The Woman In Blue: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 8 (18 page)

Michelle had wanted another baby after Rebecca, Nelson remembered, but he had thought two children were enough. Well, now he has three. No wonder Michelle resented him for it. He’s about to say something when there’s a noise outside and Daisy’s face lights up.

‘In here, darlings.’

There is a lot of crashing in the hall and then three children and a dog burst into the room, followed by the Revd Larry Westmondham.

There is such a din of children shouting, the baby beating a tattoo on the tray of his highchair and the dog barking that it’s a few moments before Larry registers Nelson’s presence.

‘Detective Chief Inspector. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Don’t worry. You’ve got your hands full.’

Daisy puts a cup of tea in front of her husband. ‘Detective Inspector Nelson came to see you, Larry.’

‘Do you want to see my picture?’ asks one of the girls, the youngest, he thinks.

‘Yes, please,’ says Nelson.

‘It’s a friendly shark,’ says the girl.

The picture shows a blue sea with what looks like a floating smile in it. The paper smells strongly of primary-school paint and brings back memories of Laura and Rebecca waving similar masterpieces at him.

‘I like his teeth.’

‘It’s a lady shark.’

‘Leave Inspector Nelson alone, Victoria,’ says Daisy. ‘He’s here to talk to Daddy.’

‘Are you to do with the church?’ asks Victoria.

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think you were,’ she says, peeling away to play with the dog, a large excitable spaniel. One of the older girls has taken Samuel out of his highchair and there’s a move towards the garden. Daisy puts a plate of scones in front of Nelson and Larry.

‘I’ll go out into the garden too,’ she says, ‘then you can talk in peace. Be careful, they’re a bit hot.’

It’s a few minutes before Nelson realises that she’s talking about the scones.

*

Larry Westmondham drinks his tea with the abstracted air of one whose mind is far away from domestic minutiae, in inner-city Croydon, perhaps.

‘Sorry to bother you at home,’ says Nelson. ‘I bet you don’t get much time to yourself.’

‘No,’ says Larry, crumbling a scone into his saucer. ‘That’s the only thing about being a priest with a family. Your wife and children miss out really. There are hundreds of people out there who call you “Father” and your real kids come second a lot of the time. Sometimes I think there’s something to be said for a celibate clergy.’

Nelson is glad that Daisy is not here to hear this endorsement of family life. He thinks of Giles Moncrieff going home to break the news to his son of his mother’s death.

‘Must be difficult for husbands of female clergy too.’

‘Yes. I often think that. It’s hard to share your spouse with a whole parish.’

Giles had said that Paula’s parishioners had adored her. Had he found it hard to share her with them? It’s a new line of thought.

‘I actually wanted to talk to you about your mother,’ says Nelson.

‘Really?’ Larry’s eyebrows seem to rise into his bald head. ‘Why?’

‘Paula Moncrieff, the woman who died, she had been fostered. I just wondered – I know it’s a long shot – if your mother had had a foster child called Paula?’

Larry’s forehead wrinkles. ‘I’m not sure. There were so many, and some only stayed a few weeks. They would know at the council, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yes. I’m going to look at the local authority records. I just thought it might be quicker to come to you. When I spoke to you in the church you said that one of your mother’s foster children had become a vicar. I thought that might be Paula.’

‘I heard that one of them was a vicar,’ says Larry. ‘I don’t know who told me, but I assumed it would be a man.’

‘Not a safe assumption these days.’

‘No.’ Larry looks at Nelson. ‘Paula and the other women priests came here for a meal at the start of their course. You’d think that Paula would have mentioned it if she’d been fostered by Mum.’

‘You would,’ admits Nelson. ‘But sometimes people don’t like to talk about their childhood. Especially if it hasn’t been very happy.’

‘The other girl that died was looked after by Mum. Do you think that’s the link then?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Nelson. ‘It’s just a line of enquiry.’

Larry still looks troubled. He’s about to speak when the back door opens and Victoria bursts in to demand that he plays football with them.

‘We need someone who can actually kick the ball. Mum and Samuel are in goal.’

‘I’m busy, sweetheart.’

‘You’ve got a few minutes to play football, surely,’ says Nelson. ‘I’ll join you. I once had a trial for Blackpool Juniors.’

‘Oh,’ says Larry vaguely. ‘Have Blackpool got a football team?’

*

When Nelson gets back in his car, still out of breath (partly from the shock of Larry’s remark) he puts in a request to Intel, asking for the names of all the children fostered by Doreen Westmondham. Could this really be the link between Chloe and Paula? That they had both been cared for by the kind-faced woman in Daisy’s photograph? But, if that was the case, why was Michelle attacked? Was it simply because the killer had mistaken her for Paula? He’s just about to ring the station when his phone buzzes. Clough.

‘What is it?’

‘We’ve got the DNA results. Stanley Greenway’s DNA matches semen found on Chloe Jenkins’ dressing gown.’

‘Meet me at the Sanctuary,’ says Nelson. ‘We’re going to bring him in.’

Chapter 23

Fiona McAllister insists on accompanying Stanley Greenway to the police station.

‘It’s all right, Dr McAllister,’ says Stanley, ‘I’m sure this is all just routine.’

‘I’ll come anyway,’ says Fiona grimly.

Nelson, looking at Fiona McAllister in the driving mirror, tries to see if he can see any resemblance between the doctor and Father Hennessey. On the surface they couldn’t be less alike. Hennessey is heavily built, with strong, irregular features; Fiona McAllister is slim and attractive, radiating coolness and poise. But there is something there all the same: maybe it’s just the crusading expression or the sense of certainty. Nelson knows that he must play this interview by the book.

‘I want to make a statement,’ says Fiona, ‘stating that Stanley Greenway is on drugs which can cause paranoid delusions and blackouts.’

‘You can make a statement at the station,’ says Nelson.

‘I’ve called my solicitor,’ Fiona is saying now. ‘She’s meeting us there.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Khan. Nirupa Khan.’ That figures. Nirupa Khan is one of the smartest lawyers around. What’s more, she’s no fan of the police.

Nelson drives round to the back entrance. Nirupa Khan is waiting at the front desk.

‘Have you charged him with anything?’ she says.

‘No,’ says Nelson. ‘Mr Greenway is just here on a voluntary basis to answer some questions.’

‘I’ll sit in on the interview,’ she says.

‘Is that what you want?’ Nelson asks Stanley.

Stanley looks confused. ‘I strongly advise you to have Ms Khan with you,’ cuts in Fiona.

‘All right then. If you say so, Doctor McAllister.’

‘It’s going to be quite a party,’ murmurs Clough as Stanley, Nelson, Nirupa and Fiona file into Interview Room One. Clough takes his seat beside Nelson as Nelson explains that this is an interview under caution and Greenway doesn’t have to answer the questions but that anything he says may be taken as evidence. Greenway stares at him vacantly.

Nelson introduces himself and DS Clough for the tape. Then he says, ‘Mr Greenway, what was the nature of your relationship with Chloe Jenkins?’

Nirupa stirs, but allows the question.

‘We were friends,’ says Stanley.

‘Is that all?’

‘We were fond of her, Jean and I. She was almost like a daughter to us.’ Stanley is gaining in confidence now, sounding almost angry. ‘She was such a sweet, gentle soul, very spiritual. She believed in angels. To think that someone could . . .’ He dabs his eyes.

‘Mr Greenway,’ says Nelson, ‘we have had forensic tests done on Chloe Jenkins’ nightclothes, the clothes she was wearing when she was killed, and we found traces of your semen on them. How do you explain that?’

Nirupa Khan says, ‘You don’t have to answer, Stanley. Remember you can leave at any time.’

Nelson ignores her. ‘Can you explain that, Stanley?’

Stanley stares at the ceiling. Eventually he says, in a gentle voice, as if he is explaining something to a child, ‘I used to go into her room when she wasn’t there and try on her clothes. I liked her dressing gown because it was big. It fitted me. I used to walk round in it. And sometimes I got excited.’

Nelson stares at him. ‘You masturbated in her clothes?’

‘If you want to put it like that, yes.’

‘A perfectly reasonable answer,’ says Nirupa. ‘Now if I could have a few minutes with my client.’

*

‘Jesus wept.’ Nelson and Clough are having a hasty meeting in Nelson’s office. Rather reluctantly, Nelson has asked Tim to join them. ‘Can you believe it?’

‘I can believe anything of him,’ says Clough. ‘He gives me the creeps.’

‘The trouble is,’ says Nelson, ‘it is an explanation for his DNA being on Chloe’s clothes. Being a creep doesn’t make you a murderer.’

Clough looks unconvinced.

‘Does he have an alibi for the night of Chloe’s murder?’ asks Tim.

‘Says he was in bed at the Sanctuary but no alibi to confirm this. And, given his fondness for sneaking out at night, I think we could have a good go at breaking that down. We’ve got to be careful though. Nirupa Khan will be down on us like a ton of bricks if we ask anything approaching a leading question. Stanley’s obviously quite vulnerable mentally too. That’s why it’s good that his doctor’s here.’

‘I think we’ll get a confession,’ says Tim. ‘He’s that type.’

Would you have confessed, thought Nelson, if you hadn’t given yourself away with Michelle in the graveyard? Aloud he says, ‘Greenway isn’t a Catholic. It’s Catholics who like confessing.’

‘Anglo-Catholics do too,’ says Tim. ‘I’ve been reading up about it.’

At any other time Nelson might have been impressed by this, but now he just says, sourly, ‘Nirupa Khan will try to stop him coming over all confessional in the interview.’

‘We’ll just have to press the right buttons,’ says Clough. ‘What an angel Chloe was, how no one understood their relationship. That sort of thing.’

‘Blimey,’ says Nelson, ‘have you been going to empathy classes in night school, Cloughie?’

Clough looks modest. ‘I’ve learnt a thing or two in the past few years.’

‘We all have,’ says Nelson. ‘Come on, let’s get back in there.’

*

Ruth is in a very different environment, the Humanities library at the university. Yet she too is primarily concerned with bodily fluids. She is immersed in a heavy hardback book with hand-cut pages. It is called
Relics of the Medieval Saints
. It’s all here: vials of blood, St Anthony’s tongue, St John the Baptist’s head, the finger of Doubting Thomas, even something called the Holy Foreskin (a prized relic in medieval times apparently). There are also enough pieces of the True Cross to build an ark. Ruth reads on, turning the pages with care. Occasionally she writes in her notebook. It’s quite soothing, reminding her of her student days and the slower pre-Internet world.

It’s far quieter here than in the Natural Sciences library, where there’s a constant whirr of photocopying and low-level chatting. The windows look out onto the ornamental lake, currently as still and smooth as glass. Faint shouts can be heard from the tennis courts behind the octagonal lecture theatre, but, in the library, there is a heavy scholarly silence. Ruth is not even sure that the woman opposite her is breathing.

‘Ruth! What are you doing here?’

It’s Shona, scattering the dust motes with her carrying voice and her glowing face and hair. The woman opposite wakes up with a start and glares at them.

‘I thought you never came to the Humanities block,’ Shona is saying.

‘I managed to get past the checkpoint.’

‘What are you reading?’ Shona reaches out to look at the cover of Ruth’s book. The title is embossed in gold. Shona peers at it. ‘
Relics of the Medieval Saints 
. . . Are you getting religious in your old age, Ruthie?’

‘Come for a coffee,’ says Ruth, ‘and I’ll tell you. I’ll just put this book back. You’re not allowed to take it out of the library.’

‘I bet there’s a waiting list a mile long,’ says Shona.

*

Just to give himself some thinking time, Nelson checks his emails before he goes back into the interview room. There’s one from Intel listing Doreen Westmondham’s foster children. Nelson scans down impatiently. There’s a Pauline Berry on the list, also a Paula White. He calls, ‘Fuller!’

Tanya appears at the door. ‘Yes, boss?’

‘Can you do something for me? Check Paula Moncrieff’s maiden name. Be sensitive, mind, if you speak to the husband.’

‘Of course. How’s it going with Stanley Greenway?’

‘If he confesses,’ says Nelson, ‘you’ll be the first to know.’

Tanya clearly doesn’t get the irony and leaves the office looking complacent.

*

Shona is actually a very good audience. Ruth doesn’t tell her about the possible link to the letters, only that she is on the trail of the missing piece of glass. Even so, Shona listens wide-eyed, letting her cappuccino get cold.

‘Those old relics are really interesting. Have you seen St Etheldreda’s hand in Ely?’

‘No. I love Ely, though. Is it in the cathedral?’

‘No, in St Etheldreda’s Church. It’s apparently the oldest Catholic church in England, but it’s tucked away in a back street. You’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look. The hand’s in a glass case and it lights up if you put a coin in. There’s a pretty good provenance to it, though.’

‘That’s more than can be said for these breast-milk relics.’

‘Are there a lot of them around?’

‘Yes. Apparently there’s quite a tradition of the nursing Madonna, especially in the Greek Orthodox Church. There’s a church called the Church of the White Grotto, built on white stone in Bethlehem where a drop of Mary’s milk is meant to have fallen. There’s also St Bernard of Clairvaux who had a vision of the Virgin Mary where he got squirted in the eye with her breast milk.’

‘That’s quite a vision. Did he go blind?’

‘No. It cured his eye infection apparently.’

‘Is there a breast-milk tradition connected to Walsingham?’ asks Shona.

‘Well the original holy house apparently contained a phial of the Virgin’s breast milk. It’s shown on some of the pilgrim badges. And the pilgrim route used to be called the Milky Way. ’

‘It’s a funny thing,’ says Shona. ‘The Catholic Church is meant to be against the sins of the flesh, but it’s obsessed with these corporal objects. I always remember reading that Robert Browning poem, “The Bishop Orders His Tomb”, and there’s a line about something being “as blue as the vein o’er the Madonna’s breast”. I found that quite shocking – I was a good little Catholic schoolgirl at the time – but then there are all these churches with bits of wrinkled flesh kept as holy objects. It’s all very odd.’

Ruth thinks about the letter-writer and his preoccupation with the masculinity of the scriptures. Maybe the cult of the nursing Madonna is a way to combat this. She wonders what Hilary would think of it all. She also realises how much she has missed Shona and her literary take on events. She has seen far less of Shona since she moved in with Phil, and her life feels poorer for it.

Maybe Shona has been thinking the same thing.

‘We could go to Ely and see the hand, if you want. Take the kids. Make a day of it. Louis would love to see Kate.’

Since Shona’s little boy Louis spends most of his time beating Kate up, Ruth rather doubts that this feeling will be mutual, but the thought of a day with Shona is very enticing.

‘I’d love that,’ she says. She catches sight of the clock over Shona’s head. ‘Oh God, it’s five o’clock. I’ve got to pick Kate up from the childminder.’

‘I’ve got to get Louis from the nursery. They make you feel so terrible if you’re late.’

That’s one problem the Virgin Mary didn’t have, thinks Ruth, as the two mothers hurry out of the canteen.

*

Time is moving on for Nelson too. Nirupa Khan is looking at her watch, and Stanley Greenway has been answering questions for over an hour. Despite Nelson’s constant references to the angelic qualities of Chloe, Stanley sticks to his story pretty well. He was in bed at the Sanctuary, he didn’t hear about Chloe’s death until Doctor McAllister told him the next day. Yes, he’d been at the Slipper Chapel earlier in the evening. He likes to attend different churches and there’s a statue he likes at the Catholic shrine. He was devastated when he heard about Chloe, had to take a tranquilliser. Dr McAllister drove him and Jean to the funeral. It was so sad, there were white roses on the coffin, and they’d played a song about angels. On the night of Paula’s death he had gone for a walk, just strolling around aimlessly looking at the stars and trying to pray. He’d been back at the Sanctuary by two because he remembered the grandfather clock striking in the hall.

That clock was slow, remembers Nelson. Even so, if this is true, Stanley was back at the Sanctuary by two-thirty. Paula was killed between one-thirty and three-thirty. It’s still possible.

At six o’clock Nelson takes a break. He knows that he hasn’t got much time left and he doesn’t think that the DNA on its own is enough for an arrest. If he doesn’t get a confession soon he will have to let Greenway go and the momentum will be lost. Going back up to his office, he meets Tanya on the stairs.

‘You still here, Fuller?’

‘Of course. And I found out about Paula Moncrieff. Her maiden name was White and her husband said that she was fostered by a lovely woman who lived in Houghton St Giles. He remembered the name because it was like his.’

‘Well done.’ Nelson stands still on the stairs, thinking. If the link is Doreen Westmondham, then surely that lets Stanley Greenway off the hook. Maybe the ex-priest really is just a slightly creepy man who likes dressing up in young girls’ clothes and not a murderer after all. As Nelson debates with himself, Tom Henty calls from downstairs.

‘DCI Nelson? Ms Khan wants a word.’

Nirupa Khan is looking thoroughly irritated. Nelson assumes this is because he has been questioning her client for so long, so he is stunned when she says, ‘My client wants to make a statement. I must tell you that this is against my advice and that of his doctor.’ She shrugs. Nelson feels almost sorry for her.

Stanley Greenway’s statement is brief. ‘I killed Chloe. I’m very sorry. It was just that I loved her so much.’