by G. C. Harmon
After a week away from the job, Steve was getting restless. He’d been given no time frame as to how long their paid leave would last.
Steve got up. The window was open, letting in the chill of mid-March. He didn’t shiver, in fact, he liked the cold. He wandered out to his living room and kitchen to start something for breakfast. He turned on the TV, just in time for the last session of local news at seven-thirty. He let it play in the background as he fished in his refrigerator for breakfast. He found a package of frozen sausages and pulled them out, then pulled a plate from a cupboard.
The words of the newscaster caught his ear. “…San Francisco Police have a mystery on their hands. Late last night, Officers were summoned to St. Dominic’s Cathedral in the Western Addition for reports of gunshots, possibly coming from inside the church. Now Police are investigating reports that a priest who worked in the church is missing. We’ll keep you updated on this bizarre story. In other news, after a week of being closed to the public because of the intensive Police investigation, Civic Center Plaza is once again set to reopen to the public…”
Steve tore his eyes away from the TV as his cell phone beeped. He’d placed it nearby on his kitchen counter and grabbed it. The name on the screen was a familiar one, Captain Stanson, and he opened the call. “St. Dominic’s?”
“You heard?” Stanson asked him.
“Just saw it on the news. I take it our leave is over?”
“Yeah. Get your team down here. This is a strange one, and it may take some sensitivity on our part.”
Steve knew what that meant. In light that the scene involved the Catholic Church, he would be playing politics to somehow investigate the incident with all the church’s scandals, and not alienate the staff and even the congregation in the process. He ended the call and carried on his morning with a newer sense of urgency, but he still took the time to cook and eat a quick breakfast. During his meal, he sent a mass text to the four members of his team: We’re back on. He sent the address for their crime scene and got himself ready to go.
It was a short drive from his apartment, across the Western Addition, to where the towers of the cathedral looked out over the southern half of the city. He found a handful of SFPD patrol cruisers parked in front of the church. Because there had been shooting, patrol had set up a perimeter, and yellow crime scene tape was stretched along the entire front of the cathedral. The tape appeared to turn the corner and encompass the side of the building as well.
Steve parked across the street and stepped out. He was dressed a little more casually than a typical Homicide Inspector—he’d always hated wearing suits. He wore faded jeans and a polo short covered by a dark jacket to guard against the March cold and hide his shoulder holster. He’d hooked his badge to a chain around his neck. He marched across the street toward the first uniform he saw.
However, halfway there, he steered another direction, down closer to the corner. Two more uniforms were stationed on the perimeter, one of which was Suzy Wolf. “Morning, guys,” Steve greeted them, eyeing a half dozen lookie-loos just beyond the yellow tape. Not an unruly crowd. “Officer Wolf, do you mind if I borrow you for a moment?”
She suppressed a knowing smile and glanced at her partner, Officer Towne. He turned away to hide his own knowing grin, and Suzy broke away.
When they were a short distance away, Steve said, “This is killing me, you know that, right?”
“You’re not the only one,” Suzy said quietly. “Graveyard is not easy to get used to. I’m supposed to be off right about now. Instead, I’m stuck on the perimeter until day shift can get here.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a sympathetic smile. He wanted so much to lean in and give her a comforting kiss, but they were on duty, and trying not to flaunt their relationship too much.
He looked behind her back out to the street as he recognized two vehicles arriving. “My guys are here. I better get inside.” He squeezed her arm, and she did the same.
Suzy returned to her partner. Steve saw several members of his team, known as Special Forces, ducking under crime scene tape nearby. Scot Black had met up with Brian Snow and A.J. Miano, who had ridden in together.
Steve nodded as they approached him. “Any sign of Castillo?” Steve asked. The question was indirectly asked of A.J. Miano. Over the past few months working with this group, he’d seen those two quickly become best friends. The others shook their heads. Steve nodded toward the cathedral. “Come on, let’s go see who’s in charge.”
The towers of the cathedral stretched to the sky above them. On this side of the building, a large wooden door stood open at the top of a set of concrete steps. Steve recognized the uniformed officer stationed at the door as a senior man, Officer Norris. They’d worked together extensively when Blazer was in uniform himself. “Norris,” Steve said as he led the team up the steps, “if they’ve got you working the crime scene log, is this an actual crime scene? The priest is still missing, isn’t he?”
“What’s up, Blazer? I just do what I’m told. They do have some CSIs inside, but they haven’t started any actual investigation yet. Might be the sensitive nature of the case, but they may also be waiting for the stars of the show.” The implication was that Blazer and Special Forces were the featured players.
Steve shook his head. “Hardly.”
Norris raised the tablet computer he was carrying and added the names of the Special Forces unit to his log.
Steve led his men inside. Immediately he marveled at the splendor of the cathedral. The main hall, the Nave, was lined with wooden benches. Thick stone pillars marked the edge of the Nave and the aisles on the outside. Parishioners were currently being kept out of the building entirely. He spotted Captain Stanson at the opposite rear corner of the Nave. He was holding court with a couple of Homicide Inspectors, Steve’s former colleagues. He recognized his former partner, Saul Avery, as well as Lieutenant Chad Wilsher, the commander of the Homicide Squad. Also with them were two others wearing SFPD Polo shorts that identified them as Crime Scene Investigators.
Beyond them, he saw another group clustered at the front of the Nave, near the crossing. He saw two clergy men standing, talking with a uniformed officer. Steve had a brief flash of a football game, with the two teams engaged in a huddle, until the next play where one team would try to move the ball downfield. He hoped that the investigation of this case would not turn out so adversarial.
When Stanson saw them, he motioned Steve toward their huddle. As the team reached them, Steve clapped Inspector Avery on the back, and gave Wilsher a quick handshake.
“I’ve asked Special Forces to join this investigation on an interim basis, at least until we have a better idea what we’re dealing with. This has the potential to be a very sensitive case, and we will need to conduct ourselves accordingly. Special Forces and Homicide will work together, but for now I want Special Forces to take the lead. You should all know, I am in the process of preparing search warrants for any areas we may need access to, in case the church hierarchy decide to not cooperate. Before CSI gets started, Blazer, let’s you and I go talk with the man in charge.”
As Steve listened, he noticed Dave Castillo, the last member of his team, arriving. He joined the group, as if trying to sneak in the back. They exchanged a look, and Dave conveyed a shrugged apology.
Stanson stepped away and Steve went with him. Before they went to speak with the priests, Steve asked, “So what do we know so far?”
“A priest, Father Fitzhugh, was allegedly hearing a confession, which is where we believe he was attacked. The Bishop told uniforms that he woke to gunshots, and he has since found several bullet scars. That Priest is now missing. We’re going to find him.”
“Hopefully we won’t find a body instead.”
“Perish the thought.” They approached the two Priests. One was shorter with a thick body, mostly hidden under a dark robe. He wore a red and white sash around his neck, as if he was keeping up appearances for the strangers in the cathedral. He ha
d a pudgy face, thick gray hair and glasses. He looked to be in his seventies. The man with him was taller, thinner, younger and had thicker glasses and darker hair.
“Bishop?” Stanson asked, putting out a hand to shake.
“Bishop Tobin,” the robed man identified himself.
“I’m Captain John Stanson, I run the investigative units for San Francisco Police Department. This is Sergeant Steve Blazer, he’ll be the lead investigator on this matter.”
“Good to meet you both,” the Bishop said, shaking Blazer’s hand. “I’m sorry it’s under such strange circumstances.”
“Sir, can I ask you for an overview of what you’ve seen and deduced so far?” Steve asked.
“Of course. I have a room in the office building here on the grounds next door. All the priests who serve here have quarters there. I was up reading when I heard a loud noise. It sounded a bit like a gunshot, but I wasn’t sure at the time. I decided to investigate, and I brought Father James here with me. We came in through this door,” he indicated a door behind him. “We found the confession booth in this condition. We checked the whole of the church, and we found a few places where bullets hit. We also found a table overturned by the opposite door.” He pointed, indicating that the door was on the other side of the quire. “We knocked on the doors of the other priests. There are two more that work here. Father Fitzhugh was unaccounted for.”
“We brought in a couple of Crime Scene Investigators,” Steve said. “I’d like them be able to process the places where the bullets hit, as well as the confessional.”
“You should know that a couple of those bullets hit historic relics. In fact, I found one had scarred the altar itself.”
“Yes, sir, and we will of course treat these with utmost respect.”
Tobin looked disappointed, as if he’d tried unsuccessfully to thwart disturbing those relics any further. Steve held back telling him that he was prepared to serve them with search warrants if needed.
“That being the case,” Tobin said, “I would prefer to have Father James here oversee any examination of these relics.”
“That’s fair,” Steve said. “In fact, I’ll go one better and have the CSIs explain what they need to do for each bullet scar.” Steve turned and motioned for one of the CSIs to come forward, a woman with dyed red hair. “I think,” Steve added, “that I will have them start with the confessional here.”
Tobin looked at Father James and they shared a nod. James stepped away to meet with the CSI at the confessional. Steve saw Dave standing nearby, and he nodded toward the priest and the CSI. Dave hurried to join them. His eagerness, Steve quickly deduced, may have something to do with the attractive woman CSI working the scene.
Steve drew the Bishop aside. “Do you mind if I ask your position within the Church?”
Tobin’s expression showed a bit of surprise. “I am Arch Bishop for all of San Francisco.”
Steve nodded, hiding his own surprise. Dealing with the head honcho.
“What can you tell me about Father Fitzhugh?”
Tobin hesitated, as if not knowing where to start. “He’s well liked here. He comes to us from Ireland originally. He’s been with this cathedral for several years. Prior to this, he’s been with several other churches throughout the city.”
“You mean he’s been at one church or another within the San Francisco Diocese for much of his career?” Tobin nodded, and Steve asked, “Is that unusual?”
“Yes and no. It can depend on what the priest’s skillset or desire is, but they will typically go where the church needs them. I know many who travel to faraway places, and don’t stay there indefinitely. Come to think of it, I remember seeing something in his file many years ago. He made some sort of special arrangement with the church to be posted here in the city, though at any church where he might be needed.”
“I’d like to look at that file.”
“I’m afraid that church records of that nature are confidential.”
We’ll see, Steve thought, mentally adding that personnel file to the list for the warrants. “What are Father Fitzhugh’s duties here?”
“The same as any normal priest. He’s here to shepherd his flock. He gives mass, he performs rites and counseling for those in need. He’s usually a big help to me in keeping the building and the grounds secured.”
“Have you had any trouble with any of the locals here? Any gangs trying to cause any problems?”
“No, we haven’t had any such problems for a long time.”
“Does Father Fitzhugh have any enemies that you know of?”
“I can’t think of any. Mostly we deal with the homeless in this area. We run a meal program for them several times a week, trying to nourish them physically and spiritually.”
“Does Father Fitzhugh drink alcohol?”
Tobin narrowed his eyes, not liking the direction of the questioning. “I suppose he does.”
“Do you know if he frequents any bars?”
“I wouldn’t know the answer to that.”
Steve paused. “I need to ask a sensitive question, and I know it will be difficult to hear.” Tobin appeared to visually brace himself. “Have there been any complaints about Father Fitzhugh and any children in the congregation?”
Tobin’s face darkened. “How dare you ask such a question?”
“It’s a fair question,” Steve said firmly, “considering the Church’s history over the last couple decades. At this point, I need to cover all bases in the investigation.”
Tobin sneered. “No, Sergeant, there have been no rumors of Father Fitzhugh abusing any children.”
Steve’s eyes were probing the Bishop’s. The anger there betrayed nothing, in fact it may have suggested that the Police were narrowing down the scope of their search to a theory that fit that particular issue. It was a legitimate fear, and Steve vowed to himself to simply go where the facts and evidence led them.
“I’m also going to need to search the Father’s quarters,” he continued.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” the Bishop sputtered, “and I will not permit such an invasion.”
“With all due respect, sir, I will need to be the one that determines what is necessary. His quarters could contain valuable information and evidence that will help us locate him, hopefully before the worst happens to him.” He paused to wait for the bishop to relent, and when he did not, he added, “We are preparing search warrants for his quarters and other areas, but we are hoping such a step will not be needed.”
The Bishop all but sneered at him. “Get your warrants, Sergeant. If you’ll excuse me, I have church business to attend to.” He stormed off.
With the others outside conducting a canvas of the area to search for possible witnesses, Dave Castillo had attached himself to the female CSI. She wore the department CSI polo shirt and dark cargo pants, which did not flatter her figure. But he’d noticed her pretty face during the Captain’s briefing. When Steve beckoned him to shadow her and the priest, he was only too eager to do so.
He stepped up to where the woman was examining the broken confessional. “How’s it going?” he smiled at her. “Inspector Castillo. Dave.” He offered a handshake.
She hesitated to shake but smiled politely when she did. “CSI Swope. Sheila.”
“I must say, I love your hair. That’s a great color.”
She brightened. “Thanks. I guess I’m fortunate that they tolerate us being a little more casual with grooming than you sworn guys.”
“Do you guys need me to leave you alone for a moment,” Father James asked. He made it sound sincere, not like a condescending joke.
Yes, Dave thought, leave us alone, maybe on a sailboat on a long run to Hawaii. Anywhere but here. On a separate train of thought, he glanced around at some of the ornate statues and intricate sculptures all around him. It had been a long time since he’d been in any kind of Catholic Church, but not long enough.
“No, Father, it’s fine. CSI Swope is going to help us process an
d interpret the crime scene. Where do we start, Miss Swope?”
Sheila was still examining the damaged confessional. “I think we can stipulate that this is the epicenter. I want to save that and come back to it.” She looked at Dave. “Are we starting with the theory that someone tried to attack the missing priest, who then fled the scene?” Dave nodded. “Then I want to first try and establish everyone’s path through the building. Maybe we can figure out a direction of travel outside.”
She took a moment to examine the short set of steps that led up toward the Quire and the distant altar. The daylight coming through the numerous stained-glass windows tended to distort and dim the natural light in this place, and for the most part this rendered a flashlight useless. But she still shined a light around the floor at the base of the steps. The light froze on a shiny object that had wedged itself against the bottom of the step. “Well, well, what have we here?” she announced. She motioned everyone back and began to snapping pictures from a small digital camera. She then used a pen to pick up the shiny object, a spent shell casing. “A .45 caliber.”
“Powerful gun,” Dave said.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Sheila said. She trotted up the steps and stopped next to a pillar. Dave saw her taking pictures of the pillar. She returned a moment later. “So, it looks like once the priest fled the confessional, he turned immediately left, to try and put some building between him and his attacker. Our attacker fired a shot from the bottom of the steps here. I found a ricochet mark on the pillar.”
From the Crime Scene kit she carried in a large plastic box, she pulled out a small yellow evidence marker to place next to the shell casing. She then led Dave up the steps and pointed out where a bullet had carved a mostly cosmetic scar at a height of about six feet. From the direction the scar pointed, Dave looked toward the altar, believing that the ricocheting bullet had been bounced in that direction. After affixing a sticker to the pillar next to the scar and taking a few digital photos, Sheila walked past him, approaching the altar, examining it for any place where the bullet might have lodged. Father James followed behind them, fascinated by the whole process.