‘Another priest taking early retirement for mental health issues, then moving into Bishop Fisher’s retirement home. Nothing suspicious about that at all.’ Tony Sutton took a bite of his pastry, taking care to brush the resulting crumbs off his trousers and onto the floor of Warren’s office.
Warren bit his tongue.
He’d only just made the appointment at the clinic, and now, two hours later, he was sitting back in his office, knowing he should be at home with his wife, but also knowing that when she said she needed her own space, she meant it.
Over the past few years, Tony Sutton had become one of Warren’s closest friends. It was an indication of just how all-consuming his job had become that his friend was also someone he spent most of his working day with.
Should he tell Tony what he and Susan had been told?
Immediately he recoiled from the thought, recognising his own foolishness even as he did so; thousands of couples needed help conceiving, and for many of those couples the root cause of their problems was the man’s sperm. It was certainly nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what his mother-in-law may imply.
Yet to admit such a personal thing to Sutton … Warren couldn’t bring himself to do it. Would he feel the same if the outcome of this afternoon’s appointment had been different? If the consultant delivering the results of Susan’s pregnancy test had told them the implantation had been successful, and that in a little under nine months’ time, God willing, they would finally become parents? When it finally became time to show his colleagues and friends the first black and white images of their unborn child, would he have nonchalantly mentioned that they had needed a bit of help to achieve this miracle, or would he have smiled politely at the jokes about there ‘still being life in the old dog yet’?
He really didn’t know.
‘I tell you, there’s something dodgy going on in that place.’
Warren dragged his attention back to what Sutton was saying.
‘I tend to agree,’ he replied. ‘Unfortunately, according to Dr Massey, he recalls no complaints against Father Dodd from when he worked at the school.’
Sutton snorted. ‘What about rumours, then?’
‘That’s where he got a little cagey. He said that Father Dodd was rather old school and that his strict approach to discipline wasn’t always appreciated by those in his care.’
‘It’s one thing to be a bit liberal with the detention slips, or even a bit enthusiastic with the cane or slipper before they were banned, but another thing entirely to be interfering with pupils,’ said Sutton.
‘I agree, but when I pushed him, Dr Massey became very defensive and claimed to be insulted at the implication that he’d covered something up.’
‘How about an interview under caution?’
‘On what grounds?’
Sutton placed his tea plate on the edge of Warren’s desk.
‘I suppose we could think of something if we really wanted to,’ he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.
‘I’m not against the idea, but everything is so wishy washy at the moment. I’m already worried that our interest might tip off the killer.’
‘Could Dr Massey be the killer?’ asked Sutton.
‘On what grounds?’
‘Maybe he wanted to even a few scores? Perhaps fix a few wrongs?’
Warren thought about it for a moment.
‘If he did, then he concealed it pretty well. There’s nothing about any historic suspicious deaths at the retirement home on the PNC or, for that matter any suicides.’
‘Father Dodd is also not on the list of current residents.’
‘Meaning he’s either died or moved on.’
‘Or was never recorded as having lived there in the first place.’