A Journal of Sin (17 page)

Towards the end of December 2008, his tone changed. The uniform handwriting wavered to an inconsistent script, with letters no longer sitting on the lines and afterthoughts written horizontally on the edge of the page:

‘The guilt is too much. I know God will judge him, but should he hurt another child, how could I forgive myself knowing I could have done more. I’ve got to stop this; how can Bishop Foster say silence is my divine duty? It is distressing that someone of such influence and prestige would wield it in such a horrific way. I must break the sacramental seal and take whatever consequences come my way.’

Influence and prestige. It was the only sentence that gave any hint as to who he was talking about. Influence, prestige and being around back in the nineties brought to mind only one person. Tom. The Sunbury of fifteen years ago may have been a very different place, and what Father Michael had considered influence and prestige may differ from her take on it. Still, she knew what her gut told her.

The rest of the book was illegible. Pressure on the pen had caused too much ink to flow, spoiling the shape of letters and turning the words to indecipherable pools of blue. It had all become too much. He’d made his decision and Sarah was certain that if she could find this Unrepentant Man, she would find Father Michael’s killer.

ELEVEN

Sarah visited Suzanne the following morning. Her son’s Toy Story duvet was pulled up to his neck. He lay on the sofa sleeping soundly. His chubby cheeks lacked colour. The room lounge smelt of Lemsip and Vick’s VapoRub.

‘He’s not been well,’ said Suzanne. ‘Just give me two minutes and I’ll be with you.’ Suzanne touched his forehead and tided away the medicine bottles.

‘Take your time. What’s his name?’

‘William. Billy. He’s five this year. I still worry whenever he gets sick.’

‘I’m not sure that ever goes. I’ve got two girls, twins, and I’ll be worrying about them well into adulthood.’

‘Twins, that’s quite a blessing.’ Suzanne perched on the sofa’s arm and pressed a damp cloth to Billy’s head.

‘Sometimes.’ They smiled. Suzanne refilled Billy’s water, making sure it stayed cool, and tucked him in a little tighter.

‘Let’s go upstairs, I don’t want to wake him.’

They walked along the landing to the master bedroom. Sarah felt the plush red carpet under her bare feet. The large, four-poster bed on the other side of the room, with white, gold-tipped columns and a veil falling on each side, would have looked at home in an Arabian Nights-themed hotel. The closest Sarah had come to a themed hotel was a weekend at Alton Towers whilst she was dating Mark. She imagined Suzanne would fly to Dubai for the same effect.

‘Nice bedroom.’

‘Thanks, I designed it myself. The whole house in fact. I was far more passionate about the design than I have been about anything I’ve done since living in it.’ Design wasn’t something Sarah really considered at her house. She had a few nice travel photos – lots of the family – and the rooms were colour co-ordinated to a point. Nice, simple and homely. Suzanne’s was more of a show home; a little too clean and lacking that comfortable lived-in feel.

‘Sorry for coming round like this, I just have a small favour to ask really.’ Suzanne stayed quiet, so Sarah continued. ‘It’s about John.’ She raised her eyebrow and smiled from the side of her mouth. ‘What? You two fall out?’

‘We never really fell in. I don’t know what he’s been telling people, but we’re not, it wasn’t, well, you know.’

‘I think I do. He’s in a bad way.’

‘A bad way?’ Her concerned look suggested they hadn’t completely fallen out. ‘What happened?’

‘He got into a fight. With Sean.’

‘Jesus.’ She rolled her eyes and walked to the other side of the bed. She plumped the pillows and straightened the already neat bedspread.

‘He’s drinking a lot too; I was wondering if you could just check in on him from time to time? He doesn’t seem to know many people around here and he said he was … friendly, with you.’

Suzanne slowly shook her head, reluctantly refusing the unwelcome idea. ‘We’re not really friendly. Sean being involved will just bring hassle to my door. Hassle I don’t need. My husband’s away and Billy is sick; it’ll just be too much. John’s – John’s a nice guy, I feel sorry for him, I do, but I can’t help you, I’m sorry.’

It wasn’t the response Sarah had hoped for. His behaviour had degraded over the past few days and squaring up to her was a sure sign he needed help. Any support would be good, but he didn’t have anyone out here, anyone that was interested in helping. Suzanne was the only person she could ask. She was asking Suzanne to do something she wasn’t willing to herself, but with his growing anger about the journals and his control of the body, it was best she kept her distance for now. If he tampered with it – or worse disposed of it – she may never be able to prove the case, and it was more than likely her career would be over. Maybe he had friends back in the city and once the electricity was back on he’d make contact with someone, anyone – an old workmate, a family member – and at least he’d have someone to talk to. She hadn’t helped his situation by asking so much of him.

‘Actually, could you ask him to keep away from me? I don’t want anything formal; if you could just tell him not to contact me, I’d really appreciate it.’

‘Is there something I’m missing?’

‘Like I said, I just don’t need the hassle.’

‘From Sean? I could have a word with him instead?’ Spending too much time refereeing their love triangle would only lead to even fewer hours of shuteye, but if it meant preventing anyone else having their face rearranged, she’d happily throw a few stern words Sean’s way.

‘No, no, don’t talk to him. He’s not worth provoking. Keeping John away should stop this week’s little outburst.’

‘His little outburst may have left John with a fractured cheek and bruised ribs. I take it he’s done this sort of thing before?’ John didn’t want her intervening and now Suzanne suggested staying away as well. Nothing made her want to do something more than being told not to.

‘He had a reputation years ago as a violent drunk. Nothing that’ll be on your records. He used to drink, have a punch-up and sleep it off. We weren’t friends as such, but I knew of him. Sean was the kind of guy everyone knew of, but few were friends with.’

‘Is he likely to harm you?’

‘I don’t know. You never really know, I suppose. I just don’t want to take that risk.’

Suzanne came back to the nearside of the bed, hitched the veil on the pole and sat down on the lilac duvet.

‘What’s all this about, Suzanne?’ Sarah needed some straight answers.

‘It’s about me, I expect. Sean’s got a thing for me. He’s fine most of the time, but every so often he gets jealous. He thinks we’ll be a couple one day, but that’s just not going to happen. It’s all my fault. If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret? I mean from everyone, no police record, nothing?’

‘Sure.’ She meant it this time. Asking Sean about the book may have, in part, led to John’s assault. The Suzanne situation may have been the focus of his anger, but knowing John told Sarah he’d stolen something from a church couldn’t have helped his mood. Talking to John in Sally’s bathroom had reminded her how important each decision was and how the repercussions affected more than just her career; they affected everyone around her.

Suzanne patted the bed. ‘Take a seat. Sean and I had a very short-term arrangement.’

‘Arrangement?’ Arrangement was an odd term. Despite never having had one, Sarah was sure words like fling and liaison were still in use. Maybe not liaison – that was saved for her favourite erotic fiction authors – but arrangement certainly wasn’t the standard euphemism. There was a long pause before she answered, one Sarah didn’t intend to break. Suzanne made sure the door was closed.

‘I, a while back, I had a few male friends. I mean, I slept with men. For money.’ She paused; Sarah stayed quiet, waiting for her to fill the silence her revelation created. ‘It’s not easy to admit. I wasn’t in a good place, my marriage may as well have been a sham and all I wanted was a little comfort. I just looked for it in the wrong place. I can see it now, when I look back, but back then it seemed like a great idea. I guess we all have times in our lives we feel that way about, right?’

‘It wasn’t for the money, as you may have guessed.’ She glanced around the room, highlighting the comfortable wealth in which she lived. ‘Sean was one of them; he hasn’t left me alone since. He’s convinced there was more to it than there was. He’s fine most of the time, but now and again feels the need to give me a torrent of abuse.’

Sarah struggled to form a response. Part of her wanted to read Suzanne the moral riot act; the rest reminded her she was acting in a professional capacity and not out for dinner with the girls. It wasn’t the prostitution she frowned upon. There were many ways to live and, as long as someone was making a genuinely free choice to do something, they were more than entitled to do it. She didn’t like the cheating, assuming Suzanne’s husband was none the wiser. So far, Sunbury’s secrets had shown her anything was possible.

‘Look, before you start, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a terrible person, I’m a bad mother, or whatever. I don’t do it anymore and the thought of it makes me sick. But that’s the Sean story, and that’s why he won’t leave me alone. Like I said, none of this goes on record. I’ve had enough people telling me how they think I should live.’

‘I’m not going to lecture you, but you should consider making a report about Sean, just in case he decides to do something stupid.’

‘It sounds like he already has. I’ll be back up in a second.’ She went downstairs to check on Billy. Sarah lay back on the bed. The mattress was too soft; she preferred firmer support. She wondered what it would be like not to have to worry about money. Mark always talked about making millions. He’d quit work in favour of launching a start-up and was very driven about being in the seven-figure club. Too much money would be a burden, she thought. Once you hit a comfortable amount, adding to it stops making a difference.

‘Fancy a nap?’ She hadn’t heard Suzanne come back into the room.

‘Sorry, I was just –’

‘It’s okay, you’ve probably had a rough week.’

‘It’s been tough on everyone. Michael was well loved.’ Sarah sat back up and adjusted her blue blouse, feeling a little embarrassed about being caught lounging on the luxury bed. ‘He still sleeping soundly?’

‘Thankfully. It’s the quietest he’s been.’ She sat down next to Sarah and the bed bounced.

‘Did you know Father Michael well?’

‘We didn’t get along. I feel bad saying it now that he’s gone, but he had a habit of preaching about my, you know.’

‘He knew about? Your male friends?’ It was the politest thing she’d heard men who use prostitutes called. It suggested a far gentler situation than the sad, and often dangerous, reality.

‘He’d come around here from time to time. At first, I let him in. You can imagine what he said. Talked about the virtues of marriage and suchlike. So, yeah, we didn’t get on. Not enough to kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Suzanne touched Sarah’s thigh and laughed. ‘It’s easy to forget you’re a police woman.’ There’d been a few occasions this week when she’d wished she could, too. ‘Can I ask you something? I heard a rumour. A rumour he’d been writing things down. Things people told him. Is that true?’

‘I can’t talk about what is or isn’t evidence in the case, I’m afraid.’ The journals were a terribly kept secret. Suzanne, Sean and John: all tied up in a violent love triangle and all taking an interest in the musings of a man they claimed to dislike.

‘Oh. It’s just, if he did, if he was, would I be able to read them?’

‘Definitely not.’ This needed to stop now. If she’d dealt with John properly, hadn’t given him the responsibility of the body, he may not have felt so entitled to her returning the favour. Give Suzanne an inch now and she may try and take a mile later.

Suzanne continued undeterred. ‘What if it was something that could be detrimental to me or my family?’

‘What do you think could affect your family?’ Word had got out. There was no way of knowing who else knew and how the rumour mill had churned out the story. Rumours rarely stayed the same as they started; they sprouted branches and tangents as one person passed them on to the next. Eventually, the information could become distorted and have little resemblance to the facts. Suzanne was close to the source. John knew the facts; he was there when the books were found. Those few seconds he spent reading one reignited his emotional trauma. Sean’s book could say anything. If Suzanne had heard it from him, a man who was infatuated with her and willing to brutally assault any man likely to come between them, who knew what he’d said, or even altered, to get her attention.

‘If there’s a trial, would something like that be read out?’

‘Suzanne, look, I can’t say anything. If I could, I would.’ Denying it was starting to sound ridiculous, but it was the best way to not have to make any more promises.

‘Will Billy find out anything about me? Trials bring everything out into the open don’t they? If there’s anything in there about me, would it be in the news?’

‘It’s impossible to say what’s going to happen.’ Being a hard-ass about it was tougher than she thought. Suzanne would be the envy of most people. A charmed life only to those who didn’t look so deep; the money, the beautiful home, the young family. Underneath, she worried about being accepted, whether she was good enough and her child, the same as anyone else would. Her lifestyle added a shine that made it harder to see the grime underneath, but it was still there, if anyone kept looking long enough to see it. Sarah’s short, sharp sentences were deliberately curt, said in a way that gave little recourse for conversation or discussion. She’d spoken like that to numerous drunks on the weekend late shift: shut up and get in the van. Some people only responded to that kind of direction. Suzanne wasn’t one of those. She wasn’t a thug or a belligerent protester. She was a mother, concerned that details of her past, details that were nobody’s business but hers, would be laid out for all to see. It wasn’t a selfish request; she put her son first. Billy was young now, but the ’Net never forgets.