The Dying Place. Luca Veste

       3

      Reverend. Not vicar or priest. The Church of England always confused Murphy. Catholic guilt was much more his forte, forever cursed to carry that around with him. Sister Margaret Mary rapping your knuckles for getting a line wrong in the Stations of the Cross, or a proper beating for anything closely resembling impure thoughts. Every bloke Murphy’s age who had grown up Catholic had the same stories. Thankfully, his parents had grown out of religion before too long. C of E always struck Murphy as more tea and biscuits than the hell and eternal damnation his own church had taught him.

      Reverend Andrew Pearson. Wild haired, with a grey, bushy beard and bright blue eyes which seemed to dart in every direction at once. Murphy imagined he was usually much more expressive, but today he was sombre, one hand clasped over the other in his lap as if to restrain himself from making any sudden gestures. With the interior of the church currently out of bounds whilst it was searched for evidence, they had convened in one of the marked police vans which were now at the scene – Murphy and Rossi sitting on one side, facing the reverend.

      ‘Sorry about the less-than-comfortable surroundings, Reverend,’ Murphy said, already feeling the strain of sitting in a confined space. Being six foot four had its drawbacks. ‘Hopefully this won’t take too long.’

      ‘Not a problem,’ the reverend replied. Murphy noticed the accent wasn’t local. From outside the city, he guessed.

      ‘I’m Detective Inspector David Murphy and this is Detective Sergeant Laura Rossi. We just want to ask a few questions about what happened this morning. Okay?’

      ‘Of course. But I did tell the other officers I don’t know all that much. Just the boys running towards me, looking like they’d had the shock of their young lives. I guess they probably had.’

      ‘I see. What time was this?’

      ‘Around half eight. Bit later than I usually arrive to the church, but I was delayed this morning. A few phone calls I had to make regarding an upcoming event. If I’d been on time, those poor boys wouldn’t have had to go through the shock.’

      Murphy stretched his legs out slowly. ‘Do you live close by?’

      ‘Yes, the vicarage is only around the corner.’

      ‘And you weren’t disturbed overnight? Anything you can remember at all?’

      The reverend shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. I went to bed around eleven and slept through until seven. Didn’t hear a sound.’

      ‘Did you recognise the victim?’ Rossi said after a few seconds of silence.

      ‘No. We don’t see many teenagers in the congregation, I’m afraid. Especially males. We have a choir, with a healthy number of boys, but once they reach eleven, twelve, thirteen, they seem to find much more interesting things to be doing. We try our best of course, but there’s too much pressure from outside.’

      ‘I guess,’ Rossi replied, writing in her notebook. ‘Did you enter the church after finding the victim?’

      ‘Only to use the phone in the office.’

      ‘Anything out of place?’

      The reverend made a show of thinking for a few seconds before answering. ‘Nothing I can think of. It was still locked up and there wasn’t anything obvious to indicate anyone had been in there. I imagine your people will be able to tell if that’s the case or not.’

      Murphy nodded, thinking the fingertip search he’d ordered of inside the church might prove to be a waste of time. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

      ‘How long do you think this will take, Inspector? Only we’re supposed to have midweek services this evening.’

      Murphy raised an eyebrow at Rossi before turning back to the reverend. ‘Forgive the bluntness, Reverend, but as long as it takes. At the moment, the church is a crime scene, and the most important thing is ensuring that we gather all the evidence we need.’

      Reverend Pearson brought his index fingers together and bounced them off his chin, nodding slightly at the answer. ‘Of course. I’m sure the congregation will understand.’

      ‘Thank you. We’ll keep you up to date with what is happening.’

      ‘I appreciate that,’ Reverend Pearson replied, bringing his palms down and smacking them onto his knees. ‘I will be praying for the young man and your investigation.’

      Murphy shot Rossi a look as she choked back what he hoped sounded like a cough to the reverend, rather than the laugh he knew it was. ‘Yeah, thanks for that. We appreciate any help we receive.’ He took a card from his wallet and handed it over. ‘Just in case you have any further questions.’

      ‘Not religious then, Laura?’

      Murphy was leading them back to where the victim’s body was in the process of being bagged up to be taken to the morgue for the post-mortem. The mood amongst the various technical officers and uniforms was more solemn than usual. Murphy guessed it was the setting, rather than the dead body.

      ‘Not in the slightest. All a load of rubbish, isn’t it? Cazzata,’ Rossi replied, tying her hair back as she spoke.

      ‘Thought all Italians were religious?’

      ‘Probably more so back in the old country, but once they were outside – over here – my parents never bothered. Much to my nonna’s delight of course.’

      Murphy snorted. ‘Well, let’s hope this isn’t a religious thing then. Can’t imagine you’d be much use.’

      Rossi stopped, placing a hand on Murphy’s arm. The height difference meant she was almost at his wrist, when she was probably aiming for a bicep. ‘No, don’t get me wrong. I might not be religious, but I know my stuff. Religion is fascinating. Especially sociologically speaking. I just don’t believe in the magic man in the sky bit.’

      Murphy looked down at her and smiled thinly at the echo of his own thoughts. ‘Probably best to keep your voice down a bit. You’re standing on hallowed