Into the Dark

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘Can I help you, officer?’ Sister Gladys said, her accent Irish, her voice high.

  I almost took a step back, in fact, part of me wanted to run for the car. Her face was part questioning and part furious.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you. I just wondered if I might have a quick word with Sister Catherine. If it’s a bad time, I can come back.’ I had absolutely no intentions of returning. If she had told me to do just that, it would be the end of these enquiries.

  She hesitated a moment, her eyes going from me to the building.

  ‘It’s just a little … inconvenient. I don’t mean to be unaccommodating or unwelcoming, but you must understand, this is a closed order and while we can certainly have guests, just turning up out of the blue is not encouraged.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I really should have called—’

  ‘Not at all. But since you’re here I suppose you can speak to her. Only I’ll ask you to keep it brief, the sisters must have time for quiet prayer and contemplation and your presence here is, well …’ she jabbed a thumb at the building and as she did the wimples all ducked like whack-a-moles, ‘distracting.’

  ‘I, uh, yes. I’ll keep it brief. Thank you.’

  ‘You better come inside then,’ she said, her features seeming to relax.

  I followed her up the drive feeling like a chastised schoolboy. ‘How many of you live here, Sister?’

  ‘Sixteen of us,’ she said and pulled the door, urging me to step inside. There was a group of them standing and smiling in the hall. ‘I think you’re making up for the disappointment last week,’ Sister Gladys said.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

  I followed her up the hall. ‘Your colleague, who, by the way, was good enough to call ahead of time, caused a bit of a stir. The sisters were quite excited to receive a policeman, only to discover it was one of those who wears a suit and drives an ordinary car. I suspect you’re far more what they had in mind.’

  I slowed as we passed a small chapel and again was struck by just how similar this place was to the care home, if you traded the day room for the altar and pews. There was even a similar smell. Certainly all of the nuns, with the exception of Sister Gladys who might have been in her fifties, could be descried as elderly.

  ‘Are you mother superior to the sisters?’ I asked.

  ‘There are no superiors here. We are all of us equal,’ she said, though it was clearly not true. ‘I’ll show you to our dining hall and bring Sister Catherine to you.’

  We took a left and entered a wide room. One large table sat at its centre, the walls adorned by visions of saints and Christ. One nun sat at the far end, reading. Sister Gladys cleared her throat, causing the nun to look up and quickly gather herself and leave.

  Sister Gladys gestured to a chair and I sat. She made to leave, but turned back, ‘You’re not after tea or food or anything, are you?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine, thanks,’ I said, taking the not-too-subtle hint.

  I was left alone for nearly ten minutes being looked down upon by these saints I couldn’t name, some depicted in humble garb, others grandly adorned by crowns floating above their heads and great beams of light shining out from the back of their heads.

  There was a knock at the door and a smiling nun entered with Sister Gladys expressionless at her back. ‘Brief, you understand. We’re keeping Sister Catherine from her prayer time.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure I’ll be far quicker than my colleague,’ I said, standing and urging Sister Catherine to sit.

  Sister Gladys hovered by the door for a moment, but when it was clear that I wasn’t going to start before she left, she let it close behind her.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Sister. I really won’t take up too much of your time. Before we start, I wondered if I could ask about this place?’

  ‘Of course you can. What would you like to know?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to look into your order before coming here, so I don’t really know what it’s about. You refer to yourselves as a Carmelite order?’ This was a question I’d have asked Sister Gladys but was afraid to. This lady in front of me, though, was far less intimidating, except for, you know, the whole nun thing. She wore small, dark framed glasses and was around seventy years old. I knew of her only from an entry in Alyson’s notes.

  ‘The name derives from Mount Carmel in Palestine. I have to say I like the name, it always puts me in mind of caramel which I love dearly,’ she said with a small laugh. Her accent was thick Glaswegian. ‘Some pilgrims in the thirteenth century founded the order when they settled in Palestine. We devote our lives to prayer and to our little community, taking time each day to practise silence and solitude for reflection before coming back together as a collective.’

  ‘So, it’s not a new order then? It’s just that this building is …’

  ‘Modern, yes. Well, if you like I can give you directions to where we used to live. We had a proper monastery, it’s not too far from here. But our order is small and grows a little smaller every year. It seemed decadent and unnecessary for us to be rattling around in that grand old building and so we moved here around twenty years ago, I think.’

  ‘You’ve been with the order how long?’

  ‘I joined after they closed St Cuthbert’s in nineteen-ninety-eight.’

  ‘I understand you spoke to my colleague?’

  ‘Last week, yes. Detective, but I forget his name. He did leave me a card if you need it?’

  ‘No, that’s OK. I just had a few follow-up questions.’ Alyson had jotted down details of this nun as one of the few staff members from the school it was possible to speak to, but had not left any indication if she’d given a statement or if that statement was of any interest. ‘I’m guessing he asked you about your time at the school, about the other staff members?’

  ‘That’s right, though I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. He asked about a Father McCauley and I gave it a great deal of thought, I really did, but I’m almost certain I never met the man. What a sin that was, God rest his soul.’ She made the sign of the cross, and I almost did the same.

  ‘He would have asked you about the janitor at that time too, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes, he did. But again, I couldn’t tell him anything really. I was aware of a janitor, but if I ever talked to him, I’ve long since forgotten.’

  ‘Is there anything he asked you about that has since occurred to you, anything that came back to you?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK. It’s important that we’re thorough. A lot of these investigations are largely speaking to people to close doors, rather than open them. Did he also ask you about a blonde priest?’

  ‘A blonde priest?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps another member of staff at the school that might have been blonde?’

  She thought on this, her head shaking, her eyes searching the table surface. ‘Your colleague didn’t ask, but no, no, I can’t think of a member of staff who was blonde. Unless? No, but he wasn’t really a staff member.’

  ‘Please. If there’s something you remember,’ I said and gestured with my hand, encouraging her to finish her thought.

  ‘Well, ach, and now I don’t even remember his name. Anyway, none of the staff were particularly good with mathematics and we tried to give those boys a decent grounding in education, but someone knew someone, a young priest – young at the time at least – who had been a graduate in something to do with maths before devoting himself to the Church. Anyway, he’d come in, as a sort of favour, to run a class, maybe once a week. Oh, heavens, what was his name? He had this thick blonde hair, great-looking fella. D’you know, maybe Sister Phoebe will remember.’

  ‘Sister Phoebe?’

  ‘Yes, we both joined here from St Cuthbert’s. Your colleague spoke to her as well. I can go and get her if you like?’

  ‘Uh, yes. Please. If you think Sister Gladys won’t mind?’

  ‘She probably will, but this is police work and between
us, Sister Phoebe would never forgive me if I didn’t bring her in on this. Gimme a moment.’

  She was gone no more than a minute before she returned with another grinning nun.

  ‘Hi, Sister Phoebe?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, clearly excited.

  ‘Come in, please.’

  ‘Should I wait outside? Sister Catherine said.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll need you to prompt Sister Phoebe here about the person we discussed. Sister Phoebe, my colleague spoke to you last week?’

  ‘He did. A detective,’ she said. Her toothy grin was infectious.

  ‘You also worked at St Cuthbert’s?’

  ‘For about a year yes, until it closed.’ The notes Alyson had left in the kitchen were clearly from an early gathering, before they’d become aware of Sister Phoebe.

  ‘Were you able to tell him anything?’

  ‘Not really. We discussed this didn’t we, Sister Catherine, how we were sorry we were a bit useless.’

  ‘Please don’t worry. Just one thing, then. Sister Catherine mentioned as priest who worked, well not worked, but helped out there?’ I looked at Sister Catherine whose nodding told me I’d picked this up correctly. ‘A blonde priest who helped the boys with their maths?’

  ‘You remember him, Sister Phoebe. Young man, head full of thick, blonde curls?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Livingston, wasn’t that his name?’

  ‘Do you know what, I think you’re right,’ said Sister Catherine, sitting next to the other nun, gripping her arm in delight.

  ‘Father Stephen Livingston, I think,’ said Sister Phoebe.

  ‘That’s it. What a memory you have, Sister Phoebe.’ Her arm was now being tapped on in a congratulatory manner.

  ‘Is he important?’ asked Sister Phoebe.

  ‘I’m sure not. It’s just something that came up. Would you happen to know what happened to him after St Cuthbert’s?’

  They looked at one another, but shook their heads.

  ‘No matter. Thank you, sisters. You’ve been most helpful,’ I said.

  I felt like a mother duck, leaving the place with a line of shuffling nuns following me out to the car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Confessions

  I woke to the smell of toast and the faint sound of dishes. I threw on some clothes and wandered into the kitchen, yawning and stretching.

  ‘Shit, did I wake you?’ Alyson said. She was already dressed for work in her grey suit.

  I looked at the clock on the oven – 7.30 a.m. ‘No, don’t worry. I didn’t want to miss this chance to say hello. I feel like it’s been weeks since I saw you.’

  ‘I know. I was thinking the same the other day.’ She pulled two slices from the toaster and held them up, raising her eyebrows at me. I nodded and she took an extra plate from the cupboard. I poured myself some tea and joined her at the table, which had been cleared of her paperwork.

  ‘You seem … perkier?’ I said. ‘Have you been sleeping better?’

  ‘Not really, but we’ve had a bit of a breakthrough in the past few days, so maybe it’s that.’

  I felt my pulse quicken a little. ‘Can you elaborate?’ I said.

  ‘Officially, no. But between you and me, we think we’ve seen the face of the person responsible.’

  ‘Really? How?’ I buttered my slice and passed Alyson the knife.

  ‘CCTV. It’s not concrete, but it looks good. There’s not much to back it up at this stage, phone use in the area hasn’t yielded anything, but I’m speaking to someone today who might help push us forward.’

  ‘That’s fantastic. So, what does our killer look like?’

  ‘Blurry.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  She shrugged and bit into her toast.

  ‘Male? Female?’

  ‘If it is our killer, it’s a he. Late thirties to early forties at a guess. Pretty short. We did some analysis of a capture from the doorway of a supermarket and we estimate about five-foot-six.’

  ‘Sounds promising. Who are you speaking to?’

  ‘A bus driver. Our person of interest got on a coach headed for North Berwick, but got off somewhere before it terminated. We’re hoping he remembers our guy.’

  ‘An arrest isn’t likely any time soon then?’

  ‘Hey, it’s progress. You want me back in a mood?

  ‘No, I was just hoping for a little more.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I can tell you there’s been a big lift of morale in the office.’

  I bit down on my toast. I thought about where this investigation was at and about that date I’d calculated from Martin’s meltdown. What was it now? About two weeks?

  ‘I thought you said you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Huh?’ I said.

  ‘“Didn’t want to miss you”, you said and yet you’re sitting there daydreaming. I asked you what you were up to?’

  ‘Me? Oh, nothing really. Helping our probationer with a complicated fraud case most likely.’ I hated lying to her. Really hated it.

  ‘Exciting stuff. How are things going with your lady friend?’

  ‘Marcella? Yeah, pretty good actually. It’s not been easy to find time to see one another, but we’re getting together on Friday. See the festival go out with a bang.’

  ‘It’s ending? Oh, thank Christ,’ she said and stood, taking our empty plates to the dishwasher.

  ‘There’s a massive fireworks display to mark the closing every year. You can join us if you like.’

  ‘And be what? A third Catherine wheel? Hard pass. Wish me luck today – we could do with it.’

  ‘Good luck.’ I said. She mussed my hair as she pulled her coat from the back of my chair and left.

  It seemed everyone was excited about progress they’d been making. I passed Vikram and Morgan in the hall. They were hurrying out of the door, asking if it was all right to skip muster.

  ‘It’s fine. What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Another VIPER parade. We have a witness, describes Colander McStay to a tee. I’m confident we’ll get a positive result this time,’ said Morgan.

  ‘I’ll update you on the result, Sarge,’ said Vikram.

  ‘Yeah, do that,’ I said, though I’m not sure they heard me with the door clanging shut behind them. With that, most of my team were gone and so I asked Mandy if she could brief herself, telling her I had an enquiry that would take me most of the shift. I made a flask of tea for my journey and set out.

  I thought about making an appointment, Sister Gladys’ admonishment still fresh, but there is something about catching people off guard that I quite like. My tutor John had taught me this in my second year. Calling ahead is giving time to prepare and a badly prepared lie is easy to spot, he’d said, or something to that effect.

  I’d never been to Dunbar. In fact, almost all of East Lothian was a mystery to me. In my mind it’s where the wealthy Edinburgh commuters lived, with those less fortunate moving west out of the city, though I was certain East Lothian had its rougher spots too.

  The road out was less interesting than I’d hoped. My phone suggested sticking to the City Bypass almost the whole way, so views of the coast were going to be avoided. I ignored it and took a turn off to Longniddry. Although I found myself amongst heavy traffic, the scenery was far more what I had in mind. The coastal route took me through the quaint towns of Aberlady, Gullane and Dirleton, the Firth of Forth glinting frequently in the distance. The road turned inland once more and I was soon entering Dunbar. The streets grew narrower as I neared the town centre. The line of cars in front of me slowed to a crawl as the road was barely wide enough to allow two lines of traffic, before it suddenly opened up again as I reached the very centre of town. I passed a grand-looking church before reaching my destination, which was a much more humble affair.

  Our Lady of the Waves Catholic Church, the sign read, confirming I was in the right place. I thought about the locus in Leith, St Mary Star of the Sea Church, and the nautical theme that linked
both. Links, I thought.

  The building was old, its heavy stones a slightly ominous dark red, darker at the bottom than at the top, as if the church were soaking up some sanguine deposit from the earth. The front door was closed but unlocked.

  I entered into a familiar scene. A desk with Church literature to one side, a font of holy water on the wall of the other. Either out of respect or muscle memory, I dabbed the middle finger of my right hand in the water, then touched my forehead, breast and each shoulder before pushing the inner door and stepping into the aisle.

  My childhood came rushing back. My mother in a dress, holding my hand, my father in a tie, trying to look like he wanted to be there. I walked down between the pews; this lucky congregation were provided with small cushions. I remember the bare pews I sat on as a child, comfortable enough for around ten minutes before you ended up shifting between bum cheeks to keep them from dying against the solid wood. At the bottom-right of the altar and next to the ornate tabernacle was the board displaying the hymn numbers. That board, or one similar, was like a clock to me. As the service trundled on, your progress could be tracked as you ticked off these numbers, my soul ironically lifting as you reached the second to last. The last didn’t count as it was sung as the doors were unchained and you were permitted to leave.

  ‘Hello, officer. Are you here for confession?’

  I couldn’t help a small laugh. ‘Only if there’s something criminal you need to get off your chest,’ I said to the tall, thin man. I looked immediately to his hair, more grey than blonde and thin to the point of visible scalp. He laughed and I asked him, ‘Father Stephen Livingston?’

  ‘No. I’m a deacon here. Father Livingston is in the back. Do you want to come through?’

  I followed the deacon to a door at the far end which led to a few stairs and down through to an annex, some extension that felt newer than the rest of the building. A small communal seating area that might be used for Bible study sat before a small kitchen area. At the kettle was a man in a black shirt and yes, his hair was magnificent, particularly as he was maybe late sixties at least. Blonde curls, a little grey in there too, but it would have been the envy of a man half his age. He looked up at us entering and had a sort of double take as he took in my uniform.