MASS MURDER

by Lynn Bohart

Slowly, Giorgio got up and sidestepped into position as Frances reached into his pocket and removed a match. With a flick of his thumb, the match flared to life. Giorgio felt the blood drain away as he realized he was about to face death by fire for the second time in just a few days.

  “You’re my diversion, Detective,” he smiled wickedly.

  Frances raised his hand ready to toss the match when a large shadow lunged at him from behind, grabbing his arm. Frances emitted a sharp cry as the match flew safely onto the floor behind him. He lurched sideways, twisting and turning, dragging something heavy with him. Giorgio ran for the bucket while Frances swung around trying desperately to dislodge the monster attached to his wrist. Giorgio retrieved Frances’ weapon and turned, ready to fire, but Grosvner kept getting in the way. As Frances swung from side to side, Grosvner swung with him.

  Frances finally stopped, bringing up the hand holding the gun, pointing it straight at Grosvner’s head. Giorgio steadied his hand and took a shot. He hit the young monk in the left shoulder again, this time blowing out the rotator cuff and splattering blood and bone fragments across the wall. Frances spun around, slamming against the new window supports, cracking the top boards. Grosvner had been dislodged but stood squarely in front of Frances now, barking at him.

  “Drop your gun, very slowly,” Giorgio ordered him.

  Frances’ face registered excruciating pain, and yet he raised the gun just enough to point it directly at the dog.

  “You can kill me, but I just might get your dog first.”

  Loud shouts drifted up from the grounds below. The police had heard the shots and were trying to get into the tower.

  “Put your gun down, Detective.”

  The monk’s eyes said it all. He would kill Grosvner even if it meant losing his own life. And he would enjoy doing it. Giorgio had to make a choice, and the thought made him sick to his stomach. He was about to lower his gun, when Frances’ gaze shifted suddenly. His eyes grew wide and his face distorted into a look of abject horror.

  “What? No!” he screamed.

  He raised his gun with a fierce cry of pain and fired wildly at something behind Giorgio. Giorgio ducked as the bullets whizzed past him. He raised his own gun and fired twice, hitting Frances in the chest. Frances was thrown backwards into the window frame. The boards gave way with a sickening crack, and the young monk fell away from the building in an awkward arc.

  Then, suddenly, all went quiet.

  With the threat gone, Grosvner lumbered over to Giorgio as if asking for forgiveness. Giorgio reached out and gave him a hug.

  “Good boy, Grosvner,” he said. “Good boy.”

  With a deep sigh, Giorgio went to the window to look over the edge where things were eerily silent. Three squad cars stood head to toe along the driveway with their lights flashing. Monks and officers stared speechless at the iron priest. Giorgio followed their gaze to where Father Frances had been speared like a fish on the raised sword in the priest’s hand.

  When a sudden cold chill swept over him, Giorgio turned to find the boy standing about five feet behind him. This time, the boy showed the hint of a smile. Giorgio was just about to say thank you when a second image materialized next to the boy. It was the misty outline of a tall monk. Father Wingate. The monk appeared to place a languid arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders as if he owned him. The boy tried to pull away, but the monk held him tight. They stood together in a strained tableau before the monk forcibly turned the boy away.

  Giorgio flinched forward, but Christian Maynard and Father Wingate de-materialized before his eyes. A moment later, Rocky appeared in the doorway, listing to one side.

  “Looks like I missed the theatrics,” he said weakly.

  Giorgio glanced at his brother, but once again, he wasn’t referring to the ghostly images. Giorgio looked back at the gruesome scene below where Mulhaney was already shooting pictures of the dead Father Frances.

  “Yeah, well, looks like Frances won’t be taking a curtain call.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Giorgio and the family were just arriving home from church when Swan pulled up to the curb.

  While Giorgio had taken the last couple of weeks off to be with Angie, Swan had put the final

  pieces of the investigation together. The look on Angie’s face as Swan ambled up the drive though, made Swan raise his hands in surrender.

  “I’m only here to make a report.”

  “Then why don’t you come in?” she said with a skeptical smile.

  Grosvner greeted them all at the door, bristling with enthusiasm. After a lick here and a lick there, he followed the kids upstairs. Giorgio and Swan disappeared into the living room while Angie headed for the kitchen.

  “How’s Angie?”

  “She’s doing okay,” Giorgio answered. “We’re all taking it slow. I’ve had to help out around the house a bit.” He gave a shrug as if vacuuming and doing the laundry were no big deal. “The kids have been great though, and I’ve even become a little fond of Mrs. Greenspan.”

  Swan laughed as he planted himself on the sofa. Giorgio took his favorite chair.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Good,” Giorgio replied, flexing his right hand. “Good enough that Angie ignored me last night when I tried to use it as an excuse to get out of doing the dishes.” They both chuckled. “So, anything new on the case?”

  “A couple of things. Apparently Dorman was part of Anya Peters’ scheme. Dorman had the same job as Colin Jewett at another catering company, meaning he’d take a regular break during the event to pass off the drugs and collect the payment. But he was starting to cause trouble. He wanted more money and more control over the operation. Peters decided it was time for him to go and got him to enroll in the conference on the pretense he was going to pick up another drop.”

  “And Poindexter was hired to get rid of him?”

  “Not exactly. Poindexter is her brother.”

  Giorgio’s eyes opened wide. “Hell, I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Poindexter is the shipping manager for the produce company,” Swan continued. “He handled all the scheduling. It’s a big company and they have satellites all over the basin, including one only a few miles from the Mexican border. The drugs would be shipped north hidden in boxes of lettuce. Poindexter was in a perfect position to orchestrate the drops without raising suspicion.”

  “What about Father Frances? Or should I say, Danny Marino?”

  “We did some checking on both him and Jack Brye, that guy you pointed out in the college yearbook. Brye actually was a priest…”

  “And Marino killed him in order to take his identity,” Giorgio interrupted him.

  Swan threw up his hands in supplication. “Why do I even bother?”

  “I ask myself that all the time,” Angie interjected, entering with a tray of cheese and crackers.

  Angie put the tray onto the ottoman just as Rocky came through the front door with a bunch of flowers. He sauntered into the living room, gave the flowers to Angie, gave her a peck on the cheek, and swiped a hunk of cheese off the tray all in one movement.

  “Thank you, Rocky,” Angie smiled, taking the bouquet.

  “He only wants to stay for dinner,” Giorgio sneered.

  Angie disappeared into the hallway chuckling as Grosvner came lumbering down the stairs. He made a beeline for Rocky who stooped down to pet him.

  “So, what else did you get?”

  “We contacted your old department in New York. Some guy named Frank Mangano was murdered there about seven months ago. According to the street, Mangano murdered Marino’s father when he was just a kid. Looks like fifteen years later, son takes revenge. The police arrested a guy named Jacko Galiano who fingered Marino as the shooter. But Marino had already been killed in a car accident the night before Mangano was killed. So the case was closed.”

  “Wonder how they managed that sleight of hand.” Giorgio leaned forward to grab a cracker.

  “Frances said
something that night just before he went over the edge. He said if he didn’t get

  away, or die in the process, his uncle would kill him.”

  “Marino’s uncle announced his intention to run for Mayor just last month. I suppose if his nephew had been arrested for Mangano’s murder, it would have derailed any chance he had of winning.”

  Grosvner had rolled over now to let Rocky rub his stomach. “Obviously they staged the kid’s death,” Rocky added. “Then the uncle exiled him.”

  “That’s what we think,” Swan agreed. “We can’t prove it, and of course the uncle denies any connection to Mangano’s murder or his nephew’s disappearance. But the kid’s mother says that her son disappeared the same day Mangano was murdered. The family told her he drove his car off a cliff the night before, even produced a charred body. But she said the next day someone came and picked up some of his belongings.”

  “Where did the name Frances come from?”

  “His mother’s name is Frances. I suppose it was a familiar name. And, as you suspected, Brye was in the same class with Mallery Olsen and Marino. In fact, the three of them hung out together. Brye was a quiet kid, good student, studied a lot, and finally went into the church. The two men looked enough alike to switch places occasionally when it was convenient. Back then, Brye just put on a dark wig and added glasses.”

  “Just the opposite of what Marino did this time,” Giorgio added.

  “I guess that’s what got her killed,” Rocky speculated out loud, wiping crumbs from his lower lip. “Olsen probably saw him at the monastery and thought he was Brye. Then, on closer inspection, she realized it was Marino in disguise, or something like that.”

  Angie appeared again with several cold beers. Swan thanked her, popped his can open and then grabbed a chunk of cheese as Angie left again.

  “We also have a better idea of when Olsen was murdered,” Swan said. “Father Rosario finally remembered seeing Frances slip out of the five o’clock Mass. He assumed he was going to the restroom, but admits he didn’t see him return.”

  Rocky reached for more food. “Do we know what happened to Brye?”

  “The last time we can confirm anyone seeing him was two weeks before he was scheduled to come to the monastery. He told a neighbor that a college friend was coming for a visit the next day. The San Francisco police are looking into it.”

  “Some friend,” Giorgio mumbled.

  “McCready also found out that O’Leary was actually Christian Maynard’s roommate when Father Wingate was killed.”

  “Bingo,” Rocky blurted, spitting out a spray of cheese and crackers. “He showed Frances the secret door. That’s gotta be what got him killed.”

  “By the way, we found the suave Father Daniel,” Swan said. “He’s living with an old girlfriend. Apparently, he decided the monastic life wasn’t for him.”

  Angie reentered with a vase filled with Rocky’s flowers, and the men fell silent. She placed the vase on the desk and turned to them.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” she quipped.

  Giorgio was about to say something just as the doorbell rang. Rocky grabbed Grosvner as Angie left to get the door.

  “By the way,” Rocky began, “what are you going to do about Grosvner?”

  “We found an animal psychologist.”

  Swan chortled out loud.

  “I’m not kidding. Matilda has already spent two sessions with him and thinks he’ll be just fine.”

  Voices in the hallway interrupted them, and Elvira Applebaum entered the room with Angie close behind. She was dressed in brown slacks and a tan sweater. Her face was a little pale, but she had a cheerful smile.

  “Ms. Applebaum, it’s nice to see you again,” Giorgio said, standing up and extending his hand. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “It’s no trouble, Detective. I’m glad to help if I can.”

  Everyone remained silent while all eyes shifted to Angie. She seemed to sense the awkwardness and stepped forward.

  “Won’t you sit down, Ms. Applebaum. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Oh, no. I just had a late breakfast. I was hoping we could look around the house.”

  Angie’s eyes grew wide. “Look around the house? What for?”

  Elvira Applebaum turned to Giorgio. In fact, the whole room turned their focus on him. He moved over to take one of Angie’s hands just as the children came bounding down the stairs. They skidded to a halt in the hallway as if knowing something big was about to happen. Angie looked at her husband, the furrow already deepening in her brow.

  “What’s this all about, Joe? We’re not selling the house are we?”

  Her lip began to quiver and Giorgio knew he had to act fast.

  “No. We’re not selling the house. Ms. Applebaum runs a consortium of day care centers.”

  The crease between Angie’s eyebrows deepened. “What?”

  “She wants to talk to you about running a day care.”

  He said it quickly and then held his breath. He hadn’t dared say a word to Angie until he’d worked out some of the details, but he’d been thinking about it for weeks.

  Angie just stared at him without blinking. Then she turned to look at Elvira Applebaum and then at the children. A moment later, the tears began to flow. Her hands flew to her face and her slender shoulders shook. Giorgio panicked.

  “You don’t have to, Angie,” Giorgio put his hands on her shoulders. “It was just an idea. I thought you’d like it. I wanted to make you happy. Angie, stop. Please.”

  Everyone else in the room stood as still as statues. Finally, Angie let her hands drop, and she turned back to her husband, her face flushed and wet with tears.

  “Oh, Joe, I think it’s a wonderful idea!” Her face was alive with a light that had been missing for weeks. “Thank you, Joe. Thank you so much.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. The tension broke and everyone smiled. Rocky even patted Swan on the shoulder as if they’d just delivered a baby together.

  “Your husband said you were a teacher once,” Ms. Applebaum said in the background.

  Angie turned, wiping her eyes. “Yes. I taught second grade. I miss it terribly.”

  “Well, having a house full of children should fix that.”

  Giorgio thought for sure he saw the glint of a halo above Elvira Applebaum’s head.

  “Shall we take a look around? We’ll need to do a formal inspection later, but let’s just talk it through to see first if the house will work.”

  Angie threw a last, grateful look at her husband and then led Elvira Applebaum into the hallway. “I’ll show you the kitchen first,” she said as they disappeared.

  The children followed with Grosvner not far behind. All three men stood immobile as if holding their breath. Finally, Giorgio turned to them and let out a deep sigh.

  “That was close.”

  “Yes, big brother. You finally pulled one off. Good job.”

  “Listen, I gotta go,” Swan cut in. He grabbed a last piece of cheese and started towards the hallway.

  “Wait.” Giorgio stopped him. “How’s Father Damian?”

  “He’s been relocated again. And, I’m told they plan to tear down the entire west wing of the monastery.”

  Giorgio stopped short. “What?”

  Swan stood in the entryway with his hand resting on the doorknob, his mouth curved into a sly expression.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, draining the beer before handing the empty can to Giorgio. “The Bishop said you took him up to see that room with the shackles. It was all the ammunition he needed. When did you slip away to do that?”

  Giorgio shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Anyway,” Swan continued, “the whole west wing and the tower will go. He wants to erase the past as quickly as possible. The other tunnels within the main building will be filled in and sealed for good.”

  Giorgio kept his thoughts to himself, but the vision of Father Wingate and Christian Ma
ynard had crept into his dreams for the past several weeks. Perhaps with the building gone, Christian Maynard would be free to rest in peace.

  “I’d like to be there when they send in the wrecking ball,” Giorgio muttered to himself.

  “By the way, Rocky, you know there’s an opening in the department,” Swan offered. “Samson took a job in San Diego. The Captain mentioned your name. You interested?”

  Rocky stole a quick glance at Giorgio who only lifted his eyebrows. “Can they give me a couple of weeks? I have to finish something first.”

  “Don’t see why not. I’ll tell the Captain.”

  Angie and Elvira Applebaum came in from the backyard just as the phone rang. Giorgio picked up the extension next to the staircase.

  “Hey, Wally,” he greeted a friend from the theater. “Yes, thanks, we’re doing fine. Yes, the investigation is over. What’s that? Yes, I should have some time. When do rehearsals start? Okay, get me a script and let me take a look. Thanks again.” He turned to his waiting audience with a broad grin.

  “I’ve seen that look before,” Rocky quipped.

  “So have I,” Angie agreed. “What is it this time? A musical?” Her brown eyes danced.

  “No,” he said, filling his chest like a balloon. “Arsenic and Old Lace. They want me to play Teddy Roosevelt.”

  Everyone groaned in unison, but Giorgio ignored them and grabbed the banister with a flourish, swung himself around to the lower landing and ran full speed up the stairs yelling, “Chaaaarge!!!”

  When the bedroom door slammed shut, Prince Albert’s visor shut with a bang giving Grosvner a reason to throw back his head to indulge in a good howl.

  Read the first chapter in my next paranormal mystery novel.

  GRAVE DOUBTS

  By

  Lynn Bohart

  CHAPTER ONE

  The hawk rested quietly on the branch of an old oak, gazing imperiously down on the gravesite below. Fresh graves produced tender morsels of food, and the hawk, with its keen eyesight and superior reflexes, would wait patiently until dinner poked its head above ground.

  But the hawk’s vigil was interrupted as a lone, dark car pulled up to the cemetery entrance. The predator’s eyes rotated in their sockets like small, opaque marbles as they fixed a steady gaze in the direction of the intruder. The car wound its way up the hill, past the mausoleum, past the bank of rose bushes, and past the small sign that led to the new burial site. It crested the hill and turned smoothly onto the service road that ran along the top of the cemetery, its tires rolling and popping across the gravel. Finally, the car stopped behind a bank of trees and large bushes. The driver’s side door opened and a dark figure emerged and quickly crossed the road to slip into the bushes that overlooked the grave. There the figure waited, peering through thick foliage at the gravesite below.