“Ah.” Kate watched as Pierce shifted position slightly, adjusting his shoulder in the process. “Oh geez!” she exclaimed, reaching out for and pulling her messenger bag over.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Kate replied, enthusiastically digging through her bag. “I have something for you.” She pulls out a small foil package, the scent of menthol and camphor overpowering the food in front of them.
“Those smell like my gran.”
“Yeah, yeah, but they work. Take off your shirt.”
Pierce’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“Take. Of. Your. Shirt.” Kate pulled open the zip-bag wrapper and pulled out several of small greenish sticky pads. She looked at Pierce. “Well? I’m waiting!”
Pierce hesitated, glancing briefly at the door. He worked the knot in his tie loose, pulling it free and away in three quick movements. He unbuttoned the sleeves, then the front, hesitating again briefly before slipping his left arm out of the shirt sleeve, wincing as he moved it back.
Kate tried not to look too pointedly at the bared shoulder, arm and portion of Pierce’s chest that were now in front of her, but her peripheral vision picked up plenty as she struggled to free an edge from the first pad backing.
What she could see from that indirect appraisal as that Pierce’s arms and chest were more muscular than they appeared when hidden beneath his dress shirts and suit jackets. His chest hair was dark, but well-tended. Kate could see several scars… Two near the left shoulder, one in the chest… He’d been shot before, probably when he was in the army. There could actually be more scars, but they were hidden from sight by the tattoos.
There were a lot, again something Kate didn’t expect to see lurking beneath those straight-laced suits. His upper left arm was covered by an ornate steel-gray cross. An emerald green dragon was perched on the crossbeam, its body wrapping around the cross and ending at the bottom, its tail looped loosely around the base. Stretching along the chest just under the collar bone was a portion of bird wing, like an eagle or hawk, which Kate assumed was finished on the right side of his chest. Above the wing was the beginnings of a word in a language she couldn’t identify. Below that on his left pectoral was a Claddagh, the iconic Irish symbol combining a heart held by a pair of hands and topped with a regal crown. A quick glance to the right gave Kate the briefest look at the letters picking from under the edge of his dress shirt. She could read it, but it was long, covering a good portion of his side.
Kate quickly peeled the backing from the first strip, her hands hovering over his injured shoulder. “Okay, I’m just going to carpet the area, okay? I’ll try not to hurt you when I press them one, but I make no guarantees.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Kate paused a moment more, then laid the first patch on the back of Pierce’s shoulder. She smoothed it firmly, then reached for another one. Patch after patch she smoothed on to his left shoulder, covering the back, front, top and side. Pierce blinked his eyes rapidly, the fumes from the menthol and camphor causing his eyes to water.
Kate pressed the final patch into place, smoothing over the seams of the other patches as she checked to make sure they were all sticking well, at least for now. “There. That should do it. Feel okay?”
Pierce nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you.” He reached for his shirt, but Kate grabbed it first, shaking it slightly and holding it out so he could slip his left arm into the sleeve. “And thank you.”
“No problem.” Kate adjusted his collar, smoothing it into place. “I hope I made it feel better. Hang on, let me smooth that corner down.” She reached out, slipping her hand under the left shirt sleeve to smooth the edges of the patches into place.
“Uh, Sergeant Pierce?”
Kate and Pierce both turned towards the door. Owens was standing there, a funny look on his face as he took in the pair before him. Kate stifled a laughed, thinking about the picture she and Pierce must be presenting to the young constable. She glanced to the side; Pierce still only had one arm in a shirt sleeve, she had her hands on his shoulder and chest. To most eyes, it would have been a very intimate-looking scene. Kate let her eyes wander down for a moment, letting them rest on Pierce’s chest, firm and well-muscled. He had slightly more chest hair than she was partial too, but she conceded that on him it actually looked good. She raised her eyes… and found Pierce’s brown eyes looking back at her. He looked at her for a moment, then turned his head to Owens. “Did the Chancery call?”
Owens looked between the two again, then nodded. “They did. They said that Monsignor Brown cannot meet with us until Tuesday.”
Pierce frowned. “That’s next week.” He slipped his shirt on the rest of the way and began buttoning it up.
“There was another call. Peter Hamilton. He wants to speak with you again, says it is urgent and cannot wait.”
Pierce sighed, picking up his tie and fitting it underneath his shirt collar. “Guess I’m off to Bedlam. Get me a taxi, will you Owens?”
“Hang on,” Kate chimed in. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll drive you.” She looks at the two men, and their incredulous stares. “What? I can drive a car!” She turned to Pierce. “Your car’s in the parking ramp, right?” Pierce nodded slowly. “Great! Give me your keys, let’s go!” Kate grabbed her messenger bag, slipping it over her head and shoulder and heading for the door. Owens stepped aside as she passed, then turned back to Pierce.
Pierce finished tightening his tie, straightened it, then grabbed his jacket off the chair as he headed for the door.
“You’re going to let her drive your car?”
Pierce stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath, then letting it out with a sigh. He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Kate’s voice yelling from the hallway.
“C’mon, Rick! Let’s go!”
Pierce sighed again, then shrugged. “I don’t think I have a choice, Paul.” He walked by Owens and exited the Murder Squad, his apprehension solidifying into a lump in his throat and a massing of butterflies in his abdomen.
He loved his car… and he really hoped the roads were clear.
12
7 November 2011
Bethlem Royal Hospital, Monk’s Orchard, Bromley
“You can unclench your fists now. We’re out of the car.”
Pierce looked down at his hand and willed himself to relax his fingers, stretching them slightly and shaking his hand as it fell to his side. He glanced at Kate. “That was… Uh…”
Kate held up her hand to stop him. “I grew up in New York, okay? Driving for me means hopping in the car… on the RIGHT side of the road… and jetting out to Long Island for the weekend. Away from the City.” She exhaled, a heaving whoosh of a sound. “Plus, I’m not used to driving a stick—”
“That would have been nice to know before you drove my car.”
“I was going to say… I’m not used to driving a stick with my LEFT hand.”
Pierce glanced at Kate, struggling not to smile as the concern for his vehicle faded a bit. Driving to the hospital had been… alarming, to say the least, and Pierce whispered a silent prayer of thanks that the roads had been fairly quiet… and that the drive had been short enough she hadn’t completely stripped his gears.
He held the door open for Kate as they entered, noting the tension in her body, her lips pressed tightly together, her shoulders rigid, her movements very controlled. Pierce wasn’t sure if she was simply upset over the whole driving situation, or if it was something else. And now certainly was not the time to ask.
“Do you want me to wait outside?”
Pierce nodded. “It would probably be best. He’s expecting me. God knows what he wants this time, but on the off-chance that he may be ready to—”
“Spill the proverbial beans?” Kate gave him a small salute. “Gotcha. I’ll wait in the hallway.”
***
Pierce could hear Peter before he saw him. The cadence, the language… Pierce pushed the door open s
lightly and looked in.
Peter was sitting in the chair by the window, his devotional resting in his lap. His voice was a low hum as he recited what Pierce recognized as a psalm.
“De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meam: Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae.
Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine: Domine, quis sustinebit?
Quia apud te propitiatio est: et propter legem tuam sustinui te, Domine.
Sustinuit anima mea in verbo eius: speravit anima mea in Domino.
A custodia matutina usque ad noctem: speret Israel in Domino.
Quia apud Dominum misericordia: et copiosa apud eum redemptio.
Et ipse redimet Israel, ex omnibus iniquitatibus eius.
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.
Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”
Peter was quiet for a moment, eyes closed, his head bent in silent prayer.
Pierce hesitated for a moment, preparing to knock softly on the door to get the young man’s attention.
“Are you a religious man, Sergeant Pierce?” Peter opened his eyes, a pleasantly relaxed expression on his face as he looked up at Pierce.
Pierce lowered his hand from the door and stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar a couple of inches behind him. “I was raised a Catholic.”
Peter nodded. “I thought so. But you do not practice.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Why did you fall away? If I may ask?”
Pierce moved closer to the offered chair, though he did not sit. Ordinarily, he would have redirected the question back, avoiding any kind of revelation that could weaken his position as an interrogator. But something about Peter Hamilton’s open face, his calm demeanor, calmed Pierce as well. Perhaps showing a few cards would prompt Mr. Hamilton to show a few of his own…
“I was in the army, in Croatia, Iraq, Afghanistan. It’s… difficult… to embrace organized religion when you see what people do to each other in god’s name, in the name of Faith.”
“Faith is not a collective, it does not belong to a group.” Peter shook his head, his expression clear, earnest. “Faith is individual, personal. That rock you cling to when the evil of the world batters you. Father Mark taught me that. He believed everyone had a right to their Faith. He said it wasn’t about approving their lifestyles, but about embracing their humanity, loving them as Jesus would have loved, sinners and saints alike.”
“You’re referring to Father Coyle’s ministry? The LGBTQ community?”
“Yes. He made a lot of people very angry when he did that.”
“Anyone in particular?”
Peter shook his head, his expressive face growing a little less expressive. He does know, Pierce thought to himself, but he isn’t going to spit it out… yet. Pierce decided to turn the conversation in another direction. “What about the cemetery for the unborn? Were people upset about that as well?”
“No, I don’t recall anyone being upset about it. In fact, it is so out-of-the-way, I think only a few parishioners even know its there.”
Silence descended, and Pierce began to wonder if that was all Mr. Hamilton was going to give up today.
“The funeral is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Peter’s voice was strained as he asked the question, his emotions bubbling just below the surface and threaten to spill out at any moment in one form or another. Pierce secretly hoped it wouldn’t be tears… He’d hate to have to bring Kate in here just to comfort the poor lad.
“In the morning, yes,” Pierce replied, adding, “Would you like me to light a candle for you, for Father Coyle?”
Peter looked up at him, a smile breaking through the cloud of sorrow that had been cast on his angelic face. “Yes. Thank you, Sergeant. Thank you.”
There was a lengthy pause, then Peter took a deep breath, as if before the plunge, and said, “Sergeant Pierce, I must tell you… The stories about Father Mark, about him being a pedophile… There was never any truth to them. He never laid a hand on me, or any other child.
“I’m sure that you’ve reviewed all the paperwork around the accusations, and you’ve seen that what I’m saying is the complete and utter truth. Father Mark never harmed me in any way.
“But there is something about Father Mark that I feel you must know. I don’t know that anyone else knows this except for me, but it is possible that someone found out, and that someone may be the person you’re looking for.”
Pierce leaned forward, his hands folded casually, his expression as neutral as he could manage, though inside his adrenalin was pumping. “Father Mark had a secret, then?”
“A great secret.” Peter swallowed hard, then leaned forward as well, his voice low as he spoke. “Father Mark was a homosexual.”
***
“Interesting.”
Pierce through a sidelong look at Kate as they walked back to the car. She didn’t seem very surprised by the revelation.
“Interesting how?”
Kate reached into her pocket and lit a cigarette before responding. “Well,” she said, blowing out smoke as she spoke, “It isn’t terribly surprising, really. The man clearly took good care of himself, lifted weights, probably ran, too. And he was impeccably groomed. So, yeah…”
Pierce stopped, a puzzled frown crossing his handsome face. “Wait, how do you get from well-groomed and fit to homosexual?”
Kate smiled. “I took pictures and video of the guy, didn’t I? Granted, he was way dead at the time, but it was still very obvious that his nails were trimmed and maintained, his skin was moisturized, his hair was freshly cut, his clothing was pressed… and he didn’t have a housekeeper. He wasn’t going to barber shops or spas all the time. He couldn’t, he took a vow of poverty and, from what I saw otherwise, he was living that vow strenuously.”
“So?”
“So, gay. It’s a big jump, but not an indefensible one.” Kate watched the expression on Pierce’s face as he struggled with her response, probably analyzing his own habits in comparison, wondering if someone would conclude the same things about him. She stifled a smile. “I don’t think he’s the only one.”
Pierce stopped walking. “What do you mean?”
Kate smiled broadly. “Relax. I’m talking about Peter Hamilton.”
“You mean…”
“It’s pretty obvious, actually. That was the ‘special relationship’, I think. Nothing sexual… but if you’re a homosexual and want to be a Catholic priest, who would be a better mentor than a homosexual Catholic priest?”
Pierce frowned. “Peter never said anything about being a priest.”
“You’re a Catholic, right? Were an altar boy? Did you memorize the ‘De Profundis’ in Latin?”
“No.”
“I could hear him saying it when you were standing in the doorway. Plus, he’s on the ordination list for this year. Owens found the info and texted it to me. Peter Hamilton is currently a deacon.”
The pair reached the car, and Pierce leaned against the car as he took out a cigarette. “Peter suggested that I speak to the group.”
“Coyle’s group?”
Pierce nodded slowly as he inhaled the first glorious puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke flow back out slowly. “Peter said that I should meet with them during their weekly meeting, on their turf.”
Kate bends over, her elbows resting gently on the hood of the car, her hands clasped in front of her. “You think they knew? About Father Coyle being gay?”
“Peter said he believed they suspected, but he didn’t know for certain.” Pierce took another drag from his cigarette. “I can’t see how they wouldn’t have known, or at least been strongly suspicious.”
“And you think they’ll talk to you?”
“Well, Peter said I shouldn’t have any trouble if I go alone.” Pierce smirked slightly. “He said since I’m Irish, Catholic and gorgeous, I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
Kate groaned, laying her head down on the car h
ood, her shoulders shaking as she laughed. “Oh my God! And you didn’t know he was gay?”
“I suppose that was rather obvious, wasn’t it?”
Kate gasped as she stood up and composed herself. “Oh, wow! Yeah. You could say that.”
Pierce watched her turn her gaze to the car, clearly seeing the flinch as she looked at it.
“You ready? I’m driving.”
Kate looked up at him, a look of confusion on her lovely face… confusion, with a side of hope, perhaps? “But your shoulder—”
“Is feeling much better. Those patches really helped.”
“We could just take the Tube? Or, really, I can drive. It will be better now that I know what I’m doing.”
In response, Pierce quickly opened the driver’s side door and got into the car. He started the car, then lowered the power window so she could hear him. “Are you coming, or not?”
Kate quickly scooted around the front of the car and jumped into the passenger seat. “I feel bad.”
“Don’t,” Pierce said firmly. “I really do feel better. Besides, I’ve driven while in worse condition. Trust me.”
“I do.” Kate settled back in the seat, her head resting back on the seat, her hands relaxed in her lap.
Pierce put the car into gear and pulled out into traffic. The familiar movements were a relief after all those days of stabbing pain, and they were a welcome distraction from the tingly feelings that those two little words had generated.
13
10 November 2011
Holy Innocents
“This is impossible,” Jimi groaned as she used her gloved hand to flick through the small pile of rubbish near the baby cemetery. She had met Kate there over an hour ago and they had been steadily walking the property, occasionally stopping to sift through some bits of paper, cigarette butts, candy wraps, and several bits of garbage that Jimi really didn’t want to be identified. So far, not a single cigar end, or wrapper, or anything. She sighed again and looked at Kate.
De Profundis (Kate Gardener Mysteries Book 2) Page 8