"So, you haven’t got an alibi," Jake said.
"I was in the Rectory. I swear I was. I was preparing my homily for the 5 o’clock Mass."
"So you say, but there’s something else." I said.
"What’s that?"
"Someone saw you burying these things near the statute of Our Lady that afternoon about the time of the murder. And, of all the people in the world, the person who saw you turned out to be none other than Ben Gurney. The same young man who was with you at the lake today. Ben positively identified you as the person digging near the statue that afternoon." Of course, I lied about that to. Gurney never told me he actually saw Preston near the statue. He assumed it was the groundskeeper.
"He’s lying. Kids lie all the time. It’s what they do. They take drugs and they lie."
Jake’s face turned scarlet. He moved in front of Preston. He slammed his fists on the table, rattling the cups. "Jimmy, we’ve got you dead to rights. You did it. You murdered Brian Watson. Admit it already."
Preston shook his head. He slammed his fists on the table. "No. No. No. How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t do it? It was Bernie Flowers. He had the big argument with Brian. He’s the one who stole that money. He had all the knives. Large knives. The kind of knives that kill people. He was in the Army. He told us he killed people with knives in the Vietnam War. I can prove he said that."
I looked Preston in his eyes and smiled. "Look, Jimmy, I understand that sometimes things happen when we don’t mean them to happen. I understand what people go through in times of stress. So, why don’t you tell us what really happened."
"I already did."
It was time to put more pressure on him. "Let me explain something to you. We already know that Father Watson’s blood is on this knife, the clothing, and the shoes. They’ve been analyzed in a crime lab. As I said before, we also found someone else’s blood on these things."
"So," he said.
"May I see your hands?"
He put them under the table. "Why?"
"People who use a knife to murder someone usually cut themselves while doing it. It happens because of the blood on the assassin’s hand when he continues to stab the victim's body. Do me a favor, Jimmy."
"What kind of favor?"
"Let me see your hands."
"No."
"What are you afraid of?"
Jake grabbed Preston’s hands and brought them onto the table. He examined them. "Hmmm …your left hand is scarred all right. It looks like a knife wound. How do you explain that?"
He pulled his hands away from Jake. "I cut myself with a butcher knife in the kitchen while at the monastery. People cut themselves all the time in kitchens. That’s not so unusual. It happened months ago while I was preparing some food with a butcher knife."
"Okay, Jimmy," I said. "Let me explain something else. Now that you're a prime suspect in this murder case, and we suspect you were trying to kill Ben Gurney, the police have the legal right to obtain a blood sample from you. Once we get that sample, we are going to send it, and all the evidence you see right here, to the FBI lab in Washington DC for analysis. They are very good at analyzing evidence, Jimmy. In fact, they are experts at it. And you know what?"
"What?"
"They are never wrong. And, while they are doing that, you will be cooling your heels here in the confinement facility. I’m sure the District Attorney will get the judge to remand you without bond."
"You can stop with your little games now," he said. "The FBI isn't going to find anything because I didn’t kill anyone. I'll even take another lie detector test to prove that."
"Ah, come on, Jimmy," I said. "I think we both know what they FBI will find when they examine all this evidence. Why don’t you save us all a lot of time and trouble and tell us what really happened? Get it all off your chest. I am sure it’s eating away at you."
He quietly sat there with his eyes glazed over.
I decided to bring another hunch of mine into play to screw with his mind. "Confess Jimmy. Confession is good for the soul. I’m sure you've said that many times as a priest. I want you to confess, just like you confessed to Brian Watson."
Preston's face turned ashen. His crossed arms. He began to make quick little circles on his thumbs with his index fingers. He rocked back and forth in his chair. It looked like he was about to crack.
20
All of a sudden, Preston’s eyes got wide. His jaw dropped. He looked confused. "How do you know that? How do you know what I might have confessed to Brian Watson?"
I decided to lie again …and again, if necessary. "Mrs. Perez told me."
"She couldn’t have told you anything. She’s dead. She died from a stroke. I was there when she collapsed. I was standing right over her."
"Well, to be honest, she didn’t tell me directly, but she did tell her daughter and her daughter told me. Mrs. Perez said she heard you and Father Watson arguing in the Reconciliation Room that Saturday afternoon. She also saw your silhouette through the window. She saw you stab Father Watson over and over. She heard his muffled cries as you plunged this knife into his consecrated body."
Preston’s knees began to bob up and down. "She couldn’t have seen me. It’s frosted glass. She couldn’t have heard me. The room is soundproof. There’s also a screen there. And, why didn’t she tell the police about it? I’ll tell you why. Because she didn’t see me. That’s why. She didn’t see or hear anything I might have done."
"That sounded like an admission of guilt to me," Jake said.
"I'm not admitting to anything," Preston said.
"It was too late for Lupe Perez to tell the police anything," I said. "By the time she fully realized what she had heard and seen the day you murdered Father Watson, she was on her death bed. Only her daughter heard what she had to say about the murder, and about you." I decided to continue with my ruse with another hunch. "And there’s more, Jimmy."
"Yeah, what?" His voice was haughty.
"She also told her daughter you poisoned the tea she drank just before she had the stroke. That’s what caused her to have that stoke. That’s why you talked Lupe’s daughter into having her mother cremated, even after she emphatically stated she wanted to be buried next to her dead husband. You wanted to hide the possibility that someone would later find drugs in Lupe’s blood analysis."
"Yeah, sure. You’re crazy if you think I’ll fall for your ridiculous stories."
"Now, now," I said. "You know I’m telling the truth."
"No. It’s a lie! You need to go to confession. If Lupe said anything at all, it was the ramblings of an old, senile woman. That’s what it was. She told me specifically she wanted to be cremated to save her daughter money."
"Save her daughter money?" Jake shouted. "Hell, her daughter is married to a rich doctor. They have more money than God."
"I’m only telling you what the old lady told me." He drank more coffee. He could hardly swallow it.
"Well, you can stick to your story, Jimmy," I said. "But, let me ask you something. How do I know all this if Mrs. Perez didn’t tell someone about it? She said it on her deathbed Jimmy. Just before she met Jesus and Mary. You know Mary talked to her don’t you?"
"Lupe was obviously crazy," he shouted. "The Virgin Mary doesn’t go around talking to senile old women. Perez was nuts! She probably had Alzheimer’s."
"Nuts?" I said. "Alzheimer’s? Hmmm …yet she told you that Mother Mary knows what you did. Isn’t that right? Mother Mary does know, doesn’t she? So does her son."
"Lupe never said that Mary knows what I did. She said, ‘Mother Mary knows what happened to Brian’. The Mother of God didn't implicate me at all." He had a smug look on his face.
"That may be so, Jimmy," I said. "But I think, deep down inside, you were afraid Lupe knew you killed Father Watson in cold blood. That’s why you had to get rid of her. That’s why you slipped her the substance you knew would cause her to stroke out while you two were alone in the Rectory. She would have died rig
ht there on that cold floor, but for Father Small. It’s also why you wanted to hurt Ben today. You wanted to silence him before he testified about seeing you on the church grounds the day of the murder."
"No. You’re wrong. Dead wrong! You’re all crazy. I didn’t do any of that. Lupe had a stroke. She was old that’s all. Old people have strokes. I've seen many stroke victims in nursing homes. Every one of them was old, just like Lupe."
I placed my hands on his trembling hands. Speaking in a low friendly voice I said, "Jimmy, I understand what you are going through. You are tormented by all of this. It’s not easy carrying such a heavy burden. You know from your work as a priest, it’s not good to have such stains on your everlasting soul, and such guilt on your conscience. Come on, Jimmy. You can tell me anything. Everything. You need to confess. Do it now. Do it for Brian. Do it for Lupe. I know you want to." I walked around the table. I winked at Jake. He winked back. I placed my hands on Father Preston’s shoulders in a comforting manner. I began to massage them.
Preston attempted to take another sip of coffee, but his hands were shaking like a wet dog left out in the cold. He dropped the cup. It fell on the floor. He raised his hands to his face and began to sob. He rocked back and forth. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
"I understand," I said, as I rubbed his shoulders. Jake picked up the cup, and then went back to the wall. He was smiling.
"Let’s start from the beginning," I said. "Tell us all about it."
I sat down. I gave Preston a tissue. He wiped his wet eyes. He took a deep breath. He slowly let it out. "It all started with my father. He molested me when I was twelve. It went on for years. I finally ran away from home. I lived with my aunt in New York City. One day, I realized I had a thing for young boys. It made me sick. I hated myself for it. But, I had this overwhelming compulsion. I couldn’t control it. It was like I was possessed. Things began to happen from then on." He sobbed again.
"Okay, Jimmy," I said. "Just relax. Take another deep breath. We’ll get through this together." Preston took in a deep breath and let it out.
He continued. "After studying horticulture in college, I decided to change majors to philosophy. Eventually that let me to the priesthood. I joined The Franciscans. I ended up here, in Florida. I still had my compulsion for young boys. So, I volunteered to be a soccer coach at St. Jerome Parish. All I wanted to do was be around young boys. I never wanted it to go any further. I never wanted to harm anyone. One day, I met Justin Price. He was a poor black kid who came from a broken home with no father. He lived in a bad neighborhood. Something drew me to him. It was an obsession. He was rough around the edges, but I saw potential in him. I arranged it so that he could attend the Youth Camp at the Monastery free of charge that summer. One day during camp, I was walking through the dormitory when I noticed Price’s footlocker was open. I saw a small bag containing what looked like some kind of drug. It turned out to be methamphetamine pills."
"What did you do with the drugs?" Jake said.
"I had a plan in mind. I confronted Price about it. He denied the stuff was his. He claimed he just found them lying on the floor. He said he threw them in his locker. He said he was going to turn them over to one of the counselors. He pleaded with me not to tell anyone. He said he’d do anything if I kept quiet about it. He begged me not kick him out of camp."
"Let me guess," Jake said. "You kept quiet about it, didn’t you?"
"Yes. I knew I could use the drugs I found against him. I took him out for pizza, ice cream, bowling and the movies. All the things young boys like. Eventually, I turned him on to pornography. Things just developed from there."
"I bet they did," Jake said.
"A few months later, I noticed he was trying to avoid me. One day after soccer practice, I confronted him about it. I suggested we go to a local restaurant to talk. Justin agreed. We went to Harmon’s. He told me he wanted to break it off. He said he was going to talk to Father Watson about it. He said he was going to tell his family everything. Then, he started to cry. I told him to go to the restroom and clean himself up. I was scared. I couldn’t let Justin tell his mother or Brian everything that had gone on. I couldn’t let the kid ruin me and my life."
"So, what did you do about it?" I said.
"I had a couple of Temazepam capsules with me. It’s a sleeping pill. I had stolen some of it months before from a patient’s room while visiting a local nursing home. I hadn't been sleeping well, so I decided to try some. It worked. I figured it would work just as well on Justin. While he was away, I surreptitiously dropped one of the capsules into his lemonade. When he came back, he finished the drink. A few minutes later, I noticed the pill was beginning to work. I told Justin I’d drive him home. By the time we got to the car he was ready to pass out. I drove him to the lake. There wasn’t anyone around. I carried him to the swamp area."
"Indian Springs Lake?" Jake said.
"Yes. I gave him the last rights of the church. Then, I drowned him." Preston said it like he was reading a newspaper account of the killing. Then, he began to sob bitterly. Once again he cradled his head in his hands. He rocked back and forth.
"All right, take it easy," I said. I handed him another tissue. "Then what happened?"
He wiped his eyes. He calmed down a little. "I hid his body under some brush near the edge of the swamp. I got out of there and drove back to the Monastery. That was on a Friday. I felt a lot of guilt and remorse over what I had done. I hated myself. The next day, I decided to go to confession and tell Brian about it, and beg forgiveness. Brian told me he couldn’t give me absolution for my grave sins. He was appalled over what I had told him about the molestation and the murder. He advised me to go to the police immediately and confess what I had done. He said he’d give me absolution after that. Of course, I couldn’t tell the police."
Jake’s face was turning darker by the second. His jaw was clenched. The vein in his head was bulging. There was fire in his eyes. "Do you realize the child you murdered and left in the swamp was partially eaten by gators?"
Preston nodded and kept his head low. "I was sick when I heard the news reports. I never thought that kind of thing would happen. I figured he’d be found in a few days after his mother called the police. You know, when they did a search of the area."
"So, you told Father Watson what you had done," I said.
"Yes. I was guilt ridden. It was driving me crazy. It was eating away at me."
"What made you decide to murder Watson?" Jake said.
"I started to worry. I was afraid Brian would tell the police what I had done. I thought the Seal of Confession would prevent him from telling anyone what I had told him, but in the back of my mind I wasn’t really sure he would keep my secret, especially after he lectured me in the Reconciliation Room the day I confessed. I convinced myself that I'd have to do something about Brian before he said anything to the authorities."
"So, you devised a plan to murder him," I said.
"Yes, but I wasn’t sure how I would do it. Then, a few days later, I was asked to accompany some Boy Scouts to a gun and knife show in Orlando. That’s when I saw Bernie Flowers. He had several tables full of knives. The scouts were very interested in his collection. As he was showing the boys some of the them, I stole one. That knife." He pointed to the weapon on the table. "I slipped it into a tote bag I was carrying. At that point I had my weapon. It was just a matter finding the right opportunity. I needed to find one quickly because Brian kept asking me if I had gone to the police. Every time I answered no, he would shake his head and sigh."
"So, it was you who stole Flowers knife," Jake said.
"Yes. Speaking of Bernie, I also stole that money from the church collection. The poor man was fired over that. I felt sorry for him. However, as a Franciscan, I took a vow of poverty, so I had no money of my own. I was going to use the cash I stole to buy an open airline ticket to Seattle. I planned to go there immediately if need be, and later out of the country."
"It looks like y
ou had all the bases covered," Jake said.
Preston nodded his head.
"Let’s get back to Father Watson," I said. "Exactly what happened that day?"
"I went into the confessional through the back door knowing Brian be there. He always showed up early. I had the door code. Everyone did. He was surprised to see me. He asked me what I was doing there. I told him I was worried he’d tell the police, or The Franciscans, what I had done. He said he’d never tell anyone what I had confessed to him. Then, he started to lecture me. Sometimes Brian could be very nasty. He kept pointing his finger at me like my father used to do when I was a kid. Things got a little heated. I told him I didn’t believe he would keep quiet about my confession. I removed the knife from the belt I was wearing. Brian had a puzzled look on his face. He put his hands up to defend himself. But, he was no match for me. I stabbed him several times."
"Twenty-seven times," Jake said.
"I wasn’t aware of that. When I was sure Brian was dead, I changed into clean clothes and shoes from a plastic bag I had with me. I noticed that my left hand was cut and bleeding. I grabbed Brian’s stole and wrapped it around my hand to stop the bleeding. I put my bloody clothes, the knife and everything else in the bag. I then calmly walked from the Reconciliation Room through the hallway. I went out the side door of the church. No one was there. I buried the bag near the statue of Our Lady where I had previously hidden a shovel. When I was done, I walked back to the Rectory thinking I had committed the perfect crime once again. I cleaned and properly bandaged my wound. I took a shower, and then changed my clothes again. Afterwards I drove to the monastery."
"It’s very difficult to commit the perfect crime," Jake said.
"Yes," I said. "It’s almost impossible. What did you do with Father Watson’s stole?"
"I buried it in the woods behind the Monastery."
"What happened after that?" I said.
MURDER RITES: THE JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERY SERIES (JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERIES Book 1) Page 13