The old nun’s face was as white as the sheets on which she lay. Her long silver hair was combed neatly, with a parting down the middle; her face was a crevice of peaks and troughs; her mouth devoid of teeth and her lips ashen. Lottie had checked before arriving and knew Sister Augusta was the same age as her mother, Rose, but the similarity ended there. Cancer was eating the nun from the inside out, and from what Lottie remembered of Adam’s illness, she didn’t think she had much time left on earth.
‘Do you mind if I have a chat with you?’ She pulled up a low-backed chair and sat beside the bed.
‘Get me a drink first.’
‘Sure.’
She found a nurse and returned with a jug. She poured and held the glass to the nun’s lips.
‘I’m not an invalid,’ Sister Augusta snapped, ‘but thank you.’
When the nun was settled, Lottie said, ‘I’d like to talk about Cara Dunne.’
‘She never came.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. She comes every week. I might look dead to you, but I’m not there yet. I know about everything going on here, no matter how much it might look to you that I’m on the way out.’
‘I didn’t think that at all.’
‘Your expression says you did. Someone belonging to you died of cancer.’
Lottie took a deep breath. She didn’t want to talk about Adam. It was still raw. Too raw. Even five years later. But she found herself replying, ‘My husband.’
‘God rest his soul. It’s an awful disease. I pray every hour of the day for God to take me. To take away this pain. I think he wants me to serve out my purgatory on earth, so that I can fly straight to heaven.’ The nun cackled a half-laugh.
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ Lottie began.
‘Cara’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘When she didn’t arrive yesterday, I knew something had happened. And then poor Nurse Heffernan jumped off the roof.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘That other nice nurse. What’s he called?’ A spindly finger tapped the side of her head, and before Lottie could supply the name, Sister Augusta said, ‘Nurse Hughes. He told me to call him Alan, but I’m old school, you know.’
A racking cough split the air, and Lottie looked around for a box of tissues to hand to the nun. The room was barer than a cell.
‘How did she die?’ Sister Augusta said when her coughing had subsided.
‘I’m sorry to say that at first it looked like she killed herself.’
‘But not now? Is that what you’re telling me?’
Lottie gave the nun a half-smile. Sister Augusta’s brain was still quick, even if her body was failing her.
‘She was murdered.’
‘I see.’ A series of slow nods followed.
‘Can you tell me anything about Cara to help me understand why someone would want to harm her?’
Deep rattles accompanied the nun’s breaths. Lottie waited.
‘I’m sure there are lots of people who’ll be happy she’s gone. Made life hell for some.’
‘In what way?’
‘Ruled the classroom, she did.’ Sister Augusta cackled as if this was funny.
‘Oh.’
‘When she was a child, I mean. I don’t know anything about what she was like as a teacher, but I’d say she hadn’t changed much.’
‘Did you teach her?’
‘No, but I heard.’
‘She was a tough kid, then?’
‘She could stand her ground.’
‘Do you know of anyone who might have held a grudge and killed her?’
‘I don’t know. But she was hard. That was the old way. Not now. Cara said that’s why there are so many delinquents around.’
Lottie scratched the side of her head in confusion. ‘Were you friends?’
‘No.’
‘But she visited you every week, didn’t she?’
‘This might sound like the ramblings of an irrational old nun, but I think she wanted to watch me die.’
Lottie stared at the saliva gathering in a white streak at the edge of Sister Augusta’s lips. ‘That sounds a little unchristian.’
‘You’d have to have known her. She was damaged.’
‘How?’
‘I can’t recall.’
Lottie was beginning to think Sister Augusta was losing her mind as well as her life.
‘Did you know she’d been engaged?’
‘Everyone knew. She flashed that diamond around like she was God’s gift. It was like she had accomplished some great feat. If she’d climbed Croagh Patrick, that would have been an accomplishment. She was a silly girl. Didn’t even do that well for herself in the love stakes.’
‘You knew Steve O’Carroll?’
‘Never met him. The way Cara talked about him, I thought he was the greatest doormat ever invented.’
That didn’t correspond with Lottie’s only experience of O’Carroll. ‘What was Cara like after they broke up?’
‘Dark and dangerous. Her eyes, they were like black bullets. If someone could spit fire, she could.’
‘I heard she turned to religion.’
‘She turned to the devil himself.’
Confusion reigned inside Lottie’s skull, causing her to scratch her head again. ‘Did anyone make threats against her?’
Sister Augusta closed her eyes, her head sinking further into the pillows. ‘I don’t know for sure. A few weeks ago, she arrived in a fluster. I don’t think she had anyone else to talk to. She offloaded it all on me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Something about meeting someone. Watch out for the past, she said. It catches up with you.’
‘You think it might have had something to do with her teaching?’
‘It was more personal than that.’
‘Her ex-fiancé?’
Sister Augusta began to cough uncontrollably. Lottie held the glass to her lips and allowed the nun to sip until her breathing returned to something akin to normal.
‘Talk to Father Curran. He might help you.’
‘Father Curran?’
‘He lives in the village. He was to celebrate the sacrament of marriage for poor Nurse Heffernan today.’
‘Okay. Did he know Cara as well?’
The nun seemed to have a faraway gaze in her eyes. She was staring somewhere over Lottie’s shoulder. Lottie glanced behind her, but there was no one there.
‘The little girl,’ Sister Augusta said. ‘Nurse Heffernan’s daughter. Where is she?’
As another bout of coughing engulfed the nun, Lottie felt she was on a Ferris wheel, she’d been going round in so many circles. ‘Lily is missing.’
The nun resumed her uneven breathing but said nothing. Just a slight nod of her head told Lottie she’d heard her.
‘Are you okay?’ Standing up, she looked for a bell to call a nurse.
Sister Augusta spoke then. Her voice clear but weak.
‘It’s all about the child.’ She closed her eyes. ‘All about the child.’
‘Tell me. Please,’ Lottie said, frantically.
But the woman had slipped into a deep sleep.
Boyd walked in a semicircle outside the main door. He lit up his second cigarette of the day, having abandoned his e-cig, and watched as the SOCOs finalised their work. A band of uniforms were carrying out a fingertip search of the area with long-handled tongs. Boyd thought they were wasting their time. They were dealing with someone meticulous and careful. Someone who planned.
In his trouser pocket, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and frowned as he answered.
‘How’s it going, Sean?’ he said. ‘Did your mother flay you alive last night?’
‘No, but she’s unbearable. Can I ask you something?’
‘Go ahead, bud.’
‘Can I live with you? Only for a while. A day or two. That’s all.’
Boyd took a deep breath. He had asked Lottie to
marry him, and he knew her kids would be part of the package. But he wasn’t their father, and anyway, he wasn’t about to step on her toes over her son.
‘Sean, you need to talk to your mother. Tell her how you’re feeling. She understands.’
‘No she doesn’t. You do.’
A thought struck Boyd. ‘Sean, are you supposed to be in school?’
‘You know what? You’re even worse than her. Always on about school and homework. I have to live too, you know. Thanks for nothing.’
‘Sean … Sean?’
Boyd looked at the phone. The lad had hung up. The cigarette had gone out. He lit it again. He should go inside and help Lottie. Tell her about Sean. But his head was spinning. From everything he had to think about, or the nicotine? He looked at the damp cigarette clutched between his long fingers. Took another drag and quenched it before returning it to the packet to finish off later.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Father Michael Curran lived in the parochial house beside the church, at the entrance to the village. It was an old two-storey building sporting a mahogany door.
While waiting for someone to answer the doorbell, Lottie peered around the side of the house. The garden was well kept, with a large shed in one corner.
When the door opened, the priest ushered them inside. Father Curran was a fit-looking seventy-year-old. His white collar looked wider and higher than the one worn by her friend Father Joe Burke, and he was dressed in a flowing floor-length black cassock. She wouldn’t be surprised if he conversed in Latin.
Once they were inside, sitting down, he said, ‘How can I help you?’
‘I want to talk about Cara Dunne and Fiona Heffernan.’
He gave her a half-smile, and she felt her insides curdle as if she’d just tasted sour milk.
‘Would you like some green tea? And I’ve wholegrain bread. Healthy food helps you live longer.’
She wondered if he was into protein shakes and that sort of crap. Sean had been on about them recently. ‘No thanks, we’re fine.’
‘Had you a question for me?’
She studied the priest. He was sitting erect in a wingback leather chair. The room was spotless, but the furniture smelled and looked old.
‘I believe you were supposed to conduct a marriage ceremony today, between Ryan Slevin and Fiona Heffernan.’
‘So sad. It’s the talk of the village, you know. Fiona was a lovely person.’
‘Did you know her well?’
‘Not really. Met her properly for the first time when she came with Ryan to make arrangements for the wedding. A small affair, she said. She didn’t believe in making a huge fuss, from what I could gather. Saving her money, she said. Clever young woman financially.’
Lottie caught his unspoken words. ‘But not clever in other ways?’
‘You are quick, Inspector.’ He smiled fully and she could see his perfect dentistry. ‘I admired Fiona for working hard and raising her daughter. You are aware that she and Colin were never married?’
‘Yes.’
‘The fact remains that the child was born out of wedlock. That’s a mortal sin. A sin for which she was loath to beg forgiveness, despite my insistence she should repent.’
Blowing out a breath of warm air, Lottie counted to three and squared her shoulders. ‘If you are so against her mortal sin, as you call it, why did you agree to perform the marriage ceremony for Fiona and Ryan?’
He sniffed back a snort. ‘That lad could have made something of himself. But what does he do? He takes photographs for the newspaper. Upsetting people. He’s just like that young one, Beth Clarke. Come to think of it, she was here this morning, banging on the door looking for her father.’
‘Do you know where Christy Clarke is?’
‘I don’t, and I can’t understand how he would let his daughter be involved in gutter journalism.’
This statement puzzled Lottie. She had never considered the Tribune to be anything other than a mouthpiece for local news. What had they published to incense Father Curran?
Before she could explore it further, Boyd said, ‘How well do you know Ryan Slevin?’
‘He lives in the village. His sister Zoe is a nice lady. Married to Giles Bannon. Three beautiful boys. Lovely children.’ That grin again.
Lottie couldn’t stop the somersaults in her stomach. There was something particularly off-putting about the old priest.
‘And Fiona Heffernan,’ she said. ‘You say you didn’t really know her?’
‘I often saw her at the abbey when I visited the sick. She was a nurse there.’
‘I know that.’
‘She used to live with Mr Kavanagh. Don’t know why he opted to live in sin with her. Then she upped and left him.’ Father Curran arched his eyebrows and his lips slid sideways. ‘He lives down by Lough Doon. You know the legend of the Children of Lir?’
Lottie did, and she didn’t want to hear it from him. She believed the priest was trying to direct her away from talking about Fiona. She was up to a bit of redirection herself.
‘Tell me what you know about Cara Dunne.’
The face remained solid as a block of lard. ‘I was sorry to hear of her death. Suicide. Shocking. I had no idea she could commit such a final sin.’
‘She was murdered, actually.’
The priest’s stony expression morphed from indignation to bewilderment. He cocked his head to one side, then the other, as if he was trying to make sense of what he’d heard. ‘But I was told—’
‘You were told wrong,’ Lottie said. ‘How well did you know her?’
Father Curran’s posture slumped and his eyes clouded over. He held onto the wooden arms of the chair. ‘I was on the board of management of her school for a while. She was a good teacher. Stern, but good. Unusual in one so young. After her engagement broke down, she sought me out for guidance.’
‘How did you guide her?’ Boyd said.
‘I guided her back into the arms of Jesus.’
Boyd grunted and Lottie threw him a dagger look, but she felt the same. Listening to religious mumbo-jumbo wasn’t going to solve Cara’s murder. She said, ‘I need to know anything you can tell me about Cara.’
The priest seemed to be in a world of his own as he said, ‘Last night, I heard the voices calling and crying. It must have been her soul on its way to purgatory.’
‘God grant me patience,’ Lottie muttered. She felt Boyd’s eyes boring into her. She kept her focus on the priest. ‘What voices?’
‘The windows were rattling and I heard cries echoing throughout the house, though I was the only person here.’
Lottie got that. Wind and old houses had conjured up many a slumbering ghost in recent times. ‘How long had you known Cara?’
He turned his head slowly. Blinked. As if he was coming out of a fugue state. As if he was wondering why she and Boyd were there. ‘She joined the Convent of Mercy school straight from college. I was the chaplain there, as well as being on the board.’
‘And you became friends?’
‘She used to fill me in.’
‘Fill you in?’
‘When the boys reached the age of seven, they transferred to the all boys’ school while the girls stayed at the convent school. It was beneficial to be forewarned of any troublemakers.’
‘Were you the chaplain at the boys’ school too?’
‘I examined them on their religious knowledge in preparation for Confirmation.’
‘Doesn’t really make sense to me,’ Boyd interjected. ‘Whether they were troublemakers or not – surely that was the concern of the teachers, not a priest who visited the school maybe once a month.’
‘Once a month?’ Father Curran mocked. ‘I went there every day. I took the teaching of the catechism very seriously. I had to ensure the staff did too. I set weekly tests.’
‘And if someone failed a test, what did you do?’ Lottie couldn’t help the flush to her cheeks.
‘They studied even harder. I’ve been teaching for ov
er forty years.’
‘You were teaching at the time of corporal punishment, then.’
‘Yes. The belt was a good master.’
‘And when the belt could no longer be used, what did you do then?’
‘My methods were all above board, Inspector.’
Lottie decided to bring the rambling priest back on track. ‘When was the last time you saw Cara?’
‘She visited her friend at the abbey every week.’
‘Sister Augusta?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did Sister Augusta become friends with Cara?’ Boyd said.
‘You should ask her, if you can get a word out of her.’
‘I talked to Father Joe Burke,’ Lottie said. ‘He was filling in for you yesterday at the abbey nursing home. Why was that?’
‘I had things to do. Being parish priest is a responsible role, one that I take very seriously.’
‘I don’t know a lot about it, to be fair,’ she said.
‘I thought not. If you took more notice of the teachings of the Church rather than drowning your soul in society’s depravity, you’d be better off, don’t you think?’
She wanted to shout back at him, but Boyd touched her arm, restraining her. She took a deep breath. ‘You know nothing about me. I hope it stays that way.’
He laughed then, and that outraged her further.
‘Lily Heffernan,’ she said.
‘What about her?’
‘When did you last see the little girl?’
‘What has she got to do with me?’
‘You tell me.’
The priest rubbed his chin. ‘I saw on the news that she’s missing.’
‘Did her mother bring her to any of the meetings about the wedding?’
‘She did. And I told her the child was a stain on God’s love.’
‘What?’ He was getting under Lottie’s skin so intensely, she wanted to scratch the hell out of it.
‘As I said, a child born out of wedlock is a sin. I told her that before I could perform the wedding, she and the child would have to renounce Satan and—’
‘You what?’ Lottie leaped to her feet. She’d thought those types of sentiments had died away. How wrong she’d been.
‘She did renounce Satan. I was happy to officiate.’
Broken Souls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller with a brilliant twist (Detective Lottie Parker Book 7) Page 15
