For I Have Sinned a Cate Harlow Private Investigation

by Kristen Houghton

  He continues.

  “Now we can eliminate the poor guy who found the body. The man just said he saw what he thought was a deer and went to see if it was still alive. When it turned out to be a naked human body he called 911. He was totally freaked by the scene and he didn’t stay near the body long enough to see any details. My officers found him throwing up outside his car. And, for want of a better phrase, there was no one else around that area to make any intimate discoveries such as noticing that the guy’s penis had been sliced off and shoved into his mouth. Neither the man who found the body nor my officers saw anyone else. My people checked the area thoroughly and they found no other person or evidence of anyone else.” He pauses. “It may have come from the M.E.'s office.”

  “Giles? Are you saying Giles gave the information to the archbishop's office?"

  I lean forward in surprise.

  “No. Giles is a consummate professional and scrupulous in following the letter of the law. Whatever my own personal dislikes are about any relationship that may have existed between you and the M.E. have nothing to do with my respect for his integrity and his professionalism. I would never suspect him, understand?”

  I do understand even though I dislike his positive assertion that I no longer have a relationship with Giles. Will Benigni is fair and a good judge of a person's integrity. I decide to let it pass.

  “Well, then who?” I ask settling back in the chair again. “Who do you think supplied the detailed information about this body to the bishop?”

  He looks out the double windows of my office. There are nesting turtledoves in an empty flowerpot on my fire escape. The female dove sits and warms two newly hatched chicks in the well-made nest while the male sits on a utility pole by the street keeping watch for any dangers. When I've been here in the mornings I can hear the cooing owl-like sounds they make. I always put seeds on the window ledge for them. They trust me and they know they’re safe this high up. I like having them here.

  “Will? Who do you think it could be?”

  “I don't know, maybe some new jerk working there who finds this case sensational and ghoulish enough to talk about it; maybe some morgue employee who’s an overzealous church-goer and feels compelled to tell what's going on. But, that seriously, doesn’t make a lot of sense because Giles picks his staff with special care. Most of them who come into contact with the bodies, and the reports on them, have been with his office for at least ten years."

  “Are you going to ask Giles about it? There might be someone working there; someone we don’t really know who's looking for some sort of attention, or maybe there's a temporary assistant clerk.”

  Even as I say this I know Giles would never have anyone in his office who he felt was untrustworthy. He is, as Will says, scrupulous and professional and personally chooses the people who work with him.

  Will turns back to face me. “Yeah, I am going to give him a call. Who knows? I might get lucky. Then Giles can fire the ass who did it and I can charge the fired bastard with case-tampering.” He gets up. “After that call I’ll have to make another one to the archbishop’s secretary and see if I can somehow twist the story and slur the details.”

  I smile at him. “You’re good at slurring details. Use your God-given charm.”

  He just glances at me wondering if I’m being sarcastic or just wishing him luck. It’s a little of both on my part.

  Looking at Myrtle he says his usual goodbye.

  “Myrtle, sweetheart, what’s said here stays here.”

  She responds as she always does. “What was said? I didn’t hear a word.”

  Chapter 6

  I am alone in my office. Myrtle left about an hour after Will did. Even though I have been up since before four AM and it is now after six at night I can’t stop looking at the pictures drawn by a teenage Joshua McElroy. These are worthy of being shown in a gallery.

  Every picture has the same theme drawn in a variety of different ways. There's always some type of predator lurking in the background, watching innocent victims who are unaware of the danger. The hyena figures prominently in several large drawings, hungry yellow eyes and saliva dripping from sharp teeth, but there are other predators as well. Some of the smaller sketches show hooded cobras with their venomous tongues out looking at nests of birds and large rats with dagger canines looking at newborn puppies. The eyes of the predators are always the focal point; evil, cold, and calculating. It’s mesmerizing.

  Giles called me a while ago, as he promised he would, and surprised me by asking if I’d like dinner. I told him I was still at my office and truly did not feel like going out. I’d have to go home and change, put on make-up, all things you don’t want to do when you’re tired and have a lot going on in your mind.

  “We don’t have to go out Catherine. I can bring dinner to your place. How about it?”

  It sounds good. I’m a healthy girl with a healthy appetite and now that’s he’s mentioned food, I feel hungry.

  “Well…” I hesitate. The day is catching up to me and I’m starting to feel it. The freshness has worn off. The thought of someone bringing me food however seems comforting and an excellent end to a long day. My idea of dinner was going to be two breakfast bars washed down with a bottle of seltzer. I relent.

  “Okay, but, listen, I’m not going to be back at the brownstone until around eight. And I have to tell you that you really saw me at my best early this morning at the morgue. Since then I’ve gone considerably downhill. Right now I look like hell but I just don’t have the energy to make myself pretty.”

  He laughs and tells me he’ll be over around eight-thirty. I hang up and go back to the report on Joshua McElroy.

  Flipping through the notebook I find that, aside from the pictures, there’s really nothing that can offer any clues to why Joshua disappeared. There’s just school stuff the same as any other fifteen year-old boy would have. Class notes, times written for afterschool activities, several passes to class signed by the nurse; nothing out of the ordinary. I decide to do a final read of the officer’s report and the statements.

  It may be because I’m tired and that my eyes can’t seem to completely focus on the words but I don’t read anything new that would give me a lead. Tomorrow I’ll go back to them and maybe see something different. I put the files back in the folder on my desk and turn off the desk light. There’s a small nightlight plugged into an outlet by the door and that’s enough light for me to locate my bag and my keys. Walking to the windows I look out into the night. An ambulance is roaring off in the distance and there are the sounds of cars honking and trucks misfiring. Very few people are on the street below. I check on the doves settled down for the night in their nest, the tiny tail feather of one of the two chicks protruding from underneath a parent’s wing. All’s well in their little nook.

  As I walk out the door and turn the keys in the double locks I remember Josh McElroy’s last words to his sister: “Baby birds need protection.”

  ****

  A large antipasto, pepperoni pizza, and two bottles of a good merlot put my overfilled day into perspective. I will deal with what’s on my desk tomorrow. Nothing to do but sit back and let my mind clear.

  The table is set with my good china and wine glasses. Giles knows how to make even pizza look elegant. Before he puts the food on the table, he makes one rule. We won’t discuss anything about cases, bodies, runaways, or any other job-talk during dinner.

  “Let’s make it a night of nothing but good thoughts and good things.”

  “Okay. I agree. One question though.”

  “Just one, only one, Catherine. What do you want to ask?”

  “Did Will call you today about the archbishop?”

  “Yes, and we discussed how the info could have gotten out. It wasn’t anyone in the M.E.'s office. I would bet good money on that.”

  “So if you’re sure it's none of your staff and Will’s sure it's none of his officers, then who? I think it's possible it's the killer. He, or she, was neve
r found in the first case. The evidence is the same. Maybe the killer is bragging, maybe he wants to get caught?”

  “Will said something like that too. The thing is the information was typed in graphic detail but also very clinically written. Exactly the way a doctor or lab technician would write one. It really does look as if someone had access to the official report and wrote the details verbatim, the mutilation, the message; everything was exactly what I would, and did, put in the official report.”

  I think about what he’s saying. “Then the person who typed the note must either have had access to your evidence, which both you and Will don’t think happened. Or the killer is the one who sent the detailed report and has knowledge of medical terms and forensics.”

  “That’s pretty much what we concluded. Whoever sent this is no dummy. There’s a knowledge here of anatomy as well as forensic terminology.”

  “Yes, but why this time? Why involve anyone else this time? The last body, no one outside of the police or I knew any details. And the public only knew about the murder through an article on the second page in the area’s small town press. Nothing big. The article didn’t mention details, the police made sure that they were kept from the newsperson covering the story. There were no church authorities involved either. In fact, I was surprised that no one I contacted seemed to care at all about that dead priest.”

  Giles looks at me before he speaks. “Catherine, I know if we keep talking about this that will be all we do tonight. We’ll end up eating soggy antipasto and cold pizza. Your adrenaline mixed with the wine will give you a hyper-buzz and the night will be completely shot. You’ve been up since before four and so have I. It’s going for nine now. Let’s put this on the back burner and talk about it tomorrow. If I know you, we damn well will talk about it tomorrow but not tonight, alright? Let’s eat and let the wine do it’s celebrated work. We both need to unwind.”

  I look at his face and suddenly have the need to be catered to, something Giles is very good at doing. Suddenly the prospect of food and wine is welcoming. The aroma of the pizza is delicious and I place my napkin on my lap while Giles heaps antipasto on to my salad plate.

  I realize I’m starving.

  ****

  We’re sitting on the couch enjoying the second bottle of wine. A combination of the mellow feeling the wine brings coupled with the carbs in the pizza has left me relaxed and kind of limp. I smile and then giggle.

  “Pleasant thoughts?” asks Giles as he drains his wineglass and places it on the small table next to the couch.

  “I was just thinking about Myrtle and how proud she’d be of me that I helped clean up after dinner. Usually the pizza box would sit on my counter for two days.” I laugh.

  “Myrtle is gem,” he says reaching for the elastic that holds my hair in a ponytail. He pulls it slowly and seductively down the length of my hair. I’m suddenly glad I washed it this morning. I like the feel of the silkiness of it on my shoulders. Thank you, Melissa, for giving me that expensive jar of conditioner. The logo on it says, For women who want sexy hair. My sexy hair makes me feel sexy! I giggle again.

  “Please tell me you’re not still thinking about Myrtle.” Giles plays with my hair gently and kisses my neck, my cheek, my lips. His right hand is deftly unzipping my sweatshirt and sliding smoothly inside while his left hand finds its way between my legs. He smells good; his breath is warm and I can taste wine and pepperoni on his lips. Wine and seduction; very nice, Giles, very nice.

  “Nope,” I say, putting my own wineglass down and turning into the kiss. “Definitely not Myrtle.”

  Chapter 7

  I wake a little after two AM and find a nude Giles wrapped around my body. He’s warm and I snuggle deep into the hardness of his chest. My two cats, Mouse and Little Guy are at the foot of the bed deep in cat sleep. I feel happy and relaxed. Amazing what a wonderful combination food, wine, and lovemaking can be. Potent stuff.

  There’s enough light coming through my window for me to see my clothes are not on the floor. They must be in the living room. Right, okay, I remember and smile. Before I close my eyes and drift back into sleep I think about the message on the dead body. Who would write that phrase? And on a dead body…I yawn and close my eyes.

  The dead body must have been in my subconscious because I dream of Nonna Rita, who has been gone for almost thirty years.

  ****

  The first dead body I ever saw was that of my grandmother, my Nonna Rita. I was only eight years old. She had volunteered to pick me up from school every Thursday afternoon and bring me to my violin lessons. After my lesson, and before she drove me home, we’d go for a pistachio ice cream cone a few doors down from the music store where I had my lessons. We both loved pistachio and I looked forward to it. Thursday was the highlight of my week.

  I waited impatiently on the front steps of my school until there were no other kids around. Everybody but me had been duly picked up. School let out at two forty-five; it was now going for four o’clock and still no Nonna Rita. The afterschool aide who was sitting on the steps with me told me to wait right there, and then she went inside the school to call Nonna Rita’s house. I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave the school but when the aide was in the building making the call, I fled down the front steps. I knew where Nonna Rita lived and I ran all the way, all seven long blocks, to my grandmother’s house alone.

  I found her sitting in the garden in one of her favorite chairs by her beloved petunias and I thought she was sleeping. That made me a little bit angry. Nonna Rita had fallen asleep and forgotten about me! Flushed and out of breath I called out to her, asking her with the selfish concern of a child, if we could still go for ice cream even though I missed my violin lesson. She didn’t answer me.

  “Nonna Rita?” I said going over to where she sat sleeping so deeply, a little smile on her face. “Nonna Rita wake up! Can we still go for ice cream? Please?”

  When I touched her shoulder to wake her, she fell over onto the ground right into her well-cared-for petunias. Something, some horrible animal fear told me she hadn’t fainted or was sick. I knew she was dead and I ran like hell to her neighbor's house. The neighbor called the police and she made me stay in her kitchen, away from the living room windows, when the hearse came to take the body out. Later, while waiting for my parents to pick me up, the neighbor gave me a dish of pistachio ice cream. I ate it and then threw up all over her dining room table.

  ****

  Seven o’clock the sound of New-Age music wakes me up. It’s coming from my Bose system which is my musical alarm clock, another leftover from my married days. I hear Giles whistling as he takes a shower in my bathroom. Little Guy is sitting on my chest while Mouse gently paws my face. They’re hungry. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and go into the kitchen. On the way I pick up Giles’ discarded shirt and put it on.

  I make coffee for us, feed the cats, and hope Giles understands that the only breakfast food I have on hand are raspberry breakfast bars and toast. At least, thank God, I have half and half. I refuse to drink coffee without that. Food I can always pick up on the way to my office but I need my caffeine fix with half and half as soon as I wake up. I make a mental note to get to the supermarket as soon as I can, knowing that with all I have on my mind, that will be the least important item on my list.

  Standing in the doorway waiting for the coffee to brew, I watch a nude Giles coming out of the bathroom and going into the bedroom. Great view. I wolf-whistle. He pauses, looks over his shoulder at me and winks.

  A few minutes later he comes into the kitchen dressed in sweats, a T- shirt, and new running shoes, everything he had in his gym bag when he came over last night. We’ve talked about him leaving some of his things here for the overnight stays but I’m just not ready—yet. I still have some personal items left from Will, not to mention tons of emotional baggage.

  Giles smiles appreciatively when he sees me wearing his shirt and grabs a mug for coffee.

  “I’m just going to have co
ffee, Catherine then I’m out for a run. I want to get to the morgue early. I have some tests to run.”

  I marvel at the way he says “the morgue” the same way other people say the office. And I have to wonder why it is that for me it sounds completely normal. Melissa once asked me if it bothered me to have sex with a man who handles and performs autopsies on dead bodies for a living. I told her that I never even think about it.

  The truth is that I never think about it because I know that he showers and scrubs his hands before he comes to see me. I asked him.

  ****

  With Giles out the door on his morning run, I go to the bathroom and take a long hot bath. I love this old bathtub. One of the great things about brownstones is the bathrooms which are pretty roomy and have large old claw-footed tubs. It’s a luxury since so many newer rentals have these dinky little bathing areas the size of a cat box. I got lucky with this place.

  I lay back and soak for about fifteen minutes then get out to towel off. I like to get to my office by eight-thirty and start my day without anyone else around. Despite the dream about my grandmother, I feel better and more alert than I have in days.

  It’s hot for an April day so I vary my usual outfit by pairing a soft, lilac-colored Tory Burch T-shirt with my jeans and sneakers. The tee was a birthday gift from Melissa and I know this one present probably costs more than half of the clothes in my closet.

  I put on lip-gloss, some bronzer for color and, after pony-tailing my hair I’m good to go. Grabbing my bag and sunglasses, I survey myself in the hall mirror. Not too bad, girl.

  The magic hands of Giles Barrett, M.E. have done me a world of good.

  On my way to Timothy’s for coffee and a bagel, I allow myself to let my mind wander. That’s a good thing because it helps me think. Sometimes by not concentrating too hard on the specific problem or issue in a case, a random thought about it gives me a clue as to how I should proceed. As I reach my office building, I think I know where to start on the McElroy case. Go back to the beginning and find the real problem, the one that is more than likely hiding in plain sight.