by Lynn Bohart
“You know, I haven’t been in a church since Rebecca died. In fact, I haven’t been in one since we picked out the church for our wedding. You remember? We were going to use St. Anthony’s.”
Rocky allowed an awkward moment to stretch into two. Finally, Giorgio leaned forward, resting his arms on the pew in front of him.
“You never talk much about that night,” he said quietly.
“I try not to think about it.”
“But you do.” Giorgio glanced at his brother. “You do think about it.”
Rocky raised his eyes to look at Giorgio. The handsome face had all the attributes Giorgio’s lacked. His brother had a strong jaw, an irrepressible smile, and the only straight teeth in the family. But when Rocky was ill, it was a face that resembled a charcoal drawing someone had started to erase — all definition seemed to disappear. He was looking into that face now.
“I think about it all the time,” Rocky said in a whisper. “It’s why I drink, Joe. It’s why I can’t stop drinking.”
They sat quietly, each with their own thoughts. The monk busied himself at the altar.
“What does the department say?”
“I have another week to make a decision. Go into rehab, or get clean on my own.”
“And?”
Rocky turned and the two brothers locked eyes. “I’m not sure I want to get clean.”
Rocky and Giorgio had never been competitive. Instead, they had shared an unusual bond from the time they were small. When their father died, Rocky had turned to his big brother and Giorgio had risen easily to the task. The decision to move to the West Coast and to leave his brother behind had been difficult, but Rocky was happily engaged to Rebecca, a beautiful girl in the police academy. One week before the wedding, Rebecca had been raped and brutally murdered in her own apartment. The killer was never found.
It had all but shattered Rocky, and he moved to Southern California six months later hoping to put his life back together. It hadn’t worked. Rocky had only been a social drinker in college, but now he sank longingly into alcohol’s fatal embrace. When he’d been ordered on medical leave, Giorgio had avoided the urge to lecture his little brother, knowing that what he needed was support, but Rocky hadn’t asked for it. Giorgio thought perhaps this investigation might help get Rocky back on track. Now he wasn’t sure.
“Rehab wouldn’t be so bad,” Giorgio said, looking away. “I’d probably give it a try.”
“You didn’t hear me, Joe,” Rocky cut him off. “I’m not sure I want to recover. It’s a part of me you’ve never quite understood. You have it all, Joe. You always did. You laid your life out long ago and everything fell into place. You don’t know what it’s like for me.”
Giorgio felt the heat rise in his belly. “What do you mean everything fell into place? Because I worked hard to get where I am? Because I worked overtime every chance I got in order to provide for my family? What all do you think I have?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You mean because I have Angie?” Rocky flinched but Giorgio ignored it. “You forget little brother that I lost someone, too. I know damn well what it’s like.”
“You mean Dad,” Rocky replied matter-of-factly.
“I was closer to him than you, and I was older. I understood what happened. I was at the morgue. I saw the hole blown in his chest.” Giorgio stood up and moved away a few steps, unable to control the anger. “Shit, Rocky! I used to lie awake at night willing myself not to cry because you were in the bed next to me. Sometimes, I’d climb to the rooftop just to be alone − me and New York City!”
The monk at the altar turned in response to Giorgio’s raised voice, prompting him to turn back to his brother and lower his voice a notch.
“I was the one who had to comfort mom. Do you have any idea how hard that was? I was just a kid, but everyone said I was the man in the family now and had to be strong for the two of you. Crap, I was just as torn up.” He stopped and took a breath and lowered his voice even more. “I do know how you’re feeling. You want to scream and you want to cry. Sometimes, you just want to run in front of a bus and end it all. But most of all, you just want someone to take away the pain. You want someone to fix it. But they can’t. Because death can’t be fixed, Rocky. And that’s why you feel so helpless.” He paused and took a deep breath. “And that’s why you drink.”
Rocky’s face had grown ashen, and he dropped his head.
“Drinking won’t fix it either though, little brother. And that’s the truth. Life isn’t a promise. It just is what it is. Nothing more. We get what we get!”
There was a pause. Then Rocky whispered, “And don’t throw a fit.”
Giorgio recognized that Rocky had just finished a childhood rhyme and chuckled.
“Yeah, and don’t throw a fit.” He moved over and sat next to his brother. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like Rebecca. I’m sure it’s a pain you’ll never get over, but there are people here who don’t want to lose you, too.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t quit on me.”
Giorgio recognized the moment was about to crumble into a sophomoric show of emotion and decided to end it. He took a deep breath. “Okay, so you interviewed Julio and Frances. They’re two of the new recruits, right?”
Rocky took a deep breath. “Julio is from the Chicago area, apparently a “boys in the hood” kind of background. Joined a gang and got arrested a few times. Father somebody-or-other got a hold of him and turned him. He decided to become a priest and attended seminary school in Forest Park. When he graduated, he was referred here. He’s been here only about six months.”
“Not much to go on.”
“No. Of course, he says he didn’t know anyone at the conference and was working in the library last evening with another monk. An older monk, a Father O’Leary, was with the two of them most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“After dinner, O’Leary became ill and went to the infirmary. Not an airtight alibi, but he doesn’t seem to have any reason to commit murder.”
“What about Frances?”
Rocky took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back. “Not much better. He’s from San Francisco. His parents were both teachers. He lived there most of his life. Both parents dead. No siblings. Decided the monastic life might be for him and came here just five months ago. Likes it, but says it gets pretty quiet.” Rocky smiled. “He strikes me as the kind of guy who won’t make it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He seems a little too slick for a place like this. He seemed more interested in knowing if I’d ever been to San Francisco than talking about life here at the abbey.”
“No literary writing in either one of their backgrounds?”
“None. In fact, in the case of Julio, I doubt there is writing of any kind. I’ve got a feeling he got a lot of help in school.”
Giorgio sighed and got up. “Make sure McCready gets your notes. We still have to talk to Father Daniel.”
“I think Swan has him cornered now.”
“Good. Then, let’s go.”
Chapter Thirteen
He watched the two officers leave the monastery grounds just before noon − the tall, good looking one and the shorter one he’d passed in the gift shop. Someone had told him they were brothers, although they didn’t look alike. He’d spoken briefly to the tall one in the hallway. The man had introduced himself as Officer Salvatori. An Italian. A brother of sorts. The officer had asked him much more probing questions than the young red-haired cop had. He’d quickly realized he had to be careful not to contradict anything he’d said earlier.
It was the shorter officer though that worried him more. This was a man with an unwavering sense of confidence, a man focused on the outcome. He was clearly in charge and someone who knew what he was doing. He had to be the detective with homicide experience, the one who wasn’t supposed to be available to take the case. Something had changed to mak
e him available.
A murder like this had probably never happened in this sleepy little town. It almost made him laugh. They should live in New York where murders were common place, where he’d been weaned on death, where he and his older cousins grew up knowing that to live on the streets you had to have ice in your veins and follow the code or you were dead.
He turned and retreated down the hall thinking about his uncle and his many cousins left behind. He’d been gone six months, unable to call or talk with anyone he knew, living as a ghost among people he generally detested, never being able to relax his guard. Until he was twenty-two, he’d had only one thing in mind − avenging his father’s death. But he’d screwed up. Someone had seen him, and his uncle had stepped in as he always did. Even now the echo of his uncle’s words rang in his head.
“You were always my favorite nephew, Danny. You’re like a son to me, but your mistakes are now my mistakes. Mistakes I can’t afford. So now you disappear – for good. If I ever see your face again, if I ever hear of you again, I’ll kill you myself. That’s a promise.”
An accident had been staged that very night on a lonely road in upstate New York. A body, burned beyond recognition was found next to the twisted frame of his BMW. His identification was found next to the body, and there was an eye witness who would swear he saw the car go off the road. His uncle had given him money and the name of a willing plastic surgeon. But he had no intention of staying hidden forever. He had a life back in New York and wasn’t willing to give it up. He’d always had a plan to return, and this little situation would help him to get there.
Chapter Fourteen
Rose Calhoun sat on a stool behind the cash register at Mom’s Diner, her dyed blonde hair pulled up into a French roll, her skin showing every wrinkle of her seventy-plus years. Posters of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe scattered the walls, along with chrome hubcaps, and a framed poodle skirt.
“You boys want some lunch?” she slurred through a set of heavy dentures. “You should try the chili today. Made it myself.”
Giorgio smiled, thinking that would be the last thing he’d order. “We’ll probably go for the Pepperoni pizza today, Rose.”
“Suit yerself,” she said, dismissing him. She hopped down from the stool, grabbed a couple of menus and led them to a back booth. “I heard about that murder up at the monastery.” She leaned a gnarled hand on the table as the brothers slid into their seats. “You ask me, that monastery should have been torn down back when the abbot was murdered.”
“Whoa, there was another murder up there?” Rocky said in alarm.
“When they ran the boy’s school,” Giorgio informed him. “One of the students killed the head priest.”
“Now, here we go again,” Rose pursed her lips, accentuating the ruby red lipstick that crawled up the lines of her mouth. “It don’t seem like such a holy place to me.” She winked a heavily made up eye, turned on her heels and walked away. “I’ll be back with your drinks. The usual I presume.”
“You didn’t tell me about that other murder,” Rocky scolded.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Olsen’s murder, but it will give the media a lot to talk about.”
“No kidding.” Rocky drummed the table with his fingers.
“By the way, have you heard anything about any kids on the grounds?”
“No. Why would there be any kids there?”
“I saw one on the second floor landing last night.”
“It probably belonged to one of the conference attendees. That or you’re imagining things.”
Giorgio grimaced, keeping his thoughts to himself.
“Got any theories yet?” Rocky asked, tapping the table.
“I think whoever Mallery Olsen had a drink with strangled her in her room. What I can’t figure out is how he got her down to the kitchen closet. The only way to the first floor from her room is by that main staircase. The two back staircases only lead to the monks’ quarters, and there’s a wall in between the two wings of the building on the second floor.”
“Pretty risky to bring her down the main drag.”
“Someone at that conference knew Mallery Olsen. The question is, did they come to the conference with the intention of killing her, or did something happen at the conference that precipitated her murder?”
“Are you going to her apartment this afternoon?”
Rose returned with their drinks. Rocky reached for his Root Beer. Giorgio waited until she was out of ear shot.
“I want to talk with the caterers first. Why don’t you finish with the monks? Someone had to see something. When do you go off medical leave?”
Rocky stopped drumming his fingers.
“Three weeks.”
Giorgio shrugged his shoulders. “Great. I’ll keep you busy.”
“You don’t have to keep me busy, Joe.”
“I just thought you might find this more interesting than watching the World Wrestling Federation.” He attempted a smile but came up short.
A young waitress saved the moment when she arrived with their food. Rocky grabbed a slice of pizza, successfully landing a large bite in his mouth. Giorgio just stared at the table.
“I think I’ll buy her a dog,” he announced.
Rocky looked up with grease dribbling down his chin. “Who? Angie? Is that the new Millennium way of saying you’re sorry?”
“No. She wants a dog.”
“You’re not suggesting the dog will take the place of the baby, are you?”
“Don’t be silly. Angie wants a dog. Ever since we had to put Butch to sleep.”
Giorgio reached for his own slice of the cheese pie.
“Butch was your dog.”
“She loved him just as much as I did.”
“She hated that dog.” Rocky swallowed a large bite and then wiped his chin. “He shit on the carpet and pissed on the stairs. Why would she want another dog?”
“Angie wants a dog, I’m telling you. She misses Butch. She said so. And he only made a couple of messes. It’s not like he used the house as a kennel.” His brother arched his eyebrows, but Giorgio ignored the implied reproach. “Maybe I’ll go to the pound this afternoon and see what I can find.”
“And you think that’ll do it?”
“What?”
“Patch it up?” Rocky swallowed again.
Giorgio thought for a moment, toying with the pizza he hadn’t tried yet. “I don’t know. I still don’t know how I feel about having another baby. I just know I want to make it right with Angie. I can’t stand fighting with her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“You got that right!” Rocky chided, taking a drink. “But a dog!”
“You’ll see. It’ll be great. After Butch died, the whole family wanted another dog. But I said no. Angie says that I only think about me. Well, this time, it’s just for her. She’ll see. Not all men are insensitive.” With that, he finally leaned into his pizza and took a huge bite.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
Chapter Fifteen
Food for Thought was located in the middle of a strip mall between a shoe repair shop and a UPS store. The name on the front window was embellished with an image of Rodin’s “The Thinker”. A bell jingled when Giorgio opened the door and a pleasant-looking young black woman looked up from behind the counter.
“I’m Mary,” she said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Detective Salvatori.” He produced the badge. “I’m investigating the murder at the monastery last night.”
The cheery face fell. “How can I help you?”
“We have to get statements from anyone who was there. I’m afraid I’ll have to talk with each one of your employees who was with you last night.”
“We talked with the police last night.”
“Yes, but I’d like to hear what you have to say for myself.”
She sighed. “We have another party this afternoon and one tonight. We’re very busy. Can’
t it wait?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe I could start with you. It’ll just take a few minutes.”
She looked through an open door to the kitchen beyond. Two people busied themselves packing boxes. “Okay,” she said, coming around the counter to sit at the small table. “But it’ll have to be fast.”
Giorgio sat across from her and took out his pad and pencil. “You’re the caterer of choice at the monastery?”
“That’s right. We do all of their gigs. Have for over two years.”
“What time did you arrive there last night?”
The brown eyes seemed to turn inwards as she thought back to the day before.
“We do most of the cooking here and only use their ovens for warming, so I guess we got there around five-fifteen.”
“Did you go straight into the kitchen?”
“Where else would we go?”
He ignored the rhetorical question. “The kitchen was open?”
“The monks use another kitchen at the other end of the building so that we don’t run into each other.”
“Was there anything unusual about the facility when you arrived?”
“No. We would have noticed.” She paused. “Of course we don’t use the supply closet.”
“Why is that?”
“We don’t store anything on the premises. The janitor does the heavy cleaning.”
“So you’ve never been back there?”
“I’ve been in there a couple of times to grab paper towels.”
“Have you ever seen anyone else go in or out of that supply closet?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re very busy and can’t even see the supply closet. We go from boxes, to the counter tops, to the banquet room.”
“Does anyone ever use the restroom down that hall?”
“Sometime, but I can’t say if anyone did last night.”
“Could someone come in that back door without you knowing it?”