Vow of Evil Read online

  ‘How do you know she was shoved?’ Sister Joan demanded.

  ‘A couple of strands of blonde hair caught in the sharp corner of a walnut table a few feet inside the shop door,’ he told her. ‘It’s my educated guess that he did shove her and that she fell heavily. Then whoever it was shut the shop door, carried her upstairs, put her on her bed – she had already turned back the covers ready for getting into bed – and she must have died there since the intruder turned the mattress but failed to notice the slight stain of blood on it.’

  ‘You’re trying to tell me it wasn’t murder!’

  ‘That’d be for a jury to decide. In my book it’s murder. He then put the cloak tightly round her, collected all the papers and private notes and her uniform and carried her down to one of the boats.’

  ‘Then he’d’ve been a pretty strong man – you’re assuming it was a man?’

  ‘I’m assuming nothing,’ he said drily. ‘Anyway she was slim, certainly not very heavy.’

  ‘But it couldn’t’ve been the same man who dressed in her uniform and calmly walked into the police station on Wednesday morning to leave a note!’

  ‘Oh, I think he had some help,’ Detective Inspector Mill said, grimly.

  ‘Are you going to question our tenants?’ Sister Joan asked.

  ‘They weren’t here when any of the earlier events occurred.’

  ‘Maybe there was no connection – no, there has to be.’

  ‘The obscene writings and sketches you saw.’

  ‘And destroyed or obliterated,’ she said contritely.

  ‘The normal human instinct is to clean away dirt. Don’t fret yourself about it,’ he advised. ‘No, the incidents seemed to me to be like the prelude to something bigger. The sketches, the poisoned lurcher, the drowned cat, and I’m not forgetting the figure capering in the graveyard with the obvious intention of frightening an old lady out of her wits!’

  ‘But you’ll question the new tenants anyway?’ she repeated.

  ‘I’ve no reason to go barging in. There’s no foreign DNA been found that would justify the expense of a general inquiry. These tenants, Sister? What do you make of them? You’ve talked to them?’

  ‘I don’t like them,’ she said flatly.

  ‘It’s not like you to be judgemental. Describe them.’

  ‘The mother is a widow called Winifred Roye,’ she said. ‘About sixty-five or thereabouts – fat – not just plump or well built, but fat. You get the impression that if you pricked her she’d leak lard. Very fond of her daughter, Dawn Lurgan. Dawn’s about thirty, dresses like a – well, young women with thick thighs ought to lower their skirts – sorry if that sounds catty – but in ten years she—’

  ‘Will look as fat as her mother,’ she was interrupted.

  His voice was vaguely amused.

  ‘Yes,’ Sister Joan said bluntly. ‘She is married to Ian Lurgan, Aged about thirty, smallish, thin, nondescript really, has an ingratiating manner and obviously never talked to a nun in his life before.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to have ingratiated himself with you.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t. He hangs around, won’t take the hint to be off. He followed me into the stable yard and that’s off limits to the tenants anyway, and spent the entire conversation bad-mouthing his wife for her immoral habits.’

  ‘There’s a sister, isn’t there?’

  ‘Kit. About twenty, I’d say. Tall, good-looking girl, red hair, rather rude.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Oh, it’s stupid of me to mind!’ she said impatiently. ‘Nuns grow accustomed to being treated with a kind of friendly respect. She tried to wind me up by being deliberately insolent.’

  ‘And there’s a visitor?’

  ‘Henrico del Marco, but he hasn’t got an Italian accent. Of course, he may have been born in this country of Italian parentage. In his early to mid-forties, thickset, looks powerful. But surely you’ve made some enquiries?’

  ‘I rang Mother David and asked her for the number of their referee. A Father John Fitzgerald. Sounded like a nice fellow.’

  ‘You talked to him?’

  ‘He told me they were a rough family, had a hard time of it since the father died. He didn’t know of any criminal record. Said he would certainly have heard since they were parishioners of his.’

  ‘Have they been to Mass since they got here?’

  ‘I had a word with Father Malone. He hasn’t noticed any new communicants – but it isn’t illegal to skip church.’

  ‘I suppose not. What happens now?’

  ‘There’ll be the inquest and, unless we can come up with some new evidence, a verdict of unlawful killing by person or persons unknown.’

  He shrugged tiredly and swung his legs back inside the car.

  ‘I’m worried about Tabitha Lee,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘She hasn’t started hitting people over the head, has she?’

  ‘Not as far as I know – no, of course not! But she’s started skipping classes, hanging around in the amusement arcade. Padraic frets about her.’

  ‘Padraic Lee’s an excellent father,’ Inspector Mill said. ‘I daresay she is just going through a phase. They tell me girls do.’

  ‘Not boys?’

  ‘Brian and Keith? Not yet, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.’ He laughed, the shadow lifting from his face.

  ‘And the – rest of the family?’

  ‘All present and correct! Will you be coming to the inquest?’

  ‘To give evidence about the cloaked figure I saw?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with the coroner and find out if you’ll be needed. One glimpse on a dark evening, unsubstantiated by witnesses, is not going to make any difference to the verdict, but we’ll see. It’s certain that she died late on the Monday night.’

  ‘And walked into the station to leave a note on the Wednesday morning?’

  ‘Someone dressed in her uniform. Who hasn’t turned up yet. I want to get this thing wrapped up by the end of the month.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’ she asked.

  ‘All Saints’ Day on the first, All Souls’ Day on the second, and Guy Fawkes on the fifth. I suppose you lot don’t celebrate it?’

  ‘I can’t speak for the laity,’ she said, amused, ‘but we don’t have bonfires to mark the occasion in the convent, no. I didn’t know you were au fait with church ceremonies!’

  ‘Protestants have them too,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Of course they do! How arrogant of me!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re talking to one who is strictly neutral here,’ he said.

  ‘Were you on your way to the convent?’

  ‘To fill Mother David in on the details so far. I spend so much time on the phone that it’s a relief to talk face to face. Anyway perhaps you can pass on the news to your prioress?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘And Sister—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This spate of nastiness may have stopped, but if I were you I’d keep alert.’

  ‘I’ve taken to locking the stable door at night and keeping Alice in the kitchen after dark unless someone’s with her.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘I was concerned about the welfare of the animals. Bye, Sister!’

  He turned the car in a wide arc and drove off down the hill.

  ‘Come on, Lilith! Alice!’

  She was remounting when Padraic Lee strode into view. At his heels the new lurcher frolicked, immediately sensing a playmate in Alice who, having sniffed the newcomer carefully, evidently decided that a game of tag was in order.

  ‘She looks well!’ Sister Joan said, dismounting again.

  ‘Aye, she’s a nice dog,’ Padraic agreed. ‘Pedigree too! Father Stephen gave Edith the proper forms all signed and sealed.’

  He dug into his jacket and produced a couple of sheets of typed matter.

  ‘Father Stephen signed on my behalf – not that I can’t read or write, but so
me folk take it for granted that all Roms are illiterate,’ he said, handing them over.

  ‘Very impressive,’ Sister Joan said.

  Her eye scanning the neatly typed details of sire and dam, of injections given, lit on the signature with the n at the end of Stephen flourishing backwards in a reverse loop.

  ‘Aye, she’s a right good bitch!’ Padraic said, taking back the papers and stowing them away carefully. ‘Kushti! Heel, now! Heel now!’

  ‘Is Edith well?’

  ‘Both of them are fine.’

  ‘I saw Tabitha earlier. Did she get the shopping home all right. I did offer to—’

  ‘She’s not home yet.’ He looked slightly puzzled. ‘She had some debating society to stay for. Edith weren’t sure what it was. And we got in all the shopping on Saturday.’

  ‘I must’ve been mistaken then,’ Sister Joan said lamely.

  ‘I’d best be getting on. Training time!’

  He nodded and went off, the puppy scampering at his heels.

  ‘Alice! Here!’

  To her surprise Alice obeyed instantly, panting up and sitting down with an expression on her face that said clearly, ‘When it comes to obedience that lurcher can’t hold a candle to me’.

  Why had Tabitha been carrying two laden baskets? Mounting up again, Sister Joan felt a spasm of unease. No shopping? Things for Guy Fawkes Night perhaps? Time she stopped putting a sinister construction on every little incident.

  She had almost reached the gates of the convent when the neat little car swept around the corner with Dawn Lurgan at the wheel. At her side a smartly dressed elderly man, bearing, Sister Joan noticed, a decided resemblance to Ian Lurgan, turned his head and stared at her before saying something to the young woman beside him who, clearly reluctantly, slowed and stopped.

  ‘This is Ian’s father,’ Dawn said, winding down the window at the side. ‘We’re going into town to get a fish and chip supper.’

  ‘Sister Joan.’ She remained on Lilith but nodded pleasantly.

  ‘Tim,’ the newcomer muttered. ‘Name’s Tim.’

  ‘Right! Let’s get on, babe! Nice seeing you, Sister!’

  She shot past, causing Lilith to rear nervously.

  So that was Ian’s father. Rather careworn and nervous-looking, she decided, and who could blame him with Ian for a son?

  ‘Charity, charity!’ she said aloud, calming the pony.

  ‘And thats all of it, Mother David.’

  Twenty minutes later she completed her recital of Inspector Mill’s news and sat back on her stool.

  ‘One hopes that the police will apprehend the guilty party,’ Mother David said worriedly. ‘What a burden to have on one’s conscience! Perhaps the weight of his conscience will drive him to confess.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Sister Joan said, trying to put some agreement into her voice.

  In her experience criminals were seldom bothered by their consciences.

  ‘You have a little time before religious studies,’ Mother David said. ‘Father Malone phoned to say that both he and Father Stephen have this nasty chill that is apparently going about so for once chapel and benediction are cancelled. We shall use that period for private meditation on the renewal of our vows. How are the sketches coming?’

  ‘Rather well, Mother,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Saint Ignatius Loyola is rather a handsome warrior.’

  ‘Which I suppose children will find rather more exciting than his later spiritual conversion. Thank you, Sister. Dominus vobiscum.’

  ‘Et cum spiritu tuo,’ Sister Joan responded.

  She went across into the chapel and climbed the spiral stairs to the library above. Sister Dorothy was at the main desk, head bent over a book.

  ‘I took the liberty of looking at some of your sketches,’ she said, looking up. ‘They are really delightful. I begin to feel guilty that during my time as prioress I rather discouraged your artistic interests.’

  ‘It was very good for my soul, Sister Dorothy,’ she answered encouragingly, and went on into the storeroom.

  Her drawings were pinned up, the light when she switched it on bringing the ones she had coloured to glowing life.

  There they were, she thought, waiting to be translated into printed books. Anne building a castle of bricks with her grandson, Jesus; Bernadette at the spring; Christopher carrying the Christ Child across the river; David taking a modest shower; Elizabeth with her basket of roses; Francis surrounded by small animals; George with his rather impudent looking dragon; Hildegard singing and playing; Ignatius in his Spanish armour; her namesake mounted on her horse with the fleur-de-lis borne before her – it was hard not to feel a glow of satisfaction.

  She added a few touches here and there, then mindful that she still had to join the meditation which replaced the religious studies, she switched off the light and joined Sister Dorothy who was on her way down the spiral stairs to kneel in her accustomed place.

  They were filing in, Sister Marie with a large dab of flour on her nose. Mother David came in, made her usual neat genuflection and turned to face them.

  ‘Sisters, I owe you an apology for postponing our religious studies to a later date,’ she said. ‘Sometimes the world intrudes too much and naturally though we are not living in the world we are still of it. Because of recent events I took the unusual step of ordering all the local and a couple of the national newspapers in order to fully acquaint myself with what has been happening beyond our enclosure. The nastiness, if I may call it that, seems to be endemic, spreading like a cancer. In every town there seem to be random acts of violence against the aged and weak, even against children. In view of that, I have decided to ask the Mother House if we may donate one-third of any rental we receive from any property to a children’s organization. I believe we will receive that permission, but I will not take such an unusual step without consulting – where is Sister Gabrielle?’ She broke off, looking round the chapel where only a few candles mitigated the gloom.

  ‘She was in the infirmary before, Mother,’ Sister Mary Concepta piped up.

  ‘Perhaps she dozed off. Shall I fetch her?’ Sister Perpetua was on her feet.

  ‘Normally I would prefer not to disturb her,’ Mother David said, ‘but when it comes to making economic decisions then Sister Gabrielle must also be consulted.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute. Please excuse me, Sisters.’

  Sister Perpetua went out, her tread echoing on the bare wood of the hall.

  ‘Sister?’ Mother David spoke questioningly as the tall figure of the infirmarian returned.

  ‘Sister Gabrielle isn’t in the infirmary, Mother David,’ she said.

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta, was Sister Gabrielle actually in the infirmary when you came into chapel?’ Mother David asked.

  ‘She was there earlier today,’ Sister Mary Concepta said, her voice suddenly uncertain. ‘Sister Perpetua gave me my heart pills at four and – she was there then, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Seated by the fire,’ Sister Perpetua confirmed. ‘I went into the kitchen to ask Sister Marie for something or other—’

  ‘And I had a little sleep,’ Sister Mary Concepta said. ‘Those pills are very relaxing. When I heard the rest of you coming into chapel I roused myself and joined you. I don’t know whether she was still there or not.’

  ‘Would she be in the bathroom upstairs?’ Sister Martha said.

  ‘Why would she go upstairs when there’s a perfectly adequate bathroom and toilet in the infirmary? Sister Marie, go and see if she’s in the parlour. She may have fallen.’

  ‘May I help?’ Sister Katherine asked.

  ‘Yes, go along! She certainly won’t be out of doors,’ Mother David said.

  They sat in a strained silence for the next five minutes until the two sisters came back in, their faces expressing frustration.

  ‘We’ve looked everywhere,’ Sister Marie said. ‘Mother David, she isn’t in the building anywhere.’

  FOURTEEN

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ Siste
r Dorothy was rising to the occasion, unconsciously asserting her old habit of authority.

  ‘That we divide up and search?’ Mother David said.

  ‘You have anticipated me, Mother Prioress.’ Sister Dorothy gracefully relinquinished the habit of authority again.

  ‘This is a large building,’ Mother David said, pushing back her spectacles and frowning in concentration. ‘Sisters Katherine and Marie, search the upper floor very thoroughly: Sister Dorothy, will you search the library and storerooms and then join Sisters Hilaria and Mary Concepta in the parlour with me. I shall wait there in case – if she has strayed beyond the enclosure – someone may have found her and be trying to reach us by telephone. In fact, when your particular search has been concluded each of you is to return to the parlour. Sister Perpetua, you had better remain in the infirmary once you have checked the ground floor. If Sister Gabrielle has gone out of doors for any reason she will be needing a hot drink when she returns. Sister Martha, take a torch and search the front grounds. Sister Joan, take Alice and cover the garden and the cemetery.’

  They were filing out more rapidly than usual. Sister Joan reached for her cloak.

  ‘She cannot have gone far,’ Sister Martha said, reaching for her own garment. ‘Sister Gabrielle never leaves the main house except to give Lilith the occasional sugar lump.’

  ‘Elderly nuns don’t vanish into thin air,’ Sister Joan said briskly, ‘and Sister Gabrielle is a bit of a law unto herself you know. If she took it into her head to walk barefoot to Rome I doubt if anyone could dissuade her.’

  ‘You don’t think—?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t! Here’s a torch. If you run into Luther tell him what’s happened.’

  ‘Luther’s nearly always gone by dusk,’ Sister Martha said unhappily as she headed for the front door, ‘and anyway we don’t know what’s happened.’

  Sister Joan fished a second torch out of its drawer and went through to the yard. Alice, jumping from her basket, followed gaily, ears pricked.