by Robert Innes
Jennifer nodded. “They are very close, yes.”
“But then, the other person was you. The way you gripped his hand, you were in tears. And those tears were for more than just because everybody in that church had read today’s copy of the Clackton Standard, weren’t they?”
“I’m very fond of Father Croydon,” Jennifer said softly. “He’s been a rock to me over the years.”
“Though, you can’t quite remember how many years that is?” Put in Gardiner.
Jennifer glared at him. “No.”
Blake paused. There were a few things he wanted to get straight before he continued with that particular line of questioning.
“Let’s talk about that newspaper article,” he said.
“It was all lies. I’d have thought an intelligent detective would know better than to use the local rag as evidence.”
“It was all lies?”
“Yes.”
“Including the bit about a physical altercation between you and Imelda Atkins?”
Jennifer faulted, then shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “That was months ago.”
“Well, you told me the pair of you had only talked, you didn’t say anything about any violence between you.”
Again, Jennifer didn’t say anything.
“What happened?” Blake pressed.
Jennifer inhaled deeply through her nose, perhaps to calm herself before answering. “She was making homophobic remarks. I think her exact words specifically about my sexuality were ‘You’re a disgusting creature who isn’t fit to set foot in a church, never mind become a priest.’”
Blake nodded. “That’s very harsh. What did you say?”
Jennifer laughed bitterly to herself. “Nothing. I just slapped her. Hard across the face.” She leant forward in her seat. “And I enjoyed it.”
Blake returned her steady gaze calmly. “I don’t imagine she liked that very much.”
“She didn’t.”
“So, did she hit you back?”
Again, Jennifer laughed. “No, she just walked away. But she did say that I would live to regret it.”
“And did you?” Blake asked.
“Well, it was after that that she co-wrote one of her hate filled and bilious letters to the Clackton Standard about me, talking about sinful acts of homosexuality in the church as well as the fact that women should be nowhere near that alter in any other capacity but as a parishioner. They published it, amazingly. I imagine it was a slow news day. The article I wrote was in response. The difference was, I am not twisted and bitter and evil enough to mention specific names.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Blake asked.
“Well, because I didn’t actually think it was relevant,” Jennifer replied, a hint of condescension in her voice. “It happened a good few months before she died, unless you’re suggesting that she developed some form of delayed and sudden post-traumatic stress to me slapping her that caused her to have a fatal heart attack?”
Again, Blake paused. He was surprised by how calm and arguably witty she was behaving, considering that he was interviewing her as a main suspect in a murder enquiry.
“So,” he said, leaning forward towards her to show that she wasn’t intimidating him. “Daryl Stuarts-”
“I told you, I barely knew the boy,” Jennifer interrupted. “Why on earth would I want to kill him?”
“Well,” Blake said. “You told me that you were at the hospital visiting a sick, friend, was it? At the time when Daryl is said to have been killed.”
“Correct.”
“Except I have a witness saying that you were at the church that night. The man you are so fond of, your ‘rock’ as you put it, Timothy explicitly told me that him and Callum were both at home on the night of the murder, and that you were there because he saw you walking towards the church from his bedroom window. Now, why would he say that if it wasn’t true?”
Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. “Damn. Alright, yes. Yes, I did go to the church. But only briefly. If I’d known Father Croydon had seen me, I would have told you that from the start.”
Gardiner, leaned back in his chair. “Now that you do know that he saw you, why were you there?”
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”
“But?” Blake asked.
“I was looking for some wine and wafers,” Jennifer said, bowing her head and clasping her hands together.
“I’m sorry?” Blake asked. That was the last thing he had expected her to say.
Jennifer put her head in her hands and for the first time since setting foot in the interview, seemed emotional. “This, friend, in the hospital. She isn’t quite who I said she was.”
Blake narrowed his eyes. “So, who is she?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Jennifer said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
“Is this a fairly new relationship?” Blake asked. “You said that you’d recently come out of a relationship. Nina, did you say her name was?”
“The woman in hospital is Nina,” Jennifer said quietly, looking down at the floor, a single tear running down her cheek and splashing to the floor. “We never broke up.”
“So, why did you tell me that you did?”
Jennifer’s voice now began to crack. “Because I am the reason she’s in hospital.”
“Why?” Gardiner said, looking at her with his arms crossed. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything to her!” snapped Jennifer.
Blake turned his head towards Gardiner, hoping his expression would signal to him that he needed to shut up. Gardiner held his hands up briefly in surrender.
Blake turned back to Jennifer. “Why is Nina in hospital?”
Jennifer paused. Blake put his hands into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of tissues that he had bought earlier that day. He pushed the packet across the table, which Jennifer took and pulled open. She dabbed her eyes and sighed.
“Because,” she said slowly. “I had her sectioned.”
“Sectioned?” Blake repeated.
“Yes,” Jennifer replied. For the first time in a few minutes, she looked straight at Blake. Her eyes had gone red and puffy. “She’s schizophrenic. More specifically, with religious delusions.”
Blake glanced at Gardiner. He was staring at Jennifer, utterly bemused. Blake couldn’t help thinking that he was slightly out of his depth here.
“Okay,” Blake said gently.
“A few months ago, February time maybe, she started turning up at the church more, during my services. I thought at first that she was just there to support me. It didn’t seem strange.”
Blake kept quiet as Jennifer continued, occasionally pausing to dab tears away from her eyes.
“One night, Nina said that was going to the church to light a candle. I didn’t think that was unusual, her grandmother had died recently. I asked her if she wanted me to go with her and she said no, she wanted to go by herself.
“A few hours went by and I was getting worried. How long does it take to light a candle? I rang her on her mobile but she wasn’t picking up, so, I went to the church to see if she was still there.”
Jennifer pulled another tissue out of the packet, but instead of wiping her eyes again, just toyed with it in her fingers, looking more vulnerable than Blake had ever seen her.
“She was there on her own,” Jennifer continued. “She’d lit about - I don’t know how many candles - but they were all round her in a circle with her in the middle. She was talking, I didn’t know who to at first, I thought she might be praying, or at the volume she was talking, I thought maybe she was on her mobile. But then I realised she was staring straight up at the crucifix that’s fixed on the altar, and she was talking to God. And not just one sided, she was having a full conversation with Him.”
“And, what was she saying?” Blake asked.
“She was asking Him all sorts of questions. Why had He chosen her, how could He prove to her that He was really there, and there
were pauses when she was talking, like she was listening to answers. Then she…”
Jennifer started to cry again, opening up the tissue and briefly sobbing into it.
“Take your time,” Blake said softly.
“Then she - she held her arms out, in the crucifix position and just wailed. And she didn’t stop, she just wailed like she was possessed. I ran to her, and put my hands on her arm, but she jumped back and accused me of being a demon. It was like she was looking at me as if she’d only just met me. She started screaming at me to get back and to leave her alone.”
She looked up at Blake imploringly. “Well, what else could I do? I ran out and called an ambulance. They came, they took her away, and she’s been in the psyche wards ever since. That’s what Imelda saw, Nina being pulled, quite literally kicking and screaming, to the ambulance. ”
“And that’s what Imelda and Patricia were giving you a hard time about?” Blake clarified.
“Well, I don’t suppose it made that much difference in the grand scheme of things,” Jennifer replied curtly, wiping her increasingly reddening eye with the tissue again.
“Do excuse me if I’m missing something here,” Gardiner said at last. “But what does any of this have to do with why you were in the church on the night of Daryl Stuarts’ death?”
“Because,” Jennifer said with a heavy sigh. “The last time I’d gone to see her, Nina asked me to bring her communion. I didn’t really see how I could refuse. I say we never broke up, but to be quite honest with you, I don’t think she’s ever going to forgive me for getting her put in that hospital. She hates it there. And she still has a long way to go. But she asked for it to be wine and wafer bread from St Abra’s as that, she says, is the place where she first saw God.”
“I don’t want to sound insensitive here,” Blake ventured. “But, I don’t think the hospital would take too kindly to you smuggling wine in for her.”
“They wouldn’t, you’re quite right.” Jennifer sniffed. “Neither would they appreciate me essentially playing along with her delusions, but like I said, I didn’t feel I could refuse. Anyway, that night I went to the church so that I could take her communion. I found the bread in the cupboard, but the wine was all gone. I don’t know what happened to it, I was sure we still had plenty left after the last service. Still, I took some wafer, and just took her some wine from the house. She didn’t notice the difference. I didn’t want Father Croydon to know I’d been stealing from the church.”
“So, does Timothy know anything about this?”
“No,” Jennifer said simply. “He’s harboured enough of my secrets, without having another one added to the list.”
And now, they had returned to Blake’s original first thoughts. The notion that had been bugging him since he had watched Jennifer holding Timothy’s hand, looking so bereft.
“And, what secrets would they be?” Gardiner asked airily.
Jennifer didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the floor again.
“I think,” Blake said softly. “I could probably take an educated guess.”
Jennifer looked up at him, her eyes sad and teary.
“Because I’ve heard people talking to and about Timothy Croydon,” Blake continued. “And they say things like ‘Vicar,’ ’Revered Croydon, or even just simply ’Timothy.’ But you’re the only one I’ve ever heard refer to him as ‘Father Croydon.’”
When Jennifer remained silent, Blake knew that was he was thinking must be right.
“And the way you held his hand and just said ‘Father,”’ Blake said. “You’re his daughter, aren’t you?”
There was a long pause, before Jennifer finally whispered, “Yes.”
“Are you his only daughter?”
“Yes.” Jennifer said again.
“Which would make you Callum’s mother, wouldn’t it?”
Gardiner stared at Jennifer in disbelief. “But how can you be -”
“Shut up, Michael,” Blake interrupted.
Jennifer leant forwards slowly and put her head in her hands. “Callum has absolutely no idea. I was a bit of a young tearaway in my time. I went out, got drunk, slept with men. Not a million miles away from how Callum is now, actually,” she added wryly. “The difference being, of course, that I wasn’t really that attracted to them. I knew what I was, but I completely underestimated how my father would react. I didn’t think being the lesbian daughter of the Catholic priest would be something he would be all too thrilled about, so I did everything I could to try to change that in myself. He was however, absolutely fine about it. Couldn’t have been nicer. What he was less pleased about was the fact that one of the men I’d slept with had left me pregnant. I got in contact with the father. Jeremy. As it happened, he was an absolutely lovely man. I told him I was pregnant, and he was ready to just become a single father. Which is lucky, because abortion obviously wasn’t an option.”
“So, you had Callum and gave him to Jeremy?” Blake clarified.
“Yes. And for three years, that was the way it was. I carried on with my life. Then, one day, out of the blue, Jeremy got in touch. He’d been diagnosed with cancer and it was terminal. He had a matter of months to live, and because he didn’t have any family around of his own who wanted to take on a three-year-old, he asked if I could make any arrangements. Dad immediately said that he’d raise him. He’d just tell Callum when he was old enough that his parents were both killed in a car crash, but I didn’t want to be painted as some sort of hero. So, as far as Callum knows, he lost his father, who was a good, kind man to cancer, and his mother just ran away.”
Jennifer leant back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling vacantly. “Sometimes,” she murmured. “I think about just telling him the truth. Just blurting out, ‘I’m your mum.’ But then I think ‘what good would it do? You’ve already hurt enough people in your life, why make things any worse?’”
And with that, with her story finally released to another person, Jennifer broke down in sobs. Blake was just about to put a comforting hand on her arm when there was a knock at the door. The sound seemed to quieten Jennifer who merely just wept into her tissues.
“Come in,” Blake called.
Mattison poked his head round the door, looking awkwardly at Jennifer for a moment then said, “Sir, Sharon from forensics is here. She says it’s urgent.”
“Okay, thanks Matti,” Blake said. He turned to Jennifer. “I think we can take a break here, don’t you? Interview suspended at 17:14.”
Blake indicated that Gardiner should follow him and walked out of the interview room. As Gardiner closed the door behind them, Blake leant against the wall and exhaled, “Poor cow.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s all been very difficult for her,” Gardiner replied. “But it doesn’t put her in the clear, does it? In my mind, all that pressure and stress surely puts her more in the frame. Capable of anything if she’s prepared to just desert her child as well as putting her girlfriend in the hospital like that? Wouldn’t you say?”
Blake went to argue with him, but just shook his head and walked down the corridor into the meeting room where Sharon was waiting for him.
Mattison looked up as Blake entered, and listened intently to what was said.
“Hi, Blake. I thought you’d like to see what I’ve found in person, rather than over the phone,” Sharon said, producing a file out of her handbag.
“Please tell me you have a cause of death, for the love of God,” Blake pleaded.
“I have indeed,” Sharon said proudly. “I can officially confirm that Daryl Stuarts and Imelda Atkins died by poisoning from hemlock.”
“Hemlock?” repeated Blake, stunned.
“What’s hemlock?” Mattison asked, frowning.
“Oh come on, Matti.” Blake grinned. “You never seen an episode of Midsomer Murders?”
“Well, yeah,” Mattison replied as Sharon pulled out a photograph from her folder. “But whenever I’ve seen it, it’s had people being murdered by candlesticks
or spanners. One woman got squashed by a big wheel of cheese?”
The sound of the phone ringing rang out from the reception desk. Mattison, who was on desk duty that day, ran out to answer it.
“Anyway,” Sharon said brandishing the laminate photograph from her folder. “Allow me to educate you. This is the hemlock flower, or to give it it’s official name, Conium maculatum.”
The photograph showed a picture of a weedy looking white flower with tiny petals scattered around the top of the stalks.
“Sir,” Patil walked into the room, looking at Blake intently.
“Hang on, Mini,” Blake said, holding the photo of the flowers and frowning.
They looked familiar but he couldn’t remember where he had seen them before.
“They’re part of the carrot family, believe it or not,” Sharon continued. “This particular species can be found all over Europe.”
“Yeah,” Patil said, peering over Blake’s shoulder to look at the picture. “Including in Timothy Croydon’s garden.”
Blake stared open mouthed at her. “That was it! That’s where I’d seen them before!”
“Anyway,” Sharon said again. “Ingested, they can cause respiratory failure and produce a potentially fatal neuromuscular blockage. And the poison doesn’t immediately show up on a post mortem examination, unless we’re looking for it, so from a forensic perspective it can look like a simple heart attack, as it can for anybody witnessing somebody dying from it.”
They stood in silence for a few moments taking in the information.
“So,” Gardiner said finally. “Timothy Croydon is our man?
“Was.”
They all turned to Mattison as he walked back into the room.
“What?” Blake asked.
“That was the hospital. Timothy died in the ambulance.”
