‘Really? John?’
‘Could be our man. Either way, someone needs nicking. You can’t have a murder announced on national news and nobody arrested. He has a motive, he thinks the deceased contributed to his divorce and he’s tried to get his hands on confidential evidence numerous times.’
‘I’m just not sure he’s the type.’ Saying it out loud to a sergeant sounded even more stupid.
‘It’s more than enough to question him.’ It didn’t sit well with Sarah. Men like Dales were prevalent in the police service; she’d seen her fair share in the short time she’d been there. In her experience, men like Dales came from a generation of police officers that bent the few rules they had and had struggled to adapt to modern times. Policing culture had evolved since their time, but when the chips were down, the officers seen as liabilities under a modern spotlight were venerated as the ones who could get the job done. She didn’t have the experience or the background to disagree, and it was unlikely he’d want to discuss it with her anyway.
‘Before we do that, Sarge, there’s someone else I think we should talk to. You may have better luck with him than I did.’
THIRTEEN
‘We’re not going to be here too long. All of this has got to be moved on pretty quickly.’ Dales knocked on Tom’s front door.
Sarah nodded. There was no point in arguing. It seemed Dales had already decided how the case was going to pan out. It was enough to get him to even speak to Tom, and part of her believed there was a chance he’d understand what she meant after he had. She hoped it wouldn’t take long for Dales to get a sense about Tom, that feeling she had whenever she spoke to him.
‘I hope this isn’t a waste of time.’ The front door opened. ‘Tom Bletchard? DS Dales. This is PC Gladstone.’
‘Oh yes, we’ve met. Hello. How can I help?’ Tom’s dressing gown diluted his normally intimidating nature.
‘Can we come in for a chat?’
‘Of course.’ They sat down in the living room. Whereas Sally decided to maintain her house in the style in which she bought it, Tom kept up with modern conventions. Sarah sank into the black leather sofa, careful not to get so comfortable she fell off to sleep.
‘Tom, I’ve taken over the investigation into Father Michael’s murder. I’ve just come to get some background information. I hear you’ve helped try to get Sunbury back on its feet since the storm and knew the deceased well.’
‘Yes. They’re a chipper bunch here though, so I can’t take all the credit. Sarah’s been doing her best all on her own, poor thing.’ Slimeball. She heard footsteps upstairs and hoped Anne would come down, just to see what Dales made of their relationship. Most murders were as a result of domestic violence, so given his position on MCT, he’d have seen a fair few, and she was certain he’d recognise the signs the way she had. ‘I’ll just boil us some water; all this must be thirsty work.’ He left the lounge.
‘You won’t have to do that much longer, Sir. They were talking about getting the power back on just before I flew over here.’ Dales hadn’t mentioned that to Sarah. Nice to be kept in the loop, Sarge.
‘That’d be grand. It’s all starting to wear a bit thin. It’ll be nice to have some home comforts back.’ He handed them both a mug of tea. ‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m interested in your relationship with the deceased.’
‘Well. I’m not sure where to start.’ Dales didn’t give any pointers. ‘We knew each other for many, many years. Devastating news. He was a lovely man, a real genuine old-fashioned gentleman. The thought that someone wanted to hurt him is terrifying. Are you any closer to catching them?’
‘How would you describe your friendship?’ He wasn’t letting Tom twist out of his questions. She admired that.
‘Close. Anne and I have been going to church our whole lives and, as good Christians, try to be a part of the strong religious community here in Sunbury. He came here for dinner and a tipple from time to time and I went to see him regularly at church services. I guess we both appreciate spirits in our different ways.’ He smiled; Dales did not.
‘Know of anyone who disliked him? Any problems with any parishioners?’
‘No, nothing.’ He looked at Sarah. ‘Well, there is your friend.’
‘And who’s that?’ Dales jumped in before Sarah had a chance to speak.
‘John Horscroft. He’s an odd character. Drinks far too much for his own good. He’s cut from the same cloth as his father.’
‘How does that link to the deceased?’
‘He used to visit Father Michael when he was drunk. He never told me what he said, but it distressed him, whatever it was.’
‘Anyone else?’ Tom looked disappointed that Dales moved on so quickly. ‘What about Sean. Sean Willoughby?’
‘Sean? I know Sean. Not sure what he’d have to do with all this. He’s generally a quiet lad, likes the occasional drink. Why the interest in him?’ A quiet lad, a quiet nineteen stone, thirty-four-year-old lad who pummeled people’s faces in when they stepped on his made-up relationships. Sarah didn’t like being reduced to a note-taker and she was itching to question him herself, but Dales had been clear: watch and learn.
‘He have any issues with the clergy?’
‘Not that I know of. We’re not close. I may have some biscuits around here.’ Tom went into the kitchen. The top of the staircase creaked.
‘Oh, that’ll be Anne. She has trouble with the stairs at her age.’ Tom hurried back into the lounge, put a packet of Rich Teas on the coffee table and headed towards the hallway, closing the door behind him.
‘Seems okay, bit of a stiff. Doesn’t like your friend much.’ Dales looked over her notes and passed her book back with an approving nod.
‘He’s not my friend. I just think we should keep an open mind about everything. I’m going to have a listen.’ She opened the lounge door an inch and put her ear to the gap. Dales stepped into the garden and poured his tea on the azaleas.
‘Stay up here. I don’t want even want to hear your footsteps.’ Tom’s voice was faint. She waved Dales over.
‘What’s this? The big confession?’
‘Just listen. He’s a complete bastard.’
It went quiet. Dales shrugged. She put her finger to her lips. A dog barked upstairs. After a few barks, it squealed and fell silent.
‘Now just stay here.’ Tom came downstairs and they sat back down. A furry little Yorkshire terrier sprinted into the room and ran out into the garden.
‘She’s a little nightmare,’ said Tom, as he walked back into the room.
‘Your wife?’ asked Sarah.
‘The dog, Officer.’ Tom was flustered. He’d remained a calm pillar of confidence since the storm and the revelation of Father Michael’s murder, but something had got to him.
‘I’m just going to speak to Anne quickly, if that’s okay?’ Sarah was determined to find out what was going on behind all these closed doors.
‘She’s very tired, Officer. The past few days have caused great stress for both of us. She was very close to Father Michael and we haven’t been able to contact our children since the storm.’
‘I won’t be long,’ said Sarah, walking towards the door. Tom stepped into her path.
‘I have to insist. Talking to her about the murder will put in her in a lot of distress.’
‘It’s not about the murder.’
‘Then what is it about?’ She paused. She knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to say it’s about you abusing the poor woman, but the look on Dales’ face told her it wasn’t the time to play that card.
‘Her welfare. I just want to see if there’s any help we can offer.’
‘I can take care of her welfare. I’d say you both have your hands full as it is.’ He opened his arms and gestured them back to their chairs. ‘Finished your tea already? This all must be thirsty work. I’ll boil some more water.’
‘That’s okay, it’s no trouble,’ said Dales.
‘Were you aware h
e kept journals of his confessions?’ asked Sarah, watching Tom’s face for any involuntary reaction to the question.
‘No. Not at all. Is that what you found at his house? What did they say?’
‘Was he up to anything else he shouldn’t have been? Anything the church would have frowned on?’ asked Dales.
‘Not that he told me. I’d like to know a little more before answering anymore questions. These books –’
‘These are pretty standard questions for a murder enquiry, sir; I’m just trying to establish a motive, a reason someone would want to harm him. There’s not much more I can tell you at this stage.’
‘I see the two of you learned to sing at the same choir.’ Tom smirked.
The dog stared inside from the patio, a green rubber ball in his mouth. ‘What breed is she? He?’ she asked.
‘Yorkshire terrier. Anne’s very fond of her. I’d happily have her play in the road all day, if you get my meaning,’ said Tom. His sinister joke seemed to appeal to Dales’ dark humour. She stepped into the garden and crouched in front of the dog. The garden was thin and long with a small, neatly-trimmed lawn taking over where the patio ended. She looked around for sharp implements, crowbars, claw hammers, anything that could have been used to jimmy Father Michael’s door open, but there wasn’t anything in sight. Mythical master criminals had little basis in reality and clues were commonly found in plain sight. Not this time, she thought.
‘My wife’s the same. Cats though. We’ve got four cats. I’d shoot the lot of them. Just smelly, hungry, attention-seeking, fur balls really.’ She couldn’t tell if Dales was deliberately having a very dull conversation in order to give her the chance to have a nose around. Tom was taken in. His desire to charm and avoid any serious questions gave her the opportunity she needed.
She took the ball from the dog’s mouth and launched it to the other end of the garden. The terrier bolted after it and she followed suit. She glanced around at every corner, nook and cranny the garden had as she ran after the dog. The ball landed near the shed, just where she wanted it to. She tried looking through the windows, but they were covered in some kind of black film.
‘Officer! Are you okay?’ The terrier retrieved the ball. Sarah pulled it out; it was covered in saliva. Tom had already made it two-thirds of the way towards her whilst Dales stayed by the patio doors. An upstairs curtain twitched.
‘So, what they say about modern police officers isn’t true? Some of you can still run after criminals. Four-legged ones, at least.’ Anne made some sort of gesture towards her from the upstairs window. She couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing out of the corner of her eye and, if she looked directly at her, Tom was sure to notice.
‘This is a lovely garden. Mum used to spend so much time in hers when Dad was alive.’
Tom edged backwards towards the house; she stood still. ‘Yes, Officer, Anne used to do more out here, but she’s not so well these days. Shall we go back inside? If you’ve quite finished playing with my dog, that is.’ She was pointing at something. The shed. Tom. The flowers, the dog. Maybe even her. Sarah couldn’t tell. Tom turned around and saw her at the window; she instantly pulled the curtain.
‘Ah, she’s up again. I should go and check on her. Do come back in, Officer. You being out here may well have scared her.’ They walked back inside. Sarah held up the ball as she walked past Dales. He took a long look at the garden before following them into the house.
‘Well, it’s been lovely having you, of course, but if there isn’t anything else I can help you with, I don’t want to keep you from your important work.’ Only he could make kicking people out of his house sound so polite.
‘I’d like to speak to Anne before I go,’ asked Sarah. Dales looked off to the side and rolled his lips together.
‘Officer. She’s been through a lot. She’s in no fit state to talk about something so harrowing.’
‘I agree. We’ll call again if we need anything, sir,’ said Dales, promptly wrapping up the conversation. ‘We’ll be on our way now.’
The drive to St Peter’s was tense. Dales had made it clear he wasn’t interested in Anne’s welfare. He’d ushered Sarah away rather than let her burst through the bedroom upstairs and talk to her. Tom’s beating her now. He’s beating her right now and we’re sitting here doing nothing about it, she thought.
She pushed the car door closed against the wind. Dales flicked his lighter and after a few windswept attempts, managed to light his Marlboro red.
‘You’ve been quiet the whole way.’
‘You know he’s probably assaulting her right now?’ She didn’t want to reply, but couldn’t keep quiet.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘You think that’s a healthy relationship?’
‘I didn’t say that, I just said you don’t know that. Don’t let yourself get caught up in the what-ifs. They’ll only eat you up over time. Where’s the scene?’
They trudged through the wind. The ground was still soft, but far easier to walk on than when she was last here. The brutal injuries flashed in her mind as they came to the edge of the woods and walked the same path the killer had before them.
‘Seeing her would change your mind. She’s lifeless. Hardly speaks, and jumps at all his whims.’
‘I should introduce her to my wife.’
‘It’s not funny.’
‘You’re right, it’s not. And I’m sure you’re right about the danger she’s in, but there are ways of going about these things. What did you think was going to happen? You talk to her, she makes an allegation and we have your man in cuffs and carted to the nearest nick? That’s a nice idea, but do you want to know what would have happened? You would have marched up there, scared the shit out of her and caused her to clam up for good. And that would have made the problem worse. Much worse.’
‘That’s not necessarily true. And I wouldn’t have burst in there. If we can get her on board, there may be a lot she can tell us, a lot more than violent offences against herself. Survivors often leave for someone else. Their self-worth has been battered for so long, it sometimes takes the threat to someone else – a child, family member, or even a pet – to help them find the strength to leave.’
‘Nice speech. You think the dog’s next?’
‘I think if he’s hiding something else, Anne’s going to be our best witness.’
‘You think he’s our man?’
‘A violent, controlling nature doesn’t confine itself to one aspect of someone’s life.’
Dales stopped walking. ‘That’s what you’re going on? Is that a quote from some Student Officer textbook? Listen, I know what you’re getting at. I was new once. Yes, we’re going way back, but I know what it’s like; you see a bad guy, you want to lock him up. I get it. But there’s nothing connecting him, except that he’s an arsehole. And if you’re planning on rounding up all the arseholes you meet in this job, you’ll be knackered before you’ve left the nick.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘Stick with what you can prove. We’ve got a witness saying John fell out with the deceased before he was murdered. We’ll locate his wife, find out why she went to the priest, what he advised; we’ll question him, search his house, run his computers through the labs and see what the investigation shows. The witness gives us that starter for ten; we don’t have that with Tom.’ He’d winded her a little. His twenty-six years in job trumped her twenty-six months. Dales presented a reasonable argument and, either way, he was in charge and she was now just a note-taker, driving him around and scribbling down his conversations.
‘And the journals? The Unrepentant Man?’ It was thin, but at least she had that.
‘The journals mean very little. Without names or details, those entries could refer to anyone. We’d need the writer to explain who it was about and what it all meant. That’s not going to happen. We’d get the shortest cross-examination in history: ‘All this paedophile stuff? Is it about you?’ ‘No.’
‘Could you take this seriously?’ She was ne
w, not stupid.
‘I’m taking it very seriously and that is why I’m going to update the gov’nor with all the facts and I’m pretty certain he’ll send an arrest team over to nick John Horscroft.’
‘So, you don’t think Tom is involved at all?’
‘Tom’s a tosser. I don’t disagree there. But there’s nothing linking him to the murder. John’s covered his tracks the whole way. He broke into the potential crime scene on day one, in the company of someone else, buying him an alibi as to why his prints may be all over the place. He’s actively asked you for those notebooks time and time again, notebooks he tells you may have details of conversations his wife had with the deceased, but he’s actually worried about what they say about his own arguments with him. He comes back into town after a divorce he thinks was brought about by the priest, and a short while later that same priest is found murdered. Tom’s a tosser, but John’s our man, and the reason you don’t like it is ’cos you let him have the run of the evidence because you trusted him far too easily.’
That stung. She’d cut some corners, but Dales putting it so bluntly blew it all wide open.
‘Do you really think so?’ She felt exposed. She felt more alone now than she had all week. Dale’s words made her question everything, not just the events of this week, but her career choice, her decision-making, her common sense.
‘You read those journals with Tom in mind. It clouded your judgement. It’s what the DI thinks that counts and I know which horse I’m backing.’ They arrived at the burial site. There wasn’t much to see and she dutifully took out her notebook and waited for him to start dictating. She wasn’t really there. She was sitting in an office in the near future in front of a man with a crown and pip on his shoulders, she was handing in her badge, she was telling Mark she’d called her old job and she was putting on her business suit ready for a day answering the phones in the call centre.
‘….by ten square feet. I don’t think there’s much else to this.’ He took some photographs on a small digital camera. ‘The forensics team will want a look at it along with the body.’
A Journal of Sin Page 16
