LITMIR.BIZ

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join the queue,’ grumbled Sutton. ‘That list grows longer every day.’

      Pymm nodded. She already had her notepad out, scribbling down ideas.

      ‘Have a look at the PNC and see if anyone associated with the abbey has a file on the system. Whilst you’re at it, cross-reference with the probation service and see if anyone interesting has either been released recently or moved to the area. Be creative, contact the Social Media Intelligence Unit for assistance.’

      With that, the meeting broke up. Warren watched his officers leave with a touch of envy. Most investigative work was a repetitive, long slog. He knew from experience that the twentieth person he interviewed would become muddled up with the thirtieth, unless he took scrupulous notes. Similarly, a day staring at grainy CCTV footage would leave him with a headache – a week of it and even his dreams would take place in a jerky, faded world.

      But there was no denying the sense of purpose that it brought. The feeling that you were at the very heart of the investigation, an essential part of a team and that what you stumbled across might just be the vital clue that moved the case forward.

      Warren supposed he should count himself lucky. So many of his peers, upon reaching the rank of inspector or above, retreated into their offices, their time filled with meetings, budget reports and people management. That came with the job, and it was an essential role in modern policing. But he’d seen the wistful looks on his fellow DCIs’ faces as he left the latest management away day, and headed back to his team, whilst they scurried to their next meeting.

      This unusual position was a result of Middlesbury CID’s unique history. Tucked away in the very north of the county, about as far from Hertfordshire Constabulary’s headquarters in Welwyn Garden City as it was possible to be and not cross the county borders, Middlesbury CID had remained a local first-response unit dealing with issues as they arose in Middlesbury and the surrounding towns and villages. The unit had survived the consolidation when Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire moved all of their major crime units into a single building in Welwyn Garden City.

      Maintaining Middlesbury’s independence had been the personal mission of Warren’s predecessor, DCI Gavin Sheehy. Unfortunately, the man’s uncompromising attitude had won him as many enemies as admirers, and when he was arrested for corruption, many saw that as vindication of the view that Middlesbury needed to be disbanded and absorbed into the main unit in Welwyn.

      Whether DSI John Grayson had been appointed to save or bury Middlesbury CID was still unclear four years on. Tony Sutton maintained that the fate of Middlesbury CID was directly related to its usefulness in securing Grayson’s next promotion and corresponding final salary pension; Warren felt that whilst his theory wasn’t entirely without merit, it was a bit unfair to the man.

      Of course, none of this was made clear to Warren as he was parachuted in to fill the vacancy left by Sheehy. Warren’s first weeks as a newly promoted DCI had seen him walk unprepared into a maelstrom of politics that he’d been forced to deal with as he headed up his first major murder investigation. Over the next few months, Warren had found himself chasing a serial rapist and murderer, and embroiled in a cold case that had soon become all too personal. That investigation had led to the resolution of many of the issues surrounding the death of Warren’s father when he was a teenager, but had led to new and unexpected betrayals.

      When he had been interviewed for the role, Warren had made it clear that he wanted to use his time at Middlesbury to segue from an active Senior Investigating Officer to the more managerial role that a senior officer such as a DCI would typically fulfil. Grayson, it turned out, was more than happy to pass over anything investigative to Warren, assigning him as SIO to everything that came their way. Grayson, for his part, spent much of his time down at Welwyn.

      On a good day, Warren was grateful that his Superintendent shielded him and his team from much of the administrative side of policing; on a bad day, Warren wished the man would do a bit less schmoozing, play a little less golf and actually get his hands dirty, instead of simply taking all the credit for the team’s hard work.

      That aside, there was one aspect of the job that Grayson could keep to himself. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to be possible today. With a sigh, Warren slipped on his best jacket, checked his hair in the mirror, and headed for the car park.

      He hated press conferences.

       Chapter 13

      ‘I’ve been going through all of the past reports on the system that mention the abbey,’ Rachel Pymm had a list in her hand covered in a multitude of different coloured fluorescent markers. For the briefest of moments, Warren had a flashback of Gary Hastings; despite the man’s expertise with a computer, he’d still liked nothing more than a ream of paper covered in coloured pen.

      He swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Take me through what you’ve got, Rachel.’

      The press conference had been relatively brief, with little in the way of details. Doubtless the tabloids would focus on the more sensational aspects of the death, but at the moment the team wanted to keep the fact that Father Nolan was likely to have been murdered to themselves.

      ‘The abbey and its surroundings are a bit of a crime magnet, so I decided to limit my search to the past five years. I can go back further if you want me to.’

      ‘No, I’ll defer to your judgement for the time being.’

      ‘Well most of the offences can be classed as low-level vandalism and anti-social behaviour.’

      ‘From the priests?’

      ‘Less than you’d expect,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s mostly kids; reports of graffiti tagging, broken windows, large noisy gatherings etc. They had a spate of damaged headstones about two years ago, and someone tried to nick lead off the chapel roof. They scarpered empty-handed when Rodney Shaw turned up. There’s been no real pattern, other than a general increase after dark in the winter and a bit of a spike around October.’

      ‘Well, thanks for looking into that, Rachel.’

      ‘There is one report that might be worth looking at further.’

      ‘Hit me.’

      ‘On the ninth of January this year, Deacon Baines called the police after a man climbed over the wall and came into the grounds, shouting and being abusive.’

      ‘Abusive in what way?’

      ‘It’s hard to be sure exactly. He was drunk, 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

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