Unholy Murder

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘No,’ she replied nervously.

  ‘Can you show me your arms, please.’

  Katie started shaking as she pulled the dressing gown tighter around her body.

  ‘I’m on your side, Katie. I can help you . . . but I need to know if you have any other injuries.’

  Tears began to trickle down Katie’s face as she slowly opened the dressing gown, let it fall open and stood with her hands covering her crotch.

  Jane gasped as she saw the extent of bruising on Katie’s arms, legs and stomach. They were clearly the result of punches, grab marks and kicks to her legs, deliberately inflicted in areas where Barry thought other people wouldn’t see them. Katie pulled the dressing gown around her.

  ‘This is wrong, Katie, so wrong. You can’t let him treat you like a punch bag. If you make a formal allegation of assault against him, he will be charged. I’ll ask the court for him to be remanded in custody pending trial . . .’

  ‘I can’t . . . it would only make things worse.’

  ‘What about the children? Has he ever hurt them?’

  ‘He’d never do that. Barry’s loves his children.’

  ‘Believe me, as they get older, he will treat them in the same way. You also need to know we believe he forced a coffin open and stole the cross and chain from the body of a dead nun.’

  Katie looked horrified and her legs started to buckle. Jane managed to grab her and sit her on the bed before she fell over. The tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘How could he do that then give it to me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell him I saw the cross when you got out of bed; that way, he won’t know about our conversation and take it out on you.’

  ‘Thank you . . . but he’ll still be angry with me.’

  ‘Have you thought about leaving him?’

  Katie choked back a sob. ‘Is there anywhere you can go?’

  ‘My parents live down the road,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m sure they’ll take us in until I can find somewhere else.’

  ‘Will you be safe there?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but it’s the only place I have to go.’

  ‘Barry will be taken to the station for interview. It will give you time to pack some belongings for yourself and the children.’

  ‘How long can you hold him?’ Katie asked, pulling a small suitcase out from under the bed.

  ‘Depends on whether or not he admits to stealing the cross, but at least eight to twelve hours. That should give you plenty of time to get out of here. If you want to press charges about the assaults . . .’

  ‘Let me think about it.’

  Jane didn’t want to force her. She got a pen from her pocket and picked up a piece of scrap paper from the dressing table. ‘I’ll give you my details. Ring me and let me know you’re OK. If you change your mind and want to press charges, I will personally arrest him and deal with the case.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You know where I am if you need me. There’s one other thing. Did Barry say if he found anything else yesterday?’ Jane asked, thinking about the missing knife.

  ‘No. He only mentioned the cross.’

  Barry was sitting back in the armchair yawning as he watched Boon and the crime squad officers search the living room.

  ‘We haven’t found anything, sarge,’ Boon said as Jane walked in.

  ‘I said you wankers were wasting your time,’ Barry sneered.

  Jane removed the cross from her pocket and briefly held it out for Barry to see.

  ‘As luck would have it, I just found this around your wife’s neck.’ She put it back in her pocket.

  Barry shrugged. ‘So what, lots of women wear a cross . . . not just nuns.’

  ‘I asked her where she got it. The strange thing is, she didn’t want to tell me. Did you give it to her?’

  ‘It ain’t a crime to give your missus a present.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Jane said.

  ‘Take it how you like, love.’

  ‘You opened the nun’s coffin yesterday and stole the cross, didn’t you?’ Boon said.

  ‘I already told you, Dermot wanted to open the coffin. You should nick him and search his fucking gaff. I wanna speak to my missus!’ Barry demanded, getting up from the armchair.

  Jane pushed him hard in the chest so he fell back into the armchair, then pointed a finger at him. ‘The only place you are going is to the station for interview. Take him down to the car,’ she told the crime squad officers.

  She waited until they were alone in the flat, then told Boon about Katie and her bruises.

  ‘He’s a real low life.’

  ‘Barry mustn’t know what his wife told me. Do everything slowly with him so she has plenty of time to pack some bags and get out.’ She took the exhibits bag with the cross in it from her pocket. ‘Take this to the SOCO. Get him to photograph it and print some enlargements for me.’ Boon held it up and looked at it, and was about to put it in his pocket when Jane stopped him.

  ‘Hang on a sec . . . there’s something on the back of the cross.’ Boon handed it to her. ‘Stupidly, I didn’t think to look on the other side when his wife handed it to me.’

  She looked closely. Engraved on the back was 20.02.58 and the initials MB.

  ‘Those numbers must relate to a significant date. It could be when she became a nun. This is an important find, Boony. It could help to identify the body and narrow the time frame of the murder.’ She was looking forward to showing it to Father Chris and asking his opinion on the significance of the engraving.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jane arrived at Orpington police station at a quarter past nine, with time to spare before her meeting with DCS Barnes, so she decided to have a poached egg on toast with a cup of tea in the canteen. After ordering her food, she sat at an empty table and opened her briefcase to have a quick read through her report. Her heart immediately sank. ‘No, no, no,’ she said to herself on finding the file was not in the case. She instantly knew that in her rush to get to the old convent, she’d left the report on the dining-room table.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the uniformed officer on the table next to her. ‘How long does it take to get to Chislehurst High Street from here?’ Her house was a two-minute drive from there.

  ‘About fifteen, twenty minutes tops.’

  ‘What’s the quickest way?’

  The officer gave her the most direct route which, to her relief, was pretty straightforward.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, hurrying to the canteen door.

  ‘You forgot your briefcase, love,’ the uniformed officer shouted.

  ‘Shit,’ she muttered, then turned, grabbed the case and ran as fast as she could to her car.

  Thankfully, the traffic wasn’t heavy, and she made it home in seventeen minutes. She dashed inside and grabbed her report.

  ‘Good morning, Jane, you off to work?’ Gerry was walking his dog.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, opening the car door, and throwing the report on the passenger seat.

  ‘Everything OK with the light socket?’

  ‘It’s working fine now, thanks.’

  ‘Any problems, you know where I am.’

  ‘Sorry, Gerry, but I have to go as I’m running late for an important meeting.’

  ‘You got far to go?’

  ‘Orpington,’ she replied, wishing he’d stop asking questions.

  ‘You know what they say . . . more haste, less speed.’

  Jane looked at her watch, it was a quarter to ten. Angry with herself, and knowing she’d be late for the meeting, she banged her hand on the steering wheel. She didn’t drive fast and the return journey took her twenty minutes. She parked her car, ran to the station and up the stairs to DCS Barnes’s office.

  Jane knocked on Barnes’s door whilst dabbing the sweat from her forehead with a tissue. She knew her hair must be a mess from all the running around, but there was no time to do anything about it.
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br />   ‘Come in,’ Barnes said in a gruff voice. ‘I take it you must be DS Tennison.’ He looked over the top of his half-moon glasses as he put a folder in a filing-cabinet drawer, then used his foot to close it.

  Barnes was a short, thin man in his early fifties, with combed-back grey hair. He looked quite dapper, dressed in a brown two-piece suit, light blue shirt, navy blue tie and brown shoes.

  ‘I’m really sorry I’m late, sir, but I was—’

  He held his hand up to stop. ‘In my book, if I give up my time, you should be respectful by arriving on time.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I was on an early morning search which took longer than expected. I got here as fast as I could,’ Jane said, feeling foolish.

  ‘That’s obvious from the state of you.’

  Jane dabbed her forehead again and Barnes told her to take a seat. She was surprised at how soft, yet strong his voice was.

  ‘Was the search connected to the nun’s murder?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We suspected one of the builders had forced the coffin open and stolen a silver cross. He’s denying it, but we found the cross at his flat.’

  ‘Good. I like positive results.’

  ‘I also told the site manger to stop all digging work while I made further inquiries regarding the body.’

  ‘Is he aware the nun was murdered?’

  ‘No, and neither is Barry May, the builder who stole the cross.’

  ‘Good, those sorts of people have big mouths, so keep it that way for now. Have you done a report for me?’

  She handed him the folder.

  ‘I think I’ll have a coffee while I read it.’

  Jane stood up, intending to go to the canteen. ‘I’ll get it. Milk and sugar?’

  He pulled a sour face. ‘I never drink the dishwater they serve in the canteen.’ He pointed to a cabinet in the corner of the room, on which was an electric kettle, a cafetière and a china teapot.

  ‘The ground coffee is in the cabinet. If you want tea there’s lapsang souchong. I don’t take milk or sugar. If you want anything different, the canteen is on the next floor.’

  Jane flicked the kettle on and put some coffee in the cafetière. She watched Barnes out of the corner of her eye as he slowly read the report, occasionally turning back a page to check something. She decided to have a tea and put some tea leaves in the pot.

  She put the coffee on his desk, and he nodded a thank you. She took a sip of the tea, which was surprisingly refreshing after all the running around she’d been doing. A few minutes later, Barnes put the report down on the desk and removed his glasses. He opened his desk drawer and removed a packet of Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes and a gold Dupont lighter. Opening the pack, he offered one to Jane, who politely declined. He removed one of the long black cigarettes by its gold filter, which was decorated with a double-headed eagle, lit it and inhaled deeply before slowly blowing out the smoke. He folded his reading glasses and put them in the breast pocket of his jacket.

  ‘Your report is very informative and well written, Tennison. Is there anything you’d like to add?’

  She told him about the cross, detailing the engraving and possible significance of the date and initials on it.

  ‘If the cross is the victim’s, it would be reasonable to assume she was murdered sometime after February 1958,’ Barnes surmised.

  ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Jane said. ‘I’ve been told the convent was sold to the developer in 1965, so we are only looking at a possible seven-year time span.’

  ‘I agree, but you must also consider the cross may have been put on the nun to fool anyone who found her.’

  ‘You think the cross could belong to whoever killed her?’

  He took a puff of the cigarette. ‘It’s not beyond the realm of possibility someone religious, such as a priest, killed her. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’

  Jane knew the quote was from Sherlock Holmes, and wondered if Barnes was trying to impress her.

  ‘I was told the diocese keep records of all the nuns in their district, so it shouldn’t be difficult to identify individuals with the initials MR,’ Jane said.

  ‘Who gave you the information about the diocesan records?’ he asked.

  ‘Father Christopher Floridia. He’s the priest at St Mary’s, which is just down the road from the old convent.’

  ‘I didn’t see his name mentioned in your report.’

  Jane hesitated. ‘I didn’t think it relevant to the investigation, though he was very helpful and informative regarding—’

  Barnes folded his arms and tilted his head. ‘Did you tell him the nun was murdered?’

  Jane suspected that if she said yes, she’d be taken off the investigation.

  ‘No, sir,’ she said quickly. She then explained that she’d sought his advice prior to the post-mortem. ‘I wanted to know what the religious rules were regarding consecrated ground and who I should inform if there was, or wasn’t, a body in the coffin. He did ask me to let him know the outcome, so out of courtesy I phoned him after the PM—’

  He leaned forward to interrupt. ‘And what did you tell him?’

  Jane took a deep breath. ‘Only that we’d discovered a mummified body in the coffin dressed in a nun’s habit. He offered to introduce me to the bishop and help identify her.’

  Barnes straightened in his chair. ‘At present I don’t want Father Floridia, the bishop, or anyone connected to the Church knowing this is a murder investigation.’

  Jane was taken aback. ‘Surely, sir, the priority is identifying our victim and ascertaining if she was a nun at the old convent. Father Floridia’s assistance would be very useful.’

  ‘I don’t trust priests or the hierarchy of the Catholic Church to be truthful when dealing with something that reflects badly on them. They’ll make empty promises to keep you at bay,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Will it not reflect badly on us if we don’t tell them?’ she countered.

  ‘I’ve made my decision, and I expect you to obey it,’ he said, stubbing out his cigarette.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jane replied. She wanted to ask why Barnes didn’t trust the Church, but thought it best not to. ‘Does that mean you want me to continue with the investigation?’

  ‘Yes, for now.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Will the murder squad be based at Bromley or here?’

  ‘I’m not forming a full murder squad just yet. I want everything played low-key for now and no press involvement. If whoever killed her is still alive, the last thing we want to do is give them a heads-up and the opportunity to disappear. Do your best to identify the nun over the next three days, then I’ll review my decision on Monday.’

  Jane was confused. ‘How do I do that without speaking to anyone connected to the Church?’

  ‘I never said you couldn’t talk to them. You’ve already got one foot in the door with this Father Floridia. Tell him the post-mortem is still ongoing.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d feel right lying to him.’

  ‘You don’t have to lie. Your report said further expert opinion is needed to determine the nun’s age and how long she’s been dead. That’s quite true, and it’s also true we need to identify her as soon as possible. I’d call it a means to an end. However, if you’re not happy about it, I can always find someone who is . . .’ He paused to let her answer.

  ‘I take your point, sir. Of course, I’ll do as you ask. DC Boon’s also been assisting me . . .’

  Barnes frowned. ‘DI Stanley said he’s not very experienced.’

  ‘But he’s keen and eager to learn,’ Jane said. ‘He’s liaising with the Missing Persons Bureau and was with me at the building site and post-mortem, so he’s up to speed with the investigation.’

  ‘All right, but if he screws up it’s on you.’

  ‘What about the building site? Can they start work again?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. To be honest I’m not that concerned about whether
or not the land is consecrated. The priority is identifying the nun and finding out who murdered her. That said, it can be used to our advantage as a cover to get information out of the diocese and identify the nun. Once you’ve done that, I’ll review the situation regarding the building site.’

  ‘Should I report back to you directly?’

  ‘I’m in meetings at Scotland Yard for the rest of the day and away at a family wedding over the weekend. DI Stanley will supervise you in my absence. Are you rostered to work this weekend?’

  ‘No, sir, but I’m more than happy to do so without overtime, and re-roster my rest days.’

  He nodded. ‘You can claim overtime if your inquiries justify it. Same goes for DC Boon if you need him. We can have another meeting in DI Stanley’s office on Monday morning at ten. Is there anything else for now?’

  ‘I was wondering if it would be worth getting an anthropologist to do a facial reconstruction. It’s a fairly new thing which involves—’

  ‘I’m fully aware of what it is, Tennison. Circulating a facial reconstruction this early in the investigation could lead to a lot of erroneous identifications and cause more problems than it’s worth. I’m happy for a forensic odontologist to examine the victim’s teeth to give an estimate of her age at death. If you do identify the victim and recover any dental records, the odontologist can then compare the two; that way, you’ll have a confirmed ID.’

  Jane already knew, from a previous investigation, what a forensic odontologist could do and thought she’d raised it in her report. ‘Thank you for letting me continue the investigation. I won’t let you down,’ she said.

  ‘That remains to be seen. From what I’ve heard, you had quite a chequered history during your eight years’ service in the Met. My advice to you is, be a team player and don’t go behind people’s backs. It only causes friction and distrust.’

  Jane thought he was criticising her part in the downfall of DCI Bill Murphy. ‘DCI Murphy was a corrupt officer, and a jury found him guilty,’ she said. ‘If I had to do the same again, I would.’

  ‘And I commend you for that. I knew Murphy when he was a DS. Like you, I served with him on the Flying Squad. Back then he was an honest, devoted detective who quickly rose to the rank of DCI. Unfortunately, he got himself in financial difficulties and was going through a divorce when he started taking bribes. Then, as you know, he progressed to organising armed robberies.’