Cherringham: A Deadly Confession (11 page)

She took a breath.

“Only,” she took a breath, “in this case, the money that families gave to Elrich’s somehow
vanished
. The place went bankrupt. Funds simply disappearing, the place shuttered.”

The Mother Superior now had her eyes fixed on Sarah. This had to be news — even for her.

Then, as if confirming that, Sarah heard Sister Mary issue a whispered, “Shameful.”

“Yes, Sister,” Jack said. “Shameful indeed. And what would you do if someone in your family — a mother, a sister, someone you
loved
— lost it all, thanks to Father Byrne?”

You could hear a pin drop.

“What if you were like our three retreaters here, people who lost someone—”

“I’m not listening to this garbage. I’m outta—”

“I’d hold on there, Tom. Hate to have to stop you.”

After a few steps, Tom stopped, and turned. Isabel and Gustav had joined hands as if awaiting the action of an executioner.

“Yes, thanks to Sarah’s great work, we learned that you three well knew what Byrne did, and how he hurt people you loved. And then…”

Jack nodded.

“Easy to understand why you would plan that trap for Father Byrne, out on the trail … to make him trip, to attack him and let him die of a heart attack for the sins he committed against—”

“No! No — that is not what we—”

“Isabel!” Gustav ordered.

But the French woman was sobbing now, moving away from Gustav, towards Jack, where she turned and addressed everyone in the room.

“We did not plan to
kill
that man. I won’t even call him a priest.”

“I’ve seen the evidence,” Jack said quietly.

His voice sounded harsh, Sarah thought.

With Isabel crying, she’d almost expected Jack to ease up a bit.

But now he sounded like the sternest of judges; implacable.

“I’ve seen the trap you three laid for Father Byrne, how you planned to kill him—”

Again, Isabel held up her hands and sobbing said, “No!”

“The rope tied to a tree. The three of you there, hiding, waiting…”

Which is when Tom, who had nearly run away, came up to Isabel. He gave her a hug, pulled her close.

“You think you know everything?” he said to Jack. “We had no intention of killing Byrne.”

Isabel nodded in agreement.

“Really?” Jack said. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“We knew he ran that trail; we planned on tripping him, then confronting him with what he did to our families. We wanted him to confess… We wanted him to take responsibility.”

Interesting
, Sarah thought
.

The idea of Byrne on his knees, the confessor … confessing.

“That is the truth!” Gustav said.

“We’re not murderers,” continued Tom. “But the time for Byrne to get away, scot-free, for all the pain he delivered, all those crimes … it had to
end
. We wanted him to confess, first to us, then to the whole world.”

It made sense
, Sarah thought. Just from the way they were delivering the story, she believed them.

Which is when she was shocked to hear Jack say…

“
Bull
. You somehow knew he had a heart condition; you planned the trap. You three are — quiet simply — murderers. The police will have no problem seeing that now, especially after you have admitted to being out there. Common, everyday, murd—”

Which is when a voice to the side, quiet, low, barely audible, said: “No.”

And all eyes turned to Sister Evangeline.

No one said anything.

Sarah turned from Evangeline, to look at Jack. He nodded to Sarah, and she realised that his pressure on the retreaters was designed to do just
this
.

To make the nun speak up.

The mystery nun who produced the medicine in the rectory.

“Sister,” the Mother Superior said, “I don’t understand … what—”

For once, Sister Mary was at loss for words.

Sister Evangeline raised a hand, asking for time. To talk. To tell her tale.

“When I first took the habit, I had a friend … such a sweet and happy nun, Sister Margaret. She was the youngest of us all. And as we studied and prepared for the work we would eventually do, to go to the missions, to work with the poor, the sick, in hospitals, a new priest came to the convent.”

“Father Eamon Byrne,” Jack said quietly.

Evangeline nodded. “He was fun, always had us laughing, always with his stories. Everyone liked him … but Sister Margaret.”

Sarah got goose bumps on her arms as she waited to hear the rest of the story. “She …
loved
him. No one really knew at the time. But they became what is completely forbidden; they became lovers.”

Sarah watched as Mother Superior’s arms unfolded, and she took small steps closer to Evangeline.

Good for her,
Sarah thought.

If it was me telling this story, I would be close to collapsing.

“Sweet, young Sister Margaret … became pregnant. And of course, there was no question that she wouldn’t have the baby. Instead, she had to give up her calling. No one knew that it was Father Byrne who was responsible.”

Sister Mary put a hand on the young sister’s shoulder.

“He, of course, went on his merry way while Sister Margaret became an outcast, her life destroyed. Her baby was given up for adoption. The only person she ever told … was me. And that was only weeks before, well, was it an accident? Falling in the path of a train. An accident. Or was it the only way out for her?”

Sister Evangeline stopped.

The Mother Superior’s arm went around and now held her close.

“I made another vow; that one day Father Byrne would pay for that. So yes,” she turned and looked around at all the others, “These people didn’t kill Father Byrne. I swapped his heart pills for mere vitamins. Then, all I could do was hope that God would seek justice; that his heart would fail one day while he ran through the woods.”

“God,” Tom said.

Then Sarah watched as Jack — ex-altar boy, a non-believer — walked up to Sister Evangeline, her eyes wet with tears, Sister Mary like a burly guard protecting her.

“And that, Sister Evangeline is exactly what happened. God saw that Father Byrne met justice.”

He looked around at the retreaters, to Sister Jacqueline, to the formidable Mother Superior … to Liam.

Sarah sensed that Jack was choosing his words carefully.

“Father Byrne destroyed that nun’s life; I don’t think any of us here think …
believe
that God would want another nun hurt by him.”

The meaning clear.

The room quiet.

And if ever you could say that a group of people made a pact without saying a single word, you could say that — Sarah thought — about here, about now.

The story of Byrne’s life and this mystery … the crimes, the thievery, the pain … ended now.

“Ooh, that
is
good!” Sarah said, savouring the rich, musky taste of the thirty-year-old Lagavulin.

“See — I knew you’d like it.”

“Some people say,” Liam O’Connor said, tipping his tumbler left and right so that his pour silkily coated the glass, “that a bit of added water helps release even more flavour.”

“Blasphemy,” Jack said, and Liam laughed.

“Right — how could this nectar have any
more
flavour?”

Sarah guessed that Jack had asked her to come onto the Goose at sunset, the day after all the revelations in the convent, to do more than taste this sublime scotch.

There are more things to talk about, things to explain.

For someone like Jack, there would have to be closure.

With the sun in his eyes, he turned to Sarah. “Do you know what Liam did, Sarah? Just this morning?”

“Oh, it was nothing. Least I could do, considering all things…”

“Do tell?”

“He went back to the convent, to Sister Mary, You remember how worried she was, about the future of the place, the work they do?”

“They were hanging by a thread.”

Jack nodded. “Right. About to snap. And Liam gave Sister Mary a rather sizeable cheque.”

“Just something to tide them over. Better days ahead, I’m sure.”

“Fifty thousand. Sister Mary said that it would be more than enough to see them through the next year.”

This talk … had made Liam grow quiet.

“After what Eamon did? How could I not?”

Sarah saw Liam now take a quick glance at Jack.

“We’re not quite through with the confessions though — are we Liam?”

“No,” said Liam, nodding. “Not quite.”

He turned to Sarah.

“Jack knows this, now. But you should too. The day before he died, Eamon came to me, asking me to help him out.”

“Not the first time,” said Sarah, understanding.

“He was begging me,” said Liam. “And you know — it was a sudden thought, a whim almost — but I just … after all those years, I’d had enough.”

“So you said no.”

He nodded at her again: “When he left, he wasn’t angry. Sad, I think. Anyway, when I heard he was dead — I felt—”

“Guilty,” said Jack.

“I thought — if I’d paid up, they wouldn’t have killed him.”

“So that’s why you asked us to get involved?” said Sarah.

He nodded. “I needed to know.”

For a second, Sarah thought there was a tear in Liam’s eye.

Jack shook his head. “Anyway, Liam. Mighty generous contribution. And never forget — Byrne’s sins were his, not yours.”

“Well, if the money I’ve made could do a little good. Repair the damage, so to speak, then why not?”

Jack took a sip of his glass. “Why not indeed.”

Then, he turned to Sarah. “And I’m guessing Sarah that you might have a few questions, about what we all decided last night?”

“Questions?” Her turn to take thoughtful sip. “No, just — well, knowing you…”

“Right. How could I even suggest doing that, hmm? Ignoring a crime…”

“Maybe … a little surprising.”

Riley sat by Jack, and the dog arched up its head, and placed it on Jack’s knee for a pat.

“Thought so. And guess I thought sharing this Lagavulin with the two of you, well … there’d be no better time to explain.” He smiled. “Just so you don’t think I’ve completely changed.”

“Change isn’t horrible,” she said.

“So they say. Anyway, here was my reasoning…”

*

Jack had stood up and walked to the railing of the Grey Goose.

This is important for him,
she thought.

As if everything they had done to get at the truth wasn’t over until he did this.

“We all learned who Eamon Byrne was. Gambler. Womaniser.” Jack paused. “Embezzler.”

“Friend…” Liam said quietly.

“Everyone is complicated,” Jack said. “So yes, friend as well. And he paid a price for who he was.”

“That he did,” Liam said.

Sarah kept her eyes on Jack. “And that nun…”

Sister Margaret

“And any others hurt by Byrne — all had suffered enough, yes?”

Sarah nodded.

Yes, this was important to Jack.

For someone who arrested those who committed crimes.

To say, as he did last night, that there had been no crime here.

Justice … maybe. Retribution. Even revenge.

But no good would come of it, if the nun’s tale left the cloistered walls of the convent.

“Doesn’t happen often,’ Jack said. “But — well — wanted you both to understand. For me, it was about what was ‘right’.”

Now Sarah stood up, again struck by both the complexity and, well, the sense of honour of this friend of hers.

“It
was
right, Jack. For everyone.”

He nodded, and smiled at her. “And … everyone can move on, now, hmm? And, yeah, I guess that does feel right.”

“Jack,” Liam said. “Looks like you’re all done there. I think I’d better give you, as they say, a wee bit more.”

And then Jack laughed.

“Liam, you are preaching to the choir.”

Jack extended his glass for another pour of the rich amber scotch.

They still had a few more minutes of setting sun to enjoy, with the Lagavulin, with each other.

In this perfect river location below the village of Cherringham.

Summer wasn’t far away.

And with that thought — of sunny days, swimming, late nights with the sun taking forever to go down — Sarah had to wonder…

What lay ahead? For the two of them. For the village.

And with that unanswerable question, Sarah extended her now-empty glass towards Liam as well.

“I’ll have just a teeny bit more too, if you don’t mind…”

“A convert!” Jack said.

And they all laughed…

END

It’s just days before the Cherringham Regatta — an annual event that draws luxury yachts from across the country, as well as the local boat crowd, all looking to party on the river. But it’s no party when boats are vandalized, and a wealthy executive turns up missing, with his blood on the deck. As the Regatta date looms, Jack and Sarah discover that what’s happening on the water looks less like vandalism and more like murder…