Sins of the Fathers by Sally Spencer Read Free Book Online Page A

sittin’ here an’ speculatin’, is there? It’s time we got diggin’.’
    â€˜Into his past or his present?’ Paniatowski asked.
    Woodend grinned. ‘He doesn’t have a “present”,’ he said. ‘He’s bloody-well dead.’
    â€˜Into his recent past, or into his more distant past?’ Monika Paniatowski amended.
    â€˜Into both.’
    â€˜In spite of what Mr Marlowe said to you?’
    â€˜Aye, we can’t let a dickhead like him get in the way of us doin’ our job properly, now can we? So how shall we divide it up?’ Woodend thought for a moment. ‘Beresford, you can go up to the mattress factory an’ see what you can find out about Pine’s rise to fame an’ fortune.’
    â€˜You want me to go on my own, sir?’ the constable asked, sounding somewhat alarmed.
    â€˜Why not on your own? Do you want me there beside you, holdin’ your hand?’
    â€˜No, but—’
    â€˜It’s about time you learned that there’s a lot more to bein’ a detective than just wearin’ your best suit to work. Don’t worry, lad, you can do it. I’ve got confidence in you.’
    Beresford either blushed with embarrassment or glowed with pleasure – and very possibly both.
    â€˜Thank you, sir,’ he said.
    Woodend turned to Paniatowski. ‘You’re still a Catholic, aren’t you, Monika?’
    â€˜Not exactly,’ the sergeant said, with some show of reluctance.
    â€˜But you do know more about the mysteries of the faith than either me or Beresford?’
    â€˜I suppose so.’
    â€˜Then you get to go to St Mary’s, which is where, accordin’ to our beloved chief constable, Pine was headin’ when he left the village hall meetin’. See if he arrived at the church as he expected to, an’ if he
did
arrive, how long he stayed an’ who he talked to.’
    â€˜And what will you be doing, sir?’ Paniatowski asked.
    â€˜Me? I shall be descendin’ into the Heart of Darkness.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir?’ Beresford said.
    â€˜He’ll be going where no man with honest working class credentials would ever normally dream of showing his face,’ supplied Paniatowski, who was well tuned in to Woodend’s mind.
    â€˜I still don’t get it,’ Beresford admitted.
    â€˜First, I shall be poppin’ into the morgue – which
isn’t
the Heart of Darkness – to have a quick word with Dr Shastri,’ Woodend explained. ‘Then I’ll take myself over to the Whitebridge Golf an’ Country Club – which is.’
    â€˜Where they’ll kill the fatted calf, and welcome you with open arms, like a long-lost brother,’ Paniatowski said.
    â€˜I somehow doubt that,’ Woodend replied. ‘But since I
am
a police officer engaged in a murder inquiry, they won’t be able to actually bar the door to me, either – however much they’d like to.’

Six
    S t Mary’s Roman Catholic Church had stood at the crest of Woodstock Hill for over five hundred years.
    In its early days, when Whitebridge was no more than a small village in which a collection of downtrodden peasants scratched out a meagre existence, the gothic spire and sturdy square tower must have been a truly formidable sight. Even in the modern Whitebridge – a city that had recently begun to experiment with high-rise buildings – it was still the most impressive structure around, eclipsing the Anglican cathedral which the Protestant ecclesiastical planners had foolishly decided to construct on the flat ground in the town centre.
    The edifice’s history was chequered, as most history is. Though it was originally built as a Catholic church, there had been a period – a little over three centuries, in fact – when it had fallen into the hands of King Henry VIII’s breakaway movement, the adherents of which had