Father Brice leaned forward, clasping his hands and pressing them hard together. It was obviously a gesture he made which helped him to think. He looked slightly ridiculous, as if squeezing some imaginary orange in search of juice. But priests did not have wives to tell them to abandon ridiculous gestures; Percy had a sudden vision of the loneliness of clerical evenings, of the quiet desperation of a life lived alone with problems you could not reveal. Then Brice said, ‘They’re good Catholics, the O’Connors — whatever that means nowadays. They attend Mass each Sunday and receive Communion most times. That doesn’t mean that they’re not subject to the same pressures of modern life which others feel.’
Peach felt for the priest and saw the internal struggle this was costing him, but he now wanted whatever he could get from this to be delivered quickly. He said briskly, as if he already had the information from some other source, ‘They weren’t faithful to each other, were they?’
Again Brice looked as if being led was a relief to him. ‘No. There were all sorts of rumours about Dominic.’
Clyde Northcott said eagerly, with pen poised over notebook, ‘We need the details, Father.’
Brice glanced across at him as if he had forgotten for a moment that the DS was in the room, a difficult thing to achieve with Northcott’s formidable presence. ‘I can’t give you details.’
‘I appreciate that you cannot reveal the secrets of the confessional, Father, but you should be aware that this is a murder-’
‘It’s nothing to do with the damned secrets of the confessional! I told you that!’ The near-shout showed the strain the priest was enduring. He controlled himself with a visible effort and a very deep breath. ‘Neither Dominic nor Ros confessed any sexual sins to me. It’s embarrassing to parade your defects to someone you know, as you can probably imagine. Most people prefer to go to priests who do not know them when they have serious sins to confess. They feel the need for absolution, but they prefer a more anonymous intermediary between themselves and Almighty God than the man they know and the man who knows them.’
Peach nodded. He felt as if he himself was now assuming the role of therapist to this troubled man. ‘But the O’Connors talked to you about this.’
He nodded eagerly. ‘But not in the confessional and not together. And Dominic scarcely at all, except in the most general terms. But Ros is a tortured soul. She was quite frank with me when she felt desperate. And you hear rumours from other people, even when you don’t want to hear them. They assume you know all sorts of things which you don’t know.’
Peach prompted him. ‘We already know from other sources that Mr O’Connor was a womaniser. He is now a murder victim and his womanising may be a factor in his death. Can you give us any information about his liaisons?’
Father Brice shook his head. ‘I’m sure they exist and perhaps there have been several of them. But my only source is Ros and she isn’t reliable when she speaks of this. She loses judgement and becomes hysterical. According to Ros, Dominic was bedding almost every woman he met, which was plainly ridiculous. I tried to point that out to her and she’d nod and agree with me, but then come up with something just as outlandish a moment later.’
‘But you have some information for us about Ros herself. That is why you came here this morning.’
‘She is a troubled soul and I fear unstable, as I said at the outset. I believe she has turned elsewhere for consolation, despite my advice. Sometimes I’m treated as a marriage guidance counsellor, when I have no training in such fields.’
‘We need names, Father Brice.’
‘Mrs O’Connor is not a promiscuous woman. She has acted rashly, under stress. I can give you one name, in strictest confidence. A man called John Alderson.’
He enunciated the syllables with obvious distaste, so that Peach said, ‘He is obviously a man of whom you don’t approve.’
‘I couldn’t approve any association outside marriage, could I? I haven’t heard much that’s good about Alderson from other people, but it’s hardly fair for me to condemn a man I hardly know. But I can’t approve his relationship with Ros O’Connor and I’ve told her that several times.’
‘You said she isn’t promiscuous. But is there any other person connected with her whom you think you should name here? Bear in mind that we are looking for a murderer.’
They could see him relaxing. Plainly he had rid himself of the burden he had brought here with him when he named John Alderson. He gave full attention to their question, but he was not wrestling with his conscience as he had been until now. ‘There’s no one else I know who is close to Ros. I’m sure there are several people who had reasons to wish Dominic O’Connor ill, in his private as well as his business life. But I cannot name any of them for you, because Dominic didn’t confide in me as Ros did.’
It was a measured statement which he’d obviously thought about before he came to the station. Peach looked at him hard, but eventually believed him. He didn’t give undue weight to the cloth clergymen wore any more, but Father Brice was patently sincere and genuine, a man who had found it hard to come here and had done so from a sense of duty, not personal interest. Percy thanked him for his help and then, with their meeting all but concluded, pointed out, ‘You’ve twice used the word “unstable” about Mrs O’Connor. You clearly have an incident or incidents in mind.’
Raymond Brice nodded, regretful and relieved at the same time. He wanted this out. It was what he had come here for, to pass the burden of knowledge on to the appropriate temporal authority whilst he wrestled with its spiritual implications. ‘Ros said she could kill her husband.’
Peach smiled. ‘It’s the kind of thing many wives say under stress. I think I’ve even heard it said about someone as innocent as me, in moments of wifely stress.’
Father Brice smiled back automatically, but then his mouth wrinkled with irritation. ‘Give me credit for a little understanding of the way people think and talk, DCI Peach. Killing Dominic was mentioned several times over a period of months and it wasn’t humorous. On the last occasion, Ros O’Connor said she was fearful of what she might do.’
Peach was on his way out of the station when the summons came. He considered ignoring it, but he had always chosen to face bad things quickly rather than put them off. Ogres always grew more fearful with anticipation. And there was no greater ogre in Peach’s world than Chief Superintendent Thomas Bulstrode Tucker. He climbed the stairs to the penthouse office of Brunton’s Head of CID with a steadily sinking heart.
Tucker regarded him balefully over his rimless glasses, as if waiting for the abject apology which was not Percy’s forte. ‘So,’ he said eventually. ‘We have an arrest for the murder of James O’Connor.’
‘Peter Coleman has been arrested, charged and remanded in custody this morning, sir. Be good to see one of our least savoury residents put behind bars for a very long time, don’t you think? Even the CPS wankers are happy with the case we have delivered to them.’
When you mentioned lawyers, one of the banes of police life, you could usually rely on a moment of agreement even with Tommy Bloody Tucker. A moment for the mutual casting of eyebrows to heaven would certainly have been in order. This would have been followed by congratulations from the chief on a swift success in a high-profile case, if there had been any justice.
But this was T.B. Tucker and there wasn’t. He shook his head vigorously and said, ‘It won’t do, Peach.’
Percy strove to keep a check on his blood pressure. Tucker in bollocking mode was one of life’s more stringent trials. ‘What won’t do, sir?’
‘What’s happening on our patch won’t do! I call a media conference and trumpet our success in solving the murder of a popular local businessman and former rugby international. I tell television, radio and press how efficient we have been. Good PR, Peach! Something you know very little about. But the next thing I hear is that you’ve landed me with another murder, before I can even catch my breath. It won’t do!’