Cherringham: A Deadly Confession (3 page)

“Work experience,” said Sarah, laughing.

What a kid…

Sarah drove on and the convent came into view.

“Wow,” said Daniel. “This is amazing. I never knew this was here.”

“Me neither,” said Sarah.

As she followed the drive to one side, she leaned forward to see the house as they passed. A dilapidated eighteenth-century white stucco country mansion, picked out in faded blue pastel with an enormous wisteria growing up one wing.

The place was set in gentle lawns which rolled down to woodland. She could just see a glimpse of the river beyond.

Beautiful spot. Serene.

“All these trees keep the convent private,” she said. “No wonder we’ve never seen it before.”

“Good place to hide a body,” said Daniel.

She shot him a look. “One more mention of bodies or murder and that five pounds becomes three — okay? Or maybe a ride back home?” said Sarah, parking the car to the side of the house next to a tattered sign which read ‘Retreat Parking’. She was reassured to see Jack’s little green sports car parked under a tree.

Daniel raised his hands.

“Mum’s the word … Mum.” Then, as he looked out the window, “What’s a retreat?”

“A place people come for peace and quiet,” said Sarah. “I wonder if they have any vacancies?”

“Doesn’t look very comfy.”

Sarah followed Daniel’s gaze: nestled under the trees was a long single-storey converted stable. There were tiles missing and the paint was peeling. In the windows were threadbare curtains.

“I don’t think comfort’s part of the deal, love,” said Sarah, getting out of the car and waiting for Daniel to get out before she locked it. “Come on, let’s go spend that five pounds and find Jack.” And she headed towards the Convent of St. Francis.

*

Finding Jack didn’t take long.

Soon after she’d first met him she’d heard him sing in the local choir and there was no mistaking the tenor voice which was booming out from the bottom of the lawn.

With Daniel at her side, she threaded through a handful of stalls set up at the edge of the house, advertising raffles, treasure hunts, and a tombola.

There weren’t many people but it was still early afternoon and the fête had only been going a few minutes. As far as Sarah could see, the stalls were all being run by nuns — most of them as young as the one at the gate.

She headed for the sound of singing.

Nestled in the trees at the bottom of the lawn she could see a statue of the Virgin Mary surrounded by plastic chairs — and in front of them, incongruously, another nun playing an electric piano loudly.

Behind her, Sarah saw a large handwritten sign: Pick a Hymn for a Pound!

Jack was belting out ‘Abide With Me’ alongside two old ladies and a child. As she and Daniel approached he spotted her and gave her a big grin and a thumbs up.

She waited for the hymn to finish, then clapped enthusiastically. Jack paid his pound and came over.

“Hey Sarah,” he said. “Daniel — how’s it going?”

“Ready for action, Jack.”

“Good man. You mission is to get around the whole place, figure out who’s who, play the stalls and listen up for anything suspicious. Got it?”

Good grief, he’s actually encouraging him…

“Check,” said Daniel. Sarah could see he was taking this seriously.

“You see anything strange, don’t get involved — just come find us.”

Sarah watched as Jack took a five-pound note from a clip in his pocket and handed it to Daniel: “Reasonable expenses. I don’t need receipts.”

Now the junior detective had ten pounds!

“Cool!”

“Rendezvous in one hour at the cream teas. Okay?”

“Three-fifteen, at the teas. I’ll be there — sharp!” said Daniel checking his watch, then headed off towards the growing crowd of visitors at the stalls.

Sarah turned to Jack as the two of them followed her son back towards the house: “What’s with this mysterious meeting then partner?”

She listened as Jack told her about his visit from Liam O’Connor.

“Who would want to murder a priest?” she asked.

“What I said too.”

“So, what’s the evidence?”

“Pretty flimsy to be honest — Liam’s just got a gut instinct that something’s wrong,” said Jack. “He and Father Byrne used to run every morning rain or shine. Always in training for the next marathon, you know? Seems our victim had become world famous for his charity runs in the last couple of years. So, anyway, Thursday night Byrne calls Liam, says he’s not feeling so good and cancels.”

“Maybe he just changed his mind, too late to call and let him know?”

“Sure. But then apparently not only did he run, but he changed the route at the end. Which Liam says he would
never
do.”

“Why?”

“They run a precise 10K course so they can keep tabs of their times. Very competitive these priests it seems.”

They’d reached the stalls at the side of the house, so Sarah took a left by another enormous wisteria, towards a run-down conservatory where teas and cakes were being served.

“And Liam — is he a priest too?” she said.

“He was — a long time ago. He and Father Byrne went through the seminary together. Had some wild times, so he says. They kept in touch, stayed friends for life — even though Liam left the Church. ‘Lost his faith’ he said — though he didn’t tell me how.”

“And now — what does he do?”

“Didn’t say,” said Jack. “I do know he drinks, runs, sails, parties, gambles, and gets into trouble.”

“Most of which isn’t exactly compatible with being a priest, even an ex-priest,” said Sarah.

“Don’t you believe it,” said Jack. “I’ve known priests back in NYC that do all of the above — and more.”

“Of
course
,” said Sarah. She gestured at the statues and crucifix in the conservatory. “This is your world, isn’t it?”

“Used to be — growing up in Brooklyn,” he said. “Parochial school with the Dominicans. Altar boy, the works. My dad’s brother was a priest, Jesuit missionary. The Brennans were pillars of the church.”

“But not this Brennan?”

“Too much the sceptic. Minute I left home, I was out of there.”

“No urges to return?” Sarah said.

“I like the music. And the incense catches me by surprise sometimes. Nostalgia at Christmas, maybe. But go back?” He shook his head. “Not for me.”

Sarah stopped in front of another tall statue of the Virgin Mary. “But Liam must have another reason for thinking Father Byrne was killed…”

“He does,” said Jack. “Byrne was a big fan of horse racing, it seems. And Liam says he’d got himself mixed up with some pretty unsavoury characters who were putting the squeeze on him.”

“Seriously? Round here?”

“He owed
big
, according to Liam,” said Jack. “He was getting threats. Liam says he’d never seen Byrne so scared.”

“Okay,” said Sarah. “Maybe he’s onto something. But I heard in the village that Father Byrne had a heart attack?”

“True,” said Jack. “But, what if said heart attack takes place while someone’s got your arm twisted round your back and your wallet in their fist — then it’s not quite so innocent.”

That stopped Sarah.

She knew Jack well enough by now to trust his instincts.

“What’s the plan?” she said.

“There’s only a handful of nuns here in the convent. But they all will have known Father Byrne,” said Jack. “Let’s split up, sniff around a little, ask some questions — and maybe find out exactly what happened on Friday morning.”

“Not sure the nuns will like that…”

Jack smiled. “No more than I did when they grilled me on American History. Me — I just might enjoy this…”

Jack bought a scone — as recommended — and handed a pound to the young nun looking after the baked goods table.

She went to get change.

“No, keep it,” Jack said. “All for a good cause, right?”

The young nun smiled, her round face framed by her starched habit. He thought of the tough life these nuns live, what they needed to give up.

He had to wonder …
what brings them here, to do this?

“Thank you, sir,” the nun said.

Jack nodded. “Say, I heard about what happened to your Father Byrne, Sister…”

A cloud seemed to pass over the nun’s face.

“Sister Julienne. And yes, it has been quite a shock to the community.”

“I imagine. Seemed like he was healthy, as well. A runner…”

A young boy ran up with coins in his hand.

Julienne leaned down to him. “Back for more, I see?”

The boy grinned and nodded.

“Very well, though at this rate you’ll soon be clearing me out soon!”

The boy grabbed another scone, planted it in his mouth, and dashed away as if he had stolen it

“Got to love the young ones,” she said. “So innocent. The world hasn’t made its mark yet…”

Innocent,
Jack thought.

Interesting choice of word.

“You knew Father Byrne well?”

She shook her head. “No, I mean, I attended his masses, and he liked telling his jokes. Such a traveller, with all that running.”

“Fit,” Jack said, pointing out the obvious.

“But I suppose…” she hesitated, “not his heart.”

Jack had to wonder.

Did Sister Julienne know what Jack and Sarah had been doing in the village, the detecting?

Or did she just want to talk?

“I heard about that. Still, a runner like that. Not sure it makes sense, hmm Sister?”

Sister Julienne became quiet as if she realised she was talking about one of the church’s own with someone who was — in fact — a stranger.

But before he moved on, Jack had another question.

“Sister, I assume you have someone here in charge, a—”

“Mother Superior. Sister Mary Bryan.”

“Right. We had one back in my New York school as well.” He leaned in. “She used to scare the living daylights out of me.”

That brought a smile.

“And if I wanted to find her?”

“Over by the raffle table. She can see all the stalls from there.”

Jack smiled. “Under her watchful eyes? Thanks — I may have to come back for some more scones. They are … addictive.”

Sister Julienne blushed.

And Jack headed over to the raffle table.

*

Sarah thought that this was a bit … odd.

The fête going on just as normal, under a brilliant spring sky. And yet, someone near and dear to the convent had died just days before.

Could be simply because they really needed the money — times were hard here, she could tell, from the main house in need of repair, the cracked tarmac of the driveway, damaged roofs, and the windows that appeared to be missing curtains.

Still — she wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to be doing here.

Just stop someone, ask them about the departed priest?

She hoped Jack was having better luck.

Which is when she felt a strong tug on her sleeve.

“Mum!” Daniel behind her.

He wore a sprinkling of white powder on his upper lip.

“Doughnut?” she asked.

“Just one. But Mum, I’ve been doing what Jack said, walking around listening really well.”

Oh no,
she thought. Jack’s
created a monster. My very own Sherlock Holmes Junior.

“Yes, and…?”

Daniel leaned close, now conspiratorial.

“There’s not just nuns here, Mum.”

“Right, Daniel everyone is invited to the fête.”

“No, I mean living here. At the convent. There are ordinary people too. I heard one of them talking to one of the nuns. Talking about their retreat, now that the priest was dead. See—” Daniel pointed. “Over there, that woman in jeans. She’s living here.”

Sarah quickly reached out and gently pushed Daniel’s incriminating finger point down.

“Don’t point, Daniel. Well, I told you that this place is also a retreat house, as well. A place to pray, meditate. So I’m not surprised—”

“But if there are ordinary people here, then what if one of
them
is the murderer?”

God. At least he’s whispering,
Sarah thought.

“Daniel, we don’t know—”

“And maybe there are others here…”

She put a hand on her son’s shoulder.

“Okay. Good work. We know that retreaters are here. Feel like doing some more listening?”

“You bet!”

“Great. On with it then. And, oh Daniel…?”

“Yes?”

“No more doughnuts.”

He grinned at that — and she had to as well.

Then Sarah looked around for Jack, wondering whether he might be learning anything at the fête.

*

Jack spotted what had to be the Mother Superior, standing by herself, arms folded as if she was a burly football coach, eyes locked on her team.

Formidable
was the word that occurred to him, even from here.

Memories of his days as the not best-behaved student at St. Vincent Ferrer came flying back at him.

He never had a police captain as tough as St. Vinny’s Sister Elizabeth, back in Flatbush.

He took a breath, planted what he hoped was a warm smile on his face, and steeled himself for the approach.

The nun turned to him as he walked up.

“Sister Mary Bryan?”

“Yes,” she said. His smile failed to elicit a matching one from her grey wrinkled face.

Jack looked away, as if taking in the bustle of the busy fête, while actually dodging the nun’s withering stare.

Old habits die hard…

“Lovely day for your event…”

“Yes. Easter Monday. The Lord has provided a beautiful day.”

He turned back to her. “Indeed God has. I was wondering…”

And what he really wondered was whether the woman sensed what was coming. He guessed that his “American Detective” label had become pretty widely known in Cherringham. But did that apply here as well, in the cloistered atmosphere of the convent, tucked away on the edge of the village?

“Wondering if I might talk to you about Father Byrne?”

“May he rest in peace,” Sister Mary said, arms still folded.

“Yes. I imagine you’ll have the funeral this week?”