‘Yeah, fine. Do what’s best for you,’ Nick replied.
‘Are you OK?’ Jane asked, bemused by his off-hand tone.
‘Yeah, shouldn’t I be?’
Jane couldn’t understand why he was talking to her like this. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’
There was a brief pause. ‘No, it’s not you. My dad can be pretty exhausting at times.’
‘I understand. Look, it might be late, but I’ll come round to your house when I finish. We can cheer each other up,’ she said.
‘If it’s all the same, I’d like to stay at my dad’s tonight and keep an eye on him.’
Jane was taken aback. ‘Right, fine... I understand.’ She didn’t see Boon approaching.
‘Mrs Dorton’s happy to speak with us. You good to go, sarge?’ he asked.
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’ she said tersely. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ She waited for a reply then realised Nick had already put the phone down.
Driving to Julie Dorton’s, Jane couldn’t help but feel concerned about her brief conversation with Nick. She knew he was close to his father, but his curt replies were out of character. She racked her brain but couldn’t think of anything she’d done that could have upset him. She wondered if the whole business of the nun’s murder, the site being closed and his father’s illness was getting to him more than he was letting on.
‘You all right, sarge?’ Boon asked, but she didn’t answer. ‘Hello, Boon to DS Tennison, are you receiving... over?’ he joked.
She bit back a sharp reply. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about what we need to ask Julie Dorton.’
‘I was surprised Barnes never had a pop at me about Becky Rogers being at the press conference,’ Boon remarked.
‘I think his mind was on more important things. Personally, I was quite impressed with her. She’s dogged and she certainly speaks her mind.’
‘Not dissimilar to you then, sarge,’ Boon grinned.
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Jane said.
‘Dorton’s house should be just up here on the left,’ Boon said as they drove along Hurst Road.
Julie Dorton was an attractive, fresh-faced woman in her late forties, with dark curly auburn hair and bright eyes. She was wearing a dark blue hospital dress and a nurse’s belt around her slim waist. Jane noticed she also wore wedding and engagement rings.
‘I’ve not long been back from work. Please come through to the living room,’ she said nervously.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Dorton?’ Jane asked.
‘I just watched the evening news. I think I know who the nun is, but... it just doesn’t seem possible she was murdered.’ Her voice trembled. ‘The artist’s impression they showed looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure it was her. Then when they showed a picture of the cross with the initials on it...’ Julie started to cry.
Jane and Boon looked at each other, realising this was a significant development. Boon got out his notebook and pen, having agreed that Jane would interview Julie and he would take notes to be made into a full statement later. Jane sat next to Julie on the settee.
‘Who do you think MB is, Julie?’ Jane asked, handing her a tissue.
‘Sister Melissa... but we all called her Missy.’
‘Do you know her surname?’
‘It was Bailey.’
‘And you were at the convent together?’ Jane asked.
Julie blew her nose and nodded. ‘She was my best friend.’
‘I know this must be difficult for you, Julie, but I need to ask you some questions about Missy... is that OK?’
‘Yes. I want to help... but I can’t believe she was murdered... I thought Missy left the convent because she’d had enough of the way it was run. Do you really think it’s her body you found?’
‘We don’t know for certain yet. But with what you’ve just told us, it’s an even stronger possibility. When did you first meet Missy? If you can recall any dates, it would be very helpful.’
‘We joined the convent as novices in February 1953 and shared a room together. I was nineteen and Missy was eighteen. We felt segregated from some of the older sisters, who stuck to a strict religious routine and rarely spoke to us younger novices. Missy and I got on well and quickly became close friends.’ Julie undid the top button of her dress and withdrew a cross on a chain. She took it off and handed it to Jane.
‘We were given these when we took our final vows. Mine is the same as Missy’s, apart from the initials, of course.’
‘Can you recall if there was anyone else at the convent with the initials MB?’ Jane asked.
‘There were a couple of sisters called Mary. I think one’s surname was Brown; the other one I can’t remember. Mind you, they were both a lot older and probably took their vows in the 1940s.’
‘Do you know what part of the country Missy was from?’
‘She told me her parents emigrated to Canada just after the war. She came back to the UK to become a nun when she turned eighteen.’
‘Do you know where they lived in Canada?
‘Whenever we said how cold it was in winter, Missy would laugh and say, “Try living in Kingston, Ontario. It’s so cold you poop snowflakes.”’ Julie smiled at the memory.
‘Did she talk about her parents by name? What they did for a living or anything like that?’ Jane asked, knowing she would need to trace them.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know their names. I recall her saying something about her dad being a university teacher.’
‘Do you know when Missy’s birthday was?’ Jane asked.
‘The fifth of August. I remember making a cake for her twenty-seventh birthday... just before she left.’
‘Can you give me a bit more detail on why you think Missy left the convent?’
‘She couldn’t stand how the children were treated by Mother Superior and Sister Margaret. At the time I thought it had been eating away at her so much she just decided to walk out the door one night and never return.’
‘Annette Gorman told us about some of Mother Superior’s horrendous punishments and assaults on the kids,’ Boon said.
‘I know. I spoke with her earlier. Everything Annette told you is the truth.’
‘I don’t for one second doubt her, or you, Julie,’ Jane assured her.
‘Annette also told me about the article in the News Shopper. I read it myself. The bit about the bodies of murdered children being buried at the convent is utter nonsense.’
‘I know,’ Jane said, ‘but as investigators we can’t totally ignore it as a possibility.’
‘In fairness, Mother Superior wasn’t abusive when Missy and I first joined the convent,’ Julie said. ‘Although she used her wooden ladle to smack the children, it was in a gentle good-natured way — a light tap on the head or back of the hand, nothing vicious. She even reigned in Sister Margaret when she saw her being overzealous in her punishments.’
‘So what happened to change everything?’ Jane asked.
‘The convent was getting rundown and in constant need of repair, which was costly for the diocese. Mother Superior heard a rumour they were thinking of selling it to raise funds. The convent was her life. She became depressed then started drinking heavily.’
‘How did you know Mother Superior was drinking?’ Jane asked.
‘She’d always liked a tipple, but her drinking got worse and she was often drunk, particularly of an evening. She stank of alcohol, slurred her words and staggered about. We suspected her booze was hidden in the chapel crypt as she spent so much time down there. The more she drank, the more bad-tempered and aggressive she became, often lashing out at the children and us for really trivial transgressions of the rules. Sister Margaret used it to her advantage and became Mother Superior’s self-appointed deputy. Together they started to run the convent with a rod of iron.’