by Gerri Hill
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“May we come in?” Sam asked.
Mrs. Hagen glanced over her shoulder back down the dark hallway before nodding. “Okay. But my husband—”
“We’ll only take a few moments of your time,” Tori interrupted.
“Well, come into the kitchen then.” She stepped aside. “He’s in the den watching television.”
They followed her into the house, both pausing while she closed the door behind them. Tori noted the difference between the inside of the home and the outside. Here, there was no clutter, no disorder. She glanced at the framed photos hanging on the wall, thinking the Hagens must have a large family. She quickly counted more than ten family portraits. Sam was looking at them too, and Tori watched as Sam’s gaze left the portraits and landed on her.
The kitchen was big and airy, the blinds all opened to let in the first rays of sunshine they’d seen in a week. In the center of the small breakfast table was a vase stuffed full of fresh flowers. Again, not a thing looked out of place.
“I can make a fresh pot of coffee, if you’d like,” Alice offered.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Hagen, we don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Sam said. She gave another friendly smile. “I noticed the pictures in the hallway. You have a big family?”
“Sit, please,” Alice said, motioning to the table and chairs. “We have six children and they’ve blessed us with seventeen grandchildren.” A hint of pride flashed in her eyes. “It’s quite a houseful at Christmas, yes.”
Tori shifted impatiently and glanced at Sam, wishing they’d just get on with it. Pleasantries were one thing, but they had a dead priest to deal with.
Sam gave her a subtle touch on the shoulder as she moved behind her to the far chair. “Well, Mrs. Hagen, again I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but we’ve got a few more questions about Father Michael.”
“I don’t understand. They said on the news this morning that Juan did it.” She shook her head. “Never would have believed it. Juan was always so polite, so grateful to have a job. Why, he’d do anything for Father Michael. And now him being killed himself. Why, it’s just awful.”
Tori and Sam exchanged glances. Tori frowned. News? What news? They hadn’t heard anything, but they hadn’t bothered with the TV this morning.
“Excuse me, but we’ve not made any formal charges yet,” Tori said. “Juan Hidalgo is simply a suspect at this point.”
“But that woman said—”
“What woman?” Tori said sharply.
“Well, the one they interviewed. That cute newswoman on Channel Five—Melissa Carter—talked with her this morning. She was at the church.”
Tori reached for her cell. “Goddamn,” she said under her breath, but Sam stopped her with a quick touch on her arm.
“We’re just following up on some leads, Mrs. Hagen. We’re not convinced Juan did it,” Sam said easily. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to rush to judgment and accuse an innocent man.”
“Of course not, no.”
“Good. Now tell us a little about Father Michael. He was obviously well-liked. Was there anyone who he may have had stay overnight with him? Or someone who spent a lot of time there at the rectory?”
Mrs. Hagen fidgeted, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, but she shook her head. “No. There was no one.”
Tori sat back and let Sam take over. It was, she reasoned, what Sam excelled at. Tori had no patience when it came to questions.
“The rectory was large, at least three bedrooms. Was Father Michael the only one who lived there?” Sam asked.
“Yes. Well, at times, visiting priests would stay, priests from other parishes. But none of the other priests from Saint Mary’s lived there.”
“How did Father Michael come to live there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he wasn’t the oldest, didn’t have the most tenure. Why was he given the rectory to live in and not another priest?”
Mrs. Hagen fingered the buttons on her blue housedress. “I don’t know about that, but there are other houses. The church owns nearly all of the buildings in the surrounding blocks.”
“Okay, so other priests have their own homes?”
“Some share houses, yes. Saint Mary’s is a large parish, Detective. Plus, when priests leave the seminary, some stay on here for a few months or so, before they’re assigned to another parish. And of course St. Iglesias has three priests that live at Saint Mary’s too.”
Sam paused, her eyes flicking toward Tori, and Tori wondered how much longer she would be able to sit idly by before demanding to know who shared Father Michael’s bed. She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep quiet.
“Mrs. Hagen, but you’re sure no one lived with Father Michael?”
“I’m his housekeeper. I guess I’d know, wouldn’t I?”
Tori had had it. She stood quickly, pushing her chair back, and looked from Alice Hagen to Sam. Hands on her hips, she stared at Mrs. Hagen. “You’re the housekeeper, right. Which is why we’re asking these questions. I know it must be difficult for you, having to discuss Father Michael’s private life, especially since he’s not here to defend himself. But if we’re going to find out who killed him and why, we’re going to need to know who he was—”
“Mrs. Hagen, please.” Sam’s smile was apologetic. “We’re not here to judge him, and we’re not here to make false accusations, but the evidence tells us that there was a possibility he was physically involved with another man. Please, if you know anything, you need to tell us,” she said gently.
But the housekeeper shook her head, glancing with frightened eyes at Tori and Sam before averting her gaze. “I told you, I don’t know anything about that. Father Michael was a wonderful man, a wonderful priest,” she said, quickly dabbing tears that slid down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you are accusing him of such a thing. He was a priest. Have you no shame?”
Fed up, Tori went back to the table, her hands gripping the back of the chair as she gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Mrs. Hagen, we have no idea why Father Michael was killed. As you said, he was a wonderful person. Who would want to kill him? Why?” She leaned closer. The woman was obviously lying. “Someone shared his bed, Mrs. Hagen. DNA evidence tells us that. We need to know who it was.”
Mrs. Hagen’s hands trembled as she stood. It was then that Tori noticed the rosary beads in her palm.
“I’d like for you to leave now, Detectives. I have nothing more to say.”
“Mrs. Hagen—”
“Detective Kennedy, we’ve taken enough of her time,” Tori said. “Let’s get back to the station.”
Sam opened her mouth as if to ask one more question of Mrs. Hagen, but the older woman looked away. Tori led the way out of the house. On the front steps they looked at each other.
Sam must have noted Tori’s skepticism because she said, “I think she’s lying. You think she’s lying, right?”
“I’d say. Did you see how she was worrying those rosary beads?” Tori headed down the steps. “We need to find out what the hell Marissa Goddard said on the news this morning.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sikes, Ramirez and Malone were huddled together, Sikes with his ear to a phone, when Tori and Sam came into the squad room.
“This can’t be good,” Sam said.
Tori’s cell rang. “Hunter,” she answered in the same instant she tapped John on the shoulder.
John jumped, then slammed his phone down. “Goddamn, Hunter, you scared the shit out of me.”
“You rang?”
“We were just about to head out. Got tox back on Hidalgo. He was juiced. And not just the alcohol. Cocaine and meth.”
Tori raised her eyebrows. “And?”
“Tony talked to his mother this morning. And to Hector Ybarro. He was the one who found the body.”
“Yes, I remember him.”
“According to them, Hidalgo was clean. Hadn’t touched drugs in over a yea
r, and hardly ever drank more than a beer or two. In fact, he was so clean, he was able to hold two jobs. Besides working at the church, he was also the maintenance man at his apartment building.”
“So then what are you thinking? He went on a binge, lost his mind and killed Father Michael?”
“Actually, we were thinking the opposite,” Ramirez said. “Killed Father Michael, then was so distraught, he went on a binge.”
“So we still don’t know why he would have killed him.”
“Ybarro gave us the name of a couple of bars in Little Mexico where Hidalgo used to hang out. We’re going to go see if Juan hit any of them that morning.”
“Sounds good. Let me know what you find.” Tori looked at Malone. “We didn’t get shit from the housekeeper, by the way.”
“I take it you haven’t seen the paper this morning.” He pointed to her desk where the Dallas Morning News lay. “Goddard is in town one day and makes the front page.”
“Mrs. Hagen said she saw on the news where the murder was solved,” Sam said. “Did we miss something? Or has CIU closed the case?”
“As I was told this morning by the chief, Goddard is speaking on behalf of the diocese only. Basically, she implied the case was closed and that Juan Hidalgo was the murderer.”
“Did she also imply that Hidalgo was now dead?” Sam asked.
Malone shook his head. “I’ve been thinking. We’ve gone over all these scenarios, but we haven’t even considered that the two murders are simply random and unrelated.”
Tori tossed the paper back on her desk, her eyes finding Sam’s before staring at the lieutenant. “Are you seriously considering that? Come on, Lieutenant, we’ve been in this business long enough to not believe in coincidences.”
“True. I’m just saying it’s a possibility and we shouldn’t rule it out altogether.”
“As a last resort,” Tori said. “Now, what’s Goddard’s phone number? Does anyone have it?”
“I have it, yes,” Sam said. “Why?”
“Because we’ve got thirteen prints to account for.” She took the business card Sam handed her. “I think we need to pay the diocese a visit.”
“Will you quit fidgeting,” Sam whispered, watching as Tori paced back and forth across the plush carpet.
Tori shoved her hands into her pockets, her eyes darting around the large room. Sam followed her gaze, admiring the religious oil paintings that adorned the walls. Probably 19th century, she thought.
“What is wrong with you?”
Tori took her hands out of her pockets and tucked them under her arms. “This place gives me the creeps,” she said softly. “It’s too damn quiet.”
Sam smiled. “We’re at a church.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not in the church. Why is everything so… so solemn?” She looked around again. “So formal.”
“Why, Detective Hunter, are you feeling out of place?” Sam teased.
Tori again shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Maybe I’m scared of those lightning bolts Sikes was talking about.”
Sam knew, even though Tori was teasing, a little part of her was quite scared to be here. But she doubted a stranger would recognize that from Tori’s body language. Pressed jeans today with a dark burgundy sweater pulled over an equally pressed shirt, her short dark hair as neat as ever—Tori exuded nothing but confidence. In fact, she positively oozed it. It was one of those things about Tori Hunter that still amazed Sam. No matter the circumstance, no matter the situation, no matter the people involved, Tori would take control and never relinquish the power.
She smiled slightly as she met Tori’s eyes. She suspected that Marissa Goddard was as used to being in control as Tori was. And the power struggle they were having, while amusing, wasn’t really helping their investigation any.
“I doubt God will take His wrath out on you with lightning bolts,” she whispered.
“Oh? Something worse?”
Sam laughed. “What? You think because we’re accusing a priest of having an affair, that warrants retaliation?”
Clearly amused, Tori raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps our punishment is having to deal with Marissa Goddard.”
They both looked up at the sound of heels clicking methodically on the marble hallway leading to the reception room they’d been placed in. Marissa Goddard, in her black business suit and smart red blouse, looked, Sam thought, positively regal as she approached them.
“Detectives, what an absolute pleasure,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “I expected you hours ago.”
“Sorry. We missed your morning news debut or we would have hopped right over,” Tori said, equally as sarcastic. “I hear you’ve solved the case for us.”
Marissa smirked. “Just prodding you along. With all the evidence, it seems obvious Hidalgo is your killer.”
“Circumstantial evidence without a motive is hardly conclusive, Ms. Goddard. I thought we’d already established that.” Tori squared her shoulders, waiting.
“Had we?” Marissa turned to admire a painting of the Virgin Mary. “The artwork in here is exquisite,” she murmured, glancing back to them. “Do either of you know art?”
“Not really, no,” Sam said. “But they are very beautiful.”
Tori cleared her throat. “Can we forego the pleasantries, please? We’re here on business.”
“I wasn’t aware you were being pleasant, Detective. I assumed that was a trait you didn’t possess.” She smiled at Sam. “Although your record with partners seems to have improved now that Detective Kennedy is on board.” At Tori’s blank stare, Marissa continued. “Yes, I’ve seen your file, Detective Hunter. Quite impressive. Quite scary, in fact.”
Tori raised an eyebrow. “Thanks. How many privacy acts did you violate to get a look at my file?” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. My file is hardly relevant to our case. Thirteen sets of fingerprints are. We want to print the priests here at Saint Mary’s. The priests in the seminary. Any nuns that might have had cause to be in the rectory. Anyone else, for that matter, who may have been in the rectory.”
Marissa Goddard chortled. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I don’t think so, no,” Tori said. “Why? Is that a problem?”
“I suppose you think you can get a court order for this?”
“Why would that be necessary? I would think the church would be anxious to find Father Michael’s killer, not hinder a police investigation by refusing to cooperate.”
Marissa laughed. “Are you serious? You would accuse the church of not cooperating?”
“As if it has something to hide? Yes.”
“Hide? Are you going to start all that sexual partner garbage again, Hunter?”
Sam watched Tori, wondering if she should intervene before this got out of hand.
Tori closed the space between her and Marissa. “Don’t think I won’t talk to the media.”
“Oh, Detective Hunter, don’t you even presume to threaten me,” she said with a snide smile. “I’d hate to pull rank on you.”
Tori frowned. “Pull rank?”
“I had dinner with the police chief last evening, as well as the mayor. Both fine gentlemen. You do know I’m here at their request, don’t you?”
Tori sighed. “Goddamn politics. Does the church have incriminating pictures of our city’s leaders or what?” She leaned closer. “What in the world could they be trying to hide, I wonder? I thought all of their skeletons were already exposed.”
“I assure you, they have nothing to hide, Detective. They simply don’t want a media circus surrounding this investigation. Father Michael deserves to be laid to rest in peace.”
“I agree. He also deserves justice.”
“And someone took care of that, didn’t he? Hidalgo is dead.”
Sam had had enough. They were getting nothing accomplished this way. “Ms. Goddard, that’s hardly justice,” Sam said. “We don’t know for sure Hidalgo did it. And if he did, we certainly don’t know why.”
“Does it really matter at this point? And please, call me Marissa.”
“Of course. But yes, it matters.”
“Look, I’m tired of all these games already, Goddard. We need prints,” Tori said again. “So go talk to whoever it is you need to talk to.”
Marissa put her hands on her hips, looking from Sam to Tori and back to Sam. “God, how do you put up with her?” she murmured before striding away, her stilettos echoing on the marble floor. “I’ll talk to the monsignor. Don’t hold your breath.”
“Thanks. We’ll just wait here,” Tori called after her.
Sam watched her disappear down the hall, then turned to Tori. “I wonder if, under other circumstances, we might be friends with her. You think?”
“Are you kidding? She’s abrasive. She’s opinionated. Jesus, who could stand to be around her?”
Sam laughed. “I think that’s the way Sikes described you when I first started working with you guys.”
“He did, huh?” Tori shrugged. “Well, I guess it was true, right?”
Sam moved closer, her hand snaking between them to rest at Tori’s waist. “It was true, sweetheart. And I fell in love with you anyway,” she whispered. She caught the gentle softening of Tori’s eyes, the soft blush that crept across her flawless skin.
Tori nodded. “I was abrasive, wasn’t I?”
Sam laughed again. “Unbearable.”
Tori went to inspect the same painting Marissa Goddard had studied earlier. She turned around slowly. “It’s a little ironic, don’t you think? That they have a woman as the consultant for the church,” she explained.
“I suppose.”
“I mean, the Catholic Church is all about men. Women are simply—”
“What? Subservient? Obedient?” Sam asked, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile at Tori’s musings.
“Yeah. They have no power. Why in the world would they have a woman as their spokesperson?”
“Well, in the public’s eye, a woman is more sympathetic, more honest.” Sam raised her eyebrows. “More believable.”
“Yeah. And I guess that’s a good thing when you’re lying to them.”