DCI Warren Jones - Paul Gitsham 6 стр.

Palpitations are a small price to pay for the performance boost, sniffed Sutton. Anyway, enough of the backchat, Sergeant, lets see what youve got.

Ive run the names of the residents, Inspector, and as youd expect, nothings come up. Ive also done the volunteers and staff. Most of them are in the clear too. Nothing more exciting than a couple of driving offences and one old caution from thirty years back for being drunk and disorderly.

You said most.

Well spotted. Rodney Shaw, the groundsman. He was sentenced to twenty-eight months back in 1984 for possession of class A drugs, multiple counts of burglary and wounding with intent.

Sutton let out a whistle.

When did he start working there?

1996. He did casual work in the abbey grounds at first, before becoming groundsman shortly before the home opened in 2004.

Anything since?

Nothing, not so much as a speeding ticket.

Would his employers have known about his convictions?

Not necessarily, they would have been classed as spent under the Rehabilitation of Offenders Act, so they couldnt ask about it at interview.

Sutton scratched his chin. A history of violence from decades ago, hidden from his employers a connection or a coincidence?

If he hadnt voluntarily disclosed it to his employers and it looked as though it was likely to come out, he could have been worried that he was going to lose his job. Could Father Nolan have got wind of it and tried to blackmail Shaw? The look on Pymms face showed her own scepticism.

Why? What would he have achieved? And how could he have found out? Blackmails not exactly priestly behaviour, is it?

The pair lapsed into silence, before Sutton straightened.

Well, good work anyway, Rachel. See if you can find out any more details about his original conviction. Ill take it to the boss and see what he thinks. Its our only lead so far.

* * *

Rodney Shaw officially became a person of interest an hour later when DS Hutchinson returned to the office.

Father Nolan was generally popular, started Hutchinson. Nobody had a bad word to say about him. At least not directly.

Go on, Warren blew across his mug of coffee. Hed forgotten to buy milk and was slurping the coffee black; the caffeine hit was good, but Warren had already burnt his tongue that morning.

Apparently, Father Nolan had a loud disagreement with Rodney Shaw a couple of weeks ago.

About what?

Well, thats where we have a problem. It seems the disagreement is common knowledge amongst the staff and residents. A couple of the sisters also mentioned it, but nobody is sure what it was about, or even who overheard them. To be honest, it has the feel of a bit of gossip; I guess small communities are all the same, even those based on holy orders. So much for thou shalt not bear false witness.

It depends if its false, I suppose, said Sutton.

Warren puffed his lips out.

Its still pretty tenuous. It seems a bit far-fetched that Father Nolan would suddenly discover Shaws murky past, then threaten to expose him. For what reason? Blackmail? If it was murder it wasnt a spur of the moment thing so this threat, if it existed, hung over him for at least as long as it took to plan it. Why would Father Nolan hold onto that knowledge?

And if it was blackmail, what did he want in return? asked Sutton, playing Devils Advocate against his own theory.

What does any blackmailer want? asked Hutchinson.

Most obvious is monetary or material gain, answered Sutton.

Warren shook his head slowly. Shaw is two steps up from a gardener. Before then, he was a homeless drug addict, stealing to maintain his habit. Hes hardly going to be rolling in money.

He could be dealing again, suggested Hutchinson. Besides, how much money does a Catholic priest need or want? Youve seen Father Nolans room, he was a man of frugal tastes. His food and board is paid for. He has no family to speak of and so far weve found no evidence of expensive mistresses.

What about vices? He wouldnt be the first priest who developed a taste for Communion wine outside of church, said Sutton.

The autopsy was inconclusive in terms of liver damage, although the fire makes the results unreliable, said Warren. Do a bit more discreet poking around, Hutch. Find out if he had any expensive habits.

Will do.

Why else do people blackmail? asked Warren.

Control? Is there something that Shaw could do for Nolan that he couldnt do himself? said Hutchinson.

Again, what does a retired Catholic priest need or want? asked Warren.

I cant imagine Father Nolan standing around on street corners buying drugs, said Sutton, although you never can tell.

Hopefully the toxicology screen will answer that question, said Warren, but if its not booze, drugs, money or favours, then that leaves secrets. Keep your mouth shut about my transgressions, or Ill expose yours.

And what might Nolans transgressions be? asked Sutton. With all of these ongoing inquiries into abuse and cover-ups in the Catholic Church, you have to wonder

The silence stretched as they contemplated the uncomfortable implications of Suttons statement.

This is all speculation, said Warren finally. We need a lot more before we even treat the death as suspicious let alone make Shaw a suspect. Hutch, see what you can find out about Father Nolans finances and carry on looking into his background. Keep an eye out for any hints or allegations of inappropriate behaviour. Meanwhile, I think a discreet chat with Bishop Fisher may be in order.

Good luck with that, muttered Sutton.

Chapter 8

It was past nine when Warren finally got home. A call to Bishop Fisher had revealed that Shaws past problems with drugs were not only well-known to him, but were in fact a source of pride; Shaw was held up as an inspiring example of how someone could successfully overcome challenges within their lives through prayer. He and Deacon Baines worked together to take that message around schools, youth clubs and homeless shelters.

Tony Sutton had pointed out that if Rodney Shaw had started using drugs again, then the shame of letting everyone down might have been enough for him to commit murder, but even he hadnt sounded convinced.

But something still didnt feel quite right. In his minds eye, Warren could picture the crime scene, the harsh lights bringing the horrifying tableau into sharp relief. What was he missing? What clue was there in front of him that he just couldnt see?

Or was he missing anything? Perhaps it just his tired, overworked imagination seeing shadows where there were none. Warren knew that proximity to death especially violent death tended to make him morose; that had only worsened since the events of the summer. Was that all it was? The counsellor that hed seen in the immediate aftermath of Garys death had warned him to look out for the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Was this one? The dreams that had plagued him the night before were unpleasant, but understandable. Everyone had bad dreams, didnt they, especially after what hed just seen? And the frequency of the dreams that had started in the summer had lessened in recent months. Hed mention them at his next meeting with Occupational Health, but he didnt think it was worth requesting an earlier appointment.

Regardless, a nagging feeling in his gut wasnt enough to warrant spending any more time on the death and so Warren decided that first thing in the morning, hed follow Graysons instruction to close the case and pass it over to the coroner as a probable suicide. Then he could complete the paperwork so that he was ready for whatever came across his desk next.

With his mind made up, hed turned off his computer, grabbed his coat and headed into the damp, misty evening. A quick call home revealed that Susan was ploughing through a stack of marking that she wanted to finish that evening, and so Warren had offered to stop off at the local Indian takeaway.

The dining room table was covered with GCSE controlled assessments when he arrived home. As Susan cleared them some space, Warren went into the kitchen and distributed the food. He was midway through pouring a well-deserved beer when the lights went out.

Shit, came Susans surprised voiced from the dining room.

The unexpected transition to pitch black also caught Warren by surprise and he froze. A few seconds later the sound of glugging beer turned into the sound of dripping liquid as the glass frothed and overflowed.

Shit, echoed Warren as he tried to place the bottle back on the counter without knocking anything off.

When the lights didnt return after a few more seconds, Warren turned slowly to take stock of the situation; even the ever-present hum from the fridge-freezer was suddenly noticeable by its absence.

It looks as though the whole street is out, called Susan. Not even the street lights are on.

By now, Warrens eyes were starting to adjust to the sudden darkness. Faint, grey shadows slowly took form as the dim moonlight seeped through the slats in the still open kitchen blinds.

I think I left my mobile in my handbag, can you use yours? called Susan from the other room. Feeling foolish for forgetting that his phone was essentially a torch, Warren fumbled in his jacket pocket. Nothing. It must still be in his overcoat, hanging in the hallway.

The faint moonlight didnt penetrate this far into the house and Warren found himself reaching out with his hands, shuffling slowly like a mummy from a childrens cartoon. Theyd lived in the house for nearly four years, but he couldnt for the life of him recall how many steps there were to the coat pegs. The flashing red light on the alarm system did nothing to help him judge the distance.

Or see Susans book bag at the bottom of the stairs.

After picking himself up and reassuring Susan that he was OK, Warren finally located his coat, and then his phone.

The light from its screen was dazzling, and Warren had to blink several times before he could focus enough to locate the icon that turned the phones camera flash into a powerful torch.

Its a good job I got takeaway or wed be eating cold baked beans like cavemen, joked Warren.

Well, unless we want to eat in the dark, wed better find some candles soon, my phone battery is only on 10 per cent.

Warren checked his, and found it wasnt much better.

It took a couple of minutes of fumbling around before Susan located the box of candles left over from Christmas dinner at the back of a cupboard. Fortunately, she kept a box of matches in her school pencil case.

I knew there was a reason I married a science teacher, instead of a geography teacher, teased Warren.

I assumed it was the leather elbow patches that put you off geographers, replied Susan as she lit the candles. She reached around the table and gave Warrens backside a playful squeeze. Eat up quickly before the power comes back on, you know how candlelight makes me feel.

Warren said nothing as he fumbled for his phone.

How could I be so stupid, he muttered, ignoring his wifes flirting.

No signal. The power cut must have been quite extensive to have also taken out the local cell-tower.

Ignoring Susans questions, Warren scrolled through his contacts as he made his way to the hall phone. Fortunately, the local telephone exchange still had power and Tony Sutton picked up on the second ring.

You OK, boss? Have you lost your mobile or something?

Have you got electricity?

Yeah, course, I live in Middlesbury not Cornwall.

Warren ignored the mans attempt at humour.

I need you to check your email for Andy Harrisons scene inventory and read it out for me.

Still confused, Sutton nevertheless complied.

Thats it?

Thats everything thats listed. Andys pretty thorough, you know that. Whats this all about, Chief?

Warren explained his flash of inspiration. There was a silence at the end of the phone before Sutton spoke again.

Youd better call Grayson and let him know. He needs to be the one to escalate the death to murder.

Chapter 9

Judging from the time displayed by the flashing clock on the oven, the electricity had been restored some hours previously, at about 1 a.m. A statement from the electricity company had been read out on the local radio as Warren drove into the office at 6 a.m., apologising to the thousand or so customers affected by a fault at the local substation.

Warren was half contemplating writing a letter of thanks.

Sorry I didnt spot it sooner, said Warren.

Grayson waved a hand. Nobody else did. So either somebody was with him when he set himself on fire, holding a light, or he was set alight by persons unknown? Theres no way he could have done it himself?

Warren shook his head firmly.

The last reliable sighting of Father Nolan was after dark and there was hardly any moonlight. I can just about accept that he could find his way to the chapel, then let himself into the undercroft, but it would have been pitch black down there. There are electric lights, but they were turned off at the switch at the top of the stairs. I cant believe that he would have gone down there, set up the chair, then gone back up the stairs, locked himself in, switched off the lights, come back downstairs, doused himself in petrol and then set himself alight in the pitch black.

And there were no other sources of light at the scene?

Nothing. No torch, his mobile phone was back in his room and there were no candles.

He had a box of matches, could he have used those?

Doubtful, the box was almost full and Forensics only found a single spent match in the whole area. Besides which, you know how volatile petrol is. Its doubtful he could have slopped petrol over himself with an open source of ignition in the room, the vapour would have ignited immediately. Forensics didnt find any burnt paper or rags at the scene to indicate that he made a fire to see by.

Grayson pulled at his bottom lip. Youre right. Im not quite ready to publicly declare it a murder, but it should remain an unexplained death for now.

Theres more, interjected Sutton. I was thinking about this after last nights call. There was no sign of any restraint, and I believe that the working hypothesis was that Father Nolan drank enough whiskey and took enough sleeping pills to numb the pain sufficiently not to run around like a mad thing when he set himself alight.