lie? Could Father Chris be right about someone outside of the Church being involved in the murder?