Unholy Murder

Chapter Twenty-one

Entering the Orpington incident room, Jane was surprised at how organised and well-equipped it was, given how quickly it had been set up. The conference-room table was pushed up against one wall and twelve chairs were set out for the press to sit at. A4 photographs of the nun’s coffin, body and the cross were stuck on one wall. Large Bromley planning department maps and plans of the convent — from 1851, 1964 and 1981 — were on another wall. A large whiteboard had ‘Victim — MB?’ written on it, her estimated age range, height, and hair colour. Under it was written ‘Pathologist — Dr Samantha Pullen’, with details of her post-mortem findings and cause of death. DS Johnson’s name had ‘Lab liaison sergeant’ written next to it with plenty of space for the forensic results when they came in. A tall filing shelf was filled with statement forms, action and information sheets, message pads, writing paper, pens, and as-yet-empty filing trays.

‘You’ve done a good job here, guv,’ Jane told Stanley.

‘Looks all right, doesn’t it? I spoke with your man Eaves this morning. He worked from photographs and X-rays of the head over the weekend and produced these for the press conference.’ He opened a folder and showed Jane two A4-sized artist’s impressions of the murdered nun, one wearing a veil and the other without.

Jane thought they portrayed her as an attractive, serene-looking young woman.

Stanley stuck them on the wall. ‘They look quite lifelike. If we identify our victim, it’ll be interesting to see how closely Eaves’ impression resembles an old photograph of her.’

‘Is Barnes happy to use them in his appeal?’ Jane asked.

‘He was in two minds at first, but having seen them he said it was worth a shot. I’ve got desks, typewriters, phones, and an index carousel to put in after the press conference. I’ll add details about our suspect Bishop Meade and the information Annette Gorman gave us once the press people have gone.’

‘How many other officers have you got joining us?’ Jane asked.

‘Ten detectives and two civilian indexers, which will make a total of sixteen, including Barnes.’

‘I thought we might have had more officers,’ she said.

‘Barnes said he wants to see where the press appeal leads us, then review things after a couple of days. I get the impression he wants to crack this case within a week or two.’

‘Somehow I don’t think it will be that easy,’ Jane remarked. She saw Boon walk in. ‘Any news on Sister Julie?’

He gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Her name’s Julie Dorton and she’s willing to speak to us. I’ve got her address. She lives in Hurst Road, Sidcup with her husband.’

‘Well done, Boony,’ Jane said.

‘Would someone like to explain who this Julie is?’ Stanley said.

Boon told him about his meeting with Annette Gorman.

‘Did Julie Dorton confirm what Annette Gorman said about the nuns and Father Bob?’

‘I didn’t ask, though Mrs Gorman had obviously told her why we wanted to interview her.’

‘Why not?’ Stanley asked, frowning.

‘Because I didn’t want to scare her off over the phone. An interview in the comfort of her home is more likely to produce the best results, like it did with Mrs Gorman,’ Boon said.

‘Well, let’s hope you’re right,’ Stanley replied.

‘He knows you’re right, Boony. He just hates to admit it,’ Jane teased, giving Stanley a grin.

‘You’ve done well, Boony. Barnes will be pleased.’ Stanley looked at his watch. It was half past three. ‘I’ve told the duty sergeant to keep the press in the foyer until we’re ready for them. I’ll go down just before four, hand out the press passes and bring them up to the incident room.’

‘I’ll do that for you, guv. I’m sure DCS Barnes will want you by his side as he enters the room,’ Boon said, wanting to keep his promise to Becky.

‘Good point. I’ll go and get the passes and leave them on the desk over there,’ Stanley said, walking off.

Jane guessed why Boon was being so helpful. ‘You’d best tell Becky Rogers to just listen and learn.’

‘I already have,’ Boon replied with a grin.

Jane looked at the photograph of the cross. ‘Do you know if Barry May got remanded in custody this morning?’ she asked Boon.

‘The bastard got bail. DC Lyons took the case for me. He detailed our objections, but the magistrate didn’t think they warranted a custodial remand. It was also in May’s favour that he had no previous convictions.’

Jane wasn’t surprised about the bail. She just hoped Katie had gone to her parents’ house.

There were eight members of the press and two cameramen waiting in the foyer. Boon was disappointed not to see Becky amongst them as he handed out the press passes.

‘Please follow me,’ he said, opening the door.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Becky said loudly as she rushed into the foyer.

Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked at her.

‘I didn’t know Newsround covered murders,’ a journalist said sarcastically, and a few of the others laughed. Boon handed Becky a pass.

‘Well, that was a good start,’ he whispered.

‘Sorry, it took me ages to find somewhere to park. My editor’s well chuffed I’m attending this. I’ve got a list of questions to ask,’ she said waving a sheet of paper at him.

‘Please, Becky, just let the seasoned journalists ask the questions,’ he cautioned.

‘Shall we make our own way upstairs officer?’ an impatient journalist asked.

Boon was beginning to regret inviting Becky.

Barnes welcomed everyone and waited for the cameramen to set up before starting. The detectives on the squad stood at the side of the room. Jane noticed Lloyd Johnson walk in and waved to him. He waved back, then went and stood at the back of the room.

Barnes opened by introducing himself and Stanley, then addressed the journalists. ‘I’m sure most of you are aware of the article in the Bromley News Shopper.’

Members of the press nodded, while Becky looked at Boon with a satisfied grin.

Barnes continued. ‘I’ve called this conference today because we need the help of the mainstream media, press and the public to solve the murder of our unknown victim. Whilst the News Shopper is correct about some aspects of the nun’s death, there are also many inaccuracies. Most notably about the bodies of children being buried on the grounds of the former Sisters of Mercy convent. Sensationalist journalism doesn’t help our investigation. At present there is no evidence to support the claim that any children were murdered. Our primary focus is to identify the nun, which I’m confident will lead us to whoever killed her.’

Boon noticed Becky’s grin change to an indignant frown.

‘At this point, I’d like to hand over to Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison, who initiated the investigation. She will take you through the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body and the post-mortem. Jane, if you please.’ Barnes beckoned her over.

Jane was taken aback at being put on the spot. Barnes hadn’t given her any warning she was going to address the press.

‘Knock ’em dead, sarge,’ Boon whispered.

Jane walked over to the maps on the wall, then used the most recent one to show where the coffin had been found and described how it had been uncovered by the workmen. She then moved over to the wall with the photographs on it. She touched the photograph of the nun in the coffin with her index finger.

‘It was fortunate the body was mummified. This helped to preserve evidence of injuries on the body that might not have been found if advanced decomposition had occurred. Dr Samantha Pullen, the forensic pathologist, concluded the victim had been initially strangled to unconsciousness then put in the coffin. Scratch marks and broken fingernails on the inside indicate she regained consciousness and tried to get out. At or about this time, she was then stabbed in the back of the neck. The knife severed her spinal cord, which would have caused total paralysis. She may have died instantly or lost the ability to breathe properly and suffered a slow death by asphyxiation.’

The room fell silent as everyone took in the disturbing details of the murder.

‘How old do you think she was?’ a journalist asked.

‘Expert opinion from a forensic dentist and anthropologist suggests between eighteen and thirty.’ Jane pointed to Richard Eaves’ drawings. ‘These artist’s impressions of her face were done by the anthropologist. We can’t say they are an exact likeness of our victim but we’re hoping they may help to identify her. We have copies for you to take with you.’

Jane pointed to the photographs of the cross. ‘We recovered this cross she was wearing around her neck. As you can see from the enlarged photograph, it’s engraved with the initials MB and the date 20.02.58. Clearly this date is significant as the convent closed in 1963. It could relate to the date she became a novice or took her final vows, which would generally be five years later. We believe the nun—’

‘Could it be her date of birth?’ Becky interrupted without thinking, eliciting some mocking laughter around the room.

Jane was polite in her reply. ‘We excluded that possibility as it would mean the nun would only have been five when the convent closed.’

Becky blushed and looked at Boon apologetically.

Jane continued. ‘We believe the nun lived and worked at the convent. It’s reasonable to surmise she was murdered between 1958 and 1963.’

‘Do you think someone else at the convent was involved?’ a journalist asked.

Jane knew his question required a guarded answer. Before she could reply, Barnes stepped forward.

‘On the evidence so far, yes, I do. But that’s not to say it is the only line of inquiry we are looking at.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’ the same journalist asked.

‘Yes, but for obvious reasons I can’t disclose who they are at this stage.’

‘Is the diocese helping you with your inquiries?’ a female journalist asked.

‘We have spoken with Bishop Robert Meade. He informed us all documentation relating to the nuns and children was destroyed by a fire at the convent in 1962, shortly before it closed.’

‘What... everything?’ she asked, looking surprised.

‘So it would seem. As you can imagine, it has made our task of tracing the nuns and children who lived at the convent a difficult one. I would appeal to anyone who lived or worked at the convent to call the incident room at Orpington police station. With your assistance, I am confident we can put a name to our victim and solve this monstrous crime,’ Barnes concluded.

Becky raised her hand. Boon looked at her and shook his head, but she ignored him.

‘Just a couple of questions if I may, sir.’

‘Yes, go ahead, young lady,’ Barnes said.

‘Do you think the nun’s death could be linked to the convent land being developed into flats?’

‘Are you asking if I think the developers were in some way involved?’ he said.

Becky nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘We have considered that possibility,’ he said, ‘but we have excluded it for a couple of reasons. Firstly, we now know all the buildings and land were deconsecrated before purchase. Secondly, it would make no sense to bury a body on land that you are going to dig up.’

There was another ripple of laughter at Becky’s expense.

A couple of journalists raised their hands. Barnes pointed to one of them, but Becky hadn’t finished.

‘DS Tennison mentioned a forensic dentist examined the victim’s teeth. Does that infer she’d had some dental work done?’

Barnes shook his head in disbelief and looked at Jane to answer.

‘That’s correct,’ she said. ‘We’re checking missing persons with dental records on their files against the victim’s teeth. Obviously, we haven’t had a match yet.’

‘If the nun was never reported missing, you won’t get a match, will you?’ Becky said.

‘It would be negligent of us not to check missing persons’ dental records,’ Barnes said tersely. He pointed to another journalist, but Becky still wasn’t done.

‘Did the nuns at the convent drive cars?’

‘I don’t know!’ Barnes said, unable to disguise his exasperation.

‘Nuns don’t generally drive cars,’ a seasoned-looking journalist in a grey pinstripe suit remarked. ‘They take a vow of poverty. You might occasionally see one on a bike though,’ he said wittily.

‘Next question, please?’ Barnes said, pointing to a journalist.

Becky interjected yet again with a confident smile. ‘Have you checked local dentists near to the convent? If nuns don’t drive cars, they’d probably walk to the nearest one if they needed a filling.’

The room fell silent waiting for an answer from a flustered-looking Barnes. It was a simple line of inquiry that had so far been overlooked. Boon nodded at Becky, pleased she had silenced the mockers.

Barnes cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for that astute observation, Miss...?

‘Rogers, Becky Rogers... investigative reporter for the Bromley News Shopper.’

Barnes pointed to the journalist who had his hand raised.

‘I spoke with someone at the diocesan offices this morning. I was reliably informed they were not aware the nun was murdered until after the News Shopper article. Why weren’t they or the press informed immediately after the post-mortem last Thursday?’

‘Because I wanted to try and identify the victim first,’ Barnes replied, with an edge in his voice.

‘If you’d informed the diocese immediately or done a press appeal, you might have identified her by now,’ the same journalist said.

‘As I already said, the convent records were destroyed in a fire and the diocese was unable to help us,’ Barnes said.

‘Unable or unwilling?’ the journalist in the pinstripe suit interjected.

‘We will continue to seek their assistance. It’s up to them whether or not they want to help or hinder us,’ Barnes replied, clearly losing his cool.

The same journalist picked up on Barnes’s comment. ‘As an investigative journalist for The Times, I know of many allegations of child abuse made against Catholic priests and nuns. In my experience, the hierarchy of the Church withholds information from investigators and the press. They turn a blind eye and protect their own using medieval canon law. They allow the abuser to confess their sins without fear of a public prosecution. Do you think the nun’s murder is being covered up by members of the Catholic Church?’ he asked pointedly.

There was an air of expectation in the room after such a direct question. Everyone looked at Barnes, keenly awaiting his reply. Jane knew this was Barnes’s opportunity to air his feelings of injustice over Stephen Phillips’ death. She watched as all the journalists hold their pens to their notepads, ready to write down his reply.

Barnes took a sip of water. ‘I had a similar experience investigating the suicide of a twelve-year-old convent orphan. At his post-mortem we discovered he’d been beaten so badly you could see the outline of a belt and buckle on his skin. Old bruises and scars revealed this was a regular occurrence. I wanted to interview other children at the orphanage, but my request was refused by senior members of the diocese who said they would carry out an internal investigation.’

‘And did they?’ the journalist asked.

‘I was told by a bishop that the priest who “chastised” Stephen had been moved to “pastures new”,’ Barnes said in a sarcastic tone. ‘Personally, I’m in no doubt Stephen took his own life as a direct result of the pain he suffered. Those responsible for his injuries should have been charged with assault and held accountable in the Crown Court. The diocesan investigation was nothing more than a cover-up. I will not let that happen again. My team of officers will not rest until this case is solved... with or without the help of the diocese.’

‘Bloody hell, that was some revelation,’ Boon whispered to Jane.

She didn’t reply. Jane feared the Met’s senior officers would view his remarks as an unnecessary attack on the Catholic Church, and unbecoming to an officer of his rank. She wondered if Barnes was unburdening himself and didn’t care he was putting his career on the line.

‘Do you think children at the Sisters of Mercy convent were abused?’ the journalist asked.

Becky looked at Boon, who whispered to Jane.

‘I hope Stanley told him about Mrs Gorman...’

‘We have no direct evidence of that at this time,’ Barnes said. ‘But it is something we are looking into as part of our investigation.’

‘Obviously not,’ Boon sighed as Barnes continued.

‘I would encourage anyone who was abused in any way whilst at the convent to contact us. We will treat your information as confidential and support you. Unless there are any further questions, I think we can conclude this press conference.’

As members of the press left the room, the journalist in the pinstripe suit approached Barnes.

‘Thanks for answering my question about the cover-up. I intend to write an exposé about child abuse by priests and nuns. It has gone on for too long now and something needs to be done about the archaic laws the Catholic Church uses to deal with those who abuse children.’ He handed Barnes his business card. ‘You can rest assured I never reveal my sources.’

Barnes put the card in his breast pocket. ‘Thanks. I’ll keep you informed of any developments,’ he said, and they shook hands.

Becky had a quick chat with Boon and thanked him for letting her attend.

‘I was wondering if you still fancied going out for a drink?’ she asked.

‘I think I’m going to be busy with work for a while,’ he replied, remembering what he’d said to Jane about mixing business with pleasure.

Becky pulled a sad face. ‘Pretty please. I promise, I won’t ask a single question about the investigation.’

‘Go on, then. Tomorrow night will probably be best for me work-wise. I’ll give you a ring. What’s your home number?’ he asked, handing Becky his notebook.

Once the press had left, Barnes spoke to the detectives and civilian staff. He told them the office meeting would start in half an hour, but first he wanted to speak with Stanley, Jane, Boon and Lloyd Johnson in his office.

As Barnes opened the bottom drawer of his office filing cabinet, they heard the chink of glasses. He removed a bottle of Glenmorangie malt whisky and five glasses, which he lined up on his desk.

‘I keep this for special occasions,’ he said as he pulled the cork stopper out. ‘I thought the press conference went well, didn’t you?’ He poured some whisky into the glasses.

They looked at each other, wondering who was going to reply first. Lloyd elbowed Stanley, forcing him to respond.

‘Yes, sir. You spoke very well. Stephen Phillips’ death and the Church’s cover-up certainly got the press’s attention. It will no doubt cause a bit of a stir in the diocesan offices.’

‘Good. It was my intention to put the cat amongst the pigeons. Help yourselves.’

Once everyone had picked up a glass, he said, ‘Cheers. Here’s to putting Bishop Meade and his co-conspirators behind bars.’

Everyone raised their glasses and said ‘Cheers’. Barnes downed his whisky in one, poured another and lit one of his Black Russian cigarettes, then looked at Boon.

‘Good work with Annette Gorman today, son. I thought it best not to mention her in the conference. Her statement will be another nail in Meade’s coffin. Stanley also told me you’ve traced a Sister Julie who lived at the convent.’

‘Julie Dorton. She’s no longer a nun. She lives in Sidcup,’ Boon replied.

‘I’d be interested to know why she left,’ Barnes said.

‘Annette Gorman gave me the impression she’d had enough of the way the Mother Superior and some of the other nuns treated the children,’ Boon told him.

‘Abusing kids seems to be a way of life in the Catholic Church,’ Stanley remarked.

‘There may be other reasons she left. I want Boon and Tennison to interview her this evening after the office meeting,’ Barnes said.

‘Yes, sir,’ they replied in unison.

‘Thanks for coming in, DS Jackson. I know you’re busy dealing with the forensics on a number of murder investigations, so I won’t keep you long. Can you bring us up to speed with what you have so far?’ Barnes asked.

Lloyd looked at Jane. ‘Your hunch about the nun’s cincture matching the fibres around her neck was spot on.’

‘What’s a cincture?’ Boon asked.

‘It’s the brown, rope-like cord the dead nun was wearing round her waist,’ Lloyd told him.

Boon looked at Jane with a bemused expression. ‘You think she was strangled with her own rope, then someone took the time and effort to tie it neatly around her waist?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, ‘though I suppose it’s not an impossibility. Nuns of the same order have the same cinctures.’

Boon twigged. ‘Ah, I get it. A nun using her own rope to strangle our victim, thus the matching fibres.’

‘Hemp fibres to be precise,’ Lloyd said.

‘What, as in cannabis?’ Boon asked.

‘Hemp is a variety of the same plant, used to make rope,’ Lloyd replied.

‘Would you two shut up and let Tennison finish?’ Barnes said.

Jane continued. ‘I saw a priest at the diocesan offices wearing a cincture like our victim’s.’

Barnes sat up. ‘Which means the fibres on the nun’s neck could be from Meade’s cincture.’

Lloyd shook his head. ‘The problem is that forensics can never match an individual rope to the hemp fibres on the nun’s neck. All they can tell you is that there’s a high probability a hemp rope was used to strangle her.’

‘That’s not much bloody use to us. Have you got any good news, Lloyd?’ Barnes said curtly.

‘We examined the broken knife tip under a high-powered microscope. There was a minuscule sliver of wood on it. Two further slivers were found on the hole in her clothing where she was stabbed in the neck. A forestry expert concluded from the cellular structure they were all birch tree fragments. This suggests the knife had recently been used for cutting wood.’

Barnes sighed. ‘The chances of us finding the knife now are virtually nil. Is that it, Lloyd?’

‘We’re still examining the stomach contents. It’s amazing how the food inside her has dried and solidified. Looks like her last meal was a vegetable stew with broccoli, cauliflower and seeded bread.’

Barnes was losing interest. ‘Are you likely to find anything forensically we can use as direct evidence against Meade?’

‘From what the scientists tell me, it’s unlikely,’ Lloyd admitted.

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Barnes said. ‘How’d you get on at the diocesan archives, Tennison?’

‘Parkin, the archivist, confirmed there were no documents relating to the nuns or children at the convent. Meade lied; she didn’t tell him about the fire because it was the other way round. I’ve got a copy of a letter from the diocesan solicitors to the developers. All it says is the fire occurred in August 1962 and the buildings were damaged beyond repair. It raises the question of how Meade knew the fire started in the bakery and destroyed all the convent documents.’

‘Are you thinking Meade committed arson to destroy the records?’ Stanley asked.

Jane nodded. ‘I know it’s a long shot, but it might be worth getting a fire investigator from the lab to have a look at what’s left of the buildings.’

‘It’s worth a try,’ Barnes said.

‘I’ll get it sorted for tomorrow morning,’ Lloyd said.

‘Anything else of interest, Tennison?’ Barnes asked.

‘The list of priests who worked at St Mary’s has also mysteriously gone missing.’ Jane was glad she didn’t have to reveal she got the information from a priest.

‘That’s another coincidence with Meade’s name written all over it,’ Boon remarked.

‘The man is digging his own grave,’ Stanley added.

Barnes lit another cigarette. ‘I agree... but it’s not deep enough yet. I’ve no doubt he’s involved in the nun’s murder, but without a confession we don’t have enough to charge him. If he murdered the nun, he must have got someone to help him move and bury the coffin. If we can find that person and get them to roll over, we’ve got a good chance of convicting Meade.’ He turned to Jane. ‘Any other revelations from the archives?’

‘I obtained a couple of documents confirming the buildings and land were deconsecrated in 1964.’

‘Good, that’s put that issue to bed and should please the developers.’

Jane wondered if she should tell him Thomas Durham and Lee Holland had been acting strangely and might be hiding something that could be connected to the murder, but she decided to hold back until she had some hard evidence.

‘Anything else?’ Barnes asked.

‘Unfortunately, no, as I was escorted off the premises.’

They all looked at Jane, wondering what she’d done.

‘By Meade?’ Barnes asked, taking a sip of his whisky.

‘No, he was in Cambridge. But he’d heard about the News Shopper article and phoned the priest who’s his personal assistant. He must have told him I was in the archives. The priest told me Meade said I had deceived the Church and Archbishop Malone was returning from Rome, so—’

Barnes nearly choked on his whisky. ‘Did you say Malone?’

‘Yes. Andrew Malone is the archbishop of Southwark.’

Barnes wiped the whisky from his chin. ‘Andrew Malone was the name of the priest who took pleasure in beating Stephen black and blue. If it’s him, he will do everything he can to protect Meade and the Church. When’s he due back in London?’

‘I think he’s flying back tomorrow sometime,’ Jane informed him.

Barnes shook his head. ‘We need to act quickly. I want Meade arrested before Malone can get to him.’

Stanley worried Barnes was being impetuous. ‘I don’t want to appear rude, sir, but I suspect Malone has already spoken to Meade. No doubt he will have told him to say nothing until he gets back from Rome. It might be to our advantage to interview Dorton and evaluate the calls we get from the public after the six o’clock news first.’

Barnes frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Like you just said, we haven’t got enough to charge Meade. Arresting him now could be futile. If he made a no-comment interview, we’d have to release him. Julie Dorton may be able to identify Meade as the local priest and confirm he knew our victim. There’s also a chance someone watching the news might call us with more damning evidence. Waiting until the morning to arrest him might be a better option. I can also check what time the first flight from Rome arrives.’

Barnes rubbed his chin and thought about it. ‘Tennison, you and Boon skip the office meeting. Go and see Julie Dorton. Show her Eaves’ drawings. Then come straight back here. This could be a long night,’ he said. He downed his whisky, then poured another. ‘And get someone to check out the local dentists for nuns who had a fucking toothache!’