by AB Morgan
Emma was much quicker on the uptake than I was. ‘Oh, I see. He had to return to carry out the poisoning because he didn’t have the essentials with him at the time.’
‘It’s one possibility. Of course, it could be coincidence and Father Raymond could have carried out the poisoning.’
‘Do we know why Father Raymond didn’t make the first phone call to the police? Or whether he was at home in the Rectory when DS Adams revisited later?’ I asked.
The Braithwaites looked at each other and exchanged a couple of facial queries before they revisited the timeline diagram.
‘That is a really good question. We’re basing our information on the police reports. Philip George made the first call, which we could assume was done because neither of the two priests were at home. Perhaps they were at the church building. We’ll try to clarify that. The report doesn’t mention Father Raymond at all. Pip wasn’t reported as being present when police attended so he’s likely to have left and gone home at that point. Therefore we have to assume Father Raymond is still out somewhere. How interesting.’
Father Raymond had been clear in his description to me that he had heard Father Joseph falling and called an ambulance. ‘What if Pip hadn’t gone home, but instead had been retrieving the journals from our house and the documentation about Nick Shafer from here?’ I asked, throwing my theory into the mix.
‘Could Father Raymond have been following him?’ Max suggested.
Emma, as sharp as ever, noticed the flaw in that possibility.
‘Father Raymond had gone out somewhere before Pip left the Rectory though.’ She looked at the Braithwaites for an answer. They both shrugged.
Everything felt like a series of spirals, which descended to a question mark, each time. ‘Can we recap? I need to be really sure what I’m trying to find out tomorrow,’ I asked in desperation.
Mr Braithwaite tried to précis the main aims. ‘Nick Shafer’s death: possibly on description alone, Charles Adams is the most likely suspect. Jan Collins’s death: Possibilities are, Father Raymond or DS Adams. Father Joseph’s death: possibilities are, Father Raymond, DS Adams or Philip George.’
I interrupted.
‘No, not Pip. No way. ‘
‘Yes way,’ Emma said. ‘Think about it. Pip is alone in the Rectory with Father Joseph. If Father Joseph had uncovered the illicit affair between Father Raymond and Pip, then there is your motive. He might look sweet and innocent, but this is the love of his life, his redemption from a life of exclusion, anxiety, depression, and being an all-round misfit.’
‘Yep, then Father Raymond returns and they hatch a plan to make it look like a fall just happened,’ added Jake, who had been silent until this offering from Emma had piqued his interest.
‘It wasn’t the fall that killed him though, it was a heart attack brought on by food poisoning from improperly cooked kidney beans. The man who knew all about them was Charlie Adams,’ Max reminded me. The Braithwaites, who were taking notes throughout our debate, now turned to their laptop.
‘Yes, Max, and he was boasting,’ I confirmed. ‘He mentioned about pressure cooking kidney beans to increase the toxicity, but Manuela Tierney used tinned beans, in fact she was embarrassed because she only had a small tin of beans at home and would normally have used more.’
‘Why is it that women have such detailed conversations about tins of beans? Men wouldn’t even bother. We just eat the food put in front of us, who the hell would notice if there weren’t many beans in a chilli con carne?’ Max was giving the male perspective on life as per usual.
‘I think that’s the point,’ Mrs Braithwaite helpfully acknowledged. ‘If, and it’s a big “if” … if DS Adams or indeed Father Raymond had returned and added pressure-cooked kidney beans to the casserole dish, then there is our means for murder. A frail old man would not tolerate that level of toxicity. He already had a heart condition.’
Our murderer was doing well. He had used medication that would be in Jan Collins’s medicine cupboard. He had used kidney beans to make Father Joseph’s death appear to be food poisoning causing a cardiac arrest. Goodness knows what he used on poor Nick Shafer, but he burnt him afterwards for good measure, and Ben Tierney was given a killer supper.
That was where the poisoner had become rather thoughtless and lackadaisical. The murderer would have known that the contents of a stomach would be investigated at the post mortem and the deadly sandwich had not been digested enough when Ben had met an express train. Had Ben delayed eating it for some reason? Or had he escaped before it was intended that he should be allowed his freedom? More question marks at the end of spirals.
‘Let’s see if we can firm up some of the probables tomorrow when you meet with Father Raymond and Pip.’
‘And how the hell do you suggest that I do that?’
The Braithwaites had created a posh, high-tech version of my ‘safe topic and don’t go there’ list, that I had used when Max and I invited DS Adams to our house. Their adaptation was also simple and effective. The first topic was Jan Collins and her work as a lecturer, to determine whether Pip was our inside man or not. ‘We’ve sent a message to Jan’s insider to let him know that you’ve been invited to the Rectory for tea at three. We’ve requested support and guidance for you. Now this may mean that if your guardian angel is Pip, things will be relatively simple, or if not, then we could expect someone to turn up on the doorstep.
‘Our other suggestion would be for Emma to drop you outside the Rectory giving the impression that she is on her way to collect the children from school and you needed a lift because of a car problem. A last minute flat tyre … Emma will then park around the corner, near the school, while Jake actually collects the children in his Land Rover.’
‘Why? Why is Emma waiting outside, and not Jake, or Max?’
‘Because they both should be at work, not sitting in cars. It draws too much attention as being out of the ordinary. Emma’s car is not well known. Yours is. She can be in direct touch with us here and we’ll feed her the necessary information. She’ll call at the Rectory to collect you when your job is complete and we can safely remove you without arousing suspicion or you needing an excuse to leave. Our team on the ground will be on standby for any untoward eventualities.’
‘Such as?’
‘They mean threats or risks to your life.’ I could hear the anger rising in Max’s voice, which was more about the fact that he didn’t seem to have a heroic role. Fortunately the Braithwaites had anticipated this.
‘This is where you come in, Max. We have a new motorbike crash helmet for you. You’ll also have a direct link to hear everything that Monica is listening to, but you’ll only be able to communicate verbally with us here at the Lodge. If you can park a reasonable distance away, but be available to investigate any visitors, that would be great. We want the heads up on anyone approaching the Rectory driveway from the other direction. Emma will be the town side of Bushmead, and you need to be north of that with an eye on St David’s Road, please. No one will recognise you in your motorbike gear.’
Max was visibly swelling with pride at being given such a vital task. I suspected that he would be superfluous to requirements, and that the IPCC team would already be watching the premises carefully from a van or a car nearby. Nevertheless, it made him feel like my protector, which was helpful to me in many ways.
I was beginning to suffer from palpitations at the enormity of the task ahead and the repercussions if we were wrong, or worse, if we were right and I failed. There was no backing out. The coroner and the IPCC were relying on me to succeed, and quickly. So were Emma, Jake, and the children ‘You make sure that if it all goes tits-up, you and Jake take the children and Grandma Frost out of harm’s way. Promise me,’ I said to Emma with a quavering voice. ‘We don’t know who we are dealing with.’
The Braithwaites must have been reading my mind. They had been collating information about DS Adams who, it appeared, was due to be moved to another force in Humberside beca
use of a successful promotion to Detective Inspector. His posting to Hollberry Police Station had apparently been a temporary arrangement to cover vacancies, and he was due for transfer within the next few weeks. Charles Adams’s police career was peppered with moves, and yet he managed promotion without a hitch, it seemed. The records were scant but the ones screened by the Braithwaites indicated that he was used as a trouble-shooter for underperforming police departments.
Personnel records showed his true age to be thirty-four and that he had an aptitude for forensics. Nothing was known in depth about his private life and family connections, but his employment record had six years unaccounted for after his PhD in organic chemistry. His thesis had been on the subject of medical applications within organic toxicology.
‘That’s of no surprise,’ I commented unnecessarily.
‘We could hazard a guess that he may have been recruited by the spooks but we have nothing to confirm that … and we don’t know if Charles Adams is a member of the trouser leg and funny handshake brigade or not. Our nearest guess would be that he’s a hired gun. Or in this case, a paid poisoner. We’re running checks on deaths, suspicious or otherwise, in the areas where he had previous postings.’
‘Are you trying to suggest that he could work for a government organisation?’ Emma looked horrified at the possibility. She was gesturing to Jake by placing her right palm to her heart.
‘That’s exactly what we’re suggesting. We’ve also been delving into historical records concerning Father Joseph Kavanagh to determine why this particular set of events has occurred. The key seems to lie with who he invited to watch as the children were being abused; the paedophiles in the audience. We are certain that this is the reason for the extreme response.
‘So far, we have strong possibilities for a Member of Parliament at the time, a high-up council official in charge of county planning, a manager from an investment bank in London, a CEO from a well-known arms manufacturer, and a scientist who may have links with security services. We can’t disclose any more to you than that, but we wanted you to know just how incendiary this case is. If any one of these people are exposed as being involved in an abuse scandal then not only does it implicate them, but threatens the security of the country.’
‘This could be shit or bust then,’ I said without thinking. It had occurred to my flagging brain that without evidence, the coroner would be ineffective and there would be nothing to plaster across the media. The IPCC may continue the long, slow, grinding way towards proof of wrongdoing, but there was a clock ticking to prevent yet another cover-up of murder and abuse. I recalled Tam Aitken’s description of the monstrous scale of the scandal being of ‘such incredible magnitude that it is almost impossible to comprehend’.
He was right.
33
Emma looked me in the eyes, holding my hands in hers, as we sat in her car minutes before three o’clock. ‘Right. Do what you can, if it’s not safe, run and hide until we come to get you out. Are both your mobiles on silent and vibrate off?’
I nodded. My mouth was so dry that I didn’t dare speak.
‘Okay. Press those buttons on your earwig fob and let’s make sure the bloody thing is working.’ We waited and sighed with relief when the confirmation text message arrived. Emma double-checked her communications with the Braithwaites, who confirmed that they also had contact with Max.
‘Here we go, Watson,’ I said, hugging my best friend and not wanting to let go.
‘Here we go, Holmes,’ Emma replied. ‘No, hang on, don’t get out. A woman is walking up to the Rectory. Max says she’s elderly and carrying a cake tin.’ It was Dora delivering the Victoria sponge for tea. I decided to walk and meet her in case, by some ridiculous chance, she was Jan’s inside man. Cutting a corner by forcing my way through a gap in the hedge at the boundary of the Rectory garden, I emerged at the front entrance at the same time as Dora.
‘Are you invited to tea with the vicar?’ I asked her, trying to sound normal.
‘Hello, dear, where did you come from? No, I’m only the delivery woman. I’m running dreadfully late. I promised Father Raymond to have the cake here by half past two, but I waylaid myself trying to find my house keys. I’m becoming so forgetful these days. By the way, he’s not a vicar, dear, he’s a priest.’ I thanked Dora for correcting me in time.
The large, oak door was opened by a smiling Pip who took charge of the cake and thanked Dora profusely for her generous offering. She would not be persuaded to stay. ‘No, my dears, I have an appointment with the chiropodist and my feet would never forgive me if I missed it. Enjoy the cake.’ Pip and I watched as she toddled down the garden path back towards the road.
‘I wonder why she’s wearing a cowboy hat?’ Pip asked. A rhetorical question. We both smiled as we saw her step into the light from between the dark yew trees that lined the entrance to the Rectory.
Pip had taken my coat and was hanging it alongside a collection of dark robes, overcoats, and jackets when Father Raymond emerged from a doorway at the far end of the dimly lit, wood panelled entrance hall. There was a musty smell about the place, reminding me of my old school.
‘Come on through, Monica, welcome to the Rectory kitchen, which is by far the warmest room in the place.’ The Rectory was a substantial Edwardian building with high ceilings and spacious rooms. I stepped into a kitchen of farmhouse proportions. In the centre was a long refectory table that could easily have served to seat a dozen monks. Several tablecloths had been placed over its length in an effort to introduce a homely touch to the afternoon tea. Plates, cups saucers, and cutlery were laid at the end nearest to an ancient coal-fired Rayburn, which was pumping out a welcome, warming heat. On top of the hotplate stood a giant kettle with steam wisps falling from its spout. Next to it, a brown teapot was warming.
‘Sit near the range, Monica,’ instructed Father Raymond. ‘You look cold and shivery. Winter’s on its way, isn’t it?’ He strolled across to the range and poured the water from the kettle into the pot. ‘Proper loose-leaf tea, as promised. We’ve even remembered the tea strainer, haven’t we, Pip?’ Pip was dexterously removing the magnificent sponge cake from its tin and placing it on a cake stand.
‘Well, I am privileged,’ I said. ‘What a lot of trouble you’ve both gone to. I’m sure I don’t deserve this sort of treatment.’ I allowed my hosts to sit, and for Pip to start cutting slices of cake before making my opening gambit. ‘So, Pip, how are you feeling since being out of hospital?’ A gentle start, a normal, mental health nurse question. Pip gave a polite and informative answer about his relief at being able to leave hospital and his trouble sleeping. ‘But, at least I’m getting psychotherapy. Once a week for the next ten weeks. I think I was lucky.’
‘You are. There’s usually a waiting list. And aren’t you fortunate to be moving in here, as well? You’ll be good company for each other, I should imagine.’ The conversation was stilted, but I persevered. ‘Was it just you and Father Joseph who lived here before?’ I asked Father Raymond. He nodded. ‘Do you have a housekeeper like Mrs Doyle in Father Ted?’
I smiled as I asked this.
‘Yes, and no. We have a housekeeper, but she’s not like Mrs Doyle.’ He then made an excellent joke by asking, ‘Will you have a cup of tea? Ah, go on.’ All three of us laughed, and it seemed to remove the awkward edge from proceedings. I was finding my stride.
‘I expect you miss having Father Joseph around and having Pip here for company has been a godsend, I dare say ... oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to be rude.’ In the most difficult of situations I had managed to choose the wrong words. The smiles indicated that I had been forgiven.
‘Father Joseph and I lived very separate lives, Monica. We had our own ministries, although occasionally we met for a meal out of courtesy. It was a terrible shame that he died before he could enjoy his retirement.’
‘What sort of things does a retired priest do, if you don’t mind me asking? What were his hobbies and pastimes?’ I was struggling to
steer the conversation in the right direction, so I sipped at my tea appreciatively and aimed my fork towards a large slice of moist sponge cake filled with jam, to buy thinking time.
‘That’s an interesting question. Many priests don’t ever retire, they stay in post until they’re too frail to continue, then the church cares for them. Father Joseph was asked to retire because his health was failing.’
‘He was getting on a bit,’ I conceded. ‘I understand he was priest here about twenty years ago. Is it usual for priests to be moved around? I know you said you move quite a lot,’ I said between mouthfuls. Pip was listening intently.
‘Monica, you asked about Father Joseph’s hobbies and now you ask about why he was moved from here twenty years ago. The answer to those two questions is the same. His hobby was molesting children and inviting influential friends to watch or take part.’
Standing up, I spat out my mouthful of cake into my hand and yet neither Pip nor Father Raymond reacted to my extreme response. They both sat silently, calmly waiting for me to finish spitting into my hand.
Father Raymond continued. ‘But you already know this information. You also know that the deaths of Jan Collins and the man we knew as Liam Brookes were connected to the deaths of Father Joseph and Ben Tierney.’ Despite my proximity to the warming range cooker, I was cold to the bone.
How much cake had I eaten?
How long had I got before the poison took hold?
Where could I run to and hide?
Could I run? My legs were leaden.
‘Monica, look at me,’ instructed Father Raymond. ‘Pip is not the man you’re looking for who worked with Jan Collins and studied with her. Pip works with me. He will have the same training I had.’
There was not a scale large enough on any crapometer to represent the fear that I felt at that moment. There had been no confession to murder and so I could not leave, but I had been exposed for what I knew and without doubt I would have to die.
