Kate chuckled. “I’m stressed-out just hearing about it.”
Reynolds laughed again and began to pull out plates, bowls and flatware from the drawers and cupboards of the ultra-modern kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind dining at the island. I’ve found that carrying endless dishes of Asian food into the dining room leaves one burden by cold food and exhaustion.”
“Not at all.” Kate grabbed the plates and spread them out on her end of the island. “No fussing for me, please. I’m invading your evening.”
“Invading?” Monaghan was incredulous as she entered the room. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her lounge pants and soft tee-shirt had a bedtime look to them. “Clive, are you making our guest feel unwelcome?” While the question was pointed, the twinkle in the statuesque Monaghan’s eye softened it to the teasing it was meant to be.
Reynolds feigned a look of sheer horror and clutched at his chest. “What? No! My God!” He lowered his mask, smiling broadly as he gladly accepted the kiss that Monaghan offered. “Although, my plans for dessert may be hampered a bit.” They shared another kiss, this one decidedly more heated than the other.
“Sizzling.”
The two parted and looked at Kate, their expressions a mixture of embarrassment and surprise.
Kate pointed to the wok on the stove top. “Sizzling.”
Reynolds started, grabbing up the wooden spoon again and quickly stirring the vegetables and noodles around in the pan.
Monaghan poured herself a large glass of wine and took a long, slow sip before she slid on to the bar stool across from Kate with a sigh. “Christ, what a day!”
Kate finished off her glass and reached for the wine bottle. “You can say that again.” She refilled her glass generously before replacing the bottle on the table.
Reynolds looked up from his stir-fry, a small smile playing across his lips as he took note of the three-quarters full glass in front of the young American. “Bad day?”
“Long day,” Kate replied, propping herself into a precarious lean on the counter as she rested her head on her hand. “I think I was in the darkroom, what, five hours?”
Reynolds turned off the flame under the stir-fry and began plating the mixture of vegetables and noodles. “This is about the priest… Coyle, isn’t it?”
Monaghan nodded, taking another long drink of her wine. “I’ve seen my share of bodies in this job, and I must say, this is one of the most brutal.” She shivered slightly and took another quick, and large, drink of the wine. “Did your time in the darkroom yield anything?”
“A shitload of pictures.” Kate grinned broadly as Reynolds set a plateful of stir-fry in front of her. She looked at the large bowl of steamed jasmine rice, the chicken curry and spring rolls and sighed. “This all looks so good. I’m too hungry, you’re going to need to roll me out of here.”
Monaghan laughed as she served herself and Reynolds generous helpings of the rice and curry. “Well, if necessary, we have an extra room.”
They spent the next twenty minutes eating, with smatterings of casual conversation feeling the time between bites. The meal was delicious, and Kate knew she had eaten much more than she should have as she looked at the last bite of spring roll on her plate with a mixture of longing and dread.
“I can’t eat another bite.”
Monaghan heaved a satisfied sigh. “Agreed.” She leaned over to Reynolds, kissing him on the cheek. “You outdid yourself, Clive.”
Reynolds smiled broadly and started to rise. “Coffee?”
Monaghan nodded, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “I’ll make it.”
Reynolds sat back down, folding his hands awkwardly on the island counter. “So, Kate… How are you adjusting so far?”
Kate smiled. “So good so far. I haven’t crashed any vehicles, haven’t gotten laughed out of restaurants for the whole napkin-versus-serviette thing, and haven’t irrevocably offended anyone with my inherent American-ness… Well, okay one guy that I know of, but that’s it.” She paused a moment to raise her nearly-empty wine glass, then drained it.
Reynolds chuckled. “And the work?”
“It’s good. Well, at least as good as processing pictures of dead people can every be.” Her smile faded a bit. “Truth? I think I’m just beginning to come down off of everything that happened when I first got here.”
“It was quite an intense gauntlet for you, wasn’t it?”
“Gauntlet? Yeah, I suppose.” Kate smirked. “I guess I made it through all right. Well, except for this inquest thingy.”
“It’s mostly a formality, especially under the circumstances.,” Reynolds said. “And your involvement was as a victim, really. Nothing at all to worry about. You’re scheduled for…?”
“Friday afternoon, I think. They said it wouldn’t take long.”
“It shouldn’t. Just simple questions and answers. Just… tell them what happened.”
Kate nodded. “Rick is scheduled before me. I’ll probably feel better after I hear how it goes with him.”
Monaghan returned to her seat, her tone serious as she spoke. “Clive, who is assigned to the inquest?”
“Ethan Warwick, I believe, why?”
“And Warwick is still friendly with Laurence Grayson, isn’t he?”
Reynolds frowned. “I believe so. What are you driving at, Diana?”
“There have been some problems in the past… Between Mr. Grayson and Sergeant Pierce.”
Kate was suddenly very interested, unfolding from her post-meal slouch and directing her full attention on the two people in front of her. “Problems? What kind of problems?”
“Laurence Grayson is a part of IPCC. Independent Police Complaints Commission. It’s like you Internal Affairs Bureau.”
“Oh, I see. The rat squad. What does this have to do with Sergeant Pierce?”
Monaghan hesitated. “Without going into Sergeant Pierce’s business, I will just say that IPCC in general, and Grayson in particular, have been focused on Pierce for quite some time. Almost as soon as he joined Doug’s Murder Squad. In fact, I know that Doug was discouraged from taking him on. Doug, of course, told them to sod-off, and not only took Pierce on, but made him his partner.”
“So, basically, this Grayson dude just doesn’t like Rick and he’s trying to do everything he can to get him kicked off the force?” Kate huffed at that, listening to the quiet beep of the coffee pot as it finished perking. “You think they’ll try to go after him, then?”
Monaghan didn’t answer, turning her gaze to Reynolds. Both women looked at him, waiting for him to respond.
“It’s… possible.” Reynolds sighed and shrugged. “My hands are tied. I cannot get Warwick pulled, certainly not at this late hour. All we can hope for is that he doesn’t go after him, or if he does…”
“That Pierce doesn’t take the bait,” Kate finished. “I suppose you’re planning for fireworks?”
“I wasn’t,” Reynolds replied, the frown on his face deepening. “Not until now.”
Monaghan stood. “Coffee, Kate?’
“Yes, please. Cream, two sugars.” Kate smiled. “I usually don’t eat sugar. After that meal, and this coffee, I’m going to be wired for sound. I’ll have to go running or something.” She looked at Reynolds for a moment before she spoke again. “Um, Mr. Reynolds?”
Reynolds turned, a broad smile breaking across his face, parting the frown on his face like the sun shining through clouds. “Clive, please. It’s Clive.”
“All right. Uh, there’s… You’re a country club sort of guy… What do you know about cigars?”
“Very little. Why?”
Monaghan returned with the coffee, setting the full mugs down on the counter before relaxing back into her own chair. “Is this about the ashes you found?”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. While I may have his observational skills, I do not share the Sherlockian affinity for cigar ash identification. I think it’s important, though. The victim, the deacon, even the kid sitting in Psyc
h now, none of them ever smoked cigars. And whoever was standing on the church property, multiple places, for long periods of time… Definitely a big-time smoker.” She sipped her coffee, relishing the taste as it warmed her suddenly-chilled body. “Definitely important.”
Reynolds frowned thoughtfully. “You may want to talk to Jerome Wilkinson. He is certainly not a chain smoker by any means, but I do believe he keeps a small box of Havanas at a cigar bar. Somewhere in… Cavendish Square, I believe.”
“I’ll check it out, thank you.” Kate took another long drink of her coffee, then stood. “I should get going. Thank you both so much for the wonderful dinner, and the conversation, and everything.”
“Of course,” said Reynolds, rising as well. “It was our pleasure. We must do it again sometimes.”
Monaghan quickly swallowed her mouthful of coffee before chiming in. “The holidays. Clive cooks for a hundred over the holidays, and we always have friends over for Christmas and the New Year.”
“Sounds fun, I’m in.” Kate slipped on her jacket and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and across her chest. “All right, I’m off. See you tomorrow, Diana.”
“Goodnight.”
Kate and Reynolds walked to the door. “I could get you a taxi?” Reynolds ventured, but Kate held up a hand.
“No, no. I’ll be just fine. The subway isn’t that far and it takes me right home. Besides, Clive…” She narrows her eyes as she smiles. “I’m from Noo Yawk.”
Reynolds chuckles. “Right. Sorry. Sopranos, and all that.”
“That’s Joisey, but yeah, pretty much. Goodnight.” Kate descends the handful of stairs to the street.
“Oh, Kate?” She stopped at the sidewalk, and turned back toward Reynolds as he continued. “Don’t let the suits fool you… I’m more of a Grateful Dead sort of bloke.”
Kate grinned and gave him a mock salute before walking away down the street.
8
4 November 2011
Brompton Oratory, Knightsbridge
Hagen sighed as he stood in the church vestibule, taking in the Italian interior of London’s largest Roman Catholic church. The Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, commonly known as Brompton Oratory, was famous for its choirs, its organ, and the impressive listing of parishioners who could frequently be seen at Sunday Mass and Vespers. It was also famous for its traditional bent. Latin Mass was still the standard here, and you wouldn’t find any of the folksy music selections and atmosphere that had become so common in other churches.
The sound of a door closing pulled Hagen from his thoughts and he glanced at Pierce. His sergeant was hanging back by the entrance, his face mask-like as he pored over his “phablet”. The older detective chuckled quietly as he looked up toward the altar, and at the two men in cassocks genuflecting in the center aisle.
The older priest took the lead coming down the aisle. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, his hair quite gray and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his aquiline nose. Salt-and-pepper eyebrows the size of caterpillars hovered above his piercing blue eyes, giving Father Nicholas DiCenzo a strong, authoritarian appearance. That was immediately washed away when he smiled affably at Hagen and Pierce as he stopped in front of them.
“Detective Superintendent Hagen?” DiCenzo’s thick Scottish accent clicked and rolled as he spoke, his hand outstretched. Hagen took it, noting the strength of the older priest’s handshake. “Please excuse my intrusion. I realize you’re here to speak with Joe…” He gestured to the younger man standing back behind him.
Hagen looked closely at Joseph Lucas. The young deacon still looked just as dour as he had that night at the crime scene, and Hagen had to keep reminding himself that this man had preserved the crime scene and was most likely not involved in any meaningful way with this murder. His sullen demeanor made that an extremely difficult endeavor.
Hagen returned his mental attention to DiCenzo, who was still speaking.
“I am thankful that you called, Superintendent. These past few days, I must confess, have been heavy with grief for our entire community. Mark was a valued member. His charity… knew no bounds.”
“Father Coyle did not choose to reside with the other Oratorians?” Hagen didn’t voice the “why”, but the question hung in the air nonetheless.
DiCenzo hesitated, his lips pressed together tightly for a moment before relaxing into a pleasant smile. “Father Mark’s charity drove him away from the common life here. His ministry was very important to him.”
“His ministry?”
“Father Mark believed that an individual’s faith is sacred, and regardless of their… lifestyle… they should still be cared for and welcomed as God’s children.”
Hagen frowned. “And that isn’t what you believe?”
DiCenzo took a deep breath, the tension in his jaw visible as he delivered his measured response. “I believe… that ministering to certain communities requires a great deal of… delicacy.”
“And this community?”
“Homosexuals, “DiCenzo replied quietly. “And the like. ‘Alternative lifestyles’ is the common term, I think.”
“I see.” Hagen focused his gaze on Lucas as he spoke to DiCenzo. “Well, Father, thank you for your information. If we could have a few moments with Mr. Lucas in private.”
“Of course. Joe?” Di Cenzo looked expectantly at the young deacon. Lucas nodded his head, the frown fading slightly from his face as he looked at his superior.
“It’s fine, Father. I want to help if I can.”
Di Cenzo nodded. “Very well. Good-day, detectives.” He turned quickly and walked down the aisle.
Hagen gestured to the pew nearby. “Would you sit, Mr. Lucas?” Lucas hesitated, glancing at Pierce, then shuffled into the pew and sat down rather noisily. Hagen sat down in the pew in front of Lucas, turning himself so that he was facing away from the altar. He searched the younger man’s face, noting his piercing dark eyes, the tension in his full jaw, the sullen hunch of his shoulders. “Thank you for speaking to us.”
Lucas shrugged. “No bother. Mark was a good man.” His East End accent gave the words a slightly nasal twang.
“All right. If you could go over the events of that evening once more.”
Lucas cleared his throat, then nodded quickly. “I, uh, left the rectory for the church around six-fifteen. Mass was scheduled for six-thirty, so I was running a late. I wasn’t too worried, though, since I knew Mark was late as well. He’d just gotten back from one of the group’s meetings, and ran straight to the sacristy to get ready.
“I came into the church through the side door. There were some older couples there praying before Mass. And the Ladies were replacing candles around the altar. Lady Wexford was walking toward the sacristy with the clean vestments. Then all I could hear was the echo of her screaming. I ran up on to the altar, and I pulled her away from the door so that I could look in.”
“You didn’t enter the sacristy?” Pierce interjected, his eyes detached from the screen of his phablet for a moment and fixed on Lucas.
“No,” Lucas replied. “I… looked in from the doorway. Saw Mark on the floor, the blood everywhere…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before continuing. “So I locked the door, and phoned for the police.”
“Well done.” Pierce looked at Lucas closely, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight.
Lucas shrugged his shoulders stiffly. “I watch a lot of crime dramas.”
“So Lady Wexford saw the crime scene as well?”
Lucas nodded, turning his gaze back to Hagen. “Yes.”
“Now, Mr. Lucas, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Father Coyle’s ministries.”
Lucas quickly looked away, his gaze locking on the edge of the pew in front of him. “All right,” he replied quietly.
Hagen hesitated a moment before speaking. “First I’d like to talk about the cemetery.”
Lucas nodded, his lips pressing tightly together as he smiled. “Mark knew a young woman who had been
assaulted at college. She decided not to keep the child. Mark didn’t approve, but he stood by her, went to the clinic with her. He insisted that they let him baptize the child. Once that was done, though, he insisted on the body being released to her.”
“And they did?” Hagen asked with some surprise.
“They didn’t care. They just throw them out anyway. Or burn them, if they have a furnace.” Lucas sighed, swallowed hard again. “He was the first little baby buried there. After that, Mark’s friend moved to Yorkshire and Mark started contacting rescue groups, pro-life groups, trying to find a way to get the word out and get himself into those clinics. He was a man on a mission, to help those little souls into the next world.”
“How many are buried there?”
“One hundred and sixty-two.”
Hagen fingered the brim of his fedora. “Well done there.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not really. A drop in the bucket.”
“What was the response from the community?”
“You mean the parish? The neighborhood?” Lucas smirked. “Overwhelmingly positive, actually. The old ladies used to come, leave flowers, weed around. Even the local street artists left the monument alone.”
Pierce glanced up at that, but remained silent as his eyes returned to his phablet and he typed rapidly.
Lucas cleared his throat. “You… You’ll want to know about the group, right?”
“The group?” Hagen frowned slightly.
“Yeah. The group… Mark’s other ministry.”
Realization dawned. “Ah, yes, of course,” replied Hagen.
“Mark believed that every person had the right to their faith, even if their lifestyles were contrary to the tenets of a particular faith. He began the ministry shortly after his arrival at Holy Innocents. I don’t know how he got the word out, as it were, but they came. And I must give them credit… their eagerness to practice again, to be part of the faith again, led them to conform in ways that no one though they would. Dress, manner… I recall several occasions when the A & R ladies spoke about someone at Mass on Sunday, a particular woman’s dress or hat… and they had no idea that it wasn’t a woman at all.
De Profundis (Kate Gardener Mysteries Book 2) Page 5