A June of Ordinary Murders (38 page)

The lamp standards on both sides of the river were festooned with red, white and blue rosettes. A forest of Union Jacks fluttered from the pediment of the Four Courts. Most of the decorations had been put in place for the Jubilee itself, but now additional touches were being added for the visit. A group of workmen were draping a huge banner over the arches of the King's Bridge. Swallow could read the words, ‘GOD SAVE…' Loyal Dublin was preparing to greet the Queen's grandson.

They crossed the river at King's Bridge and turned west again past Park Gate. Another gang of workers was busy hanging red, white and blue bunting along the park railings in anticipation of the cavalcade to the Viceregal Lodge.

The driver slowed his pace once they reached Conyngham Road. The old coaching route was rutted and uneven. It would bring them directly to the village of Chapelizod and the open countryside beyond the Phoenix Park.

They passed the Chapelizod Gate. Beyond the park's boundary wall Swallow could see the copse of trees where the woman and the boy had been found a week ago. Instinctively he wanted to revisit the scene as was his habit in important crime investigations, but the more urgent task was to see if there was any substance to Mossop's theory.

St Brigid's Abbey was situated north of Chapelizod village on rising ground above the river. Swallow mentally noted the point at which they passed from the DMP's area of jurisdiction into that of the Royal Irish Constabulary.

The driver hauled on the reins, bringing the car to a stop outside a wrought-iron gate, surmounted by a cross and a metal plate embossed with the inscription ‘SISTERS OF ST BRIGID'.

Mossop stepped down from the vehicle and pulled on a bell set into the wall. After a minute a grille opened in the gate and an apparently disembodied female voice called out.

‘
Laus Deo…
Praise be to God. Who is it please?'

Mossop gave their identities and asked that they be admitted.

‘A moment, please,' the voice said crisply, as the metal grille was drawn shut.

One side of the high, metal gate opened noiselessly. A nun in a black and white habit appeared from behind the opened section, bowed slightly and pointed wordlessly along the tree-lined driveway. Swallow wondered at the physical capacity of the slight woman to draw the heavy gate open and shut.

St Brigid's Abbey, Swallow could see, was not a conventional abbey in the architectural sense. It was a Georgian house of middling size, undoubtedly once the residence of some wealthy grandee, with a panoramic view over the Liffey valley below.

Another nun appeared at the main door as Swallow and Mossop climbed the granite steps. She was a tall, angular woman of perhaps 40 years of age, with a fresh complexion and an intelligent face. A plain, silver cross hung on a chain around her neck.

‘I am Mother Mary Catherine. I am the Mother Prioress here,' she said, betraying no signal of either welcome or displeasure. Her accent hinted of the west of Ireland. ‘Please follow me.'

She led them into a parlour and signalled to them to sit at a polished, oval table topped with a vase of lilies. She seated herself at the opposite side. A brief flexing of her lower facial muscles was an unsuccessful attempt at a smile.

‘How may we be of assistance, gentlemen?'

Swallow showed his warrant card, turning it on the table in front of the Prioress.

‘I'm Detective Sergeant Swallow,' he told her, ‘and this is my colleague, Detective Officer Mossop. We work with the detective branch of the Metropolitan Police at Dublin Castle.'

The nun raised an eyebrow. ‘I believe we have not had the attentions of the Metropolitan Police before, Sergeant. On occasion we have contacts with the constabulary, for official purposes to do with the farm or sometimes when animals stray onto our land.'

Swallow was unsure if he and Mossop were being reminded that they were, geographically speaking, out of their jurisdiction. If they were, he chose to ignore it.

‘We're investigating the deaths of a woman in her twenties and a young child of perhaps 8 to 9 years, last week at a place not far from here.'

‘It's within our area of jurisdiction,' he added to forestall any challenge.

The Mother Prioress nodded, ceding the point, he reckoned.

‘We have some reason to believe that they could have visited you here or that they might be known here. May I ask if you or any member of your community would have had any recent contact with persons matching the description I have given?'

Swallow and Mossop could see anxiety in the nun's eyes. Her mouth tightened a fraction.

‘I see. Has there been an accident?'

‘No, unfortunately we're not dealing with an accident in this case,' Swallow said. ‘The woman and the child died very violently. Am I to take it that you have some knowledge of the victims that I have just described?'

She put her hand to her lips. They both saw that her fingers trembled a little.

‘I am afraid so, Sergeant,' she said haltingly after a moment. ‘I was beginning to be concerned when they did not return to us. And when we heard nothing from them after … what is it … almost 8 days? May I ask what happened?'

Swallow took a deep breath. He could sense Mossop tensing beside him in the chair.

‘I'm sorry, Mother Prioress, but what I have to tell you is very distressing.' He paused. ‘The woman and the child were shot dead in the Phoenix Park. We believe it happened sometime on the night of Thursday of last week or early on Friday morning – that would be June 16th or 17th.'

The nun bowed her head and blessed herself. ‘May the Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother have mercy on their souls.'

Her expression combined puzzlement and distress.

‘She was … very fearful. She was very nervous of leaving the abbey. I felt that she might have believed herself and the child to be in danger.'

‘I'm afraid that they were. In mortal danger, it's now clear. Did she say anything about that?'

‘She told me that someone was watching her on the tram from the city. I put it down to an over-active imagination.'

‘Again, I'm afraid it probably wasn't.'

‘But why … who would do such a thing? He was only a little child, a young boy. You will understand that in the abbey we hear very little of what happens in the outside world. I don't understand…'

‘These are questions to which we're trying to find answers, Mother Prioress,' Swallow responded. ‘I hope that you can help us, as I know you would wish to do.'

She drew herself together, folding her hands on her lap.

‘Of course, Mr Swallow. What can I do?'

‘At this time we're not sure even of the identities of the victims,' Swallow responded. ‘For a start, we need to know with certainty who they were, where they came from, why they were in Dublin and how they came to be staying here at St Brigid's.'

Mossop had drawn his notebook and a pencil from his pocket.

The Mother Prioress had composed herself.

‘She … the woman … her name was Louise Thomas – Mrs Thomas. And the little boy – her son – was called Richard. They were referred here by our sister house at Wavertree, near Liverpool. I received a letter from the Mother Abbess there … I can show it to you if you like … asking if we would accommodate them for some days while they came to visit relatives in Dublin. Naturally, I agreed to do so. That would be very much the tradition of our order, you understand.'

‘When did they arrive?'

‘I believe it was on Wednesday 15th – in the afternoon.'

‘Clearly they had left here by the Thursday night or Friday morning. Did they remain here all the time in between?'

‘Oh no, they went into the city on Wednesday evening after praying with us at Vespers. I believe they did not return until sometime on Wednesday night because I had to ask a sister to keep watch at the gate to admit them.'

‘Do you know how they travelled to the city or where they went?'

‘I believe they walked from here to the village at Chapelizod. Mrs Thomas told me they would take the tram that goes from Lucan village into the city. It passes through Chapelizod several times each day. That was before she thought that somebody was watching them, of course. I saw them walk down the avenue. Mrs Thomas was holding her little son by the hand. But I really have no idea where they went in Dublin.'

‘Did you notice how she was dressed?' Mossop asked. ‘Or was she carrying anything, a parcel perhaps, a bag?'

‘There is a very unusual aspect to this case,' Swallow added. ‘When the woman was found dead, she was wearing a man's clothing. In fact, we originally believed the victim to be a man.'

The Mother Prioress looked startled.

‘How extraordinary. I cannot say I ever saw Mrs Thomas dressed other than would be appropriate to her gender. But yes, perhaps when she left here on the Thursday, I do believe she had a parcel or package with her. I remember seeing her, as I said, holding the boy's hand and with a parcel, yes, a sizeable parcel, under her other arm.'

‘You said that the letter from your sister house in England indicated they were coming to visit relatives. Did you – or perhaps any of your community – have any conversation with Mrs Thomas about that, about whom they were to visit or where?'

‘We have rules about guests, Sergeant. We offer them shelter and sustenance and we hope they may desire to join with the community here in prayer during their visit. But we try not to pry or inquire too closely about their lives. Often their stories are very unhappy. Of course, if they wish for spiritual guidance, or if they wish to unburden themselves, there will always be a listening ear. Some of our more senior sisters are quite skilled in such matters.'

‘And I take it that Mrs Thomas was not one of those guests who wished to avail of such support?'

‘If she did, Sergeant, you will understand that I would not be at liberty to discuss it with you. But as it happens, no, she did not wish to engage in any dialogue beyond that required by ordinary politeness.'

Swallow smiled inwardly. Mother Mary Catherine was a woman who would not easily be moved from any position she might strike.

‘I understand. May I ask then, whether Mrs Thomas had any visitors or callers during her time spent here with you?'

‘Again, Sergeant, if she did, I would have to keep a confidence on the matter. But as it happens, the answer is no, she had no visitors or callers.'

Mossop looked up from his notebook.

‘Can you say what time Mrs Thomas and the boy left here on the Thursday?'

‘I think it was after the midday meal.'

‘Can you say how they were dressed? Could you describe what they were wearing?' Mossop asked.

‘I recall that Mrs Thomas wore a navy blue dress and a light coat. I suppose one would call it an outfit. It was very modest and becoming. And she had a rather smart blue-and-white hat. I recall that she did not seem to have any change of dress with her. She wore the same navy blue clothing throughout. As to the boy, I seem to remember some sort of suit. It was a dark brown, I think.'

Mossop turned a new page in his notebook.

‘You refer to the child, Mother Prioress, as Mrs Thomas's son,' Swallow said. ‘It's not an unreasonable supposition that the child was her son. But did you have any grounds other than supposition to take them for mother and child?'

‘Our sisters in Wavertree wrote to me of Mrs Thomas and her son. And I am certain she referred to him as such on a number of occasions here.'

‘I don't suppose the Abbey has the equivalent of a register or a guest book where your visitors give details of their address … that kind of thing?' Mossop inquired hopefully.

‘I'm afraid not.' The Mother Prioress smiled as if any reasonable person would consider the idea ridiculous.

‘How would you describe Mrs Thomas?' Swallow asked.

The Mother Prioress considered silently for a few moments.

‘She was somewhat melancholy, I would say. She came across as unhappy and anxious. I had the impression she was a worried, distressed person.

‘What might one infer about her background, her class, her general circumstances?'

‘She was politely mannered and reasonably well presented but I do not believe she was an educated person. I would think she might have been a servant, perhaps a superior servant. But you understand that I am only speculating in response to your question.'

The nun paused, searching for the rights words.

‘Her accent was unusual. I am no expert but it seemed close to what might be the accent of ordinary English people – as distinct from persons of rank. And it had traces of Irish or maybe Scottish in it too. The only other thing I can tell you is that both she and her son had been instructed in the Roman Catholic faith because they were entirely familiar with our prayers and our liturgy in church.'

Not a bad description, thought Swallow. If he could get so much detail in so few words from every detective he worked with he would not be unhappy.

‘There is one other thing that I feel I should add about Mrs Thomas,' she said quietly. ‘When the Mother Abbess wrote to us from Wavertree, asking that we accommodate Louise and the boy, she told me that the woman was troubled. She said she was not very stable, mentally, and that she could be very difficult to deal with. In fact, she said she was known to be physically aggressive on occasion.'

Swallow nodded.

‘You had no … incident of that kind while she was here at the convent, I assume? There was no encounter with anyone that could have led to such a tragic outcome?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘And you have no idea of anything that might have led to this crime? There is nothing you can tell us that might help to explain why someone would have murdered Mrs Thomas and the child?'

‘No, Sergeant. If there were, and if I could tell you, I would. I can only repeat that she seemed to be extremely apprehensive and fearful.'