“I met him at your house. He seems like a nice guy,” Grace said.
“Figures. You two would get along just great.”
Realizing that Grace was heading the wrong way, she started pointing out directions to her parents’ home, and then they finally sat lost in their own thoughts, until Grace broke the silence when she pulled up to a fortified gate. “Wow, did you grow up here?”
Elizabeth felt slightly embarrassed for her privileged upbringing. “It all started with my great-grandfather’s bootlegging.”
Grace looked at her sideways.
“Oh, never mind. Just pull up there.”
Elizabeth waited until Grace made it safely back outside the gate before she dashed in the house. Bootlegging? That was smooth.
With Grace no longer clouding her mind, she returned her thoughts to earlier in the evening. If the mayor didn’t want this case reviewed, then how did it end up at SILC with the other cases? Someone knew. I think it’s the same person who left me the note on my car.
Chapter Twenty-three
Grateful for a quiet Friday morning, Bishop Pallone sat in the floral-patterned chair that Cardinal Ryan occupied the last time they had met. He’d been released from the hospital that morning and still felt weak from his ordeal, and he rested his head against the chair. The base of his cognac glass balanced on the arm of the chair as he loosely held the stem between his fingers. With his other hand, he absently rubbed a Saint Christopher medallion hanging around his neck that was usually concealed beneath his clothing. He looked about the airy room, redesigning the space in his head to meet his liking. The cardinal’s tastes were much simpler than his own.
With Cardinal Ryan’s passing, a vacancy was left at the top of the archdiocese pyramid, and it was only a matter of time before a papal appointment would place him in the seat. He had been revered as a hero by many after surviving the ricin poisoning that claimed the cardinal’s life. The cardinal was loved by all in the archdiocese, and he was able to point the authorities to the person responsible. The cardinal’s trusted servant and companion of many years proclaimed his innocence in the murder of Cardinal Ryan and attempted murder of Bishop Pallone, but the old man was another expendable person.
A knock sounded at the door, waking him from his reverie. He remembered that he was alone with no one to open the door and called out, “Come in.” The knock sounded again and he realized that his voice would not carry through the heavy wooden door. He begrudgingly set down his glass and rose from the chair, yanking open the door. “Yes?”
A man dressed in a black suit, who equaled Pallone in age, stood with a silver tray in his hand, and he sized him up. This was the old man’s replacement.
“Your Excellency, a message was left for you, and I believe it is urgent.”
He snatched up the envelope resting on the tray. “Who sent it?”
“I don’t know, Your Excellency. It was left for you on the bench in the garden with a note attached.” He pulled out a folded note from his pocket.
Pallone took the note in his other hand and unfolded it. The note advised the reader that the enclosed envelope was an urgent message for him addressing a confidential Church matter. He turned the envelope over in his hands, and the back side revealed a waxed seal that secured the flap. He looked at the embossed seal closely. “Deo duce” was written in a circle with a cross in the middle.
“Shall I send it to security?” the servant asked.
“No, I shall take care of it. Thank you.” Pallone turned and closed the door behind him and retook his seat, laying the envelope in his lap. He stroked the perfect block lettering that spelled out his name on the front of the envelope and then flipped it over. He studied the red waxed seal; it wasn’t a church seal, but he recognized it. He passed through those gates often enough in his youth.
He broke the seal and pulled out a white card with the same block lettering as the envelope.
Tuesday at dusk, the white chapel on the hill next to the iron cross is where you will find the information you need to end the bloodshed. For a small fee, of course. Bring $50,000 cash. If you are not interested, then I am sure the Church will find it useful.
After reading the note over again, he dropped it to his lap and covered his face with his hands. He was so close. Why now? He knew it could be a trap. He knew he should notify the police, but he also knew the risk if he did. He had worked hard for his stature within the Church. He was on the cusp of being archbishop, and this information in the wrong hands could destroy him. He had worked hard to keep his misdeeds of the past buried. He would go alone.
The fee would be a minor issue. Pallone had become adept at manipulating church funds. He had covertly maneuvered the sizable church accounts many times, including a fairly recent withdrawal of $100,000 for a donation to a certain legal clinic. Some would call it embezzlement, but Pallone saw it as his due for his years of service.
Chapter Twenty-four
As Monday morning finally arrived, Elizabeth sat behind the counsel’s table nervously awaiting the judge’s arrival. She had never been in this situation before. Jury tampering was outside her well of experience as a lawyer. Raymond sat beside her busily coloring, wearing the same navy suit that he had on the last time they were in court. However, this time, he seemed more comfortable in it, but that didn’t surprise her. He’d become comfortable in his new life living with Elizabeth and her parents. She was amazed at his ability to adapt to the changes life threw at him.
ADA Burke sat hunched over his phone, furiously typing. He didn’t acknowledge her, but she casually watched him from the corner of her eye. His leg anxiously bounced up and down under the table, and it reminded her of Dan the day she told him about the jury tampering. She filed that thought away for later processing.
The oak door behind the judge’s bench opened, and Judge Walters entered. The bailiff called the court to order, and Elizabeth rose. Burke fumbled with his phone, hastily trying to shut it off, and nearly knocked it toward the center of the court when he bobbled it. The judge raised her eyebrow at him but didn’t say a word, and he sheepishly slipped the phone into his briefcase. “Sorry, Your Honor.”
Judge Walters leaned forward on the bench with her hands clasped in front of her. “As the parties are aware, the court received disturbing information about one of the jurors that caused this case to be placed in recess since last week. The court has conducted a thorough investigation, including interviewing the juror in question as well as the remaining jurors. The court has not yet learned the identity of the person or persons responsible for contacting juror number three. As such, the court cannot say with certainty that no other juror has been compromised. For this reason, the court will declare a mistrial.”
Elizabeth inhaled a deep breath through her nose at the judge’s words. Although she knew this could be a possibility, she was still shocked to hear it. Burke kept his head bowed, staring down at his file.
“All jurors will be recused. We will continue this case to next Monday afternoon for the district attorney to decide how they wish to proceed. The defendant will remain free on his own recognizance.”
The judge rose and exited the courtroom as the court remained absolutely still. It seemed as though everyone present waited until the judge left to exhale. As soon as the door closed, a cacophony of voices erupted.
Elizabeth turned to Raymond, who was still working on his artwork, oblivious to the chaos around him. She laid her hand on his back. “We’re all done. Let’s go home.”
Without waiting for them to leave the table, Elizabeth’s mother rushed around and grabbed her in a hug, and then grabbed Raymond and squeezed him tight. He squealed in delight.
The three of them exited the courthouse with Raymond walking in the middle of them and Elizabeth’s and her mother’s arms protectively wrapped around his shoulders. Elizabeth slowed her gait when she noticed a figure leaning against her car and stopped to turn to her mother. “You two go ahead and enjoy your day. I have some
things to take care of.” She gave her mother and Raymond quick hugs and sent them on their way toward her mother’s car and stood watching until her mother exited the parking lot before she approached her car.
“Something I can do for you, Detective Donovan?”
“A word with you…please.”
“How did you know it was my car?”
Grace broke into a crooked grin and looked around at the selection of sedans in the parking lot. “Oh, I don’t know. It kinda stands out. I remembered it from the last time we met in a parking lot. I believe that was when you told me I had my head up my ass.”
Elizabeth smirked, remembering that early confrontation. Okay, maybe it was a bit harsh. She did save me from the mayor’s party. Perhaps an apology is in order…Naaahhh.
“Something funny?”
“Just replaying it in my head and enjoying it for a second time.” Elizabeth smiled.
Grace offered a smile in return, but quickly resumed her stoic demeanor. “Truce, we need to talk.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows but remained silent, and Grace continued. “Sullivan’s dead.”
She pushed the lock release for her car and opened her door. “Get in.”
After circling the car, Grace opened the passenger door, and Elizabeth waited until she settled. “What happened?”
“His body was found in a private garden behind the archdiocese cathedral. He was hung on a wooden cross like Father Samuel Rossi. A gardener found him. The archdiocese has agreed to keep it quiet for now, given the state they’re in with the death of their cardinal. They didn’t want any more negative publicity.”
She waited for more information to come, but Grace sat silently staring off. Unwilling to wait any longer, she asked, “How was he? I mean, what was the condition of his body?”
“His body was like the others.” Grace’s voice trailed off, and Elizabeth sensed that this death was more difficult for her because it was closer to home. “Did he have the circle with the triangles?” Elizabeth asked, while gesturing to her abdomen.
“Yes,” came the whispered response. “His car was found at O’Shays Pub. I think that’s where he grabbed him.”
“So now what?”
“I know you’re investigating these murders. It makes sense that we work together,” Grace replied.
She gave Grace an innocent look.
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been sneaking around, poking your nose into things.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation. So does this mean you don’t think Raymond Miller is guilty?”
Grace let out a humorless laugh. “I used to think Miller was guilty. He confessed, the crucifix in his pocket, the Bible in his shed. I was so sure. Sullivan…” She took a breath. “He told me so.” Her words sounded weak. “God damn it!” She threw her head against the headrest before turning to Elizabeth. “Why did he confess? Why did he have the cross in his pocket and the Bible?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he knows,” she replied.
Grace ran her hands through her hair and stared off. “I don’t know who to trust,” she whispered.
Elizabeth truly understood the loneliness of that statement. “It’s the school,” she finally responded. She weighed the situation, unsure how much to reveal, but she felt at a stalemate. Breaking and entering could only get her so far. “It’s all tied to Saint John’s Boys School,” she explained.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It was a Catholic school on the east side on the town’s border next to a mill. The school and the mill closed down in 1982.”
“Yeah, I remember it. The school’s torn down. The kids liked to vandalize it. What does this have to do with anything?” Grace asked impatiently.
“Well…” she drew out, irked by Grace’s tone. “The first victim, Father Portillo, his body was left hanging on the front gate of the school; Father Rossi worked at the school before it closed down; and Sullivan testified that he attended the school.”
“This is all very interesting, but it could be nothing more than a big coincidence.” Elizabeth suspected that Grace was intentionally being difficult and chose to ignore her. She produced the David Collins necklace from her bag. “I found this hanging on a tree behind the school.”
Grace took it from her and held it close to her face, reading the inscription. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, David Collins’s parents died in 1981, and he was placed into foster care. David was in a home at least a thirty-minute drive away, so what was he doing up at the school? And according to my, um, research, the social services records for David cease to exist shortly after he was placed.”
“You know this how exactly?”
“Very diligent research.” She smiled.
“Right.”
Elizabeth sat with her hands folded in her lap waiting for her to speak.
Grace finally looked at her. “Show it to me.” Elizabeth stared back at her.
“The school,” she clarified. “Show it to me.”
“Now?” Elizabeth realized she sounded like Father Parker. “Fine,” she said resolutely. She started her engine and drove the now familiar route as Grace gripped the door handle during the ride, her knuckles turning white. Seeing that gave Elizabeth a perverse sense of pleasure, and she put a little more pressure on the gas pedal.
Elizabeth pulled into the school lot and parked in what she now considered her spot. Grace exited the car and started walking toward what was left of the foundation of the main building, without waiting to see if Elizabeth followed.
Elizabeth caught up with her as she was approaching the dormitory building and steered her toward the side door. Grace grabbed the padlock hanging from the chain, and it came off in her hand. “Hmmm, can’t imagine how this happened.”
Elizabeth handed her one of the flashlights she was holding. “Here, you might need this.”
Grace accepted the light. “Experienced at this?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer but stepped past her through the open door. The inside of the building seemed less ominous in the daylight. “All the rooms are the same. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” she said as she moved directly to the third floor. She didn’t need to turn to see if Grace was following because she could hear her footsteps on the staircase behind her. This was another difference from Father Parker, who was stealth-like and could sneak up on her. She stopped in front of room thirty.
“Yeah, so?” Grace asked unimpressed.
“Thirty B / upon level three / continued the devil’s iniquity,” she replied like it was normal conversation.
“What have you been smoking?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Elizabeth remembered that she had left out the detail of the surreptitious note on her car. She recited the poem from memory and explained its mysterious arrival as they made their way back out of the building.
“So what’s it supposed to mean?” Grace asked.
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“Hmmm, there’s an option,” Grace said loud enough for her to hear.
After replacing the chain on the door, Elizabeth walked to the front doors of the church, and Grace kicked at the chain and broken lock still lying on the ground from Elizabeth’s last visit and shook her head. “Coincidence? Two broken locks. I think not.”
Offering a noncommittal shrug, Elizabeth pulled on the door, and not finding anything of interest in the church the first time through, walked directly to the basement, and descended the stairs. Grace remained silent about the broken doorjamb, where Elizabeth and Father Parker pried the door open. Elizabeth figured she had given up by now.
“It’s a basement,” Grace said, stating the obvious.
Elizabeth didn’t respond, choosing to ignore her, and shined her light on the metal cellar doors. “These doors were pried open, and it looks like some from the homeless camp might have come in here.”
Grace shook her head at this information as though to say “How d
o you know?”
“There were footprints on the floor.” Elizabeth realized that she just confessed her past indiscretion of breaking and entering, and Grace snickered.
Elizabeth walked to the concrete door and heard something skitter across the floor when she kicked it, and she bent over to pick up a discarded book of matches. Grace moved past her and pushed open the door. Elizabeth shoved the matches in her jacket pocket and followed her through the open concrete door.
“What the hell is this?” Grace asked. “Looks like some kind of bomb shelter. When was this place built?”
“The school was built in the 1940s, but I think this was added after, probably in the fifties, Cold War era,” Elizabeth replied. “Here’s the interesting thing.” She shined her light on the metal hooks protruding from the ceiling and walls, and the chains hung motionless. “Want to venture a guess what was going on in here?”
Grace shook her head and walked the circumference of the room, meticulously scanning the floor and walls with her light. Satisfied that the room was empty, she sat on the chair next to the small table and leaned her head against the wall. “Not sure what to think.”
Elizabeth stood in the center of the room looking up at the dangling chains and shuddered. Mistaking the cool atmosphere of the room as the cause of her shivering, Grace stood. “Let’s get out of here.” She started back to the basement.
“Hold up,” Elizabeth called out. “This way.”
Grace turned and watched her pull on a matching concrete door directly across from the first concrete door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Elizabeth walked into the tunnel and waited for her as Grace moved to Elizabeth and stood close, nearly touching her. Although Elizabeth noticed, she chose to stay quiet and enjoy the close proximity for the moment and shined her light down the tunnel. “If you keep going down this way, the tunnel is blocked by debris. It looks like part of the tunnel gave way.”
Elizabeth could feel her shudder at that bit of information, and Grace quickly turned the opposite way. “Where does this way lead?” she asked, shining her light down the tunnel.
Sins of Our Fathers Page 18