Holy Death

Chapter 3

Three

From the street, St Frank’s looked like a church that had seen better days. The iron roof was spotted with rust and the large front door badly needed a fresh coat of paint. Even the stained glass windows, bathed in late morning sunlight, had no sparkle. The driveway to the car park at the rear of the building looked more like a track through a field of grass than a roadway. The car park itself, which at some point in time had been a paved surface, needed some serious attention from a lawn mower as well. The residence located across the car park from the old church building appeared to be in a similar state of dilapidation.

A patrol car, a silver Ford sedan, and a white van were parked adjacent to the house. A faded blue minibus, with St Frank’s painted on its doors, was parked outside the rear door of the old church building.

Carl’s favourite uniformed officer, PC Jane Priest, was waiting for them at the line of crime scene tape. He’d had a short, lust fired affair with her the year Peter James had been shot; before DS Nina Strong had joined his team and permanently changed his perspective on relationships.

‘Morning, Inspector, and congratulations, Sergeant,’ said PC Priest, as Carl and Harry approached her.

‘Thanks,’ said Harry.

‘Well, it’s good to see we still have one living priest,’ said Carl. ‘How are you, Jane? Haven’t seen you for a while.’

‘First day back from leave. Spent three weeks hiking in New Zealand with a couple of friends.’

‘What’s it like over there? I hear it’s a great place for hiking.’

‘We walked all over the South Island. The scenery is fantastic. It’s even better in real life than what you’d expect from seeing Lord of the Rings.’

‘That sounds like a ringing endorsement. I’d love to see it, if I can persuade Nina to take me there,’ said Carl. ‘She likes to go to foreign places.’

‘I’ll give her the hard sell when I catch up with her,’ said PC Priest. ‘I’m supposed to be having coffee with her tomorrow.’

Carl was continually amazed at how the women in his life seemed to get on together. He didn’t know too many men who were still friends after having had affairs with the same woman.

‘Who’s here?’ asked Carl, switching back to work mode.

‘Dr Worthington, from the pathologist’s office, and Sgt Lang’s team from Forensics. The body is just inside that door there.’ PC Priest pointed to the door in the side of the house facing the car park.

‘Who found the body?’ asked Carl.

‘Robert Sturm. He’s the manager of St Frank’s Shelter. He’s given us a statement.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Over there.’ She pointed to the back of the church.

‘Harry, let’s go and see what Dr Worthington has for us, and then we can have a chat with Sturm.’

PC Priest spoke into the radio clipped to her vest to let her partner know they were approaching the house, and lifted the tape for them. Carl and Harry walked along the blue plastic sheeting leading to the door. As they approached, the door opened and Emma Worthington, a tall woman in her fifties, with twenty-five years’ experience in crime scene investigating as a pathologist, came out to meet them. One thing Carl liked about Emma was her thoroughness. Not much got past her attention to detail.

‘Ah, Carl, wasn’t expecting to see you here. Heard you’d gone to Gladesview,’ said Emma.

‘We’ll have to wait for Mike to do his thing on that one. Body looked char-grilled to me. No recognisable features, so he’s got some work to do before we’ll know for sure who it is, and if he died in the fire or before.’

‘What makes you think there might be a possibility of before?’ asked Emma.

‘The fire investigator reckons someone may have used the window of the room where they found the body to enter the building,’ said Carl. ‘What have we got here?’

‘A very dead Fr Maurice Skinner. Broken neck. Pretty forceful snap, I’d say. Nothing accidental about it, by the look of it.’

‘How long’s he been dead?’

‘That’s always an educated guess, Carl, as you know, but I’d say less than twelve hours, and no science involved in working that out either.’ Emma smiled. ‘The guy that found the body told us he’d been talking with Fr Skinner up to around ten last night. He discovered the body around nine thirty this morning. Simple mathematics.’

‘The Forensics’ boys having any luck?’ asked Carl.

Dr Worthington walked over to the door. ‘Dean, do you want to come out and say hello to DI West and the newly minted Sgt Fuller?’ She smiled in Harry’s direction. ‘I hear you boys were not on your best behaviour last night.’

‘Last time I go drinking with your boss,’ said Harry.

Emma smiled. Harry wasn’t the only one Mike Jonas had drunk under the table.

Sgt Dean Lang appeared in the doorway, camera in hand. ‘Morning, Inspector. Harry.’

‘I know it’s early days, Dean, but what’s your scene looking like?’ said Carl.

‘I don’t think this place has been cleaned since Adam was a boy, Inspector. We’ve got enough stuff in this carpet to set up a museum. What might be of interest to you though is that set of muddy footprints on those paving stones.’ He pointed to the stones that abutted the side of the house. ‘See how it looks like someone was standing there, and then walked along the wall towards the door? There’s some of that mud on the carpet, just inside the door.’

Carl looked at the track of muddy footprints and wondered just how much care, if any, the killer had taken to conceal his identity.

‘So, are you telling me it will be some time before we have anything that might identify our killer, apart from muddy shoes?’

‘I reckon we’ll have enough material to identify anybody who has entered this place in the last ten years. Might make it a bit of a challenge finding anything belonging to your killer, Inspector, but when you do find him, I can tell you he’ll have big feet, going by the size of those footprints.’

Carl took another look at the trail of mud, and agreed with the sergeant’s assessment.

Harry made a note on his iPad.

‘Where’s the body?’ asked Carl.

Sgt Lang stepped out of the doorway. The body of Fr Skinner lay face down on the carpet just beyond the edge of the open door. ‘Looks like he was killed right here, either answering the door or as he was going in when he arrived home last night’ said Sgt Lang. ‘And, that security light up there,’ he pointed above his head, ‘which has a heat activated switch, is not operational, so it’s possible the killer was waiting here in the shadows when he got home from his chat with his mate across the paddock.’

‘Thanks, Dean.’ Carl turned to Dr Worthington ‘If those footprints belong to our killer, we might get lucky,’ said Carl. ‘Doesn’t look like he’s gone to much trouble to hide his tracks. Who knows what else he’s left behind for Dean to find.’

‘I’ll examine the bruising around the neck when I do the post-mortem but I wouldn’t hold my breath. It’s not like he squeezed, so there may not be any impressions we can use,’ said Dr Worthington.

‘Okay, Emma. We’ll leave you to it and go and see what Mr Sturm has to say for himself.’

Carl and Harry walked across the car park and knocked on the door at the back of the old church.

The door was opened by an overweight, middle-aged man with cropped grey hair, wearing a green knitted sweater over a white shirt, black trousers and very big, shiny black shoes.

‘Robert Sturm?’ asked Carl, holding out his badge.

‘Yes.’

‘Detective Inspector Carl West, and this is Detective Sergeant Harry Fuller. Do you mind if we come in?’

‘No, no. I’ve been expecting you. Come in. Come in. Can I get you a coffee or a tea?’

‘I could use a coffee,’ said Harry.

‘Inspector?’

‘Coffee, thanks.’

Carl looked around the kitchen they were ushered into. The interior of the kitchen didn’t match the exterior of the building. It was all stainless steel appliances and sleek marble bench tops. The money spent on renovations had obviously been spent on fitting out the interior of the building.

When Robert had made coffee and offered them a slice of carrot cake, they sat at the white top table to talk, in a room filled with the aroma of freshly made coffee and cake. Harry placed his iPad mini on the table next to the plate holding his piece of cake.

‘What exactly goes on here, Mr Sturm?’ asked Carl.

‘St Frank’s is a halfway house, of sorts,’ said Robert. ‘It was set up by Maurice when he retired as prison chaplain, ten years ago this month.’

‘Why did you say of sorts?’ asked Harry, before sampling the cake.

‘Well, we don’t take just anyone. Maurice wanted to help older men who had served long prison terms. As you’d no doubt appreciate, some of them find it extremely difficult getting back into society and almost impossible to obtain any meaningful employment. A lot of them end up reoffending for the sole purpose of going back inside, where everything is familiar.’

Carl nodded. He’d heard that story several times over the years.

‘How many residents do you have at any one time?’ asked Carl, taking a bite of the carrot cake and wondering who had made it. It tasted even better than the home-made carrot cake he bought at Lena’s, his favourite lunch-time eating place in the city.

‘We’re licensed for twelve, which is a little ironic when you think about them being housed in an old Catholic church,’ said Robert.

Carl hoped Harry would have some idea what that was supposed to mean.

‘This is nice cake,’ said Carl. ‘Who’s the cook?’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, Inspector. It’s one of my mother’s recipes. As you can see,’ he patted his paunch, ‘I’m a man who enjoys his food.’

Carl smiled. Robert Sturm reminded him of the rotund Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood TV series he had watched as a boy.

‘So, Mr Sturm, what’s your role here?’ asked Carl.

‘St Frank’s is a joint venture of the Church and the State, Inspector. The Church provides the buildings and the personnel to run the place, and the State provides the residents. The State also provided the money to convert the old church into a hostel with independent living units, and this residence.’ He waved his right hand around the room they were in. ‘I’m the live-in supervisor, and Maurice was the administrator and chaplain to the men.’

‘Where does the money to cover operating expenses come from?’ asked Harry.

‘The residents pay a nominal rent for their units and meet most of their own living expenses. Maurice and I get stipends. Maurice got his from the diocese, like any other priest, and I’m a Christian Brother. We meet our other expenses through fund-raising and donations.’

‘Are you fund-raising to repair the roof?’ asked Harry.

‘We were until last week, but then a local builder offered to replace the roof as part of a government sponsored training activity for his apprentices, and Correctional Services has agreed to send a community work order group around to paint the outside of the building, once the new roof is on,’ said Robert, with a smile. ‘All we have to do is find the paint. It’ll be nice living in a building that looks like somebody loves it, for a change.’

Carl was starting to warm to Robert Sturm.

‘How long do most of your residents stay?’ asked Carl.

‘Most stay around six months. Sometimes it takes a bit longer to find them suitable accommodation.’

‘Do any of them find employment?’

‘Most of them end up on the age pension, Inspector. We try to get the younger ones back into the workforce but it’s not easy. Generally, they start off in our gardening team to get used to a work routine, and then we help them negotiate their way through the employment services. We’ve managed to get quite a few back into the work force over the ten years we’ve been here.’

‘Where does this gardening team work?’ asked Harry.

‘Mostly on Church properties, Sergeant, under the supervision of a qualified gardener. You’ve probably seen some of them working on the gardens around the cathedral, and they look after gardens in several parishes. And, we have the contract for maintaining the gardens at Gladesview House, the priests’ retirement home. The boys really like working there.’

‘We’ve just come from there, actually,’ said Carl.

Robert’s hands went to his face. ‘Dreadful business. Absolutely dreadful. I don’t understand why anybody would want to burn down an old folks’ home. Bit of a strange coincidence though, don’t you think, Inspector?’

Carl’s blank look prompted Robert to continue. ‘I just heard on the radio that they think Bishop Knight died in the fire. Maurice and Bishop Knight were great mates. They were at the seminary together. In fact, they were ordained on the same day, and now it looks like they’ve gone off to heaven together.’

‘Well, I guess that brings us to why we’re here, Mr Sturm. I know you’ve already made a statement, but can you walk us through from when you last saw Fr Skinner and when you found his body this morning?’ said Carl.

Robert looked at his hands. Carl noted that Robert Sturm had large hands.

‘He was sitting where you’re sitting, Inspector, right up to around ten o’clock last night. He came over most nights for a cup of tea and a chin wag before he went to bed. Anyway, last night he was pretty worked up. He’d been to see the bishop during the day to ask, beg actually, to be allowed to stay on after his birthday. The bishop refused. Ordered him to pack up and move into Gladesview, according to Maurice.’

‘Why wasn’t he allowed to stay here?’ asked Harry.

‘Seventy-five is the compulsory retirement age for priests, Sergeant. Maurice reckoned he had another good ten years in him. The bishop saw it otherwise.’

‘How was he when he left you?’ asked Carl.

‘He’d calmed down a bit but he was still fuming. He knew there was nothing he could do but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. It wasn’t so much that he had to retire. He was fretting over who would replace him. It’s not like the bishop has anyone else to send here in his place.’

‘What did you do after he left?’ asked Carl.

‘I went in to watch the late news in the common room with a couple of the residents.’

‘Did you hear anything after he’d left?’

‘Inspector, when these old guys watch TV they have the sound up pretty loud. Anything could have happened over at Maurice’s place without me hearing it.’

‘So, what happened this morning?’

‘I went over to see if Maurice was okay when I got back from driving the boys to work. That was just after nine o’clock. His car was gone, so I thought he must have gone out. I was about to come back here when I noticed the door off the patio was open. I thought he must have forgotten to close it properly behind him. Anyway, when I went to close the door I found him lying on the floor. When I touched him he was cold, so I knew right away he was dead. At first I thought he must have had a heart attack or something. Then I realised his neck didn’t look right. That’s when I called you guys.’

Robert looked at Carl. ‘You know, Inspector, I’ve known Maurice for twenty years. He devoted his life to helping people who made mistakes and ended up in prison. I don’t think he deserved to die like that. I hope you catch the bastard that did this.’

Carl waited a couple of moments before asking, ‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?’

Robert Sturm moved his head slowly from side to side. ‘Not the slightest. To be honest, I’ve only ever heard people thanking him for what he’d done for them. As far as I know, Inspector, the only person Maurice regarded as an enemy was the bishop, and I can’t imagine Bishop Kerry being a killer.’

Carl took out one of his cards. ‘Thanks, Mr Sturm. If you think of anything, you can always get me on this number. By the way, did you give a description of Fr Skinner’s car in your statement?’

‘Yes, Inspector. I guess the killer didn’t want to walk home. Can’t think of any other reason why anyone would’ve taken Maurice’s old bomb.’

‘Would he have had to drive past here?’ asked Harry.

‘No, the front of Maurice’s place opens into Austin Street. He could have gone out that way.’

‘What time do your residents usually get back for the day?’ asked Carl. ‘We’ll need to talk to them.’

‘I’ll be collecting the gardening team at three thirty. We should be back here by four. The others are usually back before five these days. They don’t like to stay out after dark,’ said Robert.

Carl shook hands with Robert Sturm and thanked him for his help.

As Carl and Harry walked back across the car park to the priest’s residence, the coroner’s van arrived to collect the body. They waited for the body to be loaded before suiting up in their protective clothing to search the house.

The carpet in the entrance hall may have needed some attention but the rest of the house was relatively clean. The room Fr Skinner had used as an office was neat and tidy. There were no papers on the ancient desk but there was a new looking iMac computer. The combination of ancient furniture and high tech equipment made Carl think of his own office.

Harry touched the mouse with his latex enclosed hand. The screen came to life.

‘I wonder what his password is?’ said Carl.

Harry opened the top drawer of the desk and picked up a faded blue card with two words written on it. Father and Forgiveness.

Harry typed Forgiveness into the password field for the user listed as Father, and the screen opened to a desktop crammed with icons, on a background that he recognised as a photograph of the gardens at Gladesview House.

While Carl looked through the rooms of the house, Harry systematically worked his way through the files on the priest’s computer. It was obvious from the number of photographs stored on the hard drive that Fr Skinner had been a keen photographer, with a penchant for landscapes and old buildings. After he had opened files in several folders, Harry concluded that the priest had used the computer for both his personal interests and for performing the administrative duties associated with running St Frank’s and organising fund-raising events.

‘Harry, come and take a look at this.’

Harry followed the sounds of Carl looking through a room to a bedroom at the front of the house. A large double bed took up most of the floor space and there was a mirrored wardrobe attached to the wall opposite the entrance of an en-suite bathroom. The bed was made, but the covers were dusty to the touch.

‘Take a look in there, Harry.’ Carl pointed to the wardrobe.

Harry slid one of the mirrored doors along its track. The wardrobe was full of women’s clothing. The floor was littered with shoes and handbags covered in a thin layer of dust.

‘The en-suite’s got women’s stuff in it as well,’ said Carl.

‘It doesn’t look like anyone’s used this room for a while,’ said Harry.

‘The room next door has a single bed that looks like it’s been slept in recently,’ said Carl, ‘and a wardrobe with what appears to be the priest’s clothes. I’d wager he’s been sleeping in there in recent days.’

‘I thought Catholic priests were supposed to be celibate or have they changed the rules?’ said Harry.

‘Not as far as I know,’ said Carl. ‘Something to ask Charlie when we see him.’

‘Maybe he had a live-in housekeeper,’ said Harry.

‘Looks like she hasn’t been home for a while,’ said Carl. ‘What did you find on that computer?’

‘Files about St Frank’s, details of fund-raising events, heaps of photos, a few letters.’

‘What are the photos of? Not little boys, I hope. God, I hope we aren’t going there.’

‘I haven’t looked at all of them yet but he seems to have had an interest in landscapes and old buildings. Some of his photos are pretty good, they look like they were taken by a professional. The few photos of people I looked at appear to be of old men, so I guess he kept a record of who passed through St Frank’s.’

‘That could be handy. Get Dean to take a copy of the hard drive so we don’t have to lug that iMac into the office.’

Harry left to speak to Sgt Lang.

Carl took another look inside the wardrobe. The style of the dresses didn’t look anything like the outfits Nina wore. They reminded him of the clothes his grandmother had worn.

He wondered just what they were going to unearth, as they peered into the life of the priest in their efforts to find his killer.