by A W Hartoin
It took longer for someone to answer than I expected and I had time to get nervous. No matter how many times I talked to victim’s families, I never got used to it. At least, Patrick was pretty far removed. I just hoped he wasn’t completely removed.
A girl about eleven answered the door and didn’t say a word. She saw Fats and that was the end of speaking.
“Hi,” I said. “Is your father home? I’d like to speak to—”
“For God’s sake, Marlee,” called out a woman. “No solicitors.”
Marlee started to close the door, but Fats slapped a hand against the wood and it bounced back.
“Mom!” Marlee yelled in panic.
“Pat!” yelled the woman.
“What?”
“The door!”
“What?”
They went back and forth with Marlee staring at us with embarrassment. “Those are my parents.”
“We’ve all got them,” I said. “And they’re surprisingly similar.”
Marlee didn’t think so and I had to say there was a lot of yelling and not a whole lot of listening going on in that bungalow.
“For fuck’s sake, Pat, get the door! I’m dying my hair!”
“I’m doing the quarterlies!”
“Are they dripping?”
Pat let out a stream of obscenities that got louder as he got closer. If it hadn’t been for Fats, I might’ve turned tail and taken off. Angry is no way to start an interview, especially about a family murder. But I was in luck, also because of Fats. When Pat saw her, he stopped yelling and froze in the doorway.
“We’re not selling anything,” I said, quickly. “I’m Mercy Watts and this is Fats Licata. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
“I know who you are,” he said. “I just never expected you to show up at my door. I’m a huge fan.”
“Well, thanks for that,” I said. “Can we come in?”
“I didn’t mean you.” Pat rushed forward and reached past me. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you.”
Fats shook his hand and grinned at me. “You’re not the only one with a fan base.”
“Are you still competing?” Pat asked. “I haven’t seen you on the circuit.”
“I’m retired, but it’s nice that you remember me.” Fats smiled at that man in a way that I could see him melting. Unfortunately, so could his daughter, who was giving him what had to be a youthful version of her mother’s stink eye.
“Can we come in?” I asked. “It’s a bit nippy out here.”
Pat focused. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. Sorry so. In here. Come in here.”
“Dad! What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Go play or something.”
Marlee crossed her arms. Nope, not going to happen. “What do you want?” she asked.
I pulled out one of my dad’s cards and gave it to her. Marlee was the nut I needed to crack. “We’d like to ask your father about a case we’re working on.”
She examined the card and frowned. “Your name isn’t on here.”
Fats laughed. “You don’t miss a thing. That’s her father, the famous detective. We’re helping him out.”
Patrick shooed Marlee away and led us into the living room with his daughter in pursuit. “Please sit down. I…do you…”
“Water would be great,” I said.
“Marlee, water,” he ordered, not looking at her but staring at Fats with glowing admiration. Not a good thing.
“How about you go with her, Fats?” I asked, giving her a look. I had to get her away from Pat or it was nowhere’s-ville.
She grinned at me and then turned to Marlee, who had the stinkiest stink eye I’d ever seen. “I love these houses. My Uncle Moe has one just like it.”
“Yeah?”
“He does. On The Hill.” Fats steered her through an arched door. “Let’s get that water.”
Marlee wasn’t so easily distracted. “Mom! There are hot girls here!” she yelled as they left the room.
Pat slapped his forehead. “I’m so sorry. Marlee’s a…I don’t know what.”
“My grandad would call her a pistol,” I said.
“That’s accurate.” Patrick saw me for the first time and I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen.
Alright. Who’s the famous one now.
“Aren’t you the girl that stank up the airport?” He sniffed and, I swear to God, I almost got up and left, but a woman wearing a stained men’s undershirt and plastic bag on her head rushed in. You know a woman’s concerned about her man when she’s willing to be seen like that. Pat had been a bad boy.
“Who the…oh, it’s you,” she said, relaxing and I waited for her to say that she wasn’t worried about me since I stank, but she didn’t. She sank into the cushy armchair opposite me and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Mercy Watts and I’m investigating a case and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
“I know who you are. How could I not?”
I winced and she grinned at me. “I don’t believe everything I read, unlike some people I know.”
It was Pat’s turn to wince and I enjoyed it, I have to say.
“That airport thing was my uncle. He was having a time and it got pinned on me,” I said. “Do you have time for some questions? It won’t take long.”
Fats walked in and the wife took one look and said, “You bet it won’t.”
Pat turned multiple shades of red, ombré, if you will. Dark red on the neck to pale pink on his balding head.
Marlee looked back and forth between her parents, grabbed a Coke off the tray Fats was carrying, and plopped down on the floor next to her mother. “She’s a bodybuilder and the other one is a nurse.”
“I know,” said her mother. “Believe me, I know.”
Pat’s ombré got a little darker. “I’m. I think we can answer some questions, can’t we, Nancy?”
Fats set down the tray and held out her hand to Nancy. “I’m Fats Licata, former bodybuilder.”
Nancy shook her hand and asked, “Are you sure you’re former?”
“I shake it up every now and again, but I’m retired.” Fats sat down in the chair next to her and it wasn’t easy. She barely squeezed in.
“So what’s this about?” asked Nancy. “We haven’t seen any crimes. It’s a pretty quiet neighborhood.”
“It’s not a recent crime,” I said, “and it wasn’t necessarily in St. Louis.”
“Then I don’t know how we can help you,” said Pat, starting to turn a normal human shade of pink.
I glanced at Marlee. The girl might not know and I sure wasn’t going to be the one to tell her about a family tragedy. “Can we talk in private? This may not be appropriate.”
Marlee scowled. “No way. I’m not leaving.”
Nancy pointed at the door. “Go to your room.”
“No.”
“Go.”
“No.”
“I’m your mother and I say go.”
“No.”
That went on for a good five minutes and I had the feeling that Marlee won her battles by attrition. I envied her. My mother did not get worn down. Maybe I didn’t stick to it long enough because Nancy was already wavering and Pat was already over it. Kid one. Parents zip.
“Fats, you might be a mother someday,” I interjected. “How would you handle this?”
She stood up so fast she was a blur and picked up Marlee with her arms pinned to her waist. I grabbed the Coke out of her hand before she dropped it and Fats held her straight out, stiff armed, like she weighed no more than a five pound bag of flour. “I’d take her to her room. May I?”
Nancy burst into laughter and nodded as her daughter protested about being an abused kid and calling children’s services. Marlee’s complaints faded away as Fats carried her upstairs.
“Wow,” said Pat.
“Where has she been for the last eleven years?” Nancy shot a look at Pat. “Other than the garage wall.”
<
br /> Garage wall? Oh! At least I’m not the only one.
“She does security work,” I said. “And helps me on occasion.”
“Doing what? I thought you were a nurse and in that band.”
“I’m just DBD’s cover girl.”
Pat leaned forward. “You sing. We saw you at that benefit. Not bad.”
Thanks, I guess.
“Under duress, I sing. Nursing is my regular gig.”
“And all those murders.” Nancy wrinkled her nose. “How do you stand thinking about all that stuff?”
“I can’t stand it, but ice cream helps.”
She grinned and said, “Ask away before Marlee escapes.”
“She will not escape,” I said.
Pat leaned back and ran his fingers through his sparse hair. “That’s what we thought too many times to count.”
“Okay, then. First of all, let me say I’m sorry to bring this up and I wouldn’t do it, if I didn’t have to.”
They came to attention and Nancy balled up the tee shirt in her fists. “Go ahead.”
“It’s about Sister Maggie’s murder.”
“Huh?” she asked. “The nun? Wasn’t that like fifty years ago?”
Pat frowned. “It was before I was born. I never knew her.”
“I realize that, but something’s come up in her case and things have changed,” I said.
“But they know who did it,” said Nancy. “Right?”
I picked up a glass of water and took a sip. “It’s less solved than you’d think.”
Everyone got a glass and held them while I explained about the medal, leaving out Aunt Miriam’s unwillingness to cooperate, and just saying that it couldn’t be positively identified just then.
“So why don’t they just reopen the case?” asked Pat.
“Not enough evidence. I’m doing a favor and trying to find more.”
They went quiet. It was a lot to take in. I held nothing back, except Aunt Miriam’s weirdness. I told them about the bishop’s behavior, what Father Bernard said, all of it.
“Well,” said Pat, after a minute or two, “I can tell you that my family never believed the priest did it.”
“No?” I asked.
“No. Not at all. My dad said it was total bullshit.” Pat got red again, but no ombré that time, pure tomato. “He left the church because of how it was handled. Everyone did. Dad never stepped foot in another church again.”
“Because of the investigation? The church didn’t have anything to do with that.”
He scoffed. “Oh, yeah? You believe that? Dad said the church only cared about how they looked and wanted it to go away.”
“Sounds like what I’ve heard, but your dad thought that they stopped the investigation?” I asked.
“I don’t know about stopped, but they didn’t help. That’s for sure.”
“Do you know any details?”
“Faith said she was strangled,” said Nancy.
“Who’s Faith?” I asked.
“My mother,” said Pat. “I didn’t know you two talked about it. Dad hated to talk about it. He always got pissed off.”
“We only talked about it the one time,” said Nancy. “Your dad, that last Christmas, you know how he was.”
Pat went on to explain his father had a drinking problem and would only talk about his cousin’s murder if he got wasted. He’d died five years ago. His last Christmas he got really drunk and started spewing anger and obscenities. When the kids got him to bed, Faith talked about the toll Maggie’s death had taken on her husband. He and Maggie had been close, since she’d lost her own brother to cancer. Faith didn’t say much, just that Maggie had been strangled and people thought the priest did it, but Joseph didn’t.
“Did your mom believe it?” I asked.
“I never asked,” said Pat. “Probably. Mom’s all about authority. She doesn’t question much. She mostly hated Dad getting upset. It’s not like we could do anything. Cops said he did it, so he did it.”
“But now maybe you can prove he didn’t,” said Nancy. “That medal’s a pretty big deal for the case.”
I nodded. “It is, but I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere.”
“It’s too late for my dad,” said Pat, bitterly.
“But not your mom and everybody else.”
He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know anything and I don’t think Mom does either. Not really. Dad just railed on about the church and he was drunk. He’d say all kinds of crazy shit.”
“Anything about who he thought did it?” I asked. “Any names?”
Pat didn’t remember any names. His father’s accusations were general, not specific. But he did talk about Maggie’s job at the asylum. He didn’t like her going there, even though she worked mainly with children.
“Maybe that’s something,” said Nancy. “You’d have to be crazy to kill a nun.”
“I agree and the St. Louis cops never took a look as far as I know,” I said.
Fats appeared in the door and startled all three of us. “What about where she died?”
“Holy crap!” exclaimed Nancy. “How’d you do that?”
She grinned. “I have skills.”
Pat sighed. “So Marlee will be down any second.”
“Nope. I gave her twenty bucks to stay put.”
Nancy shook her head. “We’ve tried bribery.”
“Do you have the ability to take twenty bucks off her and no problem doing it?” asked Fats.
“Not so much.”
“Then we’re good. What about that town?”
Nancy shrugged. “I have no idea where it happened. Faith didn’t mention that.”
“St. Sebastian,” said Pat.
“Where they have that big fair?”
“That’s the one,” I said. “So does your family go there or have a special connection?”
They shrugged and couldn’t think of a reason why Maggie would go there. Joseph never said anything about it. Most of his rage was at the church. The actual murderer seemed to have slipped his mind for the most part, except that he got away with it, but that, in Joseph’s opinion, was mainly the church’s fault.
“Did your father say anything about Maggie’s death at all? How it happened? Where? Who might’ve known something?” I asked.
Pat sighed. “Like I said, he was drunk and angry. I think he couldn’t get over that the church somehow betrayed us. That’s what he talked about. He really loved her. Sometimes he’d cry and talk about how he should’ve protected her. How he was her brother since her brother died. He was my namesake. Patrick. He died young.”
“Who would’ve gotten Maggie’s belongings?” I asked. “Even nuns have stuff. Books and whatnot.”
“My grandparents, I guess.”
Fats came in and sat down. “What did they say about it?”
“Nothing. I don’t remember them ever saying her name. My mom warned me never to talk about Maggie to them after Dad was on a bender.”
“Were they there when he was talking about it?” asked Fats.
“Usually, but they would just leave the room and everyone would try to shush my dad. My Aunt Linda would get mad at Dad and tell him off. It was a mess.”
“Where’s Linda?” I asked.
“Scottsdale, but don’t ask her. She says it’s ancient history. She won’t help.”
I tried to think of more questions, but he only knew what his drunken father said and that was the height of unreliable. It was interesting that the family agreed with everyone else that knew Maggie and Dominic. They didn’t believe he did it and, like The Girls, were mad at the church over it. It was one of those where there’s smoke, there’s fire kind of things. I’d be very surprised if they were totally off base in how they felt.
“So your mother’s still around, right?” I asked.
“She’s in Florida, but I don’t think she knows any more than I do,” said Pat.
“We can call her,” said Nancy.
Pat groaned.<
br />
“It can’t hurt.”
“You do it then.”
Nancy agreed and got her phone. Faith was quite elderly and, although living on her own in a retirement village in Tampa, she wasn’t good about picking up the phone. It took four tries to get her and I was reminded of Aunt Miriam. I’d say it was an old person thing, but Grandad didn’t do it and neither did The Girls. Maybe there was commonality I was missing.
Nancy greeted her mother-in-law and pointed at the phone. Pat shook his head and Nancy rolled her eyes.
“So, Mom,” she said, “I wanted to ask you something about Sister Maggie.”
During the back and forth, Pat got up and went out to peer up the staircase. He came back and said, “I’ll be damned. She’s still in there.”
“You should see how quick she trained her dog,” I said.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Five.”
Fats smiled. “Give or take ten minutes. It’s all in the tone.”
“And the fact that you could crack Moe open like a peanut.”
“Isn’t Moe your uncle?” asked Pat.
I explained that Moe was named after Moe and for good reason. That weird-looking dog with the moist bulging eyes did bear a striking resemblance to Uncle Moe who was one of the oddest looking guys I’d ever met. Even his short-cropped hair had a brindle pattern to it and Fats assured me that it was natural because who would dye their hair to look like that? I didn’t know, but I’d seen some pretty questionable fashion choices at three in the morning in the ER, including genital self-piercing and a guy who tried to dye his beard with wood stain. Nothing’s off the table.
“Alright. Faith does have a clue, ” said Nancy walking in and checking the clock. “Ah, crap. I’ve got to wash this out or I’ll look like some trailer trash biker chick.”
“Works for me,” said Pat.
“Idiot.”
He grinned as she dashed for the stairs and I chased her with Fats right behind me. “Wait. What does Faith know?”
“No details, but we’ve got the sister’s stuff.” Nancy dashed into the bathroom.
“Where?”
“Basement. She said you can have it. That box was a millstone around Joseph’s neck.” Nancy cranked the shower and slammed the door.
“I can’t believe it,” I said.
“Don’t,” said Fats. “It’ll be full of bibles and veils.”