‘My colleague who interviewed her has no doubt she’s telling the truth. Her distress while recounting such painful memories was not an act.’
Father Chris shook his head in disgust. ‘Those poor children will have been scarred for life. Do you think Bishop Meade knew what was going on?’
‘If Meade had nothing to hide, why didn’t he just tell us he was the local priest and visited the convent on a regular basis? It’s clear he’d know who the Mother Superior was, and at least the names of some of the nuns, including possibly our victim. He’s deliberately obstructed police inquiries and distanced himself from the convent. The question is, why?’
‘Are you going to arrest him?’
‘That’s not for me to decide... but I think it’s inevitable.’
Father Chris sighed. ‘This just gets worse and worse. But I can’t believe Bishop Meade would be capable of murder. It seems more likely he’s concealing the wrongdoing of others.’
Jane decided to be open with him. ‘It’s possible he was sexually abusing children at the convent and our victim found out.’
Father Chris was stunned. ‘You think he’s a paedophile?’
‘Bishop Meade is clearly hiding something. Under the circumstances we have to consider it a possibility,’ Jane said. She told him about Meade reading stories to the children and giving them sweets.
‘Has anyone said they were actually abused by him?’ Father Chris asked.
‘No, but his acts of kindness may have had an ulterior motive,’ Jane suggested.
‘That’s ridiculous!’ he said. ‘Hundreds of priests, vicars and nuns read bible stories to children and give them sweets at Easter, Christmas, or other special occasions. Are you saying they are all paedophiles as well?’
‘No, but Meade also told the children not to tell Mother Superior. And now he’s not telling us the truth.’
‘I really can’t get my head around all this. It flies in the face of everything I’ve been taught and hold dear as a Catholic priest.’
‘Does Meade have a chauffeur-driven black Ford Granada?’ she asked.
‘The archbishop does, but Bishop Meade’s been using it in his absence. Why do you ask?’
Jane told him about a man matching Meade’s description going to the mortuary on Saturday morning to say a prayer for the nun.
‘He didn’t know I’d prayed for her soul. It could have been a priest he sent to the mortuary,’ Father Chris said defensively.
‘The mortuary technician said he was dressed in a purple shirt and wore a gold ring, with a large round purple stone in it. When he saw the nun’s body, he had what can only be described as an emotional breakdown. I think Meade knows who she is and was full of self-pity and regret for something he’d done.’
Father Chris tilted his head back and sighed. ‘No, no, no, this can’t be right.’
‘I know the truth can be hard to accept,’ she said gently, ‘but the evidence speaks for itself. It’s also clear one person alone couldn’t have moved the coffin. There are others out there who were involved or know what happened. And they’ve covered up the truth for at least twenty years.’
Father Chris looked miserable. ‘I know. That’s why I will do what I can to help you. Archbishop Malone is flying back from Rome tomorrow morning. Meade said he’ll probably want to speak with me on Wednesday. I can’t lie to him as well, Jane. I have to tell him everything I know.’
‘You don’t need to get involved,’ she said. ‘There’s a record of the parish priests in the archives which will prove Bishop Meade worked here. The last thing I want is for you to get in trouble or lose your job. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never took place and you never knew about the nun’s murder.’
Father Chris shook his head. ‘There are no priests’ records in the archives... apart from mine.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I spoke with Mrs Parkin on the phone just after you left. I told her I was writing an historical article on the church and needed some details about the previous parish priests. I wanted to confirm what my parishioner told me.’ He sighed. ‘The strange thing is, I wasn’t really surprised when I was told they were missing.’
Jane shook her head in disbelief. ‘Bishop Meade must have removed them. He must be a complete fool to think we wouldn’t find out he was the parish priest. My DCS is holding a press conference this evening. He’s confident a public appeal will identify other nuns and children who were at the convent. We can also make discreet inquiries with local residents. I’m sure there will be plenty of people out there who remember “Father Bob ”.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very understanding.’
‘I hope everything works out for you, Chris.’
‘So do I, Jane. But right now, I don’t know what my future holds,’ he said darkly.
Jane wondered what he meant. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?’
He forced a smile. ‘That depends on what it is.’
‘What made you want to become a priest?’ She hoped he wouldn’t be offended by the query.
Father Chris sighed. ‘That’s a question I’ve repeatedly asked myself these last few days.’ He paused and looked at Jane with a sadness in his eyes. ‘I’ve never told anyone the real reason before.’
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ she said, sensing his discomfort.
‘I was seeking God’s forgiveness, by giving my life to Him.’
‘Forgiveness for what?’ Jane asked.
‘The death of my parents,’ he said softly as his eyes glazed over. ‘If it wasn’t for me, they’d still be alive.’
‘What happened?’ Jane asked in a quiet voice.
‘We had a small restaurant in Valetta, and my parents and I lived above it. My father Aaron looked after the guests and my mother Tamyra was the cook. My brother Michael and I took turns working in the kitchen and serving the guests. We closed early one Friday night as it wasn’t very busy. Michael went home to his wife and baby son and I went to a nearby nightclub with a girlfriend.’ He paused and took a deep breath.
‘I can still remember hearing the explosion above the sound of the music. Everyone ran into the street to see what had happened. The sky was red with flames and filled with smoke. Somehow, I knew it was our restaurant. I ran down the road to find the front of the building blown out and the inside on fire. The upper floor we lived on was in a state of collapse... then I saw my mother at the smoke-filled bedroom window trying to open it... but she couldn’t. I tried to go in, but I was driven back by the flames. I tried again, but a friend grabbed me and said it was too dangerous. Eventually the fire brigade came... but it was too late. After they put the fire out, I found my father in the kitchen. He had died from severe blast injuries. My mother was in the bedroom... there wasn’t a mark on her body. I cradled her in my arms, but she was dead from smoke inhalation.’ He put his hands over his face and wept.
Jane wanted to comfort Father Chris by putting her arms round him, but knew it wouldn’t be appropriate.
‘Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry for your loss. It must have been terrible for you and your brother. What caused the explosion?’
He looked up at Jane slowly. ‘I did. And I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve done... only God can.’ His voice trembled.
Jane felt numb. ‘But how...?’
‘Through my negligence and stupidity. I was so hasty to go out and enjoy myself that I forgot to turn off the propane gas bottle in the kitchen. My father switched the light on, then the spark of electricity ignited the gas,’ he said, his voice full of guilt and self-loathing.
‘Is that what the fire brigade said or what you believe happened?’ Jane asked.