‘I’ve already told you,’ I answer.
‘What is it you’re trying to ask? Tell me.’
‘Is her real father Stewart Julian?’
Again a pause. ‘Where’s my daughter? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Please, is Father Julian Deborah’s real father?’
“How is this important?’
‘It’s important because it will help me find Deborah.’
‘I’m phoning the police.’
‘Good, I want you to, but first tell me. Father Julian was murdered because he was protecting secrets. They were his own secrets. Was he Deborah’s father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he have any other children?’
‘Other children? I… I guess I’ve never really thought about it.
I suppose it’s possible, just like anything is possible. But I doubt it.’
‘Okay, I’m going to look for Deborah. I want you to call the police and tell them she’s missing. But first I want you to tell me where she lives and give me her number.’
I write the details down, and try calling Deborah immediately after I’ve hung up. She doesn’t answer. I leave a message.
That leaves me with Simon Nichols. He is the last person in the photos, the last person to be paid for in the bank statements, and the odds are that makes him the killer.
There are a few people with that name and initials in the phone book. I ring them all but get nowhere. In the end I’m able to track down his mother, who answers on the tenth ring, just before I hang up.
‘I’m trying to get hold of Simon,’ I say.
‘Simon?’ she says. “Erm, can I ask who’s calling?’
‘My name is Theodore Tate. I’m a private investigator.’
‘What is this about?’
‘I just have a few questions for him, just some routine stuff that might really help me out on a case.’
She doesn’t answer at first, then there are some soft sounds and I get the idea she is crying.
‘You’re about a year too late,’ she says, and suddenly I know what’s coming up. Suddenly I know she’s about to tell me that her son was murdered.
‘It was about a year ago,’ she says, after telling me Simon was stabbed to death in his own home. ‘The police haven’t caught the guy, not…’ She can’t finish.
Her sobs remind me of how Julian sounded when he was listening to the confessions of his daughters’ killer. I hear her cries, but all I can do is think about how empty my suspect pool is, and I now have absolutely no idea how to find the other brother who has killed so many.
chapter fifty-three
I stare at the photographs of the girls as if somehow they’re going to rearrange themselves and reveal an answer. I look at Simon, dead now, one more unsolved murder in a city with dozens of murders. The killer’s signature is different for his sisters and brother. I wonder whether he’d have killed Jeremy too, whether the desire is there, or whether he even knows of the other brother.
He certainly knew about Bruce. What relationship did they have for Bruce to be safe? Bruce’s last words about dignity echo in my thoughts, making me shiver. Between Bruce and Father Julian, they thought they were giving the girls some dignity, a burial place where they could be prayed over and looked after. But what of those they took from the coffins and discarded into the water?
What of their dignity?
I keep starting to reach for something different, to move it from one place to another, to shift about the bank statements and the logs, hoping, hoping … but there is nothing. I look at my watch. Saturday is shifting along quickly. And Deborah Lovatt is in danger.
I head back out to the car. The mud I splashed through it last night has dried. Dad would have a heart attack if he saw it. I dial the cellphone and try for Schroder but he doesn’t answer. I hang up and dial back and get the same result. I leave a message, then decide to call Landry.
‘Jesus, Tate, you just don’t know when to let go.’
‘I might have something for you.’
‘Really? I have something for you. You left your jacket and shoes at the church last night.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Good one, Tate, but you know what? I’m not even going to get into it. We both know you were there and we both know that I can’t prove it. So how about you do me a favour and stay the hell away from me.’
‘Look, Landry, this is important, okay? Real important. Did you find a tape recorder at the church?’
A tape recorder? What the hell are you on about?’
‘Did you find one or not?’
“No, there was no tape recorder.’
‘Okay. I can help you find who killed those girls.’
‘I’m listening,’ he says.
‘Where are you?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘I need you to go to the church.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you missed something.’
‘Missed what? This tape recorder?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get there.’
‘Come on, Tate, stop fucking around. It’s too damn late for your bullshit. I’m tired.’
‘Just call me back when you get there, okay?’