Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

‘We all make mistakes,’ it said.

And Farnham never even noticed the third bullet.

When they’d finished what they came to do, the two men dragged Tom Farnham’s body back into the workshop and closed the door. Then they vanished as quickly as they’d come, slipping away into the darkness among the trees.

They left nothing behind them that moved. Nothing, except a thin, red ribbon of blood, meandering slowly across the concrete floor.

Sunday

All Saints parish church in Edendale was unusually full for the Sunday-morning service. There was nothing like a baptism or a wedding to attract the sort of congregation you’d never normally get on a Sunday.

Cooper felt uncomfortable in his suit. He must have put a bit of weight on since he last wore it. Liz looked great, though. She’d broken out a dress from her wardrobe, put on shoes with heels and brushed back her hair. Cooper was unduly proud to be seen with her. She scrubbed up really well, as the saying went around here.

Across the aisle, Liz’s friend and her family were squeezed into the front three pews. Mums and grandmas had come in their best hats, and dads coughed uneasily, glancing at their watches, wondering whether they’d be free before the pubs opened. The baby herself was there somewhere, clutched by her mother in a long, trailing christening gown. She was a remarkably well-behaved baby, who hadn’t cried once yet.

When everyone was settled, the vicar began performing the introduction.

‘ Here we are washed by the Holy Spirit and made clean. Here we are clothed with Christ, dying to sin that we may live his risen life .’

With mounting horror, Cooper realized that he was thinking of the pantomime from a couple of nights before. There was a startling similarity between the priest in his vestments intoning the opening lines of the service and the Pedlar stepping out on to the stage at the Royal Theatre for the first scene of Aladdin. Oh, I’m a man from a distant land, A place where camels roamAnd if they don’t like your face, they’ll cut off your hand …

Liz gave him a warning look. Maybe he’d let a smile show, or twitched in the wrong way. Cooper took a breath and tried to control himself. This was not the way to behave in church.

After a couple of hymns, the vicar lit a candle and called for ‘The Decision’. Raggedly, the congregation answered his questions, reading the replies from their order of service.

‘ To follow Christ means dying to sin and risingto new life with him. Do you reject the Devil and all rebellion against God? ’

Cooper found himself mentally drifting away from the church. His mouth was still moving as if he was giving the replies with everyone else. But his mind was a mile away, in the lounge at The Oaks care home, where the staff would be serving a glass of sherry soon and the residents would be looking forward to their lunch.

‘ Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil? Do you repent of the sins that separate us from God and neighbour? ’

He felt sure those words would really mean something to Raymond Sutton. Far more than they meant to him, or to any of the people squirming impatiently in their pews.

Sins that separate us from God and neighbour .

What sins were committed at Pity Wood Farm that had separated the Suttons from their neighbours, and from God?

Cooper suddenly had a terrible intuition of the torment that Raymond Sutton must have been going through all this time. Whatever had happened at Pity Wood, he’d either been a part of it, or he’d acted as a passive witness. It was surely impossible for him to have lived at the farm and not been aware of what went on. Raymond must have known every inch of that place like the back of his hand, as anyone would who’d lived on a farm his entire life.

Liz nudged him hard, and Cooper realized that the congregation was about to go into another hymn, and he was clutching the wrong book, his eyes distant, his mind wandering.

‘Pay attention,’ she said.

‘Sorry.’

As the organ music began, Cooper recalled one of the sheepdogs at Bridge End dying when he was child. His great-uncle had buried the dog behind the barn, out of sight. But Ben had known something was wrong the instant he arrived home from school. He’d prowled the farm buildings until he found the disturbed ground. He’d never needed to ask anyone. The very soil and air had talked to him and told him all he needed to know.

Cooper murmured under his breath. ‘ Raymond, there’s no way you could forget that. You know exactly what happened .’

The parents and godparents of the child had finally gathered around the font at the back of the church for the climax of the service.

‘ We thank you, Father, for the water of baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death .’

And the baby, who had been so quiet and well behaved throughout the service, began to scream as the water hit her face.

It looked as though residents in the care home had been having a good time at their Christmas party. Cooper found Raymond Sutton sitting in the lounge wearing a paper party hat, the kind that came out of a cracker and only lasted an hour or so before it fell off or got ripped. Mr Sutton’s hat was green. His fellow residents had got the red and yellow ones.

‘We have the party before Christmas because some of the residents spend the day itself with their families,’ explained Elaine. ‘It means all the staff can come in, too.’

‘Mr Sutton won’t be going anywhere on Christmas Day, I presume?’ said Cooper.

‘I don’t know. Does he have any family locally?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. But I’d be interested to hear if he gets any visitors.’

‘I’ll let you know. But you come here so often yourself, Detective Constable Cooper, that you’re already his most frequent visitor.’

Cooper smiled at her, noticing her properly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being a nuisance, Elaine.’

‘Not at all. In fact …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wondered what you’d be doing after work?’

‘More work, probably.’

She gave him a quizzical smile. ‘They must let you have some time off? But never mind.’

In the lounge, Cooper allowed an old lady to persuade him to pull a cracker with her. She read him the joke, and he laughed to please her. But he drew the line at wearing the paper hat, and she went away in disgust.

‘You never had any children, did you, Mr Sutton?’

‘No, I was never married.’

‘I understand marriage isn’t necessary any more, sir.’

‘A child out of wedlock? It would be shameful.’

‘No one would care these days, you know. Not in the least.’

‘So they tell me. But I’ve never understood it. When was it that decent behaviour went out of fashion?’

‘I don’t think it went out of fashion exactly, sir. It’s just stopped being compulsory these days.’

Sutton scowled. ‘Well, I don’t live in “these days”, do I? I live in the past. That’s what everyone always tells me. And why not? Maybe the past was a better time, and a better place.’

‘Even when evil things happened?’

Cooper felt the old man’s glare becoming more angry and more aggressive.

‘You’re trying to trap me,’ he said.

‘No, sir. I just want to understand what happened at the farm. Two women died, and that’s wrong. I think you know who was responsible. Don’t you want to see justice done?’

‘ Follow justice and justice alone, so that you may live and possess the land the Lord your God is giving you. Cursed is the man who withholds justice from the alien, the fatherless or the widow. Then all the people shall say, “Amen! ”’