Bad Catholics by James Green

the policeman at the table. He drew on his cigarette. Their eyes met. Philomena didn’t move. He dropped the cigarette into his tea cup. Philomena turned to his colleague.
    â€˜Very well, Inspector.’
    They returned to the table and sat down.
    â€˜By the way, Sister, I’m a sergeant. This is Inspector Deal.’
    Philomena scrutinised them slowly, one at a time. ‘I have my own ways of deciding seniority,’ she said.
    Inspector Deal leaned forward. ‘Wasn’t it irresponsible to let a woman like Mrs Amhurst come and work in a place like this? Weren’t you inviting trouble?’
    The inspector’s question was meant to sound exactly as it did, an accusation. He wanted her to know who was in charge and that he was in a position to allocate blame.
    When Philomena replied, her Irish accent was more pronounced, deliberately comic.
    â€˜Now what would you be meaning, Sergeant, by “a place like this”?’
    â€˜You know exactly what I mean. And it’s still Inspector.’
    Philomena dropped the elaborate brogue.
    â€˜I do not know what you mean and I don’t care what rank you are. I don’t like your question and I don’t like you.’
    The sergeant was worldly-wise enough to see that the inspector could very well get the sticky end of exchanges with this woman and if that happened the fall-out would certainly land on him.
    â€˜Please, Sister, we’re only doing our job.’ He was vainly trying to keep the peace.
    â€˜Are you? And what job would that be at all?’
    The comic accent was back and with it a sweet, innocent smile. Then the brogue and the smile were gone and the voice was serious.
    â€˜Is it your job to put the blame on us at Bart’s for Mrs Amhurst’s death? We shouldn’t let the refuse of the street gather here to be fed and rested? We’re part of the problem, are we? The best answer would be for us to close down and move on because we’re not wanted. Is that your job, to get rid of us? Would the best answer be for me to say that I was to blame, and for us all to pack up and go?’
    â€˜Of course not, Sister, no one is saying –’
    â€˜It’s one answer,’ cut in the inspector, leaning forward. ‘At least that way no other innocent volunteer gets knifed.’
    Philomena leaned back and relaxed. She had the measure of Deal now. He was a blusterer and a bully, a nobody.
    â€˜Do you think that might work? Maybe you’re right, it’s been tried before.’
    â€˜To close you down? I never heard that, nobody ever said …’
    There was genuine surprise in the Sergeant’s voice.
    â€˜Not here, it was in another country, and it was a long time ago.’ Philomena turned to the inspector. ‘But then it was handled by a really dangerous bastard, not some pocket-edition desperado,’ she looked at his curly hair, ‘with a nice perm.’
    There was a moment’s silence, then the inspector spoke in a flat voice.
    â€˜OK, we got off to a bad start and if it helps, I apologise. Can we get on now? Could Mrs Amhurst’s car be seen from in the kitchen?’
    â€˜You can see the car from the sink by the window. But not from the cooker, you’d have your back to the window.’
    â€˜Did she always park it in the same place?’
    â€˜Yes, near the entrance, because there’s a light over the door so we could see it even when it’s dark.’
    â€˜Even so, it wasn’t really safe, was it? It’s not the sort of neighbourhood where unattended cars are just ignored.’
    â€˜There’s nowhere else. And it was quite safe there, for that car, I mean.’
    â€˜How can you be so sure?’
    â€˜The first time Mrs Amhurst came, she arrived by taxi and the next time her husband brought her in his Bentley. So I warned her about the neighbourhood. It’s not the sort of place where people travel in Bentleys. One day,