Forgive Me Father

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Of course, things were different back then. We were almost exclusively a boarding school when I started, about 90 per cent of the boys lived on site, at least during the week. But times change and throughout the Eighties our intake grew rapidly, with the increase almost exclusively day pupils. At our peak, the day pupils outnumbered the boarders about two-to-one.’

  ‘Was that why the school eventually closed?’ asked Warren, before taking a sip of his tea.

  It hadn’t been hard to track down Dr Massey. The Venerable Thomas Tichborne School for Boys may have been closed for almost nine years, but it had an active online alumni association, with many former pupils and even teachers taking part in everything from annual old boys rugby games to monthly meals and even holidays. Dr Massey was, by all accounts, still highly regarded, and largely remembered with affection. When Warren had contacted him via the email address given on the site, the man had been intrigued and invited him over to his house in Hitchen.

  ‘In part,’ Massey sighed. ‘Boarding schools aren’t nearly as popular as they once were, and it’s an expensive investment. Thomas Tichborne was an excellent school, but it was no Eton or Harrow. We were better known for producing candidates for the priesthood than Downing Street. Our boarding school pupils brought in more funding per pupil than our day boarders, which was a perfectly serviceable business plan back when we started two hundred odd years ago, but we really should have started changing the model decades earlier than we did. By the time I was appointed as head, in part to help address the issue, the rot had set in.

  ‘Unfortunately, the empty boarding houses were in the centre of the school grounds, so selling them off to real estate developers wasn’t practical, and there’s only so much money you can make flogging off the playing fields.’

  He drained his tea, before refilling both men’s cups, unbidden, from a large, china teapot.

  ‘The twentieth of July 2006. The day that 214 years of outstanding education came to an end. You know, the school opened within twelve months of the Roman Catholic Relief Act of 1791 that effectively decriminalised Catholicism? And it ended on my watch,’ he cleared his throat.

  ‘What happened to the pupils?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Fortunately, we knew almost a year in advance that the school was doomed. Our day pupils were absorbed by local schools in the area, and were still able to maintain friendship groups. Unfortunately, our boarders were scattered far and wide, sometimes returning to where their parents lived, other times to other boarding schools here and even abroad. Thank goodness for the internet, at the last count there were over twelve hundred Tommy Tichers on the alumni Facebook page.’

  ‘And what about the staff?’

  ‘A similar story. Some filled local vacancies, others, especially younger teachers who lived on site and had few roots in the area, moved away. A couple more retired or decided to pursue other careers.’ He paused. ‘It really was the end of a community. Some of our housemasters had lived there for twenty years. They lost their family home, as well as their job. It was very sad.’

  ‘And what about Father Wilfred Dodd?’

  Massey eyed Warren over the rim of his tea cup.

  ‘What is this about, DCI Jones? As much as I enjoy reminiscing about my days at Thomas Tichborne, I can’t believe that’s why you’ve come to see me.’

  ‘Just some routine enquiries.’

  ‘Enquiries into those sickening murders up at St Cecil’s retirement home? I looked you up on the internet, DCI Jones, and saw the press conference you gave.’

  ‘I can’t go into details,’ said Warren.

  ‘Surely Father Dodd can’t be a suspect?’

  Warren ignored the question.

  ‘What happened to Father Dodd?’ he repeated.

  ‘He retired. To St Cecil’s I believe. But then I’m sure you already knew that.’

  ‘From my understanding, Father Dodd was below the usual retirement age for priests. Do you know why he retired so early?’

  Dr Massey looked at Warren for a long moment, before finally sighing.

  ‘Somehow, I doubt I am doing any more than confirming your suspicions. Yes, Father Dodd was rather young to have retired, and to the best of my knowledge, he was in excellent health. In fact, he was hoping to take up a new position as school chaplain at St Philip. Father Anderton, their previous chaplain had died suddenly the previous year and they had been relying on local priests to fill the vacancy. It seemed as though it was all going to work out perfectly.’

  ‘So why didn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a question that I’ve often wondered about. As far as I knew, he was due to take up the position in the new school year, but then I heard that it wasn’t happening and that instead, he was taking early retirement.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘I don’t suppose it really matters now. Mental health, although I was unaware of any issues. Mind you, you never can tell, can you?’

  Chapter 63

  ‘Another priest taking early retirement for mental health issues, then moving into Bishop Fisher’s retirement home. Nothing suspicious about that at all.’ Tony Sutton took a bite of his pastry, taking care to brush the resulting crumbs off his trousers and onto the floor of Warren’s office.

  Warren bit his tongue.

  He’d only just made the appointment at the clinic, and now, two hours later, he was sitting back in his office, knowing he should be at home with his wife, but also knowing that when she said she needed her own space, she meant it.

  Over the past few years, Tony Sutton had become one of Warren’s closest friends. It was an indication of just how all-consuming his job had become that his friend was also someone he spent most of his working day with.

  Should he tell Tony what he and Susan had been told?

  Immediately he recoiled from the thought, recognising his own foolishness even as he did so; thousands of couples needed help conceiving, and for many of those couples the root cause of their problems was the man’s sperm. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what his mother-in-law may imply.

  Yet to admit such a personal thing to Sutton … Warren couldn’t bring himself to do it. Would he feel the same if the outcome of this afternoon’s appointment had been different? If the consultant delivering the results of Susan’s pregnancy test had told them the implantation had been successful, and that in a little under nine months’ time, God willing, they would finally become parents? When it finally became time to show his colleagues and friends the first black and white images of their unborn child, would he have nonchalantly mentioned that they had needed a bit of help to achieve this miracle, or would he have smiled politely at the jokes about there ‘still being life in the old dog yet’?

  He really didn’t know.

  ‘I tell you, there’s something dodgy going on in that place.’

  Warren dragged his attention back to what Sutton was saying.

  ‘I tend to agree,’ he replied. ‘Unfortunately, according to Dr Massey, he recalls no complaints against Father Dodd from when he worked at the school.’

  Sutton snorted. ‘What about rumours, then?’

  ‘That’s where he got a little cagey. He said that Father Dodd was rather old school and that his strict approach to discipline wasn’t always appreciated by those in his care.’

  ‘It’s one thing to be a bit liberal with the detention slips, or even a bit enthusiastic with the cane or slipper before they were banned, but another thing entirely to be interfering with pupils,’ said Sutton.

  ‘I agree, but when I pushed him, Dr Massey became very defensive and claimed to be insulted at the implication that he’d covered something up.’

  ‘How about an interview under caution?’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  Sutton placed his tea plate on the edge of Warren’s desk.

  ‘I suppose we could think of something if we really wanted to,’ he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

  ‘I’m not a
gainst the idea, but everything is so wishy washy at the moment. I’m already worried that our interest might tip off the killer.’

  ‘Could Dr Massey be the killer?’ asked Sutton.

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Maybe he wanted to even a few scores? Perhaps fix a few wrongs?’

  Warren thought about it for a moment.

  ‘If he did, then he concealed it pretty well. There’s nothing about any historic suspicious deaths at the retirement home on the PNC or, for that matter any suicides.’

  ‘Father Dodd is also not on the list of current residents.’

  ‘Meaning he’s either died or moved on.’

  ‘Or was never recorded as having lived there in the first place.’

  Tuesday 17th March

  Chapter 64

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to visit me, Your Grace, it was kind of you to come here.’ Warren was again facing the elderly bishop. This time however, he was on his own territory.

  Warren had been tempted to take the morning off for personal reasons, but Susan would have none of it. The two of them had lain awake all night, although they had both pretended otherwise. When the alarm had sounded at its usual time, Susan had headed straight for the shower and was fully dressed in her school clothes and applying her make-up by the time Warren had emerged from the bathroom himself.

  Her outward acceptance of the previous day’s disappointing news about the failed implantation was surely an act, but he didn’t know how to broach the subject without upsetting her. As he’d lain awake, he’d found himself racked by doubts. Maybe Bernice was right after all? The Catholic Church was opposed to IVF and he was now investigating the church, questioning the honesty of its most prominent adherents. Add to that his blasphemous thoughts at mass on Sunday, and you had to ask yourself if perhaps somebody upstairs was upset?

  He recoiled from the thought in disgust at as soon as it formed, recognising it as the product of an over-stressed, overworked imagination. He’d discuss it with his counsellor when he finally had time to book an appointment.

  ‘Of course, Inspector,’ replied Bishop Fisher. ‘You only have to ask. We are all keen to track down this disturbed killer and bring him to justice before he harms anyone else.’

  ‘Thank you. You don’t mind if I record this, do you? This is a voluntary statement and you are not under arrest. You are free to stop the interview at any time or ask for legal representation.’

  Bishop Fisher gave a little shrug. ‘Of course.’

  ‘First, can you tell me what you know about a Father Wilfred Dodd? He wasn’t on the list that you gave me of current residents and staff. Has he left?’

  Fisher gave a sigh.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose he did. He passed away a few years ago.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I can’t imagine any link, however – he died of natural causes. A short battle with leukaemia after spending a few years with us.’

  That confirmed what Warren and the team had managed to find themselves through public records.

  ‘Why did he retire?’

  ‘The school at which he was a chaplain closed down. Father Dodd took that as a sign from God that he had reached the natural end of his active ministry.’

  ‘Again, he seems a little young, given the shortage of priests that the church is facing at the moment. He was a resident at St Cecil’s for six years, yet you said he died of a short illness, which implies that he was healthy when he first entered the home.’

  For the first time, Fisher paused.

  ‘Would it be possible for me to get a glass of water, DCI Jones?’

  ‘No problem.’ Warren sprang to his feet, and poked his head around the door, relaying the request.

  ‘The custody sergeant will bring one immediately.’

  The total length of the interruption had been less than a minute. Enough time for the clergyman to compose his thoughts, but hopefully not long enough for him to make up something too elaborate.

  ‘According to staff and former pupils, Father Dodd had something of a reputation,’ started Warren again.

  It was a gamble that the team had discussed at some length; after all, they only had the vaguest of insinuations, from an anonymous source on the internet. However, Warren wanted to see Fisher’s reaction and hear what he had to say.

  ‘I’m not sure what you are implying, DCI Jones.’

  ‘There were rumours of inappropriate conduct towards some of the pupils by Father Dodd.’

  ‘I am not aware of any formal complaints made about Father Dodd. He was highly respected by his colleagues.’

  ‘As I said, there were rumours. As bishop of that diocese at the time, are you saying that you were unaware of what was being said about him?’

  Fisher sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing them on a silk handkerchief.

  ‘There are always rumours. Any man that opts to work with children will have experienced them. School teachers, scoutmasters, swimming instructors, nobody is above suspicion.’

  Was that a confirmation?

  ‘And you believe that there was nothing to these rumours?’

  At that moment there came a soft knock on the door.

  ‘That’ll be your water.’ Warren stepped over to the door and took the plastic cup, passing it to the aged priest.

  Fisher took a long swig.

  ‘Where were we?’ asked Warren, making a show of looking at his notepad. ‘Oh yes. Tell me, why did you block Father Dodd from taking up a position as school chaplain at St Philip? By all accounts they were in desperate need of one and Father Dodd was very keen to take on the role.’

  Bishop Fisher’s reaction wasn’t as dramatic as snorting water out of his nose, nevertheless Warren admonished himself; a second interviewee dying on him would be unfortunate to say the least.

  ‘I beg your pardon, DCI Jones?’

  ‘According to witnesses, Father Dodd was fit and healthy and looking forward to the challenge of working with a school who had been without a full-time chaplain for over a year. It seems strange that not only would you block him from taking up that role, but that you would insist on him taking early retirement, especially given the shortage of priests in the diocese at the time.’

  Fisher shifted in his chair, the conflict on his face apparent. He took another sip of water. Warren said nothing.

  ‘Father Dodd had some mental health issues that I felt would make it inappropriate for him to continue in his current role, and that he would be better served by taking retirement.’

  ‘Another early retirement through mental health issues? Tell me, Your Grace, were any of these priests formally diagnosed?’

  ‘I do not think it would be appropriate to discuss the medical histories of these people without consent.’

  ‘Which may be tricky to arrange, given that they are dead. Don’t worry, I’m sure that I can get a court order, if necessary.’

  Fisher said nothing, his face impassive.

  ‘Tell me, Your Grace, in a community so small, would one really expect such a high proportion of priests to have retired early on the grounds of mental health?’

  The bishop’s shoulders slumped slightly, as he relaxed.

  ‘You are making the erroneous assumption that such a community is randomly selected, in which case your argument might be true. However, our community is not, by definition, a random selection.’ Fisher leant forward in his chair slightly, his voice becoming firmer, and Warren was reminded again that the man in front of him had a formidable intelligence; you didn’t gain a doctorate in theology and philosophy, and rise to such a prominent position, if you were an intellectual slouch.

  ‘As I am sure you are aware, the normal retirement age for a Catholic priest is 75 or older. Those that are blessed with good health may continue to serve the church and their community in some capacity for many years more. Those that do retire are often supported within the community, or in ordinary retirement homes. Many have extended family that can help ca
re for them, or even a pension from a previous occupation.

  ‘St Cecil’s retirement home is specifically for those who do not have the luxury of that support, or whose needs are different. Sadly, the clergy are no more immune to the frailties of the mind, the body or the spirit than anyone else. We care for, and provide, a sense of community, for those that need us.’

  ‘So, you are saying, that by its very nature, St Cecil’s would expect a greater proportion of its residents to have retired early, perhaps through mental health issues?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me Your Grace, would you regard sexual attraction towards children as a mental health issue?’

  The bishop gave a visible start.

  ‘I … I don’t know what you are implying, DCI Jones …’

  ‘Father Gerry Daugherty was accused of the abuse of a child in his care, whilst he was chaplain at St Thomas Aquinas school. I believe that he then had a breakdown and you authorised his early retirement?’

  Fisher again relaxed.

  ‘That was an extremely unfortunate incident. If you look a little deeper into the case, you will see that all concerned are satisfied that the allegations made by that poor, disturbed girl, were false and that she later retracted the accusations.’

  ‘That is not how the local community saw it.’

  Fisher’s lip twisted slightly. ‘Unfortunately, the sensitive nature of the case means that Father Daugherty was unable to publicly clear his name.’

  ‘And that was what caused Father Daugherty to undergo his breakdown?’

  ‘In a nutshell, yes. Far be it for me to criticise those involved, they were only doing their jobs with the child’s best interest at heart, but the whole situation placed Father Daugherty under a tremendous amount of pressure. I decided that it was in Father Daugherty’s best interests that he take early retirement, and come to stay with us at St Cecil’s.’