Page 35 of Her Last Breath

Jane knew it was a big ask. They had checked the vans from the abattoir with no luck, but it might be a private van Liam had stashed away somewhere. Whatever else she had uncovered, she knew they didn’t have evidence connecting Liam Harrison to their two victims physically. If they could find the van, that would be something solid they could use to pin the bastard down.

‘I know every dodgy lock-up and hiding place in this town, ma’am. If that van is hidden away somewhere, I’ll find it.’

DC Berry called her over as DS Johnson and DC Chan continued the search for the van.

Jane leant over DC Berry’s chair.

‘I tracked down the prison chaplain the probation officer referred us to.’

Jane looked blank.

‘Liam Harrison’s probation officer? He said that both Harrison and Burrows were close to the chaplain, spent a lot of time in his rehab sessions. She thinks if anyone knows what went on between the two men in detail, it will be him.’

‘Let’s get him interviewed, see if they stayed in touch with him when they were released.’

‘There’s something else. The chaplain, well he’s actually a priest, but anyway, he’s the same man that runs the foodbank Alice Rogers used.’

‘He’s based in Burnley?’

‘Yes. He did an outreach at HMP Buckley Hall.’

‘And when they were released, staying in touch with local lads Harrison and Burrows would have been easy for him. That, plus his connection with Alice Rogers, means he potentially knew all three of them. What’s his name?’

‘A Father Michael Walsh.’

Jane jolted at the name. It couldn’t be.

‘Which church?’

‘St Agnes RC,’ said DC Berry, reading off his screen.

‘I know St Agnes. My mother used to drag me there every Sunday for Mass and doctrine lessons. The number of times I’ve been there for weddings, baptisms, Christmas and Easter. It was a mainstay of my childhood.’

DC Berry looked uncomfortable as though Jane was oversharing.

Jane didn’t add it was also the church where Ed’s funeral had taken place. Every corner of Burnley was testament to her eighteen years here, and Father Walsh was another reminder of that life.

‘I’ll send you the address, ma’am.’

‘No need. I know exactly where it is.’

Jane had her own reasons for seeing Father Walsh, and Mark Burrows was only one of them.

Chapter 22

St Agnes Roman Catholic Church was a red-brick Victorian building, nestled among the tightly packed terraced houses of the parish it served. A community centre had been built by commandeering the old priest’s home since Jane had been away. She remembered visiting the poky little house with her parents, the kindness of Father Michael as he had given her orange Club biscuits, while they discussed her brother’s funeral. Discussed his soul. Her mother’s hysteria fuelled by conversations about heaven and hell, eternal damnation. Her father smiling at Jane, telling her everything was going to be OK.

‘Her fault’ – words that had managed to escape the closed door, as she sat on a hard wooden chair, her teeth sticky with chocolatey orange biscuit.

Jane walked over to the community centre, with banners advertising charity events, local businesses and a sign with the foodbank hours. A man in his early forties spotted her and walked over to her. He had a kind face, blue eyes, greying blond hair and a lithe, muscular body.

‘Hi, I’m Colin Wilson, the manager here.’ He held out his hand for Jane. She shook it, strong grip. ‘Have you come to donate something?’

‘I’m DI Jane Hacker, looking for Father Walsh.’

‘Father Walsh is in the annexe. I’ll take you there if you want.’

Jane walked with him through the large hall, to a door that was secured with a heavy lock and bars.