Читать книгу Dead Man’s Prayer - Jackie Baldwin - Страница 10

Farrell regarded the last sandwich in the canteen dubiously. It purported to be ham salad but he had his doubts. His stomach gurgled. He grabbed the sandwich, coffee, and a squashed satsuma. Thin pickings. A case like this required physical as well as mental stamina so he scoffed the lot in five minutes and headed back upstairs. It was his responsibility to get this investigation up and running without delay.

He found DC McLeod already hard at work, brow furrowed in concentration. He picked up the sheaf of papers beside her.

‘Are these the statements from the door-to-door enquiries?’

‘Some of them, Sir.’

‘Anything interesting so far?’

‘One man was out walking his dog around 11.30 p.m. when he saw a figure slipping out of the church. It was someone tall with a long dark coat on. Unfortunately, he only got a view from behind. He assumed it was a visiting priest.’

‘It’s a start,’ said Farrell. ‘Sergeant Byers should be in the Major Crime Administration room. Bring all the statements.’

As they entered the MCA room, McLeod made a beeline for the civilian scribes already assembled to input the information gathered into the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. Farrell started writing bullet points on the whiteboard, ready for the first briefing of the case. They didn’t have a lot to go on.

An hour later the room was a hub of activity. Farrell walked across to the whiteboard and held up his hand for silence. He pointed to a graphic photo of the murdered priest attached to the wall.

‘To solve this case we need to look into the past of the deceased very carefully. Although we can’t yet rule it out, this murder doesn’t feel at all random to me. It looks personal. In light of the anonymous letters it may well be that the priest was being blackmailed by the killer prior to his death. However, blackmailers don’t usually kill their meal ticket. We need to talk to members of his parish. Some of these old biddies can recall events fifty years ago but not what they did yesterday. Find out who had a grudge against Boyd. We need to know his movements over the last few weeks. McLeod, have you tracked down the deceased’s family yet?’

‘Yes, Sir, both parents are dead but he has an elderly sister, Emily, who lives in Edinburgh. She’s coming down tomorrow afternoon, and PC Thomson is meeting her at the station.’

‘DS Byers, I believe it was you who interviewed the dog walker?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘I’d like you to organize pairs of officers to interview members of the parish. We’ll get a list of names and addresses from Father Malone. He’ll be in shortly to give a formal statement. Also, get the dog walker together with one of the identikit guys. I know it was only a rear view but it’s all we’ve got to go on at the moment. Any questions?’

‘What about the housekeeper?’ asked Byers. ‘I hear the Custody Sergeant has a headache with all the shouting and bawling going on.’

There were a few titters at this. It was common knowledge that the Custody Sergeant, Donald Sloan, liked a quiet life and felt sorely aggrieved if he didn’t get it.

‘We’ll be interviewing her later this afternoon. Her solicitor’s in court this morning and can’t make it in until 4 p.m. She’ll be up before the Sheriff tomorrow morning with the rest of the custodies,’ Farrell replied. ‘The procurator fiscal has no objection to bail subject to a condition that she doesn’t go near the house. We don’t want her destroying any more evidence.’

‘The press is going to have a field day with that one,’ said Stirling.

‘No more than she deserves,’ said Farrell.

‘Was there anything going on between them, do you think?’ asked Byers.

Farrell’s jaw tightened. Get a grip man. Why, after all these years, did he still feel a compulsion to protect the reputation of the dead priest, despite all that had happened? He became aware of the silence. Everyone was staring at him.

‘She was willing to risk her own neck to protect his memory. Whether she was also sleeping with him, who can say? However, as Father Malone lived in the same house, I would suggest that it’s unlikely. You can do a bit of digging, if you like. A bit of subtlety wouldn’t go amiss though, if you think you can manage that?’

Byers looked offended. However, there were knowing smirks around the room.

‘Right, if there’s nothing else, everyone get to it. I don’t need to remind you all that the clock’s ticking. Every hour that passes makes catching the murderer that bit harder.’

Farrell headed for the sanctuary of his office and closed the door. He craved solitude like a junkie needing a fix. Sinking into his chair he inhaled deeply. Closing his eyes did not make the nightmare images of Boyd kneeling before him recede. Rather, they seemed to be burned onto his retina. He glanced over at his wastepaper bin and saw the crumpled pink message slip lying where he had hurled it only this morning. The worm of guilt burrowed deep within him. Maybe Boyd had been reaching out to him for help. If he hadn’t been so pig-headed maybe he could have done something to save him.

The phone rang. It was PC Thomson informing him Father Malone had arrived for questioning. He headed for the interview room, collecting DS Stirling on the way. Maybe now the young priest would be more forthcoming than he had been this morning.

Opening the door, he saw that the priest was still deeply shocked. His hands were clasped together in front of him as if in prayer but Farrell suspected it was more to try and stop them shaking than anything else. His left eye had developed a slight twitch that wasn’t there this morning.

Once the tape recorder had been switched on and introductions made Father Malone pushed over a chunky folder, filled with names and addresses.

‘Here’s the parish register. Most of our active parishioners should be included but there are also a fair number of people who turn up to Mass week in and out but don’t seek to become further involved. If they haven’t been baptized, married, or confirmed in the Church, they won’t be noted down anywhere.’

‘Thank you; that’s most helpful,’ said Farrell.

DS Stirling settled back in his chair, letting Farrell take the lead, as agreed earlier.

‘Father Boyd was an old-school priest, very black and white in his views, wasn’t he?’

‘You could say that,’ said Malone, swallowing hard.

‘Not exactly tolerant?’

‘No, he believed very firmly in upholding the teachings of the Church.’

‘A man like that must have made some enemies along the way, surely?’

‘Well, yes, up to a point but nothing to incite a crime of this … magnitude or depravity. It was all small stuff, really.’

‘Maybe not to the people involved?’

‘The kind of thing I’m talking about is refusing religious instruction for kids whose parents want to send them to a secular school rather than the Catholic primary or refusing to do a Requiem Mass for lapsed Catholics. Nothing worth killing over.’

‘So, you’re saying he was petty?’

‘He would see it as principled: setting a strong moral compass for his congregation.’

Petty, vindictive, and narrow-minded, thought Farrell, feeling his ire rising. He pushed the thoughts away and resumed, now with a hard edge to his voice.

‘What were you and the deceased arguing about the night he died?’

Colour flamed in Malone’s face and he dropped his eyes.

‘Well?’ demanded Farrell.

‘If you must know, he said that he doubted my vocation and that I should give some thought to leaving the priesthood. Yes, we argued. For once I stood up to him but I didn’t kill him. In fact, I tried to forgive him … I’m still trying,’ he said in a low voice.

Farrell regarded him. Malone’s version of events certainly tallied with his own memories of Boyd. In any event, they had nothing tangible to suggest he might be a suspect so probably best to cut him loose for now and not antagonize him further. He glanced over at Stirling, who gave a micro shrug in response.

‘Interview terminated at 15.46,’ he said for the benefit of the tape.

He escorted Malone back out to reception and watched until he was out of sight. Stirling had clearly thought the priest was on the level but he still had a niggling feeling he might be missing something. But what?

Feeling his energy levels starting to flag once more he grabbed more coffee and a Mars bar on the way back to the MCA room. His stomach grumbled in protest. This case was giving a whole new meaning to the phrase baptism of fire.