Necessary Sin

by Brian W Casey

  Susan slumped back in her chair like the “cat that swallowed the canary.”

  Michelle, back in her car, was overwhelmed by the heat built up already in her little sports car. She pulled the latch that activated the roof and felt the heat lift off her as the convertible folded back. She wished it was that easy to free herself of the doom she felt turning the envelope over to Susan.

  If there was any way to avoid it, she would have.

  Chapter 43

  With the roof secure, Michelle drove to August’s house. She figured maybe she would be lucky enough to catch him home. As least there they would be on safe territory with no Susan sticking her nose in. Maybe she could be a little freer to tell August how she really felt in the safety of his house. It would also give him a chance to be more open about his visitor.

  She crossed the highway and silently marveled at how one could see from one end of this town to the other.

  “What have I gotten myself into taking this position?”

  Her home in California was cooler and more scenic. But then, August wasn’t in California. When she met with the search committee for the new Medical Examiner, August was part of the interviewing team. She figured if the county had a sheriff that looked like him; it couldn’t be all bad.

  Pulling up to August’s house it was clear that he was not there either. No sign of the old jeep and the house was closed up. August liked the fresh air, if he was home all the windows would have been open. Knowing his lack of home security, she also knew the door would probably be unlocked.

  “What’s the harm,” she figured. “We’re friends and after all, I am just checking up on him, I am a doctor.”

  Pulling the screen door back she pushed the heavy ornate wood door in. It took some effort on her part and she made a less than graceful entrance in to the kitchen.

  Her first thought when she regained her dignity was that she never knew August to keep such a disheveled house. There were chairs out of place around the table and one even toppled over.

  Michelle searched the house to reassure herself that August was not there and that he was okay. She sat the chairs back up and picked up the magazines and other items laying on the floor.

  She found a note pad and pen on a counter and left a note for August to call her when he came home. She resisted the urge to add anything more personal on the note. She felt like a little girl writing a note to the neighbor boy. She chased the feelings away.

  “Marines don’t gush.”

  Getting into her car she almost sat on it.

  On the open car seat was a small delicate flower.

  Chapter 44

  Michelle, her hands shaking, pulled a rubber glove from the supply she kept in her car along with an evidence bag. Barely able to pull a glove on one hand she settled for that being enough. With the gloved hand, she carefully picked up the flower and dropped it into the evidence bag and placed it in her console and drove back to the Courthouse.

  She was hoping who ever placed this in her car was dumb enough to leave prints behind.

  Michelle immediately knew the message and now the manner of Fr. Steve’s death and maybe even the unexplained death of the volunteer fireman.

  “I need to retrieve the report.

  This is all bigger than a small-town scandal of a priest and a mistress.

  "Where the hell is Augie?”

  Chapter 45

  August drove most of the day. He made sure he stayed off the main interstates. Instead, he drove through the small towns and grain stops located on back highways. He stopped in one small town that reminded him of Watercreek. The Courthouse sat in the middle of a town square. Businesses surrounded the square most of them looking like “mom and pop” operations.

  He parked the truck outside a bakery, one of the businesses that surrounded the Courthouse. The old ford’s door creaked as he pushed it open and it caught the attention of a crow picking up spilled grain in the middle of the street. August was hoping the bakery had some coffee as he hadn’t see any place for miles that looked like a good coffee stop, and maybe just maybe a few doughnuts this late in the day. He was planning on being farther away from Watercreek by now, but the downside of back roads traveling is hay wagons and slow-moving tractors.

  The smell of fresh bread filled the shop and stirred memories of August’s grandmother’s house. That’s when things were easy. He and his grandpap would go fishing in the morning and come home to fresh bread 'and plenty of homemade strawberry jam and coffee. He'd been hooked on coffee ever since.

  They would all sit around drinking coffee till the pot was empty and listening to grandpap telling stories from his years in the Marines. It was usually on one of those mornings grandma would pull out the weekly letter from his folks and they would all try to picture the exotic places his parents were in.

  The bakery was set up with a long glass display case with rows of empty pastry trays. A few notices were taped to the glass. One printed on yellow paper warned people to not let their dogs jump up to the counter. But, right under it was a note, “Don’t forget to ask for our daily doggie treats.”

  There was also a notice of a tractor pull coming up on the weekend down at the local fairgrounds. August remembered the first time he ever heard of a “tractor pull,” he couldn’t believe how far away from the jungles that phrase had taken him.

  A few sugar doughnuts were left near the cash register. As he was eying them up a stubby little woman came out from the back, her gray hair wrapped tight with a white cloth, was trying to escape around the edges. Her apron was partially covering a cowboy style shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When she leaned forward on the counter August could tell by her tanned and muscular arms she did more than just work in the bakery.

  “What can I get you honey? We don’t have a whole lot left this afternoon, but I have some things in the back I was just packing up to put out for day old. I got some bear claws and jelly doughnuts back there and a few loaves of bread.”

  August, sticking his finger on top of the glass counter like a little kid picking out penny candy said,

  “I’ll take those two sugar doughnuts right there, and it would sure be great if you had some coffee to go with those.”

  “I don’t have any coffee right now sweetie, but if you can wait just a minute, I can put a pot on. I could use some myself.”

  “That would be great, I need to make a few phone calls outside. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you hun.”

  August stepped out on the side walk and looked across the street at the Courthouse. Unlike his Courthouse, this one was bathed in shade from big old maple trees surrounding the building. The grounds were manicured like a golf course and a few sprinklers were spitting across the lawn.

  August walked down to the truck and kicked the tires just for the heck of it. He opened the creaking door and reached across the seat to his backpack and pulled out the track phone. He sat on the edge of the seat with his legs hanging over the side and focused on the sprinklers after dialing up Dan Faraday’s number again.

  It rang seven times, just like last time, no answer. It made August a little nervous. He started wondering if he could start over in this little place and just not tell anybody. No handler, no Fr. Steve, Michelle or Susan Park.

  He shut the phone off and slipped off the truck seat and slammed the door shut. This time it scared the same crow and it took off to the top of the nearest light pole and glared down at August. It was as if the crow was the only creature that saw him as a stranger in town.

  When he went back in the bakery he could smell the fresh coffee. That made him feel better. He walked back up to the cash register which made the same woman magically appear from the back room. She carried with her a mug of coffee and plate with the two sugar doughnuts.

  “Here you go sweetie, you look like a man that needs a good cup of coffee. You have a seat over there and I bring it over to you.”

  At the corner of the bakery were small round
tables, not much bigger than diner plates themselves. Each one had delicate chairs with decorative wire backs that August wasn’t so sure would even hold him, but he figured he would trust them.

  Pulling the chair away he straddled the seat and carefully lowered himself down. The bakery worker noticed his hesitation.

  “You don’t have to worry hun, the guys we get in here, if they were going to break, they would have done it a long time ago.”

  She placed the mug and doughnuts on the table which left little room for anything else.

  “My name is Gabby, not my real name though that’s just what I’ve been called since I was a little kid because people say I talk a lot. I really don’t talk that much it just seems like my mouth wants to start before I really want to say something. Do you know what I mean?

  August just smiled and looked up at her as he took the first sip of coffee.

  “You enjoy sweetie, there’s plenty of coffee in the back you just knock on the counter there and I bring you some more.”

  August took a bite out of a doughnut and could taste his grandmothers baking all over again. Looking out the big display window, he was surprised to see a line of SUVs and pickups all with heavily tinted windows passing through the main street of town. August was glad they were going in the opposite direction from him. That many black SUVs hiding their occupants can only mean trouble for somebody.

  August finished the mug of coffee quick and it only made him want more. The doughnuts would give him the sugar and carb rush he needed to keep driving again and the caffeine would carry him the rest of the way. He decided to take Gabby up on her offer of more coffee and walked up to the counter and sheepishly tapped on the register like Gabby said to do.

  This time when Gabby came out she seemed nervous that he was at the counter. She made sure she pulled the curtain separating the work room from the front of the store.

  “You need more coffee? I’ll bring it to you, you just go sit down.”

  It seemed more like an order than a friendly coaxing, but August complied.

  Gabby came out as soon as he was seated, again making sure the curtain was pulled tight. She brought the pot over to August and poured it with a shaking hand.

  “Are you alright Gabby?”

  “Oh yes, I must have had too much coffee myself, it does that too me.”

  “I’ve been drinking coffee since I was a little kid, I don’t think it has much effect on me anymore. How much do I owe you?

  “Oh, you don’t owe me nothing. I was going to throw those doughnuts out for the old crow out there and the coffee I needed. Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Depends Gabby, you know I am not from here.”

  Sticking her hands in her jeans pockets under her apron she spilled out a nervous request,

  “you look like a man that might have a tattoo.”

  “I do, but why do you ask.”

  “I kind of have a thing for tattoos, could I see it?”

  August rolled up his sleeve to reveal the snake working around the cross.

  “I didn’t expect that. That is beautiful.”

  As quickly as she requested to see the tattoo, that’s how fast she left August side.

  “I hope you pass through here again,” she hollered back to him as she parted the curtain and slipped into the back.

  As soon as Gabby stepped through the curtain a man in a flowery shirt chewing on a cigar grabbed her arm. He ordered in a dry hacksaw voice,

  “So, tell me about the tattoo.”

  Gabby described as best she could what it looked like and the description seemed to satisfy him. He looked through a crack in the fold of the curtain and watched August go out the door. Once he was sure August was gone, he turned back to Gabby and slit her throat with one quick slice. Gabby fell to the floor, her eyes wide open staring at the ceiling and her apron turning red with the blood. He stood at the front door and watched August pull away and travel down the road in the opposite direction the SUVs had earlier passed. He stepped outside looked up at the crow still perched in the tree. He tossed the stub of his cigar out in the middle of the street and turned back into the bakery.

  The crow swooped down and picked at the cigar stub, grabbed it in his beak and took off.

  Chapter 46

  Watercreek, NE

  The rookie marshal was dropped off outside of Watercreek at the north edge of town just beyond The View Café. The SUV turned around and drove away. The rookie by this time had shed his suit and tie and now looked more like one of the locals rather than a government man. He wore a broken-in ball cap, blue jeans with a ring from a can of snuff, and boots that showed hard use. His blue cotton western style shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up hung outside of his jeans which did a good job of hiding the gun tucked in his waistband and gave full view of the Nebraska Huskers logo on the chest of the t-shirt.

  He walked from his drop off into the main part of town. He blended in so well that several people passing by on the highway waved to him thinking they knew him. He gave a friendly wave back and by the time he reached the turn of the century hotel in downtown he was one of the locals. No one suspected the nature of his visit or the way their community would soon be changed by his visit.

  The rookie checked in at the front desk using the name Bob Saine, a representative for the state agricultural office. The woman registering him blushed when he winked at her as he finished signing in. She informed him his bags had arrived earlier and they were already in his room.

  She wished him a pleasant stay in Watercreek.

  Once in his room, Saine pushed back the curtains revealing a perfect view of the main section of the downtown as well as a direct view of the Courthouse. Across the street from the Courthouse he spotted what looked like a mom and pop café on Main Street.

  “That will be a good place for lunch and to listen in on some of the local gossip.”

  He closed the curtains, stretched out on the bed and flipped on the TV to watch the local farm and market reports and baseball scores, information he would need to fill his conversations later.

  Chapter 47

  Wednesday, St. Louis, MO

  August arrived at his destination close to dawn. He stopped along the way and caught up on some sleep. He found a busy truck stop just outside St. Louis where he could hide the pickup among all the other trucks and where it wouldn’t be so unusual to see a guy sleeping in his truck. He wished he had taken a few extra doughnuts from Gabby, but she seemed in a hurry to get rid of him. Probably closing time for her.

  Now that it was getting close to dawn his final goal was an old Victorian house located in the suburbs of St. Louis. It was built in a time when excess was the rule; more rooms, windows and doors than anyone would ever need. August lived in the house years ago along with other young men studying to be Jesuit priests. The community grew up around the place leaving the house a small retreat in the heart of two stall garages and backyard swimming pools.

  August parked the truck down the street and switched the Nebraska plates to Missouri plates so that it wouldn’t create too much suspicion parked in the neighborhood.

  No one was out at this hour. A heavy morning fog had dropped on the neighborhood. The kind of fog that turns the light cast by streetlights into pyramids of light and headlights into laser beams cutting through cotton. The fog was a good indication of how humid it was going to be later.

  A few houses had lights on in the kitchens and he could see in the closest house a woman pouring a cup of coffee in front of a window. A man came up behind her and kissed her gently on the neck. August turned away. He pulled out his track phone and made one more attempt to reach Dan Faraday.

  No Answer.

  August was even more concerned. This hour of the morning there was no reason for him not answering his phone, he should be home in bed like the rest of the world. He had already used the phone too many times. August dropped the phone to the cement, crushed it with his boots and kicked it in a storm drain.

&nbs
p; Reaching in to the truck he pulled an old black cassock out of his gear bag. The cassock was shaped by the wrinkles from being stashed away for years. Throwing it on over his T-shirt and jeans, he was proud that it still fit, however it didn’t fit his soul as easily. Tugging at the collar he squirmed as if someone put a hangman’s noose around his neck.

  “Maybe this is what Judas felt like after collecting his thirty pieces.”

  August reached back in his bag and pulled out one the handguns and slid it underneath the cassock.

  August struggled to move toward the old house at the end of the street. All he could muster at this point was to stand and look at it. After a few minutes, he was finally able to make his legs move.

  The birds were waking up and their songs were distracting his thoughts. A few dogs barked as he passed their yards.

  He silently thanked them for the distraction.

  As he moved closer to the house he looked like one of the priests from the house out for an early morning walk. He felt a bit of relief knowing anyone who might see him would never even suspect he was a sheriff or his ugly past.

  August smiled to himself and let out a muffled laugh, until Sunday night, no one would have suspected him being a priest.

  August found his way into the back of the house and climbed over the garden wall as he did many times returning after curfew. Once on the other side he entered a world that was separated from the rest of the life. It was a place that was hidden from all the dangers and problems on the other side of the wall.

  Chapter 48

  Father Demetrius finished his morning prayer and closed his breviary and carefully placed a ribbon marker for his midday prayers later. He smoothed the ribbon out with age spotted hands. He sat for a couple minutes just breathing in and out and listening to the sound of his own breaths.