Silence by Anthony J. Quinn

a moment but then seemed to relent. ‘Well, if you think it’s relevant to the investigation. All I can say is that Aloysius was certainly not the type to ignore a police checkpoint. As far as I know, he never broke a motoring law in his life. Didn’t even have a parking ticket to his name. And if he had committed some misdemeanour, he would have owned up and accepted his punishment. He certainly wouldn’t have tried to evade the police.’
    ‘You’re suggesting he wasn’t acting under his free will when he drove through the police cordon?’
    Again, Graves looked a little confused.
    ‘Oh no, I can’t comment on his state of mind. I’ve told you that already.’
    ‘We’re trying to trace his mobile phone. Do you have his number?’
    The abbot’s eyes shrank to pinpoint glints.
    ‘Why are you interested in finding his phone? Is Father Walsh under suspicion of committing some crime?’
    ‘Not that we’re aware of.’
    ‘Then I’m relieved.’ The abbot relayed the number from a leather address book. ‘Well,’ he added, rising from his seat. ‘Thank you for your visit but you must excuse me, I have things to do.’
    ‘Wait a moment,’ said Daly. ‘I’d like to ask you some more questions.’
    The abbot sighed and sat down heavily. He removed a pair of glasses from a case and put them on. He stared closely at Daly, blinking.
    ‘Tell me, Inspector, why exactly have you come?’
    ‘I’m trying to piece together Father Walsh’s final days.’
    The abbot scrutinized him through his glasses, as if for the first time registering the true nature of his visit.
    ‘You must understand that I cannot reveal any details of his private life.’
    ‘Of course you can – you were his superior. Unless you’re trying to spare the order some sort of embarrassment?’
    ‘Inspector Daly, my work here is usually very simple. There are half a dozen priests and monks, and they live right under my eyes. We are one of the best-run religious communities in the country. It is because we have a philosophy of not seeking contact with the secular world. Unfortunately, Father Walsh found it impossible to adhere to that precept.’
    The abbot took off his glasses and put them back in the case. His shoulders slumped slightly and he lowered the tone of his voice, as though from now on he was going to tell Daly a different type of story.
    ‘Do you remember much about the late 1970s, Inspector? You were probably only a boy then.’
    Daly flinched. Of course he remembered. When he peered into that portion of his childhood, he saw the darkness surrounding the death of his mother. She had been killed in crossfire between IRA gunmen and police officers at a checkpoint. The experience had marked him deeply, leaving him haunted throughout his adult life with the dread of losing another loved one, the fear cramping him in his relationships as effectively as a prisoner’s shackles.
    ‘For the past year, Aloysius had been spending very little time in the monastery. He wandered a lot. Restless is how I would describe his behaviour.’ He stared at Daly with a look that resembled fear. ‘He was always talking about the past. Frankly it was becoming an unhealthy obsession.’
    ‘We all have memories we treasure,’ said Daly. ‘They are our refuge in times of trouble or uncertainty.’
    ‘I’m not talking about his childhood past. I’m talking about the historical past. Aloysius was trying to verify the dates and locations of certain events during the Troubles. They were the kind of memories no one treasures. He was gathering up the details of unsolved murders in Tyrone and Armagh during one particularly dark year and charting them on a map. It was the most macabre piece of cartography I ever saw. He was trying to prove the murders were part of a conspiracy involving some very powerful institutions.’ The abbot shrugged. ‘How can you discover something that happened in a cloud of secrecy and fear all those years ago? The truth about