Forgive Me Father. Paul Gitsham
possibly high, and likely had mental health issues. The officers involved weren’t able to talk him down and he was eventually arrested and stuck in the back of a police van. The report says that by the time he got to the nick he was ready to sleep it off.
‘The next morning, he was fit enough to be charged with being drunk and disorderly, but the abbey declined to press charges over the minor damage done to the wall. It was dealt with by caution.’
‘What do we know about him?’
‘Lucas Furber. 35 years old, of no fixed abode. A couple of historic convictions for drugs, but nothing recent.’ She passed across a headshot, taken in custody. Furber looked younger than his stated age, and poorly nourished. His skin was blotchy with acne, and his dark beard was straggly and matted, as greasy as his long hair. The bags under his bloodshot, blue eyes were like dark, purple bruises. The end of his nose was reddened. Drug use or a cold?
‘Hmm, it could be just what it seems,’ said Warren, ‘but I’d like to know what he was ranting about. Did he know Father Nolan or was it aimed at someone else at the abbey? Was it a general dislike of the church, or had he just read the latest Dan Brown novel? Or was it something else, or nothing at all? We should definitely try to eliminate him. See if you can track him down. In the meantime, Deacon Baines was the one who confronted him. Let’s see if he can tell us a bit more.’
* * *
Deacon Baines did remember the incident, when Warren called him.
‘Ah, yes, that poor young man, clearly a very disturbed individual. Such a shame we couldn’t help him more.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘Nothing too exciting, as I recall. It was late evening, shortly after we’d finished for the day. The last visitors had gone and the main gates had been locked. One of the sales assistants in the gift shop spotted somebody climbing over the wall as she walked back to her car – close to where those young people climbed over Friday night. We really need to get those spikes replaced, but there isn’t any money.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘She phoned Rodney Shaw, who called me as he went to confront the man.’
Shaw again; it could be a coincidence. Nevertheless, Warren scribbled the man’s name down on his pad.
‘The reports said he was abusive.’
‘Yes, he was being foul-mouthed and shouting at Rodney, who was trying to calm him down. When he saw me, he picked up a stick and started waving it about. That’s when we called the police.’
There had been nothing about violence towards Baines or Shaw in the police report.
‘It wasn’t really worth mentioning; neither of us were in any danger, we just wanted the young man to get the help he needed. He dropped the stick when the police arrived.’
‘Can you tell me what he was shouting about?’
Baines paused. ‘Nothing really. This and that, he was clearly disturbed.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Not really, and I’d rather not repeat the man’s language.’
‘OK. Thanks for your assistance, Deacon Baines. You’re probably right, it was likely nothing.’
Warren hung up.
Baines clearly didn’t want to discuss the incident. Until this point, the man had been open and helpful. Why was he suddenly so vague? It also sounded as though the intruder had become more agitated when Baines had arrived upon the scene. Was that significant, or was the man just feeling an increased threat now that there were two men confronting him?
Warren drummed his fingers on the table, before getting up and heading into the main office.
‘Rachel, any luck tracking down Lucas Furber?’
‘The custody report said that Furber was going to the Middlesbury Outreach Centre when he was released. They might be able to tell us where he is.’
‘We’ll send someone down there, but before they go, can you track down the arresting officers? It’s a long shot, but they may remember what he was shouting about. I’d also like to speak to the person who witnessed him clambering over the wall. Find out who she is and arrange for her to come in.’
‘Will do.’
Warren continued his circuit of the office.
‘Hutch, what have you found out about our victim?’
‘Apparently, Father Nolan was a man of simple tastes,’ stated Hutchinson. ‘He walked into town a couple of times a week to The Cock and Lion, where he liked a pint and caught the footie on Sky. He was also known to have the odd flutter on the horses.’
‘Could he have had a gambling problem?’
‘There’s nothing in his bank accounts to suggest that he had any issues, but he could have been using cash. We don’t know where he placed his bets, so we’ll need to wear out some shoe leather,’ said Sutton. Warren remembered his conversation with Mags Richardson about the missing cash from the gift shop takings. Could there be a link?
Warren pictured his bulging in-tray. The arresting officers for Lucas Furber had clocked off, so he wasn’t expecting a call before the next day.
‘Leave it with me.’ He moved onto the next desk.
‘Moray? Fancy some fresh air?’
Walk a few minutes from Middlesbury Abbey and the fairly affluent neighbourhood overlooking the historic ruins soon turns into a far less salubrious area. Father Nolan’s favoured pub, The Cock and Lion, occupied the corner of Hanover Street and Tudor Avenue.
Ruskin described it as a typical ‘old man’s pub’; warm beer, cheap food and football on the TV. The sort of place where you could make a pint of bitter and a newspaper last all afternoon and nobody minded. Warren tried not to feel slighted; he rather liked the look of the place.
The landlady, a friendly woman in her mid-thirties with a West Country accent, didn’t need to think twice before confirming that Father Nolan had been a regular. She shook her head. ‘So sad. Suicide, they said in the paper.’
News that they were now investigating a murder had not yet been released to the public; Warren wanted a couple more days before the killer was tipped off that their attempts to cover up the killing had failed.
She shuddered. ‘And what a way to go.’
‘How well did you know Father Nolan?’
‘Not very well, he was pretty quiet.’ She tipped her chin towards a corner table, strategically placed to give the best view of the large TV opposite. ‘He’d usually sit there and either watch the footie or read the newspaper. He’d say hello and make polite conversation, but wasn’t exactly a chatterbox. To be honest, I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean what do you talk about with a priest? I failed GCSE RE and have barely been inside a church since my first Holy Communion.’
‘Did he speak to anyone else?’ asked Warren.
‘Not really. Most of the regulars knew him, and he’d express an opinion on whatever match they were watching, but he mostly sat on his own. Once or twice he came down here with other priests, but not often.’
‘I don’t suppose you noticed any change in his mood, recently?’ asked Ruskin.
‘You mean, like if he was suicidal?’
‘It probably wouldn’t be that obvious,’ cautioned Warren.
She thought for a moment before apologizing. ‘I just didn’t know him well enough.’