"We'll meet at the police station when we're through. Maybe Chief Addams knows about a child or family in distress. We'll tell him the story and see what he says."
Terry paused and took a calming breath. At least he was talking about a plan. Setting off in a specific direction was better than flailing around, looking for answers that wouldn't come.
Terry went into the kitchen, found a grocery list on the refrigerator door, and wrote on the bottom in big letters: I'M OUT FOR A LITTLE WHILE. EVERYTHING'S FINE, explaining to Herb that if Mrs. Murphy came back later, she would worry if he wasn't there.
After Terry locked the dead rabbit in the shed, Rabbi Gordon drove downtown to Grace Lutheran Church to see their colleague, Kurt Schultz. Sunday night was a special service with lots of singing in the congregation led by the Grace Lutheran Church Chorale.
The singing was superb, and Herb, recognizing much of the music, hummed along. As he walked up the steps, he knew it was the end of the service from the sudden hush emanating from this gray stone building. The color of the stone matched his mood as he walked up the steps and into the bright sanctuary. After the last of the congregation filed out, he stood up to greet the minister.
Kurt Schultz was forty-four—a large man, he had been a college weight lifter and a runner across the hills and valleys of the Root River. He had blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and Teutonic blond hair graying at the temples. A commanding figure in the pulpit, he was known for his creative, thoughtful sermons and was well-liked in the community.
They shook hands, and Shultz looked at Herb's face and said, "What's the matter, Rabbi? It's serious isn't it?"
When they went into Kurt's study, Herb sat quietly for a few minutes, his face contorted in a weak attempt to smile. Taking a handful of tissues from the box on the desk, he wiped his hands, his forehead, and blew his nose. The minister waited, wondering what was so troubling. His friend couldn't even get the words out.
Herb Gordon started to talk, and in faltering words, he spilled out the story of the dead animals, the red ribbons, and the latest hair-raising message with the pregnant rabbit. He intended to hint around and see if Schultz had experienced anything similar, but when he started the story, he knew he couldn't keep the words from pouring out.
The minister sat and listened, and listened. In the end, he asked the same questions Herb and Terry had been asking each other; did the growing size have special significance? Was it a macabre prank? Was a child or animal being tortured? Was there real danger?
Kurt assured Rabbi Gordon that he kept a sharp eye on things where it concerned his congregation, and nothing like that had taken place in or around his church. He wondered if it could be a Catholic thing aimed at St. Timothy's and Father O'Reilly.
Herb said, "I truly believe there is a threat to someone, at least that's what I get from the last message, but I'll be darned if I can figure out who or why. Maybe you're right, it's a Catholic thing. Terry and I never thought that.
"It's been a couple weeks since Terry brought me in on this, and we hit a blank wall. This 'Help me' shook us up. It's why I came here tonight, and Terry is at St. Andrews asking Iris MacDonald the same questions. We're meeting later, at the police station."
He looked at his watch. "It's almost nine. He's probably there now, talking to Chief Addams. I've got to get going. Come with me, Kurt."
Herb took another handful of tissues and repeated the earlier ritual, wiping his hands, his brow, and blowing his nose.
Herb saw that the minister was frustrated that he had nothing to offer. Kurt Schultz said he was sorry that he had no Magic 8-Ball, crystal ball, ouija board, or other props of divination to bring to the mystery. Then he grabbed a handful of tissues, wiped his brow, his eyes, and blew his nose.
Together, they went down the steps of the church and walked toward the center of town. With little more than two weeks to Christmas, Oakton was decked out for the holiday season. Street lamps were festooned with greens. Bright lights were strung across the streets with shiny, silver bells hanging over each intersection. None of it dispelled the gloom in the hearts of the two men heading to the police station.
A lighted globe that read POLICE STATION was anchored to the front of a simple three-story brick building in the middle of the block, between 8th and 10th streets, easy to reach from any part of town and visible from one end of Main Street to the other.
Originally, Oakton was laid out in a grid and streets 1 at the river through 18 at the county road were the beginning and end across town. Streets named for trees, Sycamore, Maple, and Beech, were perpendicular to numbered streets. Recently, the town started expanding north and streets named Jefferson, Madison, and Lincoln moved up the hills under the bluffs of the Root River.
On the south side of County Route 16 there were no numbers, only street names of the owners, designating large lush farms between Oakton and the Iowa border.
Oakton had four police officers: Chief Scott Addams, Deputy Frank Stevenson, whose father had been chief before Addams, Officer John Wagner, a local, and Officer Joan Higgins from Rochester. By voting her appointment, the town council demonstrated diversity, entitling them to additional federal and state funding.
The minister and the rabbi went up the station steps and Herb pulled open the glass door. Inside on the left, Madge Burns stood behind a waist-high barrier, putting on her coat. Clerk Burns was hired for non-police work, filing reports and handling phone calls. In Oak-ton, the person at the desk was actually the town 'greeter.'
As the men entered, they nodded to Madge who pushed the buzzer unlocking the barrier gate, and they walked through to the closed office door. They could see Father Terry and Chief Addams silhouetted through the frosted glass. They knocked and before the chief could call them in, they entered and stood together in front of Addams's desk.
Kurt and Herb pulled up chairs, sat down, and waited for Terry to say something. Chief Addams stared the three religious men from across his desk, his arms folded. He looked at each of them in turn and then said, "A priest, a minister, and a rabbi walk into my office. This is either a bad joke or someone is making with the fire and brimstone."
Chief Addams looked like a caricature of a southern sheriff, but looks were deceiving. The chief was a big man, at least six-two and heavy-set with graying, thinning light brown hair and green eyes. Although his belly bulged over his belt and his face became florid when he got excited, Scott Addams didn't drink, chaw, spit, or swear.
After an awkward silence, the priest said, "Reverend MacDon-ald had nothing for us. I showed Scott the pictures. He hasn't seen anything, hasn't heard anything. So, we're still in the dark, but we are worried. This last message scared me, and I guess it scared Herb. And from the look on your face, it scared, or at least puzzled you Kurt." Terry took a deep breath and sat back, waiting for someone else to say something.
The priest wasn't reassured when, in a calm voice, Scott Ad-dams said, "The police have nothing. No inquiries that would tie to these events behind St. Timothy's. I could send someone over to hang around Sunday evenings, but you already tried that and it didn't work."
The chief continued, "We're dealing with someone watchful and determined. The last message worries me, too. Oakton hasn't had a murder for fifty years or more and that was a bar fight. I don't allow any murder or mayhem on my watch."
He handed the pictures back to Terry. "Of course I'll be over to see you first thing in the morning, Father O'Reilly. I want a close up look at these dead gifts."
Terry was glad when Herb asked, "Are you flipping us off, chief?"
And he was puzzled by the chief's response. "No. I know this is serious, and I want to get to the bottom of it, but right now, my best advice is go home, have a good stiff drink, go to bed, sleep on it, and maybe tomorrow we'll have an insight that solves the back steps mystery."
Kurt chuckled. Herb's face looked grim, and Terry felt no better. The whole town knew Addams was a recovering alcoholic who, sup�
�posedly, hadn't had a drink in twenty-four years. The suggestion of a good stiff drink was uncharacteristic of him, but Terry got the idea that the chief felt as helpless as they did.
Seeing the frown on the priest's face, Addams went on, "What did the three of you expect? Did you think you'd walk in here and I would wave my magic police baton and the answer would suddenly appear? I know even less than you do. Kurt, you've heard the story. Do you have anything?"
Kurt Schultz shook his head. "No, nothing, Scott, but it doesn't help these two with their anxiety." He looked at the chief's desk with a gun, cuffs, keys, and baton in plain sight. He asked, "Are you sure that baton isn't a magic wand?"
Before he left, Father O'Reilly stopped, pulled a man's leather glove from his pocket, and tossed it on the chief's desk. "By the way, chief, I found this on the path near St. Timothy's. It has the initials SDA on the inside, so I figured it was yours."
Instead of a simple thank you, they watched Chief Addams's face get bright red. He sputtered, "I don't know or care where the hell you got this damn thing. It isn't mine." He threw it in the wastebasket alongside his desk.
Terry said, "Sorry, chief. It's just, I know those are your initials, and I thought—"
The chief interrupted, "Well, don't think, and get out of here, all of you. I've got important work to do."
Outside, Terry, Kurt, and Herb walked a few steps together, then Father Terry turned toward St. Timothy's. Herb went with Kurt to pick up his car at Grace Lutheran Church.
Terry thought about the past hour with Chief Addams. It wasn't reassuring in the least. 'The chief didn't seem alarmed and barely blinked at the story we told him,' he thought. 'One raised eyebrow was the extent of any expression on his jowly face, as he listened to my tale of dread and confusion.
'Why didn't Addams ask me more questions? He should have insisted on seeing the evidence right away. Why wait until morning? It's the twenty-first century, plenty of lights so they could see everything. A competent investigator would never say, "Let's wait until tomorrow." What is the chief waiting for?'
Scott Addams was the only chief of police Terry knew, although someone told him that Bill Stevenson, Deputy Frank Stevenson's father, who was there before Addams, was the best chief the town ever had.
He didn't come to church often. Whatever he knew about the chief and the Addams family, he learned from Kate. His children were brought up Catholic under the guidance of Louise Addams, Kate's mother. She was the town librarian and a do-gooder for every liberal cause. Kate hinted that her father hated Louise's good deeds.
Kate's brother Dan, full name Scott Daniel Addams, Jr., was in Minneapolis finishing up at the police academy after graduating from the University of Minnesota. Terry thought it odd that Dan was home on leave since Halloween.
People thought Scott Addams a fair and able chief of police with the reputation of serving Oakton with dedication and honor. Knowing this made Addams's lack of response puzzling to Terry, and even more curious, the man's weird reaction to the leather glove.
Nearing St. Timothy's, he heard the phone ringing. It was after ten on Sunday night. He wondered who would call at this hour. He ran up the back steps, sprinted through the kitchen, grabbed the phone on the wall, and managed to gasp, "Father O'Reilly here. Who's calling?"
"Are you all right?" It was Herb Gordon.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just out of breath from running to the phone. Say, Herb, I was going to call you. What was going on at the police station? Did you think anything was funny or what?"
"I was calling to ask you the same thing," Herb said. "It seems to me the chief was somewhat cavalier about our concerns. I expected he would be rushing over to your church, spotlights shining, flashlight in hand, looking at our findings and exploring the whole area. I never expected him to say, 'Well, I'll stop by tomorrow and take a look.'"
Terry said, "I was sure we'd be outside now scouring the yard and inspecting every fold and fabric of the whole bizarre menagerie. But to be generous, we did catch Scott by surprise. It's Sunday night after a long day, and maybe he thought he should wait until he's fresh and there's daylight so we could have a calmer, closer look." There was a sigh and silence at the other end of the line. "Herb, are you there?"
"Yes, Terry, I'm here, and I forgot to tell you that Kurt didn't know anything. Hadn't heard or seen anything. I'm sure the sound of his heavenly choir would scare away anybody with sinister intentions."
Terry heard his friend stifle a laugh. 'What's so funny? I don't see anything funny. Tell me, Herb what's so God dang funny?"
Herb said, "Hey, guy, cool it, will ya? I was thinking. I wish my congregants would get into the service with a little more singing, even an occasional sour note. At least I'd know they're awake. It's hard to look up from my sermon and see somebody nodding off. My sermons are fascinating."
The rabbi chuckled. "Listen, Terry, it has been said that 'sufficient unto tomorrow is the evil thereof.' Let's hope whatever evil we discover tomorrow, there's still time to keep somebody from danger. See you about eight. Is that early enough? It's barely light then."
To Terry, Herb sounded tired. He too was bone weary but managed to say, "Eight is fine and get a good night's sleep." He hung up and stood there with his hand on the phone. He didn't move, because he wasn't sure what to do next.
Taking his hand off the phone, he put one foot in front of the other, climbed the stairs, let his clothes drop to the floor, put his collar on the dresser, and fell into bed.
Four
Whirring, flapping, black bat wings beat at his hair and talons scratched at his face. Flailing under the thick quilt, he tried to fling the evil thing away, but the noise and whooshing in his head wouldn't stop.
Suddenly awake, Terry sat up in bed, pushed the quilt aside, and realized there was no angry bat. There was, instead, scratching, calling, and hard knocking on his bedroom door.
He looked toward the window and felt a shiver ripple through him, seeing nothing but his own image reflected back from a dark, moonless December night. Shaking his head to clear away the beating wings, he swallowed and managed a hoarse, "Who's there?"
"It's me, Mrs. Murphy. I've been so worried about you, Father, I rushed over before morning light. I heard you were in police captivity last night. Then when I saw, 'Don't worry everything's fine,' on my shopping list, I really got worried." All this she said through his closed door.
Terry cleared his throat and managed to say, "Please calm down, Mrs. Murphy. What time is it? It's still dark. Did I over sleep? People are coming here this morning, and I have a lot to do before they get here."
"What happened? What did you do?" Mrs. Murphy insisted. "Answer me, Father or, I swear, I'll open this door and ask you in your pajamas."
The door handle rattled. Terry pulled the quilt over his chest. "I am fine Mrs. Murphy. Please don't come in. I'm not dressed. You woke me out of a deep sleep. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll come right down."
He heard Mrs. Murphy tsk tsk then say she would be downstairs in the kitchen waiting, and he better be quick about it.
The alarm clock went off at 6 a.m. as usual. Flinging the quilt aside, the priest rushed into the bathroom, did his ablutions, pulled on jeans and a sweat shirt, and knelt for his morning prayers, begging God for a glimpse at the truth of this mystery, and a solution. He ran down the stairs, inhaling the welcome aroma of fresh brewed coffee rising to meet him.
Still dressed for the outdoors, Mrs. Murphy, with arms folded across her chest, stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. No smile, but she nodded, acknowledging that, yes, he was indeed all right. He took his seat at the kitchen table and watched Mrs. Murphy launch into an almost choreographed ballet: unwinding her long scarf, hanging up her coat, shedding her galoshes, then winging across the kitchen to gather the tools to make breakfast.
She said, "Not a drop of coffee and no breakfast, Father, until you tell me everything. Some things may be confidential, but if you can run all over town
... "
He interrupted, "I will tell you about last night, but then we have to get a move on. Rabbi Gordon, Reverend Schultz, and Chief Ad-dams will be here at eight. It's a short story, Mrs. Murphy. Three of us went to see Chief Addams about the wee beasties, and that's why I was at the police station. I wasn't arrested, and I'm surprised at you for even thinking that."
The ballet ended as she swooshed the coffee pot over his cup and placed his plate of crisp bacon, perfect sunny side eggs, and toast on the table in front of him. Then, with a closing pirouette, she deposited the dirty utensils in the sink and holding her own coffee mug settled herself into a chair facing him.
He pierced the golden globe of one egg and lifted the dripping toast point to his mouth, bit off the luscious morsel, and mumbled, "Mrs. Murphy these eggs are perfect. And the bacon is crisp, not too crisp, but still some bite to it. He scooped the bare whites on to the last of his toast, chewed, swallowed, sighed, and sat back, lifting his empty cup. After Mrs. Murphy refilled it, he said, "They're coming to see our mystery gifts for themselves. You know there's been another one."
"Oh dear. It was five weeks ago, this ungodly mess started, wasn't it? Six if you count Thanksgiving weekend when, for some reason, there was no beastie then, nor the next week either."
Mrs. Murphy stood up, "If those men are coming at eight, I have to prepare. Now, finish your breakfast, and then, Father Terrence O'Reilly, are you going to change, or are you going to greet your guests dressed like an aging hippie?"
Surprised by her scolding, he raised an eyebrow. She reminded him of his high school English teacher explaining verisimilitude. "Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Murphy, but I'm staying just the way I am. It's 6:30 on a Monday morning for gosh sakes."
While he sipped coffee, he gave a silent prayer for sunshine this cold December morning, but when he looked out through the frosted windows his prayer was swallowed up in puffy gray clouds pushed along by a blustery wind.
Chief Among Sinners Page 4