Unholy Murder

Chapter Nineteen

Jane felt anxious walking to Nick’s office, not knowing if he’d read the article in the News Shopper.

‘Mr Durham’s on the phone just now,’ Judy, the office secretary, said when she saw her.

Jane ignored her and went straight to Nick’s office.

Nick put his palm on the speaker. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Jane sat on the sofa, nervously rubbing her hands, and wondering if their relationship was going to be over before it had begun.

Nick finished his call and put the phone down. ‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ he said as he got up.

Jane stood up. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you — and I don’t think you’re going to like it.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Nick asked.

Jane took a deep breath — then just blurted it out. ‘The nun in the coffin was murdered. We don’t know who did it. I should have told you, but I couldn’t. I’m really, really sorry and don’t blame you if you don’t want to see me anymore...’

Jane was talking so quickly, Nick had difficulty in understanding what she was saying.

‘Whoa, slow down, Jane,’ he said, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I already suspected there was more to this nun thing than you were letting on.’

She took another deep breath to calm herself. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I’ve been worried sick about how you’d react. I really thought you’d be mad with me.’

He gently squeezed her shoulders. ‘I’m not going to get mad simply because you’re doing your job.’

‘My DCS said we were to keep it to ourselves until we had identified the nun. A journalist found out and wrote the article. She also alleged there could be the bodies of other nuns and children buried in the grounds of the convent. As a result, my DCS said you can’t do any work on the site until further searches are done,’ Jane said, looking forlorn.

Nick smiled. ‘That’s not your fault. I understand your boss’s reaction. I can’t say I’m happy about it, but I’m not going to argue. Is he going to dig it all up?’

‘Not at the moment, but he might later... and dredge the lake as well. I’m sorry for any distress this may cause your father, especially with his heart condition. But obviously I couldn’t say anything to him either.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll speak with him. I’m sure he’ll understand, and we will both do anything we can to assist your investigation.’

Jane looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go to the diocesan archives and make some inquiries there.’

He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried. Losing the site is only a temporary setback, I’m sure.’

Boon pressed the intercom at the News Shopper offices in Petts Wood, gave his details and was let in. The receptionist asked him to take a seat while she informed Miss Rogers of his arrival.

He saw the paper with Rebecca Rogers’ article on a table and read it while he waited. He thought it was a bit sensationalised, but it was obvious her father had given her a detailed account of the discovery of the coffin, post-mortem and cause of death.

‘Good morning, DC Boon, I’m Becky Rogers. I take it you’ve come about my article?’

He looked up to see a very attractive young brunette, with permed shoulder-length hair. She was dressed fashionably in a light blue jumpsuit, which had tapered legs and shoulder pads. The tight silver belt she wore showed off her slim, shapely figure.

Boon slowly stood up and shook her hand. ‘Yes. Thank you for seeing me.’

‘The office is quite small, and people are constantly nattering on the phone. We could pop over to Petts Wood Square for a coffee in the café and have a chat there.’

‘That would be good,’ Boon replied.

‘I’ll just nip upstairs and get my jacket, then.’

‘That’s a nasty limp you’ve got,’ Becky said as they sat down at a table. ‘What happened?’

‘Football injury... nothing serious,’ he said, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘I’m going to be straight with you, Becky. We know who the source was for your article. I understand why you wrote it, but your father should not have released confidential information to you. He’s put himself in a position where he could be disciplined and even dismissed from the force.’

She looked shocked. ‘Is it that serious?’

‘Yes. You were just doing your job, so you’re not in any trouble. But my DCS is not happy. He didn’t want to go to press until we’d identified the body.’

Becky looked concerned. ‘My dad didn’t actually tell me. I overheard him speaking to my mother. I assumed the police were about to release the information when I wrote the article.’

Boon suspected she was lying to protect her father, which was understandable. ‘I’m not here to have a go at you,’ he said. ‘What I need to know is, whether or not you are willing to assist the investigation.’

‘I’ll do whatever I can to help,’ she said.

‘Thanks. Did your article result in any phone calls from the public that might help us with the identification?’

Becky leaned towards him. ‘I’ve only had a couple of calls, both this morning, but it’s early days and I’m hoping for more. One call was just someone being nosy; the other was from a woman who said she’d been an orphan at the convent.’

‘What else did she say?’ Boon asked.

‘I can’t tell you that. I have to protect my sources,’ Becky said.

‘I understand, it’s the same for me as a police officer. Personally, I thought your article was very good,’ Boon said, trying to gain her confidence.

She looked pleased. ‘Thanks. I didn’t want to put the bit in about children being buried at the convent. It was my editor’s idea because he wanted to spice it up a bit.’

‘For what it’s worth, there’s nothing to suggest any children were buried there.’

‘Truthfully, I hope not,’ Becky replied solemnly.

‘I know the News Shopper is only a weekly paper, but you might be able to help us with a follow-up piece.’

‘Really. How?’ she asked, sounding eager.

‘My DCS is holding a press conference at Orpington later today. He’s releasing details about a crucifix we recovered which had some initials and a date on it. Hopefully, it will result in a positive identification. If it doesn’t, he’ll no doubt need to do a further appeal through the national and local press outlets.’

‘Do you think I could go to the press conference?’

‘You’re a journalist, so I can’t see why not. I’ll make sure your name is on the press list.’

‘Thank you so much, DC Boon. It’ll be my first press conference.’

‘Please, call me Simon.’

Becky leaned forward. ‘The lady who phoned me said she still keeps in contact with one of the nuns. I’ll see if I can get her name and address for you.’

‘That would be really helpful, but don’t get yourself in trouble on my account. Would you mind asking her if she’d be willing to speak to me?’

‘Of course. I’ll call her as soon as I get back to the office.’

‘That would be great.’ He finished his coffee. ‘I was also wondering what made you want to become a journalist?’

She laughed. ‘Originally, I was focused on being a fashion writer, but then I found myself drawn to investigative journalism.’

‘Did that stem from your dad being a copper?’

Becky nodded. ‘A bit, I suppose. Listening to the cases he was dealing with as a coroner’s officer interested me... not in a gory way, though. I’ve always found it hard to understand why people commit some crimes — especially murder. Investigative journalism helps me to understand it better. And I believe journalists have a duty to write responsibly and help catch the perpetrators of any crime.’

‘There are a lot of things we have in common, then.’ Boon smiled, knowing they both still had a lot to learn in their chosen professions.

She smiled back. ‘Yes, there are.’

Returning to the News Shopper office, Boon waited in the foyer while Becky went upstairs and phoned her contact. It wasn’t long before she returned.

‘Mrs Gorman is happy to see you,’ she told him, ‘but she’d like me to be there as well... if that’s OK with you, of course?’ Becky smiled.

Boon realised she was quite crafty, and not nearly as naïve as she pretended to be. He had no choice but to say yes.

Jane drove her car to Archbishop’s House. Now that she knew there was no problem with Nick, she was able to think about the future with him. She was sure her parents would approve. Her only worry was that when she introduced him, her mother would embarrass her with too many probing questions.

She lifted the heavy brass knocker and banged it down several times. With Bishop Meade away, she had an opportunity to speak with Mrs Parkin in private. She just hoped that Mrs Parkin was unaware of the News Shopper article. The same priest she had met on Friday opened the door.

‘Good morning, Detective Tennison. Unfortunately, Bishop Meade isn’t here.’

Jane smiled. ‘Yes, I know. He said he was going to a meeting in Cambridge. I’ve actually come to speak with Mrs Parkin, the archivist.’

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘Yes. Bishop Meade has asked her to assist my inquiries in identifying the nun.’

‘Very good. The archives are down in the basement. Please follow me.’

They walked down the winding marble stairs which opened onto a long corridor.

‘Mrs Parkin’s office is just up on the right.’ The priest turned and left.

Jane knocked on the door and entered.

Her eyes had to adjust to the dimly lit, musty-smelling room. She was surprised how big it was, with row after row of alphabetically arranged books, binders and boxes stretching towards the ceiling and covering every inch of the dusty shelves.

A woman was sitting behind a large desk with a table lamp. ‘Mrs Parkin?’

‘How can I help you?’ she asked.

Mrs Parkin looked to be in her early forties, with shoulder-length blonde hair. She was short, slim, and smartly dressed in a white blouse with a bow at the neck and a black skirt.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. I wanted to thank you personally for searching your archive records on the Sisters of Mercy Convent.’

‘My pleasure,’ she replied.

‘There were a couple of other things I was going to ask Bishop Meade about the convent so I can complete my report. Unfortunately, he’s gone to Cambridge. I wondered if you might be able to help me.’

‘I will if I can. I just need to pop to the ladies.’

Jane doubted Mrs Parkin would try and contact Meade but couldn’t be certain. ‘Actually, I need to use the toilet myself.’

Mrs Parkin smiled. ‘Follow me.’

When they returned to the archives Mrs Parkin asked Jane how she could help her.

‘Bishop Meade said the convent buildings and land were deconsecrated. Do you have a record of who in the diocese dealt with it?’

‘It should be on the Petition for Faculty. I put it in a box with the few things I found on the convent.’ She reached under her desk, pulled out the box and looked inside. ‘Here it is. Signed and dated fifth of July 1964 by Bishop Malone. He’s our archbishop now.’ She handed it to Jane.

‘Would he have performed the deconsecration alone?’ she asked. She scanned the document for Meade’s name, but couldn’t see it.

Mrs Parkin pulled another document from the box. ‘This solicitor’s letter also confirms it was Bishop Malone. He’s currently in Rome helping to organise the Pope’s visit to the UK. I’m hoping to get an introduction when he visits London,’ she beamed.

‘Would he have dealt with the exhumation and removal of nuns’ bodies to another grave site?’

‘Yes. There’s a document in here about that as well.’ She showed it to Jane.

‘Could I have copies of these documents for my case report, please?’

‘Of course.’ Mrs Parkin walked over to the copier.

Jane thought about Thomas Durham and Lee Holland and what they might be hiding. ‘If other bodies had been uncovered by the builders during the original redevelopment of the convent, would they have had to notify the diocese?’

‘Most certainly yes... and also the council. They would also have to apply for another Petition for Faculty, then the bodies could be moved and the ground deconsecrated.’

Jane thought about Father Chris’s suggestion that a layperson might have been involved. ‘Do you keep records of any builders or handymen who worked at the convent?’

‘We don’t keep their names, if that’s what you mean. However, we do keep receipts regarding repair work and estimates, which would have gone through our buildings department.’

‘Would you have receipts relating to the Bickley convent?’

‘Possibly, but they would be stored in a separate section of the archives and might take a while to find.’

‘I’d be grateful if you could have a look when you get a chance, and let me know if you find anything,’ Jane said.

‘Jot down your phone number on my notepad,’ Mrs Parkin said, pointing to the pad on her desk. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ She handed Jane the copies of the documents.

‘About the fire, do you know how it started?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Might there be any records?’ Jane asked, recalling Meade telling her Mrs Parkin had given him the details of when and where the fire occurred.

Mrs Parkin looked in the box and removed a document. ‘Just this. It’s a letter from the diocesan solicitors to the developers.’

Jane read it. The only mention was a line stating that a fire had occurred in August 1962, damaging several uninsured outbuildings and the school beyond economical repair. Jane realised Meade could have the letter but wondered how he knew the fire had started in the bakery and destroyed all the convent documents.

‘There’s nothing else about the fire?’

‘Not that I could find. You’d be better off speaking to Bishop Meade. He knows more about it than me.’

Jane didn’t want to press Mrs Parkin. From what she said, it seemed Meade knew a lot more about the fire than he was letting on and was trying to distance himself from it. Jane changed tack.

‘I assume when the convent closed the children were moved to another orphanage.’

‘Yes, but I doubt they would all have gone to the same one.’

‘Would you have a record of their names and where they were sent?’

‘Unfortunately, we don’t. Bishop Meade did ask me to look, but it appears the convent never passed the details on to the archives, which was most remiss of the Mother Superior in charge. Then again, with all the distress and upheaval of the convent closing, she might just have forgotten.’

Jane wasn’t so sure and wondered if the records had been passed on but had then been destroyed by Meade. ‘Do you know who the Mother Superior was?’

‘No, it appears all the nuns’ personal records were destroyed in the fire as well.’

‘Did any priests live at the convent when it was open?’

Parkin frowned. ‘Of course not, that would be most irregular.’

‘Would a local one visit or help teach at the school?’ Jane asked.

‘That wouldn’t be uncommon. St Mary’s is the nearest Catholic church to the old convent. Father Floridia is the current priest. He’s a lovely man — unlike some of the misery guts out there. You know, I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about Father Floridia.’

Jane nodded. ‘I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him. He introduced me to Bishop Meade. As a matter of interest, would you have a record of the priests who worked at St Mary’s in the fifties and sixties?’

Parkin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Can I ask why you need all this information?’

‘The coroner wants us to explore every possible avenue to try and identify the nun found in the unearthed coffin. He’s a stickler for making sure we do a thorough job.’

Mrs Parkin nodded. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want to upset him. Give me a second while I look in the St Mary’s archives.’ She walked down a long row of bookshelves and out of sight.

Jane didn’t hear the door open but jumped when she heard someone behind her cough to get her attention. She turned sharply and saw the young priest.

‘I’ll have to ask you to leave, Detective Tennison,’ he said in a firm voice.

‘May I ask why?’ she said, suspecting the News Shopper article had been brought to his attention.

‘I have just spoken with Bishop Meade. He is most displeased to learn that you neglected to make him aware you are investigating a murder. He feels you have deceived the Church by your actions and will be informing Archbishop Malone. Under the circumstances I think it’s best you leave.’

‘Fair enough. Please tell Bishop Meade my detective chief superintendent will be in touch with him to explain our position,’ she said, surreptitiously folding the copied documents and tucking them in her pocket.

The priest followed her to make sure she left the building.

Mrs Parkin returned to her desk empty-handed and looked around for Jane. ‘Why does everything keep disappearing round here!’ she muttered to herself.

On the drive to Mrs Gorman’s house in West Wickham, Becky asked a lot of questions about the investigation. Boon tried to confine his answers to things she would already have known through her father.

‘Do you reckon someone connected to the Church was involved?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to wait and see what the investigations turn up.’

‘Come on, Simon, we both know it’s got to be someone who lived or worked at the convent,’ she insisted.

‘You could be right, but then again you could be wrong. A good investigator considers all possibilities, not just the one that best fits their assumptions.’

‘Very astute, officer. I shall remember that — but I’ll bet you I’m right.’

‘What’s the bet?’

‘You wine and dine me at a posh restaurant uptown, then take me dancing at the Empire nightclub in Leicester Square. If I’m wrong, it’s my treat.’

Boon smiled. Win or lose, he very much fancied a night out with Becky. ‘You’re on.’

She shook his hand. ‘And I’m going to choose the most expensive thing on the menu.’

‘As long as it’s only the starter, I’m happy with that,’ he grinned.

Becky pressed the doorbell of the small terraced house. A plump, dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties opened the door.

‘Hi, I’m Becky. Is your mother in?’

‘My mother doesn’t live here,’ the woman replied, looking confused.

Boon wondered if Becky had been the victim of a hoax call.

‘Sorry, I think we might have the wrong address. Do you know if a Mrs Gorman lives in the street?’

The woman laughed. ‘I’m Annette Gorman. You spoke to me on the phone, Miss Rogers.’

Becky looked embarrassed. ‘I do apologise. I was expecting someone a lot older. This is Detective Constable Boon.’

‘I thought it might be,’ Annette said, inviting them in.

They went to the small living room which was littered with children’s toys.

‘Sorry about the mess. I’ve got two-year-old twin girls. I just put them down for their mid-morning nap, so we shouldn’t be disturbed for a while.’

Becky asked Annette if she’d mind her and Boon taking some notes.

‘Not at all. I don’t really know if I can help you much. I was only ten when the convent closed.’

‘Can I ask why you rang Becky, Mrs Gorman?’ Boon asked, wanting to get straight to the point.

‘I was shocked when I read her article. I couldn’t believe one of the nuns was murdered. I showed it to my husband before he went to work. He knew I’d been an orphan at the convent and said I should call you to see if I could be of any help. He also said I should call the police. But there was nothing in the article about who to call... other than Miss Rogers.’

Boon explained they had been keeping quiet about the murder as they had hoped to identify the nun before going public. ‘When were you at the convent?’ he asked.

‘From about 1957 until just after the fire, which I think was in the summer of 1962. It wasn’t long after that my brother and I were moved to different orphanages.’

Boon realised Annette would have been at the convent at the time the nun was believed to have been murdered. He was about to pick up on it when Becky butted in.

‘Sorry, did you say your brother was there as well?’

Annette nodded sadly. ‘He was my twin. I don’t know where David is now... or if he’s even alive,’ she said, welling up.

‘Have you spoken with the Catholic Children’s Society in Westminster?’ Boon asked.

‘Yes, but they couldn’t help. They don’t keep orphanage records. Sadly, they didn’t have a David Bell with the same date of birth as me on their records. I also wrote to the diocesan archives but just got a letter back saying there was no record of him.’ She started to cry.

Boon felt downhearted. It seemed the Children’s Society would be another dead-end inquiry, though he’d still contact them to double check.

‘I’d like to try and help you find your brother, Annette,’ Becky said.

‘How? I’ve exhausted every avenue there is.’ She wiped her eyes with a tissue.

‘I’ll ask my editor if I can do an article on the orphanage, the loss of your parents and the struggle to find your brother. It might help to locate him.’

‘That’s very kind of you. Not all the children were orphans in the true sense of the word. Some had been abandoned or were from broken homes. When I was sixteen, I ran away from the children’s home I was in to look for my brother. Then I met my future husband, who was eighteen at the time. His family took me in and helped me look for mine.

‘We managed to trace a close friend of my parents. Through her, I discovered David and I had lived in a big house in Sussex. When we were three, our father was seriously assaulted during a break-in and died of his injuries some months later. As a result, our mother had a breakdown and started drinking heavily. She confided in the local priest about her depression and drinking.’ Annette’s brow furrowed. ‘He rewarded her plea for help by informing the authorities and having us taken away,’ she said with bitterness in her voice.

‘My God, that’s awful,’ Becky exclaimed. ‘I thought the Church was supposed to help people in need!’

‘Were you reunited with your mother?’ Boon asked, moved by her painful story.

She shook her head. ‘No. Thanks to the priest, she ended up in Graylingwell asylum. She committed suicide when David and I were nine. My mother’s friend found out we were at the convent and wrote a letter to the Mother Superior, but we were never told about it.’

‘What possible reason could she have for not telling you?’ Becky asked.

‘In the eyes of the Catholic Church, suicide is a mortal sin, and she was an evil cow.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your time at the Sisters of Mercy orphanage?’ Boon asked.

Annette let out a cynical laugh. ‘We used to call some of them the Sisters Without Mercy.’

‘Why was that?’

She looked sombre. ‘Because the Mother Superior and her minions were heartless and brutal in the way they treated us. Although I was only five, I’ll never forget my first day there.’

‘What happened?’ Becky asked, apprehensively.

Annette sat motionless, her lips trembling as she recalled the event. ‘We were in the dining room having breakfast when we were made to stand in a line. Mother Superior said she was going to show us what happens to girls and boys who misbehave. The door opened and four girls, not much older than me, were marched in by Sister Margaret who whacked them across the back of the legs with a bamboo cane if they walked too slow. At first, I thought it strange as they were all wearing white headscarves and carrying silver bowls. They were then made to stand in front of us and remove their headscarves. All their hair had been shaved off and it was in the silver bowls they held in front of them. Mother Superior produced a big wooden ladle from up her sleeve then proceeded to walk behind the girls and whack each of them hard on the head. I could see they were terrified, but they didn’t dare cry in case they got hit again.’

Becky gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘What did she do to the boys?’ she asked.

Annette licked her dry lips and clasped her hands together. ‘Sister Margaret marched the boys in and paraded them round the room. All of them were wrapped in bedsheets.’ She paused and took a deep breath.

‘Why on earth where they made to wear bedsheets?’ Boon asked.

‘Because they had wet themselves during the night. It wasn’t until they were made to pull the sheets from their heads that I saw David was one of the boys. He started to cry when he saw me. I took a step forward, then one of the elder girls tugged me back. She whispered I’d make it worse for him if I did anything.’ Annette’s sadness was turning to anger. ‘Mother Superior then gave them a whack with the ladle as well.’

Boon shook his head in disgust. ‘In my few years as a police officer, I’ve seen some terrible things but the thought that anyone, especially nuns, could do that to children...’

‘Having all your hair cut off or being made to wear a wet sheet was nothing compared with being made to sit in the chapel crypt in the dark, on your own. Mother Superior would say it was so we could “reflect on our sins in the presence of the Lord”.’

‘Were there dead bodies down there?’ Becky asked, wide-eyed.

‘Just the man who founded the convent. He was in a stone sarcophagus. Occasionally a nun who died would be in a coffin awaiting burial, but that was rare. It was terrifying and so cold down there you’d sit on the floor with your knees under your chin, pulling your dress down and your jumper sleeves over your hands to try and keep warm. Thankfully, I only ever got sent down there once. I never wanted it to happen to me again, so I made sure I always did as I was told.’

The thought of being alone in the crypt sent a shiver through Becky. ‘Do you think there might be the bodies of abused children buried in the grounds of the convent?’

Annette shrugged. ‘I don’t remember anyone suddenly disappearing while I was there, but that’s not to say a child hasn’t been killed since the convent opened.’

Boon knew it was a possibility but doubted it. ‘I’m really sorry for making you recall such traumatic events, Annette. Yours, David’s, and every child’s life in the convent must have been a living nightmare,’ he said.

‘I was never so happy as when I left that place, but it’s stayed with me ever since and robbed me of growing up with my brother. There was a constant atmosphere of fear, but it wasn’t all bad. Some nuns were kind and even lied to protect us. Although they didn’t argue with Mother Superior about her strict rules, they didn’t enforce them with an iron rod like some of her cronies.’

‘They should all be ashamed for doing nothing about it,’ Becky said fiercely.

‘Believe me, I know they were. Those that did challenge Mother Superior quickly found themselves transferred to another convent, usually in some godforsaken country, or so I was told.’

‘How many children lived at the convent?’ Becky asked.

‘About thirty... there were slightly more girls than boys.’

‘Have you kept in contact with any of them?’

‘No. A couple of girls were moved to the same new orphanage as me. But I lost contact with them when I left.’

‘How many nuns were there?’ Boon asked.

‘It varied, but generally I’d say about twelve, including Mother Superior.’

‘Can you remember the Mother Superior or any of the nuns’ names?’

‘I haven’t a clue what her name was,’ she said. ‘Everyone just called her Mother Superior. Sister Margaret was her deputy, and she was even more sadistic. She always took great delight in beating and humiliating us.’

‘Do you know her surname?’

Annette shook her head. ‘All the nuns were just called Sister and we used their Christian names for those that let us.’ She paused for thought. ‘There was Sister Suzanne, Sister Julie, Sister Jane and Sister Melissa. I remember them mostly because they were the nicer ones. It’s hard to recall the others.’

‘Can you remember the Christian names of any other nuns beginning with an “M”?’ Boon asked.

Annette thought with her eyes closed, then opened them. ‘There was Sister Maria, at least two Sister Marys, and I think a Sister Madeline. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can remember just now. Do you think the nun who was murdered might be one of them?’

‘It’s possible. We believe our victim was between eighteen and thirty and had the initials MB. If I read the names out, could you give me a rough age of each of them?’

‘Sorry, I was ten years old... I couldn’t even begin to guess how old they were back then. Mother Superior and Sister Margaret looked the oldest. Sister Maria and Sister Suzanne were definitely younger.’

‘I know this is a long shot, but do you know if any of them still live or work in the area?’

Annette sighed. ‘Sister Julie does, though she’s no longer a nun. We speak on the phone and meet up quite regularly, actually. I didn’t want to give you her details until I spoke to her personally and made sure it was OK.’

‘I understand... and thank you for your honesty. Obviously, Julie might be able to provide some useful information. Would you mind calling her just now and asking if she’d be willing to talk to us?’

‘I’ll try but she might be at work. She’s a nursing sister at Farnborough Hospital.’

While Annette went to the kitchen to make the call, Boon checked his notes to see if there was anything else he needed to ask.

Becky let out a sad sigh. ‘It’s made me realise how lucky I was to be raised by loving parents who always made me feel wanted and safe. Although we’ve had a few big rows over the years, I can’t ever recall a time when my parents raised a hand to me.’

‘Same here,’ Boon replied.

‘Could you prosecute the nuns for assault after so many years?’

‘It would need Annette and other victims to give evidence in court. I’ll certainly be telling my superiors what she told us. Are you going to write an article about what happened to her?’

‘I feel the public has a right to know. Those responsible should be named and shamed, but I won’t write it without Annette’s approval. And I will still try and help her find her brother.’

Boon smiled. ‘You’re a good person, Becky Rogers.’

She smiled back. ‘As are you, Simon Boon.’

Annette came back and told them Julie must be at work as she wasn’t answering. She turned to Boon. ‘I’ll call her later and give her your office number. I’m pretty sure she’ll do her best to help with the investigation.’

‘Thank you,’ Boon said.

‘How did you meet up with Julie again?’ Becky asked.

‘It was about two years ago while I was shopping at Allders department store in Bromley. I noticed this woman staring at me and shaking as if she’d seen a ghost. I asked if she was all right, but she didn’t answer. I was about to walk away when she asked me how I got the mark on my face.’ Annette pointed to a three-inch scar on her left cheek. ‘I told her a nun hit me with a bamboo cane and she looked close to tears. I’d never seen Sister Julie in casual clothes, so at first it didn’t register who she was. When she asked me if I was Annette Bell, it came to me in a flash. We hugged each other and cried our eyes out. In many ways, finding each other has been a blessing for both of us. Our long talks and lots of tears have helped us come to terms with what happened in our lives.’

Boon was about to ask Annette a question when he heard one of the babies crying.

Becky stood up. ‘We’d best be going and let you see to your children.’

‘There’s just a couple of other questions I’d like to ask before we go,’ Boon said.

‘If she carries on crying, she’ll wake the other one up. I’ll be back in a second.’ Annette dashed up the stairs and returned cradling one of the babies.

Becky’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah, she’s beautiful. What’s her name?’

‘Davina, after my brother. Her sister is called Julie.’

‘Can I hold her?’ Becky asked.

Annette handed Davina to her and then sat down opposite Boon.

‘Were there any non-religious people who worked at the convent?’ he asked.

‘Not that I recall. Most things in the convent were done by the nuns. You’d be surprised how skilled they were at fixing and making things. We had to do chores every day, keeping the place clean, helping with the laundry, tending the gardens and vegetable patches. Mucking out the pig pens was the worst punishment — you had to grab the shit with your bare hands and put it into a bucket.’

‘That’s gross,’ Becky said.

‘Were there any priests who worked there?’ Boon asked.

‘There was one who’d come in and read us Aesop’s Fables in class. Sometimes the bishop would visit... we’d be given clean clothes and inspected by Mother Superior before he arrived.’

‘Can you remember the priest’s or bishop’s names?’

‘We were only allowed to call the bishop “Your Excellency”, if he deigned to speak to us. We called the priest Father Bob. He was a nice man, everyone liked him. He used to give us all a boiled sweet in class, hold his finger to his mouth and say we must not tell Mother Superior, or he’d get in trouble.’

Boon closed his notebook. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gorman. I know it must be hard, talking about your life at the convent, but it’s been really helpful to our investigation.’

Boon couldn’t wait now to get back to the station. Father Bob, he wondered... could he be Bishop Meade?