For I Have Sinned

by Kristen Houghton

  “It doesn’t work that way Marie. We don’t always know what’s going on with someone we love. Chances are very good that Joshua would have denied it if you questioned him about what you thought was happening. Pedophiles are very good at threatening their victims and making the abuse seem as if the victim somehow wanted it or, worse, deserved it. Don’t beat yourself up about this Marie. You aren’t to blame for not knowing.”

  Marie takes a deep breath and is silent for a few minutes then, staring at the box in her hands she says,

  “The Church ruled people’s lives when I was a kid. You aren’t Catholic; you don’t know what it was like. As much as I love my faith, I will tell you that the Church back then could dole out punishments if its authority was questioned. A very good friend of my mother was divorced. When she died and a funeral mass was scheduled by her son, Monsignor Moore stopped her casket from being carried into the church because, according to church law, divorce is a mortal sin. She was denied a Catholic mass because of her sin. A friend of the family did a quick prayer service at the gravesite. Believe me, when I was a child the priests were feared more than the cops. We believed that they had the power to send you to hell.”

  She cradles the box as if she is holding her brother. I touch her hand.

  “I wanted to give this to you personally Marie. David came to my office yesterday asking for it, but I told him that I could only give this to a family member. He said you were upset that I hadn’t given it to you.”

  She looks surprised. “I don’t why he thought that. I never really discussed the box with him except to say that you had it being tested. I figured you would give it to me when you were finished with it just as you said you would. I would never ask him to get it from you.”

  "Marie, this might not be the best time to ask you but, what exactly do you know about David? I mean you let him into your house when you weren’t home. You don’t know him that long.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t known him that long, you’re right. It’s only been a few months since I met him. But he’s very polite and he’s never tried anything with me, you know what I mean. All he ever did was kiss me on the cheek and hold my hand. I guess he’s shy. He’s sympathetic and understanding about Joshua. Actually besides you, David is the first person I’ve really talked to about my brother. Why are you asking me?”

  “Myrtle and I just feel protective of you, Marie, that’s all. David, well, I don’t know him at all. I’m naturally suspicious I guess.” I sigh. “And I really wish the box hadn’t contained such misery for you. Are you going to be alright? I hate to leave you alone but I need to talk with the police about this…monsignor.”

  Her eyes become hard when I say the title of the man who caused so much pain for her brother and whose actions destroyed her parents.

  “Are the police going to arrest that disgusting man? Please tell me he will be punished. I have to know he can’t get away with what he’s done to Joshua.”

  “Yes, he will be arrested I can assure you of that.” When they find him, I say to myself.

  “I’ll be okay, Cate, but I don’t want to stay in the house. I think that maybe I’ll go over to Mr. O’Leary’s, sit with him for a while. I have to talk to someone and he’s always been good to me. Just sitting with him is what I need right now. I can’t be here.”

  We walk outside together and Marie, holding the box tightly against her chest, goes towards the O’Leary house.

  “Tell Mr. O’Leary, I’ll come and visit soon,” I say walking towards my car.

  ****

  “Joey? Joey? Are you there? I can’t see anyone. It’s too dark here. I’m cold and I can’t move. Where are my… Oh God! Joey?”

  Chapter 26

  The precinct my ex calls his home for as many as ten hours a day is noisy and filled with the sound of phones and talking. There are suspects being processed for crimes, and several in handcuffs. The desk sergeant knows me and ushers me through to Will’s desk. He’s on the phone as I come in talking in that calm, serious tone that somehow is both placating and intimidating. I hear, “Yes, that’s right. It is being covered. That’s all I’m allowed to say. Yes, I sure will, you too.” As he slams down the phone I hear, “God damn, fucking idiot.”

  “Bad day Will? And it’s still early.”

  He gestures me over to a chair near his desk. “Some hotshot young reporter and I are having a pissing contest. His online paper gave him the backburner Central Park story and he’s trying to make a name for himself. The bastard makes a practice of calling the precinct every week for updates on how we’re handling the murdered priest case. Generally I’d just hang up on him but his father is some minor politician and just happens to be a golfing buddy of the police commissioner so he had him call here.” He looks at me. “So what kind of a day are you having?”

  I tell him that I just came from giving Joshua’s journal to Marie. He shakes his head and asks, “How’s she doing?”

  “Handling the news as best she can; outrage, sadness, guilt at not realizing what was happening to her brother. I left her over at Mr. O’Leary’s. I hope to God he gives her some of that Irish whiskey! After what she read today she deserves to get a little drunk.”

  I go on to tell him about Marie’s recollection of Monsignor Moore and how it was the nail in the coffin that confirmed that he is a pedophile.

  “Well the bastard has to be found. Hand your info over to the sex crimes unit in Queens and let them handle that part. All you have to do is find Joshua McElroy if he’s still alive and if he wants to be found that is.”

  “Yes, there is that. Finding someone who doesn’t want to be found is becoming my specialty. I’ll let you know how that’s going. I hope your day gets better.”

  “Highly unlikely, but thanks for the thought. See you around.”

  There’s a message from Giles on my cell. Instead of returning the call, I decide to take a run over to the morgue to see what he wants before I go back to my office. On the way I call Queens sex crimes and tell them I’ll be faxing them info on a pedophile case I’ve discovered.

  Giles is in autopsy when I get there so I wait in his office. On his desk there’s a picture of us outside a Broadway theatre. I remember that night; it was the first night he came back to the brownstone and that we slept together. I hadn’t had sex in quite some time back then and I remember Giles making love to me with an intensity and sweetness that completely had me undone. He wasn’t Will but the sex was good.

  “Hey!” says a voice behind me and I jump a mile. Giles is standing at the door.

  “You okay?” He comes over to me to give me a kiss and a hug.

  “I’m fine. You just startled me, that’s all. There is a morgue right across from your office, you know. ”

  “I think you saw too many horror movies when you were a child,” laughs Giles smacking my butt lovingly. “My patients, if you will, pretty much stay put.” He gestures to the morgue. “Be that as it may, to what do I owe the pleasure of your very lovely company?”

  “You called me.”

  “Well, it’s always nice to see you but you could have just returned the call. You didn’t have to drive down here. I know you’re busy working a case.”

  “I needed a short break since I’ll be working late today. What’s up?”

  “It’s a little strange. Someone called my office around nine o’clock today asking about a box that you supposedly sent to be checked for fingerprints and other evidence. The problem is that my staff checked the in-files and can’t find anything sent from you. But this man, who says he’s from your office, has actually been down here twice this morning to pick it up for you. I was in autopsy all morning so I didn’t get to meet him but members of my staff said he was very aggressive in his demands. Now I know the only people in your office are you and Myrtle Goldberg Tuttle, so what’s going on? Has Harry Tuttle given up baking goodies and joined Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations? Know anything about this?”

  “Act
ually no, this is the first time that I’m hearing this. I never sent anyone here and if I ever was to do that, you know that I’d call here first. But I think I have a good idea of who may have come here.”

  “Want to share his name?”

  “Not right now. I want to deal with this in my own way. Thanks Giles, I’m going back to my office.” I lean in for his kiss and he asks me if I want a late dinner tonight at a new Mediterranean place that has just opened up near my brownstone.

  “Sounds good. Make it for around nine and I’ll meet you there.”

  Driving back to my office I think about what Giles has told me. Who else knows the story that I told Marie about having that metal box checked for proof that it really is her brother’s? Only one other person knows; the same person who came to see me about bringing the box to Marie. Now the question I need an answer to is why that box is so important to him. Why does he want it so badly?

  ****

  Taking the steps two at a time I rush into my office to check out the box. The door is ajar and Myrtle is not in her usual place when I come in. She probably just stepped out to get something I think, closing the door and looking over towards the closet. Except … Myrtle is so safety conscious that if she steps out even for a few minutes she makes it a point to lock the door and it isn’t locked now. Something’s not right.

  My gun is in my bag and I slowly reach for it. “Myrtle? Myrtle, are you here?”

  I hear a muffled banging sound coming from the tiny bathroom. I go over to the door, gun pointed, and slowly open it to find a gagged and tied up Myrtle wedged between the sink and the toilet. Putting my finger to my lips, I slowly look out the bathroom door and survey my office. No one is in sight. Holding my gun ready I make a cautious round of the office, looking under the desks, out on the fire escape, and carefully opening the closet door. The safe looks as if someone went at it with a hammer but it is unopened. Nothing. Papers from my desk are strewn on the floor and the drawers are open and empty.

  I hurry back to the bathroom pulling my cell phone out as I go and hitting the speed-dial for 911.

  “Oh God, Myrtle! What happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

  She vigorously shakes her head as I put my gun on the sink and bend towards her to remove the tape from her mouth. “Cate! He knows, he knows about…” I shush her as I listen to a dispatcher say,

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  I give my name, address, and ask to have an ambulance come ASAP. Then I call Will.

  “Benigni, leave a message.”

  As I begin to record my message, Myrtle screams, “He’s still here! The one who…” but I never hear the rest. The last thing I remember are her eyes going wide as she looks over my shoulder and says, “Him! That’s him!” Then something heavy hits me on the side of my head and I collapse into blackness.

  ****

  My hands are duct-taped behind my back and I try hard to focus. My vision is slightly blurry. I’m in the junk-filled backseat of a van of some type which is traveling pretty fast down a street I don’t recognize. But I do recognize the voice of the person driving. It’s Marie’s David who is looking at me in the rear-view mirror. He turns briefly to make sure that I’m conscious.

  “You should have locked the door after you closed it, Cate. Some detective you are! I was hiding down the hall.” He half turns to me again and says, “You look a mess. When I hit you, you went down and smashed your mouth pretty hard on the sink. Sorry about that but it couldn’t be helped. By the way, that paper-weight on your desk was just heavy enough to knock you out.”

  Maneuvering to look at myself in the rearview mirror I see dried blood caked on the left side of my face along with a swollen split lip. I curse myself for not having been more alert and professional. I was so concerned about Myrtle that I forgot to secure the area; by not doing that I left myself and Myrtle vulnerable. My head is throbbing and I have to concentrate on what David is saying to me. My Smith &Wesson and cell phone are on the front passenger seat. David smells of liquor. This is a volatile situation.

  “David,” I say, my mouth dry and numb, “This is kidnapping. It’s a federal offense. That carries a prison term. Don’t do this; don’t ruin your life.”

  “Ruined? Ha! Too late. My life was ruined when I was gently raped at the age of nine.”

  I lick my lips to be able to speak. “There’s nothing gentle about rape David. I’m so sorry that it happened to you.”

  “Oh, my rapist, the son-of-a-bitch priest who did it to me cried after it was over. He told me he loved me and said he was as gentle as he could be. That is what I meant by a gentle rape.” He laughs bitterly. “The bastard did that for four years, at least once a month, sodomized me and then cried. Four fucking years!”

  My mind is trying to think but I feel dizzy. It’s possible I have a concussion. I struggle to stay alert. Keep him talking, engage him in conversation. Make him see me as a person. Stay awake, God-damn it!

  “What happened to you is the most horrible thing that can happen to a child. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you had to suffer like that. But, seriously, David, kidnapping me isn’t what you want to do. You need help to deal with your childhood trauma. You need to talk to someone and I can help you find the right person.”

  “I have talked to therapists, no help there. I even went to a support group that was supposed to help. They’re nothing more than a bunch of weaklings, victims, they have no strength.”

  “You’re a smart man David. You certainly sound educated and you know what you’re doing. You know this is wrong.”

  David laughs again and grabs the bottle. “Educated! I was a freak in college; all I did was study and go to class. I couldn’t date. Thanks to my holy rapist, I see sex as disgusting. That makes me a mental eunuch; I can feel nothing sexual without feeling disgust.”

  I keep looking out the window, trying to figure out where we are. We seem to be out of the city but I can’t be absolutely sure. Think Cate, what the hell can you do? You’re an animal trapped in a steel soundproof box on wheels with a predator. This is a crazy man you’re dealing with.

  Duct tape is the choice most kidnappers use on their victims because it renders a person nearly immobile. I hate duct-tape. It is impossible to get free of the tape without something sharp to slice through it. I feel woozy and, stupidly, I remember my one encounter with duct tape and Will. It was during one of our lusty encounters a year after our divorce. It’s amazing what memories will come unbidden into your mind at inopportune moments.

  I shift position and feel the small pocketknife I carry in my right back jeans pocket pressing against me. It’s attached to a pocket flashlight; both necessities of the P.I. trade. My jeans are tight, probably because I’m eating too many of Harry’s goodies I think, and I can’t maneuver myself into the right position to pull the knife out of my pocket.

  A loud, angry horn honk from a passing driver and a sharp swing of the van jolts me forward and into the reality of my situation. I lick my lips again and concentrate. David is speaking to me again.

  “You had to find it before I could get at it, didn’t you? That God-damned box that held all the information we need to help our cause. I met Joshua two years ago when he came to work cleaning cages at the vet’s office where I worked in upstate New York. I could see that he was holding in all this guilt and anger and I knew, just knew that he’d had to have been abused like me. One abuse victim can spot another, I guess.

  “After we became friends, Joshua was still so embarrassed and ashamed of what had happened to him that he wouldn’t reveal who his abuser was, even to me. It took me quite some time to find out the name of the priest who raped him. Learning that Joshua had kept a journal, documenting dates and details of every single instance of abuse and hidden it, was a real gift. I introduced him to the survivor’s group I formed, the Memorare. We remember everything that was done to us and we exact severe vengeance on our rapists. With his documentation of what he endured, he can b
e the shining light, the brave poster boy for our cause. His testimony alone can drive us.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror and says, “Are you paying attention, Cate? I have a lot to tell you.”

  I struggle with nausea and try to focus on what he’s saying.

  “It was months before I was finally able to convince Joshua that we needed the information in that box. I knew he put letters in Marie’s mailbox a few times. He just had to be careful of that old coot next door. That bastard nonagenarian watches everything that goes on in this neighborhood. I’m surprised that he didn’t know that Joshua put something in the eaves a few nights before he left.” He laughs with a strong bitterness. “But Joshua was afraid to come back and get the box for us. So if he wouldn’t come and get it, I decided that I would. I made it my business to meet his sister Marie so that I could get at that damned box. That was the only reason I started seeing her. These pedophiles, these sick bastards need to be punished by their survivors. Last year I was able to begin our true work.

  “Make no mistake; I am a survivor not a victim. Those priests who were found dead deserved their punishments. I am proud to have been able to punish them for their crimes. You know all about that, right, Cate? The priests who were found dead? Meet the man behind the murders.”

  “The priest murders. You’re involved in that.”

  Whatever alcohol he drank is making him reckless; he’s bragging. That’s a bad sign because it means he intends to kill me. No murderer tells you what he’s done and allows you to live.

  “You’d never guess it, would you? I certainly don’t look like a killer. People always said that I looked like a choir boy!” He laughs again, mirthlessly. "But then guess what? I was a choir boy and my rapist was the choirmaster!”

  My left eye is blurry but that may be because of the blood that dripped into it. I blink my eyes rapidly to clear them both.

  “You, Cate, you should have been nicer to me. Actually, you were the one who was involved in my very first murder. Small world, huh? Remember the one in upstate New York? That was my premiere debut. I wanted the world to know. But that murder story was buried; no one knew about it. The goddamn cops hid it. I had to do something more dramatic so I decided to use Latin, the language of the church, to leave messages. Then I dumped the bodies in more public places. I’m the one who sent the detailed M.E. report to the archbishop. It’s just like writing one up on the animals at the vet’s which I do all the time.” He’s on a roll and bragging about his crimes.