MURDER RITES: THE JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERY SERIES (JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by Ronald Yarosh

  Jake and I took a seat on a long leather couch. A few moments later, a man about my age, wearing glasses entered the room. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and black pants. He was slightly hunched over. He looked down at us and smiled.

  "Which one of you is looking for Father Preston?"

  "We both are," I said. "Is there somewhere private where we can talk?"

  "Certainly. By the way, I’m Father Fred Manning. I’m the Abbott of this Monastery." He held out his hand.

  Jake and I both extended ours. "I’m Johnny Sundance. This is Eden Palms Chief of Police, Jake Rosen."

  "I’m very happy to meet you. Why don’t we go to my office?"

  We walked down the dimly lit hallway. His office was a modestly appointed, beige colored room. The walls held customary religious pictures and articles.

  "Have a seat, then you can tell me why the police are looking for Father Preston."

  "We just had some questions for him in regard to an incident which happened a while ago," Jake said.

  "It’s about the murder of Father Brian Watson which occurred at St. Francis de Sales Parish," I said.

  "Oh yes, I knew Brian quite well. It was so tragic and uncalled for. What does Father Preston have to do with that incident?"

  "We have some renewed interest the case," Jake said. "I just have a few questions for him."

  "Hold on a minute please." He picked up the phone and punched a couple of numbers. "Tim, have you seen Father Preston? ––I see. Thank you." He hung up the phone, and then turned to us. "Father Tim said Jimmy, I mean Father Preston, told him he was going fishing. Jimmy left here about thirty minutes ago."

  "Did Father Tim say where Preston was going fishing?" Jake said.

  "Sorry, he didn’t say. But, Father Preston told us many times about the good fishing at Indian Springs Lake. He brought us a lot of fish for dinner during the Lenten season. It’s amazing how much a boy who grew up in New York City loves to fish."

  "Did father Preston say where at the lake he did his fishing?"

  "Why yes? Come to think of it, one time when he and I went fishing together, he took me to a big, dead Cyprus tree. We caught lots of fish there that day. He said it was his favorite spot."

  "Did Father Tim say whether or not Father Preston was going fishing alone or with someone?" I said.

  "Father Preston had been talking about taking one of the boys from de Sales there. It had something to do with a Boy Scout merit badge."

  More puzzle pieces fell into place. Suddenly, ideas began to swirl around in my mind. "Thank you, Father. You’ve been a big help. We will see ourselves out."

  "You're very welcome gentlemen."

  We all shook hands. We left his office, and then the building.

  When we got outside, I relayed my hunch to Jake. He nodded in agreement.

  He got on his radio. "This is Rosen, get every patrol car you can muster, and meet me at Indian Springs Lake. Have them form a perimeter around the lake. Get as many state and county boys as you can. And, get a K-9 unit. I’ll be waiting near the dock."

  We shot out of the parking lot and headed toward the lake. The lights were flashing. The siren was wailing. It was a ten-minute ride from there. We pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the boat ramp. There was a black, Ford Focus there. Jake slammed on the brakes. He got two pair of binoculars out of the glove compartment. We got out of the car. Jake checked the Ford for occupants. There were none.

  We rushed to the lake’s edge. We scanned the shore as we stood near the boat ramp. I could hear the wail of police sirens in the distance. Several turkey vultures circled high above us. "I think I know where he is, Jake. Follow me."

  I was pretty sure I knew where the big tree was located. I had fished there as a kid with my father. It was a few hundred yards away from the dock.

  Jake followed me as I ran toward the spot. As we got closer, I saw a man dressed in a dark shirt with dark trousers. He was kneeling over a smaller figure lying on the ground. The man held a large blade knife in his left hand.

  Jake drew his gun. "Drop the knife Father Preston," he yelled. "It’s over."

  Preston turned toward us. He dropped the knife and ran into some nearby woods. I rushed over to the kid. It was Ben Gurney. He was unconscious but breathing. I noticed something shiny on his forehead and on his hands. I looked closely at the substance. It was an oil of some kind. From where it was placed, and the fact that Preston was a priest, I determined it to be Chrism. It’s the oil used in the last rites of the Catholic Church. "Jake, call EMS. The boy is alive but unconscious. Preston must have drugged him."

  Jake radioed headquarters and told them to send an ambulance to the lake. Then, he took off after Preston. A few moments later, a sheriff’s deputy with a K-9 arrived. I identified myself, and then told the deputy that Jake ran east, chasing the perp. The deputy and his German shepherd ran after them. I could hear the dog’s bark through the trees.

  A few minutes later, Ben Gurney started to come around. I told him to relax and that medical help was on the way. He asked me were Preston was. I told him he had left. I didn’t want to alarm him over what I had just seen.

  It wasn’t long before Sergeant Tallman arrived. A couple of EMS people were behind him. Suddenly, I heard Rosen’s voice over Tallman’s radio. "One perp in custody."

  The EMS folks examined Ben. He had a little headache and was groggy. But otherwise, he was fine. They escorted him to their vehicle.

  Right after that, Jake marched the handcuffed priest out of the woods toward me. Preston was limping. I figured the K-9 officer caught up to him and clamped his jaws on Preston’s leg. The deputy and his barking dog followed behind. The deputy was praising Champ for a job well done. I instructed Tallman to bag the kitchen knife Preston had dropped.

  The EMS crew checked out the priest. They cleaned his leg wound, and then released him to us. Jake put Preston in the back seat of his car. He put the evidence bag containing the knife in his trunk. He took out a cigar, and then lit it. It was a Corona. The blue smoke swirled upward.

  "Johnny, would you like to accompany me to headquarters to interview Preston?"

  "Certainly. It would give me great pleasure."

  We drove off with lights flashing. Jake was grinning from ear to ear. Preston sat in the back of the car looking straight ahead. He seemed to be in a trance. I couldn’t wait to talk to him.

  19

  We took Father Preston into an interview room. Jake pulled out one of the metal chairs and instructed the Priest to sit on it. Preston sat down and then rubbed his injured leg with his handcuffed hands. He had a blank expression on his face. His slender fingers were dirty, but well manicured. A uniformed officer stood by as Jake and I left the room to discuss our strategy. We also wanted Preston to stew a bit with his own thoughts.

  A lab tech brought us the evidence bags I had requested. They contained the items I found at the base of the statue. Jake suggested I begin the conversation. EPPD detective, Vince Chatsworth went into the adjacent room to record the conversation.

  We re-entered the interview room. Preston was sitting there, staring straight ahead. Jake and I sat across from him. I placed the evidence on the table.

  Jake introduced the two of us. We both shook hands with him. Jake then read him his rights. "Do you understand your rights, Father Preston?"

  The priest nodded his head. "Yes."

  "Do you wish to have a lawyer present?" Jake said.

  Preston shook his head. "No. I have nothing to hide." He moved his handcuffed wrists to the table and closed his eyes.

  "You are here on some pretty serious charges," Jake said. "Do you understand that?"

  Preston didn’t answer. Jake pounded his fist on the table and shouted, "Open your eyes, dammit. Look at me when I’m talking to you."

  The priest jumped in his chair. He immediately did as he was ordered.

  "What were you doing with Ben Gurney by the lake?" Jake shouted.

  "I was just showing the
boy the best place to fish. I know that lake well."

  "Come on, Father Preston," I said. "Gurney was on the ground. He was unconscious. You were kneeling over him with a knife in your hand in a threatening manner. Certainly there’s more to the story than that."

  "Let me explain," he said.

  "This ought to be good," Jake said. "Let’s hear it." He left his chair, and then started to pace behind Preston. I knew it was Jake’s attempt to drive Preston crazy.

  "As you may know," Preston said. "Ben Gurney is a Boy Scout. He asked me to help him work on the Fishing Merit Badge so he would have enough badges to become an Eagle Scout. I gladly agreed. We planned to meet after soccer practice near de Sales. The boy was acting funny when I saw him. I thought maybe he had taken some kind of drug or perhaps smoked some marijuana. You know how kids are today. They're all on drugs of some kind. I asked him if he was okay. He said he was fine. He said he wanted to go to the lake and work on the badge. So, I drove him there. I was explaining how to clean fish with the knife. Suddenly, Ben passed out. That’s when you arrived. It’s all very innocent."

  "Why did you run away?" I said. "Why didn’t you just wait for us and explain everything?"

  "I don’t know. I got scared. I was brought here once before after a boy was found dead near the lake. I was treated badly by the police and I didn’t want to go through that again."

  "So, Father Preston, let me get this straight," I said. "You were showing Ben Gurney how to use the knife as you held it over him as though you were going to plunge it into his body. While he was unconscious, I might add. That doesn’t make any sense. Does it make any sense to you, Chief Rosen?"

  "It makes no sense at all to me."

  Preston leaned forward. He stretched his arms out on the table. "It may have looked that way, but that’s not what happened. I was showing him how to properly use the knife. Ben suddenly fell asleep. I don’t know why I raised the knife in the air. I had no intention of harming him."

  Jake took the chair he had been using, and threw it against the wall. Preston instantly sat back. His eyes went wide. He began to tremble. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Jake leaned over and braced his arms on the table putting his head about six inches from the side of Preston’s sullen face. "Do you really expect us to believe a cock and bull story like that, Father Preston?"

  "Why not? It’s the truth."

  I cleared my throat. "I’m sure Ben Gurney will have a different story to tell us. He’s in the other interview room right now talking to a detective." That really wasn’t true. Ben was still at the hospital.

  He looked me in the eyes. "I’m sure the boy is going to have his own version of events to cover up his drug usage. It will be my word against his. I’m a Franciscan priest. He’s just a stupid kid." His voice was clam and confident.

  I shook my head. "Tell me this, Father Preston. Why did you give Ben the Last Rites of the Church? I found holy oil on his head and hands. I’m quite sure that's not a requirement for the fishing merit badge. Is it?"

  "I gave him the last rites because I thought he was under the influence of drugs. I thought he might die."

  "Why did you have the oil with you in the first place?" I said.

  "I always carry it with me as a precaution, just in case I come upon an accident or a situation where someone needs The Sacrament."

  "I can’t buy that," I said. "If Ben was that sick, why didn’t you call 911, or take him to a hospital, or a fire station where he could get medical help?"

  "I was nervous. I panicked. I guess those ideas never entered my mind. And, I didn’t bring a phone along."

  Jake picked up one end of the table and slammed it onto the floor. The evidence bags hit the ground. He then grabbed Preston by the arms and lifted him from his chair. "You're not going to get away with it this time, you dirty bastard. The attempted murder of the Gurney boy will get you at least ten to twenty years in prison."

  Preston stood frozen in place.

  I knew Jake was playing the old, "Good Cop-Bad Cop" routine, but in my opinion, things were getting a little too hot. I got up. I separated the two men.

  "Chief," I said. "Why don’t you go out and get us all a cup of coffee?" Jake turned toward me and winked. He turned back to Preston. "Would you like some coffee, Father?" He said it in a calm voice, then smiled.

  The priest nodded. "Cream and sugar if you have it." His voice sounded meek and mousey.

  Jake called for another officer to assist me. When the officer arrived, Jake left the room. I picked up the evidence bags and then rearranged the furniture. Preston and I both sat down.

  "Sorry about that, Father Preston," I said. "Sometimes Chief Rosen gets a little excited during interviews. He gets carried away, but he means well."

  Preston sat there with a blank stare on his face. A few minutes later, Jake came in with our coffees. They sat on a cafeteria tray along with some sugar and fresh half-and-half. He placed the tray on the table. He gave a cup to me, and one to Preston. He then took one for himself. Preston added cream and sugar. He sipped a little. It seemed to calm him down.

  Jake took a drink of his unsweetened black coffee, then returned the cup to the table. He stood there with a scowl on his face. His arms were crossed as he stared down at the priest.

  I decided to take another approach with Preston. "Now, Father, would you please tell me what was really going on at the lake today? It was pretty obvious to me, but I want hear it from your mouth."

  "I already told you what happened. It’s the truth. I swear on my honor as a consecrated priest that everything I told you is true. So help me, God."

  I began my subtle attack. I pushed the tray to one side of the table. I took a pair of rubber gloves from my pocket. I slowly pulled them on my hands. Preston watched my every move. His eyes widened. I saw him swallow hard. I deliberately opened one of the evidence bags as slowly as I could.

  "What’s that?" Preston said.

  I ignored him. I continued to open the bag. I picked up the Bowie knife. I decided to get more personal with him. "Father James Preston," I said. "Do you mind if I call you James?"

  He peered at me with a puzzled look on his face. "You can call me Jimmy if you’d like."

  "Okay, Jimmy. You can call me Johnny."

  Preston nodded his head as he stared at the knife.

  "Jimmy, this knife is the weapon you used to kill Father Brian Watson. We found it near the statue of Our Lady on the grounds of de Sales. It’s where you buried it on the day of the murder. Do you recognize it?"

  He shook his head. "No. Why should I? You’re wrong. I had nothing to do with the murder of Brian Watson. I wasn’t anywhere near the church at that time." He took another sip of his coffee. The cup was shaking in his hands.

  I put the knife aside. I grabbed the shirt and pants from their bags. I laid them on the table. "Jimmy. These are the bloodstained clothes you wore on the day of the murder. They were found with the knife I just showed you." I removed the shoes. "Here are the bloody shoes you wore that day. They were with the clothes, and knife. Do you know we found bloody footprints in the Reconciliation Room after the murder?"

  He shook his head. "No. How would I know that?"

  I ignored his question. "The footprints we found matched the pattern on the bottom of these shoes. It was an exact match, Jimmy."

  His eyes kept shifting between my eyes and the evidence. "I bet these shoes fit your feet perfectly, Jimmy."

  "That wouldn't be so unusual. I bet they'd fit over a thousand people."

  "That may be true, but the DNA in some of the blood stains we found on these shoes, and the other items here, will only match only one person besides Father Watson. Not a thousand. Not even a hundred thousand. Just one."

  I picked up the baseball cap. "We also found this New York Yankees baseball cap in the same plastic trash bag. You’re from New York, aren’t you?"

  He nodded his head. "Lots of people are from New York. Many are Yankee fans. So what?"

&nb
sp; Jake moved behind Preston. He leaned against the wall. He kept his eyes on me as I continued. He was smiling broadly. His eyes sparkled.

  "Jimmy, do you know, on the day of the murder, it was 97 degrees outside with a humidity of 87 percent?" I said.

  He shook his head. "No."

  "Well it was. That was the exact temperature and humidity for that particular Saturday afternoon. I know. I checked it out with the Weather Bureau. They keep very accurate records."

  "So?"

  I took a sip of coffee. I put my cup down. "I don’t know about you, Jimmy, but when I go outside under those conditions, just to check my mail, I sweat like the proverbial pig. Do you know what is in sweat?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Water, salt, and body oils, I suppose."

  "I checked that out too. I asked a scientist. You are pretty much right in your answer. There’s one more component to sweat. A very important component. It’s called DNA. There’s lots of it in a person’s sweat. This hat I’m holding has more than enough DNA to identify the person who was wearing it that day. Someone with a shaven head, like you for instance, would certainly leave a lot of it on a hat like this." I was lying of course. Unless there are some skin cells in the sweat, there’s no DNA in sweat itself. I was betting Preston didn’t know that.

  I continued. "I believe this is your hat. It’s the one you wore on the day of the murder when you buried the evidence right where I found it today."

  Preston drank more coffee. He choked on his last sip. He had a short coughing spasm. "You’re wrong about all that." He stuttered between coughs. "I didn’t kill Brian. I was in the Rectory at the time."

  "Did anyone see you in the Rectory?" Jake said.

  "Bart Small saw me. And, Lupe Perez was there."

  "You're right about that," I said. "Father Small saw you, but he left just after 3 o’clock. Mrs. Perez couldn’t remember what time she saw you. In any case, you had plenty of time to murder Father Watson, bury the evidence, and get back to the Rectory."