Vow of Evil Read online

  ‘We could evict the tenants. The letter of recommendation was a forgery.’

  ‘Would that be sufficient grounds?’ Sister Joan wondered. ‘I think you will probably find that Tim Lurgan, Ian Lurgan’s father, was a fairly regular communicant up in Liverpool, that he got hold of a sample of Father John Fitzgerald’s very individual signature and traced it at the bottom of the letter he sent. The rest of it was typed. And even when Father Fitzgerald returns to his parish – he must write dozens and dozens of letters – so how could he recall one as not being genuine? He’s getting on in years.’

  ‘And Ian Lurgan was his pupil you said?’

  ‘Father Stephen had some recollections of him as a much younger pupil at the same school. Tim Lurgan’s wife came from Plymouth and killed herself when Ian was a child. They were living in Liverpool then, I suspect. Later on they moved down to Plymouth where Constable Seldon’s half-brother killed himself. My guess is that Tim Lurgan returned to Liverpool and the rest of them moved nearer this town, evading any questioning, planning their next move.’

  ‘And Constable Seldon followed them? Sister, this sounds like the wildest guesswork!’

  ‘With no concrete evidence. I know. But, Mother David, when they left Plymouth they would have lain low for a while, separated, maybe a couple of them came down here to look round the town, to start the mischief working here.’

  ‘And killed Constable Seldon because she knew about them? Sister Joan, without solid proof there’s nothing to connect them to anything,’ Mother David said impatiently. ‘I am not, thank heavens, a police officer but don’t crimes require motive, means and opportunity? Where’s the motive?’

  ‘Love of evil?’

  ‘And that, my dear girl, won’t stand up in a court of law any more than love of good entitles us to be canonized!’

  ‘I know,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘I will look very closely at the contract for the tenancy in case they are in breach of any of the rules,’ the prioress said. ‘As it is, the fact that in some ways they seem to be somewhat unsuitable tenants doesn’t entitle us to mount a witch hunt. All men are innocent until proved guilty.’

  Presumed innocent, Sister Joan thought, but didn’t say. Aloud she said. ‘You don’t wish this latest act to be made known to the community?’

  ‘I think it’s best kept to ourselves, Sister,’ Mother David said. ‘Next week we renew our vows and prepare for All Saints’ Day; Sister Mary Concepta is in very far from robust health and our serenity of mind has already been disturbed quite enough by the visit from the police and the search of the gardens. When Father John Fitzgerald returns to his parish I will make some discreet enquiries of him. Thank you, Sister.’ Dominus vobiscum.’

  ‘Et cum spiritu tuo,’ Sister Joan said, rising from her stool.

  Going into the hall, Sister Joan carefully unclenched her fists. Common sense told her that Mother David’s point of view was both logical and reasonable, that a case was nothing without strong evidence, that one’s personal prejudices had to be overridden. Every nerve in her system told another tale.

  Sister Perpetua, looking harassed, came out of the infirmary.

  ‘Are you going into town for anything, Sister?’ she enquired.

  ‘What did you want, Sister?’

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta’s prescription needs to be collected. She is really very far from well. If this continues—’

  ‘I’ll get it for you at once,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘No need to break your neck over it,’ Sister Perpetua said, with a sniff. ‘We have enough tablets for a couple of days but one likes to have a good supply.’

  ‘I could take Sister Gabrielle for a spin,’ Sister Joan said with a flash of mischief.

  ‘Would that you could, Sister!’ The infirmarian gave a faint grin. ‘But quite honestly one couldn’t wean her from Sister Mary Concepta’s bedside save for a Papal Decree. They both came originally from the same village in Ireland. Did you know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, we’re not supposed to chat about our former lives anyway, but Sister Mary Concepta let it slip in conversation recently. She was reminding Sister Gabrielle that the latter used to have red hair and could dance at the ceilidhs more skilfully than any other in the village.’

  ‘I’ll get the prescription,’ Sister Joan said.

  She called Alice who leapt up into the van and devoted several moments to making herself comfortable in the rear, started the engine and drove down into the town.

  Her heart felt heavy as if a weight had settled upon it. The case of Melanie Seldon seemed to be proceeding at an unusually slow rate; Sister Mary Concepta was obviously failing which would be a particular grief for Sister Gabrielle despite their occasional squabbles, and the theft of the drawings, while personally annoying, was the more serious in that it proved the perpetrators of the various events were becoming bolder.

  The prescription being duly presented and filled, she climbed back into the van just as an unwelcome figure hove into view.

  ‘Sister Joan, are you driving back to the convent?’

  ‘Yes I am, Mr Lurgan.’

  ‘I don’t suppose—?’ He tilted his head to one side and glanced at her out of his long, light, curiously flat pupilled eyes. ‘I don’t suppose you could give me a lift back? My dad and Dawn have gone off somewhere together and I didn’t bring any change for the next bus.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said curtly, not liking it much when he climbed up into the passenger seat beside her.

  In the rear of the van Alice growled, softly and unexpectedly.

  ‘I hear things aren’t too good at the convent,’ was his next remark.

  ‘Then you hear wrongly, Mr Lurgan. Life proceeds at its usual rate.’

  ‘But losing your drawings must’ve been a shock for you,’ he said softly.

  ‘What?’ The word was jerked out of her as she swerved on to the side road.

  ‘The drawings you were doing,’ he said. ‘All taken. What a pity!’

  ‘Who told you about them?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well now, I can’t rightly say. Be breaking a confidence. I can guess who took them though. Those gyppos—’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of such a thing.’

  ‘Bad blood,’ he said musingly. ‘Do you believe in bad blood?’

  ‘No, I don’t. If you don’t mind, Mr Lurgan, I need to concentrate on my driving.’

  ‘Yes. Now I don’t like driving. Too nervous by far, and Dawn doesn’t help you know. Always telling me what an idiot I am. To be honest, Sister, I’d like to get away from the whole crowd—’

  ‘Mr Lurgan!’ She brought the van to a shuddering halt. ‘For the last time will you stop trying to drag me into your affairs? They are none of my business. I am unable to help you and I’m really not interested. If you don’t approve of the actions of your wife and relatives then you should leave her and get yourself a decent job.’

  ‘Oh, I will one day, Sister.’ He had opened the rear seat door and was twisting himself about. ‘Shall I take Alice for a nice run for you? I’m very fond of animals you know.’

  ‘I would prefer you to get out and walk the rest of the way,’ she said stonily. ‘Close the rear door if you please. Alice isn’t going anywhere with you!’

  ‘Right you are!’ Obeying he slid down to the ground, a spark of something in his eyes almost impossible to define.

  ‘If you feel uneasy,’ she said on impulse, ‘leave them. Talk to Brother Cuthbert or to one of the priests. You don’t have to—’

  ‘Oh, but I do, Sister.’ The spark had fled and the light eyes were alien again. ‘There’s Samhain still to come.’

  ‘Sam what?’

  She spoke to the air as he ducked and dived away, capering over the grassy mounds that marked the beginning of the moors.

  Shiveringly she closed the door and drove on up to the school.

  ‘Sister Joan, are you all right?’

  Brother Cuthbert,
just emerging from the door, stopped to stare as she slewed to a halt.

  ‘Brother Cuthbert, what is Samhain?’ she asked.

  ‘Samhain? Why, it’s All Hallows’ Eve,’ he said promptly. ‘October the thirty-first.’

  ‘Halloween?’

  ‘The night when those vowed to the dark renew their vows. The dark side of the beginning of All Saints’ Day. Why do you want to—? Oh, I see!’

  He looked past her towards the capering figure diminishing into the distance.

  ‘He as good as told me,’ she said. ‘He as good as told me.’

  ‘I feared something like this.’ Brother Cuthbert shook his head slightly. ‘It goes on you know, all over the world. Evil for evil’s sake. And seldom any proof of anything. Only straws in the wind.’

  ‘Mrs Pearson?’

  ‘A harmless old lady who knew a little but not enough to protect herself. Every coin has two sides, Sister.’

  ‘But what are you going to do?’

  ‘Pray and leave the rest to Heaven,’ he said simply.

  ‘In this day and age who would credit it?’ she said slowly.

  ‘In every day and age, Sister, evil creeps in. In every town, every village, like some deadly virus that poisons all it touches. The same fight since the beginning of time. Don’t imagine for one moment that anyone is immune and don’t imagine either that anyone is incapable of fighting it.’

  He touched her shoulder briefly like comrades at the start of a battle, turned and walked away.

  She drove on slowly to the convent. There were two cars parked at the gates and Sister Dorothy hurried to meet her.

  ‘Sister Mary Concepta took a turn for the worse,’ she said. ‘Father Stephen and the doctor are with her now. She is drifting away from us.’

  ‘Sister Gabrielle?’

  ‘She went into chapel for a while. I think she went out into the garden.’

  ‘I’ll find her,’ Sister Joan said.

  She found her within a few minutes, seated on a bench near one of the apple trees, prodding the ground with her stick.

  ‘Ah, here you are, Sister!’ She spoke brightly as Sister Joan sat down beside her.

  ‘Aren’t you cold out here?’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘A bit of fresh air blows the cobwebs away,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘You’ve heard about Mary Concepta? Well, there’ll be a welcome waiting for her, that’s certain! And what have you been up to? Still solving crimes?’

  ‘Sister Gabrielle, can’t you tell me why you were checking census lists and why you went over to the old postulancy?’ Sister Joan asked.

  There was such a long silence that she feared there would be no answer. Then Sister Gabrielle said, ‘Between you and me, Sister, with no other person ever to be told?’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘Long ago back in Ireland,’ Sister Gabrielle said, ‘a lively young girl who loved dancing, a man with a smooth tongue. She dared not tell her family, so she came to England to work. She came to Liverpool. There was a daughter born. Winifred. Taken away shortly after birth of course. In those days girls didn’t go getting pregnant and then running to the State for help. And then, recently, in a peaceful little town in Cornwall odd, spiteful nastinesses began to happen. And then the tenants came.’

  ‘Winifred Roye,’ Sister Joan breathed.

  ‘Imagine,’ Sister Gabrielle said slowly, ‘that a child fostered from birth grows up with a deep-seated hatred of the whole world. She blames the mother she never knew and one day, having been schooled in wickedness, for those of like mind always cluster together, she traces her.’

  ‘From Liverpool to Plymouth and then to here?’

  ‘The internet has many uses and not all of them are good,’ the other said. ‘She wants to make her presence felt, to disturb the tranquillity the mother forced to give her away has found, but she practises first, gains adherents to her cause. I went over to the old postulancy to see if I could catch one glimpse, some feature that was recognizable. I saw nothing but I was still certain.’

  ‘In what year was Winifred Roye born?’

  ‘In 1931. I entered the religious life a year later.’

  ‘So you were twenty-two when – could you not have come to England at that age and kept the child?’

  ‘Not me, Sister.’ Sister Gabrielle briefly covered her companion’s hand with her own. ‘I was always more worldly wise than to believe the smooth flatteries of any man. Mary Concepta was only seventeen at that time. We have been talking of Sister Mary Concepta.’

  ‘Who doesn’t—?’

  ‘Who doesn’t know.’ Sister Gabrielle said.

  ‘Doesn’t know anything?’

  ‘Of recent events very little. And I have been careful that nothing has been said to her that might disturb her last weeks with us,’ Sister Gabrielle said. ‘You are the only person I have told. Keep it to yourself, Sister. We all have our little secrets.’

  She patted Sister Joan’s hand again and rose, leaning on her stick.

  ‘Friendship,’ Sister Joan whispered, ‘is a truly holy thing.’

  But evil couldn’t be allowed to run on unchecked.

  She rose from the bench and walked purposefully towards the old postulancy, her mouth set in a determined line.

  They were all there, framed in the undrawn curtains of the living-room cum kitchen. Seated about the table with the remains of some kind of snack before them. Winifred Roye overflowed from her chair at the head of the table, round smooth face impassive, head turning slightly from side to side where her daughters sat – Dawn on the knees of Henrico del Marco, Kit with the red hair dyed a frowsty blonde and Tim Lurgan leaning over the back of her chair, eyes cast downwards. Ian Lurgan came into view and shot a startled glance towards the window.

  The front door was ajar. She steeled her nerve and pushed it wider, turned to the right and stood, regarding them gravely.

  ‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ Tim Lurgan began.

  ‘You have a slight lisp in your speech,’ she said coolly. ‘I heard that same lisp before when I rang Liverpool. The telephone companies keep records so a voice trace wouldn’t be hard to make. And a little further searching will bring to light exactly what drove your late wife to suicide. Your son’s name will be on the registers of the school where elaborate Gothic writing was taught and encouraged, and it won’t take long to find the silver mask with the horns and the black leotard in which your son enjoys frightening old ladies.’

  ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,’ Kit said.

  ‘Oh, but you all do,’ Sister Joan said. ‘It took years to gather together your little group, didn’t it? Many years of mischief making, of spitefulness and lewdness and dishonesty until you were ready to prove your worth. At Samhain would that be?’

  ‘Ian, have you been babbling again?’ Dawn turned a fierce gaze upon him.

  ‘Honestly, babe! I never said a word!’ he protested.

  ‘The forensic tests will show that Tabitha Lee was in your car and she took the uniform in the baskets – did you leave it somewhere in town in case this building was searched? How did you get her to comply? The promise of joining a secret society such as Melanie Seldon’s young half-brother was persuaded to join? When I tell Padraic Lee—’

  ‘What can he do?’ Kit asked insolently.

  ‘The Romanies have their methods and the police have theirs,’ she said steadily, heart thudding. ‘You’re caught between the two and the master you are vowed to serve has no patience with mistakes. I merely came to tell you that time ran out.’

  And pray God there is some forensic evidence, she thought as she backed slowly out of the room and through the front door.

  When she was out of sight of the building she took to her heels and ran, veil flying out behind her. At the wildest edge of her imagining she could fancy cloven feet following her but when she glanced back she saw only the quiet graves in the little cemetery and Alice bounding to meet her.

  EIGHTEEN
/>   ‘I’m very sorry to hear about Sister Mary Concepta,’ Inspector Mill said, pulling out a chair for her to sit upon.

  ‘Thank you.’ She seated herself. ‘She was always rather delicate – in fact it’s a miracle her heart lasted as long as it did. But she died very peacefully like a beautiful candle going out. The requiem will be a private one.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘None known,’ she said levelly. ‘Inspector, you asked me to come down to the station—?’

  ‘In view of Sister Mary Concepta’s death I thought it wiser not to clutter up the convent with police activity,’ he said.

  ‘But you have the forensic results?’

  ‘Nothing conclusive.’

  ‘Oh, but surely—?’

  ‘Whoever killed Constable Seldon for whatever reason left no prints and no DNA traces. Any they might have left were destroyed by the part burning of the uniform and its being soaked in paraffin. The two broken wicker baskets were equally unrewarding.’

  ‘So we’ll never be sure what happened?’

  ‘We have done a little digging in other quarters. Timothy Lurgan, born in Liverpool in 1942, a bit of a drifter from the little we’ve been able to discover, married a local girl in 1966, – I say local but her grandparents lived in Plymouth. She took an overdose shortly after her son, Ian Lurgan, started school. He and his father seemed to have drifted about from one lodging to another. Then, six years ago, they returned to Plymouth. Ian Lurgan married Dawn Roye in ’92.’

  ‘The Royes?’

  ‘Winifred Roye, brought up in various foster homes, married a Fred Roye in ’66 – her surname before that seems to have been changed every time she went to a new foster home. Her husband Fred was a welder by trade – inclined to take one drink too many – Dawn’s the elder of their two daughters, Kit’s the younger. The husband Fred died of alcoholic poisoning early last year.’

  ‘Were they connected with Melanie Seldon’s half-brother?’

  ‘The younger girl, Kit, hung out at the same places and the two girls received cautions for shoplifting and dealing cannabis. Anyway neither girl held down any job for very long and Ian Lurgan has been living on benefits since he learned how to swindle the system. They all stuck together though, went up to Liverpool several times to stay with Timothy Lurgan. An expert would certainly be able to testify that he wrote the letter of recommendation pretending to be Father John Fitzgerald. He attended the same school his son later attended but never made much of an impression there. Then, while they were in Plymouth, Henrico del Marco turned up on the scene – that’s not his real name by the way.’