Vow of Penance (10 page)

‘No, Sister. I was on the telephone earlier to Detective Sergeant Mill and he said the result didn’t surprise him. He reckons that someone spiked her late-night tipple, but the taste must have been pretty foul so she didn’t drink it all and then someone went into the room just as she was starting to feel dizzy and injected the insulin. She probably didn’t have time to struggle or cry out.’

‘And then the – person threw away what she hadn’t drunk and left sufficient residue in the cup for everybody to think she’d died from the effects of the overdose.’

Sister Joan shivered suddenly, thinking of the scene. Not wanting to think of the scene because it had a horror pervading it that made her feel physically ill.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Sister,’ he said quickly. ‘Look, let me get you a cup of coffee. Warm you up a bit.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’ She sat motionless until he came back with another plastic mug.

‘You drink it down, Sister. You know, with being on the force, and with your good self having helped us before, I’m inclined to forget that you’re not used to this kind of thing. I’ve had to develop the objective approach.’

‘Does anybody get used to murder?’ she asked, gulping the hot, oversweet liquid.

‘Probably not, Sister,’ he agreed, ‘but this ties in with Miss Potter’s death, don’t you see?’

‘She obviously didn’t fall out of the train,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Thank you for the coffee. I needed it.’

‘Train’s about due.’ He took the empty mugs. ‘I’d better get back to the squad car, see if there are any messages. You’ll be all right, Sister?’

‘Perfectly all right,’ she assured him. ‘Am I to tell Miss Hugh what has been found out?’

‘Better let it lie until it’s all official, Sister.’ He saluted her smartly as if, she thought with a spasm of amusement, she were a senior member of the force, and went off towards the exit.

The signals were intimating the approach of the train. Composing her face which must, she feared, still bear the imprint of shock, she rose, and stood poised, waiting.

‘Sister Joan! Sister Joan!’

Constable Petrie was loping back into the station, his voice urgent. One or two of the others waiting on the platform turned to look at him.

‘What is it?’

‘Could you come out to the car for a moment, Sister?’

‘The train’s coming in. Miss Hugh may be on it.’

‘Right now, Sister. If you please?’ He sounded official suddenly as if he were about to arrest her.

She went without further argument, hearing as she left the platform the onward rush of the approaching train.

‘There was a message from the station,’ he said as they got into the squad car.

‘Yes?’ Sister Joan reached for the seat belt
automatically
.

‘Seems they’ve found another body, Sister. When I told Detective Sergeant Mill that I had just been talking to you he asked me to bring you along.’

‘Another—?’ Sister Joan closed her eyes briefly while she endeavoured to control her voice. ‘Did he say who it was?’

‘A young woman called Stephanie Hugh according to the identification she had on her.’

‘But I’m meeting her off the train,’ Sister Joan said stupidly.

‘Yes, Sister. You told me.’ He swung the car out of the parking space.

‘How did she—?’

‘I don’t know yet, Sister. Detective Sergeant Mill said he’d fill me in on the details when we got there.’

‘Where is there?’ She was struggling to regain her composure, to take in the fact that the woman she had been expecting to meet was dead. Suddenly and
ruthlessly
dead, for it was beyond the bounds of possibility that this death was a natural one.

‘On the outskirts of town, Sister. We’ll be there in a few minutes.’

She nodded, biting her lip, her hands tensely locked together beneath the folds of her cloak. They had left the main street and were turning into a long steep side road, with houses dotted along it and a garage at the top.

Another police car was drawn up in the forecourt of the garage and an ambulance was pulling in. A man in overalls stood engrossed in conversation with the tall, familiar figure of Detective Sergeant Mill.

‘Petrie, glad you got here so fast.’ He broke off his conversation and came to the side of the car. ‘The photographer’s already here and the fingerprint people are on their way. Make sure that nothing is moved until all the usual routine’s been followed, will you? Sister Joan, thank you for coming. Petrie mentioned that he’d been talking with you just before I contacted him.’

‘I was waiting for the train.’ She alighted from the car and moved with him towards the brightly lit façade of the garage.

‘You went to meet Miss Hugh, Miss Potter’s friend?’

‘Father Stephens invited her to stay at the presbytery. Why are we here at this garage?’

‘Miss Hugh’s body was found here,’ he said.

‘When? How?!’ Bewildered she looked up at him. ‘I don’t know why but I expected her – no, of course, I didn’t expect a body until Constable Petrie told me – but after he told me I pictured it as lying by the railway track like the other two.’

‘The owner of the garage is short staffed this week,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘He closed the garage at six and went off home for a meal. When he came back at seven he decided to start work on a car that had been left here earlier today for some minor repairs. He worked on it for a bit and then he noticed the boot was unlocked. He opened it and – she was bundled inside it. He rang the police at once and I’d just walked into the station when the call came so I grabbed a car and drove out here immediately. The young woman had cheque book and address book in her handbag, so it seems fairly clear that she is Stephanie Hugh.’

‘Is it possible to identify her otherwise?’ Sister Joan asked steadily.

‘She was killed by a blow to the back of the head,’ he told her. ‘Looks as if someone took a swing at her with an axe but her face is undamaged. You never met her?’

‘I’ve seen a photograph of Miss Potter taken when she was a schoolgirl but I never met either of them. I’d be unable to identify—’

‘That wasn’t why I asked Petrie to bring you along,’ he broke in. ‘Sister, the garage owner didn’t recognize the car she was in but I did. She’s hidden in the boot of the old car you sisters drive at the convent. One of the other sisters brought it in earlier because the clutch was going. She left it at the garage and phoned for a taxi to take her the rest of the way back. Can you tell me anything to throw light on this?’

For a moment she was silent, thoughts spinning in her head. Then she said, ‘The new lay sister at the convent, Sister Jerome, spent much of today out of the enclosure. She had to register with a new doctor and buy several things – gardening tools mainly – that were needed by Sister Martha. She took the car.’

‘You’ve been up to the convent today?’

‘I took some books over that Father Stephens had promised to lend to Sister David. I was on my way back to town when I met Sister Jerome coming in just outside the main gates.’

‘Both of you being in cars?’

‘I was driving the car from the presbytery. Sister Jerome was on foot. She’d paid off the taxi before reaching the convent gates in order to save money. She didn’t mention having had any trouble with the convent car but then I didn’t think to ask and we only exchanged a few words.’

‘What is she like – this Sister Jerome?’

‘Not easy to get to know,’ Sister Joan said, adding fairly, ‘but then I’ve had very little contact with her since I went down to help out at the presbytery so soon after she arrived.’

‘And you never met Miss Potter or Miss Hugh, of course.’ He frowned.

‘No. You don’t want me to—?’ She nodded towards the garage, her face tense.

‘That won’t be necessary, Sister. I’ll have to talk to Sister Jerome but that can wait until the morning.’

‘It will have to wait,’ she reminded him. ‘The grand silence starts at nine-thirty.’

‘How do you manage down at the presbytery?’ he asked curiously.

‘About the grand silence? I keep it as far as I can, but if I’m required to speak then I do so. The rule has to be applied intelligently, you know, and not followed slavishly.’

‘Yes, Sister.’ There was a faint smile on his face.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a lecture,’ she said, smiling back.

‘Give me a moment to have a word with the team here and I’ll drive you back to the presbytery. May I leave it to you to break the news to Father Stephens?’

‘Yes, of course.’

She stood quietly as he strode away. Arc lights had been erected for the police photographer and two ambulance attendants had gone in with a stretcher. Poor Stephanie Hugh was arriving in a manner she couldn’t possibly have envisaged.

‘Petrie will keep an eye on things here,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said, returning to her side. ‘Come on and I’ll give you a lift back.’

Getting into his patrol car, fastening her seat belt, she framed a request.

‘I’m wondering if it might be possible for me to talk to Sister Jerome. She may clam up if she’s suddenly confronted by a police officer.’

‘Why should she if she hasn’t anything to hide?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, come on now!’ she expostulated. ‘Nuns simply aren’t used to being involved no matter how innocently in something like this. And we all have something to hide. As soon as we are faced with questioning old guilts about completely unrelated matters come flooding into
our minds. You must know that.’

‘I can’t imagine you’d have anything to hide, Sister.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t born wearing a habit and veil,’ she said lightly. ‘Mind you, I’ve never done anything truly dreadful but then who are we to weigh our sins? That’s why Lent is so useful – to try to redress the balance a little bit. Sorry! I’m lecturing again. I never used to – it must be old age creeping on or something. Detective Sergeant, you went up north today. Was it to find out if there was any connection between the body found by the railway track there and Miss Potter’s body?’

‘Exactly that.’ He nodded approval. ‘I could have had the information phoned or faxed to me but I was due for a day off and I wanted to spend a couple of hours sniffing around the problem. The local police were very co-operative but they still haven’t identified the victim. They think it likely that he was on his way to catch a train when he was lured into a nearby tunnel – there’s a bit of disused line there, and killed. You wouldn’t have wanted to see the extent of the injuries, Sister.’

‘And then stripped?’

‘And then stripped. There must have been a lot of blood on his clothes. On the clothes of his assailant too. They’ll find out who the poor devil was. Dental checks, reconstruction of the facial features, but it takes time.’

‘Is there a serial killer going round? A psychopath?’

‘That’s the general trend of thinking. I don’t go all the way with it myself.’

‘Surely anyone who’d commit such deeds must be mentally deranged?’ Sister Joan objected.

‘Oh, certainly, but the average serial killer kills for the pleasure of killing, to release some dreadful inner tension, to achieve a sense of power – that sort of thing. And he uses the same method every time. He also wants unconsciously to boast of his cleverness so he sends tape recordings, writes letters to the police or to the newspapers. If these deaths are all connected, and I’ve a
feeling that they are, then he doesn’t kill at random. He picks his victims very carefully and he uses the most convenient method available at the time.’

‘An axe?’ She shivered slightly.

‘A short-handled axe and possibly a hammer as well. The injuries on the first victim suggest that. But Mrs Fairly was slipped a dose of Valium in her tea and whisky, and then injected with insulin. We might have missed that altogether if you hadn’t been so certain that she hadn’t committed suicide.’

‘But Sylvia Potter and Stephanie Hugh were killed with an axe again?’

‘One hard blow with the cutting edge,’ he said briefly. ‘There would have been very little blood in both cases. Miss Potter was probably killed while she was on the train and then pushed out while the train was slowing down as it went round the bend. I don’t know about Miss Hugh yet.’

‘And no attempt was made to hide their identities.’

‘None at all.’

‘Then perhaps the first one wasn’t connected to the others?’

‘Which gives us two people running round with the same or an identical weapon. My instinct tells me that isn’t so.’

They were at the end of the road, the bulk of the church looming up ahead. She experienced a sudden longing to jump out of the car and run into the sanctuary, to wash her hands of the events taking place around her.

‘I think your instinct tells you rightly,’ she said. ‘Would you stop here, please? I don’t want to alarm Father Stephens by being brought home in a police car.’

He slowed and stopped, turning his head to look at her in the light from the dashboard.

‘I’ll delay my visit to the convent until late tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a word with Sister Jerome?’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

‘And you’ll tell me if you have any information for me?’ His glance was too keen. She fiddled with the unclasping of the seat belt before she answered.

‘I may have some fresh information for you already, but first I must obtain Mother Dorothy’s permission to tell you since she has given instructions it’s not to be mentioned. I’m sure that in the light of recent events she’ll rescind the order.’

‘If she realizes that she may be withholding valuable information then I am sure she will,’ he said. ‘Is that everything then, Sister?’

There was the handbag, she thought, now safely bestowed with Padraic Lee and the parcel she had wrapped up so neatly and thrust back into the refuse bin, but if she talked about those then he would insist that she abandon her plan.

‘There isn’t anything else for the moment, Detective Sergeant Mill,’ she said formally.

‘Very well, Sister. Goodnight then. I’m sorry your day has ended so unpleasantly. You’ll inform Father Stephens?’

‘Yes, of course. Goodnight.’

Getting out of the car she walked rapidly to the presbytery gate, glancing back as she turned in at the path and seeing that the car was still there. Did Detective Sergeant Mill believe there was danger for her too or was he mentally scolding her for being unforthcoming?

She let herself in and went through to the dining-room where the two priests sat with a pot of coffee between them.

‘I made the coffee for all of us, Sister.’ Father Stephens looked up expectantly. ‘Oh, didn’t you wait for the later train?’

‘Miss Hugh won’t be coming, Father.’ Sister Joan said.

She had spoken quietly but something in her
expression or attitude must have alerted him because he half rose from his place, darted a look at Father Timothy, and said, ‘Sit down, Sister, and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. You have bad news?’

‘Very bad, Father.’ She accepted the chair and the coffee without argument. ‘She must have either left the train before the proper stop or caught an earlier one or perhaps – I don’t know yet what happened. Her body was found in the boot of a car in a garage on the outskirts of town. Constable Petrie very kindly told me of it.’

‘Dear God!’ Father Stephens said softly, sitting down again abruptly. ‘Dear God, but what is going on? Mrs Fairly, Miss Potter, Miss Hugh – that recent terrible business up north – the world’s run mad.’

‘When discipline fails then anarchy takes over,’ Father Timothy said. His face was grey-white and he spoke hoarsely.

‘Detective Sergeant Mill believes all the deaths are connected,’ Sister Joan said.

‘But how can they be?’ Father Stephens looked puzzled.

‘I don’t know, Father. It’s just a hunch he has.’ She drank the coffee, hardly realizing that it was a vast improvement on the station coffee until she had almost drained the cup.

‘It must be near your grand silence, Sister,’ Father Timothy said. ‘You’ll be glad of a rest, I daresay.’

His tone was kinder than usual even if he did contrive to make it sound as she had wearied them out with chattering.

‘You’d better get to your bed, Sister. Father and I can deal with the cups,’ Father Stephens said.

‘I’ll rinse them out and wash them properly in the morning,’ she compromised, rising and piling them on a tray. ‘Good night, Father Stephens. Good night, Father Timothy.’

An indeterminate murmur from the two of them was her only response. Carrying the tray through to the kitchen she set it on the draining board and softly unbolted the back door. A low buzz of conversation from the dining-room told her that for a few moments she would be unobserved. She stepped out into the yard, and lifted the lid of the bin. In the light streaming from the kitchen door she could see the shiny black bags and the square edges of the paler parcel. Nobody had taken it yet. And one day remained before the refuse was collected.

Going back into the kitchen she bolted the door, ran cold water over the cups, switched off the light and went slowly upstairs, feeling as if every bone in her body was aching. It would have been nice to sink into the too soft bed, pull the covers over her head and abdicate from the world for a while, but while she slept someone might come – and if she stayed awake all night she would be fit for nothing in the morning. Unpinning her veil, taking off the ankle-length grey habit which was the Order’s concession to modern fashion she ran her fingers through the black hair that curled over her head, pulled on her nightdress and knelt to pray – for the four who were dead, for her own safety, for an end to the killings.

‘Will you be needing the car this morning, Father?’ she greeted Father Stephens as he went into the
dining-room
where boiled eggs and toast were waiting.

‘I’d not planned to use it, Sister. I think that both Father Timothy and I should stay here in case the police call in, though there’s nothing more we can tell them. Why do you want the car?’

‘I’ve some business with Mother Dorothy up at the convent.’

‘Very well.’ He frowned slightly and then nodded. ‘I take it your trip up to the convent is essential?’

‘Yes, Father. I’ll be back in time to make your lunch.’

‘We shall eat the rest of the vegetable stew,’ he said, somewhat gloomily.

She had been a few minutes late for mass that morning, she reflected, as she stacked plates and drank her own coffee. Father Stephens had offered it, seeming preoccupied as if his thoughts were being pulled unwillingly in a different direction. Father Timothy had come back from the convent and stalked in without a word. She doubted if he had mentioned this latest killing to Mother Dorothy or any of the sisters. He would probably regard it as idle gossip, she thought with a little grimace. It was no use pretending. She didn’t like Father Timothy.

She was still thinking about her unfortunate inability to like certain people when she drove in through the convent gates, slowing to a crawl in case Alice was around.

Nobody seemed to be around. She parked the car and went in through the back door. The kitchen was neat and tidy with no sign of Sister Teresa and no Sister Perpetua popped her freckled face round the door when she went into the passage that led past office-cum-pharmacy and the infirmary.

‘Sister Gabrielle? Sister Mary Concepta?’ She looked into the infirmary and was confronted by two empty basket chairs.

Walking through into the polished hall she stood in the silence, hearing her own quickening heartbeats. Someone was walking along the upper gallery at the head of the stairs. To the right the door to the storerooms was blocked off. To the left an archway gave on to the narrow corridor that led between the cells. It was from that direction the footsteps came.

‘Good morning, Sister Joan.’ Mother Dorothy paused and looked down.

‘Mother Dorothy!’ Sister Joan let out her pent-up breath.

‘Whom did you expect to see?’ the prioress enquired, starting down the stairs.

‘I don’t know. I couldn’t find anybody.’

‘They are all in chapel. The Friday meditation,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten about that already?’

‘No, of course not, Mother! I am not thinking straight this morning, that’s all. When I couldn’t find anybody I couldn’t help thinking of the
Marie
Celeste
,’ Sister Joan said.

‘You fancied we had all been lifted out of the enclosure by a sea monster, Sister? What an uncomfortably vivid imagination you must have,’ Mother Dorothy said dryly. ‘No, they are all meditating in chapel save for Sister Katherine who is suffering from a violent migraine so was persuaded to go and lie down. I slipped out to see if she was feeling better. She is sleeping quietly so we’ll leave her to recover as nature intends. Have you come to join in the meditation?’