Sign of the Cross

by Anne Emery

  “You’re not usually this agitated, Collins. What happened? Still got the shakes from a rough night?”

  “In a way.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Got tanked with Burke.”

  “Oh? And what kind of experience was that?”

  “I spent the night insulting him.”

  “How did he take that?”

  “Some of it he wisely refused to acknowledge.”

  “Did he insult you back?”

  “He went after me a bit. But he meant well.”

  “Booze must have a mellowing effect on him. I find that comforting somehow. So what’s got you all worked up today?”

  “I’ll tell you later in the week.”

  “Something to do with His Excellency?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Good for us. Bad for somebody else.”

  She wanted to ask more, but she let it be. “All right. I’m off.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where do I always go? See you tomorrow. Can you barbecue turkey?”

  “I beg of you, don’t do that. If it’s too hot for the oven we’ll go out.” Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, but it felt more like August than early October.

  The kids and I read stories, played games, ate treats, got out the guitars and harmonicas and had our own wholesome little blues day. On Monday we ate turkey, properly roasted. It was a fun weekend and it took my mind off the murder investigation. Once I got Tom and Normie to school on Tuesday, though, I had only one thing on my mind. I headed immediately to St. Bernadette’s, only to hear that my witness, Eileen Darragh, was out of town for the day on a course. She might, however, be in the office that evening. I would have to wait.

  I thought over everything I could recall about Father Michael O’Flaherty: his keen interest in violent crime; his heated discussion with Moody Walker in Tim Hortons about a priestly connection to the Leeza Rae murder; O’Flaherty’s mysterious walks at night; his love of dancing with the young women. What had I been told about O’Flaherty’s whereabouts the night Leeza was killed? All I could remember was Brennan saying he and Mike had a nightcap after the dance, and he assumed Mike had gone to bed. None of it had added up to murder — until now.

  III

  It was nearly nine o’clock before I got Normie settled in bed, and put Tommy in charge of the house. I drove to the centre. Would Eileen be there? I saw only one light, but the door was unlocked. Lax security. That suggested Eileen was not on the job. I went in. The light was coming from the director’s office, so I peeked inside. I heard the voice of authority.

  “Who is it?”

  “Good evening, Sister Dunne. It’s Monty Collins. I was just wondering whether Eileen was around. I forgot to check something with her last time we talked.”

  The nun, as crisp and alert as if she had just commenced her work day, came out to meet me. “The last time you talked to Eileen Darragh that I know of, she was in no condition to answer questions from you or anyone else.”

  Obviously, I was not going to be able to slip anything past Marguerite. “Right. She was a little overwrought.”

  Suddenly I remembered there was something the nun had said that night. It had struck me at the time, then vanished in the stress and turmoil of the following days. What was it?

  “How is he getting along?” Marguerite asked. “I catch a glimpse of him once in a while, but he doesn’t stop by to chat.”

  “I cannot imagine how he’s holding up as well as he is,” I answered.

  “He’s made of sterner stuff than a lot of us.”

  “He said something similar about you,” I told her. She emitted a short bark of laughter.

  “What is your take on these murders, Sister? Have you any idea who would kill two women and make it look as though Brennan had done it?”

  She was shaking her head before I had finished speaking. She answered softly. “I don’t know. I have thought about this over and over and over. I can’t see it being anyone here. There could have been people in these women’s lives who had a motive, but where is the tie to Brennan? I do not deal well with this kind of frustration, with being unable to solve a problem. I’ve felt utterly useless all through this.”

  I decided to take a chance. “What do you make of this interest Father O’Flaherty has in crime and police work?”

  If I had expected her to be offended on his behalf, I was wrong. She answered as if I had inquired about his enthusiasm for standing with a microphone at the head of a tour bus, answering the same dumb questions about Ireland, year after year.

  “I’ve always thought it a harmless diversion, like reading murder mysteries. Who isn’t interested in what the police are up to? He has some cronies on the force. It never occurred to me that there was anything untoward about it. Any more than there is in his devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Or the pleasure he seems to take in making his hospital rounds. You won’t get me in a hospital unless you knock me senseless and strap me to a board.” This from a woman who had stood unflinching in the crossfire, while women and children were being evacuated in war-torn Central America.

  “This devotion of his to the Virgin Mary —”

  She interrupted. “Does it mean he holds the Virgin Mother up as the ideal, against which all other women are measured? And lashes out with violence when they turn out to be neither virginal nor motherly? I never thought of it.”

  “Right. Does he think that way, do you suppose?” I persisted.

  “Father O’Flaherty is an old-fashioned kind of man in many ways. A product of his generation, certainly. But I have always had the impression that he loves — truly loves, I mean — women. I have to get going. Shall we go out together?”

  It was only when we reached her car that I remembered what the nun had said the night the jury went out. “Sister?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You said something that last night we were here, and I meant to ask you about it. You were talking about the fact that Brennan had fathered a child and you said: ‘A child who was in his life, however briefly.’ That struck me as an odd phrase. It was my understanding that he and his girlfriend had broken up during her pregnancy, long before the baby was born.” I was not about to recount my telephone conversation with Sandra Worthington. “Wouldn’t it be stretching things, under those circumstances, to say that the child was briefly in his life?”

  Sister Dunne looked distinctly uncomfortable. “A careless choice of words on my part.”

  I was not about to drop it. “Careless in that you were inaccurate, or careless in that you revealed something you had not meant to reveal?”

  She got into the driver’s seat and spoke to me through the open window. “Come around and have a seat, Monty.” She leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. I obeyed. “I don’t see how this can hurt him, at this point. At least not beyond the hurt suffered by a very private individual when anything personal is hashed about by others. I got a phone call, near the end of the trial. After that torturous cross-examination. The call originally went to the rectory and Mrs. Kelly, thick as she is in many ways, caught the scent of something complicated and directed the caller over to me.” I sat immobile beside the nun, bracing myself for whatever was coming. “The woman was a home care nurse in Connecticut. She wouldn’t tell me much, but she wanted someone up here to know that Brennan was not the kind of man — she said ‘young man,’ actually, so it was clear she was talking about the past — not the kind of young man the prosecution was making him out to be.”

  “Is this yet another old flame of Brennan’s?” I asked.

  “No. She is a former maternity nurse. She was on duty the night Brennan’s child was born
.” I stared at Marguerite. Sandra had made it painfully clear that Brennan had left her to face the birth all by herself. Marguerite spoke again. “Brennan ‘cared.’ That’s all she would say. ‘The young priest cared.’” Sister Dunne sighed. “I don’t see what good this can do him now. It may even complicate things for him in ways we cannot foresee. But if you want to talk to her, she left me her name and number. Call me at the office tomorrow.” I got out of the car and closed the door and watched Marguerite drive off.

  When I turned to go to my car I looked at the centre and realized that the place was not in darkness. A light was on. I hesitated, then started for the door. Had Marguerite locked it after us, or not? I reached for the door and it opened.

  IV

  The corridor was dim, the only light coming from a room down the hall and around the corner. I headed in that direction. Suddenly the building was plunged into darkness. I turned to leave, then heard footsteps rapidly approaching. I whirled and came face to face with Father O’Flaherty. As dark as it was, I could read his body language; his usual good cheer was gone. He barked out something I could not catch, and raised his right arm. He had something in his hand. I backed up and put an arm out to fend off a blow.

  “How in the hell —” he was nearly shouting “— could something like this blow a fuse, just by being plugged into the wall? It’s an adapter, isn’t it? What else are you supposed to do with it? Monty, do you know? Here, have a look. If you can see without light.”

  I willed myself to resume normal breathing.

  “I’ve been trying to set up the equipment for our big weekend: a slide projector, VCR, some other damnable stuff. Maybe I plugged too many things in one outlet. I’d better leave it till the young fellows come in tomorrow.” For the first time, he questioned why I was there. “What brings you out tonight, Monty?”

  I made a split-second decision. “I was looking for Brennan, but why don’t you and I have a seat for a few minutes? Leave a note on Eileen’s desk, telling her there’s a fuse that needs replacing. Then let’s have a word.”

  He nodded and went into the office. When he returned, I took him by the elbow and sat him in a chair in one of the meeting rooms. I managed to arrange things so his face was illuminated by a street light just outside the window.

  “Knights of Columbus are coming to town, I hear. Are you expecting a big turnout?”

  He started to describe the weekend plans, and I listened with half an ear. When he paused, I asked what kind of entertainment he would be putting on. He made a crack about buying out the Clyde Street Liquor Store, then talked about Masses and a movie. Finally, the variety show.

  “The variety show I saw, you mean?”

  “Oh, were you there Monty?”

  “I missed the stage production, but I saw the video.”

  “Sure, I remember now. At the church fair. Yes, yes.” His mood was lifting.

  “The children’s choir was the highlight for me, I’d have to say.” I didn’t take my eyes from his face. “Brennan does a wonderful job with those children. This is a dreadful business. I hope I’ll be able to get it straightened out when it goes to the Court of Appeal.”

  Father O’Flaherty focused innocent-looking light blue eyes on me. “Surely, they’ll see reason in the Appeal Court. I’ve often wondered about the jury system, to be honest with you, Monty. Wouldn’t you think, if they couldn’t find first degree, they would have acquitted him? A priest, for goodness sake.”

  “You don’t think a priest would be capable of murder, Father?”

  “Of course not! Not unless there was something wrong with the man.”

  “What if the priest thought someone had committed an unforgivable sin, or an evil deed, and should be punished?”

  “It is God who forgives and God who punishes,” O’Flaherty said urgently. “It’s not up to us.”

  “Back to this variety show, Father. Do you think you’ll put on another one any time soon?” I asked with feigned enthusiasm.

  “It would be fun to do again, but a lot of work for sure.” He seemed to mull the idea over.

  “Where do you get all the props and the costumes? The wigs and things?”

  “Oh, people bring them in, donate things. That’s the least of it.”

  I tried to move so my face was in shadow, while the priest’s was still in the light. “That Beethoven wig was very effective on Brennan.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it! He was a dandy Beethoven.” Father O’Flaherty smiled.

  “Somebody told me the children had a good laugh afterwards, when the wig was pulled off. It had got itself pretty well affixed to Brennan’s head. You just about yanked him to his feet by the hair, as I heard it.” I watched him intently.

  “Did I now? The poor lad. I don’t remember it at all.” If he was lying, it was impossible to tell.

  “What became of the wig? I’m sure it would be useful again.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’d have to ask the young girl. Erin Christie. I think Erin brought it in. She played the part of Father Burke in the show. Excited about the role, she was. Brennan was very good to her when she had some sort of trouble. Man trouble maybe. She didn’t confide in me. Probably thought I was too old to remember things like that! You know young people, how they are. You’re not much more than a lad yourself. Well, I’ve had it for one day. Off to dreamland. I’ll tell Brennan you were looking for him, shall I Monty?”

  “No, that’s all right, Father. He’ll only worry that it’s something urgent. I’d better wait till tomorrow.”

  We said our goodbyes and left. What was I to make of the conversation? I wasn’t able to detect even a glimmer of a guilty conscience in the man. But then some murderers have no conscience and can face the world with a brazen countenance knowing there is no guilt to be seen flickering behind their eyes. All night, when I should have been catching up on my sleep, I went over and over the conversation with O’Flaherty, trying to figure out whether I had missed something.

  V

  The next morning I dropped in on Eileen Darragh. “Oh good, Eileen, you’re here.”

  “I’ve always been here, Monty,” she quipped, as she stuck papers into a two-pronged file clip. If she was embarrassed about our last encounter she gave no sign of it.

  “True enough in your case. I’d just like to ask you something in confidence. There’s probably nothing to it.” She looked wary. “You remember the variety show the centre put on last Christmas?”

  “I sure do.”

  “I enjoyed the Beethoven skit, by the way. I was told that was your idea.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it was. Erin and I put it together. We saw it as a way to get the choir into the show and have a bit of a lark at the same time.”

  “And poke a bit of fun at the choirmaster in the process.”

  She turned slightly pink. “Yes, that too.” She avoided my eyes but she laughed. “Didn’t hurt him in the least!”

  “After the skit was over, Eileen, I understand you and the other cast members were in a little room, getting the costumes off, and...” I heard the sound of paper sliding to the floor. The file on Eileen’s lap had fallen, and she looked at it as if she had no idea what to do with it. “Father Burke says Mike O’Flaherty was a little rough removing the Beethoven wig.”

  “Father Burke told you that?” “Yes, he did.”

  “Oh, thank God!”

  “Is that what happened?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s what happened.”

  “Did you say anything at the time?”

  Eileen tilted her head and directed her gaze somewhere above the door behind me. “I just can’t remember what I said.” She returned her focus to me. “I’ve thought of that since, Monty. Wel
l, you can imagine. I’ve relived the scene in my mind, over and over. Just the thought that Mike... Father O’Flaherty... it’s impossible! I didn’t even remember the wig until Father Burke’s trial started, then it came back to me. I should have said something. But I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice faltered. “It may have been completely innocent on Father O’Flaherty’s part. Must have been. I mean, Mike, of all people. You can’t really think...”

  “You’re right, Eileen. There may be a completely innocent explanation. So it’s vital that we keep this conversation between the two of us.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, her relief plainly visible. The secret was no longer quite as much of a burden now that it had been shared.

  “Monty?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank God Father Burke remembered! If he had forgotten and I had just sat here, I would never be able to forgive myself.” She must have been under a great strain, not knowing whether to come forward, not wanting to pit one beloved priest against the other.

  “No, you’re covered there.” I smiled as I got up to leave, my mind already on my next move. “Oh, one more thing.” She looked alert. What was I going to unload on her now? “What became of the wig after the show?”

  “I don’t know. I took all the costumes and props and put them in the basement with our other junk. Someone was helping me. One of the girls. But I don’t think the wig was there, because Erin mentioned keeping it for some other project she was planning. If it was there, she probably would have... oh, I just don’t know, Monty. I can’t remember.”

  “All right. Just leave everything where it is and make sure nobody touches the stuff until, or unless, I speak to you about it again. Who goes down to the basement?”

  “People don’t go down there very often. I do once in a while. The priests might. Sister Marguerite? I’d say not. Maybe the youth workers.”