The Woman In Blue: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 8 (9 page)

‘I may have had the odd letter,’ Hilary admits. ‘A few emails, especially when I started as parish priest, but nothing too bad. I’m not on Twitter so I’ve escaped the trolls.’ She smiles at Nelson, who doesn’t smile back. He barely knows what Twitter is.

‘It must be hard,’ Tanya butts in, ‘being a woman priest. Especially when you’ve got a child.’

Nelson wants to strangle her. Now is not the moment for misguided attempts at empathy. Judy would have known exactly when to say this sort of thing.

It’s too late for Tanya. ‘What do you mean?’ snaps Hilary. ‘My husband is a father and a priest. What’s the difference?’

‘The difference is that you’ve been receiving threatening letters,’ says Nelson. ‘Now is there anything in these letters that gives you a clue about the sender?’

‘Not really,’ says Hilary. ‘I mean he seems to have some biblical knowledge and a very traditional view of the sacraments.’

‘It might not necessarily be a man,’ says Nelson. ‘Never assume, that’s what I tell my team.’

‘It’s certainly someone who dislikes and fears women,’ says Hilary.

‘Again, that might not mean it’s a man. Can I ask you, what do you think the phrase “She stands before you, clad in blue, weeping for the world” could mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Hilary, ‘apart from the obvious.’

‘Which is?’

‘Oh, the Virgin Mary, weeping for mankind, Our Lady of Sorrows, that sort of thing.’

Nelson thinks of Cathbad’s reaction to the words ‘Our Lady’. ‘Do you think the writer is a Catholic?’ he asks.

Hilary looks curious, as if Nelson has succeeded in surprising her for the first time.

‘I’m not sure. That’s what I told Ruth too. There’s a lot of veneration for Mary in the letters, but Anglicans venerate her too – just look around you. The ballad that he quotes is about the dissolution of the monasteries, though, so that might point to him being a Catholic.’

‘The dissolution of the monasteries being when all the monks were chucked out and the gold melted down for Henry and his cronies?’

‘That’s a rather simplistic way of looking at it. The monasteries did help the poor, but there was a lot of abuse of privilege too. The monks hardly lived lives of poverty, chastity and obedience.’

Nor do you, thinks Nelson. He doesn’t have any views about married clergy in general, but he does feel that the monks got rather a raw deal. There had been a monk who taught at his school, Brother Dominic, and he’d been a gentle soul, the focus of a lot of schoolboy teasing.

‘Well,’ says Nelson, getting up, ‘I must ask you to be vigilant while you’re here. The writer obviously knows you’re in Walsingham. I’ll have my officers keep a watch on the place. Probably nothing to worry about, but you’d be as well to keep on your guard. Try not to go out on your own too much.’

‘There’s a group of us going out for a meal tonight,’ says Hilary. ‘Ruth’s joining us.’ Is it his imagination or does she say this in a rather combative way?

‘Would you like some police protection?’

‘Oh no,’ she laughs. ‘It’s just a girls’ night out.’

Nelson tries and fails to imagine Ruth on a girls’ night out. ‘I hope you have a pleasant evening,’ he says. ‘Have you spoken about the letters to the other women on the course? They are all women, I take it?’

‘Yes. They’re all women priests.’

‘And none of them have had letters?’

‘I haven’t asked, though Ruth suggested I should.’

Well done, Ruth. A good suggestion at last. ‘I think it might be an idea,’ he says. ‘Again, there’s no point in worrying them, but it might be significant if someone else has been receiving letters. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?’

‘Only Robin Rainsford, who’s running the course.’

‘Can I speak to Mr Rainsford?’

‘Yes, he’s in the small sitting room, preparing for this afternoon’s session. And it’s Doctor Rainsford actually.’

Of course it is.

‘I’ll have a word with Doctor Rainsford now,’ he says. ‘Good day, Doctor Smithson, and thanks for your time.’

‘Goodbye, Detective Chief Inspector. Goodbye.’ This last is to Tanya.

‘Goodbye,’ says Tanya cheerily, unaware of any animosity.

*

Despite telling Nelson that she’s intending to go out to dinner with the women priests, Ruth fully intends to cancel. She wakes up determined to cancel, and, when she drops Kate at school, she doesn’t mention to her daughter that Clara might be coming to babysit that evening. It’s always essential to warn Kate of these things beforehand because, although she loves Clara, if she’s suddenly faced with an evening without Ruth she’s likely to cling onto her legs and wail ‘Don’t leave me’. This clinginess is something new and something to add to Ruth’s daily list of worries as she takes the road for the university. She won’t go out, she’ll get some work done, spend quality playing time with Kate (not trying to read the
Guardian
at the same time) and get an early night. This resolution survives Phil telling her – apropos of nothing much – that she should ‘Get out more’ and that he and Shona are quite worried about her. Shona is Phil’s partner and one of Ruth’s closest friends. Even so Ruth can just imagine her saying this. Shona won’t be happy until Ruth is shackled to some gruesome Phil lookalike. But Ruth is definitely not going to Hilary’s girls’ night out. She doesn’t care if she turns into a hermit and starts to knit clothes out of Flint’s fur, she’s not going to a restaurant with a lot of women who will talk about God as if He’s sitting at the next table.

Mid-morning, Hilary rings.

‘Hi, Ruth. I’m not interrupting, am I?’

‘No. I’m just marking some mid-sessional papers.’

‘What’s the topic?’

‘Field techniques in archaeology.’

‘I do envy you sometimes. Still being in archaeology.’

‘Really?’ Then why, thinks Ruth, go to all the trouble – seven years wasn’t it? – of becoming a priest? Especially if, by the end of it, people hate you for it.

‘Ruth . . .’ Hilary’s voice changes. ‘Your friend Detective Nelson came to see me just now.’

‘He’s not . . .’

‘Seems a nice chap. He had this policewoman with him, glasses, very keen.’

That must be Tanya. She must be delighted to be doing interviews with Nelson. Judy would be spitting if she knew. She wouldn’t like the word ‘policewoman’ either, any more than Hilary would like ‘priestess’.

‘He seems to be taking the letters very seriously.’

‘Well, he’s very thorough.’

‘He even offered us police protection for our dinner tonight.’

God, she had thought that was a joke. Please don’t let Nelson send Clough. Or Tim.

‘I said I’d thought we’d be safe enough at Briarfields. I booked there because I thought it was near you. Can’t wait for you to meet the girls. We’re getting cabs, so we can drink. Shall we swing by and pick you up?’

‘It’s OK,’ says Ruth weakly. ‘I’ll drive myself.’

*

Nelson dispatches Tanya back to the station after the interview with Hilary. He says that he wants her to get going on the CCTV footage, but really he’s had enough of her company for one day. When he’s working with Clough they know each other so well that he has no need to telegraph when he wants his sergeant to cut in or keep silent. And, whilst Clough can be a bit un-PC sometimes, Nelson knows that his heart is in the right place because that’s been tested many times. With Tim or Judy it’s different, they are professionals and he can rely on them to be conciliatory or confrontational as the occasion demands. Judy, in particular, is excellent at empathy, letting the suspect think that she alone understands them and what led them to do this thing. Tim, with his good looks and quiet demeanour, gets results too. But Tanya, she’s too keen to make her mark, to show how clever she is. And she
is
intelligent and a good officer, it’s just that a suspect or any person of interest is not going to give you marks for cleverness; most of the time you just need to listen. The time for cleverness comes later.

Leaving Tanya to take a minicab back to King’s Lynn, Nelson heads for the small sitting room. It’s not as cosy as the name suggests; another institutional-looking room with the same orange armchairs and hard-wearing carpet. But someone has obviously been trying to make the room more welcoming. The chairs are clustered in a circle around a fireplace, dreamy chanting music is being played and there is a smell of something like incense in the air. A man in a pink jumper is sitting in one of the chairs, fiddling with what looks like a mobile phone.

‘Doctor Rainsford?’

The man looks up: he has round glasses and looks rather like a grown-up Billy Bunter.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Nelson from the King’s Lynn police. I wondered if I could have a quick word?’

Robin Rainsford stands up. He’s taller than he first appeared. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ says Nelson. He wonders if he’s saying this too much. In his opinion, there’s nothing wrong with putting the public on their guard. ‘Shall we sit down?’

They sit in the orange armchairs. Rainsford puts his mobile down. ‘I’ve succeeded in syncing iTunes to the sound system,’ he says. ‘Isn’t it incredible?’

‘Congratulations,’ says Nelson. He still has a phone that doesn’t take pictures. ‘Any chance you could turn it off now?’

Rainsford clicks his phone and the chanting stops.

‘Thank you. I’ve come to talk to you about one of your delegates, Doctor Hilary Smithson. I believe she’s told you that she has been receiving anonymous letters?’

‘She did mention something about it. But she said they were probably just from some troubled soul and not worth worrying about.’

‘That might well be true,’ says Nelson, ‘but nevertheless the police are taking them seriously. Did Doctor Smithson show you the letters?’

‘No, but she told me something about the contents. The usual diatribe about a woman’s place being in the home and not on the altar.’

‘The usual? Have you seen letters like this before then?’

‘Not anonymous letters, but there’s always plenty of this kind of abuse on chat forums and the like. A lot of people get very exercised about the idea of women priests.’

‘I take it you’re in favour?’

‘Of course I’m in favour!’ Rainsford jumps to his feet and waves his hand at the window, where there’s a rather fine view of the priory and grounds. ‘The Church needs renewing and that’s what women priests are doing. The Church is our mother, we can’t let her die.’

‘Plenty of people don’t agree with you.’

‘We’ll convert them. That’s what priests like Hilary are doing. “By their fruits you will know them.” You can’t convert by words, only by deeds.’

‘Doctor Smithson doesn’t seem to be converting the letter-writer.’

‘No.’ Rainsford seems to deflate slightly.

‘Are you a clergyman, Doctor Rainsford?’

‘No. I’m a layman. I was an RE teacher first, but I found teaching in secondary schools very tough. I did a further degree in theology and started teaching undergraduates. Then I got involved in the fight for women priests. And bishops.’ He gives Nelson a toothy, earnest smile.

‘What sort of people come on these courses?’ asks Nelson. He can’t imagine what it must be like sitting in rooms like this listening to dreary music and talking about becoming a bishop. He went on a course last year, something about the community and twenty-first-century policing. He’d lasted about two hours.

‘We’ve got a wide range of delegates,’ says Rainsford. ‘Some with a lifetime’s experience in the Church, some who got the call later in life. We’ve only had a few sessions so far, but there’s a real energy in the group. I think we’re going to achieve great things.’

‘And none of the other delegates have mentioned receiving anonymous letters?’

‘No. As I say, the mood has been very positive.’

‘Do you live in Walsingham, Doctor Rainsford?’ asks Nelson.

‘Not far away,’ says Rainsford. ‘I went to school in Sheringham and just drifted back, I suppose. I love Norfolk. I just love walking through the fields and along the beaches. The sense of peace, those huge skies. Well, you know how it is.’

Nelson doesn’t know how it is. Unlike Ruth, he feels no particular fondness for his adopted county. What sort of place has only the sky to recommend it? Everywhere has sky. He ploughs on.

‘Do you ever attend St Simeon’s Church?’

‘Yes, sometimes. It’s a beautiful old building, but it doesn’t get the congregation it should.’

Nelson produces the picture of Chloe in the buttercup field. ‘Did you ever see this woman at St Simeon’s?’

Robin looks closely. As well he might. Like Tim, Nelson is struck by the contrast between Chloe’s golden beauty and the drab ecclesiastical surroundings.

‘I don’t think so . . . no, wait. I’ve seen her on the news, haven’t I?’

‘Yes,’ says Nelson grimly. He disapproves of the glamorous pictures that have accompanied reports of Chloe’s murder. ‘She was murdered last week. Very near here, in fact.’

‘I remember. Such a terrible story. Poor girl.’ There’s a pause, during which Nelson can almost see the thought bubbles forming over Rainsford’s head.

‘The letters sent to Doctor Smithson,’ says Nelson at last. ‘They mention Walsingham specifically.’

Rainsford’s eyes grow large behind his spectacles. ‘You don’t suspect that the letters have anything to do with the murder, do you?’

‘I’m keeping an open mind,’ says Nelson. ‘But there are some references in the letters which cause us to take them very seriously.’

‘Hilary must be more worried than she seemed, then. Poor child.’

Nelson can’t quite see Hilary Smithson as a ‘poor child’. He doesn’t know how old Rainsford is – he has receding hair, but probably isn’t much more than thirty, which makes him at least ten years younger than Hilary Smithson.

‘I’m going to tell you what I told Doctor Smithson,’ says Nelson. ‘There’s probably nothing to worry about, but it’s as well to be on your guard. If you see anyone or anything suspicious, don’t hesitate to give me a call.’ He hands Rainsford his card.

‘I will,’ says Rainsford, staring at the card.