A Journal of Sin (2 page)

‘Mum, you can’t just let–’

‘Oh shush dear, you’re not at work now. Hello, do come in.’ Sally led him to the living room, leaving Sarah to close the door and double check the lock, as she always did.

‘I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’m sure you’re busy and I don’t want to be any trouble. I’m John.’ He extended his hand and Sarah shook it. The odour of whiskey wafted from his mouth. She put him in his mid-forties, maybe a little younger depending on how long he’d had his drink habit.

‘What can I help with?’ She was eager for him to get to the point. If something was up, she’d rather know straight away rather than dance around the issue with pleasantries.

‘Father Michael, the parish priest, is missing.’

Sally sat down and composed herself.

‘How do you know he’s missing?’ She invoked the first rule her tutor had taught her: always check your references. A correctly placed ‘how’ or ‘why’ could sort truth from hearsay in a few short seconds.

‘No one’s seen him since the rain stopped. I knocked for him earlier today and there was no sign,’ he said.

‘The storm only lifted this morning, I’m sure he’ll turn up.’ She didn’t want to chase a missing priest, who’d more than likely spent the storm elsewhere, at the behest of over-excitable country folk. She wanted to go home.

‘It’s not like him, dear. He’d be wanting to say mass now the storm’s gone, I expect.’

‘Is he likely to have stayed elsewhere during the storm?’

‘Not without telling anyone, I expect,’ replied Sally. ‘He was a very popular man, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d stayed with someone. He’s been here for years; he wed me and your father. It’s a worry. He’s not in good health. He used to love his garden, but doesn’t have the strength for it anymore. I know the ladies that tend it for him. I’ll ask them if he said anything about going away.’

‘What about family?’

Sally thought for a second. ‘He has a brother, though they are very distant.’

‘Chances are someone invited him to stay during the storm. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’ It was true; people who went missing often turned up within twenty-four hours and it was likely that’s exactly what would happen here. She wanted to go home. Mark was waiting with the girls and there was a big, squeezy hug she’d been looking forward to for the past two weeks.

‘I guess. I just thought I’d let you know sooner rather than later, in case, you know,’ said John. He seemed disheartened, like he’d expected her to pull him out of a hat.

‘John, is it? John, I have no doubt that Father Michael is safe and well and he’ll be back before you know it. He may even be back by now.’

‘It is unusual, dear. He is the community leader. He gave a mass before the storm came and said he would have a thanksgiving service once it was over.’

‘The best thing you can do is stop worrying, wait until this evening and see if he turns up. If not, call the police.’ She accepted the irony of advising someone to call to the police, but whoever picked up that phone wouldn’t be her; she’d be at home, on the sofa with a hot chocolate and two weeks of Sky Plus to catch up on.

‘There aren’t any police.’ John looked at her with raised eyebrow. ‘You haven’t been outside yet, have you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The roads are flooded. People have driven to each of the access roads and there’s no getting in or out.’ So much for that hug.

‘Just pop along to the church, dear. Go on. People would feel a lot better if you did.’ They looked at her expectantly.

‘Okay. I’ll take a look. Know anyone that would have a spare key to his house?’

‘We won’t need that. I smashed the window to get in this morning. He lives in small quarters at the rear of the church.’ He wore a guilty expression.

‘Oh. That was a little hasty, wasn’t it?’

‘Only to see if he was in. In case anything had happened.’

‘Right, well, how did it look? Tidy? Anything to suggest there’d been a struggle? Notes suggesting he wasn’t coming back?’ She was more thinking out loud than asking questions.

‘Any notes? I’d have mentioned notes.’

‘You’d be surprised what people leave out.’

‘Ok, well, there were no notes, none mentioning him being elsewhere or looking to harm himself, if that’s what you’re thinking. It didn’t look like there’d been a fight, but I guess you’d be more of an expert on that.’

‘Alright. And you’re sure no one has seen him? We’re not going to find him waiting at his front door waving a repair bill, are we?’

‘I’m sure he’ll understand why we did it.’

‘We? Who else was in there?’

‘Sean, a local guy. No one we’ve asked so far knows anything. Twenty or so people were gathered at the church this morning and they’re going to ask around to see if he stayed with anyone else. When Grace mentioned you were a copper – sorry, WPC – I came straight over. I don’t want to think the worst, but if something’s happened, I thought it best to get the police involved right away and what with this storm and all, you’re the only one for miles around.’

He’d chosen to correct ‘copper’, a reasonably acceptable nickname given the range of things she’d been called during her short time in uniform, with WPC, a relic of a term from the dark ages of pencil skirts and tea-making totty. Not to take anything away from the women who served in that era, but Sarah was simply a police constable, like everyone else who donned the uniform every morning. Their duties and remits were the same and so was their title.

The vast majority of missing people turned up very soon after being reported. She’d attended the report of a missing child who was hiding under the bed and an elderly gentleman ‘missing’ from a care home who was located in the toilet. People had only just started to leave their houses and it was more than likely someone would know where the priest had stayed during storm. But at least this would get her out from under her mother’s feet.

‘Well, let’s head to his flat. I’ll take a look and see if there’s anything obviously sinister. That should put your minds at ease at least. It’s generally the case that mispers show up within the first few hours or so.’

‘Mispers?’

‘Sorry, missing persons.’ She had already slipped into work mode. So much for having some time away from the office. Yes, missing people did tend to return without incident. The policy used to be that missing person reports weren’t investigated for the first twenty-four hours, but that all changed after people who started out as missing wound up dead. Chances were that wouldn’t be the case here, she thought. She put on her black Berghaus jacket, picked up a pad and pen from a small side table in the hall, kissed her mother on the cheek and opened the door.

John tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You might want some wellies.’

The rear door was ajar. Judging from the size and depth of the marks, it was more likely to have been a claw hammer rather than a crowbar. Sarah looked at the marks, knowing that should the offending implement be recovered, there was a possibility it could be matched to the damage caused to the wood. The probability of the tool being found and the lab being able to examine it anytime soon, given the situation, was slim. The phones were out and the roads blocked; for the time being, she was on her own.

‘No cameras?’ Father Michael’s quarters were at the rear of St. Andrew’s Church. Sarah looked above the large, mahogany door, then to the roof and corners of the building.

‘Not here, not anywhere. Some of the businesses have cameras, most of those are dummies, but that’s about it for Sunbury.’

‘I take it this wasn’t you?’

‘No, that was me.’ He pointed to a small, smashed window to the right of the door. ‘Through the window, then up the stairs on the left. I opened the door for Sean; there was no chance he’d fit through the window. The door wasn’t like this earlier.’ Crime of any sort was non-existent in Sunbury and in a place as old-fashioned as this, breaking into church property would be considered abhorrent. ‘I guess there’s no calling CSI?’ Sarah ignored him.

‘I’ll go in first, in case they’re still on site.’ She wasn’t dressed for action. Her white blouse and thin rain jacket would do little to cushion a blow, and she’d struggle to kick anyone in her dark blue, fitted jeans and mud-caked Wellington boots. She pushed the door open and listened for sounds from inside. The air inside was cold. A rear entrance to the church itself was straight ahead and on the left was a small stone staircase that led to Father Michael’s quarters. She crept upstairs and motioned for John to stay on the bottom step. The room was silent and little light came through the window, but it was enough to see the state it was in. Papers were everywhere, the table turned on its side and the bookshelves had been emptied onto the floor. Pictures lay face-down, candles had been thrown with enough force to break them in two and pieces of a lamp’s shattered bulb were strewn at the base of the wall. She shined the torch into the bedroom, flashing it behind the upturned bed and into the emptied wardrobe. Clothes were all over the floor and the bedspread was ripped open, leaving feathers in a pile by the bed. Whoever had done this had left. She went back to the top of the stairs and beckoned John up. He followed, looking nervous.

‘No one’s here. Let’s start in this room. Touch as little as possible and if you’re unsure of anything, ask first. When you open those drawers, avoid using the handles. I’ll start in this corner and work my way left, you start over there and work right. We’ll do the bookshelves and drawers along the edges first before moving into the middle.’ She’d done this before, but as someone taking instructions rather than giving them. She was unsure about having John help, especially as a straightforward missing person enquiry was now a burglary investigation, but searching his quarters would take a lot longer on her own, so she needed to compromise. ‘We’re looking for any notes, travel details or family contacts. Anything that will give us an idea of where he’s likely to be. Also, look out for anything that doesn’t seem to belong here, something the offender may have left behind. Again, if in any doubt, ask.’

The priest’s quarters consisted of four rooms: a main study, a small bedroom at the far end, an even smaller bathroom on the left and a galley kitchen. The bathroom and kitchen hadn’t been touched.

‘Anything useful?’ Sarah kept an eye on John from the other side of the room. He was crouched down in front of an open bottom drawer of a small cabinet.

’Just handwritten notes. Nothing that helps us. They look like notes for sermons.’

‘What time were you here this morning?’

‘About half eight.’ It was one o’clock now. Even though the entrance was around the back, whoever did this was brave enough, or desperate enough, to break in in full daylight. ‘So, what made you join the force?’

‘It’s the service now, the police service. I always wanted to, just too nervous, I suppose. I wanted to do something different, something less predictable.’ It was a stock topic whenever she met anyone new. People were interested in why someone would put themselves in danger for the benefit of others. They’d heard about the corruption, bullying and repeated failures in the news reports with their unfortunately singular focus on vilifying the public services, and wondered why a nice girl like her would want to associate with such brutes.

‘To give something back to the community?’

‘In some ways. It may not be the top of the list, but it’s definitely in there. I like contributing to something through my job.’ It was a cliché idea, but every so often, between shuffling paper and rushing from blue-light call to blue-light call, sometimes, she came home with the feeling she’d made the world a little better. ‘The twins had grown a little and I wondered what was next for me. The routine was nice, but we decided we didn’t want to be one of those married couples that settled down in our early thirties, bellies and bums growing and surrounded by screeching kids and takeaway boxes. We still have plans of our own. I’ve always wanted to run my own side business, something artistic. I’ve sold some screen prints on Etsy; nothing I can call more than a hobby just yet. It’ll take a little more work, we can lead full lives in careers we both want to be in, whilst raising our girls.’ The shelves were stiff, but she managed to pull one side far forward enough to see along the back. She tapped the wall for weaknesses; it was solid.

‘Don’t fancy being a stay at home mum?’

‘No.’

‘Erm … So how long have you done it?’ he asked.

‘A little over two years. It’s flown by.’ Time really had flown by. She’d learned so much, and there’d been barely any time to put it into practice before her probation period ended and she was out fending for herself, no longer under her tutor’s wing. The ‘newbie’ label would stick around a little longer yet, which was both a frustration and a comfort. Newbies were allowed a few more mistakes. She picked up a white envelope from the desk and opened the card inside. ‘It seems he did his bit for charity.’ She read the printed text out loud.
‘Thank you so much for your contributions to the Salvation Army.’
There was a handwritten card below it.
‘Dear Fr. Michael, Just a short note to say we very much appreciated your help at the fete. We raised £1021 for new school sports equipment. Thank you.’

‘I suppose it’s part of the profession.’

‘Doesn’t take away its virtue. What do you do?’

‘Freelance computer work. I used to have a regular job, then the marriage broke down. Then I broke down. My ex-wife, Jenny, left with our son. I’ve not seen either since.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s okay. It gets easier every day, right?’ It wasn’t clear whether he was trying to convince her or himself.

‘Have you lived here your whole life?’

‘Most of it. We moved out to London when we got married; we separated a few years later and I moved back. It’s a nicer place to live. The big city is a little too impersonal for me. You waited out the storm with your mum, right? That’s admirable.’ He pulled the curtains back and looked along the windowsill, trying to be as thorough as possible.

‘They’ve tried to jimmy the floorboards.’ A corner of the carpet had been pulled back and the edges of the wooden boards damaged. The tool marks were similar to those on the rear door. ‘They didn’t manage it. The boards are still intact.’ The rest of the wine-red carpet lay in perfect place. ‘They’ve searched this room thoroughly. Aside from those drawers, everything has been turned out and checked. Behind the shelves, under the table, the floorboards. What would a priest have that’s so important? It wasn’t like this this morning, right?’