‘Blimey, it looks just like a big modern house. I’d never have guessed it was a religious building if it didn’t have that cross on top,’ Boon remarked as they pulled up outside the convent.
They were let in by a young sister, who took them to the Mother Superior, Mother Lynne’s office. Jane told her why they were there.
Mother Lynne nodded sadly. ‘I heard the appeal for information on the radio. It beggars belief that someone could do that to a child of God.’ She made the sign of the cross. ‘What brings you to our convent?’
‘One of our priorities is to trace and interview anyone who used to live or work at the Bickley convent during the relevant time period.’
‘I never worked there myself, so I don’t think I can help you,’ Mother Lynne said.
‘We believe a Sister Margaret Wilde did, and were told she now lives here,’ Jane said.
‘Yes, she does. Sister Margaret’s been with us for about three years.’
‘If it’s convenient we’d like to speak with her, please.’
Mother Lynne looked concerned. ‘Sister Margaret is in our care wing. She’s seventy-seven now and has dementia.’
‘Then she’ll have no memory of her time at the Sisters of Mercy, I expect,’ Jane said. It looked as if they’d made a wasted journey.
‘She has good days and bad days with her memory,’ Mother Lynne said. ‘She can also be quite cantankerous at times. I’m more concerned about the effect discussing a murder might have on her peace of mind.’
‘Is she aware of our press appeal?’ Jane asked.
‘Not as far as I know. She doesn’t have a television and has no interest in the newspapers. Most of the time she listens to music on her old record player and reads books... though it takes her weeks to get through them as she often forgets what’s happened and has to start all over again.’
Jane nodded. ‘I understand your concerns, Mother Superior. We were told Sister Margaret knew our victim. It’s also possible she reported her to Bromley police as a missing person. I’m happy not to mention that our victim was murdered, but anything Sister Margaret can remember might help us to find who was responsible for her death.’
Mother Lynne paused for thought before answering. ‘To engage with Sister Margaret, you will need to speak slowly and clearly, using simple words and short sentences.’
Jane nodded. ‘We won’t cause her any undue stress.’
As they walked along the care wing corridor Jane could hear the sound of loud music coming from one of the rooms.
‘Someone likes their music,’ Jane remarked.
Mother Lynne sighed. ‘It’s coming from Sister Margaret’s room. We’re constantly having to tell her to turn it down. It upsets the other residents on the wing.’
Boon whispered to Jane, ‘It’s “And the Glory of the Lord” from Handel’s Messiah.’
‘Another opera?’ Jane said, wondering if he was pulling her leg again.
‘Actually, technically it’s an oratorio,’ he added.
Sister Margaret’s room was modestly furnished with a reclining hospital bed, a comfortable armchair, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers with six small wood carvings of animals on it.
Sister Margaret was sitting in the armchair next to the bed, staring out of the window. She was a plump woman with long grey hair and a lined face. Jane thought she looked a lot older than Mother Lynne had said.
‘Hello, Sister Margaret. How are you today?’ Mother Lynne said.
Sister Margaret continued staring out of the window and said nothing. Mother Lynne turned the record player on the bedside cabinet off.
Sister Margaret glared at her. ‘Why did you do that?’
Mother Lynne knelt down beside her and touched her hand. ‘There are some police officers here who’d like to speak to you,’ she said.
Sister Margaret looked at Jane and Boon with a stern eye. ‘If they’re real police why aren’t they wearing uniforms?’
Jane showed Sister Margaret her warrant card. ‘We’re detectives, Sister Margaret. We don’t wear uniforms,’ she said.
‘Would you like me to stay while they talk to you, Sister Margaret?’ Mother Lynne asked.
‘Do what you want. I don’t care, now you’ve turned my music off,’ she replied tersely.
‘I think she might be having an off day,’ Mother Lynne whispered to Jane. ‘I need to have a word with one of the nursing sisters. I’ll be back shortly.’
Jane realised it would be a difficult, as well as pointless, interview. ‘I’m Jane and this is Simon...’
Boon showed her his warrant card. ‘I’m a detective as well.’
Sister Margaret laughed. ‘Simple Simon met a pieman, going to the fair.’ She laughed again and Boon smiled.
Jane knelt next to her. ‘Do you remember when you lived at the Sisters of Mercy convent in Bickley?’
‘Where’s that?’ Sister Margaret asked with a puzzled look.
‘Bickley, in Bromley, London. The Mother Superior was called Adele Delaney.’
‘Was she?’
‘Yes. You were both there together and used to run the orphanage.’
‘What orphanage?’
Jane turned to Boon who was looking at the carved ornaments on the dressing table.
‘Can I have the folder a minute?’
He handed it to her and Jane took out a copy of Julie Dorton’s 1958 convent photo.
‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture?’
Sister Margaret peered at it, then smiled. ‘Is that me, sitting on the bench?’
Jane smiled. ‘Yes, it is. Do you know who this is next to you?’ she asked, pointing to Adele Delaney.
‘It’s the Mother Superior?’
‘Yes! Can you remember her name?’
‘No.’
Jane was baffled. ‘Then how did you know it was the Mother Superior?’
Sister Margaret looked at Jane as if she was stupid. ‘Because a Mother Superior is in charge and always sits in the middle.’
Jane sighed, put the photo back in the folder and looked at Boon.
‘I think this is a pointless exercise. We may as well head back to the office.’
‘Can I have a chat with her?’ he asked.
‘Is there any point?’
‘Hi, Margaret. I’m Simon.’
She smiled. ‘The pieman’s friend!’
‘That’s right, you remembered me,’ he replied with an over-exaggerated smile, then picked up the record sleeve. ‘What’s your favourite piece in Handel’s Messiah?’
‘“The Hallelujah Chorus”,’ Sister Margaret replied.
He smiled. ‘That’s my favourite as well. It’s at the end of part two, isn’t it?’ Sister Margaret nodded. ‘Were the words taken from the bible?’ Boon asked.
‘They’re from the Book of Revelation. “Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth... And He hath on His vesture and on His thigh a name written, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords... And He shall reign for ever and ever...”’
‘Hallelujah!’ Boon said. He turned on the turntable, gently placed the needle on the LP and turned the volume up a little. As the violins came in and the chorus of ‘hallelujahs’ began, Margaret smiled, closed her eyes and started to move her hands as if she was conducting.
Jane whispered to Boon, ‘We haven’t got time to sit and listen to music with her.’
‘Be patient, sarge,’ he replied as Sister Margaret started to sing along softly to herself.
To Jane’s surprise Boon suddenly joined in:
‘King of Kings... forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’
Sister Margaret opened her eyes, then she joined in the chorus singing, ‘Forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’ in a cracked but still impressive voice.
Jane began to understand what Boon was trying to do. He turned the music down.
‘May I say, Sister Margaret, you have the most beautiful voice. It’s as if I were listening to an angel singing!’