10
I called police headquarters. I asked if Detectives Sands and Horowitz were back from their investigation. The receptionist said they were still at the crime scene. She didn’t know when they’d return. I called Alex. I asked him to get in touch with Sands and Horowitz. I told him to have one of them call me when they returned. He said he’d get right on it.
It was lunchtime. The sun was blazing overhead. I felt a slight breeze on my face. It felt good. I heard the distant call of a cardinal. Being as large as I am, I’m always ready for a meal. I was in the mood for Italian food. I had been a while since I visited another favorite restaurant called, Little Italy. I figured I’d give my taste buds a treat. I had plenty of time before my interviews of Ben and Julia Gurney, so I figured I’d take it easy and indulge myself.
Prior to leaving, I decided to have some background work done on a few people of interest in the case. I contacted my confidential informant, also known as a CI. Of course, being a CI, his/her identity cannot be revealed. But, for the purposes of this narrative, I’ll refer to my CI as Ms. X.
I texted her the names, Barton Small, James Preston, Peter Sidwell, Lupe Perez, Bernard Flowers, Ben Gurney, Julia Gurney, Walter Jennings, Gregory Lyons and Brian Watson. I told her I needed to know all I could about them. She responded with the simple phrase, "Can do". Then, I was off to lunch.
Little Italy is a quaint place located in Winter Park. It’s a posh community with many upscale homes, condos, and expensive automobiles. It’s probably best known for its collection of unique shops and restaurants, which can be found on Park Avenue in the heart of the town.
Surprisingly, I arrived just as someone was leaving a parking spot. I parallel parked and got out. The four star bistro was nestled between a men’s shop called, A Place For Men and a cosmetic establishment named, U-Nique.
The Hostess named Greta greeted me. She showed me to a booth I requested. It was located in the front, next to the windows facing the sidewalk. I enjoyed sitting near the windows where I could watch people stroll the avenue. Greta told me Terry, my waitress, would be with me shortly. She was right. I ordered the veal parmesan with a glass of moscato wine.
While I was waiting for my meal, I began to do some thinking about my case. Questions bounced around my brain like a pinball in an amusement park machine. Could Bernard Flowers be the culprit? Did he kill the priest over the money that was stolen and/or the fact that he was fired? People have killed for less. One of his knives was missing at the time of the murder. Was it the murder weapon?
Could arguments over differences in liturgical practices cause Bart Small to murder Watson? That seemed a little far-fetched. Perhaps there was more to Father Small’s past that would be revealed in the data I would receive from Ms. X.
I also wondered if Father Watson had a shady past? Was he hiding something? Was a woman connected to his demise? It’s not unheard of that a priest had been involved with a woman, in spite of his vow of celibacy. He was seventy-three at the time. But, as the song by Warren Zevon goes, “It’s never too late for love”. A woman in his life would bring a whole series of issues into play. Who was she? Where was she? What happened to their relationship? Did she have the combination to the back door to the Reconciliation Room? Would she have the capability and determination to commit such an act on a religious person? They say, "Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn." Was that the case?
The question of why he was so brutally murdered racked my brain as well. Generally, motives for murder include revenge, jealousy, lust, betrayal, or money. They could also include a cover-up for a crime like fraud or even another murder. The possibilities were numerous. I also wondered why the killer did it in such a barbaric way? That normally indicated rage and hatred. Why kill him in the Reconciliation Room rather than the Rectory, or somewhere else?
Could Father Preston be the killer? If so, what could be his motive? And, what about Deacon Sidwell? Was there something I didn’t know about him and his relationship with Watson? I had high hopes that the information contained in the background checks would shed some light on the matter. The case was a puzzle, a challenge, a brain burner.
My thoughts were interrupted when Terry brought my meal. It was piping hot and sumptuous.
Just as I was finishing my lunch, I got a text from Ms. X regarding my request. I was surprised to see that Father Barton Small had been reassigned to the US after an altercation with a parishioner. There were no other details on the incident. I decided to have a chat about that with him. Otherwise, he came up clean.
Father Preston had been questioned by Eden Palms police in regard to the death of a young boy. Preston was a soccer coach at St. Jerome Parish at the time. He became the prime suspect in the case when investigators believed he was the last person to see the youngster alive. The cause of death was undetermined. Due to the lack of evidence, Preston was never charged.
Just as Bart Small had reported, Lupe Perez had been a housekeeper at St. Francis de Sales for over twenty-five years. She had no criminal record. There was nothing to indicate that she had any motive in regard to Watson’s demise.
Peter Sidwell also came up clean. He did file for bankruptcy when his restaurant began to lose money. When I read that, I wondered whether or not he had anything to do with the missing $1500, and perhaps the murder. Maybe Bernard Flowers was just the fall guy in the theft.
Flowers was a former Army Sergeant who served in Vietnam as a Ranger. He also filed for bankruptcy when he couldn’t afford to pay the hospital bills for his wife’s cancer treatments. He had a business license, which allowed him to sell knives and guns. He reported the theft of a knife to the Orlando police. The weapon was never recovered, and the case was closed. Bank and credit card records indicated Flowers was living on Social Security payments, and veteran’s benefits due to diabetes associated with being exposed to Agent Orange.
The Gurney twins, Walter Jennings, Gregory Lyons, and Father Brian Watson came up spotless. I sat there, staring at my phone. I had no viable suspect. I was no better off than the police were during their original investigation. Things looked grim.
11
I got back to the church around 3:55. I followed a teenage boy into the education building. I heard the clamor of kids somewhere inside. Then I heard Barton Small’s voice. I followed the sound. It led me to one of the classrooms. Bart was at the head of the class sitting on a desk. He saw me as I poked my head through the doorway.
“Ah, Johnny. Happy to see you again, Old Boy. I unlocked the room next door for your privacy.” He turned to the teens. There were about twenty-five of them. “Attention, everyone. This is Mr. Johnny Sundance. He’s a Private Investigator working with the police. He’s also a real Seminole Indian.”
Heads turned in wonderment. Murmurs spread across the room. “Not to worry people, he’s not here to arrest anyone, though God only knows what some of you have been up to lately.” He laughed. The group remained serious. “Really, he’s just here to have a talk with Ben and Julia. They already know what it’s all about. They aren’t in any trouble. Ben, would you accompany Mr. Sundance? You’ll be in classroom number three.”
A boy who looked to be about sixteen years old came forward. He was about 5-feet-9. He wore a light blue windbreaker with a University of Florida logo on it. Silver framed glasses were resting on his nose. His stocky build would have made him a nice tackle on any high school football team. He had brown hair and hazel eyes. We shook hands. I followed him into the other classroom. He sat at one of the tables. I pulled up a chair in front of him.
“Nice to meet you, Ben.”
“Nice to meet you, sir. Say, your name sounds familiar. Didn’t you play football for UF? A few weeks ago I saw a rerun of a UF playoff game on ESPN. You look just like their quarterback, only older of course. You took a bad hit during the game. Your leg was broken, and you suffered a concussion. It was your senior year wasn’t it?”
“Yes. That was me, and it was my senior year. You saw that g
ame? I didn’t know it was on ESPN. That was the last day of my football career.”
“Sorry about that, sir. Prior to your injury, it looked like you could take the team all the way to the championship.”
“Well, that’s life. By the way, you can set aside the sir business. You may call me Johnny, or Mr. Sundance if you prefer.”
“Okay, Mr. Sundance. How can I help you?”
“As you know, I’m here in regard to Father Watson’s death. I am taking a fresh look into the matter. You were present at the time. I’m hoping to develop some new information which might help me in the matter.”
“I told everything I knew to some detectives who were here asking questions that afternoon. I don’t know what else I can say about that horrible day. I’ve been trying to block it out of my mind. I loved Father Watson. He was an inspiration to me. Because of him, I’m seriously considering becoming a priest. Especially now. You know, to kinda take his place. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes. It makes a lot of sense. I admire your thoughts on becoming a priest. The Catholic Church has a dire need for more priests. If memory serves me right, the average age for priests these days is in the high sixties.”
“Are you Catholic Mr. Sundance?”
“Yes.”
“Gosh, I thought all Native-Americans were …you know, Pagans.”
“That’s a common misconception. A lot of us are Christian. Many are Catholic, thanks to the work of some dedicated missionaries. I also thought of becoming a priest, but it just didn’t work out for me.”
“Well, I haven’t actually made up my mind yet. I’m still thinking about it. So, how can I help you?”
“I read your statement in the case file. But, I’d like a fresh perspective on it. I know it’s been a while since the traumatic event, but the human mind often remembers things long after. I still remember the football game you mentioned. I can relive it in my mind. I can still feel the pain as I got hit. See what I mean?”
He nodded.
“Ben, what I want you to do is sit back, put your feet flat on the floor and relax. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath and let it out. Then, I want you to concentrate on that day. Tell me what you saw the moment you got to the parking lot on your bike.”
He straightened in the chair and followed my instructions. I took out my notebook and pen. “Now Ben, what do you see?”
“I’m coming into the church parking lot from Osceola Street. I check my watch to be sure I’m early enough. It’s around 3:30. There are a few people going into the church. I see Deacon Sidwell walking from his car. I wave to him but he doesn’t see me. A woman is walking her dog. Mr. Lyons, the gardener, is working near the statue of Our Lady. He’s wearing a baseball hat. There’s some guy riding around on a bike like he’s looking for someone. I go to the back and lock up my bike. I walk inside the church and talk to Walter Jennings, a new altar server. We have a few words with Father Small and Deacon Sidwell. Walter and I move to the altar. I show him what he has to do prior to, and during the Mass. It takes about twenty minutes for Walter to learn it properly. I see Father Small in the media room doing something. A few minutes later, I hear screaming. Walter and I run to the front of the church. Father Small leaves the East Reconciliation Room and runs toward the crowd of people around the door to the West Reconciliation Room. I don’t see what’s going on inside. I just wait there with Walter and wonder what’s happening. The police come and they take charge. That’s it.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Do you see anyone running out of the church?”
“No.”
“Do you see anyone with blood on their clothes?”
“No.”
“Okay, Ben. Thanks. You did a fine job. I may need to talk to you again if something comes up. Here’s one of my cards.”
He took the card and put it in his wallet. “Sure, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”
“Your sister was also a server that day. Where was she when all that happened?”
“Julia was at the mall with some friends. She didn’t show up until around 4:30. I don’t think she could be of much help. When she got there, I told her something bad had happened to Father Watson. She was pretty shook up. She cried a lot. Later on, Father Preston drove us home in the church van.”
“I want to talk with her, anyway. Apparently she wasn’t interviewed by any of the police at the scene. Just like you, she may have seen something. Would you ask her to join me?”
“Sure. I’ll get her for you.” We shook hands. He left the room.
Shortly after, Julia came in, accompanied by Ben. She was just as tall as her brother. She also had brown hair and hazel eyes. She was dressed in a maroon, hooded sweatshirt with a Florida State College logo on it. She wore maroon shorts, maroon socks, and pink running shoes.
Julia and I exchanged greetings. Ben explained what he had just done, telling her to do the same.”
“You’d make a good detective Ben,” I said.
“Thanks.” He left the room.
Julia took the seat Ben had used. We went through the whole posture routine.
“Are you ready, Julia?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you see.”
She took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I’m in my friend Patty’s car. We are approaching the church. It’s around 4:30. Patty is going a little fast because I’m late. Then, all of a sudden, Mr. Flowers darts in front of the car. Patty slams on the brakes. She misses hitting him by a few feet. He gives us the finger. I’m shocked at that. I always thought Mr. Flowers was so religious and all. He looks at us, then starts running again. Patty laughs.”
“Are you sure it’s Mr. Flowers?”
“Oh yes, definitely. He’s old, tall and he has red hair. I’ve seen him around the church a lot. He serves at morning Mass sometimes when no one else is available. It’s him all right.”
“What is he wearing? Look at his clothes.”
“Hmmm ...he’s wearing a white t-shirt, khaki pants, and white running shoes. His face, hands, and shoes have dark red stains all over them. He’s carrying a paper shopping bag. You know, the kind with the handles?”
“Red stains on his face, hands and shoes? Are you sure about that?”
“Oh yes. He’s just a few feet from the car. He keeps on running. We turn into the parking lot. Patty thinks he’s some kind of nut job.”
“Was he carrying any kind of weapon?”
“No. I didn't see a weapon. Just a shopping bag.”
“Do you see anyone else around the church?”
“There are two police cars in front with their lights flashing. There’s a guy on a bike going away from the church. Some people are milling around and pointing toward the church. I can’t get in through the front because there’s some yellow police tape there. I run around to the back. No one is there. Suddenly, Walter comes out. He’s crying. I ask him what happened. He just runs off and leaves on his bike. I slip under the yellow tape and go inside. A lot of people are talking and crying. I go to the front of the church. I see Ben, Deacon Sidwell, Mrs. Perez, and Father Small. Ben sees me. He tells me something bad happened to Father Watson. I start to cry. Ben hugs me. That’s all I can see.”
“Thank you, Julia.”
She opened her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
“Did the police talk to you that day, or later?”
“No. You’re the first policeman to talk to me about it. You see, I got sick and went to the ladies room. I was really upset over what had happened. I was in there quite a while.”
“You did a great job. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“Yes sir, I will.” She began to leave the room.
“Julia, is Walter Jennings here now?”
“Yes. Would you like to talk to him?”
“Yes, please send him in.”
Julia departed. Within a minute, Walter walked into the room acc
ompanied by Ben. He introduced Walter. The Jennings boy was about 5-foot-2. A gray t-shirt with an Orlando City Soccer logo on it covered his thin frame. He appeared to be about twelve years old. After I instructed him on what to do, Walter took his turn in the seat. He sat there with his eyes closed.
“Okay, Walter, tell me what you see.”
“Well, Ben and I are inside the church near the altar. He’s showing me what I have to do while assisting at Mass. Then, I hear screaming coming from the front of the church. Ben and I run over to see what’s going on. There’s a bunch of people standing around the entrance to the Reconciliation Room. Some are screaming that Father Watson is dead. That really upsets me. I get nauseous. I feel like I’m going to get sick. I tell Ben I want to go home. He says it’s okay. I leave the church and go home.”
“What exit did you use to leave?” I said.
“The back one.”
“Did you see anyone around when you got outside?”
“I don’t see anyone else. No wait. It’s Julia. She asks me where I’m going. I don’t answer. I just run to my bike and leave.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about that afternoon at the church?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Walter. You did a wonderful job. Here’s one of my cards. If you think of anything else, call me.”
“Yes sir. Are you a really a private detective?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Gee. I never met a private detective before. Wait until I tell my friends at school.”
MURDER RITES: THE JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERY SERIES (JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERIES Book 1) Page 7