A Journal of Sin (5 page)

Despite the ever- increasing bad press and negative sentiment, when people needed help, they called the police. That, of course, came with an expectation, an expectation that the officer that arrives knows what to do, regardless of the situation or their level of experience. They were looking to her to find Father Michael safe and well, a prospect that was becoming less and less likely the more time wore on, as well as solve all their minor gripes and groans. Even if she had won the crowd over, Tom had noticed her vulnerability. In fact, he’d played on it, not wanting to be upstaged by someone else. The uniform put a bull’s-eye on your back. You went from being a regular citizen to the big guy in the bar everyone wants to take a pop at, and he’d made it clear Sarah just strolled into his saloon.

The crowd lingered in the hall and she nudged her way through, took hold of John’s arm and pulled him to one side.

‘What was that?’ she said, staring straight at him. ‘How did he find out I was involved?’ She kept her voice down, but ensured the direct, paralysing tone was still present.

‘What? I told him. Well, he was there when Grace mentioned you and he asked me what we did before the meeting. Wasn’t I supposed to?’ He grimaced and she realised how hard she was holding him. She needed to send the message that this couldn’t happen again. Regulating what the residents knew would keep them from panicking.

‘Well, listen, from here on in, run anything you want to mention to anyone by me, ok?’ she said, genuinely intending to keep him out of proceedings, but understanding that she needed to keep someone on board. And, even though they’d only met that morning, he was the only person she really knew.

‘It’s Tom. He knows everyone around here. He was Dad’s friend when he was alive. I didn’t think it’d be a problem.’

‘It’s okay, just bear it in mind.’ She’d spent so much time around other coppers she’d begun to assume the rest of the world had the same mentality. ‘It’s just if people knew about the notebooks and the other scribbles, it may make them wonder about their own secrets. Did you tell him the place had been burgled?’

‘No.’

‘Well that’s something. I’ll read through them as soon as I can. Listen, at this stage the less people know the better.’

‘Maybe we should tell them more? We’re all a part of this.’

‘And what good would that be until we – I –, have some answers for them?’ she said. ‘I’ll find him. Just trust me on this, okay? In the next couple of days, I’ll prepare a speech based on what I know and let people know. Doing it off the cuff doesn’t help anyone. Of course, by then, I’m sure he’ll have turned up.’ Her voice lacked yesterday’s confidence.

‘Ok. Like I said, I’m sorry.’ She released his arm and his face calmed to a smile.

‘The guy who asked whether anything had been removed, was that the Sean that took the book?’

‘Yeah, he’s a nasty piece of work and, believe me, he definitely won’t like you.’

‘He’s a very kind man. He takes the time to listen to you, your problems, and even comes to visit, which is more than I can say for my grandchildren.’ A small crowd gathered around Sarah in response to her request for information, but few offered anything of any use. She kept an eye on Sean, who was talking to a curly redhead near the exit.

‘That’s great. Do you know if he had any friends outside of Sunbury? Anywhere he’s likely to be staying?’

‘Oh no, dear, I’m afraid I don’t,’ said the elderly lady, ‘but he makes lovely shortbread. I’ve always wondered how he gets the colour so perfect. Mine always brown far too much and when they brown too much you really lose that shortbread look, you know.’

‘Okay. How about the last time you saw him? When was that?’ Sean moved towards the door.

‘Oh, I don’t know really. A while ago, I should think. Hard to be certain.’

‘Thank you for your time. Thank you all, I have to go now, but if there is anything else, I’ll speak to you another time.’ They looked bemused and, although somewhere in amongst the anecdotes they may have important information, she wanted to catch Sean as soon as possible. What she really wanted was a few extra officers to cover the amount of work this investigation was starting to take and a supervisor to point her in the right direction.

‘Excuse me?’ A smartly dressed man in his thirties stepped in front of her. Sean left the hall.

‘I’m in a bit of a rush,’ she said, stepping around him. ‘If there’s anything - ’

‘Don’t let me stop you, I just wanted to pass you my details in case you need them,’ he said, holding out his card. ‘Sam.’ She took a second to look at him; it was the doctor who’d raised his hand in the meeting. ‘Just in case you need anything or anyone comes to you looking for medical help. There’s only so much I can do, of course, but I’d like to help if I can.’

‘I know the feeling. Thanks. What’s your home address?’ She turned the card over and took it down. ‘Phone numbers and an address for a closed surgery aren’t so useful at the moment.’

‘True. Now all we need is a fireman.’

‘I’ve really got to go.’

‘Sure, don’t let me keep you.’

She caught up with Sean just outside the church hall. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘What do you want?’ It came out all in one breath.

‘I want to speak to you about Father Michael. Is there somewhere we can go?’ He paused and suggested they go to his house, adding the caveat that he had somewhere to be later that afternoon, so she couldn’t stay for long.

Sean’s terraced house was in good order. He ushered her into the cosy square lounge, which was made all the smaller by the chimney breast and two alcoves. The unused fireplace made it feel colder than if it hadn’t had one at all, and the blue carpet and cream walls had a modern look that didn’t fit with the external old English village aesthetic. The cream leather sofa and blue throw perfectly matched the carpet and walls, which made it all look a little too well designed. A family photo sat on top of the TV, showing Sean wearing an off-white collared shirt and a brunette woman in a teal blouse holding a baby.

‘Is that your wife?’

‘Yep, and my boy. That’s an old photo; he’s ten now.’

‘You keep a very nice house.’ Sarah took out her notebook and a pen. At work, she had a standard-issue pocket notebook, but here she made do with one of Sally’s old telephone pads, with the ring binder at the top. It would suffice and she’d enter it as her original notes if she had to. The Criminal Procedure and Investigations Act had determined that all investigators record, retain and reveal everything pertaining to, or generated as part of, an investigation. She still held out hope Father Michael would be found safely, but it was worth preparing for the worst. Her mother’s telephone pad may well see the inside of a court room someday.

‘That’s all down to Sandy. This house is her full-time job now since we married. All the better for it too; a child shouldn’t be deprived of his mother. How about you? I don’t suppose you have any kids.’ He sat on the armchair by the window, filling it with his girth, and lit his pipe. She didn’t have time for his backward assumptions about female police officers. ‘Right, enough small talk. We’re well out of earshot now, what do you want to know?’

‘Tell me about your relationship with Father Michael.’

‘Relationship? I didn’t have a relationship with him, Princess. Don’t much like him if I’m honest.’ Officer was better than Princess.

‘It’s Sarah. Why’s that?’

‘He sticks his nose in everyone’s business. Can’t leave well alone, that’s his trouble.’ He puffed on his pipe.

‘Your business?’

‘No, not my business.’ He leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, a position he couldn’t hold for long. ‘He knows better than that.’ He had a kindly face for someone who harboured a lot of anger. His chubby rounded cheeks and big baby blues hinted at a joviality and innocence that wasn’t forthcoming from his mouth.

‘No one’s had a bad word to say about him so far. Who’s he annoyed?’

‘Everyone thinks he’s dead; they’re hardly going to tell you the truth. No one wants to be the person who criticised him once he turns up dead. Like on the news; every murder victim is a little angel.’ Men of the cloth, or anyone who stood up for their beliefs in any walk of life, always had people somewhere who disagreed with them. It was the same as any other uniform.

‘Murder victim? What makes you think he’s been murdered?’

‘That’s not what I said. I was saying that when you watch the news, every time they report a murder, there are a string of people just lining up to say how loved they were.’ He took a long puff, placed his pipe down and paused. ‘Don’t try and trick me into saying something I didn’t. I know what you cops are like. You’re lucky I’m letting you ask me these questions. As it happens, I do think he’s dead. You saw that storm. If he was out in that, there’s no way he would have survived. Not even God could help him.’

‘I don’t know what experience you’ve had of the police, but all I want to do is find Father Michael.’

‘You didn’t bother investigating the abuse of my little brother, that’s the experience I had.’

‘Okay, well, all I can say is, I don’t know anything about that so I can’t comment on anything that happened.’ The conversation was going off track. He’d been the first person to suggest Father Michael had enemies, and he was right. She wondered if the people in the hall were queuing up to give her information or just to convey conscience-appeasing pleasantries.

‘Nothing happened. That was the problem. No one believed the poor kid. He wouldn’t tell us who hurt him and, when the fuzz didn’t take it seriously, he shut down completely.’ Sean’s fingers whitened as he clenched his right fist.

‘Sean, who has a problem with Father Michael?’

‘I’m not telling you that, you’ll have to ask around. You know, do some detective work.’ She got the feeling he was no longer in the room, his mind having drifted back to some prior incident years ago. She was just a uniform to him, no different to the officers that attended that day.

‘Why would Father Michael know not to mess with you?’

‘I’m a big lad; he’s a frail old man. You work it out.’

‘You wouldn’t hit a priest or an old man. In fact, if you didn’t like him, why did you ask about him in the meeting?’

‘I didn’t ask about him. I asked about you. Seeing if you knew what you were doing or were just like the other coppers, lazy and useless. You were shaking up there. I take it you’re new at this?’ His eyes narrowed as he focused in on his prey.

‘Why did you go to his quarters?’

‘What, one year? I’d say less if I were a betting man.’

‘You were there yesterday morning. What were you looking for?’

‘Him, of course. I take it John told you. I’d be careful who you trust.’ He puffed his pipe and coughed a laugh. ‘You’re here questioning me like a suspect, but you’re hanging around with a raving alcoholic.’

‘You’re not a suspect for anything. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to be a suspect for. What happened yesterday?’

‘Hasn’t your new pet filled you in?’

‘I’d rather hear it from you.’

‘I was there. You gonna write this down or what?’ Her pen was poised pending any useful information. She was finally getting somewhere with this oaf. ‘Everyone gathered outside the church and no one knew where the old fella was. I said I’d go to his flat, quarters, house, whatever it’s called. His two rooms, really. Your boyfriend tagged along for some reason. It was hardly a two-person job, but he insisted and I didn’t care enough to stop him. We knocked, no one answered, he broke in; he was a little eager to do that, let me tell you, and the rest you know. No priest.’ He placed his hands on the armrests, pushed himself up at great strain and walked out of the room. ‘Back in a second.’ She heard him rummaging around in the next room; a door opened and glass clinked. She noticed a crucifix on the corner of the mantelpiece. He was back within moments carrying a can of bitter, an open bottle of white and a wine glass. ‘This is what we need for a conversation like this.’ He breathed heavily and, despite her refusal, handed her a large glass of wine. ‘There you go.’ She set it down on the side table.

‘What happened inside?’

‘Inside? He wasn’t there. John checked the bedroom, I stayed in the main room, but either way he wasn’t there.’ He sipped his bitter and slumped further into his chair.

‘You took a book from his room.’ She put her pen down and paused, waiting for his answer. The silence lingered. She had a strong urge to fill it, but waited for him to do so first. Another sip. Another slump. He wriggled in what little room his backside left in the armchair. He pursed his lip, furrowed his brow, then opened his eyes a little wider than normal; running through various answers in his mind, she thought.

‘That snitch tell you I took something?’

‘John told me you took a book from Father Michael’s desk.’ Ideally, she’d have kept John’s name out of it. On this occasion, she didn’t really have a choice. Only John had seen it and the question couldn’t go unasked. ‘I asked him and he told me. He wasn’t snitching.’

‘Well, I didn’t take nothing. There. Who are you going to believe?’ He knocked back his bitter, looking at her untouched glass. ‘No drinking on duty?’

‘Sean, what was in the book?’ She was certain he’d taken it. John had described it before she’d found the other matching books.

‘You gonna search this place, Princess? ’Cos I’m not going to let you and you’re not getting a warrant anytime soon, so you’re gonna have to take my word for it. Your new best friend is a liar. Before you start passing judgement on who can be trusted and who can’t, maybe you should ask him just how much he liked Father Michael.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You’ll find out.’

‘Listen, whatever problem you’ve had with the police, I’m not that officer. So stop dancing around my questions and tell me straight.’

‘Like I said, do some detective work and once you’re done, teach the rest of your lot what that means. Ask around, a lot of people around here have secrets to keep.’ She put her pen and her mother’s telephone pad away and stood up to leave.

‘Going already?’