Jane brightened. ‘Thanks, Richard, the sketch will be immensely helpful to start with. Are you able to give an estimation of the nun’s age?’
‘You just missed Doc Martin, the odontologist,’ Sam said. ‘He examined the teeth and estimated her to be between twenty and thirty years old.’
Eaves nodded. ‘I’ve looked at the X-rays for skeletal development and anatomical growth markers in the hands, wrists and clavicles. My findings concur with Doc Martin’s.’
Jane had hoped the age range might be narrower. ‘The cross on her body had 20 February 1958 engraved on it. If she was sixteen when she became a nun and the date refers to the taking of her vows, which would be five years later, then her age at death could be between twenty-one and thirty.’
‘That makes sense,’ Sam said. ‘But the date on the cross could also refer to when she became a novice nun, which means she could have been anything between sixteen and twenty-one when she died.’
‘If the convent closed in the mid-sixties, that makes the possible age range sixteen to twenty-three, I think,’ Jane added.
Eaves was apprehensive. ‘It should always be borne in mind, whatever the case, all a forensic anthropologist or odontologist can do is give the best estimate of biological age, regardless of how far it may be from actual chronological age. Once you identify her, the age problem should be resolved.’
‘Thanks for your help, Richard. I look forward to seeing the reconstruction,’ Jane said.
Jack walked back in. ‘The nun’s ready for viewing.’
‘Thanks, Jack. I’ll let Father Floridia know,’ Jane said.
Sam walked with Jane to the coroner’s officer’s room to get her coat and briefcase.
‘I’m working Saturday but should be finished around five. I wondered if you fancied going out for something to eat,’ Jane asked.
‘I’d love to, Jane, but I’m out on a date. I could do Sunday lunch, though.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ll be working Sunday.’
‘If you’re not, give me a ring Sunday morning. I know a lovely old pub on the Thames called The Anchor. It’s a short walk from London Bridge station. We could meet there first.’
‘Sounds good to me. I’ll let you know about work,’ Jane said.
‘He doesn’t look like your everyday fuddy-duddy priest,’ Sam remarked, having seen Father Chris from the corridor.
He stood up as the two women entered the room.
‘We can through to the chapel of rest now, Father,’ Jane told him.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Sam asked.
‘Of course,’ Jane said and did the introductions.
‘Do you have a Christian name?’ Sam asked as they shook hands.
‘It’s Christopher, but most people call me Father Chris,’ he replied.
‘Are you Italian?’
‘Father Chris is Maltese,’ Jane said.
‘It’s a lovely island. I went there once on holiday,’ Sam said.
‘I’m glad you liked it, Dr Pullen.’
‘Please, call me Sammy.’
Jane wasn’t sure if she was flirting. ‘I think we best get a move on, Father, or we’ll be late for the meeting with the bishop.’
‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Sammy.’
‘Likewise, Father Chris.’
As he walked to the door, Sam took Jane’s arm.
‘It’s a pity priests are celibate,’ she whispered with a wink.
In the chapel of rest Father Chris took off his coat, removed a purple stole from his pocket and placed it around his neck. The nun’s body was covered to the top of her neck in a white ritual blanket with a large embroidered gold cross.
‘Would you like me to leave?’ Jane asked.
‘No, it’s fine, please stay if you want.’
Jane stood with her hands behind her back and head slightly bowed so she could watch him. He remained in silent prayer for a while before speaking.
‘My God, I recommend to thee the souls of my relations, my benefactors, my friends, and my enemies, and of those who are in purgatory on my account. I recommend to thee the souls of evangelical labourers, of religious and priests, and especially of those who had charge of my soul. I recommend to thee the souls of those who were most devout to the passion of Our Lord, to the Blessed Sacrament, to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the souls who are most abandoned, those who suffer most, and those who are nearest to the entrance into paradise. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.’
Jane was touched by his prayer, hearing the emotion in his voice. Thinking he had finished, she raised her head, and took a step forward. She was about to speak when Father Chris continued the prayer. She quickly stepped back and resumed a solemn position.
‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,’ he said, blessing the nun with the sign of the cross. He turned to Jane.
‘Thank you for letting me pray for her.’
‘It was a very moving.’
‘An Italian saint called Alphonsus Liguori wrote it in the 1700s, when he was a bishop. Under the circumstances, I thought it appropriate.’
‘I’ll let the mortuary technician know we’ve finished, then we’ll be on our way.’
Father Chris was quiet on the journey to Southwark. Something was clearly preying on his mind.
‘I can’t stop thinking about how she died... helpless, unable to move or shout for help,’ he said after a while.
‘It’s bizarre... her body was mummified, and face contorted... yet I saw her as I imagined she would be... a beautiful young woman who devoted her life to God. Yet, as a man of faith I ask myself: where was her God when she needed him most.’
‘Doesn’t the bible say he moves in mysterious ways?’ Jane offered.
‘Actually, it doesn’t,’ he said. ‘The words are from a poem called “Light Shining out of Darkness” by William Cowper, encouraging us to trust God’s greater wisdom in the face of inexplicable tragedies.’
‘As you can probably tell,’ Jane admitted, ‘I’m not very religious. But I do believe we will find the person responsible for her death.’
‘Really, after all this time?’ he asked.
‘I’ve a good success rate investigating murders, and believe me, I don’t give in easily,’ Jane assured him.
‘I’m sorry for being so gloomy. I have every faith in you succeeding,’ he said.
‘Can I ask you something about the nun?’
‘Of course. I don’t have a problem talking about her, although seeing her lifeless body brought back some sad memories.’
Jane thought it best not to ask about those memories. ‘When a nun dies of natural causes and is placed in a coffin, would her hands be put in a praying position like you did earlier?’
‘Yes, usually with a wooden cross placed in the hands.’
‘What about rosary beads?’
‘Sometimes they’re wrapped around the hands. Why do you ask?’
‘Barry May said the nun’s hands were clasped together like that when he opened the coffin. A wooden cross and rosary beads were in her hands. It’s possible someone religious did that after she was killed.’
Father Chris was taken aback. ‘Are you suggesting someone connected to the convent killed her?’
‘I can’t rule it out.’
‘I’ve never heard of a case where a priest, a nun or anyone connected with a religious order committed murder. Have you?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No, but that’s not to say it’s never happened.’
‘It could have been a layperson who worked at the convent who killed her,’ he suggested.
‘Would a convent employ laypeople?’ Jane asked.
‘Of course, especially if building or electrical work needed to be done.’
‘Then the diocese might have records or receipts regarding any work of that kind.’