‘The items pinched from your chapel.’
‘Not the prayer card. She must have bought that somewhere. Anyway I heard the family returning so I nipped down into the cellar again and came out that way. The cellar’s been sectioned off. There are shelves full of video tapes and albums of the most sickening photographs you could imagine. Quite clearly he isn’t writing a book at all. He and his wife are in the pornography trade.’
‘You brought samples with you?’
‘Sam—? Well, no, I didn’t.’ Her flush deepened. ‘I was so shocked that I just — I think I dropped the album and came away as quickly as I could. I’d left the car some distance from the house so I drove straight here.’
‘Leaving the evidence behind?’
‘You can go and search the house now that I’ve told you. You can get a search warrant, acting on information received.’
‘Sister Joan, it is now mid-afternoon on Saturday,’ he said, heavily patient. ‘The local magistrates won’t be around until Monday and the Chief Constable through whom I must request a search warrant will need more cause than the unsupported word of someone who hasn’t any evidence and made her discovery when she was in the course of committing a felony herself.’
‘That’s the silliest thing I ever heard,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless it’s the way things work. You’d be the first one to scream about violation of human rights if we could obtain search warrants at a moment’s notice and barge in anywhere.’
‘I really did see what I told you.’
‘I don’t doubt it‚ Sister — is that your real name — Joan? Or did they give you a new one?’
‘I was baptised Joan. What are you going to do about the Olives?’
‘I’ll go and see the Chief Constable and see if I can talk him round. It might help if you could explain why you drove over to the Olives in particular. Why not the Holts or the Penglows?’
‘It was the poem.’
‘What poem?’ he demanded.
‘Samantha Olive handed it in as part of her homework. The children had to write about their favourite flowers. Samantha wrote — They say daffodils are trumpets, I say daffodils are strumpets, and lads are bad and girls black pearls, and little roses full of worms.’
‘Not exactly a nursery rhyme,’ he said dryly. ‘Did she compose it herself?’
‘She says that she did. She is very bright for her age. I didn’t question her about it too closely. Perhaps I should have done.’
‘You think she’s been exposed to this pornographic racket?’
‘I think she’s aware of it. I think that’s why she stole the things from the chapel — to protect herself. Am I going to be charged with — a felony?’
‘I will endeavour,’ he said wryly, ‘to keep your name out of it. However it will be Monday before any warrant’ll be forthcoming. In the meantime I’d be grateful if you’d keep your recent exploits under your veil. No sense in alerting anybody.’
‘There is general confession today,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I reckon that I can postpone saying anything.’
‘I’d be grateful. I’d also be grateful if you’d stay in the convent for a few days and stop dashing off on impulse.’
‘Did you get the candlestick?’
‘That wretched child — Tabitha? had washed and polished it‚’ he said. ‘However there’s no doubt in my mind that it was used to hit Sister Margaret. Whoever did it swung it by the base. The shape corresponds with the wound. There wouldn’t have been much bleeding.’
A cold shiver rippled through her at the picture his words conjured up. Sister Margaret, halfway through the door into the visitors’ parlour, the assailant turning and striking. Had that been her last conscious thought? The person she had admitted turning to reveal the face of a devil?
‘She’ll be released to you this evening,’ he said more gently, watching her face.
‘Yes. Thank you, Sergeant Mill.’
At the door she stopped suddenly, her expression changing as she exclaimed, ‘I wonder what happened to it!’
‘To what?’ He had moved to open the door.
‘The candle in the candlestick. There are always candles in the candlesticks. They are lit during evening prayers and then snuffed out — that’s Sister David’s task. Your men didn’t find it in the chapel?’
He shook his head.
‘Was there anything special about it?’
‘It was thinner and taller than the candles we light before the Lady Altar. It was exactly like the other candle. They were both well burned down. Usually they are replaced on Saturday after prayers ready for Sunday.’
‘The killer probably took the candle away with him.’
‘As a souvenir?’ she asked bitterly. ‘How could anyone have hurt someone like Sister Margaret? She was a good woman — a truly good woman.’
‘The angle of the wound shows it was inflicted from above and in front. Sister Margaret was five feet four inches, so he has to be taller than that. Thank you for the information you gave me, Sister. I can trust you not to go breaking in anywhere else, I hope?’
‘I promise you,’ she said, and went out. She had not promised not to visit anywhere else. Getting into the car she drove away in the direction of the camp.
The visit of the police had left its mark. The usual bustle was missing with women huddled in small knots about the steps of their wagons and the men watching her as she alighted from the car. Tabitha with Edith tagging behind her emerged from the Lee wagon, and came trotting over.
‘Good morning, Sister Joan. Have you come to see Dad? He had to go and get some medicine for Mum. She’s feeling poorly.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear it,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Oh, she never feels very good when she’s been on the bottle,’ Tabitha informed
