Imago (11 page)

“I want to talk to my solicitor,” said Father Michael, slightly too loudly. “Alone. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

Left alone, Kate suddenly felt the awkwardness between Anderton and herself. Or she told herself she felt it. Did she really know what he was thinking? Would she ever?

Impulsively she turned to him and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he gave her a miniscule shake of the head, indicating with his finger the camera in the corner of the room. Chastened, Kate sat back in her chair.

Father Michael and his solicitor had only been away for five minutes, but in the silence that swamped the interview room during their departure, it felt more like five years to Kate. She’d never before been so pleased to see a suspect reappear.

Father Michael sat back down again in the same chair he’d had before. He folded his hands in front of him again, but they were steadier than they had been before.

“I’ve something to tell you,” he announced with a glance at his solicitor, who gave him a slight nod.

“Yes?” Anderton sat up a little.

Father Michael cleared his throat.

“Claudia and I – Claudia and I were – we were in a relationship. Having a relationship.”

He pressed his lips together as if he were unwilling to say more.

Anderton raised his eyebrows.

“Care to elaborate?”

The tone of Anderton’s voice must have stung. Kate watched the blood rise in Father Michael’s cheeks, visible even behind his beard.

“I – well, we – we were in a relationship, like I said.”

“A sexual relationship?”

“Yes.” Father Michael’s face was fiery now, and for the first time, Kate felt a twinge of pity for him.

“How long had this been going on?”

Father Michael cleared his throat again.

“Not very long. Several months, I suppose. Perhaps six months.”

“You can’t remember exactly?”

“Well, I – no, not exactly.” Father Michael pulled his folded hands under the table, away from their eyes. Kate knew it was because his hands were trembling again.

He went on, falteringly.

“We go – we used to go to a hotel near Arbuthon Green. That was where we were driving on the night of Mandy’s death. That was why we were in the area and why Claudia was in my car.”

Anderton kept his eyes on the man’s hot face.

“What was the name of the hotel?”

“It was nowhere very expensive, nothing – nothing showy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes. Sorry. It’s called The Pines.’”

“You stayed there how often?”

Father Michael’s flush had been fading, but now it returned in a renewed, rosy hue.

“A few times a week. Sometimes on weekends. It depended on whether she could get anyone to look after her daughter.”

“Anyone?”

“Well, her mother. She would only let her mother look after Madison. She was very protective of her.”

His voice shook, and he looked down at his hidden hands. Despite herself, Kate was wrenched momentarily with pity. She tried not to think of Madison and her solemn little face, her big dark eyes. What would they have told her? How do you break something like that to a little child?

Anderton began the questioning again but Kate, drifting off a little, found herself picturing Father Michael and Claudia. Actually picturing them in bed together. Thirty years or more between them: education, class, even intelligence perhaps a chasm between them. Why had he pursued her? Or had it been the other way around? Had he been kind to her, poor Claudia, who had been so dreadfully treated by another man? Now Kate remembered going to interview her about Mandy Renkin, the way that Claudia had flung her bedroom door open in happy anticipation. She must have thought it was Father Michael who’d knocked.

What a risk he had taken, though, this priest who was supposed to be celibate, above the temptations of the flesh. No such thing, as Kate had good reason to know.

Her colleagues would be crawling all over the Mission now, checking computers and laptops and offices, digging into everything to try and prove a connection with the killings. Kate turned her attention back to Anderton, who was wrapping up this session of questioning.

“I think we’ll take a break, there,” he said, shuffling his papers into a rough stack. Father Michael sat back in his chair, raising his hands to his eyes. His solicitor bent forward and picked up her briefcase.

Kate was the first out in the corridor. She stood aside as Father Michael was escorted back to the cells; they would hold him for another twenty-four hours and then either charge him with the murders of Claudia Smith and Mandy Renkin or release him. She watched his thin figure disappear as the heavy door to the cells closed behind him. Was it possible that this stooped, bearded man was actually a serial killer?

“Got a minute?” asked Anderton, directly behind her, and Kate jumped.

They went to Anderton’s office, but this time, he didn’t close the door. Obviously there were to be no illicit kisses this time. Kate sat down at his desk, feeling a slow droop of her spirits.

Anderton flung himself into the opposite chair and began to flick through the paperwork.

“Can you get over to Brannigan’s house tomorrow and start going through it?” he asked, his eyes scanning the papers before him. “Take Theo – oh wait, of course you can’t. Take Rav and Jane and make a start.”

Kate waited to see if he’d say anything else, something personal, something intimate. He didn’t. He didn’t even look at her.

“Yes, sir,” she said, numbly, and got up to go. Unable to help herself, she looked back as she reached the doorway. Anderton still had his head down, intent on his work. Kate hesitated and then left, swallowing hard against the thickening in her throat.

Chapter Twelve

The good weather turned the next day; June’s blue skies were obscured with thick grey clouds and spitting rain. Kate dug her summer raincoat out from beneath the pile of jackets and scarves that hung on the back of the downstairs toilet door and put it on. She sat on the bottom step of the staircase to lace up her trainers, caught sight of the time on her wristwatch and cursed. She was supposed to be picking Rav up at nine and he lived a good twenty minutes’ drive from her place. It was already eight forty-five.

She sent him a quick text telling him she was running late, grabbed her car keys and locked up the house. She knew why she was late, which was most unlike her. She’d spent the night rolling from one side of the bed to another, trying to get comfortable, trying to ignore the gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

This is what happens when you get 
involved
, Kate,
she told herself. Months, no, 
years
 of happy equilibrium and celibacy and then one night of passion and it all goes to pot…

As was usual when one was in a hurry, the traffic was heavy, and every traffic light disobligingly went red as Kate approached it. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, gritting her teeth. Eventually, she drew into the driveway of the block of flats, drove into a parking space and beeped the horn. Kate raised her hand as Rav’s flatmate, whom she knew very slightly, passed the car, obviously on his way to work. Then Rav knocked on her window, making her jump.

“Morning!”

“Hi,” said Kate, smiling in spite of herself. Rav was the youngest member of the team, barely into his twenties. He’d joined the police force straight after sixth form college and barely looked any older than he had when he’d left school. Kate didn’t have much in common with him, but they worked together well. She liked his energy and enthusiasm.

Whilst Rav strapped himself in, Kate tapped the postcode to Father Michael’s house into the sat nav.

“Jane’s meeting us there,” she said. “Mind if we stop on the way and grab a coffee?”

“Nope, no problem.” Rav looked slyly across at her and grinned. “As long as you don’t throw it in my face.”

Kate thought she’d misheard him for a moment. She looked over, eyebrows raised – and then she got it.

“Oh, ha bloody ha. Oh, my aching sides.”

She snorted and put her foot down harder on the accelerator.

“What 
happened
 with you and Jerry?” asked Rav, clearly burning with curiosity, which Kate was not about to satisfy. She waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

“Not much,” she said. “Storm in a tea-cup. Or a wine glass.”

Rav giggled. “It was just so totally not like you. We couldn’t believe it.”

“Oh well,” said Kate, uncomfortably. “Did you guys stay on much longer?”

“Yeah, ‘til closing time. And 
then
 we went clubbing.”

“Jerry went clubbing?”

“Yeah, I know, not like him, is it?” Rav pushed a hand through his thick, black hair. “Seriously, it was daylight by the time we all rolled out of the club. I’m still hungover now.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Kate, having heard enough about Jerry. She wanted to forget that part of the night altogether if she could.

Rav checked his phone.

“We’re still holding this priest, yeah?”

“That’s right,” said Kate. “Anderton wants us to go through this house with a fine-tooth comb.”

 They drove in silence for a minute. Then Rav spoke up.

“This is pretty bad, isn’t it, Kate? This case, I mean.”

Kate glanced over.

“Yes, it’s bad. It’s the worst I’ve dealt with since I started here.”

Rav was looking out the window at the streets of Abbeyford as they rolled by.

“We don’t get cases like this here,” he said. “I mean, do we? Serial killings…that’s something that happens to other towns, not here.”

“Well,” said Kate. “I suppose it doesn’t happen here…until it happens here.”

“What if—” said Rav, and then he hesitated. Kate looked at him enquiringly.

“What?”

“What if it’s not a serial killing?”

Kate was drawing onto the street on which Michael Brannigan lived. She parked the car, switched off the engine and turned to face Rav more fully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s only an idea,” said Rav nervously. “And I’m not saying the murders aren’t related, I mean, they are – they clearly are. But what if the girls died for some other reason? Something we haven’t found yet.”

Kate thought it through. It was an intriguing idea, and she said as much to Rav, earning a pleased smile.

“Maybe we’ll have a clearer picture once we’ve done the search,” she said. “But it’s certainly an idea. We should bear it in mind.”

“Will you tell the boss?”

“Me?” said Kate sharply. “Why would I need to tell him? Why me?”

Rav looked surprised at her tone, as well he might.

“Oh, no reason,” he said, climbing out of the car. “I just thought you might mention it. It might sound better coming from you.”

That remark followed Kate into the house. Why had Rav said that? Kate snapped on her gloves on auto-pilot. The forensic team would have already been over the house, taking their samples and fingerprints and photographs. Looking closely, Kate could see the faint dusting of fingerprint powder, the odd smear and scuff on the walls and windows. The room had that slightly ruffled look of a place that had been thoroughly searched by experts.

Kate moved carefully through the hallway and into the front room. Rav stayed by the front door, running his practised eyes over the hallway furniture, the pile of worn shoes and scuffed boots by the coat stand. Kate stood for a moment in the centre of the living room, trying to concentrate.
It might sound better coming from you
. What did Rav mean? Surely nobody could know. Could they? She felt suddenly feverish with anxiety. Surely Anderton wouldn’t have told anyone? Would he?

Concentrate, Kate.
 She went to the bookcase, always a good place to start. There was a real jumble of books on the shelves, an assortment of classics, non-fiction and an unsurprising number of religious works. She ran her finger along the spines and then began to work methodically through the books, taking them out and shaking them. It was repetitive work, and her mind soon began to wander. To Anderton, inevitably. She took out her phone in the ridiculous hope that he had sent her a message. Of course he hadn’t, although there was a text from Olbeck, which said, 
training tonight ok? Pick u up @ 7pm x

For the first time, Kate found she was actually looking forward to going running later. She wanted to be out in the fresh air, moving from one foot to the other, eyes fixed on the horizon and not thinking about anything to do with her boss, or murdered girls, or how she seemed to have messed up her life yet again. She texted Olbeck back an affirmative with a kiss on the end and then turned her attention back to the search.

Jane had arrived by now, and she waved to Kate before heading upstairs to the bedrooms. Kate could hear her footsteps creaking the floorboards above her. This was an old house, Victorian in age, and chilly despite the time of year. The carpet was clean, but threadbare; the sofa was an old Ikea model with a checked Welsh blanket tucked over it. It was obviously the home of a man with limited spare cash – on the face of it, the home of a man who was cultured and intelligent and thrifty. Could it also be the home of a man who had murdered two – perhaps even three – women?

Kate’s phone rang, and when she saw Anderton’s name on the little screen, her heart gave a thump that was almost painful. She made herself wait for three rings before she answered it.

“Sir?”

“Anything?”

“Sorry?”

“Found anything?”

Kate clenched her teeth for a moment. So this was how he was going to play it, was he? Pretend the whole thing never happened. Was it because she’d walked out of his office when he wanted to talk to her? Was he really that petty?

“Not yet, 
sir
,” she said.

“Okay, that’s fine. I need you to get over to the PM – Mark and I are tied up here with questioning. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Kate said coldly.

“Good. See you later.”

The line went dead.

Kate put the phone back in her pocket. Her throat was aching and for a moment she stared at the opposite wall through a mist of tears that she blinked rapidly away. Just as well, as Rav came through from the kitchen moments later.