‘This is what we know about Father Gerry Daugherty, so far.’ Tony Sutton was presenting the morning briefing. Behind him on the wall screen, a picture of a clean-shaven man in his sixties, with a shock of silvery hair, smiled at the camera, the head shot clearly showing the traditional black shirt and the white collar of a Roman Catholic priest. At the back of the room, Warren covered his mouth, stifling a yawn. Neither he nor Susan had slept properly the night before; today was a big day for them.
‘Born in 1947 in Cardiff to second generation Irish parents, he moved to Liverpool when he was three years old. He went to St Cuthbert’s College in Ushaw, Durham to train for the priesthood in 1965 and was ordained in 1971. He was a parish priest back in Liverpool for the next fifteen years, then when his parents retired in 1986 and moved down to South Cambridgeshire to be closer to his father’s family, he decided to make the move also. He wound up just over the border in Hertfordshire, where he took on the role of school chaplain at Saint Thomas Aquinas Catholic Comprehensive. He reportedly stayed there until retiring in 2005 on the grounds of ill health – likely mental health related – and moving to St Cecil’s.’
‘Father Nolan was also a school chaplain, could they have known each other?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘It’s not impossible that their paths crossed from time to time, but they trained at different seminaries and so far, we have no evidence that they knew each other before they met at the retirement home.’
‘What sort of relationship did they have?’ asked Richardson.
‘Nobody we’ve spoken to mentioned anything notable,’ said Sutton. ‘They were neither close friends, nor did anyone ever see them arguing. They had different hobbies and supported different football teams. Like Father Nolan, Father Daugherty rarely used the communal PC and didn’t own a laptop or smartphone. I’ve requested his mobile phone records, but everyone I’ve spoken to say that he rarely used it.’
‘How was he regarded by the other residents and staff?’ asked Pymm.
‘With great affection from what I can tell. Father Nolan was largely regarded as a pleasant, but quiet man. Father Daugherty on the other hand was a bit of a character. The kids at school nicknamed him Father Scouse on account of his accent, and he loved to live up to the stereotype; he was very witty. As far as anyone was aware, nobody disliked him.’
‘Do we know how he took Father Nolan’s death?’
‘The whole community were shocked obviously, and Father Daugherty was said to be especially quiet. He was usually a source of humour and wit, but he was supposedly very down about the death, particularly its very violent nature.’
‘Both Father Nolan and Father Daugherty took early retirement on the grounds of poor mental health, could there be a connection?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘They were both registered at the same GP practice, but it’s the nearest one to the home, so that would be expected. We’re currently applying to get their medical records released.’
‘What about family and friends outside the home?’ asked Richardson.
‘No wife and kids obviously, but he had a niece and a nephew on his father’s side, both of whom lived in Devon, and he was reportedly very fond of their children. He would visit a few times a year, particularly around Christmas and Easter. Outside the home, like Father Nolan, he was also a football fan – Everton – and he frequented the Duke of Wellington pub, which is in the opposite direction to the Cock and Lion where Father Nolan drank. There’s no indication that he was a gambler.’
‘We should get someone to question the landlord, to see if there were any notable changes in his behaviour, or if he mentioned any worries,’ said Warren. ‘Do we know why he was on the bridge that night, or how he got there?’
‘Well, he was in the habit of taking an evening constitutional,’ said Sutton. ‘He’d usually head out after evening meal, for an hour or so between seven and nine. It was a regular thing, even in winter or when it was raining. He enjoyed the peace and quiet. The last person to see him was Sister Clara, who said she saw him putting his coat on before heading out at about seven.’
‘Could he have seen something the night of Father Nolan’s death? If the killer thought Father Daugherty saw him acting suspiciously, he could have decided to kill him to keep him quiet,’ suggested Ruskin.
‘He didn’t mention anything when he was originally interviewed over Father Nolan’s death,’ offered Hutchinson.
‘Nevertheless, it’s a good suggestion,’ said Warren.
‘Would his walk have taken him to the bridge?’ asked Hutchinson.
Sutton shook his head and switched slides to a plan of the abbey grounds. Hand-drawn, the title proclaimed it to be from the fourteenth century.
‘Doubtful. The bridge over the river Herrot dates back to the original abbey, when there used to be a water mill just inside the abbey perimeter. The bridge was a convenient way to transport wheat to the mill house. A gate next to it was wide enough to allow a fully laden horse and cart into the grounds, and provided easy access to the gardeners and cook’s quarters that existed at the time.’
He switched slides, this one a modern plan of the abbey grounds.
‘You can see how things have changed. The water mill and the mill house are gone, as are the old cook and gardener’s quarters. The house that eventually became the retirement home was built on the land that the infirmary once stood upon. The bridge has remained, as has the gate, however it’s now made of metal, padlocked and rarely used.
‘It’s quite possible that Father Daugherty’s wanderings may have taken him along the inside of the perimeter wall, perhaps even to the gate, but unless he had a key to the padlock, he’s unlikely to have been able to walk out on to the bridge. We’ve yet to find one on his body, but if he had it in his hand when he fell, it could be downstream. We’d need to dredge the river to find it.’
‘I’ll let you suggest that to DSI Grayson, Tony.’
‘Was the padlock locked?’ asked Ruskin when the chuckles had died down.
‘Yes, although he could easily have locked it after himself, without a key, by reaching through the gate and snapping it shut. Forensics are dusting for prints.’
‘Who would have access to the key?’ asked Pymm.
‘As usual, they were hanging up in the vestry. We’ll do another audit of the keys, although if he was murdered, the killer may have returned them since.’
‘If they didn’t use those keys, then we all know someone who probably has a copy of his own,’ said Richardson, darkly.
‘We’ll check out Rodney Shaw’s whereabouts as a priority,’ promised Warren. ‘In the meantime, Forensics are busy going over Father Daugherty’s room and looking for signs that he was taken to the bridge against his will. The bridge has stone walls about four feet tall, so he won’t have been able to fall over either accidentally, or even after a helpful shove. He either climbed that wall of his own free will, or somebody lifted him over.’