A Journal of Sin (3 page)

‘No, not at all. It was in good order. Pristine, in fact.’ He stood up after failing to move a large pot plant. His fatless frame appeared in good health, but in truth, he was weak and out of shape.

‘Is there anything missing now that was here this morning?’

‘It’s hard to say, really. I was looking for him, so wasn’t taking in the aesthetic.’ Two years in the job had given her a knack for seeing and recalling details that others wouldn’t. She sometimes forgot the rest of the world didn’t have to remember things the way she did and therefore paid less attention. John didn’t live in a world where anything could go wrong at any time and he’d be asked to recall it all months later whilst a man in a wig fired damning questions across a courtroom.

‘Take a good look around.’ He walked around the room, looking closely at this and squinting his eyes at that. Sarah was about to put him out of his misery.

‘I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Sean took a book.’

‘A book?’

‘I came out of the bedroom and he was reading it.’

‘What did it look like?’

‘Blue, about so big.’ He held his index fingers out about five inches apart. ‘Had last month’s dates on the cover.’

‘What was in it?’

‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t say, just put it in his back pocket and left.’

‘Anymore like it around here?’

‘Not that I’ve seen.’

‘If anything else comes to mind, let me know. It’s hard to really know without spending a lot of time here.’ He looked relieved and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Was he particularly close with anyone?’

‘He spent a lot of time with the old folk, but I doubt they can tell you the contents of their own houses, never mind anyone else’s. Tom’s holding a meeting tomorrow in the church hall, most of the town will be there.’

‘Tom?’

‘He’s one of the oldest members of the community. With Father Michael missing, he’s the go-to guy.’

‘That meeting will be a good place to start asking questions. I don’t want anyone knowing about the burglary, okay? With the roads out, whoever did this is still here. Now, this could be someone who knew Father Michael was missing and saw an opportunity to steal valuables, or it could be connected to his disappearance.’

‘I don’t think there’s ever been a burglary here. Word spreads so quickly everyone would have known about it. Who’d target a priest for valuables anyway?’

‘Some churches house sought-after artwork or sculptures attracting the highbrow burglar. That sort of thing can fetch thousands, sometimes more, if you know where to sell it. Gold crosses, chalices and other ornaments can make a fair few pounds too and are much easier to shift.’

‘Easier to shift? It’s hardly something you’d be able to sell at the pub.’

‘Just find some unscrupulous gold trader. They’re on just about every high street now. You’d be surprised what some of them take. And let’s not forget the Internet, the rogues’ playground. We’re done in here. We’ll conclude this room and start on the bedroom.’

She shone the torch into the bedroom and took a good look. It was small. The bed on the left, next to the fireplace, was turned on its side. The only other furniture was a white bedside cabinet, also on its side, and a brown freestanding wardrobe. A lack of windows made the room feel cramped and tight, a feeling the weak torchlight did little to lift.

‘Where do we start with this? I’ll take the left side, you take the right. Search his clothes too in case there are any notes or receipts scrunched in the pockets.’

He started with the wardrobe. It was a tall and made of dark oak with two large doors and two drawers at the bottom. The clothes had been emptied onto the floor; some were still on hangers. They were mostly casual clothes and vestments, numerous polo shirts in muted colours and faded blue jeans. A black rucksack had been opened and left on the floor. He searched every garment that had pockets but found nothing.

‘Some of these pockets have been turned out.’

‘Whatever they were searching for, it must be pretty small.’

She stood the bedside cabinet up. The open top drawer contained a notepad, a small blue pen – the kind you get as a freebie in crossword magazines, a pendant of St Christopher, two small laminated prayer cards and four small sheets of lined paper with handwritten notes. The bottom door opened to two small shelves; on the top was a pair of soil-covered garden gloves and on the bottom was a roll of five twenty-pound notes.

‘Shine the torch over here.’ She held the money up to the light. ‘So much for theory B.’ She picked up the handwritten notes. The direct torchlight on white paper hurt her eyes, but they soon adjusted.
‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ - Galatians 6:2.’

‘Bible verses. More sermon notes?’ he said, looking at the pages.
‘If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld - John 20:22-23.’

‘They were looking for something small, something that can fit into a pocket. Given that every inch of this place has been searched they either found it in the very last place they looked, or didn’t find it at all. I’m leaning towards the latter.’

She shined the torch along the walls and began tapping. The first wall sounded strong, the second just the same. She finished the third and fourth walls with a dismayed look on her face.

‘Nothing?’ he asked. ‘They’ve done a thorough search of the place, maybe they found whatever it was they were looking for?’

Sarah wasn’t convinced. She marched into the main room without saying a word and John followed. Three large pot plants stood untouched below the window. A thick layer of dust covered the rims and the dry, cracked soil wouldn’t be able to keep plants alive. She removed her jacket, rolled up her sleeves and reached down into the first pot until she had earth up to her elbows.

She pulled out a thin blue notebook.
‘1st November to 30th November 2009.
Sean’s one look like this?’

‘Yeah. Exactly like that. How did you know they’d be there?’

‘I didn’t.’ She enjoyed maintaining the mystery, but in truth, it was simple deduction. The old ladies maintained the garden; these were the only pot plants in his quarters and the gloves in his bedside drawer had soil on them. The soil in the pots wasn’t suitable for growing, but was suitable for concealment.

All three of the pots hid thin blue notebooks. The top few were covered in soil, but the ones at the bottom were clean, if a little tatty and yellowed. Sarah dusted the soil from her arms and it joined the clumps from the pot on the floor. She spread them out in date order: March 1991 to December 2009. Two hundred and twenty-five books in all.

‘What do you think’s in them?’

Sarah read another passage out loud.
‘She didn’t want to and he knew she didn’t want to, but he continued. He couldn’t say why he did and seemed in a real bother over his reasoning to continue. It was an odd sentiment, not knowing why he was doing something that he knew was wrong. I worry for this one.’
She picked up another one.
‘She knows she shouldn’t have done it and rightly repents, but carries a lot of guilt for the theft of 98 pence. A sin is a sin, I suppose.’

‘A priest and a poet,’ he said. ‘A sin is a sin indeed. I bet you’d let someone off 98p, right?’

‘Depends on the kid. You think these are confessional notes? Things people have told him in confidence? There’s little detail, but this one’s clearly a theft, that one maybe some sort of sexual offence. Seems an odd thing to keep a record of.’

‘It’s supposed to be confidential. Listen, dole out the penance and forget about it. Either way, it looks like he has, and has been doing so for years.’ John crouched down and started reading through the books.

‘Those are evidence. You can’t touch them.’ He kept reading. ‘John. Put it back, they’re coming with me.’

‘Evidence of what?’

‘It’s likely they were looking for these. Put it down.’

‘I might be in one.’ She reached for it, but he pulled it away. ‘Look, look here.
She wants to leave him for someone else. She’d already found another man; some people have no shame!’
His words quickened towards the end as Sarah took the book from him. ‘Give it back.’ He reached for it, but thought better of snatching it from her. She held it up in front of her.

‘This is mine. It’s coming with me, like the others.’

‘That was about Jenny and if there’s more in there, I have a right to see them.’

‘The words in these books are private. They should never have been written down. No one has any right to them at all.’

‘Yet you’re taking them? And you’ll read them?’

‘They may be evidential.’

‘But the people they’re about can’t see them?’

‘You picked up a book at random; that passage could be about anyone.’

‘Fine.’ His tearful eyes looked at the books as she put them into a pile on the table.

‘Listen, you take a minute to rest up. I’m going to find a Bible and look up those passages that were in his bedside drawer. He kept them close, so they may have more significance. The context may give a clue to as to what.’ She saw him looking at the books. ‘I’ll be taking those with me.’ She put the books into the rucksack from Father Michael’s room and carried them downstairs.

She placed the bag at the bottom of the stairs and crept into the church. It was empty, but she still felt a need to be quiet. It was larger than it looked from the outside. The stained glass cast vibrant, multi-coloured light onto two rows of wooden pews. The grey stone walls were lined with brass candle holders. She didn’t genuflect as she passed the altar, but the thought to do so crossed her mind. The ritual actions for all the ceremonies had been drummed into her as a child and even now she could recount all the prayers, despite not having uttered one in years. Mark wasn’t religious either and they’d decided to raise the girls without faith. Without faith. At least that’s what her mother called it. Religion had a way of cornering certain words and keeping them only for their followers; faith was certainly one of those. People could have faith in many things: themselves, their work, their chosen life path; maybe religious institutions had monopolised it because believing in a religion took a greater leap of faith than any of these other things. The suggestion the twins were ‘without faith’ was absurd and insulting, but she kept these ideas to herself so as not to rock the family boat. They were taught religious education in school, and although most of it really didn’t interest Sophie, Ellie had asked a few questions. Sarah had told her everyone had different ideas about where we come from and how to live, and that all she had to do was think about and question everything she heard. This was all before boys came on the scene. She dreaded those questions and dreaded even more that, again, Sophie probably would just do as she pleased with little request for maternal guidance.

The shelves by the main door held only missals. Walking through the centre aisle reminded her of her wedding day. Mark had lost sixteen pounds and had looked great; a look he’d maintained, for a short while at least, until it was replaced by the promise of slimming down again. She didn’t marry him for looks. She liked that he was a man of ambition, potential, the type that strives for something. And whether he ever made it or not really didn’t matter. What did, was that they were going to build their own story together. Her sister said men slowed down after marriage, but Mark hadn’t; in fact, his start-up was more successful now than ever. He was going to throw it all in at one stage, but she’d convinced him to keep at it.

She remembered how she looked on her wedding day Her perfect white dress was tightly tied at the back, forcing her stomach in and her breasts up, and she had the photographs to prove it. Dress prices had been occasional social discussion and she’d always sworn she’d stick to a strict budget, but when the time came, she’d given in and spent way beyond her means. Still, it was worth it for that one blissful day. The idea of getting married somewhere other than a church came up and she was swiftly brought down to earth; the family wouldn’t hear of it. It’d been the only thing to taint the day. It was a beautiful building, of course, and it housed everyone she wanted to come; however, she couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite responding to her vows.

She stepped up to the bare altar. The lack of Sunday-morning trappings - the chalices, the altar covers, the golden crucifixes - left it looking simpler and more humble than it did when a service was in full swing. Everything else seemed to be in place and undisturbed with no Bibles to be seen. She went back, leaving the books just outside the door, and walked upstairs.

‘There aren’t any,’ she said.

‘Even in the main church?’ John slid off Father Michael’s desk and stood on his own two feet.

‘There aren’t any anywhere. All the Bibles have been removed.’

TWO

The church hall was packed. People filled the rows of blue plastic chairs; some to report their difficulties, some to hear updates Tom may have on the rescue effort and others just there to mingle, as without televisions, computers and various other gadgets, they had little left to do. Sarah sat towards the back, wanting to take in the scene whilst blending in as much as possible. Once word got around she was a cop – and if Grace already knew, it wouldn’t take long – answers would be expected about the missing priest. Answers she didn’t have. She listened to the conversations around her.

‘This is just enough to finish my ticker off. The doctor said not to panic, but it’s hard not to given the time we’ve had.’

‘Looking on the bright side, I’ll have had around a month off work by the time this whole thing blows over,’ said a man behind her.

‘You won’t be saying that when the insurance doesn’t pay out. It’s an act of God they’ll say, they don’t pay out if it’s an act of God,’ replied a woman.

‘Everything is an act of God.’

All in all, given the tragic situation, the townsfolk were decidedly chipper about the whole thing. It was a very British response.

A young girl knelt on her chair and stared at Sarah from the row in front. She was around her daughters’ age and resembled them a little with her brown straight hair and baby- fat cheeks. She missed the kids. She missed her husband too, but it was a different bond with the girls. She’d planned on being away for two weeks before being able to see them again, but who knew how long it’d be now. With the phones and electricity out, she couldn’t even get a message to them. Mark was a capable man, so they’d be looked after, but the thought they’d be worrying about her made her heart twinge. Especially Ellie, she was the more sensitive of the two, whereas Sophie seemed to have inherited whatever gung-ho gene caused Sarah to take up policing.