A VOW OF ADORATION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Veronica Black

  ‘Of course you do,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I’ll bet she’s smashing. Ah, these are very expensive, aren’t they?’

  ‘Real silk,’ the constable said, recovering his composure slightly. ‘Look, sable cuffs on this suit. Not that I think it’s right to wear fur, mind, but it does lift a jacket out of the ordinary, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly it does.’ She watched as he carefully lifted some of the garments for her inspection.

  They were size twelve, she estimated, designed for someone a couple of inches taller than herself. Their pastel shades with blue predominating suggested they were more suited to a blonde than a brunette. At the bottom of the suitcase, neatly folded, was underwear, silk slips and French knickers and several pairs of filmy tights that looked unworn.

  ‘Thank you, Constable. You’ve been very helpful,’ she said.

  ‘To tell you the truth, Sister.’ He was replacing the various items carefully. ‘To tell you the truth I’m not sure I was authorized to show them, but as it’s a religious lady—’

  ‘Perhaps it would be wiser not to mention it to Constable Brown?’

  ‘I think you’re right, Sister. Thank you.’

  As he showed her out he asked hopefully, ‘I don’t suppose you recognized any of the clothes, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t recognize any of the garments at all,’ Sister Joan said. That at least was true, she thought, as she hurried back to the van.

  EIGHT

  Slowing and stopping as she reached the schoolhouse, she was gripped by mixed emotions when she saw Caroline standing, peering nervously out of the open door. After a couple of days of not seeing her she was struck afresh by the other’s tense, miserable look, hands clutching the baggy brown sweater, hair pulled back into a lank ponytail. One couldn’t help feeling pity for the girl and wanting to help her, but at the same time one couldn’t help wondering what made her so spineless. In Caroline’s place Sister Joan would’ve marched boldly up to Michael Peter’s front door and demanded to know the whereabouts of her sister.

  ‘I was afraid you might have forgotten me,’ Caroline said, opening the door wider and standing aside.

  ‘I thought it might do you some good to rest up for a little while‚’ Sister Joan said, ‘and anyway I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Have you found Crystal?’ A trace of eagerness had come into Caroline’s mild eyes.

  ‘N — not exactly. No, I haven’t found her,’ Sister Joan said slowly, sitting down on one of the hard chairs. ‘Look, I have found out something but I don’t think that it’s something you’re going to want to hear.’

  ‘What is it?’ Caroline who had also seated herself sat bolt upright.

  ‘Some days ago I found the body of a man in the abandoned chapel near the Peter house,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I think it was your father.’

  ‘Dad?’ Caroline stared at her. ‘That’s not possible! Dad’s in the Heart Unit having further tests and treatment and he thinks that I’m staying with friends.’

  ‘I rang the hospital and he hadn’t turned up for his appointment.’

  ‘You mean he came down into Cornwall? Without telling me?’

  ‘He was worried about your sister too, wasn’t he?’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘We were both anxious‚’ Caroline said. ‘We could never get a proper answer on the telephone and no letters were coming. I never told Dad about her sending me the gold initial. He didn’t know about our arrangement anyway. It was a private one, made in a spirit of fun. Dad can’t stand too much stress, not with his heart the way it is.’

  ‘The man who died in the chapel had an enlarged heart,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He died of a heart attack.’

  ‘But why wasn’t I informed? Why didn’t somebody come and tell me?’ Caroline demanded. ‘Oh, of course, I was already down here by then. They’ll be sending out radio messages or something.’

  ‘They don’t know yet who the man was,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He had no identification on him.’

  ‘You mean he was robbed?’

  ‘I think that he got rid of them,’ Sister Joan said, ‘or, to be exact, I thought that in the beginning but now I think that the items were removed so as to make any identification difficult. Caroline, do you recognize these?’

  She brought out the credit card, pen and watch from the depths of her pocket.

  ‘That’s Dad’s pen,’ Caroline said. ‘I bought it for him last Christmas. The watch too. Crystal and I got him that about three years back. There’s an inscription on the inside of the back. I don’t understand. Where did you get them?’

  ‘They were hidden in the shower room at Michael Peter’s house.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Spurred by sudden animation Caroline sprang to her feet and began to pace restlessly up and down. ‘I knew that Michael Peter was evil. I sensed it. Crystal was never very clever where men were concerned. But I sensed it when they never asked us to the wedding. Now why would they do that unless she was as afraid that I’d see what he was really like? If they were in his house then he killed Dad.’

  ‘The death was due to a heart attack. He probably set out to walk to the house and went into the chapel to rest either on the way there or the way back.’

  ‘But you found his things in the house!’

  ‘Which doesn’t prove who hid them there‚’ Sister Joan said patiently. ‘And it wasn’t murder.’

  ‘But if the things were in the house — can’t Michael Peter be arrested?’

  ‘I daresay the police might want to ask him a few questions‚’ Sister Joan said, ‘but he could simply deny any knowledge of their existence.’

  ‘And after that he’d really be on his guard‚’ Caroline said slowly, sitting down again.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sister Joan looked at her sympathetically. ‘I’m not handling this for you very well, but I did warn you that I wasn’t a professional. I’m not even a very good amateur detective! I just stumble into situations now and then and sometimes I find the right way out again. I know you don’t want to go back to the police but they would have to take you more seriously this time.’

  ‘But it would alert Michael Peter,’ Caroline said.

  ‘I reckon that if anything has happened to your sister he’ll be alerted already. Caroline, did your sister ever wear a jacket with sable cuffs?’

  ‘Michael Peter bought her a skirt and jacket‚’ Caroline said slowly. ‘The jacket had sable cuffs. She mentioned it in one of the letters she sent. I remembered that Dad laughed and said he’d always dreamed of seeing one of us wrapped in mink but sables would do at a pinch.’

  ‘Can you describe any other clothes she wore?’

  ‘She didn’t come round every week to see us even before she went off and got married,’ Caroline said, knuckling her cheek pensively. ‘She loved pastel shades. Her being so fair they flattered her colouring. And she adored lacy undies — real silk and a bit sexy.’

  ‘And you don’t know exactly where she worked?’

  ‘She liked to change jobs fairly often so as not to get into a rut‚’ Caroline said. ‘Of course for most people it isn’t so easy to do that nowadays with unemployment so high but she was so pretty and charming that she could talk her way into anything she fancied. She did some escort work for various agencies and she had a couple of jobs as receptionist. If she’d been taller she could’ve been a model. She had a lovely figure. Why am I talking about her as if she’s dead? I don’t want her to be dead, Sister! If she’s gone and I’ve lost Dad, then there isn’t anybody.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sister Joan shook her head slightly. ‘I’m truly sorry, but there isn’t anything anyone can say. Not at a time like this! Look, if you want to go to the police I’ll take you there and tell them my part in all this. There doesn’t seem to be much further we can go by ourselves.’

  ‘Why did you ask me about Crystal’s clothes?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘A large suitcase crammed with rather expensive garments was found on the embankment. It had been thrown from a
train probably. The other day I saw Mr Peter on his way to catch a train to London, for a business meeting he said. He was carrying a large suitcase. Today I made an excuse to call in at the police station and saw the same suitcase in the back office there.’

  ‘And the clothes were like the ones that Crystal would wear?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sister Joan rose. ‘Look, if those clothes could be identified as having belonged to your sister, and I made a statement about having found your father’s things in the bathroom at the house, the police would certainly launch an immediate enquiry. I know you think that Michael Peter would be put on the alert and start covering his tracks but Crystal hasn’t communicated with you since Easter. Don’t you think he’ll have covered up his tracks already and the longer time goes on the more difficult it’s going to be to get any evidence at all?’

  ‘Do you really want to know the truth?’ Caroline had risen again and walked to the door. ‘Sister, I’m scared! I’m scared of finding out what really happened to Crystal. I know it’s stupid and I know that I can’t change anything if it has happened, but I keep on hoping that she’ll suddenly turn up, just walk in and explain everything. We were always so close that I honestly don’t know what I’d do if—’

  ‘You’d survive‚’ Sister Joan said. ‘Honestly you would. Look, let’s leave it until tomorrow. Sleep on it and I’ll come by tomorrow. By then I’m hoping to have put a bit more of the jigsaw together. How are the supplies lasting out? I should’ve brought you some more.’

  ‘I don’t eat very much at the best of times,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m fine, Sister. Honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘Tomorrow then.’ Sister Joan spoke as cheerfully as she could, aware that nothing she said sounded adequate. ‘I’ll bring you something for lunch tomorrow and then we could both go down and talk to the police.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’

  The door closed behind her and she heard the key turn in the lock. It had been, she reflected, getting back into the van, a thoroughly unsatisfactory interview. The problem was that Caroline Hayes was obviously in shock, having nerved herself to travel into Cornwall she was now unable to take action, terrified of what she might learn, scared of Michael Peter’s discovering her presence in the neighbourhood.

  Going in through the kitchen door of the convent she almost bumped into Sister Perpetua who raised sandy brows and remarked snappishly, ‘How is it that you’re never here when you’re needed, Sister Joan?’

  ‘Am I needed? I went on an errand for Reverend Mother,’ Sister Joan said in surprise.

  ‘I needed several things in town but you didn’t wait around long enough to find out!’

  ‘Sister, I’m truly sorry! Mother Dorothy was keen for me to get off early. Do you want me to drive in after lunch? It wouldn’t be any trouble,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘I daresay it wouldn’t.’ Sister Perpetua refused to be mollified. ‘It never is any trouble to you to go dashing off out of the enclosure on the slightest pretext!’

  ‘Then you take the van. I’m sure Mother Dorothy wouldn’t refuse permission.’ A decided sparkle had come into Sister Joan’s blue eyes.

  ‘We’re not all as fond of gallivanting as you are, Sister!’

  ‘If you write down what you need I’ll drive down and get it.’

  There were times, Sister Joan thought, keeping the smile on her face with an effort when it was difficult to feel sisterly love and kindness twenty-four hours a day.

  ‘I’ve made a list.’

  ‘Fine! then I’ll drive down into town and get them, or would you like me to miss lunch and gallop in right this minute?’

  Sister Perpetua stared at her for a moment, then unexpectedly grinned. ‘I’m sorry, Sister‚’ she said. ‘I got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, and I’ve snapped everybody’s head off! Don’t take it personally. The fact is that Sister Mary Concepta had a bit of a heart spasm during the night and I spent a couple of hours sitting with her. After that it was hard to get back to sleep.’

  ‘You should’ve called somebody‚’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t a serious attack but the poor soul gets frightened.’

  ‘Might it not be a good idea to call in the doctor?’ Sister Joan ventured. It was always a risk to mention the medical profession to Sister Perpetua who considered her own herbal remedies as far more efficacious.

  ‘It might not hurt‚’ Sister Perpetua said unwillingly. ‘Tell him there’s no hurry but it would relieve Sister Mary Concepta’s mind. We’d better go to lunch.’

  Looking marginally less irritable, she plodded ahead up the stairs.

  Luncheon over, Sister Joan collected a list of items required by the infirmarian, got the requisite permission to go back into town from Mother Dorothy, and slipped into the infirmary where Sister Mary Concepta, retaining the flowerlike blue eyes of her girlhood in a delicate, old-lady face, sat with a rug over her knees by the fire.

  ‘Are you all right, Sister?’ Sister Joan looked at the fragile figure anxiously.

  At eighty-two the older nun had one of the sweetest natures in the community. Her ill health had become something that people took for granted, but the possibility that she might be deteriorating suddenly occurred to Sister Joan.

  ‘Oh, I’m much better this afternoon‚’ Sister Mary Concepta said. ‘Has Sister Perpetua been frightening the life out of you? I had a nasty little turn during the night, that’s all. After all I am eighty-two, you know.’

  ‘I’m five years older than you are‚’ Sister Gabrielle said, coming in, ‘and I don’t make near as much fuss about it as you do.’

  ‘You’ve always enjoyed excellent health‚’ Sister Mary Concepta said. ‘Not all of us are so blessed.’

  ‘Nonsense! You’ve a vivid imagination, that’s all.’ Sister Gabrielle tapped her way to the fireside and lowered herself heavily into her chair. ‘If you’re thinking of asking the doctor to call in then you’d better tell him to check me over at the same time, because my rheumatism has been playing up a lot, though I don’t complain about it.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m in the habit of grumbling, Sister?’ Sister Mary Concepta’s face was gently reproving.

  ‘If the cap fits—’ Sister Gabrielle tapped her stick on the floor and looked at Sister Joan. ‘If you’re going, child, you’d best make tracks‚’ she said. ‘We’re neither of us spring chickens!’

  She left them to their amiable squabbling and went out to the van. She’d call in at the doctor’s and arrange for him to visit Sisters Mary Concepta and Gabrielle. Get the things Sister Perpetua wanted. Buy some supplies for Caroline Hayes. Go and see if Mrs Rufus had really gone to Torquay.

  That last instruction wrote itself unexpectedly on her mind as she drove down the track into the main street. It was ridiculous, of course. Mrs Rufus had gone to Torquay for the whole day. She wouldn’t be back until the evening at the earliest.

  The local doctor had retired the previous year and his shabby, reassuring waiting-room was now a coldly clinical place with glass separating the receptionist from the patients, either to avoid infection or to prevent them stealing the medical forms — she wasn’t sure which, hard chairs, and notices ordering people never to smoke, never to drink, never to indulge in unsafe sex. Such notices always made her feel an urge to light up, down a quick whisky and grab the nearest man.

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta?’ The receptionist tapped a number in on the small computer that stood on the counter and studied the screen. ‘She was visited six months ago by Doctor Elroyd. Dr Flecker is free tomorrow if it’s a home visit she requires. We do prefer patients to come to the surgery whenever possible.’

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta is in her eighties and hasn’t left the enclosure for years,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Isn’t it possible for Dr Elroyd to visit? She’s used to him.’

  ‘A non-urgent case, is it?’ The receptionist consulted her mechanical toy again and smiled graciously. ‘Ten o’clock on Friday m
orning. Of course if her condition worsens before then do inform us. Thank you.’

  Sister Joan thanked her back and left with the feeling that patients were no longer regarded as people but as units to be moved about on some vast appointments board. When the individual was pushed aside then what price was self-adoration then? It might make an interesting subject for discussion.

  She walked on to the chemist and piled Sister Perpetua’s requirements into a wire basket, noting with amusement that a packet of henna was on the list. Sister Perpetua was battling valiantly against the grey!

  Coffee, tea, milk, bread and some fresh cheese would keep Caroline Hayes fairly well supplied for a day or two. Her purchases made, she dumped them in the van, and told herself firmly that there was no reason whatsoever for her to drive round to the house where Michael Peter had told her Mrs Rufus lived.

  Instead she crossed the road to the florist’s and spent some of her own vastly diminished pocket money on a small bunch of flowers. It seemed so wrong that John Hayes should have become in death no more than another statistic. She doubted if Caroline would’ve had the idea of coming to the cemetery to find her father’s grave. Caroline’s mind was fixed firmly on her missing sister, and she’d scarcely seemed to register the fact that her father had died.

  Sister Joan got back into the van and drove up towards the new cemetery on the edge of the housing estate. The old cemetery was protected historic property now, but all burials were in the new ground near the ugly, red-roofed villa which had replaced the old vicarage.

  She parked the van at the gates and set off briskly along the gravelled path. All the headstones here were less than twenty years old, with the epitaphs on them strictly conforming to good taste and large monuments discouraged. No doubt there was a computer somewhere with lists of the corpses on it, she thought, and stopped in her tracks, staring at the yellow tape that was stretched in a square around the grave of the man who had almost certainly been Caroline and Crystal’s father. Part of the space within the tape was occupied by a tarpaulin with the sides hiding whatever — whoever? lay within.