Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) (7 page)

CHAPTER 18

Bishop Carey’s Palace was located at the end of a long leafy lane just off Church Hill. The Palace was a Palladian structure built in a time of servants and footmen. It had an imposing entrance consisting of large double wooden doors behind a pillared drop off area. The building had been located on the top of a small hill giving a view over the surrounding countryside.

Wilson alighted from the police car driven by Moira and took in the panoramic views. He fancied that one could see all the way to Lough Neagh on a clear day, that is if one ever had such a day on this rainy island.

The front door opened before Wilson and Moira knocked, and Monsignor Devlin stood in the opening.

“Monsignor,” Wilson said affably. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. Many more of these encounters and people will think that we’re the best of friends.”

“Indeed, Chief Inspector,” Devlin said in a clipped tone. “I assure you I have no desire to prolong our contacts beyond what is necessary to clear up this horrific business.”

“What a pity and there was I thinking I’d made a friend for life,” Wilson smiled. “May I introduce my colleague, Detective Constable Moira McElvaney.”

“Pleased to meet you, Constable McElvaney,” Devlin said. “Your first name is Moira?”

Moira nodded. You could tell a lot from a name in Northern Ireland.

“Bishop Carey is waiting,” Devlin said and moved aside from the open door. “After you please.”

Wilson and McElvaney entered a large marble floored hallway containing an imposing wooden staircase ascending to the upper floors. A corridor at the back of the hall led to the rear of the house, and to the right and the left of the hall were two closed double timber doors.

“Bishop Carey will receive you in the study,” Monsignor Devlin indicated the double door on the left side of the hall, moved to it and opened the door to allow the two policemen to enter.

Bishop Carey was seated at a desk poring over some papers. The desk was set at the far end of the room in front of a picture window that looked out over the manicured lawn. He looked up as soon as he heard the door open.

“Ah, our visitors have arrived,” he said rising slowly from the desk. The room was the quintessential study with books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. A laptop computer sat on the desk that the Bishop had just vacated. The only break in the bookshelves was an ornate fireplace set into the wall to the left of the Bishop’s desk. Three button-backed leather seats, two single chairs and a two-seater couch, faced the fire. A silver tea and coffee service with four cups were placed on a small coffee table situated between the seats and the fireplace.

Wilson moved forward. “Your Grace,” he said extending his hand.

Bishop Carey was an imposing figure. Although in his late sixties, he stood perfectly straight despite a considerable girth. He was almost totally bald, and his round face was supported by a series of chins above his collar. He was wearing the regulation uniform of black suit and similarly coloured shirt topped by a white collar. His large nose was a light purple colour and was webbed with broken veins.

“Chief Inspector Wilson, Ian Wilson,” the Bishop said striding forward. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” The Bishop grabbed Wilson’s hand in a firm handshake

“My colleague,” Wilson said. “Detective Constable Moira McElvaney.”

“Moira?” Bishop Carey said pointedly before offering the young constable his hand palm down.

Moira glanced at Wilson before bending, taking the proffered hand and kissing the Bishop’s ring.

“You do not know what a thrill it is for me to welcome you here,” Bishop Carey beamed a smile. “I saw you play when you were in your prime, and I honestly believe that if you were playing to-day you would be at the top of the professional ranks.”

“It was all a question of timing,” Wilson said. “You could say the same about George Best. If he was twenty to-day, there wouldn’t be enough money to buy him or indeed to pay him.”

“I’d heard your injury was quite bad but your limp is barely noticeable. An IRA bomb was the cause, was it not?”

“Yes,” Wilson said simply.

“Shall we have coffee or tea,” Bishop Carey motioned towards the seats and the coffee table. He took his place in one of the chairs. “Perhaps the Monsignor would be kind enough to play mother.” The Bishop bestowed his practiced smile on Monsignor Devlin.

“Coffee would be nice,” Wilson sat on the two-seat couch and motioned for Moira to join him.

Monsignor Devlin looked at Moira but she waved her hand in negation. She removed a small black notebook from her purse and placed it in her lap.

“Your Grace,” Wilson began. “I have no desire to take up a lot of your time but as his direct superior, I was wondering whether you could shed some light on the murder of Father Gilroy.”

The Bishop’s smile disappeared and was replaced with his stern face. “I am completely in the dark as to why somebody would wish to murder a simple parish priest and desecrate one of our churches,” he took a cup from Monsignor Devlin and sipped from the contents. “There is, of course, a long history of church burning in this Province, which had its roots in the sectarian divide. However, this new era of peace has more or less put an end to what was becoming a vicious cycle.”

Wilson took a cup of coffee from the Monsignor while refusing milk and sugar. “I am led to believe by elements in the Loyalist community that this incident is not the work of an organised Protestant paramilitary organisation. As you are no doubt aware, there has been a high level of condemnation of the incident from both Communities. So we must look beyond the usual motive for the burning of the church, and for the moment I am concentrating on seeking a motive for the murder of Father Gilroy. Perhaps you could tell me a little about the man. I visited the rectory at Saint Cormac’s yesterday but I found nothing to indicate what kind of person lived there. In fact, there wasn’t one personal artefact in the whole house. I was also struck by the presence of a DVD player and the absence of even one DVD. There was besides what appeared to be an Internet connection but no computer.”

The Bishop placed his cup on the coffee table and sat back in his chair. He placed his hand together across his ample stomach. “Father Gilroy was a modest parish priest who had given service in several parishes throughout the Province. He was appreciated in every parish he worked in as a simple soul intent on bringing Christ’s message of eternal life to his appointed flock. I met him on several occasions and was impressed by his simplicity and his devotion to his calling. Beyond that I cannot comment.”

“Your Grace, you must understand that Father Gilroy’s character and indeed his life could have a distinct bearing on why someone should have wanted to kill him and then to ensure that his body was burned. The crime is very intentional, and it was aimed at ensuring that Father Gilroy would not survive.”

“Chief Inspector,” the Bishop took his hands from his stomach and opened them. “The world we live in is a strange one. People are murdered for a whole host of reasons. A parishioner listens to a homily and takes exception to what the priest is saying. He returns home, and the priest’s words reverberate in his head until he’s mad with rage. Such a scenario rarely leads to murder, but the genesis is there. I would like very much to be in a position to assist in your quest to develop a motive, but I feel powerless to help. I understand that Monsignor Devlin has offered to assist you in any way possible.” Bishop Carey looked at Devlin and Wilson followed his gaze.

Devlin nodded in recognition but remained silent.

“Do you keep personnel files on all your priests?” Wilson asked returning his gaze to the Bishop.

“Chief Inspector,” the Bishop said affably. “The Church is not a corporation like Microsoft. We do not keep personnel files in the general sense of the expression. Priests are regularly reported on in terms of their abilities but since the majority of priests are simply involved in pastoral work and there is effectively no promotion, we do not keep personnel files per say.”

Wilson nodded in understanding. “This Father Gilroy is beginning to take on the image of an enigma cloaked in a mystery. You might understand how that might bother me. You don’t know anything about him. The Monsignor knows nothing about him. The rectory tells me nothing about him. If there wasn’t a body in the morgue, I would hardly believe that he exists.”

Monsignor Devlin glanced pointedly at his watch. Wilson didn’t miss the movement, and he was sure that he wasn’t intended to.

‘Well, Your Grace,” Wilson said. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with us. I will certainly take up the offer of further assistance from Monsignor Devlin. But I cannot exclude the possibility that we may want to speak to you personally again.” Wilson stood to leave, and Moira stood with him.

“If my schedule permits,” Bishop Carey rose slowly from his chair. “I would be happy to assist you. Again, it has been an enormous pleasure to meet someone in person that I admired from the stands so many times.”

The two men shook hands.

Bishop Carey made the sign of the cross over Moira’s head. “Go in peace, my child,” he said.

Monsignor Devlin led the two police officers to the front door.  “I’m available whenever you need me,” he said.

“See,” said Wilson. “I told you we were going to be big friends.”

Monsignor Devlin’s face was red when he returned to the study. “That man is the most aggravating person I have ever met.”

Bishop Carey was standing at the window watching the departing police car. “Ian Wilson was one of the best rugby players that this country ever produced. He was fast and strong, but that wasn’t what made him great. What set him aside from the other players was that he never gave up. Others would flag when they were behind, but Wilson would just go harder. He lifted those around him and he would have been an all-time great if he hadn’t wandered into the path of the IRA bomb that ended his rugby career. Now I’ve met him, I can see he’s also intelligent and I am afraid, Malachy, you in your intellectual arrogance may have underestimated him. May I suggest that you never underestimate him again or you are going to drop me in the biggest barrel of shit you can imagine. We must prepare ourselves for a rough passage from the Chief Inspector and for that we may have to ally ourselves to forces with which we are not exactly aligned, but which may have similar objectives.”

“And who might that be?” Monsignor Devlin asked.

“Wilson’s superiors.”

Wilson leaned back in the passenger seat as the Audi moved smoothly across the gravel in front of the Bishop’s Palace.

“What’s that line from ‘Through the Looking Glass’ – curiouser and curiouser. It’s very apt to our current situation. Don’t you agree, Moira?”

“I might if I knew what you were talking about?” Moira steered the car along the driveway and towards the main road.

“Nobody wants to tell us anything about Father Gilroy,” Wilson continued. “He was a simple parish priest. That may well be but how does a simple parish priest engender such hate in someone that they stab him with a level of ferocity and then set his body on fire. It just doesn’t make sense. Always look for the motive. Even the stupidest of the serial killers that we’ve had in this Province have had some sort of motive guiding their actions. Our killer may hate Catholic priests but why pick on Father Gilroy? The Province has hundreds of Catholic priests so why pick on this particular one? Why sit in the back row of Saint Cormac’s and wait for an opportunity to kill this specific priest in his own church? Why immolate his body? I’ll tell you why, because the killer harboured some major grudge against Father Gilroy. That means there is some facet of this simple priest that caused another human being to not only wish him dead but to carry out the act of making him dead. So I think we can discount the simple priest theory and ask ourselves why our friends back there wanted us to believe the drivel, they just fed us? I know that Devlin probably thinks that we are inferior creatures just barely capable of rational thought. But Carey is a politician. He knows that we’re not about to swallow any old kind of crap so why feed us the simple priest story. They want to send us down a blind alley. Carey and Devlin had some idea as to why Gilroy was killed but they’re keeping it to themselves. The question is why?”

“There are a lot of questions there, Boss,” Moira said looking in both directions before turning onto the main road for Belfast.

“You’re quite a good sounding board, Constable McElvaney,” Wilson said.

“Yes, as long as I keep my mouth shut.”

“Yes,” Wilson said closing his eyes. “As long as you keep your mouth shut.”

CHAPTER 19

Wilson cradled the glass of Jameson in his large hands as he sat on the settee in his partner’s apartment. Kate had insisted that the apartment was as much his as hers and had suggested that she gift him a half share so that they could own their home together. He refused to accept the gift. There was enough money in the bank from the Marwood Park house to buy a half share in the apartment and he would prefer to pay his way but not yet.

“I’m sorry,” Kate put her hand on top of his. “Joe’s family must be devastated.”

“The file will be going upstairs in the next few days and after my superiors have put their stamp on it there is the inevitable transmission to the Director of Public Prosecutions. Going on precedent, they’ll fry him. He’ll be arrested as soon as the DPP reviews the file and from then on it’ll all be downhill.”

“Is the girl OK?” Kate asked.

“Bruised and a little battered but none the worse for wear, as least nobody has mentioned penetration. Although the judiciary tend to be harsher on errant police officers.” He drank the rest of his whiskey and lay down with his head in Kate’s lap. “I wanted to ask you whether you’d be able to help Joe when the time comes.”

“Of course,” She stroked his grey curls. “It’s going to be a rough ride but I’ll do whatever I can. The next couple of weeks will be horrible. Then there’ll be a lull and the whole circus will begin again at trial time. It’ll be equally hard on his family.”

“Thanks, he’ll appreciate that.” It was amazing how quickly she could take away the stress he felt. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

“I’ll think of something later,” she bent and kissed him.

“Promises, promises. I mean in a professional capacity.”

“My cases, for the moment, are pretty ordinary. Couple of drug lords, a domestic assault and battery and of course my favourite client who waited until his partner had gone to the corner shop and then shook their baby until its brain was pulped. The tragedy is that my esteemed client still doesn’t think that he has done anything wrong. He’s insisted on an innocent plea. If it was up to me, I’d hire someone five times larger than him to give his brain a bit of a shake.”

“It’s unfortunate that we’re both in the scum business,” he stared up into her beautiful face. “A doctor I knew packed in medicine because he couldn’t deal with the fact that he was a bad-news bear. He was good at the job, but he just couldn’t handle giving people the news that there was nothing that he could do for them. Sometimes I wonder if I feel the same way about dealing with the dregs of society. You can overdose on viewing broken bodies, being spat at by serial killers and pissed on by stupid superiors. Joe says that he simply cracked, and I’m inclined to believe him. You can’t wallow around in the sewer, and not get crap on you.”

“I think it may be time for a little stress relief. Unless of course you’d prefer to watch television.”

He leapt up from her lap, lifted her out of the chair and headed towards the bedroom.