MASS MURDER

by Lynn Bohart

  “You listening?” he heard Swan say.

  Giorgio turned. “Hunh?”

  “How do we find them the secret doors?”

  Giorgio turned back to the window. Brady Mandero and the ghosts from the mortuary had disappeared.

  “We go look for them.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  An hour later, Rocky joined them at the monastery. He and Swan waited by the car while Giorgio went to find Father Damian. The day was overcast, but there was no real threat of rain.

  Giorgio found Damian clipping dead buds from a group of rose bushes clustered in the corner of the gated garden. An older monk worked nearby pulling leaves from a birdbath, while Father Frances sprayed weed killer along the fence line. Father Damian’s body sagged as he worked, as if all energy had been drained away. He glanced up when Giorgio and Grosvner appeared through the arbor. Even at this distance, Giorgio could see the dark beard stubble that rimmed his jaw line.

  “Good morning, Detective.” Whatever command he once had over his voice had been replaced by an empty, hollow sound that was hardly recognizable.

  “Good morning, Father. I was wondering if we could talk.”

  The brown eyes searched Giorgio’s, perhaps looking for more bad news. He dropped his hands and walked stiffly to a cement bench that sat in front of some Arborvitae. He slumped down and turned to Giorgio with vacant eyes.

  “What’s going on, Detective? This is madness.”

  “What’s going on, Father, are a lot of lies and deception. Starting with you.”

  The caterpillar eyebrows arched in disbelief. “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with those murders.”

  “What about the drug deals going on out here in the garden?”

  His face froze. “The drugs?”

  “And the affair with Ms. Peters?”

  He glanced towards the nearest monk and then dropped his head as he realized there was no point in denying the charge. “Yes, we were having an affair, but I had nothing to do with the drugs. Or the murders. You must believe me!”

  “I need to know more about the secret passage you and Ms. Peters used. How did you find it?”

  He gazed across the garden as if talking to himself. “I found it quite by accident. I spun the wrong combination on the wall safe in my office one day, and the whole wall opened up in front of my eyes.”

  “And you told Ms. Peters?”

  “Not right away. She was hired about six months later. When we…when it appeared we had an attraction for each other and had no place to go, I came up with the idea to use the secret door.”

  “Does anyone else know about the door and the tunnel?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Perhaps Father O’Leary did. He used to tell a story about a local man who pressured the Catholic Church decades ago to sell the property so he could sub-divide it into residential lots. Of course, the monks refused. According to Father O’Leary, the battle went on for months until local residents started reported sightings of a ghost in the bell tower. You can imagine it would have frightened the entire neighborhood. According to Father O’Leary, the ruse was eventually discovered, and the man confessed to using a secret passage to pull off his stunts. I’m afraid none of us put much stock in the story. There is nothing in the church records and none of the locals seemed to know about it. Then I found it, the secret door. I never told anyone until Anya…I mean, Ms. Peters.”

  “Did she tell anyone?”

  “I don’t think so. We were very careful. Of course I didn’t know she was using the tunnel for other purposes. Perhaps you should ask her.”

  “I’ll do that. And we’d like your permission to search the building again.”

  The priest dropped his head in submission. “By all means, search all you want. I just want this thing to end.”

  The three officers concentrated their efforts on the rooms adjacent to Olsen’s. Giorgio entered the supply closet on the monks’ side. The room was smaller than the one in which Mallery Olsen had been left on display. There was a single wall sconce on the inside wall next to the door, but it didn’t work. Shelves lined only the left and rear wall. The wool blankets were folded on two wide shelves along the left wall, while the shelves along the back wall held rolls of toilet paper, folded sheets, and towels. Giorgio pulled out his flashlight and began a thorough search, pulling items off the shelves in an attempt to get a clear view of the wall behind.

  The interior walls were made out of pine, and he pressed his fingers on any piece of wood that appeared to have a knot. But nothing happened. He pushed his foot against the floor moldings and into corners and ran his fingers along all the edges of the shelving. He pulled and twisted the light fixture, but it didn’t move. He worked the light switch as he had before, but not only did the wall not move, the light never turned on. Unlike the closet downstairs, there was no hanging crucifix or embellishment of any kind. Using the butt of his hand, he pounded on the inside wall hoping to hear a hollow sound indicating a passage on the other side. His reward was Rocky’s voice calling back to him from the closet outside of Mallery Olsen’s room. Frustrated, he descended the stairs and joined Swan and Rocky. Their search had been equally fruitless.

  “If there is a secret way into or out of Mallery Olsen’s room, we can’t find it,” Rocky almost pouted.

  “I couldn’t find anything on the other side either.”

  Giorgio did a quick search of the inside of the second closet, but it was almost identical to the one on the other side except for the color of the blankets.

  “Damn!” Giorgio almost slammed the closet door closed and stood with his hands on his hips. “We have to get our hands on the original plans of this building. Rocky, why don’t you take a trip down to city hall and see if the original plans are still on file there?”

  “Okay. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to talk to Anya Peters.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Giorgio left Grosvner with McCready and headed for the county jail to interview Anya Peters. He was forced to wait for Peters’ attorney, a young woman dressed to intimidate men, probably not all men, just men like Giorgio whose mere presence seemed to piss her off. Peters was as tight-lipped as ever. She continued to deny any involvement in the trafficking of drugs and blamed Giorgio for planting evidence in the passageway. She also denied knowing anything more about secret passageways.

  He decided to interview Colin Jewett who was housed in a separate building. Jewett was much more cooperative once Giorgio implied that Anya Peters had laid all the blame at his feet. Jewett’s attorney was a quiet, pudgy man who sat in a corner and listened as Jewett explained how he met Peters at a party about six months earlier. Once she’d learned of Jewett’s past incarceration, Peters presented him with an offer he couldn’t refuse. She knew someone who worked for a produce company in Los Angeles. Drugs smuggled across the border were hidden in boxes of lettuce and shipped north. Her contact routed the boxes to appropriate locations where the drugs were removed. When Peters secured the job at the monastery, she decided it would be the perfect cover. With her recommendation, Jewett got a job with the catering company, and Peters got Mary Fields to contract with the produce company. Peters’ affair with Father Damian gave her an alibi and a reason to be at the Monastery late. Colin Jewett confessed that Peters always dressed as a monk, but denied having ever seen the tunnel. By the end of the interview, Jewett’s attorney was asking for a plea bargain.

  Giorgio returned to the station to talk with Swan who reported they had gotten a statement from the cleaning lady who confirmed she had found mud scattered across the floor in Poindexter’s room. She had also removed an empty wine bottle and two used glasses from John Marsh’s room.

  “McCready already told me about the mud in Poindexter’s room,” Giorgio confirmed. “But why don’t you find out who Marsh was entertaining? By the way, where’s McCready? I need to get Grosvner, and I want Poindexter’s address. I think it’s time I pa
id him a visit.”

  Giorgio found McCready in the break room feeding corn nuts to Grosvner. He got Poindexter’s address and then loaded Grosvner into the car. A few minutes later, he was handing off the dog to the kids, grabbing a piece of cold chicken from the refrigerator, giving Angie a kiss on the cheek, and heading for South Pasadena.

  It was a little after five o’clock when he arrived at Cory Poindexter’s Spanish-style apartment building. Poindexter lived in a ground floor unit off an octagonal shaped courtyard planted with broad-leafed greenery and the occasional Hibiscus added for color.

  Giorgio rang the bell and waited for several seconds before a young blonde dressed in a beige slinky dress and heels answered the door. She was of medium height, with large green eyes and a healthy tan.

  “I’m detective Salvatori with the Sierra Madre Police Department. I’d like to speak to Mr. Poindexter.

  “He’s not home from work yet,” she drawled in an exaggerated Southern twang. “It’s about that murder, isn’t it?”

  “I have some questions for him.”

  “Would you like to come in?” She stepped aside, her green eyes mapping his face in a way that made Giorgio uncomfortable.

  “Thank you, Ms.…uh?”

  “Chambers. My name is Sydney Chambers. Cory should be home in a few minutes. We’re going to the theater tonight.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Chambers. It shouldn’t take long.”

  The suffocating smell of cigarette smoke permeated the room, and a new carton of Pall Malls sat on the kitchen counter. While the room was filled with high-end steel-framed leather sectionals and several expensive pieces of artwork, it was clear Cory Poindexter wasn’t much of a housekeeper. A trash container filled with empty beer bottles sat next to the refrigerator while the sink overflowed with dirty dishes. Clothes were tossed carelessly on the floor, and a pair of dirty Nike tennis shoes sat underneath the couch. A pair of women’s bikini underwear hung from one of the bar stools. The girl allowed Giorgio to notice the panties and then coyly lifted them off the stool and folded them in her hands.

  “Did Cory mention anything about the murder that night?” he asked, conscious that she was staring at him. He didn’t figure she could give him anything of note, but occasionally he’d had luck with offhand remarks made by secondary players.

  “No,” she answered in her slow, Southern drawl. “Just that some poor woman had gotten herself strangled.” She played with the lace panties in her hands, slipping her fingers through the leg holes.

  Giorgio’s eyes focused on the Nike shoes. “Mr. Poindexter has boats for feet,” he joked, commenting on the size.

  “Size twelve-something. You know what they say?” She smiled seductively, letting the question hang in the air. When he only smiled, she finally asked, “You’re that actor, aren’t you?”

  She drew the last word out as if she were talking about a baby lamb. The question took Giorgio by surprise.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You were in that play the other night. You played a judge or something.” She leaned over and grabbed a piece of paper off the glass coffee table, thrusting it in his face. It was the program from “Witness for the Prosecution”.

  “Oh, yes,” he faltered. “I was the prosecutor.”

  “You were good,” she said, finally bunching the panties up in her hands. “I didn’t think I’d like that play, but Cory’s boss took us for opening night. He loves the theater and invites Cory all the time. We kind of have to go. How’d that guy get stabbed in the end, anyway? It looked real.”

  This was not the murder Giorgio wished to discuss, but he didn’t know how to get off the subject without being rude.

  “Oh, it’s just a bunch of stage business. If I told you, you’d be disappointed at how simple it was.”

  Just then the door opened and Cory Poindexter walked in dressed in a crisp tan suit and blue silk tie. He carried a slim briefcase and his car keys. His mouth nearly dropped open at seeing Giorgio comfortably situated in his living room talking to his girlfriend.

  “What are you doing here?” He said this more gruffly than he probably intended.

  “I had some questions,” Giorgio replied.

  The young man eyed him before handing his keys to the girl. “Go get the mail.”

  She stuffed the panties between the seat cushions of the sofa and moved obediently toward the door. “He was in that play, Cory. He’s the guy with the wig.” She giggled as she left the room.

  “We’re going out soon. What do you need to know?” He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. “I’d offer you one, but as I said, we’re leaving.” The look on his face implied he enjoyed the opportunity to be rude.

  Giorgio decided to be blunt. “You said you took a walk the night of the murder. Where did you go?”

  “I told you,” he said in between swigs. “Just around the building.”

  “But you stayed close to the building?”

  Giorgio watched him. The man seemed to be calculating his answer but his nervousness showed as he tapped the side of the beer can with his index finger.

  “I stayed on the path. I wasn’t walking around in the flower beds if that’s what you’re getting at. I went for a walk, not a hike.”

  Giorgio wondered if Poindexter had ever competed in sports since he clearly didn’t like losing. He appeared casual, leaning against the counter, but the tightness in his jaw indicated he was anything but relaxed. The two men locked eyes as if in combat until Giorgio broke the silence.

  “You probably weren’t aware that we found a footprint.”

  Giorgio was lying about the footprint, but he thought he might score a point here if his luck held.

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “Yes,” Giorgio began to wander around the apartment, casually looking at the artwork. “It was approximately a size eleven and a half. Maybe twelve.”

  He stopped at the end of the sofa where the tennis shoes sat and turned to catch Poindexter staring down at the shoes. Poindexter looked up with the expression of an angry cur. He pushed himself away from the counter.

  “I didn’t kill that girl, Detective.”

  The tone of his voice warned Giorgio to back off. Giorgio ignored it.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t referring to the murder of that young woman. The footprint was taken out in the vegetable garden…where we found another body. A young man named Jeff Dorman.”

  Poindexter’s facial muscles seemed to freeze in place. He’d been caught off guard and didn’t like the angle.

  “Who’s Jeff Dorman?” he asked tight lipped.

  Giorgio began to circle the living room, making Poindexter rotate to follow him. “Another conference attendee. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Poindexter replied.

  “You were seen talking to him.”

  “I talked to a lot of people. That’s what you do at a conference. It doesn’t mean I knew them all.”

  Giorgio moved to where the ashtray sat on the counter. “Where did you go that night when the man you were walking with went inside?”

  “I stayed outside and had a cigarette. There’s no crime in that.”

  Giorgio lifted one of the cigarette butts out of the ashtray. “I picked up a half smoked Pall Mall near where Mr. Dorman was buried.”

  Poindexter stepped in and grabbed the ashtray, throwing the whole thing into the nearby trashcan. “It’s a common brand.”

  Giorgio looked directly at Poindexter. “I suppose.” He let his hand drop and deftly dropped the butt into his pocket.

  Poindexter moved in close. “Detective, if you want to arrest somebody you should talk with the people who were outside that night.”

  Giorgio brightened up. “Who would that be?”

  “There was a monk hidden up in the trees having a cigarette.”

  “How do you know it was a monk?”

  “Because he was wearing robes. It was just before I went back
inside.” He paused as if figuring out the details. “I came down…I mean around the northeast corner of the building and saw a flash of light. I looked up and could just barely see a monk standing under that large oak tree.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so,” he faltered, moving away from Giorgio.

  “What about the person you said you saw from the window upstairs?”

  “It was just a shadow moving in the direction of the west parking lot.” This comment was made with confidence, making Giorgio believe he may have, in fact, seen someone.

  “Was it another monk?”

  “I don’t know,” he snapped. “I just saw a figure in the dark. Now, if you don’t mind, Detective.”

  Poindexter started toward the door, but Giorgio felt like driving the needle in more deeply to see if he might yet hit a nerve.

  “You know we found mud all over the floor in your room.”

  Poindexter stopped and turned, his face revealing a low level of fear.

  “We shouldn’t have any trouble matching it to the gardens because of the high clay content.” Giorgio began to move towards the door as if ready to leave. “Vegetable gardens also use insecticides and fertilizers. Shouldn’t be hard to see if that’s where the mud in your room came from.”

  “I told you I took a walk,” Poindexter scowled. “Perhaps I stepped off the path into a flower bed.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket. When he noticed the Pall Mall brand name he quickly put them back.

  “But you just said that you didn’t step into any flower beds.”

  “I said I couldn’t remember!” he nearly shouted. He pointed a finger at Giorgio’s chest. “Listen, Detective, you ought to be out running down real clues and not over here harassing me about dirty shoes.”