For I Have Sinned a Cate Harlow Private Investigation

by Kristen Houghton

  The archbishop leans back in his chair still fixing me with a cold stare.

  “I’m not easily intimidated either, Ms. Harlow, and certainly not by the likes of you. I refuse to give you one bit of information about any of my clergy. You have no legal proof, there are no police with you, no one is handing me a warrant. You’re just some hack private investigator who wrongly assumes that you can muddy the reputation of a highly religious and respected man with lies and falsehoods.”

  “Lies and falsehoods? Excellent sermon, Your Excellency, but save it for your congregation. I’ll write a statement for the prosecutor's office that I suspect you of having harbored a pedophile. That makes you a criminal also. The police will be visiting you really soon.”

  “Get out!”

  “How many other pedophile priests have you hidden and helped to continue their vile activities?”

  “Get out!”

  The priest who showed me into the waiting room appears from another room. The bishop coldly tells him to escort me out.

  “Show this person out of my office, out of the residence, and off of the property.”

  The priest comes close to me and reaches for my arm. I glare at him to keep his distance from me as I walk out into the hallway.

  “You know, his Excellency is a good and holy man,” says the priest opening the outer door for me. “Do you know Latin?” I nod and he says, “His Excellency is truly ‘qui vivit in sanctitate’.”

  “ A man who lives in holiness? Really, Father? That’s not the impression I got. Diabolus hic vivit,” I say to as I step outside. The devil lives here.

  Chapter 25

  Myrtle motions to me as I hurry through the door. It's sweltering outside and, for once, I’m grateful for the air-conditioned confines of my office. She grabs me over to the side of her desk that is hidden from my own by the decorative screen.

  “That young man is here. David? Says he’s a good friend of Marie McElroy. I’m guessing that he’s the David who picked her up here a few weeks ago. He didn’t give me his last name.” Myrtle’s antennae are up. She doesn’t trust people who don’t give their full names.

  I see him sitting in the chair close to the window away from me. He’s got on the same knit cap and aviator shades as the first time we met. David gets up from his chair and looks over at Myrtle's desk. He can’t see me but I'm sure he hears Myrtle whispering.

  “It’s okay Myrtle, I’ve met him.” Then turning to walk towards him I say tersely, “David what an unexpected surprise. You should have called. I wasn’t expected back until late. You might have waited all day in vain.” I watch his face for any reaction to my cold professional greeting. There’s nothing. “How’s Marie?”

  “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about if you have a minute.”

  I sit at my desk facing David, which forces him to sit across from me.

  “Sure, but a minute may be all I have. I’m working a case. Have a seat. What’s up? Is anything wrong?”

  David looks at me and makes his face fill with concern.

  “I haven’t seen Marie for a couple of days; I've been very busy with work you see. But I do know that the last time we spoke she was upset. I know that she’s very concerned with what you found in the eaves of her house. It belongs to Joshua so it’s very precious to her. It’s a shame she wasn’t home the day you found it.”

  I keep a professional non-committal look on my face.

  “Actually it was probably better that she stayed at work. There was no guarantee that I would find anything ,so she might have come home for nothing and lost money from her paying customers. What’s the real reason you came to see me, David?”

  He’s taken aback by my bluntness but recovers enough to give me a plausible reason for being in my area.

  “I was in the city visiting a friend and decided to stop by here to see if I would be able to bring the box you found to her house. You do have it here, I assume. Really it’s no bother for me to bring it to her. I know she’d really like to have it.”

  “Did Marie ask you to get the box?”

  “Well, no but, since I was in the city…”

  I try to make a quick judgment of the situation. The fact is that Marie wasn’t concerned when I had spoken with her concerning the box I found. She easily bought the lie I told about it only containing her brother’s drawings and seemed to be okay with my telling her that the box had to be checked for prints before I could release it to her. If she was that concerned about getting it I know she would have called me directly. David may be good at faking emotion but his eyes tell me he's lying about Marie. And quite frankly, what does he want with the box anyway? Is it the fact that he thinks he’ll make a good impression on Marie by bringing it to her or is he one of those men who only feel masculine if they see themselves in charge of a situation? I can’t get a good read on him.“That’s very nice of you David, but I’m afraid that I don’t have the box in the office.”

  His head rears back slightly when I say that and too quickly he says, “Is it at your home? I can go with you to get it.”

  “Uh, no, actually the box is at the forensics lab. I wanted to make sure that it is indeed Joshua’s so they're checking it for his fingerprints.”

  David’s mouth becomes a hard line and I see sweat on his upper lip.

  “But, Marie can identify the box as her brother’s. Why did you send it to a lab?”

  He sounds irritated. He knows he’s overstepping his bounds because he quickly says ingratiatingly, “I mean, I don’t think it was necessary but I guess you know better than I do. You’re the professional. I’m just worried about Marie, you know. I don’t like to see her upset.”

  He smiles at me in a placating manner. I smile back watching his demeanor.

  “I wouldn’t be able to give the box to you anyway David. Only Marie can claim it when forensics is done with it.”

  That comment hits him; he doesn’t seem to like the fact that I wouldn’t give him the box even if I had it.

  “Listen, David, as I said I’m working a case and I really have to get back to it. If Marie is concerned or needs to ask me any questions, tell her to call me any time. I’ll always get back to her, I promise.”

  I begin ushering him towards the door but he turns and asks when I think the box will be released. I pretend to check the calendar on my Smartphone.

  “Since this is a cold case and not a priority, the forensics lab will put it last on their list. They should be done with it, oh, maybe next week? I’ll call Marie and let her know. Take care now, David.”

  Closing the door firmly on a frustrated and annoyed David I glance at Myrtle who simply says,

  “I don’t care for that young man at all, not at all. Too pushy if you ask me.” I agree with her. “By the way, Catherine, Dr. Barrett called and said that the bodies of those two priests have been released to Church authorities. He thought you’d want to know.”

  I nod but my mind is on the man who was just here. David’s visit nudges me to bring Marie her brother’s journal. It’s going to be difficult for me and emotionally draining for her. I’ll call her to set up a time for tomorrow when she’ll be alone. It has to be done.

  ****

  “Hi Cate, c’mon in,” says Marie holding the screen door wide. Before she closes the door we both wave to Mr. O’Leary who is sitting on his front porch. I told Marie that the information I had was for her eyes and ears alone. I was very blunt in telling her that I didn’t want anyone else at our meeting. She was surprised but told me that she would be alone on Saturday all day, so that was the best time to come over.

  Usually when I have to give my clients information I have them come to my office. With Marie I thought it would be better for her to receive the news at her home. I didn’t want her driving after I told her about her brother's abuse. I figured that I could stay with her for a while and then there’s the presence of Mr. O’Leary who’s right next-door. Entering the McElroy home I feel a little sick to my stomach. What I
’m about to do is going to impact the world Marie has known since she was a child. It is one thing to be aware of the sexual abuse rampant in the Catholic Church but it’s a whole other ballgame to know that someone you love has been one of the victims. Having thought it over during several sleepless nights, I made the decision that I wouldn’t show her the journal right away. I’d only feed her some of the information and see where it led. I was especially interested to know about her own relationship with Monsignor Moore when he was at her parish even though I was certain that that she knew nothing about what had happened to her brother. She might also be able to shed some light on the boy named Joey in her brother’s journal. So far Will’s contacts in The Center for Missing Children have turned up no one named Joey who went missing from Marie’s area ten to twenty years ago.

  In the living room I notice she has a plate of cookies and what looks like a pitcher of lemonade on a tray. Right now I’d like to add some of Mr. O’Leary’s Irish whiskey to the pitcher. She sits across from me as she did the first time I came to her house. I wave away the cookies and the lemonade. Marie looks at me expectantly.

  “Marie I do have some news about the box I found in the eaves. Besides the drawings which were inside, there were some papers in there, a sort of journal that Joshua wrote. I have them in my car but, before you read them, I want to prepare you for what is in them. Your brother may have been with someone named Joey. I believe they were together so at least he wasn't alone.”

  She looks confused. “Joey? I don’t understand.”

  “Did you ever know a boy named Joey?”

  “Well, of course I do.” Marie laughs a little nervously. “But I don’t...”

  “There was a boy named Joey whom your brother mentions. If you know him or of him can you tell me who he is?” I need to just say it and so I do. “Your brother’s journal says that Joey is dead.”

  “Joey? But Joey…Oh my God! Joshua mentioned Joey and said he was dead?”

  “Yes, he did. I’m so sorry, Marie. How well did you know Joey? ”

  She shakes her head in disbelief and looks baffled.

  Seeing the look on her face I ask, “What’s wrong? What do you remember about Joey?”

  “Joey’s not dead, he can’t be dead."

  “Marie, I know that this is difficult for you, to find out that a friend has died is upsetting, I know that, believe me I do. But I have to tell you that Joshua wrote in his journal that Joey was dead. Unfortunately there’s more; I got the impression that this boy Joey may have committed suicide. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”

  “No, Cate, you don’t understand at all.” She laughs again and stands up looking at the mantle over the fireplace. I’m afraid she’s going to start getting hysterical as she did in my office a few weeks ago. Maybe I should have brought Myrtle. Marie looks at me smiling sadly and says, “Joey’s not dead. His letters prove that he’s not.”

  “Letters? Marie, what are you telling me? That this boy Joey also has left letters for you over the years the same as Joshua? Why didn’t you mention that to me?”

  “No, no Cate, you don’t… Joey, my God, I haven’t heard him called that name in years. He didn’t… he said that he didn't want… oh my God…” She sits down and puts her head in her hands.

  “Marie, who is this Joey? Knowing that could help me find Joshua.”

  “It’s him.”

  “Who? Who is him?”

  “Joshua. Joey is Joshua.”

  I'm taken aback for a minute thinking that maybe Marie doesn’t understand what I'm telling her. “I don’t understand, your brother’s name is Joshua.”

  She gives a little laugh and looks at the pictures on the mantle.

  “His name is Joshua, that's his legal name, but my folks, you see, my folks called him Little Joey because he looked so much like our dad, whose name was Joseph. Here, see?”

  She walks over to the mantle and brings back two framed black and white photos. “These are pictures of them when they were both six years old. My mother had my brother’s picture done in black and white to match the one of our father. That’s my dad in the picture on the right. See how much my brother looks like Dad?”

  KRISTEN: WE CAPITALIZE DAD AND MOM WHEN THEY’RE A PRONOUN….JUST AN FYI Yes, I know. I teach high school and college linguistics; my error.

  It is remarkable. I examine the pictures I had seen on my first visit to Marie's house and it's as if I am looking at identical twins separated by twenty six years. Josh McElroy is the spitting image of his father, Joe McElroy. The black and white picture I thought had been made to only look dated is actually an older one taken of Joe McElroy years before his son was born.

  “When Josh was fourteen he told everyone that he didn't want to be called Joey anymore,” she said putting the pictures back on the mantle. “I guess he wanted his own name, his own identity. Remember I told you that when we started high school he insisted that he be called Joshua?”

  “Yes, I do.” I’m thinking fast. Joey is Joshua so… “Tell me, did anyone else ever call your brother by the name Joey? Teachers, other kids, family members?"

  “Oh sure, my grandparents did, my father's sister and brother, sometimes close friends. The teachers, no, never; we went to a Catholic school and the nuns were real strict about what they called our baptismal names. They didn’t like nicknames. That's kind of funny because…” she stops suddenly, remembering.

  “Because why, Marie?”

  “Well, because, even Monsignor Moore called my brother Joey.”

  She sighs. I hold my breath then let it out slowly. A small spark of a memory about her brother had been lit. She remembers something about that priest, something she has suppressed.

  “He was Father Moore when we were little children. I remember he was elevated to monsignor four years before, before… before Joshua went missing.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “There was a big celebration with the archbishop coming down and all. We all went, well, all of us except my brother. He said that he had a bad stomachache that night so we left him home alone. He was eleven and Dad said it was okay ‘cause we had this big dog, Wolf, who wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t know come in the house. He was so protective of us. If he knew you, he was fine. Times were different then; kids did stay in the house alone.”

  She looks at me as if she wants me to tell her that, yes, times were different and that an eleven year old being allowed to stay home by himself back then was okay. I don’t tell her that my own parents didn’t let me stay home alone until I was seventeen. Being an older couple, they were super cautious. I smile slightly, nod, and let her continue talking.

  “Anyway, I remember that the monsignor was really upset that my brother didn’t come. Said he hadn’t seen Josh for over three weeks. He even left the celebration for about an hour to go check in to see how my brother was feeling. My mom thought that was so kind of him. Dad even gave him his key to the front door so Joshua wouldn’t have to get out of bed to answer the door. Monsignor always told my parents that Joshua was his best altar boy. They spent a lot of time together, you know. He… you know, he’s a priest.”

  Marie's face changed, as she seemed to be seeing her brother alone at home that long ago night, feeling sick to his stomach. At home with a faithful dog who wouldn't let a stranger come in the house.

  No, no stranger was safe with Wolf, only family, friends, and people he knew.

  People who were welcomed into the house by family members.

  Wolf may have been there but she knew her brother was really alone.

  “Did this Father Moore help your parents cope when Joshua went missing?”

  “Oh, yes, yes he did. He was so distraught for them. I remember he had tears in his eyes when he came over here after my Dad called him with the news. He joined in the search for Joshua and was here almost every day. It was almost like he was desperate to find my brother. Father Moore wanted to know if Joshua had left any note or said anything to us. He said that he loved Jo
shua so much, he said, it was almost as if Joshua was his own child. He…”

  “Go on Marie.”

  “He… loved Joshua.”

  My gut instinct is telling me everything now. Gently taking Marie’s hand in my own, I look her full in the face.

  “Marie? Can you answer one question for me?”

  She nodded, a little surprised by my intentness.

  “I don’t want you to think about your answer, understand? Don’t hesitate, just say yes or no, I don’t want an explanation. Just a simple yes or no. Okay?”

  She nodded again and I took a deep breath, never letting go of her hand and still looking directly in her eyes. “Did you trust Monsignor Moore?”

  Her lips curled faintly with disgust and her eyes looked hard. “No.”

  I went to my car and got the box. Back inside the house I showed Marie Joshua’s journal and for the next half hour she reads every word as tears run down her face.

  **** “Do you know what religion means in an Irish-Catholic family, Cate? The Church is infallible, the priests are above reproach.”

  It’s been two hours since Marie finished reading Joshua’s journal. She’s stopped crying and the first signs of outrage at what happened to her brother are beginning to take hold. The small box is in her hands.

  “If you’re a kid you just take it for granted that the nuns can hit you and you won’t tell your parents. You understand that the priests are second only to Jesus himself; their authority is unquestioned. And, oh my God, how can you even begin to tell your parents that a priest touched you in a sexual way? Imagine how horrible that would be for a kid? And if your parents did believe that horror, what do you think they could, or even would, do? You don’t accuse a priest of molesting or raping your son or daughter. Oh my God, I should have known! That priest always made me feel … uncomfortable. Why didn’t Joshua tell me? Why didn’t I realize what was happening to him? Maybe I could have done something.”

  I get up and put my arm around her shoulder. Maybe this isn’t a strictly professional thing to do for a client but this woman has just been dealt a heavy blow; she needs a little comfort.