‘They said it was a gas leak, so it had to be the propane bottle. I was last out of the kitchen that night. It was my responsibility to check the bottles were turned off... and I obviously didn’t.’
Jane remembered the burn marks on his mother’s cherished recipe book. Now she knew why it was so precious to him.
‘You can’t blame yourself and let it eat away at you, Chris. I dealt with a case where a faulty gas bottle accidently exploded in a garage.’
‘This bottle wasn’t faulty, Jane. If it were, we would have smelt the gas before that fateful night.’
‘No one smelt gas in my case, either. The truth is, you don’t know whether or not you turned the gas off or if the bottle was faulty. Sometimes we carry so much guilt and doubt, we blame ourselves for what happens to others, but you have to learn to move on.’
‘My brother blamed me. We haven’t spoken since it happened, which was ten years ago.’
‘Does he know you became a priest?’ she asked.
Father Chris shook his head. ‘I couldn’t face him or my demons, which is why I left Malta. At first, I was suicidal and confessed to a priest. He said suicide would be a mortal sin in the eyes of God, a sin that defies the love I owed Him. His words had a positive influence on me. I believed if I placed myself in the hands of God, He would forgive me and see me safely through life.’
‘Believe me, Chris, the world is a better place with honest, caring priests like you in it.’
‘That’s kind of you to say. Anyway, that’s the end of my story. Now, would you like some kwarezimal and a coffee?’
‘You’re tempting me,’ she said with a smile. ‘But sadly, I have to get back to work.’
‘I’ll walk you to your car.’
After calming his father down, Nick left him asleep in bed. Driving his Range Rover up St Mary’s Lane, Nick thought he saw Jane’s Mini Cooper. He pulled over, deciding to play a joke on her. He looked in the glovebox and found an old parking ticket to place under her windscreen wiper. As he was about to get out of his car, he saw Jane emerging from an alleyway beside the church, talking to a man in a grey tracksuit. Nick closed the car door and watched in his wing mirror.
Chris spoke as they walked. ‘With all that’s happened concerning the nun’s murder, I find my faith in the priesthood and Catholic Church being tested to its limits. It’s like a dark shroud has descended on me... and I can no longer see the light.’
‘There’s rotten apples in every profession,’ Jane said. She placed her hand on his arm. ‘Whatever happens, you have to do what is right for you, Chris.’
‘God bless you, Jane. It’s been a pleasure knowing you. I wish you well in your investigation.’ He leaned forward, hugged her and gently kissed her on the cheek before walking off towards the presbytery.
Jane was lost for words. It was like a final, sad goodbye, yet she had also felt a surge of arousal when he held and kissed her.
As she drove off, Nick ducked down until she had turned the corner. Sitting upright and close to tears, he punched the steering wheel.
‘You’re all the fucking same!’ he said through gritted teeth.
Chapter Twenty-one
Entering the Orpington incident room, Jane was surprised at how organised and well-equipped it was, given how quickly it had been set up. The conference-room table was pushed up against one wall and twelve chairs were set out for the press to sit at. A4 photographs of the nun’s coffin, body and the cross were stuck on one wall. Large Bromley planning department maps and plans of the convent — from 1851, 1964 and 1981 — were on another wall. A large whiteboard had ‘Victim — MB?’ written on it, her estimated age range, height, and hair colour. Under it was written ‘Pathologist — Dr Samantha Pullen’, with details of her post-mortem findings and cause of death. DS Johnson’s name had ‘Lab liaison sergeant’ written next to it with plenty of space for the forensic results when they came in. A tall filing shelf was filled with statement forms, action and information sheets, message pads, writing paper, pens, and as-yet-empty filing trays.
‘You’ve done a good job here, guv,’ Jane told Stanley.
‘Looks all right, doesn’t it? I spoke with your man Eaves this morning. He worked from photographs and X-rays of the head over the weekend and produced these for the press conference.’ He opened a folder and showed Jane two A4-sized artist’s impressions of the murdered nun, one wearing a veil and the other without.
Jane thought they portrayed her as an attractive, serene-looking young woman.
Stanley stuck them on the wall. ‘They look quite lifelike. If we identify our victim, it’ll be interesting to see how closely Eaves’ impression resembles an old photograph of her.’
‘Is Barnes happy to use them in his appeal?’ Jane asked.
‘He was in two minds at first, but having seen them he said it was worth a shot. I’ve got desks, typewriters, phones, and an index carousel to put in after the press conference. I’ll add details about our suspect Bishop Meade and the information Annette Gorman gave us once the press people have gone.’
‘How many other officers have you got joining us?’ Jane asked.
‘Ten detectives and two civilian indexers, which will make a total of sixteen, including Barnes.’
‘I thought we might have had more officers,’ she said.
‘Barnes said he wants to see where the press appeal leads us, then review things after a couple of days. I get the impression he wants to crack this case within a week or two.’
‘Somehow I don’t think it will be that easy,’ Jane remarked. She saw Boon walk in. ‘Any news on Sister Julie?’
He gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Her name’s Julie Dorton and she’s willing to speak to us. I’ve got her address. She lives in Hurst Road, Sidcup with her husband.’
‘Well done, Boony,’ Jane said.
‘Would someone like to explain who this Julie is?’ Stanley said.
Boon told him about his meeting with Annette Gorman.
‘Did Julie Dorton confirm what Annette Gorman said about the nuns and Father Bob?’
‘I didn’t ask, though Mrs Gorman had obviously told her why we wanted to interview her.’
‘Why not?’ Stanley asked, frowning.
‘Because I didn’t want to scare her off over the phone. An interview in the comfort of her home is more likely to produce the best results, like it did with Mrs Gorman,’ Boon said.
‘Well, let’s hope you’re right,’ Stanley replied.
‘He knows you’re right, Boony. He just hates to admit it,’ Jane teased, giving Stanley a grin.
‘You’ve done well, Boony. Barnes will be pleased.’ Stanley looked at his watch. It was half past three. ‘I’ve told the duty sergeant to keep the press in the foyer until we’re ready for them. I’ll go down just before four, hand out the press passes and bring them up to the incident room.’
‘I’ll do that for you, guv. I’m sure DCS Barnes will want you by his side as he enters the room,’ Boon said, wanting to keep his promise to Becky.
‘Good point. I’ll go and get the passes and leave them on the desk over there,’ Stanley said, walking off.
Jane guessed why Boon was being so helpful. ‘You’d best tell Becky Rogers to just listen and learn.’
‘I already have,’ Boon replied with a grin.
Jane looked at the photograph of the cross. ‘Do you know if Barry May got remanded in custody this morning?’ she asked Boon.
‘The bastard got bail. DC Lyons took the case for me. He detailed our objections, but the magistrate didn’t think they warranted a custodial remand. It was also in May’s favour that he had no previous convictions.’
Jane wasn’t surprised about the bail. She just hoped Katie had gone to her parents’ house.