A Journal of Sin (8 page)

‘Yes it is.’ They clinked glasses.

‘I’m going to go out on a limb and say she didn’t deserve you,’ she said.

‘Oh come on. Any more clichés for me? Maybe there are plenty more fish in the sea? Or how about the first cut is the deepest?’

‘Hey!’ She pushed him on the arm. ‘I was trying to be sweet. Don’t laugh at me.’ She gave a little pout and turned her head away. ‘And that’s not a cliché; it’s a song.’

‘Now you’re showing your age.’ He didn’t know whether his confidence was coming from the booze or her naturally relaxing manner, but either way, it appeared he was successfully flirting.

‘The cheek. I’m still fit and healthy.’

‘You were outpaced by Tom through the woods and he must be just this side of death,’ he said, despite knowing they were both in the same camp on that one.

‘And what are you trying to say, young man?’ She winked at him. ‘Don’t be mean about Tom anyway, he comes across as a hard-ass, but he’s a sweetheart really. He helped me out no end when Billy was younger and I needed to work. Plus, I’ll have you know, I’m in better nick than most my age. Plodding through forests isn’t my thing. I prefer to keep in shape in the gym, or running on the beach wearing a lot less than clunky boots and thick jackets.’ The nearest beach was over fifty miles away, but it didn’t stop him conjuring images of her slender body running in a bikini, despite the impracticalities of doing so.

‘I’m trying to say sometimes us old boys will surprise you,’ he said, smiling at her and glad to see her smiling back. She removed her leather jacket and placed it on the bar-stool next to her, revealing a blue denim shirt with white popper buttons, the top two looking fit to burst. She sidled up to him. He was surprised at the words coming out of his mouth and remembered a poster he’d once seen that read, ‘Alcohol: Helping ugly people have sex since 1862’, and wondered if that one had been so accurate, what other words of wisdom he’d missed in the corner of that record store.

‘You’re not old.’

‘I’m older than you.’ He figured that was the stock charming response. She pulled away a little, but not before nudging him in the rib with her elbow.

‘Maybe you’re too old.’ Her eyes glanced at his crotch. He laughed in place of knowing how to reply to her overt sexuality, and his penis stiffened at the thoughts sliding into his mind. Not just of sleeping with someone for the first time in a long while, but at picking someone up in a bar of all places. Bars were not an introvert’s friend and, despite trying in his youth, he’d never mustered the courage to even talk to a girl in a place like this, let alone take one home. Especially one that seemed happy doing all of the work.

He swirled his drink around the bottom of his glass. She slid her foot up the rear of his leg, just inside the bend of his knee, and slowly moved it back and forth. She looked straight at him, smiling a wanton grin, but he didn’t look back. Jenny was at the bottom of that glass, the same place she’d been since the break-up. He’d thought about finding someone else. He’d fantasized about meeting another woman and having crazy, wild, anonymous sex. The thoughts always consisted of a slender woman, only around five feet tall. She’d be at home in her garden and as he walked past her low fence, they’d spy each other. Sometimes, she’d be in an office and they would see each other through the window. In either case, she would invite him in and they’d be fucking in seconds. He would only cum whilst taking her from behind. That was all in his mind. He knew where every step led and that whatever he said, or did, he got the same result: amazing and perfectly performed sex, with no other consequences or concerns to either him or the girl, who courteously disappeared once he opened his eyes, taking any social awkwardness with her.

‘I heard he kept tabs on all of us. People that went to church, at least,’ she said, checking the landlord was still out of earshot.

‘Tabs?’ He had a good idea of what she was getting at, just wasn’t sure how she knew.

‘Writing things down that people told him, told him in confidence in confessionals. All our deepest, darkest sins.’ She writhed her fingers towards him like they were sitting round a camp fire telling ghost stories. He played dumb, not wanting to get further onto Sarah’s bad side. She was the only hope he had of being able to read through the journals, so pissing her off wasn’t a good idea. ‘I say “our;” I never went to confession.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘He wrote down things people confessed in little books. No idea why, or what he intended to do with them.’

‘That’s some imagination you’ve got. Sunbury’s just not that interesting. If he was scribbling down our sins, they’d make for pretty dull reading.’ He turned around on the bar-stool and pointed to an elderly patron sitting near the back wall. ‘What do you think she’s into?’

‘Doris the Diamond Thief. An unassuming grandma walks into a jeweller’s, distracts the staff with claims of rampant incontinence, granting her access to the toilets in the back room, then boom, makes out like a bandit.’

‘Because the diamonds are all kept in cardboard boxes in the warehouse?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s not a clothing store.’

‘And it’s not your go. When it’s your go, you can decide. Right, that guy in the corner, plaid shirt.’ She swivelled on the stool, her knee nudging his thigh.

‘Don’t you know who that is? That’s Erdel the Phantom Groper. He comes here every night, eats alone. To onlookers it seems like a sad thing to do, but he’s just building up confidence before springing on his victims.’

‘Then what happens?’

‘There’s a clue in his name. His mother called him Erdel the Phantom Groper for a reason. Legend has it he pinches unsuspecting maidens on the bum and cartwheels away into the night.’

‘Maidens? Did he arrive here in the same time machine as you?’ They turned back to the bar, leaving Doris to plan her next heist and Erdel to silently spin off into the night.

‘How do you know about these notes?’ Only three people knew. He hadn’t said and Sarah wouldn’t have mentioned anything, which left only Sean, or someone Sean had told.

‘That would be telling. It’s not common knowledge and I’m certain my informant wouldn’t want their name tied to it.’

‘Your informant, Special Agent Suzanne?’

‘Says Sunbury’s newest deputy. You were in his place with Miss Marple earlier, so you must know.’ Word carried on the wind in this town.

‘There weren’t any secret books. Whoever you’ve heard from has a crazier imagination than you.’

Her lips pursed to speak, but she paused before opening her mouth. ‘You’re just covering it up for your new friend. Typical pig.’ She grinned and poked him in the ribs. He giggled like a tickled child. ‘Aren’t you? Aren’t you? Ticklish are you. I have ways of making you talk.’

‘Stop it.’ He knocked her hands away.

‘Ooooh, I’ve hit a nerve. I bet you’re in them. That’s why you’re denying it.’

‘I have nothing to confess.’

‘We’re all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.’

‘What’s gotten you so interested anyway? You’re not religious, so I’m guessing you never went to confession, so what have you got to worry about?’

She leant in; her breath tickled his ear. ‘I may have been the subject of a few.’ He shuddered as her tongue toyed with his earlobe. ‘Where’s she keeping them?’

‘I. I don’t know.’ He tilted his head away. ‘I don’t know anything about any books, or notes or anything.’ He wanted to stay, to let her nibble her way from his ear, to his lips, then down, down until she explored every inch of his skin. It’d been too long since he’d felt a touch like hers, but there was something he wanted more. If Sarah found out he’d told Suzanne about what they’d discovered hidden in the soil, she’d never let him read them. He still had a chance; if he gained her trust, she’d let him look through them. She would; he knew it. Suzanne’s fingertips stroked his arm down to his hand. She held it, rubbing his palm with her thumb.

‘Lighten up.’ He’d blown it. This chance wouldn’t come round again, a beautiful woman approaching him, chatting him up, and the one time it happened, he had other priorities.

‘We could be friends, maybe stay in touch. What’s your number?’ Always take the girl’s number; the guy maintains the power that way. He’d learnt that trawling Internet forums for dating advice after he’d graduated the divorce’s denial phase.

‘I know they say the world’s a smaller place, it’s so easy to communicate, but the old-fashioned ways of keeping in…touch are still the best.’ His whole body tensed with a nervous pleasure as she nibbled his ear again. ‘Back in a minute, hon.’ She picked up her bag and walked to the ladies. Looked like his luck was in.

‘One more for the road,’ he said, with a little ‘I’m gonna get some’ swagger in his voice.

‘I’m afraid that was your last, mate.’

‘Pubs used to be fun. This is no fun. I’ll be drinking at home from now on like I used to,’ he replied, his chin on the bar, looking up at the landlord through his glass. ‘You been here long?’

‘A little while.’

‘You must hear a lot of talk from behind that bar. A lot of interesting conversations?’

‘People here like to keep to themselves. They come in, they eat, they drink, and that’s about it. I don’t need to know any more than that.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second. People around here never shut up.’

‘Nothing I pay attention to.’

‘What do you think about the missing priest?’ He slid his glass over the bar. It stopped just short of toppling onto the floor.

‘He’ll turn up.’ The landlord picked up the coasters and mopped up the wet patches on the bar with a cloth. ‘Everyone’s praying for him.’

‘Not everyone.’ The barman stopped and looked at him. ‘There’s at least one person who isn’t.’

‘Look, it’s time to go, we’re closing up.’

‘Closing? No one’s coming to check. You can stay open all night if you wanted,’ said John, standing up and stumbling one way, then the other, before steadying himself on the stool and then the bar.

Suzanne rejoined him, shrugged on her leather jacket and hooked his arm with hers. ‘Steady there, let’s get you home. Don’t forget your wallet,’ she said, picking it up from the bar and putting it in her handbag.

Sarah stood outside the gate. The front room light was on and she saw Amy and Steve through the window. The sooner she spoke to her the better; the closer to the incident, the better the witness recall. The passing of time influences a witness’s memory; some things get forgotten, others are added. Amy had had time to rest and now was the best time to do it. She’d hesitated outside for a while. She held the gate’s cold, metal handle for the third time. This wasn’t like visiting Sean. Father Michael had been missing then and she knew Sean needed to be asked clear questions about his actions that morning. This was now a murder investigation. Teams of detectives should be swarming Sunbury by now and taking on these tasks. Amy was a key witness and some would say the person who finds the body is the also the first suspect. Sarah’d had some basic witness-interview training, but wasn’t anywhere near the standard required for something like this. The hope that Father Michael would return safely was gone. He was dead and she stood, shit-scared, at the end of a front path about to conduct her first interview in a murder enquiry. She opened the gate and knocked on the door.

Amy’s lounge was impeccable. Sarah sat down on the plush brown sofa and gratefully accepted a large mug of much needed tea. It was just the way she liked it, with only a dash of milk, albeit long-life, and no sugar, made so perfectly she wondered if Amy had a copper in the family. The walls were covered in professional photo collages of her and her husband, Steve. Some from their wedding day, others taken on the beach with two little dachshunds and a few were posed studio sets. Steve met Sarah at the door. She asked him to wait upstairs, as speaking to Amy in private was the best chance of getting the most information. He reluctantly agreed, leaving the two of them alone in the lounge. Amy hadn’t slept and it showed. Her hands shook at the thought of reliving traumatic events and facing a police officer’s probing questions.

‘Amy, try to relax as much as possible. I know this is difficult. You’ve seen something very harrowing, something no one should ever have to see.’ Sarah leant forward on the sofa and placed her tea on the table between them. ‘As difficult as it is, I need you to tell me in as much detail as possible what happened tonight. I’m going to be making a note of the things we talk about, okay, but don’t worry about that. It’s only so I know I’ve got all the information I need. If I need you to slow down, I’ll let you know.’ She felt sorry for Amy. She needed support, comfort, all the services normally afforded to significant witnesses, but those were a long way away right now. Sarah was playing the role of investigator, witness care officer and the friend she’d be confiding in were she not sworn to secrecy.

‘Where should I start?’ Amy trembled, clutching her clammy palms together. She leant forward, and then back, curled her feet underneath her on the sofa, switching sides from time to time.

‘Let’s start with when you left the house.’ The parameters could be expanded if needed. She’d watched ABE interviews with significant and vulnerable witnesses; she hadn’t conducted any herself. For now, she had to get a detailed Q and A and collect as much initial information as possible. Deciding where to take a witness back to was a matter of opinion amongst her colleagues. Some began with getting up in the morning and going through the whole day; others preferred to go straight to crucial details and work backwards. Different witnesses responded to different methods. Sarah’s best guess was between the two and, certainly in this case, she thought easing Amy into the recall was better than taking her straight back to the distressing moment of finding Father Michael in the woods. Amy hadn’t seen the most disturbing injuries, the torn testicles and ruptured penis, an image that flashed in Sarah’s mind as she tried to concentrate on the interview.

‘I had both the dogs on leads. They hadn’t got much exercise during the storm, so I’ve walked them a lot since. I got to the paths. They looked clear so I let the dogs run.’ She rocked on the sofa, clasping her hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes.