Vow of Penance

by Veronica Black

  ‘You’ve been up to the convent today?’

  ‘I took some books over that Father Stephens had promised to lend to Sister David. I was on my way back to town when I met Sister Jerome coming in just outside the main gates.’

  ‘Both of you being in cars?’

  ‘I was driving the car from the presbytery. Sister Jerome was on foot. She’d paid off the taxi before reaching the convent gates in order to save money. She didn’t mention having had any trouble with the convent car but then I didn’t think to ask and we only exchanged a few words.’

  ‘What is she like – this Sister Jerome?’

  ‘Not easy to get to know,’ Sister Joan said, adding fairly, ‘but then I’ve had very little contact with her since I went down to help out at the presbytery so soon after she arrived.’

  ‘And you never met Miss Potter or Miss Hugh, of course.’ He frowned.

  ‘No. You don’t want me to—?’ She nodded towards the garage, her face tense.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Sister. I’ll have to talk to Sister Jerome but that can wait until the morning.’

  ‘It will have to wait,’ she reminded him. ‘The grand silence starts at nine-thirty.’

  ‘How do you manage down at the presbytery?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘About the grand silence? I keep it as far as I can, but if I’m required to speak then I do so. The rule has to be applied intelligently, you know, and not followed slavishly.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ There was a faint smile on his face.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a lecture,’ she said, smiling back.

  ‘Give me a moment to have a word with the team here and I’ll drive you back to the presbytery. May I leave it to you to break the news to Father Stephens?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She stood quietly as he strode away. Arc lights had been erected for the police photographer and two ambulance attendants had gone in with a stretcher. Poor Stephanie Hugh was arriving in a manner she couldn’t possibly have envisaged.

  ‘Petrie will keep an eye on things here,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said, returning to her side. ‘Come on and I’ll give you a lift back.’

  Getting into his patrol car, fastening her seat belt, she framed a request.

  ‘I’m wondering if it might be possible for me to talk to Sister Jerome. She may clam up if she’s suddenly confronted by a police officer.’

  ‘Why should she if she hasn’t anything to hide?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, come on now!’ she expostulated. ‘Nuns simply aren’t used to being involved no matter how innocently in something like this. And we all have something to hide. As soon as we are faced with questioning old guilts about completely unrelated matters come flooding into our minds. You must know that.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you’d have anything to hide, Sister.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t born wearing a habit and veil,’ she said lightly. ‘Mind you, I’ve never done anything truly dreadful but then who are we to weigh our sins? That’s why Lent is so useful – to try to redress the balance a little bit. Sorry! I’m lecturing again. I never used to – it must be old age creeping on or something. Detective Sergeant, you went up north today. Was it to find out if there was any connection between the body found by the railway track there and Miss Potter’s body?’

  ‘Exactly that.’ He nodded approval. ‘I could have had the information phoned or faxed to me but I was due for a day off and I wanted to spend a couple of hours sniffing around the problem. The local police were very co-operative but they still haven’t identified the victim. They think it likely that he was on his way to catch a train when he was lured into a nearby tunnel – there’s a bit of disused line there, and killed. You wouldn’t have wanted to see the extent of the injuries, Sister.’

  ‘And then stripped?’

  ‘And then stripped. There must have been a lot of blood on his clothes. On the clothes of his assailant too. They’ll find out who the poor devil was. Dental checks, reconstruction of the facial features, but it takes time.’

  ‘Is there a serial killer going round? A psychopath?’

  ‘That’s the general trend of thinking. I don’t go all the way with it myself.’

  ‘Surely anyone who’d commit such deeds must be mentally deranged?’ Sister Joan objected.

  ‘Oh, certainly, but the average serial killer kills for the pleasure of killing, to release some dreadful inner tension, to achieve a sense of power – that sort of thing. And he uses the same method every time. He also wants unconsciously to boast of his cleverness so he sends tape recordings, writes letters to the police or to the newspapers. If these deaths are all connected, and I’ve a feeling that they are, then he doesn’t kill at random. He picks his victims very carefully and he uses the most convenient method available at the time.’

  ‘An axe?’ She shivered slightly.

  ‘A short-handled axe and possibly a hammer as well. The injuries on the first victim suggest that. But Mrs Fairly was slipped a dose of Valium in her tea and whisky, and then injected with insulin. We might have missed that altogether if you hadn’t been so certain that she hadn’t committed suicide.’

  ‘But Sylvia Potter and Stephanie Hugh were killed with an axe again?’

  ‘One hard blow with the cutting edge,’ he said briefly. ‘There would have been very little blood in both cases. Miss Potter was probably killed while she was on the train and then pushed out while the train was slowing down as it went round the bend. I don’t know about Miss Hugh yet.’

  ‘And no attempt was made to hide their identities.’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Then perhaps the first one wasn’t connected to the others?’

  ‘Which gives us two people running round with the same or an identical weapon. My instinct tells me that isn’t so.’

  They were at the end of the road, the bulk of the church looming up ahead. She experienced a sudden longing to jump out of the car and run into the sanctuary, to wash her hands of the events taking place around her.

  ‘I think your instinct tells you rightly,’ she said. ‘Would you stop here, please? I don’t want to alarm Father Stephens by being brought home in a police car.’

  He slowed and stopped, turning his head to look at her in the light from the dashboard.

  ‘I’ll delay my visit to the convent until late tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a word with Sister Jerome?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

  ‘And you’ll tell me if you have any information for me?’ His glance was too keen. She fiddled with the unclasping of the seat belt before she answered.

  ‘I may have some fresh information for you already, but first I must obtain Mother Dorothy’s permission to tell you since she has given instructions it’s not to be mentioned. I’m sure that in the light of recent events she’ll rescind the order.’

  ‘If she realizes that she may be withholding valuable information then I am sure she will,’ he said. ‘Is that everything then, Sister?’

  There was the handbag, she thought, now safely bestowed with Padraic Lee and the parcel she had wrapped up so neatly and thrust back into the refuse bin, but if she talked about those then he would insist that she abandon her plan.

  ‘There isn’t anything else for the moment, Detective Sergeant Mill,’ she said formally.

  ‘Very well, Sister. Goodnight then. I’m sorry your day has ended so unpleasantly. You’ll inform Father Stephens?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Goodnight.’

  Getting out of the car she walked rapidly to the presbytery gate, glancing back as she turned in at the path and seeing that the car was still there. Did Detective Sergeant Mill believe there was danger for her too or was he mentally scolding her for being unforthcoming?

  She let herself in and went through to the dining-room where the two priests sat with a pot of coffee between them.

  ‘I made the coffee for all of us, Sister.’ Father Stephens looked up expectantl
y. ‘Oh, didn’t you wait for the later train?’

  ‘Miss Hugh won’t be coming, Father.’ Sister Joan said.

  She had spoken quietly but something in her expression or attitude must have alerted him because he half rose from his place, darted a look at Father Timothy, and said, ‘Sit down, Sister, and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. You have bad news?’

  ‘Very bad, Father.’ She accepted the chair and the coffee without argument. ‘She must have either left the train before the proper stop or caught an earlier one or perhaps – I don’t know yet what happened. Her body was found in the boot of a car in a garage on the outskirts of town. Constable Petrie very kindly told me of it.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Father Stephens said softly, sitting down again abruptly. ‘Dear God, but what is going on? Mrs Fairly, Miss Potter, Miss Hugh – that recent terrible business up north – the world’s run mad.’

  ‘When discipline fails then anarchy takes over,’ Father Timothy said. His face was grey-white and he spoke hoarsely.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Mill believes all the deaths are connected,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘But how can they be?’ Father Stephens looked puzzled.

  ‘I don’t know, Father. It’s just a hunch he has.’ She drank the coffee, hardly realizing that it was a vast improvement on the station coffee until she had almost drained the cup.

  ‘It must be near your grand silence, Sister,’ Father Timothy said. ‘You’ll be glad of a rest, I daresay.’

  His tone was kinder than usual even if he did contrive to make it sound as she had wearied them out with chattering.

  ‘You’d better get to your bed, Sister. Father and I can deal with the cups,’ Father Stephens said.

  ‘I’ll rinse them out and wash them properly in the morning,’ she compromised, rising and piling them on a tray. ‘Good night, Father Stephens. Good night, Father Timothy.’

  An indeterminate murmur from the two of them was her only response. Carrying the tray through to the kitchen she set it on the draining board and softly unbolted the back door. A low buzz of conversation from the dining-room told her that for a few moments she would be unobserved. She stepped out into the yard, and lifted the lid of the bin. In the light streaming from the kitchen door she could see the shiny black bags and the square edges of the paler parcel. Nobody had taken it yet. And one day remained before the refuse was collected.

  Going back into the kitchen she bolted the door, ran cold water over the cups, switched off the light and went slowly upstairs, feeling as if every bone in her body was aching. It would have been nice to sink into the too soft bed, pull the covers over her head and abdicate from the world for a while, but while she slept someone might come – and if she stayed awake all night she would be fit for nothing in the morning. Unpinning her veil, taking off the ankle-length grey habit which was the Order’s concession to modern fashion she ran her fingers through the black hair that curled over her head, pulled on her nightdress and knelt to pray – for the four who were dead, for her own safety, for an end to the killings.

  ‘Will you be needing the car this morning, Father?’ she greeted Father Stephens as he went into the dining-room where boiled eggs and toast were waiting.

  ‘I’d not planned to use it, Sister. I think that both Father Timothy and I should stay here in case the police call in, though there’s nothing more we can tell them. Why do you want the car?’

  ‘I’ve some business with Mother Dorothy up at the convent.’

  ‘Very well.’ He frowned slightly and then nodded. ‘I take it your trip up to the convent is essential?’

  ‘Yes, Father. I’ll be back in time to make your lunch.’

  ‘We shall eat the rest of the vegetable stew,’ he said, somewhat gloomily.

  She had been a few minutes late for mass that morning, she reflected, as she stacked plates and drank her own coffee. Father Stephens had offered it, seeming preoccupied as if his thoughts were being pulled unwillingly in a different direction. Father Timothy had come back from the convent and stalked in without a word. She doubted if he had mentioned this latest killing to Mother Dorothy or any of the sisters. He would probably regard it as idle gossip, she thought with a little grimace. It was no use pretending. She didn’t like Father Timothy.

  She was still thinking about her unfortunate inability to like certain people when she drove in through the convent gates, slowing to a crawl in case Alice was around.

  Nobody seemed to be around. She parked the car and went in through the back door. The kitchen was neat and tidy with no sign of Sister Teresa and no Sister Perpetua popped her freckled face round the door when she went into the passage that led past office-cum-pharmacy and the infirmary.

  ‘Sister Gabrielle? Sister Mary Concepta?’ She looked into the infirmary and was confronted by two empty basket chairs.

  Walking through into the polished hall she stood in the silence, hearing her own quickening heartbeats. Someone was walking along the upper gallery at the head of the stairs. To the right the door to the storerooms was blocked off. To the left an archway gave on to the narrow corridor that led between the cells. It was from that direction the footsteps came.

  ‘Good morning, Sister Joan.’ Mother Dorothy paused and looked down.

  ‘Mother Dorothy!’ Sister Joan let out her pent-up breath.

  ‘Whom did you expect to see?’ the prioress enquired, starting down the stairs.

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t find anybody.’

  ‘They are all in chapel. The Friday meditation,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten about that already?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mother! I am not thinking straight this morning, that’s all. When I couldn’t find anybody I couldn’t help thinking of the Marie Celeste,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘You fancied we had all been lifted out of the enclosure by a sea monster, Sister? What an uncomfortably vivid imagination you must have,’ Mother Dorothy said dryly. ‘No, they are all meditating in chapel save for Sister Katherine who is suffering from a violent migraine so was persuaded to go and lie down. I slipped out to see if she was feeling better. She is sleeping quietly so we’ll leave her to recover as nature intends. Have you come to join in the meditation?’

  ‘No, Mother. I have some further news for you,’ Sister Joan said.

  Mother Dorothy’s gaze sharpened as she reached the foot of the staircase but she said only, ‘You had better come into my parlour. I must rejoin the rest of the community very soon.’

  Sister Joan went after her superior into the clean, bare parlour. Though the day was cold there was, as usual, no fire in the handsome fireplace where a basket of logs and everlasting flowers filled the hearth space, imparting the only touch of gaiety.

  ‘Dominus vobiscum,’ Mother Dorothy said, seating herself. ‘What news, Sister?’

  ‘Et cum spiritu tuo,’ Sister Joan responded automatically. ‘There’s been another murder, Mother.’

  ‘Another—?’ Mother Dorothy’s sandy eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. ‘You do believe in coming to the point, don’t you?’ she said dryly. ‘You had better explain.’

  ‘Mrs Fairly, the housekeeper, was killed by an injection of insulin,’ Sister Joan recapitulated swiftly. ‘The overdose of Valium – she didn’t drink it all. It wasn’t suicide, Mother Dorothy. Someone killed her. Her niece was struck on the head while she was on her way here and apparently thrown out of the train. Yesterday I went to meet Miss Potter’s friend who was coming down from the north. Father Stephens had invited her to stay at the presbytery. She wasn’t on the train. Her body had been found in the boot of a – a car in a garage on the outskirts of town. She’d been hit on the back of the head too – the police think probably by an axe.’

  ‘Nobody from the police station has informed me of any of this.’ Mother Dorothy looked puzzled. ‘Indeed although the information is very shocking and disturbs me greatly I fail to see why they should. It isn’t our direct concern.’

  ‘She w
as found in the boot of the convent car,’ Sister Joan said.

  The prioress drew her breath in sharply and clasped her hands together above the flat, shining surface of the desk.

  ‘Sister Jerome had leave to use the car yesterday,’ she said. ‘She had to go further afield than she intended in order to buy the gardening implements that Sister Martha needed. On her way back into town she noticed the clutch wasn’t acting correctly and very sensibly turned in at the nearest garage, left it to be repaired and phoned for a taxi back. She dismissed the taxi before reaching the convent gates because she didn’t want to spend too much money. She told me all this.’

  ‘She didn’t say anything to me when I saw her,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘Why on earth should she?’ Mother Dorothy shot her an icy look. ‘Sister Jerome is not obliged to explain her actions to you, Sister. She is in my charge, not yours.’

  ‘Yes, Mother Dorothy. I beg pardon.’ Sister Joan flushed darkly.

  ‘Since you will not be here for general confession tomorrow,’ Mother Dorothy said, still frowning, ‘make sure you go to the Sacrament of Penance in the church, Sister. I take it the police will be coming here then?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Mill said he would drive over later this morning but that I might visit first. I thought Sister Jerome might feel naturally more inclined to talk to a fellow nun than to a police officer.’

  ‘Sister Jerome will answer truthfully any questions put to her by the police just as any other member of the public is obliged to do,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘You surely can’t imagine that our lay sister is travelling round the country hitting people over the head with an axe? The notion is ludicrous!’

  ‘Mother Dorothy, Sister Jerome doesn’t stay in her cell at night.’ Sister Joan’s face had paled now with temper and her blue eyes were stormy. ‘Sister Teresa and Sister Gabrielle both hear her unbolting the kitchen door and going out. They didn’t know whether to mention it to you or not. Sister Gabrielle suggested that I might get into conversation with her, but Sister Jerome isn’t the easiest person in the world to have a chat with. And I’m not suggesting that she’s killing people but when dreadful things are happening then any sort of behaviour that seems out of the ordinary surely ought to be investigated. I’m sorry if I speak too frankly, Mother, but that’s how I feel.’