Sutton let out a whistle.
‘When did he start working there?’
‘1996. He did casual work in the abbey grounds at first, before becoming groundsman shortly before the home opened in 2004.’
‘Anything since?’
‘Nothing, not so much as a speeding ticket.’
‘Would his employers have known about his convictions?’
‘Not necessarily, they would have been classed as “spent” under the Rehabilitation of Offenders Act, so they couldn’t ask about it at interview.’
Sutton scratched his chin. ‘A history of violence from decades ago, hidden from his employers – a connection or a coincidence?’
‘If he hadn’t voluntarily disclosed it to his employers and it looked as though it was likely to come out, he could have been worried that he was going to lose his job. Could Father Nolan have got wind of it and tried to blackmail Shaw?’ The look on Pymm’s face showed her own scepticism.
‘Why? What would he have achieved? And how could he have found out? Blackmail’s not exactly priestly behaviour, is it?’
The pair lapsed into silence, before Sutton straightened.
‘Well, good work anyway, Rachel. See if you can find out any more details about his original conviction. I’ll take it to the boss and see what he thinks. It’s our only lead so far.’
* * *
Rodney Shaw officially became a ‘person of interest’ an hour later when DS Hutchinson returned to the office.
‘Father Nolan was generally popular,’ started Hutchinson. ‘Nobody had a bad word to say about him. At least not directly.’
‘Go on,’ Warren blew across his mug of coffee. He’d forgotten to buy milk and was slurping the coffee black; the caffeine hit was good, but Warren had already burnt his tongue that morning.
‘Apparently, Father Nolan had a loud disagreement with Rodney Shaw a couple of weeks ago.’
‘About what?’
‘Well, that’s where we have a problem. It seems the disagreement is common knowledge amongst the staff and residents. A couple of the sisters also mentioned it, but nobody is sure what it was about, or even who overheard them. To be honest, it has the feel of a bit of gossip; I guess small communities are all the same, even those based on holy orders. So much for “thou shalt not bear false witness.”’
‘It depends if it’s false, I suppose,’ said Sutton.
Warren puffed his lips out.
‘It’s still pretty tenuous. It seems a bit far-fetched that Father Nolan would suddenly discover Shaw’s murky past, then threaten to expose him. For what reason? Blackmail? If it was murder it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing so this threat, if it existed, hung over him for at least as long as it took to plan it. Why would Father Nolan hold onto that knowledge?’
‘And if it was blackmail, what did he want in return?’ asked Sutton, playing Devil’s Advocate against his own theory.
‘What does any blackmailer want?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘Most obvious is monetary or material gain,’ answered Sutton.
Warren shook his head slowly. ‘Shaw is two steps up from a gardener. Before then, he was a homeless drug addict, stealing to maintain his habit. He’s hardly going to be rolling in money.’
‘He could be dealing again,’ suggested Hutchinson. ‘Besides, how much money does a Catholic priest need or want? You’ve seen Father Nolan’s room, he was a man of frugal tastes. His food and board is paid for. He has no family to speak of and so far we’ve found no evidence of expensive mistresses.’
‘What about vices? He wouldn’t be the first priest who developed a taste for Communion wine outside of church,’ said Sutton.
‘The autopsy was inconclusive in terms of liver damage, although the fire makes the results unreliable,’ said Warren. ‘Do a bit more discreet poking around, Hutch. Find out if he had any expensive habits.’
‘Will do.’
‘Why else do people blackmail?’ asked Warren.
‘Control? Is there something that Shaw could do for Nolan that he couldn’t do himself?’ said Hutchinson.
‘Again, what does a retired Catholic priest need or want?’ asked Warren.
‘I can’t imagine Father Nolan standing around on street corners buying drugs,’ said Sutton, ‘although you never can tell.’
‘Hopefully the toxicology screen will answer that question,’ said Warren, ‘but if it’s not booze, drugs, money or favours, then that leaves secrets. Keep your mouth shut about my transgressions, or I’ll expose yours.”
‘And what might Nolan’s transgressions be?’ asked Sutton. ‘With all of these ongoing inquiries into abuse and cover-ups in the Catholic Church, you have to wonder …’
The silence stretched as they contemplated the uncomfortable implications of Sutton’s statement.
‘This is all speculation,’ said Warren finally. ‘We need a lot more before we even treat the death as suspicious let alone make Shaw a suspect. Hutch, see what you can find out about Father Nolan’s finances and carry on looking into his background. Keep an eye out for any hints or allegations of inappropriate behaviour. Meanwhile, I think a discreet chat with Bishop Fisher may be in order.’
‘Good luck with that,’ muttered Sutton.
It was past nine when Warren finally got home. A call to Bishop Fisher had revealed that Shaw’s past problems with drugs were not only well-known to him, but were in fact a source of pride; Shaw was held up as an inspiring example of how someone could successfully overcome challenges within their lives through prayer. He and Deacon Baines worked together to take that message around schools, youth clubs and homeless shelters.
Tony Sutton had pointed out that if Rodney Shaw had started using drugs again, then the shame of letting everyone down might have been enough for him to commit murder, but even he hadn’t sounded convinced.
But something still didn’t feel quite right. In his mind’s eye, Warren could picture the crime scene, the harsh lights bringing the horrifying tableau into sharp relief. What was he missing? What clue was there in front of him that he just couldn’t see?
Or was he missing anything? Perhaps it just his tired, overworked imagination seeing shadows where there were none. Warren knew that proximity to death – especially violent death – tended to make him morose; that had only worsened since the events of the summer. Was that all it was? The counsellor that he’d seen in the immediate aftermath of Gary’s death had warned him to look out for the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Was this one? The dreams that had plagued him the night before were unpleasant, but understandable. Everyone had bad dreams, didn’t they, especially after what he’d just seen? And the frequency of the dreams that had started in the summer had lessened in recent months. He’d mention them at his next meeting with Occupational Health, but he didn’t think it was worth requesting an earlier appointment.
Regardless, a nagging feeling in his gut wasn’t enough to warrant spending any more time on the death and so Warren decided that first thing in the morning, he’d follow Grayson’s instruction to close the case and pass it over to the coroner as a probable suicide. Then he could complete the paperwork so that he was ready for whatever came across his desk next.
With