Cover Up

by Patricia Hall

  ‘It’s very impressive,’ she said, gazing at the soaring circular centrepiece of the structure. ‘Reaching to heaven, I suppose?’ Reilly looked at her sharply.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear you so cynical, my child,’ he said.

  ‘I have good reason,’ she said, and quickly made her way down the steps again, not wanting to elaborate. ‘I’ll make my own way back to the hotel,’ she said. ‘And please don’t pester my mother about me or Tom. She’s not responsible for the paths we have taken.’

  ‘I’m sure she will remember you both in her prayers, as I will,’ Reilly said, obviously angry as she turned away and began to march determinedly back towards Brownlow Hill and her hotel, where she hoped Harry Barnard would be waiting. The sooner she got away from Liverpool and its memories the better, she thought. It had been a mistake to come.

  TEN

  ‘Is there anyone in CID I can talk to?’ Harry Barnard asked the bored-looking uniformed sergeant on the front desk at Liverpool’s main central police station, flashing his warrant card, which at least encouraged the sergeant to sit up and take notice.

  ‘I think I saw the DCI go upstairs,’ he said. ‘Everton are playing some friendly game at Newcastle this afternoon, so he’ll be at a loose end waiting for the result in half an hour. What’s it about?’

  ‘A missing person,’ Barnard said. ‘Ask him if I can have a word, would you?’ The sergeant conducted an ostentatiously careful study of Barnard’s warrant card, then made a call on the internal phone and evidently received an affirmative answer. He pointed the visitor towards the swing doors that led to the rest of the building.

  ‘Up to the top of the stairs,’ he said. ‘DCI Strachan will meet you there.’ Barnard followed instructions and on the landing found a heavily built man in his fifties wearing slacks, a tweed sports jacket and a patterned sweater. His hair was red, his face sweaty and an unhealthy shade of pink, and his accent placed him squarely in Belfast – to such an extent that Barnard had difficulty unscrambling his tortured vowels. With an anxious expression, Strachan glanced at his watch.

  ‘What’s the score?’ Barnard asked, recognizing the symptoms of second-half anxiety which Chelsea put him through often enough.

  ‘They were two-nil down last time I heard,’ Strachan said. ‘It’s only a friendly, but even so …’

  He cast a questioning eye over Barnard.

  ‘You’re a long way from home, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from the mighty Met?’

  ‘Nothing official,’ Barnard said quickly. ‘My girlfriend’s back home in Liverpool taking some photographs for a magazine article and she’s worried about her father. He was working on the building site where there was an accident yesterday and he seems to have vanished since, so the family’s anxious. I said I would see if I could find out if you had come across him at all.’

  ‘Her father is who?’ Strachan asked and Barnard thought he could see a spark of interest in the bright-blue eyes beneath the sandy brows.

  ‘Frank O’Donnell. He was the foreman on the site, apparently, and he’s not been home since the scaffolding came down taking some builder with it. Have you had any reports about him? It would set my girlfriend’s mind at rest if I could locate him for her. I guessed you’d want to interview him about what happened at the building site, so thought you might know where she can contact him.’

  ‘If I know anything about Irish builders on the weekend, he’s probably lying dead drunk outside one of the dozens of boozers down the Scotland Road,’ Strachan said dismissively. ‘You can have a quick look at the incident book if you like, but I’ve not heard anything about O’Donnell. I expect someone would have let us know, as I’m sure we’ll want a statement out of him on Monday. Who did you say he was working for?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Barnard said. ‘But his daughter says he was working for Terry Jordan’s company.’

  ‘Was he now?’ Strachan said. ‘Well, that’s a flourishing firm these days, in spite of being run by a dodgy Fenian bastard. I’d not imagine they were cutting corners to save a few bob – they’re too big for that nonsense now they’re thick with the new regime at the town hall. So I shouldn’t think O’Donnell’s got much to worry about. His boss is well in.’

  ‘With you?’ Barnard asked and then realized that this was not a question Strachan might want to answer. The DCI’s reddening face confirmed his feeling as he wiped a film of sweat from his forehead.

  ‘There was a time when no one at the town hall would pass the time of day with Fenians like Jordan, but things have changed since Bessie Braddock and her friends took over. Isn’t there a saying about lunatics taking over the asylum? Things are better ordered in Belfast. And in this station too while I’ve got anything to do with it. Anyway, have a look in the incident book and see if your man has been noticed. As I said, we’ll be expecting to talk to him on Monday, so we’ll not have any interest in his whereabouts till then. Ask the desk sergeant to show you what you want to check.’

  ‘Thank you sir,’ Barnard said and turned away in the direction of the stairs. DCI Strachan watched him until he was out of sight, then went into his office and dialled an outside line and waited some time for the connection to be made.

  ‘Dave Strachan in Liverpool,’ he said when the connection was made. ‘How come I get a detective sergeant from London sniffing around here looking for Frankie O’Donnell? What’s that all about? Is it down to you lot or what?’ He listened to the voice at the other end of the line for some time before saying, ‘right, I’ll see what I can do.’ And then hung up abruptly. The phone rang again almost immediately and he glanced at his watch.

  ‘Three-nil?’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Useless tossers. They say it’s only a friendly, but at this rate they’ll have Liverpool winning the bloody cup next season.’

  To Kate’s relief she found Harry Barnard waiting for her in his car, parked outside the hotel. She opened the passenger door and slumped into the seat with a sigh.

  ‘You look frazzled,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Oh just stuff,’ she said. ‘My mother’s parish priest turned up and started hassling me about whether or not I was going to Mass in London. I’d forgotten how entitled they feel to nag the backsliders. Especially Father Reilly, who must have known me since I was a babe in arms. And of course the fact that Tom is what Tom is makes my mother feel very exposed. Anyway, I lied my way out of trouble to save my mam’s embarrassment and then he offered me a lift back to town which I stupidly accepted and he took me up to see the new cathedral, instead of dropping me here as he’d promised. And we had to talk to some senior man as well, so there were more interfering questions, as if they owned me. Which I suppose they think they do.’

  Barnard looked at her for a long time.

  ‘Why do you resent them so much?’ he asked. Kate looked down at her hands for a long time before replying, her face pale and closed.

  ‘How much do you know about the Catholic Church?’ she asked at length. Barnard shrugged.

  ‘Not a lot,’ he said. ‘When I was a kid we were hardly aware of Catholics. They went to different schools, so I don’t think I ever met any. Where I lived there were lots of Jews and they came in for some stick in the East End, but I don’t remember much about Catholics.’

  ‘Well Liverpool was different,’ Kate said. ‘There were lots of us and nobody liked us very much, mainly because most of us were Irish. And since the Protestants were Ulster Unionists, it was political as well as religious. Anyway, the Church made every effort to keep us separate and tightly controlled, so it wasn’t just the Prods who were being standoffish. And on the whole, people put up with it. They felt protected by the Church when no one else would protect them. In return, I suppose, no one made waves, no one asked questions. That wasn’t just discouraged, it could be jumped on from a great height. So if anything went wrong inside the Church, it would not be talked about.’

  ‘And things went wrong for you?’ Barnard asked,
realizing that Kate’s hands were shaking and she had gone very pale.

  ‘You have your first confession and communion when you’re about seven or eight, when you’re supposed to be old enough to understand what it’s all about. Before that there are classes to prepare you for the big event – and it is a big event, with the boys in white suits, the girls in bridal dresses, presents, parties, and all the family celebrating. My mother was busy with the two little ones, and I can’t remember my father taking much interest if he was there at all. So when it all went wrong I didn’t know who to tell, who to talk to, or who would believe me.’

  ‘How did it go wrong?’ Barnard asked quietly. ‘What was the problem?’

  ‘Father Jerome was the problem,’ Kate said. ‘A young priest, Father Reilly’s assistant, who took some of the classes. He began to keep me and Tom back when the others had gone home. He said we both needed some extra help with the catechism and when we were alone with him he began to behave oddly, said we were to treat him like a big brother, a big brother in God. And then in the holidays we went with a few of the others on a special visit to a Catholic boarding school, although my mother said she couldn’t afford it. But somehow we got paid for by someone. It was only later – when Tom told me what happened during that visit – I guessed it was Father Jerome who’d paid.’

  Barnard knew instinctively that he was not going to like what Kate seemed determined to tell him.

  ‘So what did happen?’

  ‘Father Jerome was always very friendly. I thought he was wonderful because I’d never had much attention from my dad. If you were upset, Father Jerome would put an arm round you, try to cheer you up. Boy or girl, it didn’t seem to matter to him. But after that trip Tom went very quiet and seemed to be avoiding people at the classes – not just Jerome but all the priests. He seemed to have frozen up inside. He wasn’t the same.’

  Barnard gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, anger threatening to overwhelm him though he knew that was not what Kate needed just now.

  ‘He told you, though, in the end?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘He told me, much later on, that Father Jerome had been pestering him all through the classes and that on that trip, when we were away from home, he used to come for him at night.’

  ‘He interfered with him, raped him maybe?’

  ‘I was too young to even know that word, but it sounded as if he did. Tom was even more confused than I was. Not long after, Father Jerome moved on to another parish and we didn’t know who to tell, or even if there was anything to tell. We hadn’t got the words to talk about it.’

  ‘And no one would have believed you, anyway,’ Barnard said bitterly, thumping the steering wheel. ‘Two young children against the might of the Catholic Church? Not a chance! And then?’

  ‘We got all dressed up and made our first communion and got our missals and rosaries, and in the photographs both Tom and I look miserable. I knew something was very wrong, but I didn’t really understand what it was at that stage. Later – after he told me, in detail – I tried to have as little as possible to do with the Church, but it’s not easy in a tight-knit community like Scottie Road. My father was not around much and my mother was preoccupied with my sisters. Bernadette was a sickly child, and until the Health Service started you had to pay for doctors …’

  ‘So you bottled it up?’

  ‘We both did. And as soon as I could, I stopped going to Mass and tried to find a way to get out of Liverpool. Tom did the same.’

  ‘Less successfully than you did,’ Barnard said.

  ‘And he had more problems with sex later. As you know.’

  ‘You think the two things are connected?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate sighed. ‘How can you tell? Anyway, that’s enough of this old history. There’s nothing can be done about it now. I’ll go and get changed.’

  Barnard sat for a moment in silence, breathing hard until the shock of what Kate had told him dissipated slightly. It was commonly accepted – tolerated even – that there were men who sought out children for their gratification. Choir masters, scout leaders, boarding-school teachers were routinely mocked and suspected, but little or no action was demanded. In the sleazy world of vice, with which he was only too familiar, child victims sometimes emerged and were dealt with without much sensitivity. But he had never heard an accusation against a priest before. And he very much doubted whether Father Jerome could be traced all these years later. The Church, he guessed, would look after its own.

  He twiddled the tuner on his car radio but found nothing much of interest apart from the news. He’d cheered on the latest attempts to break the BBC’s domination of pop music, which had until recently remained unchallenged, but needless to say there was no access to Radio Luxembourg or the newly fledged Radio Caroline on a radio as limited as his. He was surprised when Kate reappeared, still wearing the same clothes and looking furious.

  ‘Problem?’ he asked.

  ‘Someone’s been in my room,’ Kate said. ‘I picked up the key in reception but when I got upstairs my door was unlocked, and my stuff’s been spread about all over the place.’

  Barnard got out of the car.

  ‘Have they taken anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Difficult to tell,’ Kate said. ‘Come up and have a look. They can’t object to letting a police officer in, can they?’ He followed her back into the hotel and stopped at the reception desk with his warrant card in his hand.

  ‘Someone’s been into Miss O’Donnell’s room while she was out,’ he said. ‘I’ll take a quick look round to see if anything’s been taken. You didn’t see anyone you didn’t know going upstairs did you?’ The pale girl in a mini-skirt and tight-fitting sweater shook her head.

  ‘Do you want me to dial 999 for the bizzies?’ she asked, a faint spark of interest in her eyes.

  ‘I’ll have a look first,’ Barnard said. ‘I don’t suppose you’d want a fuss if nothing’s been stolen.’

  She nodded doubtfully and watched as Kate led the way upstairs to her small room on the third floor.

  ‘You know me,’ she said, trying to keep her agitation at bay. ‘I’m a fairly tidy person. I put my personal stuff in the chest of drawers and tucked the suitcase under the bed. And look at it now!’ Her belongings seemed to have been flung anywhere and everywhere across the bed and dressing table, her make-up and hair gear upended on top of the chest.

  ‘Is anything missing?’ Barnard asked. ‘Any of your photographic stuff?’ Kate shook her head.

  ‘I had my camera with me and the exposed films. All in my handbag. If that was what they were looking for, they won’t have found anything. But why would they be looking for them? What would anyone want with a series of pictures of buildings that aren’t not very interesting except in the context of what they replaced? Not many of them are even very beautiful. They wouldn’t win any architecture prizes, except perhaps for the Catholic cathedral and that’s not even finished yet.’

  ‘And nothing else is missing? You didn’t leave any money up here?’ Kate looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘You don’t know much about this city if you can ask that. Things may be looking up, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to nail anything valuable down any more. When I was at college, some of my mates lived in digs and they were always getting things nicked. The scallies used to make regular raids and nick expensive gear – cameras, musical instruments and stuff.’

  ‘So do you want to report it?’ Barnard asked. Kate shrugged and began to gather up her possessions and pick up the bedclothes, which had been flung on the floor, but then she drew a sharp breath.

  ‘What?’ Barnard asked sharply and Kate, pale-faced and shaking, pointed beneath the blankets at a dark-red stain.

  ‘Is that blood?’ she whispered. Barnard picked up the thin wool and felt it, and then sniffed it cautiously.

  ‘It’s damp, so it’s recent,’ he said. ‘But no, it’s not blood. Some sort of paint, I think. But it says one thing – som
eone was very keen to give you a scare. Have you any idea who that might be?’

  Kate shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know …’ she said. ‘First my father disappears and now it seems someone’s got it in for me, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘I nearly forgot to tell you,’ Barnard said. ‘I called in the nick to see if they had any idea where your father was.’ Kate looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘That was a brave move,’ she said. ‘And maybe a dangerous one. I don’t think you understand the relationship between the police and the Irish up here.’

  ‘It sounds a bit like the police in Notting Hill and the West Indian community.’

  ‘More or less,’ she said. ‘Though it’s been going on longer here. Much longer. We were the West Indians a hundred years ago, when people came from Ireland to escape the famine.’

  ‘That’s all old history, surely?’ Barnard said, before realizing that for Kate’s family it probably wasn’t.

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll tell you when I find out where my father is.’

  ‘Well, they weren’t completely unhelpful,’ he said quickly. ‘They let me have a look at their incident book, and the details of the accident are all in there. Including your father’s name as a witness. He’s down to be interviewed on Monday morning. They’re not really interested in where he is between then and now. But at least they’ll take an interest on Monday if he doesn’t turn up. I guess that’s the best you can hope for in the meantime. Sorry if that’s not much help.’

  ‘It won’t cheer my mother up much, will it?’ Kate said.

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ Barnard said.

  They drove back down the hill into the city centre and parked near the Pier Head. It was still busy.

  ‘Do you fancy an Irish pub?’ she asked. ‘I went to one with Tom. There’s music and the food’s good.’

  ‘Let’s give it a try,’ Barnard said easily and Kate led the way into the narrow streets behind the docks. They were early enough to find a table, and by the time their food arrived the musicians were tuning up and the noise was loud enough to make much conversation impossible. Which, Kate guessed, suited Barnard as well as it did her. She was too preoccupied with her family’s problems to give any thought to her own, and she knew that she had shocked him by telling him why she had abandoned the Church. But when the musicians took a break and conversation stood a chance again, Barnard glanced at her inquiringly.