‘Next question, please?’ Barnes said, pointing to a journalist.
Becky interjected yet again with a confident smile. ‘Have you checked local dentists near to the convent? If nuns don’t drive cars, they’d probably walk to the nearest one if they needed a filling.’
The room fell silent waiting for an answer from a flustered-looking Barnes. It was a simple line of inquiry that had so far been overlooked. Boon nodded at Becky, pleased she had silenced the mockers.
Barnes cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for that astute observation, Miss...?
‘Rogers, Becky Rogers... investigative reporter for the Bromley News Shopper.’
Barnes pointed to the journalist who had his hand raised.
‘I spoke with someone at the diocesan offices this morning. I was reliably informed they were not aware the nun was murdered until after the News Shopper article. Why weren’t they or the press informed immediately after the post-mortem last Thursday?’
‘Because I wanted to try and identify the victim first,’ Barnes replied, with an edge in his voice.
‘If you’d informed the diocese immediately or done a press appeal, you might have identified her by now,’ the same journalist said.
‘As I already said, the convent records were destroyed in a fire and the diocese was unable to help us,’ Barnes said.
‘Unable or unwilling?’ the journalist in the pinstripe suit interjected.
‘We will continue to seek their assistance. It’s up to them whether or not they want to help or hinder us,’ Barnes replied, clearly losing his cool.
The same journalist picked up on Barnes’s comment. ‘As an investigative journalist for The Times, I know of many allegations of child abuse made against Catholic priests and nuns. In my experience, the hierarchy of the Church withholds information from investigators and the press. They turn a blind eye and protect their own using medieval canon law. They allow the abuser to confess their sins without fear of a public prosecution. Do you think the nun’s murder is being covered up by members of the Catholic Church?’ he asked pointedly.
There was an air of expectation in the room after such a direct question. Everyone looked at Barnes, keenly awaiting his reply. Jane knew this was Barnes’s opportunity to air his feelings of injustice over Stephen Phillips’ death. She watched as all the journalists hold their pens to their notepads, ready to write down his reply.
Barnes took a sip of water. ‘I had a similar experience investigating the suicide of a twelve-year-old convent orphan. At his post-mortem we discovered he’d been beaten so badly you could see the outline of a belt and buckle on his skin. Old bruises and scars revealed this was a regular occurrence. I wanted to interview other children at the orphanage, but my request was refused by senior members of the diocese who said they would carry out an internal investigation.’
‘And did they?’ the journalist asked.
‘I was told by a bishop that the priest who “chastised” Stephen had been moved to “pastures new”,’ Barnes said in a sarcastic tone. ‘Personally, I’m in no doubt Stephen took his own life as a direct result of the pain he suffered. Those responsible for his injuries should have been charged with assault and held accountable in the Crown Court. The diocesan investigation was nothing more than a cover-up. I will not let that happen again. My team of officers will not rest until this case is solved... with or without the help of the diocese.’
‘Bloody hell, that was some revelation,’ Boon whispered to Jane.
She didn’t reply. Jane feared the Met’s senior officers would view his remarks as an unnecessary attack on the Catholic Church, and unbecoming to an officer of his rank. She wondered if Barnes was unburdening himself and didn’t care he was putting his career on the line.
‘Do you think children at the Sisters of Mercy convent were abused?’ the journalist asked.
Becky looked at Boon, who whispered to Jane.
‘I hope Stanley told him about Mrs Gorman...’
‘We have no direct evidence of that at this time,’ Barnes said. ‘But it is something we are looking into as part of our investigation.’
‘Obviously not,’ Boon sighed as Barnes continued.
‘I would encourage anyone who was abused in any way whilst at the convent to contact us. We will treat your information as confidential and support you. Unless there are any further questions, I think we can conclude this press conference.’
As members of the press left the room, the journalist in the pinstripe suit approached Barnes.
‘Thanks for answering my question about the cover-up. I intend to write an exposé about child abuse by priests and nuns. It has gone on for too long now and something needs to be done about the archaic laws the Catholic Church uses to deal with those who abuse children.’ He handed Barnes his business card. ‘You can rest assured I never reveal my sources.’
Barnes put the card in his breast pocket. ‘Thanks. I’ll keep you informed of any developments,’ he said, and they shook hands.
Becky had a quick chat with Boon and thanked him for letting her attend.
‘I was wondering if you still fancied going out for a drink?’ she asked.
‘I think I’m going to be busy with work for a while,’ he replied, remembering what he’d said to Jane about mixing business with pleasure.
Becky pulled a sad face. ‘Pretty please. I promise, I won’t ask a single question about the investigation.’
‘Go on, then. Tomorrow night will probably be best for me work-wise. I’ll give you a ring. What’s your home number?’ he asked, handing Becky his notebook.
Once the press had left, Barnes spoke to the detectives and civilian staff. He told them the office meeting would start in half an hour, but first he wanted to speak with Stanley, Jane, Boon and Lloyd Johnson in his office.
As Barnes opened the bottom drawer of his office filing cabinet, they heard the chink of glasses. He removed a bottle of Glenmorangie malt whisky and five glasses, which he lined up on his desk.
‘I keep this for special occasions,’ he said as he pulled the cork stopper out. ‘I thought the press conference went well, didn’t you?’ He poured some whisky into the glasses.
They looked at each other, wondering who was going to reply first. Lloyd elbowed Stanley, forcing him to respond.
‘Yes, sir. You spoke very well. Stephen Phillips’ death and the Church’s cover-up certainly got the press’s attention. It will no doubt cause a bit of a stir in the diocesan offices.’
‘Good. It was my intention to put the cat amongst the pigeons. Help yourselves.’
Once everyone had picked up a glass, he said, ‘Cheers. Here’s to putting Bishop Meade and his co-conspirators behind bars.’
Everyone raised their glasses and said ‘Cheers’. Barnes downed his whisky in one, poured another and lit one of his Black Russian cigarettes, then looked at Boon.
‘Good work with Annette Gorman today, son. I thought it best not to mention her in the conference. Her statement will be another nail in Meade’s coffin. Stanley also told me you’ve traced a Sister Julie who lived at the convent.’
‘Julie Dorton. She’s no longer a nun. She lives in Sidcup,’ Boon replied.
‘I’d be interested to know why she left,’ Barnes said.
‘Annette Gorman gave me the impression she’d had enough of the way the Mother Superior and some of the other nuns treated the children,’ Boon told him.
‘Abusing kids seems to be a way of life in the Catholic Church,’ Stanley remarked.
‘There may be other reasons she left. I want Boon and Tennison to interview her this evening after the office meeting,’ Barnes said.