Paula took out her phone and consulted the email Alvin had sent her. ‘How long were you in charge at St Margaret Clitherow?’
‘I’m not entirely clear what right you think you have to question me, Detective. This is not your jurisdiction.’
‘Detective Inspector McIntyre is here with the full support of the Garda Síochána,’ McInerny interjected. Good man. ‘It will save everyone a lot of time if I don’t have to repeat all of her questions over a jurisdictional quibble.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘And I will be recording this interview so that we all know where we stand.’
Sister Mary Patrick was momentarily disconcerted but she recovered herself quickly. ‘Very well. To answer your question, I was Mother Superior for twelve years. Until the convent closed five years ago. I spend a brief period in the Mother House at York and then I was sent here.’
‘Why were you sent here? What’s your role here?’ Paula’s tone was casual but her interest was not. Was this punishment? Or warehousing?
‘Prayer and contemplation.’
‘All by yourself?’
‘You have already met Sister Dorothy. She is housekeeper here. Sister Mary Francis and Sister Margaret also live here.’
‘Praying and contemplating?’
‘You’d have to ask them. I am not responsible for them.’
‘It seems an odd place for a mother superior to end up.’
‘Running a convent, a girls’ home and a school is a very demanding occupation. I did it for twelve years. A time of renewal is a needful thing.’
‘And are you renewed yet?’
Sister Mary Patrick simply stared at her, blank of expression.
‘I’d like to go back to those years when you were at Bradesden. Our forensic experts tell us that at least fourteen of those bodies date from that period. It’s hard for me to get my head round this. But fourteen dead girls were illegally disposed of while you were in charge.’
Sister Mary Patrick sighed and shook her head. ‘There’s nothing sinister in that. Children die. These children had nobody to claim them. We gave them the dignity of a Christian burial.’
‘Under cover of darkness? To me, that looks like you had something to hide.’
‘We had a duty not to upset the living. Little girls are easily upset.’
‘And without bothering with the inconvenience of death certificates?’ Paula couldn’t keep the ice from her voice.
‘I know nothing of that.’
‘How can you know nothing? You had legal responsibility for those girls.’
She gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I delegated it. Sadly, Sister Gerardine who was in charge of the girls’ health needs is now afflicted with dementia. She’s living in the Mother House in York but these days she doesn’t even know her own name. So I doubt she will be of much assistance to you.’
Paula understood she was facing a formidable opponent. It would take all her skills to garner any substantive evidence against Sister Mary Patrick, a woman who had clearly planned for this eventuality. She took a short moment to tamp down her incredulous anger. ‘We have witness statements alleging brutality and psychological torture at St Margaret Clitherow. There are specific accusations against you.’
‘I’m sure there are. Some of the girls we dealt with at the Blessed Pearl were quick on the uptake as well as utterly amoral. As soon as this story hit the news, I knew there would be opportunistic liars quick to make unsubstantiated allegations. The church’s failures to deal with abusive priests over the years has made us a cheap target for charlatans. I could probably give you a list of the names of these accusers. In their eyes, we’re an easy payday.’ She pushed her chair back. ‘Now, I have been very generous with my time and my answers but I have reached the limit of that generosity. So, if you have nothing more?’
‘I do, as it happens. I wanted to ask you about your groundsman, Jerome Martinu.’
Now something crossed her face that might almost have been surprise. ‘What about him?’
‘He dug the graves, right?’
She inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘He did.’
‘Without question?’
‘He understood his duty to the convent.’
‘Were you aware of any other graves he dug within the convent grounds?’
She gave a little shrug of indifference. ‘Only the one.’
56
The cases that always took the most out of me were the ones that awoke echoes from my own past. Sometimes I learned as much about myself from the process of drawing up a profile as I did about the offender.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Another day would make little difference to Saul Neilson, Carol told herself as she hurried down the stairs of Melissa Rintoul’s consulting rooms. She’d talk to Bronwen Scott when her mind was clear. No time to thank Melissa or even to say goodbye. Right now, there was only one place she wanted to be.
She ran down the lane to where she’d left the Land Rover, tearing off the parking ticket stuck to its windscreen and throwing it on to the passenger seat. She started the engine then forced herself to pause for breath. Melissa’s words bubbled up in her head. ‘Before you leave, promise me you’ll do your exercises.’
Carol knew it made sense. Not just for her own sake but in the best interests of everyone else on the road between Edinburgh and Bradfield. And so she sat behind the wheel and worked her way through the now-familiar exercises, trying to banish her impatience and instil a sense of calm.
By the time she’d finished, her breathing was steady, her palms no longer sweating. She plugged her phone into the sound system and chose the playlist mix of Jocelyn Pook, Lisa Gerrard, Jóhann Jóhannsson and Ólafur Arnalds that she’d put together to help her stay chilled and in balance. Only then did she ease out of the parking space and into the traffic.
In spite of her best efforts, her imagination was working overtime. What if the injury was worse than Paula had admitted? What if Tony had sustained more profound damage? She’d worked cases where people’s personalities had been permanently affected by brain injury.
