Sable Alley

by Bridget Bundy

  She’s in the break room, sitting in the middle of the sofa, staring out into the late morning sunlight. A community support officer is with her, but he’s standing at the door. I go over to the vending machine and buy a bottle of water and a sandwich.

  “Hi, Erin.”

  “Hello. Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Seeing she has difficulty raising her arms, I place the water and sandwich in her hands.

  “Are you comfortable?” I sit next to her and turn on the IET recorder.

  “I’m okay for now. The cops have treated me with kindness. I’m surprised actually.”

  “They’re not all bad guys. I was wondering if you and I can talk about Ruby and Finley.”

  “You make it sound like they’re a couple.”

  “Are they?”

  “No, I’m the only one who has Finley’s heart,” she answers lightly. “But they were great friends. I consider myself lucky to have them both.” She sighs. “I can’t believe Ruby is gone, just like that. She was an angel. I will miss her so much.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Erin, and I’m trying to find the person that killed her. Any questions you can answer would be helpful.”

  “Ask whatever you want, Detective. If I know the answer, I’ll tell you.”

  “Thank you, Erin. How well did Ruby get along with Finley? Were there ever any arguments or disagreements?”

  “They didn’t argue. They were friends. Ruby knew him before I knew him. She introduced him to me.”

  “Did they ever date?”

  “No, never. That would be tasteless.”

  “Sorry, I meant no harm. Just making sure I’m not missing anything. How did they meet?”

  “Her job at Bensington Construction. He would stop by, beg for money and food from the guys there. Ruby, always compassionate, helped him whenever she could. She was the one who got him a job. She couldn’t get him in at Bensington, but she knew of another company that was hiring. She made a phone call, and within a day he had a job.”

  “Was the other company called Hunt Projects?”

  “Yes. He had the job for a little while but got into an accident. They fired him. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I heard about that. Did Ruby make him get another job, or did she help him again?”

  “Finley is too sick to work. If you ask him about his health, he’ll deny it, pretend like he’s more fit than the Queen herself. But Finley is in bad shape. One day, he won’t recover. He knows it, and I know it.” Erin waves as she’s throwing the subject away. “We all die, right? One way or another, we all return to the dust.”

  “Going back to Ruby.” I move on, not wanting Erin to be lost in mourning. “Do you know if she had any enemies?”

  “Ruby was just a normal girl. She worked. She had friends. I don’t get out much, so I don’t know what people say about her if they say anything at all. I never heard her talking about having problems with anyone. She seemed to be okay and in good spirits most of the time.”

  “She had a heavy burden, taking care of you and Finley. She never showed any resentment?”

  “My sister’s love and loyalty are unquestionable. She doesn’t know resentment.”

  “What was going on in Ruby’s life? She appeared to have a regular week, Monday through Thursday, working from nine to three. I presume she went to church on Sundays. What else did she do with her time?”

  “She was going to the university.”

  “Where?” I’m trying to recall if I saw that on Ruby’s profile, but I don’t even remember seeing it.

  “I have no idea. There are only two schools in Exeter. Shouldn't be that hard to find out.”

  “College is costly. How could she afford it?”

  “Ruby didn’t talk about it, and I didn’t think to ask.”

  “How often did she go to classes?”

  “Every day after work and on Fridays.”

  “How was she doing with her studies?”

  “Top grades,” Erin answers proudly.

  “Did Ruby ever talk about the people she met there or her professors?”

  “No. I’m ashamed.”

  “Why?” I ask curiously.

  “You’re asking all these questions about my sister. I have no idea what she was studying, or how she was able to go to school in the first place. I guess I didn’t know her at all.”

  “You did. You just had a lot going on, that’s all. Did she tell you her plans after graduation?”

  “I know she was going to move out. She was always looking in the papers for apartments.”

  “And where did you and Finley fit in?”

  “Whatever her plans were, we were going to stay put.”

  “Why?”

  “I always thought I was a burden to Ruby. Both of us were burdens. I wanted her to get on her feet without having to worry about us. She deserved to succeed, and we would have been a drain. She would have no chance with us on her hip.”

  “Did you tell her that you weren’t going anywhere once she decided to move?”

  “We never got that far.” Erin wipes at her wet cheeks and blows out. “The good people are the ones who are taken, and she was the best. God, I’m never going to get over this.”

  “Give yourself time.”

  “That’s the thing, Detective Kipling. I don’t have time. My days are numbered. I’m sick too. My body is destroying itself.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong?”

  “I have to see a specialist, and that’s never going to happen. I think my blood is poison. I hurt all over. Sometimes the pain is so overwhelming. I just want to die. I’m convinced it’s the only relief. I’m okay with death. I’ve been ready for a long time.”

  The subject is uncomfortable. I clear my throat and remark, “One more thing, Erin. On Sunday, Ruby went to Mass. Do you remember if she told you where she was going afterward? Or does she have a place she routinely visits after church?”

  “She might have gone to see her friends, Harrison and Molly. Other than work and school, there’s no other place she would go.”

  “Did she mention going to a party?”

  “No.”

  “And she wasn’t wearing a ballgown when she left home?” I know the question is a stretch. Who wears ballgowns on Sunday mornings? I had to ask.

  “No, I think we would have noticed.”

  “Okay, I think that’s it. Sit tight. If you need anything, let the officer know, and he’ll come and find me.”

  “How long will I have to be here?”

  “Hopefully, not long.”

  On the way to my desk, I check the IET to ensure I stopped the recording. I discover there are new entries in the evidence file. Finley and Erin’s handwritings didn’t match. I head directly to the interrogation room. Finley is uncuffed and has his elbows on the table. CSO Clarke is leaning against the wall watching him.

  “They’re free to go,” I tell him. “Take them home, please.”

  “No problem.” CSO Clarke gets on his radio to contact the officer in the breakroom while assisting Finley to his feet.

  Finley thanks me. I give a nod of assurance and head back to my desk.

  I let out an air of frustration and relief. The handwritings didn’t match. I don’t want Erin and Finley to go to jail, but I’m not happy because a lead didn’t pan out. Also, I’m bugging out about the woman who accused me of sleeping with her husband. Some of the detectives are side-eyeing me, which irritates me even more, and I’m forgetting something. It’s important.

  Damn it!

  I can’t take it. My plate overflows. The judgment by the detectives is driving me insane. I’ve had it all of my life, and I really, really don’t need it right now.

  “Why is everyone looking at me?” I ask the room. “I didn’t ruin anyone’s marriage, okay? But I’m sure one or two of you have.”

  Detectives face their desk. The tension fades. A phone rings, giving someone an out from the odd silence. Yeah, I hit a nerve. Probably shouldn’
t have said what I said, but cops are judgmental. It’d be different if I actually slept with the woman’s husband, but I didn’t. I’m not going to let the gavel come down, sentencing me to shame. No way.

  Chapter Fourteen.

  Robinson is at home for lunch, and I’m at the Sacred Heart Church. Finley and Erin stated this is where Ruby Taylor went after she left home on Sunday.

  The multi-steeple building with its dark, dusty stone and stain glass windows make it the centerpiece of the rundown neighborhood. Inside is a silent reverence by the small number in attendance. Prayers lift as heads are bowed. Tears fall as eyes look up to Jesus hanging on the cross. I used to go to church with Mum and Dad. They tried their best to instill the teachings of the Catholic Church. I’ve never felt close to the pomp and ceremony, but I would never downplay its importance. Mum is an occasional Catholic, whenever she needs a favor from God, and Dad is a wholehearted believer. He goes to confessions, and he usually prays before eating a meal, though he’s been known to forget. I believe in something different. The great teachings of my people were instilled in me from my biological parents. My religion is more of an awakening and acceptance, more so than a constant chastising and redemption of the soul.

  A priest is placing Bibles in storage baskets behind the first pew. He seems to be lost in his thoughts, mindlessly doing a task he’s probably done a million times.

  “Excuse me?” I whisper from the aisle.

  He smiles big, as if he’d been waiting for me to rescue him from his work. “Yes, welcome to Sacred Heart Catholic Church. How may I help you?”

  “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “No, not at all.” He stands before me now, fingers intertwined. “What brings you here today?”

  “I’m Detective Constable Victoria Kipling with District Three Police Department.” I show my badge.

  His jovial facial expression changes to confusion. “You’re a police officer?”

  “Yes, Father.” I’m amused by his surprised reaction.

  “Oh, alright,” he says. I’m guessing he’s at a loss for words.

  “I’m here about Ruby Taylor. Do you know her?”

  He stares at me for a moment before answering, “I’m sorry. Forgive me for internally stereotyping you.”

  I understand where he’s coming from and remark, “You’re human, Father. It’s quite alright. No harm done. Ruby Taylor? Do you know her?”

  “No, unfortunately, with so many attending our services and with me being new to this parish, I don’t know her. But I heard she passed away. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is, Father.”

  “So sad,” he says with a shake of his head. “I wish I could reach out to her family, let them know Sacred Heart is here in their time of mourning. Unfortunately, I don’t know where they live.”

  “I can give you their address.”

  “Would you? That would be a blessing.”

  I take out a small notepad and pen. He watches as I quickly write down the information. He thanks me when I hand him the sheet of paper.

  “I should go see them right now. The loss they must feel. Do you think they’re home?”

  “Yes, but Father, before you go, is there someone else here who might have known her?”

  “Father Butler may be able to help you. His office is through that entrance. He has an open door policy, so you can walk right in.”

  “Thank you, and I’m sorry what was your name again?”

  “Pastor Murray.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “Oh, no, thank you, Detective.”

  Pastor Murray eagerly heads to the front entrance, and I enter the back halls of the cathedral. Doors are closed, except for one. On the wall beside the entrance is a piece of wood hanging crooked with the name of Father Luca Butler. He’s watering potted plants on a windowsill. His back is facing the entrance. I knock softly, trying not to scare him. Father Butler glances over his shoulder. When he sees me, he places the pitcher on the floor.

  “Hello. How may I help you?” Father Butler wears the white collar and the black clothes. In any other setting, with his brown hair and brown eyes, I would think he was an ordinary guy.

  Showing my badge, I introduce myself.

  “I’m Father Butler. Nice to meet you, Detective.”

  “Do you have time to talk to me about Ruby Taylor?”

  “Certainly,” he says, offering a seat. “Please.”

  “Thank you. I have to inform you that I have to record our conversation.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I glance around as I enter the room. The space is large with minimal furniture and plenty of plants. It’s like he has a jungle in his office. I take the chair and set up the IET to record.

  “Were you expecting shelves full of books?” Father Butler asks.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Were you expecting shelves full of books? You were looking at the plants.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “But you’re surprised?”

  “I am,” I reply. “Why so many?”

  “It’s therapeutic. Some of these plants used to belong to my grandmother before she died. I’ve added many more throughout the years.” He shifts a small pot of violets on his desk. “I supposed you didn’t come by to talk about my plant collection.”

  “No, Father, I did not.”

  “Are you a Catholic?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “What is your religion? Sorry, if I’m prying.”

  “You ask the question because of my ethnicity?”

  “Admittedly, yes. It’s not very often I meet Native Indians. Whenever I do, I’m interested in knowing about their religious practices.”

  I accept his sincere curiosity and reply, “From what I can remember from my teachings when I was a child, my tribe’s religion was the connection of all life on this earth. There wasn’t a single name for it. It never had a label. Our belief was what we based our life on. Everything was connected, from the grass to the stars in the sky, and we never took advantage of the gifts the Earth gave us.”

  “Do you practice this religion daily?”

  “No, it’s kind of hard. I’ve lost a lot of that knowledge living here.”

  “It makes you sad to talk about your past.”

  “Sometimes,” I reply with a smile. I hope it hides the pain. “I’m not trying to be rude, Father, but I didn’t come by to talk about me.”

  “I suppose you didn’t.”

  “Ruby Taylor? She was murdered.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “She was a Catholic and part of this church.”

  “But did you know her?”

  “Not personally, but she worshipped with us faithfully every Sunday.”

  “Was she here this last Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she with anyone?”

  “She could have been, but I didn’t notice. The church was full.”

  “How often did she go to confession?”

  “Whenever she wanted. It’s like that for many people. They come when they feel the need.”

  “Can you tell me some of the things she talked about with you?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “Ruby is dead, Father. I don’t think it matters.”

  “Her confessions will always remain confidential,” he says firmly. “The people that come here trust that I will keep their admissions. If they find out I’m talking to the police, I will lose many in my parish.”

  “What if she told you something that has to do with her murder?”

  “Detective Kipling, how long have you been a police officer?”

  “I’ve been with the police for four years, and I just became a detective constable…” Embarrassed, I finally say, “yesterday.”

  “Ah,” he says with a nod. “I see.”

  “I’m trying to solve this case.”

  �
��And I’m trying to keep the confidence of the members. I will not tell you her confessions, and neither will any other priest. We cannot be compelled. The law forbids.”

  “Is there something you can tell me that she didn’t tell you in confession?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the only time we talked.”

  “After church on Sunday, did she leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume, she didn’t tell you where she was going.”

  “And I didn’t ask.”

  “Did Ruby come back at any time that day?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, thank you for your time, Father Butler. That’s all I have for right now.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I stand to leave, but he clears this throat, regaining my attention. “You know, Detective Kipling, we do welcome those who are searching for a new home.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I haven’t been looking.”

  “When you do, think of Sacred Heart. We welcome everyone.”

  I nod as a reply and rush out of the church.

  Chapter Fifteen.

  “You need to get a different ride.” CSO Clarke is outside the church, leaning against the shot up door of my car with his arms crossed.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I called Robinson.”

  “Why didn’t you call me instead?”

  “I did. You’re not answering your IET.”

  I check the device. I’ve missed three calls. I turn on the ringer and drop the device back in my bag.

  “I didn’t realize it,” I reply. “Sorry about that. So, what’s going on?”

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I have to work, but I am hungry.”

  “It won’t take long to eat. Plus, food is the energy of police gods, such as yourself. My treat.”

  “Do I get to choose?”

  “Sure, but we’re not taking your car. I can’t be seen in it. That thing should be put out of its misery or left at the bottom of the River Rydal.”

  We get into his marked unit. I tell him to take me to the Chinese restaurant across the street from the citizen auditor’s office in District One.

  Parking spots along Stovell Road are filled. We find a place to park two blocks down.