Vow of Penance (15 page)

‘She always made Father Malone and myself very comfortable,’ Father Stephens said.

‘And you, Sister? You knew her slightly too?’ The detective glanced at her.

‘I met her briefly on two or three occasions.’ Sister Joan wondered where all this was leading them.

‘You’ve no knowledge of any enemies she might have had, Father Stephens?’

‘I would have sworn that she had none,’ he said promptly. ‘She was a widow, no children, no close family beyond her niece, Sylvia Potter, who lives – lived I ought to say – some considerable distance away.’

‘Further north, yes.’ Detective Sergeant Mill nodded absently. ‘A schoolteacher, not yet thirty years old, shared a house with a fellow teacher, a Miss Stephanie Hugh. Both were well liked, respectable, had boyfriends but nothing serious – there hasn’t been an enemy of either of them crawl out of the woodwork so far.’

‘I still think it must have been a maniac,’ Father Stephens said.

‘These two young women seem to have been specifically followed and targeted,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘It really is beyond the bounds of coincidence that a maniac killing on impulse should light upon three people so closely connected. No, there was a specific motive for killing the three of them. We shall unravel it
in due course I’ve no doubt. You’re a diabetic, Father Timothy?’

‘Yes I am.’ If Father Timothy felt any surprise at the abrupt change of subject he gave no sign.

‘I didn’t know that!’ Father Stephens exclaimed.

‘It isn’t something I choose to advertise,’ Father Timothy said. ‘The condition doesn’t interfere with the work I do. It’s under control at all times.’

‘You take insulin injections to stabilize your blood sugar levels?’

‘I used to but recent advances in treatment enable me to control it through diet alone. Most diabetics these days are extremely healthy.’

‘What did you do with your syringe when your style of treatment changed?’

‘I gave it to Father Superior to be returned to the doctor the next time he visited the seminary. The doctor left it with me together with a supply of insulin in case the diet didn’t work properly, and I required an injection in a hurry.’

‘And the doctor’s name?’

‘Er – Banning, I think. Yes, Banning. He came very seldom. I cannot see how – oh, yes I do see. You think that the syringe I once had might have been used to – but really, Detective Sergeant, I cannot for one moment believe that Father Superior – there are thousands of diabetics in the country.’

‘One of them ended up dead on the northern line,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.

There was an instant’s pause. Then Father Stephens said in a bewildered tone, ‘Are you referring to that most disturbing headline that was in the newspaper? The unidentified man beaten to death and left at the side of the track?’

‘There does seem to be some connection. I don’t suppose you saw anyone who was acting in a suspicious manner on your way to the station when you were
setting out here?’

Father Timothy shook his head.

‘I was with Father Philip,’ he said. ‘We were talking about various matters – my impending journey mainly. I doubt if either of us would have noticed anyone in particular.’

‘Surely it would have been dark anyway,’ Sister Joan said. ‘You came down on the overnight train, didn’t you?’

‘The late afternoon train. I broke my journey in London. The train got in there at just before midnight. I had a very light meal and took an underground train to the station, and caught the early train down into Cornwall. You saw me there, Sister.’

‘In the waiting-room, yes.’

‘I saw that Father Malone was receiving quite a send-off from his parishioners and I’d no wish to divert attention from him so I slipped into the waiting-room until the train had left. Sister Joan was kind enough to direct me here to the presbytery.’

‘That seems clear enough.’ Detective Sergeant Mill smiled and nodded. ‘Can I take it that since then you and Father Stephens can account for your time satisfactorily?’

There was another silence. Then Father Stephens said, ‘Surely you don’t think that either of us could possibly have had anything to do with any of this? It’s ludicrous!’

‘We were both sleeping in the presbytery on the night Mrs Fairly died,’ Father Timothy said uneasily.

‘The sacristy door was open as was the church door,’ Father Stephens reminded him.

‘Meaning someone from outside could have gained access. That’s probably it then.’ Detective Sergeant Mill nodded again. ‘By the way, her handbag was stolen. Someone wrapped it up roughly in brown paper and sticky tape and put it in the refuse bin. One of the lads
found it and had the bright idea of substituting an empty box for it. We’ve been watching the presbytery on and off for the last couple of days.’

‘Did you obtain any results?’ Father Stephens asked.

‘Unfortunately we didn’t. Someone was too quick for us and took the substitute parcel when we were engaged elsewhere. Shortage of manpower limits our effectiveness.’

‘Why would someone put her handbag in the bin?’ Father Timothy asked.

‘Probably afraid his fingerprints might be on it. He may have picked it up while he was in Mrs Fairly’s room, looked inside and then panicked. I take it that neither of you heard anything suspicious during the night?’

‘Nothing at all.’ Father Stephens shook his head. ‘Mrs Fairly brought our supper and afterwards we – that is Father Timothy and I – went for a short walk. It was a chilly evening.’

‘Yes indeed. Quite a storm threatening. It never actually broke though,’ Father Timothy said.

‘I insisted Father Timothy went back for his coat and muffler,’ Father Stephens supplied.

‘You didn’t see anyone hanging round the presbytery?’

‘No, I merely took down my coat and muffler from the hallstand, called to Mrs Fairly that it was only me – she was in the kitchen washing-up, I believe – and rejoined Father Stephens. We had our stroll, returned to the presbytery and I went straight up to my room. I said my prayers and went to sleep almost immediately.’

‘I came upstairs shortly afterwards too, called goodnight to Mrs Fairly and went into my room.’

‘And slept like a baby too, I suppose?’

‘I’m afraid so, Detective Sergeant.’

‘And Sister Joan hadn’t even arrived, since Mrs Fairly was still alive and housekeeper here. It’s a puzzle all right.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Father Stephens enquired as the detective rose.

‘Not for the moment. Pity we bungled the surveillance on the refuse bin. I’ll see myself out. Goodnight.’

And why, thought Sister Joan, watching his retreating back, did he lie about the handbag? To protect me? To bait the trap further?

Something had been said earlier, something that hovered at the back of her mind but refused to come into conscious memory. Something important,
something
that proved a lie. She wished she could recall what it was.

‘One hopes this terrible business will soon be cleared up,’ Father Stephens said, sending a worried frown after the closed door. ‘It makes one lose faith in the goodness of human nature.’

‘You would call human nature good, Father?’ Father Timothy spoke with sudden and biting harshness. ‘I call it evil and depraved. Even apparent kindness is only self-interest and conceit. I learned that many years ago when I was a boy. Oh, if you think there is anything good in mankind then you are deluded. Deluded!’

‘Father Timothy, one must have a sense of proportion,’ Father Stephens began, but the other had turned, fumbling at the handle of the presbytery door, his eyes blazing coldly in his set face.

‘I shall take a short walk,’ he said, ‘and then pray in the church for an hour or two. I shall forego my supper in reparation for sin.’

He was gone, the door closing with a sharp click behind him. Father Stephens gave an embarrassed cough and looked helplessly at Sister Joan.

‘Highly strung,’ he said vaguely. ‘One’s time in the seminary can lead to a certain inward dwelling quality which makes early parish work difficult. You may clear away, Sister, and lock up but you’d better leave the sacristy door unlocked so that Father Timothy can get in. I’m not sure if he has his key. I gave him Father Malone’s for use while he’s here. Sister, you must
forgive me for saying this if it sounds uncharitable but I wish they had provided us with somebody else from the seminary.’

‘I know exactly what you mean, Father Stephens,’ she said feelingly and went into the dining-room to clear away.

Something had been said, something that didn’t tie in with something else that had been said – something so trivial that she couldn’t bring it to mind. She could only feel it waiting to come into the light of conscious memory.

Perhaps Detective Sergeant Mill was waiting about outside in the expectation of contriving to have a private word with her. The questions he had asked during his recent brief visit had struck her as fairly pointless, questions that Constable Petrie could equally well have asked while carrying out routine investigations. He had come, she decided, in order to plant the story of the police having found Mrs Fairly’s handbag, to divert attention from her own activities. Had he driven up to the convent and planted the same falsehood there? If she rang Sister Perpetua – she glanced at her watch and frowned. They would be in recreation now. Only Sister Teresa and Sister Jerome would be in the kitchen, and she could hardly start asking Sister Jerome since the lay sister might be the one Detective Sergeant Mill was trying to mislead.

She still had her penance to do. Or was that part of it all too? The vigil in the empty church could become a trap, she thought nervously. She went back into the kitchen, fished out the few notes she had made from the drawer and sat down with the pad on her knee. Father Timothy was a diabetic. Father Timothy had been escorted to the station by a Father Philip. Father Timothy had arrived with two suitcases. Father Philip had escorted him to the station, but not to catch the overnight train. Yet Father Timothy hadn’t arrived
until just after Father Malone had left. Father Malone had mentioned something about that, something dropped into the brief farewell chat he had had with the community before he left on his sabbatical. Father Timothy had offered mass at the convent and left without taking coffee with the sisters.

She thrust the pad back into the drawer. There was a thick exercise book beneath it with
Household
Accounts
printed on a white label on the cover. Father Stephens had mentioned something about Mrs Fairly keeping regular accounts. Sister Joan drew it out and opened it, rifling through the conscientiously written lists of groceries with prices neatly marked and added at the sides. Mrs Fairly had taken pride in her efficiency. There was a newspaper cutting slipped into the most recent page, its edges jagged where it had been torn out. An old cutting, its print yellowish. For a moment she fancied it was the cutting she had seen and put with her pile ready for the scrap book but she had cut hers out neatly with scissors. This had been torn out and folded small as if it had been kept for a long time.

Local
housewife
gives
Evidence
, the headline read.

Underneath the accompanying photograph was the report:

And there was the photograph of a younger Mrs Fairly, standing outside the police station, and looking rather pleased at her sudden prominence.

Even twenty years before identity parades had been
discreet affairs, but Anne Fairly had been pleased with her own public spirited action. She had allowed her name to be used, had posed smilingly for the local Press photographer. And twenty years later – Sister Joan put the cutting back into the Accounts book and returned everything to the drawer. From the bottom of the stairs Father Stephens called a goodnight. She heard her own voice answering him and the sound of his footsteps going up the stairs.

It was time, she thought, to begin her penance.

The church was dim and quiet. There was a comforting glow coming from the red sanctuary lamp and a scant half-dozen candles guttering on their spikes before the Lady Altar. At the back of the church the bulk of the confessional was black against the light stone of the baptismal font. She closed the sacristy door and stood in the deep shadow at the side of the High Altar, waiting.

The main door opened slowly and the greyish light of evening bisected the dark. The figure stood for a moment, then came in, letting the door swing back, one hand reaching into the holy water stoup for the ritual blessing. Rising from a genuflection, Father Timothy began to walk slowly down the main aisle.

‘Were you looking for me, Father?’ Sister Joan asked.

He had stopped short, his indrawn breath clearly audible in the silence. Then he said in his normally dry, stiff manner, ‘I came here to pray, Sister. You are here to do your penance, I assume?’

‘No, I’m not.’ She had clasped her hands tightly together but her voice was steady.

‘Oh?’ He sounded puzzled.

‘I’m not going to do that penance at all,’ Sister Joan said. ‘You had no right to hear my confession in the first place. You’re not an ordained priest.’

‘That’s a very foolish thing to say, Sister Joan.’ He sounded as if he were mildly disappointed in her.

‘Perhaps.’ She took a step forward. ‘Twenty years ago you were arrested for causing damage to the trees on the Tarquin estate and Mrs Fairly identified you. You were found guilty, weren’t you? Did they recommend psychiatric treatment?’

‘They didn’t understand,’ he said. ‘They didn’t appreciate that it was my duty to punish – they tried to make me believe that I was mentally unbalanced. I am not, of course, but they didn’t understand. Twenty years of in and out, in and out, one hospital after another, and nobody understood. There was no peace for me save in the cloister. It took years for me to reach that conclusion but when I did – oh, I became a model patient. I was released five years ago and I went north. I decided to train for the priesthood, you see. That would give me the authority I required to impose penance upon sinners. But it wasn’t any use. After only eighteen months they rejected me as unsuitable. Can you imagine that? They knew nothing of my background or my true history but they rejected me. Temperamentally
unsuitable
, Father Superior said. But he offered me a consolation prize. Oh, he very generously offered me a consolation prize. I could work at the seminary, do odd jobs, chop wood – that was very satisfying for me to see the splinters fly and the wood bleed sap.’

‘You knew Father Timothy?’

‘He had a late vocation as I did. Yes, I have a vocation whatever they might say! He was a nice person, rather shy and quiet, having to take insulin injections for his diabetes. He was a nice person. They let him become a priest, ordained him. Then he told me he was coming down here, to take over from Father Malone, coming to this very place where that bitch had identified me all those years ago! I had to come in his place, Sister. I came to pronounce sentence and to execute judgement. Oh, I had no thought of killing her. Not then.’

‘But you killed Father Timothy.’

‘It was an unfortunate necessity. I bore him no grudge. Father Philip escorted him to the station.’

‘But not on to the train?’

‘Father Philip wished to get back to the seminary so he parted from Father Timothy and went away. I was in the tunnel where the old siding runs. All I had to do was beckon Father Timothy just before he went on to the platform and he came across to me. I told him that I had a surprise for him. The first blow killed him. It wasn’t my intention to make him suffer at all. I was only wearing a raincoat and the instant he fell I stripped it off, stripped the body and then – it was very necessary that he shouldn’t be recognized, you see.’

‘And nobody saw anything at all?’

‘Why should they? The tunnel curves round along by the old disused bit of track. I washed my hands and the blade of the axe in the conduit – the water flows fast there, and it only took a few moments to change clothes with him, and then later to roll up the axe in the raincoat and put them into my suitcase. I waited until it was darker before I got a luggage trolley and wheeled the body further down the track. There were no railway officials about. There seldom are these days, you know. When the next train came in I simply boarded it. Very simple indeed.’

‘Yes,’ Sister Joan said.

‘I nearly didn’t kill Mrs Fairly,’ he was continuing. ‘She had done her penance for betraying me, with her husband dying and no children to carry on his name. I really did intend to spare her. After all it was twenty years ago and I’ve changed very much during the intervening years. Yes, I intended to spare her, but it wasn’t any use. She kept looking at me, looking as if she were trying to remember. I knew it was only a matter of time. And there wasn’t any time. I had to act very swiftly. When Father Stephens invited me to accompany him on a late evening walk I went back for my coat. I’d
been right to be cautious. Mrs Fairly was on the
telephone
in the study, making an appointment to meet with someone. I had the tablets – my own supply of Valium – already crushed up. I’d noticed that she took sugar in her tea and Father Stephens didn’t, so I merely emptied the tablets into the sugar bowl. One has to be prepared at all times for every eventuality. Not that I expected her to drink all the tea! Sufficient to make her a little dizzy would suit me very well. I rejoined Father Stephens and we took our walk but the weather threatened storm so we came in quite soon. Mrs Fairly was just going upstairs with her tea tray. Father Stephens made a jesting comment, enquiring if she had had her tipple. We went upstairs almost at once. I waited about fifteen minutes, then went into Mrs Fairly’s room. She had drunk some of the tea and clearly noticed the odd taste because she was sitting up in her bed, grimacing, looking into her cup. I had Father Timothy’s syringe with me and all I had to do was grab her wrist and inject. She went into convulsions almost immediately. Fortunately Father Stephens had switched on his radio and I could hear the strains of music coming from his room. He heard nothing.’

‘You took the handbag?’

‘I snatched it up because it occurred to me that Mrs Fairly had very likely kept any clippings relating to the case. It was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to her in her entire life! There wasn’t time to look carefully – I feared Father Stephens might leave his room to visit the toilet or something, so I took it to my room and had a cursory glance inside it, but I was feeling rather tired by then. Killing someone is rather
exhausting
, you know, so I wrapped it round in brown paper and popped it into the refuse bin. That was early the next morning before I went up to the convent to offer mass. I would have put it back in Mrs Fairly’s room but Father Stephens was up and about and the opportunity didn’t arise.’

‘You damaged the tree at the convent,’ Sister Joan said.

It was important to keep him talking, to keep the words flowing out of him in a long stream of self-justification.

‘Very early on the morning that I arrived. I caught the overnight train and walked up to the convent. That was my first task, you see. To wreak vengeance on the wood. I left my luggage down at the station, then walked back to town and sat in the waiting-room. I didn’t want to interrupt Father Malone’s leavetaking.’

‘And after Mrs Fairly died?’

‘Oh, I hoped that would be the end of it,’ he said. ‘I had my parish duties to fulfil. But no action exists in isolation, does it? Mrs Fairly had been talking on the telephone to somebody. It might have been her niece. And her niece was coming here. She might enquire about the handbag. She might enquire about me!’ He sounded aggrieved at the possibility.