Constable by the Sea by Nicholas Rhea Read Free Book Online Page A

container screwed to a table at the back of the church, and it would be a simple matter to force the lid with a screwdriver and remove its meagre contents.
    I knocked on the door of the presbytery and was admitted by the priest’s housekeeper, who showed me to a study littered with books and watercolours. Some stood on the floor and others filled every possible space on the wall. I waited, intrigued by the smell of the place and its wonderful array of books and paintings.
    The Monsignor came in, smiling and happy. He was dressed in a clerical grey suit with a carnation in his buttonhole. He was a very rounded man with a rosy red face and thinning grey hair above very bright and twinkling blue eyes. He looked like a man who enjoyed life.
    ‘Ah!’ he smiled. ‘’Tis the law. You’ll be having a drink then?’?’
    ‘Good morning, Monsignor,’ I said. ‘I’d like a coffee please.’
    ‘Coffee, is it? I was thinking of something more congenial, like a dram of the morning dew? So is it coffee or whisky, or perhaps both?’
    ‘Just coffee, Monsignor. I’m on duty.’
    ‘So it’s official, then? You’re not coming to see me about your spiritual welfare or to get married or something? Haven’t I seen you at Mass?’
    ‘Yes, but this is police work.’
    ‘Then sit yourself down, son, and I’ll arrange the coffee. Sugar? Milk?’
    I requested both, and the tray soon appeared with coffee for us both and a glass of his ‘wee dram’. While we drank them, he learned my name and something of my own family background. The introductions and pleasantries over, we turned to the purpose of my visit.
    I began with the attacks on offertory boxes and put forward various suggestions for making them less vulnerable to thieves. He listened attentively and said he had seen reports in the Strensford Gazette about the other attacks.
    ‘But, you see, I always make sure there is a collection plate on the table at the back of the church, close to the door. And in that plate, there is always a few coins; either the faithful put them there or I do, so if a thief does come, he’ll grab that money and he’ll leave the box alone. Now, I don’t mind him taking those loose coins, and indeed, I’ll seldom know whether he has or not, will I? It’s only copper, but it could be food for a starving man. And our offertory box has never been forced open.’
    I admired the sheer logic of this and now recalled the large wooden collection plate which was always on the table near the main door. It often had a half crown or a florin in it, with an assortment of smaller coins, such as a sixpence and one or two pennies.
    ‘There is something else, Monsignor.’ I emptied my coffee cup and he refilled it from the percolator.
    ‘Go on.’
    I told him about Hedda Flynn and my suspicions. He listened and then smiled in understanding.
    ‘Hedda is a good man,’ he said. ‘A very good man, a faithful member of my congregation and as honest as the day is long. He would never do anything wrong to anyone, let alone steal from the Church.’
    ‘He does linger about the back of the church.’ I had come across this very Christian attitude many times before but police officers are cynical and distrustful. ‘I feel I ought to warn you of his activities.’
    ‘Thanks anyway, constable, but I know Hedda. And I might add, I know his wife too. Now there’s a holy woman. Mass at half-seven every morning. Benediction twice a week. Generous to the church, generous to a fault she is. Wonderful wife for Hedda, wonderful mother for her family. A church helper, too. She does the flowers for the altar, cleans the church – she’s a saint, constable, a true saint. Hedda is a very lucky man, very lucky.’
    I felt I had fulfilled my purpose. I had drawn his attention to the risks and I had even named a suspect. Perhaps I had been wrong to do the latter, for it was clear that the Monsignor thought a lot about the Flynn family, although I did wonder why, if Hedda was