Something Evil Comes Page 15

  ‘We’ll stand.’

  He paced as Corrigan followed Hanson to a wall display of local art. At the sound of a door opening they turned. A tall man in his mid-thirties in black jeans and a black polo neck sweater was coming inside. He walked towards them and Hanson got an immediate shock of recognition. Judging by her colleagues’ faces, so had they. It was the priest who had swung the incense burner at St Bartholomew’s church. He glanced at the identification Watts was holding up. ‘Detective Sergeant Watts. You were at our re-consecration service.’ He nodded at Corrigan and Hanson. ‘So were your colleagues. I’m Jeremy Fellowes, deacon at St Bartholomew’s.’

  ‘What’s your connection to this One Day drugs set-up?’ demanded Watts.

  Fellowes gave him a calm smile. ‘It’s my responsibility. I organise and run it.’

  Hanson pictured the board in UCU, the information put there by Corrigan of details gained from Father Delaney including Fellowes’ name.

  Watts’s eyes narrowed. ‘How come you and the church are involved in it?’

  ‘St Bartholomew’s Church takes its social and community responsibilities extremely seriously,’ said Fellowes. ‘It does a considerable amount of outreach work. It’s my job as deacon to run the One Day drug support group.’

  ‘We need to talk to you,’ said Watts. ‘Is there anywhere more private than this?’

  Fellowes looked untroubled by the request. ‘Of course. The group attendees have left now. They come and go via a door on the other side of the courtyard to avoid the scrutiny and judgement they inevitably anticipate due to their offences. If you’ll follow me?’

  They did, Hanson suppressing a clamour of questions inside her head, hoping that this positive-looking man was about to provide some answers. He led them inside a small building, across the main room, its chairs neatly stacked, to a much smaller one Fellowes indicated was his office. He turned to them. ‘I hope your being here isn’t about any of the attendees of our group?’

  Watts sidestepped the question. ‘You work at St Bartholomew’s Church.’

  Fellowes nodded. ‘You know I do. I just confirmed it.’

  Hanson saw Watts’s face heat up. ‘You also know we’re investigating the remains found in the church’s crypt.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at each of them. ‘But I don’t understand why you appear to be rather annoyed, Detective Sergeant—’

  ‘Then I’ll spell it out for you! One, you know the remains have been identified as those of Matthew Flynn. Two, we know that when he was fifteen he was given a caution for drug possession, following which he attended this group, and three, you and Father Delaney both know about one and two and neither he nor you said a word to us about it! If you need a fourth reason why I’m “annoyed”, we had to find out from Social Services that Matthew Flynn came here!’

  The deacon gazed back at him, unperturbed. ‘Father Delaney has not discussed this matter with me. I suggest you go to him for an explanation as to why he did not mention it. I didn’t do so because the name meant nothing to me.’

  Watts’s face was incendiary. ‘How long have you been running this One Day?’

  Fellowes thought about it. ‘It would be about six years now.’

  ‘Right! So, you do remember Matthew Flynn.’

  ‘No.’

  Watts stared at him, his colour deepening. Hanson intervened. ‘As DS Watts has indicated we have reliable information that Matthew Flynn attended the group you run here.’

  The deacon gave her a patient look. ‘I don’t doubt what you’re saying but I run two groups per week here, with approximately ten attendees in each. That amounts to a lot of young people over the years.’

  ‘Are they all adolescents?’ she asked.

  ‘The age range is from sixteen to nineteen.’

  ‘Matthew Flynn was fifteen, sir,’ said Corrigan.

  ‘If he received his caution at fifteen, it’s likely that by the time we were able to provide a place for him here he would have been approaching sixteen.’

  Watts shot the deacon a disgruntled look. ‘You keep records of whoever comes here?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What information do you record?’

  ‘Name, age, offence details, attendance at One Day, progress made—’

  ‘Show us all the records you’ve got going back five years.’

  The deacon stood, taking keys from his jeans pocket. They watched him go to a large metal cupboard in one corner of the room, unlock it, look along the contents of several shelves then select a box file. He brought it to them, placing it on a nearby table.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Watts, looking no happier than he had since the conversation began. ‘Do you recognise the name Callum Foley?’

  Hanson caught a glimpse of something in the deacon’s eyes. ‘Callum Foley … Now that name does sound familiar but I can’t say why. Who is he?’

  Watts jabbed a thick forefinger at the box file. ‘If he was part of the same group as Matthew Flynn, his details will be in that?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  Watts hefted the box file. ‘Don’t let us hold you up. After we’ve read through this lot, we’ll have more questions.’

  As Fellowes walked to the door Hanson followed him. ‘Wait. I recall Father Delaney mentioning a second deacon. Does he have any involvement with the drug groups?’

  He looked at her, his face suddenly unreadable. ‘You’re referring to Richard Burns. He’s due back in a couple of days but he’s had no involvement in One Day.’

  Hanson nodded, her eyes on his. ‘Thank you.’ It had been the merest shadow behind Fellowes’ otherwise candid face but Hanson made a mental note of it.

  They each took paper records from the box file. Hanson read the neat, handwritten records, looking for something which might relate to their case, something which would cause a tightening inside her chest, that whizz-bang of neurones firing and coming together inside her head. She reached the last sheet, read it and sat back. Nothing. A quick glance at her two colleagues told a similar story.

  ‘There’s a few more here,’ said Watts, passing them across the table. She took some, read more neatly written lines. The impression she now had of ‘One Day’ was of a well-run group with defined objectives and a programme of skill-building designed to help young attendees avoid drug-taking in the future. On the last but one sheet she found the first reference to Matthew Flynn. She checked the date: July, some five years previous. She ran her finger along the close-written line to the name of the organisation or individual responsible for his referral.

  ‘Guess who referred Matthew to the One Day group.’ Her colleagues looked up. ‘His father. Brad Flynn.’

  Watts took the sheet from her. ‘The same Brad Flynn who didn’t take his son’s arrest and caution seriously and never mentioned St Bartholomew’s or this group to us.’

  ‘Apparently so. Matthew doesn’t seem to have attended that often.’

  ‘I’ve found Callum Foley,’ said Corrigan, holding up a sheet. ‘He attended just four of the twelve sessions on offer.’ He read on. ‘He dropped out, which, it says here “was not unexpected, given that he had formed a friendship with another group member, despite the usual advice to attendees not to do so”.’ He looked up. ‘No award for guessing who that was.’

  ‘Matthew Flynn,’ said Hanson. ‘Their limited attendance record, plus the intervening years, could explain why Fellowes didn’t recall either of them.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Watts.

  Corrigan turned a page. ‘It says here both Flynn and Foley were last seen outside this building on a day they were due to attend a group meeting but they never came inside. This was in September of that year.’

  ‘They obviously formed a friendship here and five years later we know that Callum Foley had an inverted crucifix tattoo and that he accompanied Matthew Flynn to get something similar done,’ said Hanson.

  ‘They must have hit it off from the start,’ said Watts. ‘Maybe the deacon can
fill us in, once we remind him of what’s in these records. I want to see Delaney as well. He’s got some explaining to do.’

  Hanson’s phone buzzed. She reached for it. ‘Hi Julian.’

  ‘Kate, I’m at uni and I need some help.’

  ‘I’ll be back around four thirty.’

  ‘I need to see you now.’

  She traced an index finger over the fine line between her brows. It wasn’t like Julian to demand her time. He was clearly in a real fix with his research paper. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour—’

  ‘I’m in the computer lab.’ He was gone.

  She stood. ‘I have to get back to the university.’ She reached for her belongings as Watts returned most of the record sheets to the box file.

  ‘I’m taking these sheets with me. Corrigan’s got armed response in an hour but I’ll have a quick word with Fellowes about what we’ve found and then I’m on my way to see Delaney. I’ll also be talking to Brad Flynn, soon as. I want to know why both of them have been so cagey about Matthew Flynn’s connection with St Bartholomew’s Church.’

  As Hanson and Corrigan left, Watts walked with measured steps to where Fellowes was in the process of cleaning a whiteboard in the main room. He straightened and turned, his eyes on the A4s in Watts’s big hand. ‘I’m taking these sheets back to headquarters.’ Fellowes opened his mouth. Watts carried on. ‘They show that Matthew Flynn was part of your group at the request of his father, Brad Flynn.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that …’

  ‘They also show that both Flynn and Callum Foley attended four sessions here.’

  Fellowes nodded. ‘Which is probably why my recall of them isn’t good.’

  Watts studied him. ‘Or you want to protect your church by denying any knowledge.’

  For the first time Fellowes’ face lost some of its serenity. ‘Detective Sergeant, I can assure you that I have no reason to do that.’

  ‘How do you get on with Delaney?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Fellowes saw that Watts wasn’t going to leave without some kind of answer. ‘We are colleagues. “Getting on” in the way you probably mean is not relevant. We are a family in Christ. We accept each other, respect the church and serve the Lord in our individual ways.’

  Watts turned on his heel. ‘You don’t say.’

  Not waiting for the arthritic lift, Hanson took the stairs to the top floor of the psychology building, hoping that Julian’s research problem could be sorted by quick adjustments followed by equally quick computer checking. Opening the door she stopped dead. Maisie was sitting at one of the tables, face stormy.

  Julian came to her. ‘It’s OK, Kate. Something happened up here earlier and—’

  ‘What happened?’ she demanded, going to Maisie, various possibilities flooding her head, none of them pleasant. She knew the computer lab from her own days here as a PhD graduate student: a haven of quiet during the day, a potentially disturbing place of odd sounds once the building grew deserted and winter daylight started to fade. Maisie folded her arms on the table and lowered her head onto them. Heart pounding, Hanson recalled her many admonishments to Maisie to use the lab only in the company of other students. But if she had come here alone today the card-swiping mechanism on the door would have offered protection from anyone with no right to be here. She sat next to her, lowering her voice. ‘Maisie? What’s happened?’

  Maisie raised her head, face flushed. ‘There was a fight.’

  Hanson stared at her. ‘A what?’ She took a quick glance around the room for signs of disorder she might have missed. There were none. She looked up at Julian who was sitting on the edge of a nearby table, arms folded, then back to Maisie. ‘That kind of behaviour is not tolerated anywhere on this campus. Tell me the names of the parties involved in this fight and I’ll notify the vice chancellor.’

  Maisie didn’t respond but Julian did. ‘One was Anthony Barclay from your stats group.’

  Hanson pictured Barclay: short, compact, cocksure and invariably offhand. No surprise there. ‘I’ll report him.’ She fumed. ‘Who else?’ Seconds ticked by. ‘Maisie?’

  ‘Me.’

  Hanson stared at her, unable to comprehend the single word. ‘This isn’t making any sense. How does this fight you mentioned fit in?’

  Again it was Julian who filled the silence. ‘Barclay’s a real piece of work, Kate. Maisie’s told me about him. He’s been taking her work off her.’

  His words brought sudden clarity to the concerns Hanson had had about Maisie over the last few days. She turned to her. ‘Is this what happened the other day?’ Maisie looked away. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  Maisie’s brows lowered further. ‘I can sort things out myself.’

  ‘No, Maisie. You can’t.’ She stared at her. ‘What happened here exactly?’ Maisie rested her chin on her arms, face closed. Hanson looked up at Julian. ‘What else do you know?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not much. I came up here to work. I got to the door and heard voices. I recognised Maisie’s. I heard a shout and Barclay came limping out and disappeared down the stairs.’

  Maisie sat up looking pleased. ‘I did it.’

  ‘Did what?’ asked Hanson.

  ‘Kicked him.’

  Hanson stared at her, horrified, the full reality of what she’d been told now dawning. ‘You what? I can’t believe … Maisie, that’s assault!’

  Maisie gave her a mutinous look. ‘I don’t care! When we were working on our last assignment he asked for my work so he could copy it into his. I kept saying no. He came up here—’

  ‘He followed you?’

  ‘Dunno, but he tried to take my stuff. So I kicked him.’

  Hanson sat and looked at her, a question now in her head which had to be asked. ‘Did he touch you in any way? Because if he did—’

  ‘Course not. When he refused to give my stuff back, I kicked him in the leg, got it off him and he rushed out and Julian arrived.’

  Hanson ran her hands through her hair. ‘I have to think about this.’ In truth, she already had. No one would know of this incident. Unless Barclay had already spoken of it? If he had she’d think again. She looked down at Maisie. ‘I don’t agree with what you did. You should have told me about his pressuring you and I’d have taken care of it.’

  ‘You’d have gone nuts and reported him.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t have assaulted him and put yourself in the wrong!’ She closed her eyes, breathed. ‘OK. Like I said, we say nothing about this for now. Leave it with me. Thanks for ringing me, Julian.’ She turned to Maisie. ‘Get your things. I’m taking you home.’

  Hot-faced, Maisie pushed creased-looking papers into her bag.

  Inside his study at Church House Father Delaney looked askance at Watts. ‘Detective Sergeant, I assure you that it never occurred to me for one moment that this boy Flynn was in any way connected to the One Day drug support group we run. If it had, I would have told you. I simply didn’t know.’ Watts looked him in the eye. ‘According to information we’ve got, Matthew Flynn was referred to your group by his father, Brad Flynn. I assume you’ve heard of him?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He’s often in the local news for his business exploits and so forth but I had no communication from or with him.’ Delaney gave a vigorous headshake, cheeks and jowls quivering. ‘I must take issue with what you just said, Detective Sergeant. The One Day group is not mine. I do not have and never have had direct involvement in it.’

  Watts’s eyes were still fixed on Delaney’s face. ‘Once you knew the identity of the remains in the crypt, how come you didn’t link him to the drug support work being done by your church?’

  Delaney stared at him. ‘Why would I do so? I’ve just told you, I have no direct involvement in the drug groups the church runs. Never have. They’re Jeremy Fellowes’ responsibility. I have the utmost regard for Jeremy’s work here. He’s very responsible. Please talk to him. You’re welcome to talk to both my deacons. Actually, Richard Burns isn
’t available right now but he will be in a couple of days. Ask them whatever questions you like. They will tell you about the high level of involvement St Bartholomew’s has had with numerous community initiatives over the years to the present time. It’s impossible to remember all of the names of those the church supports and as I said, I have no direct role in the drug-related services we provide.’

  ‘We spoke to Fellowes earlier this afternoon. He did recall Matthew Flynn after we found references to him in the records.’

  Delaney looked impatient. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying to you, Detective Sergeant. One can’t reasonably be expected to recall a name from years back without some context.’

  Watts studied the plump face. ‘That “context” jogged Fellowes’ memory for another name.’

  Delaney waited, huge arms in their wide sleeves folded over his girth. ‘Oh?’

  Watts was busy thinking. About how adept Hanson was at picking up defensiveness. But she was also the first to acknowledge that body language wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when it came to making judgements about somebody’s honesty. Still. Delaney wasn’t going anywhere. There would be other opportunities for them to talk to him and for Hanson to be a part of it. ‘Does the name, Callum Foley ring a bell?’

  Delaney looked at him. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Callum Foley,’ he enunciated. ‘Another lad who went to the drug support group at the same time as Matthew Flynn. Looks like they were good mates.’

  Delaney gave him a direct look, raising his massive shoulders. ‘What can I say except to repeat what I’ve just said? I have never had any involvement in the drug support work. I had no way of linking it to the boy found dead in the crypt and I certainly have no recollection of this other name.’ He paused. ‘Wait. Your colleague, Professor Hanson mentioned a single name like that a few days ago. I didn’t know that one, either.’

  ‘As the priest in charge here don’t you keep an eye on initiatives like One Day?’

  ‘I trust my deacons. My role here is to lead this church and ensure it goes from strength to—’