Unholy Murder Read online

  Thank you for reading my books, you keep me writing

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Lynda La Plante Readers’ Club

  Letter from Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  The yellow JCB digger was backhoeing a deep trench for the concrete foundations to be laid. As Barry, the driver, started to scoop up another load of rain-sodden soil he knew, from the tension on the digger arm, the bucket had struck something solid under the ground.

  Opening the cab window, he shouted to his colleague who was sitting in a large open-top dumper truck waiting for the digger to empty its next load of soil.

  ‘Oi, Dermot, I’ve hit something hard. See if you can make out what it is.’

  Dermot did a thumbs up and slowly stepped down from the dumper truck.

  ‘Get a move on, Dermot,’ Barry shouted.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s still under the soil. Give it a prod with the bucket so I can hear if it sounds like stone or metal.’

  Barry raised then lowered the bucket. When it struck the unknown object, there was a clanging sound.

  ‘I reckon it’s something metal,’ Dermot said.

  As Barry pulled back on the bucket the sudden unbearable screech of metal scraping on metal made Dermot wince. He frantically waved his arms. ‘Whoa, stop digging!’

  Barry repositioned the bucket, so it was lower in the ground. This time he was able to pull the unknown object up so part of it was sticking out of the soil. It was still covered in dirt, so Barry jumped down from the cab into the trench and brushed away the topsoil with his hands. ‘It’s a bloody coffin!’

  ‘We’d better let Lee know about it. This area could be the old convent graveyard,’ Dermot said warily as he walked off.

  Barry grabbed him by the arm. ‘We’ve been digging the new foundations for two weeks now and we ain’t uncovered no other coffins, so this can’t be a proper graveyard, can it?’

  ‘Better safe than sorry, Barry.’

  ‘You’ll be sorry if Lee calls the Old Bill and the site gets shut down. No work means no bloody wages. I say we dig a hole somewhere in the woodland over there and put the coffin in it. No one will be any the wiser.’

  Dermot shook his head. ‘You can’t treat the dead like that. We have to tell Lee. He’s in charge of the site.’

  ‘Let’s have a look inside first . . .’

  ‘No way. That would be sacrilege,’ a shaken Dermot exclaimed.

  ‘If it’s an empty coffin, there’s no harm in moving it.’

  ‘I told you, I ain’t touching it.’

  ‘You’re frightened, aren’t you?’ Barry scoffed.

  Dermot went to the builders’ hut and returned a couple of minutes later with Lee, the site foreman.

  Lee looked at the coffin and sighed. ‘That’s all we bloody well need.’

  ‘I think we should move it or at least have a look inside,’ Barry suggested.

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ Lee said hesitantly.

  ‘If you do, I’m having no part of it,’ Dermot said firmly.

  ‘All right, Dermot, calm down. You two wait here while I go speak with Mr Durham. And don’t touch the coffin.’ Lee headed towards the walled gardens of the old convent.

  Dermot waited until Lee was out of sight before walking off.

  ‘You going back to the hut?’ Barry asked.

  ‘No, I’m going to the phone box down the lane to call the police.’

  ‘Tosser,’ Barry muttered under his breath. He watched as Dermot got in his Vauxhall Astra and drove towards the lane. Barry nipped to his van and looked in a toolbox. ‘You’ll do the job nicely,’ he smirked as he pulled out a crowbar.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison was sitting at her desk in the Bromley CID office, reading the night duty detective’s report about the arrest of two young men trying to break into a house in Beckenham. As she got to the part where the two burglars were disturbed, she couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Detective Inspector Stanley asked Jane as he walked in.

  Jane had known Stanley since she’d joined the force and had worked with him on a number of cases, but his Christian name was still a mystery to her and, like everyone else, she just called him Stanley – or ‘guv’, now that he was a DI. When she had first met him, he was a long-haired, scruffy-looking undercover officer, who not only looked like a tramp, but smelt like one as well. With promotion to DI, he had tidied up his appearance and now had short combed-back hair and dressed smartly in a dark blue two-piece suit, white shirt, and Flying Squad tie with its swooping eagle emblem. Present and former members of the elite ‘Sweeney’ proudly wore the tie which symbolised the way its officers would swoop swiftly on armed robbers.

  Jane smiled. ‘Morning, Stanley. This night duty report is funny. Two lads broke into a house at two in the morning and disturbed the owner, who just happened to be a police dog handler. His Alsatian, Rumpus, bit one of them in the arse and he needed twelve stitches. The other lad jumped up a tree in the back garden fearing he was next on the dog’s menu.’

  Stanley laughed. ‘That’ll teach the little shits.’

  ‘They’re still in the cells awaiting interview and their home addresses need to be searched. Me and DC Boon can deal with—’

  Stanley shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort them out. The duty sergeant just informed me a coffin has been dug up on a building site in Bickley and they don’t know what to do. I need you to deal with that.’

  Jane was puzzled. ‘Since when was that kind of incident a CID matter?’

  ‘It’s on the grounds of an old convent, which means the land might be consecrated and have other bodies buried in it.’

  ‘I still don’t see how it’s a CID matter,’ she said, glumly looking out of the window at the torrential rain.

  ‘Uniform are down to minimum strength today and well tucked up with a major RTA in Widmore Road. Besides, as you’ve only been here for four weeks it’ll give you a chance to get out of the office and do some investigation – and take DC Boon with you,’ he added, handing her a page from a police memo pad with the address on it.

  ‘I was just asking why CID, not trying to get out of dealing with it,’ Jane explained. ‘I’ve heard the term consecrated ground, but what’s the legal procedure?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with an unearthed coffin before.’

  ‘Then that makes two of us.’

  ‘I suggest you go speak with the foreman and see if there’s a body in the coffin for starters,’ Stanley said.

  ‘And if there is?’

  ‘Then you’ll need to inform the Bromley coroner, w
ho’ll advise you accordingly. And maybe speak with the local Catholic church authority as well. They should know if it’s consecrated ground or not.’

  Jane looked up as a dripping wet DC Boon sauntered into the office, removing the earphones from his Sony pocket radio.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s wet out there’ he remarked as he removed his rain-sodden coat and shook the water off it, some of which landed on Jane and the night duty CID report.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, Boony!’ she said, wiping the report with a tissue and unintentionally smudging it. ‘And keep your coat on, we’ve got an incident to attend.’

  ‘Anything exciting for a change?’ he asked.

  ‘We won’t know till we get there, but it involves an unearthed coffin,’ she replied, grabbing her raincoat from the coat stand.

  ‘Grave diggers?’ Boon asked hopefully.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ Stanley smiled.

  ‘Have I got time for a coffee and bacon sarnie?’ Boon asked.

  Stanley frowned. ‘No. If you want breakfast have it in your own time before you come on duty. I don’t like my detectives coming to work and going straight to the canteen for a bite to eat and a chat. It pisses off the uniformed officers who do three to four hours on the beat before they get their official refs break, so I expect you all to do the same. Refs at twelve or one for detectives on a nine-to-five shift in future and five or six on a two-to-ten shift.’

  ‘Yes, guv, point taken,’ an embarrassed Boon replied.

  Jane was somewhat surprised by DI Stanley’s remarks, especially as he’d never been a stickler for the rules as a detective sergeant when they worked together on the Flying Squad in North London. However, she was aware that he’d ‘blotted his copybook’ whilst awaiting promotion to DI, and he regarded his transfer to Bromley CID, on the quieter outskirts of the Met, as a punishment posting.

  Stanley nipped into his office and returned with an umbrella, which he handed to DC Boon with a grin.

  ‘You might need this. Keep me informed.’

  Jane picked up the keys for the maroon Hillman Hunter CID car and tossed them over to Boon.

  ‘You can drive.’

  He tossed the keys back. ‘Sorry, sarge, but I’m still suspended from driving ‘job’ motors after the POLAC I had last month.’

  Jane frowned, remembering that he’d driven into the back of a privately owned Mercedes at a roundabout. ‘Right. I’ll drive, then.’

  ‘So where exactly are we going?’ Boon asked as they walked down the stairs.

  ‘What used to be a convent in Bickley.’ Jane then repeated what Stanley had told her.

  Boon sighed. ‘And there was me thinking it might be something exciting for a change. It’s obvious why DI Stanley didn’t fancy dealing with it.’

  ‘I suspect the miserable weather might have had something to do with his decision to send us instead,’ Jane said.

  ‘And they say a good copper never gets wet,’ Boon chuckled.

  *

  As Boon directed Jane to the site of the old convent the rain got heavier. There was a sudden flash of lightning in the distance. Boon looked at his watch and started counting the seconds. He got to five and there was a loud crack of thunder.

  ‘Why are you counting?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I’m doing a flash, bang count.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You take the number of seconds between the lightning and thunder, divide by five and it tells you how far away the lightning is . . . which at present is roughly a mile.’

  ‘A meteorologist as well as a detective,’ Jane smiled.

  ‘They say you should take cover if the time between the lightning flash and the rumble of thunder is thirty seconds or less.’

  ‘Talking of cover, where’s that umbrella Stanley gave you?’

  ‘Shit, I left it in the locker room toilets when I went to the loo.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised,’ she sighed.

  ‘Sorry, sarge, I’ve got a plastic bag in my coat pocket if you want to use it to cover your hair.’

  Jane raised her eyebrows and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

  She’d only known Boony a few weeks, but found him to be polite and cheerful, though somewhat scatty. He had been a detective for two years, was in his early twenties, tall, dark-haired and good-looking. He was always smartly dressed, and Stanley felt he had the makings of a good detective, but needed guidance, which from her first impressions Jane considered to be a fair assessment. He was also a good footballer and played for the Met’s first team, to the annoyance of some of his CID colleagues because his duty shifts were often arranged to enable him to play and train.

  ‘St Mary’s Lane is next right. It’s a dead-end,’ Boon said, putting the small London A-Z street atlas back in the glove box.

  Jane followed his instructions, passing two small cul-de-sacs on either side of the road, each with six large detached houses, some of which were mock Tudor in style.

  ‘Those houses look new and expensive,’ Boon remarked.

  Jane nodded. ‘Looks like a lot of this area was old land that’s been built on recently.’

  Just past the second cul-de-sac, on the left, was a small brick-built parish church with stained-glass windows and a large double wooden door. On the church wall next to the door was a six-foot concrete statue of Christ on the cross and underneath it a large green sign saying ST MARY’S CATHOLIC CHURCH, along with holy mass and confession times. Beyond the church there was a long hedgerow and woodland.

  ‘I can’t see any convent. Are you sure you’ve got the right road?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I’m just going by what’s written on the duty sergeant’s note – that you gave me,’ he said cheekily. He pointed down the road. ‘There’s a high brick wall way down there on the left, maybe the building site is on the other side of it.’

  ‘I’ll drive on a bit,’ Jane said. ‘There may be an entrance further down. If not, then you can nip into the church and see if there’s anyone about you can ask.’

  A hundred metres down there was an open metal gate leading onto a gravel drive.

  ‘That big house in front of us with a statue of what I assume is the Virgin Mary looks like a convent to me,’ Jane said.

  The impressive two-storey grey stone and brick building had a seven-bay front, comprising a shallow gabled entrance flanked by a bay either side, with a further gabled two-bay projection on both ends. The large bay on the right had a holy cross on top of it and a large, pointed arch, with a stained-glass window, making it look like a chapel. A high brick wall with wooden gates abutted either end of the building.

  ‘I can’t see any building site. Bloody Stanley’s having a laugh and sent us out on a wild goose chase just to get wet,’ Boon said.

  ‘There are obviously people living or working in there and, judging by the expensive cars out front, I doubt it’s nuns. If a coffin’s been dug up, it might be somewhere else on the grounds,’ Jane suggested.

  Jane parked the car, then she and Boon ran through the rain to the front entrance, where two stone steps led up to the timber-panelled door, next to which was an intercom with thirteen buzzers.

  ‘Looks like the convent might have been converted into flats,’ Jane said as she pressed the visitor buzzer and waited for a reply.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a well-spoken, deep-voiced man asked as he approached them from behind.

  He was tall, well-built, looked to be in his late fifties, with a rugged complexion and a dimpled chin. He had a large golf umbrella in one hand and wore an ankle-length green waxed coat. By his side was an unleashed golden retriever, which suddenly jumped up at Jane, depositing muddy paw marks on her raincoat.

  The man grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled it back. ‘Heel, Bella,’ he said firmly. ‘Sorry, she’s young and I’m still training her,’ he added, as he attached a lead to the dog’s collar.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison and this is Detective Constabl
e Boon. We were wondering if there’s any building work occurring on the grounds,’ Jane said.

  ‘Yes, out the back of this building down the far end of the gardens. The site access is off a lane over the back of here. Has something happened?’

  ‘Nothing for you to be concerned about, sir,’ Jane replied.

  ‘They dug up a coffin,’ Boon said casually, and Jane frowned.

  ‘On the site?’ the man asked, looking worried.

  ‘We don’t know the full details yet, sir,’ Jane told him.

  ‘Is this building still a convent?’ Boon asked.

  ‘No, all the Sisters of Mercy nuns have long gone now. The buildings have been converted into private apartments.’

  ‘I like how they’ve kept the outside like an old building, especially the stained-glass window there,’ Boon remarked, pointing.

  The man nodded. ‘It’s a listed building, so the exterior remained as is, though obviously the stone and brickwork were cleaned up and some double glazing put in. The stained glass is original, and that part of the convent was the oratory.’

  ‘What’s an oratory?’ Boon asked.

  ‘It was the chapel used by the nuns.’

  ‘I bet a flat in there costs an arm and a leg,’ Boon said.

  The man forced a smile. ‘Yes, the apartments are expensive.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, sir. Can you give us directions to the building site?’ Jane asked.

  ‘The temporary road leading up to it will be very muddy and you might well get stuck. It would be quicker to walk through our rear communal gardens. Please follow me.’ He wiped his wellingtons on the outside doormat, then unlocked the front door.

  Boon was about to step inside, when Jane whispered to him to wipe his feet on the mat. Inside there was another large doormat which the man also used, before picking up a neatly folded towel from the floor and wiping the dog down with it.

  The hallway was large with a beige marble floor and a stunning Gothic-style dark oak L-shaped staircase. Halfway up the stairs to the upper floor was a pictorial stained-glass window, the centrepiece of which depicted the virgin Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in the stable at Bethlehem.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment while I put Bella inside.’ The man went over to a large arched wooden door in the right-hand corner, opened it and went inside.