A Turbulent Priest Read Online Free PDF Page A

that wife of yours reports you missing.”
    ***
    Superintendent Tucker congratulated himself that the interview had gone surprisingly well.
    He had slipped out to the hairdresser that morning (nothing as crude as a barber for a man who dealt with the media), in anticipation of a request from the television people. Planning ahead, as he constantly told his staff, was vital in modern police work. His hair would have come out well under the lights, he thought, well groomed but with just that touch of grey at the temples which gave gravitas to his persona. He had rung home, so with luck his wife would have recorded the relevant two minutes — he made the excuse that he wanted to study his technique for future occasions.
    Considering that he had had nothing to give them to add to the dramatic news of a body not as yet identified, the exchange with the young female presenter had gone well. He had managed to give her the impression of care and concern without in any way suggesting panic. Of course, unlike that oaf Peach, he respected women, knew how to handle these things. He couldn’t quite see how they could rise to the higher ranks in the police force, but in other walks of life there was no reason why they should not play a full and useful part.
    “Ah, thought I might just catch you, sir. Winding down after the rigours of performance, were you?” Tucker’s musings as he put on his coat and prepared for his journey home were rudely shattered by the arrival of DI Peach, meeting him head-on in the doorway of his office.
    “Won’t it wait, Peach? I’ve had a trying day already.”
    “Yes, sir. Of course it will. Silly of me not to consider the stresses a man like you operates under. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    Tucker peered at him suspiciously. It was unlike this bouncing ball of insubordination to be so co-operative. “All right. First thing in the morning, we’ll—”
    “It’s just that we have an identification on the victim. I thought you might want to know as soon as possible. Before I briefed the rest of the team. But of course I should have realised…”
    Tucker turned heavily, hopelessly, back into his office, slumping into his chair, wanting only to stem the flow of words from that relentlessly bright and energetic voice. “All right, Percy. You’d better tell me. Here and now.”
    “Yes, sir. Conscientious to a fault, as usual. Sorry to burden you with it, when I see you were away to a well-earned rest at home.”
    “Out with it, Percy. Don’t bugger about!”
    A rare departure from his mandarin’s pose into the language of the station. A warning to Percy that even Tucker could be pushed too far. But Peach would make him hop about a bit, even now. “Well, sir, it turns out it isn’t a vagrant, after all.”
    “Not a vagrant?” Tucker looked blank for a moment, then remembered his ill-advised conjecture of the morning about the background of this victim. “I see. Well, who the hell is it, then?”
    “It’s a Roman Catholic priest, sir. Cause a bit of a furore that will, I shouldn’t wonder, when we get the investigation under way.”
    Percy smiled at the wall above his chief’s head in happy anticipation.

 
    Four
     
    “I‘m Detective Inspector Peach and this is Detective Sergeant Blake.” Percy was at his least intimidating, and Lucy smiled encouragement and sympathy at the elderly woman.
    It mattered little. Martha Hargreaves had built her life round the service of men, and a special breed of men at that, and she scarcely noticed the young woman as she stood in the doorway of the presbytery of the Sacred Heart RC Church. She nodded an acknowledgement to Peach and led the way to the high Victorian room into which she had conducted so many visitors in the past. She had heard of feminism and knew something of its aims, but she invariably sniffed derisively at the mention of the word. She was a good sniffer, Martha, able to convey a wealth of derision by the briefest use of her