The Coldest Blood

Father Martin turned the captain’s chair around, resting the milk and sandwich plate on his knee, the heavy grey sky behind him. Dryden took the one other seat, a straight-backed dining chair as uncomfortable as any pew. There were books, but not too many, a single Gaelic football banner over a black and white picture of some boys in shorts.

‘Daniel’s only trying to protect my privacy,’ said the priest.

Dryden nodded, thinking how thin it sounded, how self-pitying.

‘Paul Gedney. Why didn’t you tell me he was an orphan at St Vincent’s?’

Martin turned slightly to rest the plate on the desk. ‘The smart answer you know…’

‘Because I didn’t ask,’ said Dryden.

‘Quite. Paul Gedney came in 1957, I think. He’d be five or thereabouts. His mother had died, an only parent. There was a place at St Vincent’s, and the doctor was a member of the congregation here at Lane End. In those days such human details counted for much. He was with us for more than a decade.’

He took a single small bite of the sandwich and tucked a crumb back between thin lips.

‘You weren’t troubled by this double coincidence. That two of your boys should be the witnesses in the case of the murder of another?’

‘Well – it isn’t as much of a coincidence as you might think. Perhaps I can explain?’

Dryden nodded. ‘You didn’t seem keen to explain on the phone, Father.’

‘Ah, well. A different question. There are some things I must not discuss. But history is history.’

He put his fingertips together and closed his eyes, shutting Dryden out. ‘So. Paul found a foster home in 1967 at Whittlesea. A woman known to the diocese – Gedney was the family name – she’d taken several children and in fact took Paul’s older half-brother a few years before she took Paul, which is something St Vincent’s always encouraged, of course.’

Dryden nodded, wishing he’d taken a notebook.

‘Anyway, he did very well with the family – at school and so on, given his background and the inevitable emotional problems. In fact he did much better than the older brother. That didn’t last – he came back to us before moving on, although the brothers were in touch. But Paul was adopted, finally. He was an intelligent child, highly intelligent in many ways.’

‘I’m sorry – how do you know… this is all before your time here, isn’t it?’

‘Files. We have files. I had anticipated some interest. And I got to know him much later – after he’d begun his training, actually, to become a nurse.’ He stopped eating, and Dryden sensed he was enjoying the exposition.

‘And very laudable that was. I should have said that it was a peculiarity of his character that this coldness was allied to a sincere – I believe – a sincere wish to protect his adopted family, and indeed to help others generally. He was intensely close to his adopted mother, and the other children. One of his mother’s great interests was in helping make life easier for those pupils here not lucky enough to find a home. She was in constant touch with St Vincent’s – indeed, she was a governor for a short period – and she ran outings and suchlike – trips to the seaside, the zoo, the pantomime at Christmas, that kind of thing. Remarkable, really, considering their straitened circumstances and her worsening health.’

Father Martin sipped the milk, which left a white slick across the glass like medicine.

‘At school – in Whittlesea – Paul met Ruth Henry, as she was then. They were all friends, Chips too. Paul’s foster mother asked Ruth if it was possible her father would set aside a few chalets in the summer for children from St Vincent’s at the Dolphin. She agreed to ask – her father was by then a very sick man I have to say. Anyway, he had taken great solace from the Church and was happy to agree, and so for a few years at least we were able to send children on a holiday, a rare opportunity for them in those days, believe me. We paid a vastly reduced rate – as I think I mentioned to you on the phone only yesterday – a few pounds to cover costs. The year Declan and Joe went was the sixth year – unhappily the last, as I also mentioned.

‘Usually I sent one of the priests too – but that year Declan’s sister, Marcie, was included with her foster parents as I’ve explained. Not the kind of arrangement we could get away with today, of course, but I think everyone’s motives were for the best.’

Father Martin, stopped, peeling back the sliced bread to examine the cheese within. They both watched as snow fell against the window.

‘I tried to revive the holidays a few years ago but Mrs Connor declined – insurance, apparently – and they did other good works which suited them best. A young-offenders scheme, I believe; such is progress.’

Dryden stood, the noise of the chair scraping on the lino echoing in the empty house. ‘You said Paul Gedney had a half-brother, Father. What was his name?’