Imago by Celina Grace

passenger seat of the car in question. “Doesn’t that look very like her?”
    Anderton brought the picture closer to his face.
    “It does,” he said quietly. “Now tell me you know who this car is registered to, Rav.”
    Rav was grinning.
    “Of course. Address of the owner is Twenty six Lavender Street, Charlock.”
    Kate gasped. Anderton’s fist curled, crumpling the paper.
    “I  knew  it,” he growled. “Father Michael. Is he still here?”
    “No, Jane dropped him back at the Mission.”
    “Well, get him back here. Right now.”
    Rav was already heading towards the door. Kate got up, chewing her thumbnail. Her head was in a whirl: Anderton’s kisses, Father Michael’s car and the small, curled body of Claudia Smith all vied for her attention. She felt dizzy.
    She was at the door when Anderton spoke her name, but this time she looked back, smiled and shook her head before she left the room.
     
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Father Michael took the chair falteringly. He looked around at the breezeblock walls painted an indifferent cream, the scuffed linoleum on the floor, the screwed down table with the air of man in a waking nightmare. He kept blinking, as if the harsh light from the strip light overhead hurt his eyes.
    Anderton and Kate sat down opposite him and the duty solicitor.
    Anderton began.
    “Father Michael Brannigan, are you aware of why we’ve brought you in for questioning today?”
    Father Michael was still looking about him. He folded his trembling hands in front of him on the table.
    “Yes. Yes, you want to talk to me about Claudia.” He looked directly at them both, his resonant voice suddenly gaining in strength and assurance. “I assure you that I did not kill her.”
    Anderton ignored his statement.
    “How long have you known Claudia Smith?”
    Father Michael blinked again.
    “She’s been at the Mission for a while. Perhaps six months? I would have to check the records.”
    “Did you know her before she came to live at the Mission?”
    “Yes. Yes, well, very slightly. She used to attend a mother and baby group that the church ran at a local village hall, and I believe I first met her then, when she came along with her daughter.”
    Anderton nodded. His manner changed slightly, became more conspiratorial, more…matey.
    “So you have known her some time, Father? Would you say you were friends?”
    Father Michael smiled, rather tremulously.
    “Friends? Well, I’m not sure that would be the right term. The disparity in our ages and circumstances… I liked her. I felt sorry for her and Madison. There was so much stacked against them.”
    “How so?”
    Father Michael’s smile vanished.
    “She had a tragic past, you know. Not much family support, no real role model at home. She got into a relationship with a man who treated her appallingly.”
    “That was Madison’s father?”
    Father Michael nodded.
    “Have you questioned  him ? He was a monster, violent, abusive. Has  he  been questioned about her death?”
    “Enquiries are continuing,” said Anderton smoothly, the usual response to that sort of question. He leant forward a little. “So you wouldn’t say you were close friends with Claudia?”
    “No – not as such, no.”
    Anderton sat back.
    “What about Mandy Renkin?”
    Kate was watching Father Michael’s face closely. He didn’t look shocked or guilty, merely blank.
    “Mandy?”
    “Would you say you were close friends?”
    “No. Not at all. She was a young woman who lived at the Mission, that’s all. I wished her well, I was concerned with her welfare but not – nothing much more.”
    Anderton brought his hand out from under the table. He was holding the print outs from the CCTV of Father Michael’s car taken on the night of Mandy Renkin’s death. He threw them onto the table in front of the priest and the slippery paper slid into a fan shape of dark images on the table top.
    “So what was she doing in your car on the night of her death, Father?” he