“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it, Dad?”
Ron nods. “I’ll call Elizabeth.”
69.
Donna and Chris are in the Fairhaven police station, interview suite B.
Not so long ago, Donna had been sitting in this interview room talking to someone pretending to be a nun. She now sat in front of a man pretending to be a priest. The parallel is not lost on her.
Donna herself had made the breakthrough. Just a few background checks on Father Matthew Mackie. Run him through the computer, see what popped up.
The background checks had taken a couple of days because absolutely nothing popped up. Which had made no sense at all. So Donna had spent a bit of time piecing it together, working out what was what, before taking the information to Chris. And now here they all were.
“At every step of the process, Mr. Mackie,” Chris continues, “at every step, you referred to yourself as ‘Father’? You introduced yourself as ‘Father’?”
“Yes,” agrees Matthew Mackie.
“Even now you’re wearing a dog collar, are we agreed?”
“I am, yes.” Mackie fingers the collar in confirmation.
“And the rest. The full kit, if you like?”
“The vestments, yes.”
“And yet when we start looking into you, what do we find?”
Donna watches and learns. Chris is being gentle with the old man. She wonders if he will turn, given what they know.
“I think... well, I think perhaps, possibly, there may have been a misapprehension.” Chris sits back and lets Matthew Mackie talk. Which he does in fits and starts. “For which I accept my share of the blame, and if you feel I have... fallen short, I suppose, in some way... my intentions werenot to mislead, but I see that that’s how it might look, without all the, uh, facts.”
“The facts, Mr. Mackie?” says Chris. “Excellent! Let’s get on to the facts. You are not Father Matthew Mackie, that’s a fact. You do not work for the Catholic Church, or any church. That’s another one. You are—and this has taken a full fifteen minutes of research with the local NHS trust—Dr. Michael Matthew Noel Mackie? Can we have that one as a fact too?”
“Yes,” admits Matthew Mackie.
“You retired from private practice as a GP fifteen years ago. You live in a bungalow in Bexhill, and, asking around there, you don’t even attend Mass?”
Mackie looks to the floor.
“All facts?”
Mackie nods without looking up. “All facts.”
“I wonder if you could remove the dog collar for me, Mr. Mackie?”
Mackie looks up, directly at Chris. “No, I’ll keep it on, if you don’t mind. Unless I’m under arrest, which you haven’t mentioned.”
Now Chris nods. He looks over at Donna, then turns back and drums his fingers on the table. Here we go, thinks Donna. It takes a lot to get Chris to drum his fingers on a table.
“A man has just died, Mr. Mackie,” says Chris. “And you and I watched it happen, didn’t we? And do you know what I thought I saw? I thought I saw a man pushing a Catholic priest. A Catholic priest protecting a Catholic graveyard. And as a police officer, that painted things in a certain light for me. You understand?”
Mackie nods. Donna is staying quiet. There is nothing she can think to add. She wonders if Chris would ever drum his fingers on a table at her. She hopes not.
“But what did I actually see? I actually saw a man pushing someone impersonating a priest, for reasons still known only to himself. Pushing a con man, which is what you are. A con man protecting a graveyard?”
“I’m not a con man,” says Matthew Mackie.
Chris holds up a hand to stop him. “Moments after scuffling with this con man, the first man drops down dead from a lethal injection. Which puts a different complexion on things, especially when we discover the con man is a doctor. But perhaps I’ve missed something?”
