Shadow Sins (DCI Wilson Book 2) Page 2

  “Any news, Chief?” Harry called to the Chief of the Fire Crew as he passed nearby. He showed his warrant card.

  “We’re making progress,’ the Fire Chief moved in his direction. “But some of the building is still unsafe so we’re taking our time. The arson investigator has been knocked up and should be here shortly. Looks like some little bastard has been practicing for Bonfire Night. “

  “It’s definitely a torch job then?”

  The Fire Chief looked over his shoulder at the burnt out building behind him. “What do you think? I’m willing to bet it’s been torched but let’s wait for the experts to call it for definite.”

  “Any news on the priest?” Harry said.

  “No, but I can tell you if he was in the middle of the conflagration, there won’t be a lot to find. You’re not from the normal Plods.”

  “No, Murder Squad. Can you tell your lads not to muck about in there? There’ll be hell to pay if the forensics get messed up.”

  The Chief of the Fire Crew moved close to Graham’s face. “Are you some kind of bloody comedian? My lads are in there risking life and limb, and you want them to pussy foot about to preserve your forensic. If the missing priest is inside, then he’s toast and so is your precious evidence. Now stay back until we give you the word that it’s safe.”

  Graham watched as the Chief of the Fire Crew hustled off in the direction of the church. DCI Wilson would be apoplectic if the priest was inside and the forensic evidence was compromised. He slipped under the crime scene tape and made his way back to his car. There was no point in standing around like a spare prick at a ball. It was time to give his wife a call and see how the visit to the grandparents was going.

  The body was found at precisely 1:45 in the afternoon, and Graham noted as much in his daybook. The Chief of the Fire Crew provided him with a hard hat and led him into what was left of the church. The body consisted of a heap of elongated burnt remains that was barely discernible as what was once a human being. It was located at the rear of the church almost where the last pew would have been situated. Pieces of charred wood that had once been the pews surrounded the body. Graham looked up and saw that every window in the church was blown out. The roof was entirely gone, and only the scorched interior walls remained.

  “The Fire Investigator’s been and gone,” the Fire Chief said looking down at the body. “It appears that the fire started right here. The accelerant was poured over the priest and the pews beside him, and that’s what set the whole church off.“

  Graham made a note in his book and walked slowly around the burnt body. It would be a murder investigation and the forensics would be a screw-up.

  “Thanks,” Graham said. “I’ll call the Station and get the forensics team here as soon as possible. We’ll need to talk to you and your people. And you better tell the Investigator that we’ll need a complete report on the source of the fire. Tell him we’d be grateful if he could include any ideas about the culprit. For instance, is there any specific about the M.O.?”

  “Will do,” the Chief said. “Now, if you’re finished here I’d prefer if you’d leave. We’re still trying to make the area safe.” He saw the frown on Graham’s face. “Don’t worry we’ll try to be done by the time the forensics people arrive.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Wilson was having one of those idyllic Sunday mornings. After breakfast, he had slipped out to the local shop and bought four of the main papers, two broadsheets and two tabloids. He returned to the apartment where he and Kate spent the next two hours perusing the papers and watching the BBC’s political programme. At one o’clock, they made their way to Villa Italia, their favourite eatery in the University area of South Belfast. They’d arrived at their main course when Wilson felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Since he wasn’t expecting any calls, he knew it had to be Harry, and consequently, he knew it had to be bad news.

  He dropped his fork into his plate of Linguini Scoglio and removed his phone from his pocket. A quick glance at Kate’s face told him she did not appreciate the interruption. He made his ‘sorry face’ as he checked the caller ID.

  “Harry,” he said simply as he answered the call.

  “Boss, I really didn’t want to do this,” Graham sounded nervous but excited on the other end of the call. “We’ve found a body in the rubble of the church. I think that we may have found the missing priest, and he’s been burned to a crisp. It also appears that the fire started directly on him so there’s not much doubt that whoever set the fire knew he was there. The forensics team is about to arrive, and they’ll be able to do their work as soon as the building is declared safe. I’ve called the Station, and everything is on track. The coroner has been contacted, and the body will be removed to the Royal as soon as forensics get through here.”

  “Sounds like you have everything under control,” Wilson said casting a glance at Kate who continued to frown.

  “Boss, I really think that you should come and take a look. A burnt church is something, however, a dead priest might be another kettle of fish.”

  “So, I can at least finish my lunch,” Wilson raised his eyes to heaven for Kate’s benefit. “There’s no point in being around while forensics are at work.” He made a sign to a waiter that he needed the loan of a pen. “Give me the address,” he jotted the address on a paper napkin. “I’ll be there in about one hour. Don’t let them move the body until I arrive.” He pressed the red button the mobile and lifted up his fork again.

  “A burnt church with a dead priest inside,” he said forking some linguini into his mouth.

  “Is this our future?” Kate asked pointedly not picking up her knife and fork.

  “I’m the head of the Belfast Murder Squad,” he said munching his linguini. “When people get murdered in Belfast, they normally expect that I might have some interest in the event.”

  “I mean will our relationship be a hostage to your job?”

  “Possibly. Alternatively, maybe we might end up being a hostage to your job. So far, it’s been the late-night strategy meetings, the evenings in the study preparing the briefs, etcetera, etcetera. “

  Kate picked up her knife and fork and began to eat her lunch. ‘At least I get off on the weekend,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m pissed off too,” Wilson said sipping some wine. “This was turning out to be one of my most pleasurable Sundays ever. Now I’ve got to go to this burnt-out church and see the body of some poor sod who’s been incinerated. Let’s enjoy what’s left of lunch. I’ll make the visit to the church snappy, and maybe we’ll have time to cuddle up with a film this evening. The burning of the church looks to have been arson so for the priest it’ll be either murder or manslaughter. Either way I’m going to be pulling a lot of extra hours until we have someone in custody.”

  “No more shop talk,” Kate said. “Let’s look at the desert menu and I’ll make sure there’s a movie downloaded by the time you get home.”

  CHAPTER 5

  It was twelve o’clock when he awoke. He had never slept for so long or so deeply. Not for as long as he could remember anyway. His memories of his life before the ‘event’ were hazy. He scratched at the lice in his matted hair. He thought that he was better at school, but he didn’t have any of his yearly results, so he couldn’t confirm that. He had definitely been more sociable although now he had no friends, and he could remember no one from his schooldays who could confirm that before the ‘event’ he had been popular. There was a possibility that he took part more in sports, but since he wasn’t very athletic, he could be mistaken in that regard. A normal person would have been able to check the facts of his childhood with his parents and siblings, but he had long since broken off all contact with his parents and he had no siblings. And things had been jumbled up in his head for a long time now. He turned slightly on the sleeping bag stretching his limbs as he did so. One thing was sure. He was not normal. A normal person doesn’t murder a priest and set him and his church on fire. The events of the previous eve
ning played across his mind, and he watched them again in his mind as he would a movie. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed. He had waited so long to take his revenge that the meal was quite cold by the time he had eaten it. He didn’t mind how cold the dish had been. It had been about exorcising the devil that had haunted him all those years. He killed Satan. However, last night was only stage one. The quest for vengeance wasn’t over. He would not be redeemed until he had completed the whole job. Satan’s helpers would have to pay a price for what they had done to him. It was important to know that whatever you did there was always a price to pay. The best trick in life was knowing what the price was. He wondered if Father Gilroy had known what price he would pay for ruining lives. Would he have followed his natural instinct for evil if he’d known that it would lead to his death and immolation? He sat up on the dirty floor and pulled the sleeping bag around him. Probably, he thought. The man had no shame, and neither did those that protected him. He winced as a bolt of pain ran through his head. He wondered whether they realised that they too would have to pay a price for their actions. They would have already been to confession to cleanse their souls so that there would be no price to pay in heaven. He shivered despite being immersed in the tattered sleeping bag. Did he really have the will to continue? He smelled his hands. Despite the repeated washings, they still smelled of petrol and just beneath the ozone smell was the stench of burning flesh. He knew that the smell wasn’t on his hands but in his nostrils. Maybe it would always be there. Although he had felt his resolve wavering at the last minute, he had been capable of carrying out his plan. The question was whether he would have sufficient resolve to carry it out to the end. He already killed once. That made him a murderer, although he didn’t think of himself like that. To carry his plan to fruition two more men would have to die. He let the sleeping bag fall to the floor and stood on two thin white legs. Another lightning flash of pain screamed through his head. He picked up his filthy anorak and tore the little box from the pocket. He opened the lid and looked at the coloured pills inside. He chose two at random and tossed them into his mouth. Soon they would take away all the pain. I am not a murderer, he said quietly to himself.

  CHAPTER 6

  A single fire tender remained parked directly in front of the church when Wilson alighted from the police car the Station sent to pick him up. A solemn crowd of about thirty onlookers watched the figures of the forensic team wearing plastic oversuits as they moved about the blackened edifice that was once the church. A policeman held the crime-scene tape up so that Wilson could duck under it. He quickly scrawled his signature on the clipboard the officer proffered. Every person inside the perimeter set up by the police would have to be registered. Wilson picked up a blue oversuit from a pile and slipped it on. A scorched sign to the right of the burnt-out building bore the legend ‘Saint Cormac’s Parish Church established 1922’.

  “Boss,” Harry Graham approached from what had been the main door of the church. “Sorry to drag you out on your day off. However, I think you’ve got to see this.” He handed Wilson a yellow hard-hat. “The inside is not completely safe.”

  Wilson took the hat and wondered what good would it be if a wall fell on him. He scanned the faces of the crowd of onlookers. A priest moved among what looked like a group of parishioners. It was often the case that the arsonist returned to inspect the results of his work, but Wilson didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

  “Let’s have a look at the victim,” Wilson said moving in the direction of the front door.

  He slipped the hard-hat on just as he entered the church. The inside of the building was totally gutted. The roof had collapsed, and a few burnt ends of trusses could still be seen attached to the walls. Blue Bangor slates had crashed to the floor and fallen on and through floorboards already weakened from the flames. Great holes had been gouged as the falling slates had demolished the burned flooring.

  “It’s a total wipe out,” Graham said as he followed Wilson’s examination of the interior. “The corpse is over here at the rear of the church.” He moved to the right-hand side of the church.

  The body was barely recognisable as a human being. Most of the skin had been burned away but although the conflagration had been significant, it had not been enough to destroy the body completely. There was still the outline of the head, the torso and the legs, but they would have to use whatever DNA they could muster to be sure that it was indeed the priest. Scraps of clothing were stuck to the body at intervals. The smell of burnt flesh still hung in the air.

  “The forensics are bugger all use,” Graham continued as Wilson knelt to examine the body more closely. “The boys did their best but everything has been burned to a crisp and then doused in water. We don’t have much to go on. According to the Fire Investigator, the fire started right here and the body was completely covered in the accelerant. Whoever set the fire wanted the priest dead”

  Wilson continued to examine the body. The victim would have been something over six feet tall and would also have been reasonably well-built. Could this possibly have been a case of self-immolation? The position of the body was all wrong for that conclusion. Then why was the body lying on its side? The rear door was close so if the victim had been overcome by smoke, he would have been crawling towards the opening on his stomach.

  “What’s the name of the Parish Priest?” Wilson asked.

  “Father John Gilroy,” Graham replied. “He hasn’t been seen since last night. That’s why the victim might be him.”

  “First things first,” Wilson said. “We don’t know whether the victim is the priest or some random person. Get the body crew in here and have the remains moved to the Royal for an autopsy. Does the priest live on site?”

  “He has a small cottage adjoining the church,” Graham answered.

  “As soon as you’re done here get over there and get some hair or something we can get DNA from. They’ll get some DNA from the body at the Royal and we have to do an immediate match. I want a definitive identification of the body as soon as possible. Secondly, I want the Fire Accident Investigator’s report yesterday. Push him to complete it as soon as possible. I want to know whether the corpse was the source of the fire or whether we’re looking at suspicious circumstances. Then I want the locals canvassed. Find out if someone was in the church last night and then find out what they saw. I want a timeline of who was in the church at what time. Start with the priest moving among the crowd outside. However, first we need to identify the victim. Call Moira and get her involved in the canvas.” Wilson took one last look at the church, and turned to leave. Please God, if this was murder let it be a straightforward murder, he thought. He was well aware of the history of religious arson in Ulster. It would begin with either a church or an Orange Hall going up in flames and before you knew it the night sky would be lit up as a tit for tat series of burnings would be launched. There hadn’t been an arson attack on a church or Orange Hall in more than a year. However, there were always a few crazies out there who liked nothing better than getting up the noses of the other community. The dead body was a new twist on the familiar pattern. Wilson removed his hard hat as he exited the church. He was aware of the stares from the crowd behind the crime-scene tape. He removed his blue boiler suit and handed it to one of the uniforms then nodded at the priest in the crowd and motioned for him to move to the edge of the crime scene tape.

  “Father, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Wilson,” he said extending his hand to the black-clad figure. “I’m the Head of the Belfast Murder Squad.”

  “Monsignor Devlin,” the priest said taking Wilson’s hand with a strong grip. “So it was murder then?”

  “No,” Wilson let the priest’s hand go. He gauged the Monsignor to be in his mid thirties and while he wasn’t up to speed on the hierarchy of the Church, he had the feeling that a Monsignor was of more importance than the average priest. “We can’t say anything for certain right now. The forensic team are finishing their work at the moment. The victim
is as yet unidentified. The body will be removed to the Royal and we’ll have to wait for DNA before we can establish the identity. It may be your Father Gilroy, but then again it may not. As to the question of murder, that’s a long way down the road. We need to establish what happened here last night. As soon as we’ve put a timeline on the events of last evening and this morning, we may know a little more but it would be jumping the gun to assume that my presence or the presence of members of my team here indicates that a murder has been committed.”