‘Pixie’s being put down today – at two o’clock,’ the woman said, her large eyes brimming with tears, giving a graceful wave in the direction of the basket, ‘and I have to collect Nathan from nursery at twelve o’clock, I’m afraid. So I’ll have to go then, Sergeant Price.’
‘Rice,’ Alice corrected gently, ‘Sergeant Rice.’
‘Mmm… Sergeant Price,’ the woman nodded, ‘that’s what I said.’
‘It’s about Father McPhail,’ Alice continued, disregarding what she was being called. ‘I’ve a few questions about him. If you could help us, it might help him too.’
‘Oh. Yes?’ Her voice was childish, unnaturally high-pitched.
‘Can you tell me, did you see him on the night of Tuesday the ninth of January?’ The woman hesitated, searching the policewoman’s face as if to read the desired answer, before tentatively committing herself.
‘Yes.’
‘What time did you see him?’
‘He came here,’ she paused again, looking enquiringly at Alice, ‘he came here at about… seven o’clock in the evening?’ It sounded more like a question than an answer.
‘And at what time did he leave?’
‘I didn’t leave.’ Mrs Sharp looked puzzled.
‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t have made myself clear. When did he leave?’
The woman sucked in her cheeks, apparently thinking, before replying in her strange treble, ‘Maybe one, two o’clock? That sort of time…’
‘And on Friday the twelfth of January, did you see him at any point on that date?’
‘No,’ she shook her head like a petulant child ‘I haven’t seen him since he left the parish.’
Confused, Alice asked, ‘but… I thought you just said that you saw him on the ninth?’
‘Oh… yes,’ the woman replied, unperturbed by her illogicality, if aware of it at all.
‘So you did see him on the ninth, then?’
‘I did, yes.’ Mrs Sharp smiled broadly, as if pleased that she had provided the correct answer.
‘And what about the twelfth?’
‘What about it?’ She seemed bemused.
‘Did you see him on that date?’
‘Eh…’ she looked into Alice’s eyes, as if to find the solution there. ‘No. No, I don’t think so… then, again…’
‘Mrs Sharp, I really do need to know!’
‘Then yes… yes, I did see him on the…’ she paused, ‘…whatever date you said.’
‘I simply need to know, Mrs Sharpe. Did you, or did you not, see Father McPhail on -’
The query remained incomplete as the phone rang, Mrs Sharpe starting at the sound. She picked the receiver up as if it might be dangerous, and placed it warily to her ear.
‘Oh, George, it’s you… Yes, I am going to do it… I’ll get it all done before lunch, honestly… Well, I can’t go at the minute – I’ve got someone with me…’ She faltered, looking Alice in the eye. ‘I’ve someone with me… No, just a salesperson. A woman. Mmm… I’ll get rid… honestly, everything will be ready in good time.’
‘My husband. We’re having a party this evening,’ she offered, apologetically, before continuing. ‘Frankie, er… Father… was here on the ninth because, well… he wanted to see me. George was away on business. We just talked, of course, that’s what we do. Talk and talk for hour after hour.’
‘That’s fine,’ Alice replied. ‘We’ll need, obviously, to take a statement from you – you know, for the trial.’
‘Trial? You never said anything about a trial!’
‘No. Sorry. It’s simply that we’ll need a statement from you confirming when he was with you – and then you may be called as -’
‘I’m very sorry,’ Mrs Sharpe said, ‘but I can’t give a statement. I can’t do that. I don’t mind telling you here, between the two of us, right, but nothing more than that. I can’t say anything that might get back to George.’
‘Why not? Your statement will be needed, you know. Without your testimony he might be wrongly convicted.’
‘Look, I’m saying nothing to no-one, I’m afraid. I’m not supposed to see Frankie, you know! If my husband thought I had, he’d kill me. Honestly. Last time he threatened me, threatened to divorce me, said he’d get custody of Nathan…’
‘I’m sorry too, Mrs Sharpe, but we really do need your help. If necessary, we can compel -’
‘Compel! What are you talking about? You can…’ she hesitated, exasperated, racking her brain to think of a suitable torture, ‘pull my toenails out, if you like, but I’m saying nothing. I’ll deny I said anything to you. It wasn’t true what I said, anyway, I haven’t seen him since he left St Benedict’s. That is the truth if you want it. I’m telling you the real truth now!’
‘I’ve told you, Alice, the man who did it is inside, banged up in Saughton,’ Elaine Bell said testily, holding down a piece of shortbread in her tea as if to drown it.
‘Yep,’ Simon Oakley added, ‘give it a rest, eh? The woman may well be competent, compellable, blah, blah, blah, but she’s also a waste of space, so what’s the point?’
‘The point is…’ Alice tried again, aware that the rest of the squad did not share her view, ‘that she can provide an alibi for McPhail for the likely time of the first murder.’
‘Alibi my arse!’ Eric Manson said forcefully. ‘Provide an alibi, my sainted arse! They had it off together, OK? Forbidden love, like that holy mag implied – then it ended. But she thought she could help him, so she blabbed away, and it sounds as if she said whatever came into her head.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Alice replied. ‘She couldn’t know, then, I mean, what would help him. It might have helped him to say she hadn’t seen him on the ninth. Anyway, if she was only helping him with that kind of lie, why didn’t she begin by saying that he was with her on the second occasion too?’
‘Doesn’t know which way’s up or lost her bloody nerve, I guess,’ DC Littlewood replied, never lifting his eyes from the computer screen.
‘Look, sergeant,’ Eric Manson said with a weary sigh, ‘let’s get real, eh? They had a fling, it all went pear-shaped…’
‘Yes,’ Alice interrupted. ‘But why did she tell me that he was with her if he wasn’t?’
‘Because,’ Elaine Bell said, rolling her eyes, ‘she thought it might HELP him! You asked about a particular time. Obviously, that suggested that an alibi for that time might be needed. Without too much thought she fabricated one… and when things finally sank in, or she got muddled or whatever, she lost her nerve. Anyway, Alice, the question you should be asking yourself – if you don’t believe she was lying,’ and she pointed at her sergeant, ‘is why she’s not prepared to assist us, even with her lies? Why she’s gone back on everything she said!’
‘But I told you, ma’am,’ Alice said, exasperated in her turn, ‘she told me her husband would divorce her, beat her up, take the kids…’
‘Nope,’ Elaine Bell shook her head, ‘from what you said she’s just not very bright. To begin with, she thought she could help him, the priest I mean, get her oar in, say whatever. Then realisation dawned and she didn’t fancy lying on oath and losing her children and so on. Remember, she openly admitted to you they were lies!’
‘Well,’ Alice said, sounding more confident than she felt ‘I still think we should follow it up…’
‘Jesus H. Christ!’ Eric Manson bellowed. ‘We’ve got our man in the pokey! What more do you want? Have you not noticed or something? Everything fits together. The man’s a priest, eh? The poor cows are left in a position of p… p… prayer. Geddit? He doesn’t screw them, being celibate, just arranges them into a praying pose. And then – get over this if you can – he leaves his DNA on them. And it’s not an odd hair fibre or something easy to talk your way out of, no, it’s his blood. Explain that if you can. Because he can’t for sure. He denies going anywhere near them! Ever!’