“Do the police have any theories yet?” Phillis asked.
“There is a detective who is in charge of the investigation. He said they had ruled out both suicide and accident. I asked him what that left, although I knew without being told that it left only homicide. They seem to think someone came into the church sometime around midday today, quite possibly to steal something, and Paul surprised him and that’s how the dear man was killed.”
“I detect a bit of skepticism in your voice,” Pat said. “Doesn’t seem as though you fully buy that theory.”
“Well, for one thing, there is nothing missing,” Father Sieger told him.
“Is the church kept open during the day?”
“From noon to two, for people to come in and sit for a while,” the priest explained.
“And no evidence of forced entry? Well, then that means whoever did it most likely got into the church during those two hours.”
Father Sieger nodded.
“But it would not mean Paul was killed during that time,” Phillis pointed out. “Someone could have gotten into the church and hid until the doors were closed at two o’clock.”
“As for nothing being missing,” Pat suggested, “it is conceivable that Father Mowbray surprised the would-be burglar before he had a chance to steal anything. He killed your curate, then ran off in panic.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve thought of that, too. But that doesn’t account for one thing the police found. They asked me about it because they thought I could help them. So far, this information hasn’t been released to anyone, especially not the newspapers. The police want it kept strictly confidential. When I found Father Paul’s body, he was lying face down in the middle aisle of the church, about half way down the aisle. My first reaction was that he had fainted or passed out. I knelt down next to him, put my hand on his and quickly pulled it back. I’m no doctor, have had virtually no experience with touching dead bodies, but I could immediately tell his hand was so cold he had to be dead. Besides, as my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I could make out a trail of blood from the back of the church.”
“What was it the police needed your help for?” Pat asked.
“After they were through examining the body, the detective in charge asked me about the stole Paul was wearing.”
“A stole?” Phillis asked.
Pat answered her. “Unless I’m mistaken, I think what Father Sieger is telling us is that if Father Mowbray was wearing a stole, the liturgical vestment worn around the neck, it’s likely he must have been hearing or had just finished hearing someone’s confession. Is that right, Father?”
“It would seem that way,” the priest agreed.
“And, if he was hearing a confession--I’m guessing, mind you--that would explain the trail of blood from the confessional in the rear of the church.” Pat looked at Father Sieger, who confirmed his explanation. “Would he necessarily know the person whose confession he was hearing?”
“Not necessarily,” Father Sieger answered. “Midday on Wednesday is not an ordinary time for confession. I asked Grace, but she said no one called the office and asked for a priest. Someone could have made an appointment with Paul to meet him in the church. It could have been almost anyone.”
“That sort of weakens the breaking-and-entering theory, doesn’t it?” Phillis said.
“You offered us your hospitality yesterday,” Pat said, changing the subject.
Father Sieger looked excited. “Yes, yes, certainly. In fact, I’d feel much better if you were staying here, at least for tonight, if not longer. Let me show you to your rooms.” He got up and they followed him.
Just outside the study was the foyer with its tiled floor and rough walls. A large jardinière stood in one corner with a Boston fern. Beyond that was a staircase on their left, a highly polished carved walnut affair which ran to the top floor. To the right of the foot of the staircase was a doorway, up one step. As they approached it, a figure appeared. Both Phillis and Pat were startled. The man in the doorway stood there silently, a cap in his hand. He hadn’t shaved that day or probably the day before. He did not smile.
“Good evening, Tom,” Father Sieger said.
Tom nodded.
“Tom, Mr. Montgomary and Miss Toner are friends of mine and will be staying at the rectory for a while, maybe a few days. Don’t be surprised if you see them wandering around, looking at things. Tom is our sexton.”
Tom nodded again. He looked first at Pat, then at Phillis, as though memorizing their faces. He abruptly turned and disappeared into the semi-darkness.
They started up to the first landing, turned left, went along a short landing against the outside wall of the building, left again, and took the remaining stairs to the second floor.
“That’s my suite in there.” Father Sieger pointed to a door on their right.
As they passed the rector’s private rooms, in the dim light Pat sensed rather than saw a movement on the staircase behind them. He spun around quickly and saw something part way up the stairs, a small mass on one of the steps, the same gray color as the carpeting. “What…?” he asked and pointed.
Father Sieger broke out laughing. He squatted down and made a clicking sound. The cat came to him and he scooped the animal up in his arms. “This is Hymn,” he announced as he held the animal cradled in the crook of his right arm. Four legs of gray with three white paws, a gray tail, and a face with round pale green eyes stared at them. A well-filled white stomach was being scratched by Father Sieger. “And that down there…” he nodded towards the landing between the first floor and his rooms, “…is Err.” The female, less than half the size of her brother, entirely gray save for a small locket of white on her chest, and with sharply slanted yellow eyes speckled with gold, kept her distance, studying the group of humans on the upper stairs.
“When I found them, she was pregnant. I was tempted to call them Sigmund and Sieglinde, but I had no proof he was the father, although it was obvious that she had conceived without benefit of clergy, hence the name, ‘Err.‘” He put Hymn down on the floor and the two siblings dashed off to the lower regions of the rectory.
The three of them continued along the second-floor hallway, past a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows with brocade draperies tied back with heavy silk cords, then took another flight, broken by a landing against the far wall, and eventually reached the third floor with its matching windows and draperies.
“Your rooms are here in the back.” Father Sieger opened first one door, then the other. “Suit yourselves which ones you use. They’re more or less the same.”
Each room had a low ceiling. The walls had been papered many years ago in a stripe which had all but disappeared. Each had a dresser between two windows which looked out the rear of the rectory with an unbroken view of the parking garage. Pat put their bags down in the hall.
“That other room across the hall, was that Father Mowbray’s?” Pat asked.
“Yes, it was. I still can’t get used to referring to him in the past tense. I still expect him to come home any minute. He will be sorely missed. Everyone loved Paul.”
“Could we see the room?” Phillis asked.
“Why… why I suppose so. I presume the police must be through with it. Actually, it’s more of a small apartment, a sitting room, bedroom, and bath. I haven’t been in there since…. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the paper stripped off the walls, the way the police searched this place. You mean you would like to see it now?”
“If you don’t mind,” Pat told him.
Father Sieger preceded them across the hall and opened a door. He walked in and turned on a lamp next to a small brown velvet sofa. The room was comfortable, although bordering on the shabby. The carpet underfoot was somewhat worn and the upholstered furniture--sofa, large chair, and ottoman--needed recovering. There were two bookcases between a pair of windows which looked down on the garden below. There was a television set on a table in one corner, and beneath it, a stereo. A desk with a telepho
ne and computer occupied another corner.
“Not as disturbed as I thought it would be,” Father Sieger said. “I almost feel as though we’re intruding and that Paul will come in any minute. But I guess he won’t.”
“Tell us about him.” Pat was sitting on the arm of the sofa. “I met him once. In Margate. But that was a while ago and we didn’t get to know one another. I guessed he was in his early thirties, an exceptionally big man, maybe six-four?”
“Almost six-six,” Father Sieger said softly. “Yes, he was a big man. Played football in school and certainly could have gone on to play pro ball if he hadn’t gone into the seminary. And as big and strong as he was, that’s how gentle he was. I knew him since he was a lad in high school at a former parish where I was. I watched his career grow over the years. He had the potential to make a fine priest and administrator. Who knows how far he could have gone. He came to Saint Alban’s little over a year ago at my invitation. As rector, you understand, I have the right to choose my own assistants, with the bishop’s approval. Like everyone who knew him, I had nothing but the greatest respect for him, both as a priest and as a man.”
“What about his personal life?” Phillis asked. “Did he have many friends? What were his interests.”
“I never pried. I know other priests spoke well of him, but whether he had what you might call friends among them, I don’t know. There was a man, a young man, whom he used to see and go places with quite frequently, but what their… their relationship was, I can’t really say.”
“You knew Father Paul was gay?” Pat asked.
Father Sieger shook his head. “No, I did not. When you said a few minutes ago that you had once met Paul, I wondered under what circumstances.”
“He was guest speaker at a meeting of Gay Issues, an informal group which meets to discuss current trends in the gay world. He spoke of the day we would eventually see church-sanctioned blessings of gay couples in this country, if not actual marriage. He was quite knowledgeable on the subject. He admitted he was gay. It surprises me somewhat to hear that you did not know.”
Father Sieger stared at the floor. “I suppose I knew, but….”
“But couldn’t accept it?” Pat suggested. There was no bitterness in his voice.
“It wasn’t that. No, not that. I have no trouble with that, none at all. No, it was because I did not want to know. You see, we have many less-than-understanding members in our church when it comes to that subject and I felt that as long as I did not know Paul’s preference--I mean to say with one hundred percent certainty--I could never be put in a position of being able to answer that question, should it ever be put to me. My only motive was, believe me…” He looked pleadingly at both his guests. “…was to protect Paul.”
“We understand,” Pat said. “But you know, Father, we came here to help you, not to find out who killed Father Mowbray. We did not know he was dead when we left home a few hours ago. This throws a whole different light on the subject.
The priest seemed puzzled.
“Well, first of all, you now have a murder investigation, and that means the police.”
“Does that mean that I can’t pay you to help me with… with those other things we discussed last evening?”
“We weren’t going to accept any money,” Phillis spoke up. “We came here because we felt you needed help and we wanted to help, primarily because Aunt Molly felt you needed our help. But now….” She turned and looked at her brother. “But now things are different. This is much bigger and worse than we thought. Your problems, Father, are truly serious.”
“Last evening you told us a story that was frightening enough in and of itself,” Pat told him. “But now, with Father Mowbray’s death--”
“You mean they’re related?”
“More than just related, I fear. I’m convinced--and I’m sure Phillis is, too--that they are inseparable. Whatever was going on in this rectory the past months, and especially with the nocturnal walking on the staircase and the attempt on your life a week ago, all this is part and parcel of the same diabolical scheme. Who or what or why, we don’t know, but we’d like the chance to find out, if that’s all right with you.”
“Thank you,” Father Sieger sighed. “I do appreciate what you are trying to do. And as I said before, I feel better with you here, even if it is only for one night. Naturally, you are welcome to stay here as long as you think necessary.”
Pat and Phillis said good night to their host at the top of the stairs and watched him descend to the second floor and go into his own rooms.
“Wonder if it’s going to be an uneventful night?” Phillis asked as they stood outside their rooms.
“Footsteps? Things going bump in the night?” Pat smiled. “If you need me during the night, just knock on my door.”
“You think that will be necessary?”
“Who knows. In an old place like this rectory, there might be all kinds of demons wandering the halls during the night.”
They were tired from their trip and the anxiety of hearing of Father Mowbray’s murder, so they fell asleep rather quickly.
It was Phillis who heard the sound coming from across the hall. She propped herself up and looked at her wristwatch which was on the night table. It was exactly three-thirty.
CHAPTER VII
Phillis knocked on Pat’s door, then opened it.
“What’s wrong?” Pat’s voice came from out of the darkness.
She came in and tiptoed to his bed. He sat up.
“Don’t move, just listen,” she told him. “Sounds like someone moving about in Father Mowbray’s rooms.”
“Then I’m going to check. You stay here,” he told her, knowing full well she would do nothing of the kind. She walked out of the room and waited for him.
He threw back the covers and silently got out of bed, carefully putting his weight on his legs and hoping the old floor would not creak under him. He steadied himself as he slipped on a pair of trousers.
He stepped out into the hall and looked about. No sounds of movement. He put his hand on the railing and looked over and down to the second and first floors, then quickly pulled back. The height was too much for him. There were night-lights on each floor, nothing else. He pointed towards the door across the hall from them and began walking towards it.
“We should have a weapon,” Phillis whispered. On the hall table there was a lamp, a small statue of Saint Joseph, and a brass candlestick. She removed the candle and picked up the candlestick.
Pat nodded his approval.
Slowly, silently, he turned the doorknob of Father Mowbray’s sitting room. The room was in darkness. The shades were drawn, letting none of the streetlight enter. There was an odor of cologne which both of them noticed and which had not been present in the room earlier. Pat remembered there was a wall switch just inside the door. He turned it on and the room was filled with light from a ceiling fixture. He stood there for a moment, then entered. Phillis was behind him.
Pat nodded towards the bedroom, which was in darkness. They walked side-by-side towards it, Phillis now taking the lead with the candlestick in her hand. They were almost at the door of the bedroom, when they both stopped, sniffed, and nodded.
“It’s easy to tell how our night visitor got out,” Phillis said aloud. There was no longer any need to whisper.
They walked into the bedroom and Pat turned on the lamp next to the bed. Across the room a window was standing open, a strong breeze blowing the curtain. He walked over and looked out.
“There’s a fire escape out here. It goes down to the alley between the rectory and the bank next door.”
Phillis was busy looking around the sitting room. “Whoever it was, he was searching for something. The cushions of the sofa are disturbed, as well as the one in the chair. And Father Mowbray’s desk; the drawers are all half open. Or half shut, depending on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist.”
“Save the paperback philosophy for morning, please,” Pat groaned.
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“Wonder if he found what he came for?”
“I don’t know, but now is as good a time as any to take a look in this desk and see what we can find.”
“I thought it was only in novels that the detectives found evidence overlooked by the police.”
Pat ignored his sister’s levity and sat down at the desk and began searching systematically, starting with the top center drawer and then the two sets of side drawers. He mumbled a few key words: “Address book; later for that. Book of Common Prayer. Half finished letter to someone by the name of Leslie. Canceled checks. Check book. Hmm, less than a hundred bucks in the account. Nothing else that seems to be of any interest.” He stood up and started to walk away from the desk. As he did, his hand pushed the prayer book too close to the edge of the desktop. The book fell to the floor. He stooped down to pick it up. “What do we have here? How interesting.”
“What is it?” Phillis came over to the desk.
Pat was studying a photograph. “It was in his prayer book. Think maybe the police were a bit squeamish about searching a priest’s prayer book? It’s a picture of Father Mowbray with a sexy young man with torn-off jeans which leave nothing to the imagination--not even my imagination.” He moved the photo under the desk lamp so Phillis could see it. “Wonder who that guy in the background is? This photo is what, at least a few years old, judging from its appearance. One thing I do know and that’s where that picture was taken.”
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