by G. C. Harmon
They stood for a moment at the foot of the altar, taking in the splendor of a massive sculpture set up. Hanging on the wall was the typical figurine of Christ on the cross. Below it they saw a small but detailed statue of Jesus’ mother Mary kneeling in prayer beneath her son. Below this, on separate pedestals were three angels in robes of white, arms raised as if singing the praises the Savior, and even mother Mary. The entire assembly was draped in bright color, from the decorative robes worn by Mary to the gold of the pillars interspersed among the angels. The middle angel was actually blowing a horn also made of gold. The pillars and the wood worked into the sculpture were all ornately carved.
“Our assailant,” Sheila said, “fired from the bottom of the stairs, so there is an upward angle to where the bullet went. Judging by the angle of the ricochet scar, just eyeballing it, I’d say the bullet is somewhere up there. If I need to, I can get my laser pointer and work out the geometry, but my professional guess is, the bullet is right about…” She trailed off, then suddenly pointed. “Right there. In that yellow pillar right next to Mary.”
Dave stepped around her, eyeing the area where she indicated. He spotted a dark spot in the off white color of the wall.
“Poor Mary almost took it in the ass,” Sheila muttered. Dave raised an eyebrow and glanced at the priest, who turned away to hide an embarrassed smile. “I’m going to need a stepladder to get to it.”
“I must insist that the altar not be disturbed,” Father James said.
“Of course,” Dave said. “I’m sure she will be extremely careful when removing it. But you must understand, we need that bullet.” Dave was concerned that the priest would prevent them from going near the altar and put them in danger of having to leave that bullet. It could turn into a prolonged legal fight. Fortunately, the priest glanced between them and nodded.
“Not to worry, Father,” she said to him. “This looks to be an easy extraction. We’re lucky. I think if this had been a homicide, my supervisor would make me take that whole section of the wall, and maybe even the whole altar.”
The lapsed Catholic in Dave relished a bit the shocked look on the priest’s face.
Steve had watched Dave and the CSI for a moment, and then broke away to let them investigate their part of the scene. From what little he’d learned so far, the missing priest had been trying to avoid the killer, which means he had played a little cat and mouse through the cathedral. He found another bullet scar on the lectern in the Quire, which he would tell Dave about shortly. Just outside the Quire, he stopped to examine the overturned table for a moment. He glanced around the stone wall and found the bullet scar at the left side of the door frame. He pointed this out to the male CSI, who was standing nearby, saying to him, “We’re going to need to find this bullet.”
Steve stepped outside, examining the door in the foggy light of day. There was no obvious bullet holes here. He glanced around, trying to think where the priest might have run to next.
Stanson was nearby chatting with Lieutenant Wilsher. He broke away to speak with Blazer. “What have you been able to assess so far?”
“I’ve assessed that the Bishop might have a problem with cooperating with us,” Steve said. “He didn’t like that I asked if the missing priest was interested in kids.”
“Understandable,” Stanson said. “He will likely go to great lengths to protect the church’s reputation, as well as that of the priest.”
“It doesn’t make our job any easier,” Steve said. “We haven’t narrowed down any possibilities yet, and we don’t even have a starting point yet. You mentioned Search warrants, and I definitely think we’re going to need one to check his quarters. In fact…” He saw his team coming around the corner of the building and beckoned them over. “Snow, I have a special mission for you,” he told his rookie. “I need you to go to the church office building next door. Our missing priest has a flat there, I need you to find it and guard it. No one is to go in or out, including that archbishop. I don’t want anyone tampering with any evidence. Stay there until I get a uniform over there to relieve you.” Brian nodded and took off.
Suzy approached him. “Hey, Blazer, when my Sergeant arrived as we were setting up the perimeter, he sent a couple uniforms into the homeless camp in the alley behind the church. You may want to go there to ask around. Maybe someone was sober enough to see something.”
“It’s a start,” Steve said. To Scot and A.J., he said, “Why don’t you guys start a canvas there, and I’ll join you in a few—”
He cut off as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out. His eyes narrowed when he saw the name on the screen, and he stepped away to answer it. “Hello?”
“Steven, me boy, how are ye?”
“Dad? Is everything OK?”
“Everything’s fine. Do I need an emergency to chat with me son?”
“No, but I am at work.”
His father skipped past that. “I need a wee favor from ye.”
“Can it wait until this afternoon?”
“Not exactly. I need ye to pick me up at the airport.”
The surprises kept coming. He glanced at his watch. “When does your flight get in?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
Steve turned and absently noted that everyone was staring at him, having heard that it was his father on the phone. “You’re here now?” It was horrible timing, but he couldn’t leave the man stranded. “OK. Sit tight, I’ll try to break away, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Steve ended the call and returned to his entourage. He stopped when he saw everyone looking at him. They’d heard him identify the caller, and they were all curious.
Steve glanced among them, then said to Captain Stanson, “Sir, I need to take some personal time.”
“Blazer, we’re right in the middle of a high profile investigation here.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just as thrown off guard. I just need two hours, and then I can come back and dive back in. I’ll make up the two hours at the end of shift.”
Stanson sighed. “No need, you’ve banked so much over-time, the bean counters will rejoice at the reduction in hours. But I want you back here in two hours.”
“Definitely.” To Scot, he said, “I hate to dump the bums on you and leave…”
Scot smiled with a hint of cruelty. “It’s OK, you’ll be joining us there when you get back.”
Steve smiled as he broke away. He glanced at Suzy and nodded to her. She broke away as well. “Can you break away?”
“You mean to meet your father for the first time?” She glanced at her watch. “Considering I was supposed to be off thirty minutes ago, I should.” She glanced at her partner and saw him chatting with two other uniforms. “Looks like my day shift relief just showed up. I’m caught up with everything, let me call my Sergeant.”
“Just tell him I want to borrow you for part of the investigation.”
She paused there to make the phone call, and Steve hurried back to his unmarked black SUV. In moments, she joined him there, saying she was in the clear. Steve got them underway. He found the nearest freeway, headed south toward San Francisco International Airport, in San Mateo County.
Brian found his way into the two-story office building on the north side of the church. The ground floor was dark, and he could see it consisted of different offices, all with their doors closed, except one. Inside, he found two older women chattering away as they went through files and forms. The sign next to the door identified this as the “Church Records” office.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Brian said, mustering up some of his charm. “I’m Officer Snow, I’m one of the investigators.” He showed them the star clipped to his belt, which seemed to impress them. “I’m wondering where I can find Father Fitzhugh’s quarters.”
“Absolutely,” one of the ladies said, “you can go up the stairs, and it’s door number six.”
“Thank you so much.” He broke away, and he smiled as he heard them behind him chatt
ering at the handsome cop who had just contacted them.
He found a creaky wooden staircase and hurried up. At the top, he checked the number on the first door and, appropriately enough, found it to be number one. He made his way down the hall, checking numbers.
A figure down the dimly lit hallway gave him pause. A man with his backed turned appeared to be working on the door, possibly trying to open it. Not good, he concluded. He made sure his badge was visible clipped to his belt and his weapon was within reach. “Excuse me,” he announced himself from twenty feet away. The man jumped and turned suddenly, so quick that Brian almost drew down. “Police officer,” he identified himself.
In the dim light, he identified the man. It was the Archbishop. A small ring of keys jingled quietly in is hand. “Sir, can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“A better question, young man, would be to ask what you are doing?” The Archbishop was immediately hostile and defensive. “Why are you not with the others out looking for our missing priest?”
“I assure you, sir, we are doing everything we can to find him. That will include a search of his quarters, which I believe is this door here. We are working to get a search warrant to look inside for any clues as to where he might have gone or been taken. In the meantime, I must insist that no one is to go in or out of this room. This includes yourself, sir.”
“You can’t do that,” Tobin sputtered.
“Legally sir, I can and I must. I would think that if you really want us to find this man, you would want to cooperate fully.”
Tobin looked like he wanted to sputter something else, but instead stormed past Snow toward the staircase.
It left Brian with one question. “Sir?” When Tobin stopped, he said, “Were you inside just now?”
Tobin didn’t dare look at him, and instead stormed off.
Brian cursed to himself. It didn’t look like the man had gotten inside, just that he had been trying to open the door. For that matter, was he trying to lock it on his way out? But it also made him wonder, did the Archbishop remove something? Or even plant something?
Scot and A.J. stopped at the mouth of the alley behind the cathedral, looking at a sea of the lost of humanity. The alley was lined with dozens of transients, in various forms of camps. There were several colorful tents, people rolled up in tattered blankets, dirty sleeping bags, rolled up in slabs of cardboard. Someone had a tarp set up draped over two shopping carts loaded with recyclables and other trash, his worldly belongings. Several were gathered in groups, talking and joking. Someone had relit the fire in an already blackened metal trash barrel, and three people stood around draped in torn and dirty coats and layers of shirts. From where they stood, they could see numerous open containers of alcohol. Drinking in public was supposed to be illegal, but that was a law police did not enforce much anymore unless it suited their purposes in the moment. Scot saw two young men preparing a marijuana pipe. Sitting next to him, another young man had pulled a small pouch from among his belongings. Inside the pouch were several syringes. They could see he was preparing to cook some heroin.
Seeing all this, Scot knew there was nothing he could do about the violations of law. Not if he wanted to elicit any information from these people.
“How much cash you got on you?” A.J. asked. They would likely have to buy their information.
Scot smirked back. “Are you ready to dish some of yours out?”
The heroin user saw the cops approaching and hurriedly put his needles away. The marijuana smoker looked Black right in the eye as he lifted a small torch to the pipe and lit the weed, sucking down the smoke.
“How’s it going, guys,” Scot said. “Police officers. Did you guys see anything last night over at the church?”
“Didn’t see nothing, brother,” the weed smoker rasped.
They worked their way down the alley, asking if anyone had seen or heard any noise or activity at the cathedral. They got the typical negative responses, most likely people who just didn’t want to assist cops in any way.
Scot came across a black man and woman, who also had a syringe sitting on the ground in front of them. He wanted to ask where they got this kind of paraphernalia so readily, but then, this was San Francisco. This city’s answer to fighting disease among their homeless population was the have taxpayers buy their drug supplies.
The woman looked up as he approached. “And here come the man, wanna harass the black folk again.”
“How’s it going, guys,” Scot said, skipping right past the immediate hostility. “Nothing so serious, ma’am. We had an incident at the church last night, I just wanted to ask if you guys had seen anything.”
“We didn’t do nothing, cop,” the woman spouted.
“I’m sorry, you misunderstood,” Scot continued. “I wasn’t saying you did anything, I just wondered if you saw or heard—”
The woman jumped up, practically lunging at him, in a move startling enough that he took a quick step back. “I said get out of my face, cop.”
“Whoa, hold it there. I’m nowhere near—”
“What, ‘cause you got a badge, you can look down your nose at all us po’ folk. Is it ‘cause I’m black, or ‘cause I’m homeless? What, you think that ‘cause we homeless, we all just drug addicts and shit?”
Scot looked down at her boyfriend, who was still calmly putting away their heroin needles. Others in the alley were starting to notice the commotion. People were coming out of their tents and bedding to see what she was yelling about. Scot looked across the way at A.J., who had paused in his questioning and was ready to spring to his partner’s defense should the need arise.
“Just ‘cause you got a badge, you wanna push us around? Well, shove along, cop, we got nowhere to go!”
“That’s horrible!” shouted a new voice. Scot looked toward the nearby alley exit, where a blond woman had entered and was walking through, as if heading to the church. “Are you harassing these poor people?”
Scot paused to examine her. She was in her forties, average height and lanky, with light stringy blond hair that was tousled by the sea breeze. She had on glasses with large lenses that seem to magnify her angry glare. She was dressed preppy, in white slacks and blouse, with a purple scarf and a brown jacket that clashed with the outfit.
“I never thought I’d see it from a man with a badge,” the lady said, “Are you actually harassing this poor woman?”
“Actually?” Scot said, trying to head off the false allegation. “Actually, no. I’m investigating an incident that happened at the church—”
“And you came right to the first negroes you could find,” the indignant lady practically shouted. “Well, you found your prime suspect. Why don’t you just haul her off to the slammer?”
She stepped toward the homeless lady. “Are you OK?”
Scot turned to A.J. and put his hands up in a questioning gesture, which voiced perfectly the question on his mind: what did I do?
3
Steve found his way to Highway 101, and headed south, out of the city. San Francisco Airport is actually located several miles south of the city, in San Mateo County. Beside him, Suzy unbuttoned her uniform shirt. She had already removed her “Sam Browne” duty belt and stowed it in the back seat for the moment. She slipped out of her shirt and undid the Velcro on her body armor, slipping out of that as well. Steve watched her undress, appreciating every moment. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”
She smiled at him. “Eyes on the road, Sarge.”
Steve fished out his cell phone, glancing between the screen and the moderate traffic as he tapped several times and placed a call to— “Mom? Good morning.”
“Steven, what a surprise. Are you behaving yourself in the big city?”
“Oh, you know me, working hard, chasing bad guys and watching strip shows.” Suzy gave him a look that showed her surprise—you said that to your mother?—as she hefted her body armor vest and tossed it onto the back seat.
“Hardy har har,” his mother responded.
“When are you going to bring that lovely girlfriend of yours out here for a visit?”
“One of these days, I would love to do just that. The reason I called…is everything alright with Dad?”
“He’s fine. I think.”
“You think?”
“He got a phone call early this morning, he says from some cousin that I swear I never met. That cousin requested to see him, so he hurried out of here and caught a red eye. I offered to go with him, but I was half asleep at the time. He told me that it was OK, I could stay. I have a function at the hospital today anyway. An administrator’s work is never done.”
“Where does this cousin live?”
“I think he said Boston. I don’t remember his name. As I said, I was half asleep. Why are you asking about your father?”
“Oh, no big reason. He just called me this morning out of the blue to say hi, I just found it mysterious.”
“Well, honey, I’d love to catch up, but I have to head to work.”
“It’s OK, I’m headed to work as well. I’ll call again soon.”
“OK. Love you, honey.”
Steve ended the call and put his phone in the console. “Strange. Apparently Dad didn’t tell my Mom he was coming here. She thinks he went to Boston.”
“I noticed you didn’t tell her he was coming here.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, deep in thought for a moment. “He must have his reasons for not saying, so until I know what they are, I figured I’d better not give anything away.”