“Can you describe her to us?” Phillis asked.
“Why… why, yes, of course, I’d be happy to. She was wearing a cotton dress, quite expensive I believe, a floral pattern. Reds--soft reds, not vulgar--and pale greens against a white background. She had white shoes, the heels very high, and matching purse.”
“You got a good look at her face?”
“Yes… yes, so very beautiful. The hat had a rather large brim and it hid much of the face, and she was wearing dark glasses, but you could tell she was exceptionally beautiful and so very… so very smart.”
“That was everything?”
“Oh, she wore gloves. Exquisitely fine lace gloves that went up to the elbow. But there was something about her that made me think she was nervous, frightened, you might say, the way she kept looking about her as she hurried into the church. Almost as though she was afraid someone might recognize her. She seemed to know where she was going and we do have to be careful about the church, you know. We keep it open for a couple of hours in the middle of the day. There are some priceless treasures in there; someone clever enough could steal them. I was tempted to follow her, but I heard my telephone ringing and I hurried back to the office. Her face kept haunting me. When you mentioned it a few minutes ago, I realized the reason she was so familiar was because it was Jeremy Knollys dressed as a woman I saw enter the church.”
Every eye, every nerve in the room, was now concentrated on Grace. Even Beatrice had overcome most of her intimidation and was openly staring at her.
“What happened next?” Phillis asked.
“I went back to a project I had been working on.” She was now including everyone, not just Phillis, in the sweep of her eyes and in her answers. “After a while, Father Paul came downstairs and went through the back of the office. I presumed he was either going into the church or upstairs to the library or Tom Benson’s apartment. A few minutes later, I took another break. I didn’t seem able to concentrate on my job. That woman’s face was still in front of me, no matter what I did. I am very conscientious, you know, and have no trouble with giving my full attention to whatever I’m doing. It was quite still in the office. Next, I thought I heard voices. I wasn’t at all sure where they were coming from or who was speaking. Then I made out Father Paul’s voice, talking to someone upstairs. His voice was muffled, coming through a wall. He was telling his visitor that he would try to help, if… ‘If you are truly sorry for what you have done.’ Some of his words were indistinct and jumbled and so very difficult to make out, almost as though he were talking under water, but I could understand them--understand what he was trying to say.”
“Where exactly were you when you heard him?” Pat asked.
“I had gone up the stairs and was at the entrance to the cloister,” she told him. “Oh, my God! If only I had known that that dear man was actually talking to his murderer, I might have been able to stop it.”
“There was no earthly way you could have stopped any of this from happening,” Phillis told her. “Tell us what took place after that.”
“Nothing. I went back to the office. I felt whatever I heard was no concern of mine. If only I had… had….” The tears were running down her cheeks.
Father Sieger opened a desk drawer and handed her several tissues. Phillis reached over and took Grace’s hand in hers and patted it. The priest poured some brandy and handed it to Phillis who offered it to Grace. She took a sip, then looked up as though now seeing everyone in the room for the first time.
“We know what an ordeal this is for you,” Phillis said consolingly. “Can you go on? Can you tell us the rest?”
Grace nodded and blew her nose.
“Today, did you see anything or hear anything today? That young man, Sherrill Rothe, did you see him?”
“No, I didn’t see him, but I did speak to him. On the phone. He wanted to see Father Sieger, but I told him Father was busy. I made an appointment for him this afternoon, at one-thirty. I couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to speak to Father Sieger, but I was sure it was something very important, judging from the way he spoke.”
“You told Father Sieger he had an appointment with Mr. Rothe?” Pat leaned forward and asked.
Grace shook her head. “No, I didn’t see Father during the morning. I left a telephone slip in his tray where he picks up his messages.”
“Did you see Mr. Rothe when he got here” Phillis asked.
Again Grace shook her head. “No… that is, I didn’t see him. I did hear him, though. At least I think it was he I heard. I heard the rectory doorbell and the door was opened almost immediately.”
“What time was that?” Father Sieger asked her.
“One-thirty. On the button. He was a very prompt young man.”
“I wasn’t here at one-thirty,” Father Sieger told her. “I didn’t get back until quarter to two.”
Grace seemed bewildered by his statement. “But… but I thought for sure it was…. You weren’t here? Oh, then that explains something else, something that bothered me all afternoon. Well, not exactly bothered me, but had me a bit puzzled.”
Even Beatrice leaned forward to find out what had puzzled Grace.
“I wondered why… oh, it really isn’t that important, now that I think about it. Quite foolish, actually, to have placed any importance on it after all.”
“Please, Grace, tell us what it was you thought was so puzzling,” Phillis urged her.
“Well, actually, it wasn’t really anything I saw or heard, but rather something I… I felt. I felt there was someone in the rectory or the church or the office… somewhere around… this afternoon, someone who shouldn’t have been there. I kept telling myself that I was being foolish, that of course there was someone in the rectory: Father Sieger. But now that he tells me he wasn’t there, I know I was right when I thought someone was there who shouldn’t have been there.”
“Something must have given you that feeling, Grace,” Phillis said to her. “Try to think. What was it that made you think someone was there who shouldn’t have been? A sound, perhaps? Footsteps? Muffled voices, like the voices you heard on Wednesday, the day Father Paul was murdered?”
Grace nodded at each suggestion Phillis made. “Yes, yes, I do believe you’re right. I saw a shadow in the garden.”
“A shadow?” Worton exclaimed.
Phillis and Pat exchanged glances.
Beatrice chuckled to herself, then mumbled something to the effect that all that working downstairs in the office with so little oxygen had finally gotten to Grace. Father Sieger was the only one who wasn’t smiling, shaking his head, or bewildered. He silently stared at his administrative assistant.
“What do you mean, Grace?” Phillis asked.
“Well, she must have come back, mustn’t she? I mean, if Father Sieger wasn’t here, then who else… who else? Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant by that was that I saw a shadow across the window of my office downstairs. If anyone walks through the garden to go to the rectory door, they cast a shadow during the early afternoon hours that runs right across my desk. I remember it was after one o’clock and just shortly before Sherrill Rothe arrived. And then, as I said before, he rang the rectory doorbell and was admitted right away. Naturally I thought it was Father Sieger who had come in just before Sherrill, but it must have been her, mustn’t it?” She seemed perfectly satisfied with her explanation.
“Her?” Father Sieger asked.
“That woman I saw here on Wednesday.”
“Why are you so sure it was her?” Pat asked.
“Because the pieces are beginning to fall into place. That first time, last Wednesday, when I saw a woman go into the church and now know it was Jeremy Knollys, I should have known something was about to happen. Then today, when someone was in the rectory who wasn’t Father Sieger, I should have realized it was he again. Mr. Knollys, that is. Because I know he is the only one it could have been. You see, Mr. Paquette had just gotten off the telephone no more than a minute before, discussing som
e insurance premiums that weren’t paid. And Leslie Victoire was shopping. I can vouch for that, because he picked up something for me at the Post Office. Tom Benson was at City Hall. I had asked him to drop off some tax forms for Father Sieger. Kelsey Quentin didn’t come in until much later, so you see it had to be Mr. Knollys.”
“You’re saying it was that same woman who was in the rectory today?” Pat asked. “And that she then let Sherrill in when he rang, just as she did the day Father Paul was murdered? Did you hear them talk? Sherrill and that woman?”
“Talk?” Grace repeated the word as though she did not know its meaning. “Yes, yes, I did, as a matter of fact. They came down the stairs to the office. I was in the photocopy room. I stayed there until they went through the back way, up the stairs to the cloister. They were talking, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying. I don’t eavesdrop, if that’s what you’re thinking. It wasn’t my place to stop them or even to find out what they were talking about. I simply went back to my desk and finished my work.”
As she finished, everyone seemed even more confused, not the least being Detective Worton.
“You’re saying it has to be Mr. Knollys because everyone who has a key to the rectory was accounted for?” the detective asked. “Not exactly what I’d call indisputable evidence. The way keys are handed out around here, it could be just about anyone who managed to get their hands on one. And then you tell us you let Sherrill Rothe and some strange woman waltz their way upstairs to the church? Damnedest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Phillis leaned forward and took Grace’s hand again. Pat also moved closer to her. “That attractive young woman you saw on Wednesday wasn’t Mr. Knollys, Grace,” Phillis said in the gentlest of voices. “The same is true of today. Jeremy Knollys doesn’t have a key to this rectory. You know who this woman is, don’t you, Grace.”
Grace seemed not able to comprehend Phillis’ words. She shook her head. “No, no, I don’t know her!” she almost screamed at Phillis and Pat. “I mean, I do know her. It was… it was Jeremy Knollys. He’s been masquerading as a woman so he… so he could kill dear Father Paul and that nice young Mr. Rothe.”
Pat spoke: “No, Grace, you’re wrong, and you know you’re wrong. Tell us, tell yourself, who that woman is you’ve been watching, the woman you saw go into the church on Wednesday, the woman who wore the dark glasses and a wig, the woman you heard Father Paul talk to in the church, the same woman who met Sherrill Rothe at the rectory front door last Wednesday and told him Father Paul was out, the woman who let Sherrill Rothe into the rectory today and got him to accompany her into the church and then killed him. The same woman, Grace, who gave Diane Knollys a bottle of liquor with a drug in it and which caused her to drive off the road. Tell us her name, Grace.” As he spoke, Pat gradually raised his voice and increased the intensity of his speech.
Grace sat motionless for several seconds, then the tears began to pour from her eyes and run down her cheeks. “I can’t tell you,” she whimpered. “I can’t say her name. You know who she is, don’t you?”
“Yes, Grace, we all know who she is,” Pat told her. “But it is important that you identify her for us. You’re the only one who can really tell us who she is. Say her name just once, Grace, and it will be all over. You won’t have to carry the terrible burden of her identity around with you any longer.”
They all stared at her. She looked pathetically, pleadingly at each one in turn around the room, her face twisted in pain. A flash of lightning, followed by a near-deafening crash of thunder filled the room and the lights flickered, then went out, to come back on again within a few seconds. Sheets of rain whipped across the leaded windows.
Grace whispered the name of the murderer and slumped down in her chair.
CHAPTER XXVII
The storm’s intensity was increasing as they sat around the study. Father Sieger leaned forward in his seat, crushed. Leslie had lost his smug look and Jeremy was rubbing his forehead. Nelson Paquette seemed stung into disbelief. Beatrice alone was smiling, smiling at the handkerchief she was twisting and untwisting between her fingers. Kelsey was wiping his eyes and Tom muttered, “I’ll be goddamned.” Detective Worton was pacing the floor and spun around as Pat came back into the room.
“She’s lying down on the sofa upstairs,” Pat announced as he came into the study after taking Grace to the rector’s second floor sitting room. “It’s remarkable what the human body and mind can stand.”
“I blame myself for much of it,” Father Sieger said. “I should have known at least some of what was going on. You think just because you’ve gotten older you’re automatically wiser. It doesn’t follow.”
“You had no idea she was in love with you?” Phillis asked the priest.
The latter shook his head. “None at all. I had no idea. I was such a fool, such an old fool.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Father,” Nelson Paquette said. He had been silent for some time. “We’re all more than a little blind when it comes to what’s right under our noses.”
“I wish to Chri… I wish someone would tell me what’s been going on in this room the past half hour!” Worton exclaimed as he abruptly stopped his pacing. “I’m at a complete loss to….”
“It’s really quite simple,” Jeremy Knollys spoke up. “Let our two private eyes tell you what happened.”
The detective stared at both Pat and Phillis, waiting for an explanation.
“Everything Grace told us this evening is true,” Pat began. “In a sense, that is.”
“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” Worton asked. “Either it is or it isn’t true. Either she saw Mr. Jeremy Knollys go into the church dressed as a woman or she didn’t see him. Either she heard him meet Sherrill Rothe when he arrived here today or she didn’t. There’s no other explanation.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Pat said. “Grace saw a woman go into the church Wednesday afternoon and in her own mind it was Jeremy Knollys masquerading as a woman. Recall in your own mind what Phillis was doing when she questioned Jeremy this evening. First, she walked over and stood next to Jeremy where he was sitting on the sofa. Phillis then moved and stood behind the sofa. It’s remarkable, the power of suggestion, especially on minds that are not cluttered. Phillis began questioning Beatrice. Beatrice was looking at Phillis but she couldn’t help seeing Jeremy. Phillis suggested to Beatrice that it was Jeremy Knollys in drag she had seen go into the church. Beatrice never said it was Jeremy Knollys--only Phillis said that. In her own poor, sick mind, Grace jumped on that and convinced herself it was true. She told us she had actually seen Jeremy dressed as a woman. It was a gamble we had to take, that Grace would jump at the bait and identify Jeremy as the killer. If it hadn’t worked, we would probably still be sitting here, trying to get Grace to break down.
“In her own mind, Grace Everett saw an expensively dressed, strikingly handsome woman--someone she felt she never was or could be--go into the church Wednesday afternoon, meet Father Mowbray in the church under the pretext of his hearing her confession. By her own admission, it wasn’t until this evening that she was willing to say that that beautiful woman was Jeremy Knollys. And, in her own mind, it became Jeremy Knollys.”
“Then who the hell did she see?” Detective Worton demanded. He looked as though he might, at any moment, arrest everyone in the room.
“She saw herself,” Phillis spoke up. “That’s right. She saw an exceptionally beautiful woman, dressed as Grace could never afford to dress. It was Grace Everett who went into church last Wednesday. Beatrice saw her and knew there was something about the woman that was familiar. She never thought it could be the parish secretary, getting out of a taxi in mid-day, smartly dressed, wearing dark glasses, a wig, make-up, entering the church.
“We owe much of the success of this evening to Jeremy. He agreed earlier this afternoon to play this little charade. He deserves the credit, not us. It must have been painful for him, discussing his wife’s death again, but we had to
get Grace to admit what she had done, admit it first of all to herself before she could admit it to anyone else.”
“This part may be speculation, but I suspect Father Mowbray recognized Grace when he met her in the church,” Pat continued the explanation. “He was no doubt surprised to see her dressed so differently from her usual drab attire. We can only conjecture, too, that she told him she was going to the police to admit her involvement in Diane Knollys’ death, but not until he heard her confession. Anyway, she followed him as he walked towards the confessional, and after he put on his stole she took the gun out of her pocketbook and killed him. She then scurried downstairs, then up to the rectory where she waited for Sherrill Rothe to ring the doorbell. After she got rid of that unfortunate young man, she returned to her office and changed. Father, is there a closet or small locked room down there?”
“A couple,” the rector told him.
“Then, I suspect, Detective Worton, that if you look in them, you’ll find Grace’s change of clothing, wig, shoes, that she wore, unless she’s already taken them home. And, of course, the gun. After she changed, she went back to work as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened that afternoon.
“Here’s the truly interesting part: In her own mind, Grace thought that the only unusual things that had happened that afternoon were the arrival of a strange woman by taxi and later the sound of Father Mowbray’s voice talking to someone upstairs in the church. Remember, she said the voice was muffled, that she could not make out all the words, but that she did understand what he was saying. Of course, what she heard was Father Mowbray talking to her.”
“And you mean that when she said she saw Mr. Knollys, she was actually seeing herself?” Worton asked and scratched his head. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever heard.”
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