by Gerri Hill
Sam hadn’t thought of that. “You don’t think she was brought here for that reason, do you?”
Tori’s reply was cut short as Marissa Goddard reappeared.
“Well, you caught him on a good day. Monsignor Bernard has agreed to see you.”
“Why, thank you, Ms. Goddard, you are even more powerful than I suspected,” Tori said lightly as they followed her down the hall.
“Trust me, Hunter, I advised him to send you on your merry way and make you beg for a court order. But he insists that we cooperate in any way.” Marissa smiled. “And don’t get your hopes up on the fingerprints. I don’t think he’s too keen on that.”
Sam watched the exchange with amusement. Again, she couldn’t understand their animosity. Granted, Marissa Goddard was a bit brusque and uncompromising, but still, she wasn’t the most detestable person to work with. In fact, she seemed to have quite the sense of humor, even if it was mostly at their expense.
“Marissa, if I may ask,” Sam said, “how long have you been consulting for the church?”
“You remember several years ago when they had all that mess in Boston? The diocese there hired the firm I work for to oversee newspaper and TV. It was a total nightmare.” She paused at a door, a massive oak structure with detailed carvings etched into the wood. “But they took a liking to me and thought I handled the media well.” She smiled confidently. “Which is why I’m here.”
She knocked once before opening the door. Sam watched Tori as Tori moved into the room, her gaze landing on Monsignor Bernard. His mahogany desk, Sam thought, was impressive.
“Come in, Detectives.” He pointed to the plush leather chairs sitting opposite his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you for seeing us, Monsignor,” Sam said politely as she moved around Tori to one of the chairs.
“Of course. As I told Ms. Goddard, we’re here to help in any way.” He nodded at Tori as he pulled open a drawer. “Detective Hunter, a pleasure to see you again.”
Marissa strolled nonchalantly into the room, claiming the sofa on the far wall. Tori finally took a seat next to Sam and nodded casually at the monsignor, watching as he methodically opened a tube of lotion and squirted a small glob into his palm.
“This weather wrecks havoc on my skin,” he said, rubbing the lotion onto his hands.
“I appreciate you taking the time to visit with us, Monsignor Bernard. I’m assuming Ms. Goddard shared our request with you,” Tori said, her tone a bit abrupt, even for her.
“You have a request, Detective? No, she said you had some questions.” He dropped the tube of lotion back into his drawer, waiting.
Tori gave Marissa a humorless smile, which she returned in kind. “The killer was obviously in the rectory. We have recovered thirteen different fingerprints from the scene. We would like to identify those thirteen.”
He folded his hands together on his desk, his plump fingers twitching lightly against the backs of his now smooth hands, his eyes thoughtful as he eyed them. “I see. But I am curious as to why. If Juan killed Father Michael, why are you concerned with who else may have been in the rectory? For example, I’m sure one of those prints will be mine. I visit the rectory quite often.”
“Monsignor, we have not determined for certain that Juan was the killer,” Sam said.
Evidently surprised, he glanced at Marissa. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression that the evidence pointed to Juan.”
“Circumstantial evidence at best,” Tori said. “And without a motive,” she added. “It’s a little hard to close the case.”
“Which is why we’d like to identify the prints and interview everyone,” Sam said.
“Well, I’m shocked, Detectives. You actually think someone from Saint Mary’s could be the killer? Why, any of the prints you find in the rectory would have a legitimate reason for being there.”
“Which is fine,” Tori said. “But we’d like to account for everyone. That’s our job.”
“I just don’t feel comfortable subjecting my people to this, Detective. It’s as if you’re putting them in a lineup, assuming one of them is guilty.”
“Hardly. But we can’t investigate this case without knowing who the players are.”
“In this day of forensic evidence, you’re telling me you have something more concrete than what points to Juan Hidalgo? There has to be some reason you’re curious about the prints,” he said. “I won’t allow a witch hunt here, Detective. I’m well aware of your opinion regarding Father Michael’s… personal… life.”
“Monsignor, we’d just like to interview everyone who may have had contact with Father Michael,” Sam said. “There has to be a reason he was murdered. Aren’t you anxious to know why?”
“I’m anxious to put this whole thing behind us and move on. We have news vans parked across the street daily, the phone rings constantly, the parishioners are upset. Father Michael was very popular among them. He was young, vibrant, full of ideas. I’d just like to bring closure to his life, to honor him and to lay him to rest.”
“And you won’t be able to do that until we know his killer,” Tori said evenly.
“I still don’t like the idea of interrogating my people. They have the same rights as anyone else. I don’t believe you have a basis to invade their privacy this way. It makes me think you’re searching for something else, Detective Hunter, some potential scandal you can bring to light.”
Tori glared at him. No doubt she was long weary of this inane conversation, which in Sam’s opinion was going nowhere. “Given the circumstances, I don’t see us getting a court order, or so Ms. Goddard claims.” She turned to look at Marissa. “Apparently she’s got some inside information from the chief.” She turned back to the monsignor. “So I’m to assume from your statements then that you don’t care about your murdered priest. You’re more concerned about protecting the privacy of the church and protecting the goddamn reputation of this diocese.” Her voice rose. “What are you afraid we’ll find?”
Sam’s eyes widened at Tori’s outburst and she just barely resisted the urge to grasp her arm, trying to calm her. She stared at the monsignor, his plump face red with anger.
“Detective Hunter, if you ever speak to me like that again, I will have you removed from these premises and barred from returning. I have never been spoken to so discourteously in all my life.” His palm slapped down on the top of the desk loudly. “Have you no respect?”
At this, Sam did grab Tori’s arm before the situation got any worse. “Monsignor, I apologize for her,” she said quickly, chancing a quick glance at Tori. “We’re just very frustrated. We’re at a standstill, basically, unless you help us. I understand you’re trying to preserve the reputation of your church, but a man has been murdered. A priest. Your priest. And we want to find his killer.”
He glared at them, his breathing labored as he attempted to regain his composure. He took a deep breath, finally nodding at Sam. “Ms. Goddard tells me your brother is a priest.” He covered his mouth as he coughed lightly. “What diocese?”
Sam looked quickly at Marissa, surprised at how thorough she’d been in her background investigation. Actually, it was interesting she’d even done a background check to begin with.
“We’re from Denver originally,” Sam said. “He volunteered for South America as soon as he got out of the seminary. He’s been in Brazil for years.”
“Wonderful. A man of conviction. I spent five years in Nicaragua myself. It will test your faith down there, that’s for certain. You must be very proud of him.”
She smiled at Monsignor Bernard. “Yes. My parents are especially proud.”
“Very well.” He nodded before leaning his head back against his leather chair, his eyes closing as he appeared deep in thought. Or prayer.
Sam glanced at Tori, thankful she seemed to have gotten herself under control, then at Marissa. Marissa met her gaze without expression, then turned her attention back to the monsignor.
“Very well,” he sa
id again, this time softly, as if to himself. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his desk. “I shall honor your request, Detective Kennedy. I’ll have Sister Margaret give me a list of her charges who may have had reason to be in the rectory. I’ll also get a list of the other priests and seminarians. I’ll have Ms. Goddard get you their names.”
“Excuse me, Monsignor, but I don’t think this is a good idea,” Marissa said, speaking for the first time. “It’s not our responsibility to—”
“Good idea or not, it’s what we’ll do,” he said. “The sooner they complete this investigation, the sooner we can return to normal. I don’t expect they’ll find anything out of the ordinary.” He looked pointedly at Sam. “But be advised, I won’t force them to comply with anything. We are still citizens and therefore afforded the same rights as citizens. If they don’t feel comfortable giving their fingerprints to the police department,” he said, “that is their choice.”
“Of course, Monsignor. We understand.” If that was the case, Sam thought, they’d have to work to get a warrant. The prints were the only thing they had to go on at this point.
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”
They stood, and Sam nudged Tori with her elbow, hoping she’d apologize to him. But Tori’s pronounced frown and set jaw told her she would not get her wish.
“Thank you, Monsignor,” Sam said politely.
“I’ll show you out,” Marissa offered as she held open the heavy door.
But Sam had a thought and turned around to face him again. “If I may ask, how did Father Michael come to live at the rectory?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, why was he allowed to live there and not another priest?”
He pursed his lips. “Oh. You want to know the pecking order?”
Sam nodded.
“As with any business, the most productive are often rewarded,” he said. “Father Michael was very popular, as I said. He was also our most gifted priest when it came to soliciting charitable contributions.”
“You mean he collected more money than anyone else?”
“Exactly. It’s a competition most of them have come to enjoy, I believe. And the reward is getting to live alone at the rectory, along with having a housekeeper and cook.”
“I see. Well, thank you again, Monsignor.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Oh, hell no,” Tori said as they explained to Lieutenant Malone how it went with the monsignor. She took a swig from her water bottle, drinking nearly half of it. “I blew up at him, but Sam saved the day.”
“Saying goddamn to a Catholic priest is a little more than blowing up at him, Hunter,” Sam said with a laugh. “I’m surprised those lightning bolts you’ve been expecting didn’t hit at that particular moment.”
“Well, at least you got what you went after. Sikes and Ramirez got something too. They’re on their way back. We’ll meet in my office.” Malone held up two files. “By the way, I’m pulling these. One is your homeless guy. I’m giving it to Donaldson.”
“Donaldson?” Tori looked around, noting that Donaldson and his partner were out. “Lieutenant, you know how I feel about him. Ever since they went cold on—”
“Hunter, you know it was Adams and not Donaldson, so cut him some slack. He’s had enough shit from Internal Affairs, he doesn’t need it from his own squad.”
“Yeah. But our homeless guy?”
“How much time have you spent on it in the last three days?”
“He’s right, Tori,” Sam said. “We’ve got our hands full. Besides, Donaldson’s anxious to show you—all of us—that he’s a good detective. He’ll do a first-rate job.”
Tori stared at her, knowing it was true. “You’re right. Okay,” she said, nodding at Malone.
Malone grinned. “Thanks, Hunter, but I don’t really care if you okay it or not. It’s a done deal,” he said as he headed back to his office.
“You know, in the past, he would care if I said it was okay or not.” Tori frowned, wondering if she’d lost her edge. “What’s up with that?”
Sam burst out laughing. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve mellowed and he’s no longer afraid you’ll pull your weapon and shoot him,” Sam teased.
“Mellowed,” Tori muttered, disgusted at the notion. “I haven’t mellowed. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sam’s eyes were twinkling as she leaned closer. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
Tori’s breath caught, much like it did every time Sam uttered those words to her. Words she still, on occasion, had a hard time believing. But whenever she looked into Sam’s eyes, the doubt always left her. She closed her own for a second, and then said begrudgingly, “Maybe I have… mellowed.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’re still a total bitch out in the field.”
“Well, thanks, Detective. That’s the best compliment you could have given me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What compliment?” Sikes asked as he and Ramirez walked past.
“I called her a bitch,” Sam offered.
“Oh. So nothing new.” He didn’t stop at his desk but kept walking to Malone’s office. “Come on. I think Malone wants us all in on this.”
They got up to follow him, Tori nudging Ramirez on the arm as they went in. “You get something good?”
“Yeah. Think so.”
“Sit. Sit. Let’s get on with it,” Malone said. “I’ve got to meet with the captain at three. I’d like to have something to tell him.” He pointed at Sikes. “What’d you find out?”
“I’ll let Tony tell you. My Spanish isn’t that great.”
“Yeah, we went down to Little Mexico,” Tony explained. “A bar called La Sombra. It means like… in the shadows.” He looked at his notes. “Hidalgo showed up the morning of the murder around eight. He was drinking tequila straight up.”
“Wait a minute. This bar is open for business at eight in the morning?” Sam asked.
“I kinda got the impression they never closed,” Ramirez said. “Anyway, Hidalgo hadn’t been in the place in over a year. He stayed until two, when he scored a hit from someone.” He looked up. “No names. Sorry.”
“We’re not trying to do a drug bust. Go on,” Malone said.
“He left with some guy who was supposed to give him a ride home. And listen to this. Carlos, the bartender we talked to, said Juan kept going on about burning in hell for what he did. Carlos said he had the eyes of a dead man.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“He sold his soul to the devil,” Ramirez said.
“He confessed to this guy?” Sam asked.
Sikes jumped in. “Yeah. He told this guy he was ordered by God to kill Father Michael.” He shrugged. “Then he found out it wasn’t really God who told him. Whatever the hell that means.”
Malone rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. “That’s what you got? God told him to do it?” He stared at them. “That’s what you want me to go to the captain with? God?”
“How hard would it be to get names?” Tori asked. “Like the guy who gave him a ride?”
Tony shook his head. “No way. Just the fact that we were there asking questions today was enough. That guy’s long gone. I wouldn’t doubt if Carlos, our bartender, is gone too.”
Malone sighed. “Okay. We got circumstantial evidence pointing to Hidalgo. Now we got what you guys say is a confession. Is that how you want to close this case?”
“Wait a minute,” Tori said. “Close it? If Hidalgo is the killer, then who told him to kill Father Michael?”
“You think someone really told him to kill Father Michael?” Malone seemed skeptical.
“Yeah. I just don’t think it was God.” Tori stood, slowly pacing the room, thinking. “That would account for our lack of motive. Juan wouldn’t, on his own, have a motive to kill him. But someone obviously wanted Father Michael dead. Maybe someone who also knew that Juan had a record, maybe so
meone who could threaten him, blackmail him.”
“But who would want Father Michael dead? And why? I mean, it’s not like priests make a lot of enemies,” Sam said. “At least I don’t think they do.”
“I think we’re all forgetting one thing,” Sikes said. “Hidalgo is dead.”
Tori nodded. “Yeah. He’s dead. Who killed him? The same guy who ordered the hit on Father Michael?”
“If this guy is brave enough to whack Hidalgo, why not just kill the priest yourself? Why involve a third party?” Ramirez asked.
Tori thought for a moment. “Maybe there wasn’t opportunity.”
“Or maybe he just had less qualms about killing Hidalgo than killing a priest,” Sikes said.
“Okay, hang on,” Malone said. “You guys are talking in circles here. What if, what if. That means nothing. Facts mean something. What the hell are the facts?”
“You know, this may sound crazy,” Sam said, “but could a competition between priests result in enough hate to lead to murder?”
“What are you talking about?” Sikes asked.
“Monsignor Bernard said the reason Father Michael got to live at the rectory was because he collected the most money,” Sam replied. “That was his reward. You don’t think one of the other priests got pissed off, do you?”
“Because of living arrangements? Pissed off enough to kill him? No. I think this still has something to do with Father Michael and his sex life,” Tori said, glancing at Malone. “We got the okay to interview priests. We’re going to get a chance to print them, so we can match the prints Mac found in the rectory. Let’s see who was in there. Something has got to turn up.”
“And I think maybe we should make an appearance at the funeral tomorrow,” Sam said. “I’d like to observe everyone. If our killer is there, he might tip his hand somehow.”
“I don’t know if I like that,” Malone said. “I don’t want to turn his funeral into a circus. There’ll be enough media there already. Do we really want a police presence?”
Sam smiled charmingly. “Lieutenant, I’ll dress up in my Sunday best. I’ll fit right in.”