The Woman In Blue: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 8 (14 page)

‘Boss?’

He had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard Tanya coming into the room.

‘Where’s Greenway?’ he asks. ‘You can’t have finished taking prints yet.’

‘He’s with the duty sergeant. I want to show you something.’

Nelson looks at Clough, who shrugs. ‘OK. What is it?’

Tanya leads them to her computer, which has a video window open. ‘This is the CCTV footage from the Slipper Chapel on Wednesday 19th.’

‘Thought it didn’t show anything.’

‘Apart from the big cat,’ says Clough.

‘No, but I looked earlier on in the day,’ said Tanya, her glasses glinting. ‘Then, when I saw that man, Greenway, I recognised him.’

Nelson leans in, interested now.

‘There was a service at six o’clock in the evening,’ says Tanya. ‘Here are the people coming out. Look there. Next to the man in the waistcoat.’

Nelson looks. Grainy and indistinct, the man in the shabby raincoat is nonetheless definitely Stanley Greenway.

Chapter 19

Ruth had almost given up hope. She managed to get Kate to bed fairly early, came downstairs, poured herself a glass of wine and tidied up by putting the books in piles and shoving everything else under the sofa. By nine o’clock she has drunk half the bottle and is convinced that Nelson won’t come. He has probably had a long day at the station and has gone home to Michelle and a cooked supper. Then, just when she’s considering getting into her pyjamas, car headlights illuminate the sitting room. Flint sits up, eyes popping as if he’s expecting an axe murderer, and then a hand that can only be Nelson’s hammers on the door.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ says Ruth, ushering him towards the sofa. Flint jumps off, orange tail fluffed up in outrage.

‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ Nelson looks exhausted, thinks Ruth. His eyes are shadowed and she can see the clenched muscles in his jaw. He hasn’t shaved either and this gives him a rather desperate and piratical appearance.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ she says. Then, seeing his eyes flicker towards the bottle on the coffee table, ‘Or a glass of wine?’

‘A glass of wine would be grand.’

This is a surprise. Nelson rarely drinks when he’s on duty or driving. Also he prefers beer to wine. She pours them both a generous glassful.

‘It’s so awful about Paula,’ she says. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day.’

‘How well did you know her?’ asks Nelson.

‘I only met her that evening. But she seemed nice. Not at all like a priest.’

‘That’s what everyone says,’ says Nelson. ‘But her husband says that she was dedicated to her job. Her parishioners loved her, he says.’

‘So she hadn’t had any threatening letters?’

‘No. I asked him and he seemed shocked at the idea. Mind you, the poor bloke was in shock anyway. His wife went away for a week’s conference, and now she’s dead. Suddenly he’s a widower with a four-year-old child. Fuller said he was in pieces when he saw her body.’

Ruth shivers, imagining the scene. ‘When I asked, most of the women priests said that they had had some abuse,’ she says, ‘but no one had received letters like Hilary’s.’

Nelson smiles faintly. ‘Nice to see you’re doing some detective work, Ruth.’

Ruth can feel herself blushing. ‘I only asked a question,’ she says.

‘The questions are more important than the answers. That’s what you told me once.’

Ruth looks at Nelson. He seems to be behaving rather oddly this evening. Arriving late, drinking wine, remembering past conversations. For some reason, she feels it’s important that they get back to the topic in hand.

‘What happened after Paula got back to Walsingham last night?’ she asks.

‘Apparently they all had coffee and chatted in the sitting room. They all admitted to drinking too much. You wouldn’t expect it of a group of priests, would you? Or maybe you would. I don’t know. Anyway, one of the women – Sydney something – said that Paula decided to walk in the abbey grounds. She wanted to see them by moonlight, she said. This Sydney almost went with her, but she was tired and went to bed. She felt pretty bad about that.’

‘Hilary said that she felt bad too. But they couldn’t have known, could they?’

‘They could have been more careful,’ says Nelson, ‘knowing that there was a killer on the loose. But there’s no point saying that now.’

‘Do you think it was the same person? The same person who killed the other girl. What was her name?’

‘Chloe,’ says Nelson. ‘Chloe Jenkins. It certainly looks like the same modus operandi. Both women were strangled. And there are other similarities. The women looked alike, for one thing.’

‘Did they?’ says Ruth in surprise. ‘But Chloe was so glamorous. I saw the pictures in the paper.’

‘Paula was glamorous too,’ says Nelson. ‘And the same type. Long blonde hair and all that.’ He hesitates, then says, ‘Michelle was attacked last night too.’

‘Michelle?’ Ruth can hardly believe she’s heard right. ‘Michelle was attacked?’

‘Yes.’ Nelson is speaking quickly now. ‘She came to meet me. My car had broken down outside St Simeon’s. She walked through the graveyard and someone jumped on her from behind.’

‘Oh, my God. Was she hurt?’

‘Just shocked. Tim and I got to her in a few minutes. The attacker got away. We had police everywhere – sniffer dog, the lot – but he must have hidden, bided his time, and attacked Paula later.’

‘Lucky you and Tim were there.’

‘Yes.’ Nelson looks at her, his eyes very dark. ‘Did you know that Michelle and Tim were having an affair?’

‘
What?
’ For the second time in a few minutes Ruth doubts her own hearing. Please don’t let him say what I think he’s said, she prays.

‘So you didn’t know? I thought everyone must know.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘They both admitted it,’ says Nelson, draining his glass. He picks up the bottle, ‘Want some more?’

‘No thanks.’

There’s not much left in the bottle, but Nelson pours it all in his glass.

‘They admitted it?’

‘Well, they said that they hadn’t slept together, but that’s irrelevant.’

Is it? thinks Ruth. It doesn’t sound very irrelevant to her. But she says nothing.

‘They’ve been seeing each other for over a year. Christ, what a mug I’ve been. When you think how guilty I’ve felt about you and me.’

Nelson is a great one for guilt, Ruth knows, but she doesn’t quite like how he puts this.

‘I’ve felt guilty too,’ she says defensively.

‘Well, we needn’t have worried. We could have been having an affair all this time.’

‘Could we?’ says Ruth.

They stare at each other. Ruth feels as if the very air is charged, as if she can see the little pluses and minuses hovering around them.

‘Haven’t you sometimes wanted to?’ says Nelson.

‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘Yes, I have.’

Nelson reaches out and touches her cheek. She can see his eyelashes, the black stubble on his chin.

‘Don’t, Nelson.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re just doing it because you’re angry with Michelle. You need to talk to her. She hasn’t had an affair if they didn’t sleep together. A few meetings at the gym doesn’t constitute an affair.’

‘What did you say?’

The change in his tone is almost frightening. For a second he looks like a stranger.

‘I said . . . I said they weren’t really having an affair if they . . .’

‘You said “a few meetings at the gym”. How did you know they met at the gym?’

‘I didn’t . . .’

‘Yes, you did. You knew.’

Nelson stands up. He looks very big and very threatening. Flint jumps back on the sofa as if to protect Ruth.

‘I didn’t know,’ she says.

‘You’re lying, Ruth.’

Ruth stands up too, angry now. ‘OK. I saw them together at the gym once. I didn’t know that they were seeing each other, though. Michelle was hardly likely to confide in me, was she?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Tell you what? That your wife was seen at the gym with another man? You would have thought I was mad.’

Nelson looks as if he is about to say something. Then he looks as if he’s going to come towards her. Then, with a gesture as if he’s pushing something away, he makes for the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to the bloody gym,’ says Nelson. ‘What do you think?’

And he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 20

Nelson fully intends to drive round all night. When he gets back into the car there are three messages on his phone from Michelle, but he ignores them. He heads for the sea, parking by the sand dunes at Hunstanton. He gets out of the car and takes the path to the beach. The sand is silver in the moonlight and the sea is breaking in smooth black waves. He thinks of the wooden henge with the body buried in its circle, the case where he first met Ruth. He thinks of their night together, the night Katie was conceived. It’s true that Michelle has had much to forgive, because, since that night, Ruth has barely been out of his thoughts. The salt wind stings his face. He has always hated the Norfolk landscape, but tonight the sea and the sky are strangely suited to his mood, the long unforgiving miles of sand, the endless tide of water.

He walks back to Michelle’s car. There’s a message from Ruth too, but he doesn’t read it. He heads for home because, really, where else is he going to go?

Michelle is waiting up for him. She is in her dressing gown again, her hair tied back. She should look less glamorous than normal, but, to Nelson, she looks as beautiful as ever. More so, perhaps, because he is the only person who sees her like this, her eyelashes pale, her lips slightly chapped.

‘Where have you been, Harry? I’ve been really worried.’

‘I was working late. A woman was killed yesterday, remember?’

‘I’m not likely to forget, am I, considering it was nearly me?’

Nelson looks at the marks around her neck. They are greenish-yellow now. The people at the salon must think he’s a wife beater.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

‘All right. Harry, we have to talk.’

‘That’s what Tim said to me. Stupid bastard.’

Nelson goes to the drinks cabinet and pours himself a whisky. ‘Do you want one?’ he asks grudgingly.

‘No thank you.’ From the cup beside her Nelson can see that his wife has been drinking one of her disgusting herbal teas. She’s never been a big drinker.

‘Harry, have you been with Ruth?’

The acuteness of her guess takes him by surprise. ‘Why would I go there?’ he blusters.

‘I thought you’d go to her. That you’d think it would be OK to be with her now.’

Nelson looks at her curiously. ‘Is that what you think I want?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Is that why you had an affair with Tim?’ He raises a hand. ‘OK. I know you didn’t sleep with him. But you were seeing him behind my back.’

Michelle fiddles with the end of her ponytail. ‘Partly. Partly just to prove that someone still found me attractive. It’s hard, you preferring someone like Ruth to me.’

‘I don’t prefer her.’

‘Really?’ Michelle looks at him squarely. ‘Really?’

‘Really. Do you prefer Tim to me?’

‘No!’ Her response is so immediate, so genuine, that he is touched. ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.’

He makes a move towards her and she flings herself, weeping, into his arms. After a few moments he bends his head to kiss her. There are tears in his eyes too.

*

In the morning, he wakes before the alarm. He lies there for a few moments, letting the events of yesterday run through his mind. He can’t help feeling that he’s messed things up in some subtle but catastrophic way. Yesterday he had felt betrayed by Michelle, and, at the same time, drawn to Ruth. He hadn’t gone round to Ruth’s house determined to carry on their affair, but, all the same, he can’t deny that the thought hadn’t been far from his mind. But also, Ruth’s little house had suddenly seemed a place of refuge, a sanctuary if you like. Ruth had turned him away, that’s what it feels like anyway. And now he feels betrayed by Ruth, but – by some strange marital alchemy – reunited with Michelle. Last night they had made love and he knows that Michelle thinks that this has set the seal on their reconciliation. Soon Tim will be gone and he and Michelle can continue to mend their marriage, adjusting to life without the girls, enjoying their mid-life years. So why isn’t he feeling happier?

Enough soul-searching, he tells himself. He doesn’t like talking about emotions, not even to himself. There’s a murderer to catch. Tanya’s CCTV footage has upgraded Stanley Greenway from a ‘person of interest’ to a suspect with a number in the case files. But, all the same, he didn’t think there was enough to arrest the man. The footage didn’t place Greenway at the Slipper Chapel at the time of the murder, though it did leave him with some questions to answer about his movements that night. He’d let Stanley Greenway go back to the Sanctuary. ‘After all,’ he told Clough, ‘he’s as safe there as anywhere.’ But, if Greenway’s DNA is found anywhere on Chloe or Paula’s clothing, then Nelson will be round at the Sanctuary gates with an arrest warrant faster than you can say ‘Innocent until proven guilty’.

So, his first job today is to hassle the lab about the DNA results. It’s possible to get them back in twenty-four hours, though this is expensive and, therefore, frowned upon by Whitcliffe. He also wants to go back to the Slipper Chapel with a photograph of Stanley Greenway. They need to go through all the witness reports from Walsingham too. He looks at the clock. Six o’clock. Time to get going. He’ll have to take Michelle’s car again, but hassling the garage will also be on his list. He gets out of bed, careful not to wake Michelle, and heads for the shower.

*

He’s at work by seven. King’s Lynn is deserted, mist rising up from the quay, everything grey and dreamlike. On the steps outside the police station there’s a rough sleeper who greets him with an ironical, ‘Morning, Inspector Morse.’

‘Didn’t I give you money to go to a shelter last time?’

‘Yes, you did, God bless you.’

‘Well, go and get yourself some breakfast.’ Nelson slips the man a fiver and watches him hurry off down the road throwing ‘God bless yous’ over his shoulder. He’s pretty sure that the breakfast will be entirely liquid.

Inside, there’s only the night sergeant yawning over a cup-a-soup.

‘Morning, Shane.’

‘Morning, sir. You’re early today.’

‘Lots to do.’ Nelson is conscious of his mood lightening the further he gets into the building. He climbs the stairs two at a time, makes himself a cup of instant coffee and sits at a computer in the incident room to go through the previous day’s reports.

Tim comes in at eight, carrying his sports bag. He says good morning to Nelson, who nods at him.

‘Is this all the CCTV we have? The abbey grounds and the gift shop?’

‘Yes. There’s a camera outside the farm shop, but it doesn’t work.’

‘Anything from the door-to-door?’

‘I’m going to type up the reports now. One possible sighting. A woman walking her dog saw a man walking along beside the church at midnight. Said he looked furtive.’

‘Description?’

‘Not a very good one. But we could show her pictures of Stanley Greenway. Or have an identity parade. The CPS loves identity parades.’

Nelson knows that this is true. He doesn’t want to grant Tim the satisfaction of agreeing, though.

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘It’s Chloe Jenkins’ funeral. You said that I should go. To represent the force.’ Tim holds up his bag. ‘I’m going to change as soon as I’ve done the reports.’

‘All right,’ says Nelson grudgingly. ‘Pick up anything you can from the family. This case isn’t over yet.’

‘It’ll be tough for them, hearing about Paula being killed.’

‘Yes, it’s tough,’ says Nelson. ‘And we haven’t got time to chat about it. There’s a team meeting at nine.’ He can’t help feeling aggrieved that Tim is in before Clough.

Clough arrives at eight-thirty, still chewing his McDonald’s breakfast. Tanya is already making a health-food smoothie in the tiny kitchen. She has brought in her own blender and everything.

‘Much better for you than all those carbs,’ she says. ‘Kale’s a super-food.’

‘Count me out,’ says Clough, chucking the greasy wrappers in the bin.

‘If you’ve finished chatting about food,’ says Nelson, who is having his fifth cup of coffee, ‘I’d like to have a meeting.’

‘Do you want a smoothie?’ asks Tanya, waving a container of sludge-green liquid.

‘No, you’re all right,’ says Nelson. ‘What is it?’ This last to Tom Henty, the desk sergeant, who has appeared in the doorway.

‘Someone to see you, boss. He says it’s important.’

‘Who is it?’

‘He’s a priest. I think I remember him from the children’s home case.’

*

Nelson’s first thought is that Father Hennessey looks as bad as he does. The priest is still an intimidating presence, with his rugby player’s shoulders and boxer’s nose, but his eyes are shadowed and he looks as if he hasn’t slept. He puts his hat on the floor and accepts a cup of coffee.

‘I’m giving up coffee for Lent,’ he says. ‘Better make the most of it.’

‘This stuff’s enough to make you give up coffee for life,’ says Nelson. ‘I should know. I’ve drunk about a gallon of it.’

Father Hennessey smiles and drinks his coffee in silence for a few minutes. Just as Nelson is wondering if the priest is ever going to speak, if he’s waiting for Nelson to make the first move (‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned’), Hennessey says, ‘Fiona . . . Doctor McAllister . . . tells me that you called Stanley Greenway in for questioning.’

‘I can’t discuss ongoing investigations,’ says Nelson.

‘But that much is common knowledge.’

‘All right,’ says Nelson, ‘he did come into the station yesterday.’

‘The thing is,’ says Hennessey and, uncharacteristically, he looks away as he speaks, ‘I can give him an alibi for Wednesday night.’

‘Go on.’

‘I left the Sanctuary at about eleven o’clock on Wednesday,’ says Hennessey, speaking rather fast. ‘It was a lovely clear night so I thought I’d walk back across the fields to Walsingham. When I was still in the Sanctuary grounds, though, I saw a man lying on the ground. My first thought was that he might be hurt but, when I went over, I saw that it was Stanley. He was just lying there, staring up at the stars. I asked if he was all right and he said that he just liked lying there, thinking. It helped him “make sense of things”, he said. He wasn’t in distress of any kind, so I left him.’

‘You didn’t think to tell Doctor McAllister?’

‘No. I knew that, strictly speaking, patients weren’t allowed out at night, but Stanley seemed so peaceful. Sometimes we all need a bit of silence, a bit of time with God.’

‘What did you do after you saw Stanley?’

‘I walked back to Walsingham. I wanted to go and pray in the church, but it was locked, so I went back to my pilgrim house.’

The alibi isn’t perfect. Paula was probably killed some time in the early hours of Thursday morning and it wouldn’t have been impossible for Stanley to have stopped star-gazing, walked to Walsingham, and killed her. Not impossible but, Nelson has to admit, not that probable either. He looks curiously at the priest.

‘I have to ask you, Father, what you were doing at the Sanctuary so late at night?’

He expects Hennessey to come up with some line about visiting the sick, but, to his surprise, the priest runs a hand through his white hair and utters something very like a groan. When he speaks, his words are the very last thing that Nelson expects. ‘Celibacy,’ says Father Hennessey, ‘is very hard. A real sacrifice. Especially for a young man.’

‘It must be,’ says Nelson.

‘When I was a young priest I was sent to a parish in Glasgow. I loved the place. It’s a great city.’

Father Hennessey loves cities, Nelson remembers. It’s the countryside he can’t stand. He waits for the priest to continue.

‘I loved Glasgow,’ says Hennessey, ‘but the work was hard, working in the tenements amongst the very poorest of the poor. This was the sixties. Exciting times, but lots of gang violence, lots of suffering.’

Nelson says nothing. He assumes that Father Hennessey has not come here to give him a lecture on Scotland in the swinging sixties.

After a few minutes, Hennessey says, speaking very fast now, ‘None of that is any excuse, of course. I fell prey to temptation. I had an affair. It sounds terrible, put like that. I fell in love. But I loved God too. What matters is I broke my vows. I slept with a young woman and she became pregnant. I offered to leave the priesthood and marry her, but she said no. She was very strong, far stronger than me. She knew that I had a vocation and that I’d be miserable if I didn’t fulfil it. So we parted. She had the child and eventually married someone else. I moved down to Norfolk and started the children’s home, trying to give those children a good life even if I couldn’t acknowledge my own.’

‘That’s a sad story,’ says Nelson, ‘but how is it relevant here?’

‘My child, my daughter, eventually found out that I was her father. Her mother told her on her deathbed. And she got in contact.’

Nelson thinks he can guess the rest, but he asks, ‘And your daughter is?’

‘Fiona. Doctor Fiona McAllister. She’s a wonderful woman, very like her mother. I’ve been getting to know her, spending time at the Sanctuary.’

Nelson remembers Jean saying that Fiona was an atheist. He supposes that it’s enough to make you an atheist, having a Catholic priest as a father. But, then again, he thinks that Fiona is probably more like Father Hennessey than she realises. She has inherited his crusading zeal, for one thing.

‘I understand that this might come out in the course of your investigation,’ says Father Hennessey, ‘but I’ll leave that to your discretion.’

‘I’ll try to keep your relationship with Doctor McAllister out of it,’ says Nelson. He doesn’t really see why the priest should suffer for his former mistake. Hennessey is still a principled man who has done a lot of good in the world. And, if he were a C of E priest, he could have had any amount of children. Larry Westmondham has four, he seems to remember.

‘Thank you, Harry,’ says Father Hennessey. ‘You’re a good man.’

‘I’m not a good man,’ says Nelson. ‘I do try to be a good policeman, though.’

‘You’re a better man than you think,’ says Father Hennessey, ‘and you’re a better father than I am. At least you’re involved in your daughter’s life.’

So he does know about Katie.