by A W Hartoin
Joy and I went into the kitchen for coffee and I tore into a coffee cake that Millicent must’ve made. It had her combo of allspice and nutmeg in the streusel topping. Delicious.
“He ain’t your guy,” said Uncle Morty.
“Dominic?” I asked.
“The doc.”
“How do you know?”
“Check your phone.”
He continued to type and I found pictures of Dr. Desarno in my inbox.
“He’s not that old,” I said. “If he incapacitated her somehow with a blow to the head, he could’ve done it.”
Uncle Morty snorted. “The dude is seventy-two going on ninety. He had prostate cancer and a heart condition.”
“Dr. Desarno was probably the last per—”
“He died four days after Sister Maggie disappeared. That’s how healthy he was. That guy did not kidnap a young, healthy nun and strangle her.”
My mind raced around, trying to escape the feeling in my gut. Something wasn’t right. Four days? Ah, crap.
“Mercy?” asked Uncle Morty.
“Yeah.”
“Goddammit, girl.”
“What?” I asked.
“You got a feeling about that geezer, don’t you? Forget it. He had a heart attack.”
The feeling got stronger. I couldn’t ignore it. The Tommy Watts in me wouldn’t allow that.
“Where?” I asked. “And how?”
He grumbled and started typing again.
Joy whispered, “What is it?”
“Dr. Desarno died four days after Maggie disappeared,” I said. “Heart attack.”
She shrugged. “You think he died from stress over murdering her? Do murderers do that?”
“Not as a general rule, but that’s not what I’m thinking.”
Uncle Morty came back. “It ain’t nothing. Heart attack after a car accident. Like I said that guy was in no shape to be murdering anybody.”
I didn’t think the feeling that something wasn’t right could get any stronger, but it did.
“Where did that happen?” I asked.
“I don’t have a police report. It’s 1965 for fuck’s sake.”
“What do you have?”
“Newspaper.”
“Lay it on me.”
The articles and Dr. Desarno’s obituary laid it out pretty well. Dr. Desarno—man of impeccable reputation—got hit in his 1963 Buick Riviera in the parking lot of the asylum, which caused a severe coronary, killing him. The original article said that the good doctor was in stable health, despite his conditions at the time of the accident. In other words, Dr. Desarno wasn’t on death’s doorstep. The article blamed the accident for his untimely death and the police were searching for the hit and run driver. The vehicle they were looking for was a green Dodge pickup truck, but it didn’t say why.
“I take it they never found the truck,” I said.
“No.”
“You know what I’m getting at, right?”
He grumbled, “You’re gettin’ distracted. You just gotta get Maggie’s case reopened. That’s it. Focus, Mercy.”
“Not anymore. The Girls need this solved. That’s the goal.”
Cursing spewed out of my phone and Joy took a step back, wrinkling her nose. “He’s salty.”
“He’s something,” I said, waiting for the avalanche to peter out.
“So what’s next?” she asked.
“I’m going to call a lanky detective with a great butt and ask a little favor.”
“Sidney Wick?”
We both burst out laughing. Sid was Chuck’s partner. He was great guy and excellent detective, but about as far as you could get from lanky. I didn’t know about his butt and I didn’t want to.
“What are you chicks laughing about?” snarled Uncle Morty. “This ain’t funny. I’ve got to get to Greece before Nikki falls for that hairdo with abs.”
I swallowed the last of my laughter. “Sorry, but I can’t help it if this isn’t simple.”
“Just stay on Maggie.”
“I will, if I can.”
“Give me one good reason why you think this decrepit old doctor kicking it in a parking lot has anything to do with Maggie,” said Uncle Morty.
“The church delayed reporting her missing.”
“Yeah?”
“For four days.”
“Shit.”
“Yup.”
“Could be a coincidence,” he said.
I smiled. It was so much fun to bother him. “Could be.”
“But it ain’t.”
“No.”
“We gotta go get the accident report. That isn’t online.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I know a guy that wants to show me houses.”
“You don’t play fair.”
It was my turn to snort. “This coming from the guy camping out on my sofa.”
“Point taken. What else you need?” Uncle Morty asked.
“Did you find any family?”
I was in luck, sort of. Dominic was an only child and his surviving relatives were third cousins living in Colorado. They probably didn’t know his name, but Maggie’s family was living in Dogtown, mere blocks from St. James the Greater where her funeral was.
“Who are they exactly?” I asked.
“We got a Patrick Mullanphy. He’s the grandson of Maggie’s uncle.”
I made a face. “That’s close and not close at the same time.”
“Oh, it’s close. The family built that house in 1935. Maggie was raised in it.”
“Score!”
He chuckled and it was nice to hear. I’d hardly gotten a smile out of him since Nikki left.
“You got any more questions for me?” he asked.
It was one of those leading questions. All in the tone.
“I guess I do.”
Uncle Morty went silent while continuing to type. I went through what we had. I’d missed something, but I had no clue what.
“What’s going on?” asked Joy.
“I’m forgetting something. He wants me to guess what it is.”
Joy looked at the clock and grabbed the phone from me. “Just tell her, you pain in the ass. We don’t have time for this crap.”
She gave me the phone and it took me a second to recover. Strong words from a prim housekeeper.
“You got that?” I asked Uncle Morty.
“I got it,” he said. “You forgot about Dominic.”
“I didn’t forget him.”
“The church did.”
“Huh?”
“Google the poor bastard.”
I asked Joy if I could use Millicent’s iPad that lived on the counter for recipes and quickly googled Father Dominic Kelly. Zero hits. I tried every combo I could think of. Priest. Suicide. Catholic. First name only. Last name only.
“He doesn’t exist,” I said.
“Now try this one. Father Bernard Potter.”
Potter didn’t have lots of hits, but he had them.
“Who is he?”
“Another priest living at the rectory with Dominic. It’s the same with everyone else at the time. They exist. He doesn’t.”
“What about newspapers?” I asked.
“We’ve got two mentions. The first one is him starting a medical outreach at a homeless shelter with a picture. Good looking guy. You’d never figure he’d jump off a bridge six months later.”
“What’s the second?”
“An article about him jumping off the Eades Bridge. Looks like it came in just under the print deadline about four hours after he jumped.”
“No follow-up?”
“Nope.”
“Does it mention a connection to Maggie?”
Uncle Morty read it out to me and it wasn’t what I expected. The reporter didn’t say suicide. He said “fallen to his death”. Three witnesses said they’d seen a man fall and a car belonging to Father Bernard Potter was found nearby. Father Bernard confirmed that Father Dominic borrowed the car to run an errand. He said that Father D
ominic seemed fine and he didn’t think that he was going to harm himself. It did say that Father Dominic was a close, personal friend of Sister Maggie, the recently murdered nun, and knew Dr. Desarno, victim of a hit and run.
The article sounded a whole lot like Uncle Morty’s leading question. The reporter was suspicious and he wasn’t trying to hide it.
“What was the errand?” I asked.
“Doesn’t say. But listen to this. ‘Another person was seen on the bridge by a fourth witness at the same time. Police are seeking to identify this unknown man. Any information, blah, blah, blah’.”
“Oh, my God.”
“It don’t mean he was pushed,” said Uncle Morty.
“It means that reporter thought he was and that’s a good place to start.”
The wind went out of his sails. “If our body count keeps going up, I’m never getting to Greece.”
“We’ll get there,” I said. “We’ve just got a little more to do.”
“A little? Three freaking murders and they are ice cold,” he said.
“We’ll just have to heat them up. Find out if any of those priests are still alive and take a peek at Bishop Fowler. See what his problem was.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“Interviews.”
I hung up and Joy asked, “What can I do?”
“Call Mary and see if I can come over for a chat.”
Joy called Mary’s daughter to see what kind of shape Mary was in and I called Chuck. He was in an autopsy, waiting for a slug to be dug out of some poor guy’s brain, so he was bored and chatty. Less so when it became clear that I wanted a favor.
“You have got to be kidding?” he asked.
“How hard can it be?” I used my wheedling voice, good for getting candy bars in checkout lines and extra time on research papers.
“A hit and run in 1965? Who cares?”
“Your girlfriend. Uncle Morty, who’s living on my couch until this job is done. The Girls. Joy.”
“Alright. Alright,” said Chuck. “I’m not giving you that report, just so you know.”
I rolled my eyes at Joy and she rolled hers back, whispering, “Men.”
“I don’t need to see it. You’ll see it. You’re a really great detective. You’ll know if it’s hinky.”
Chuck was preening. I could tell and it was adorable.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Dr. Desarno was hit in a parking lot. I want to know how hard.”
“Hard enough to kill him,” said Chuck. “But…you say he was in stable condition.”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Parking lots are generally minor fender benders. Maybe fifteen miles an hour, if it’s big enough, but people slam on their brakes and the contact should be less. He was in a Buick Riviera?”
I grinned at Joy and gave her a thumbs-up. “He was. Those are big cars, aren’t they?”
“They’re boats and heavy. My third stepfather had one. It was a beast. You’d have to hit it with some speed to cause an occupant any real damage. Five or ten miles an hour? I doubt it, but he did have a heart condition. I have to see the report. Pictures will be helpful.” Chuck went on. He was working it through like my dad did. Thinking out loud. He went through the connections. Doctor was a witness in Maggie’s disappearance. An unknown suspect on the bridge at the time of Father Dominic’s fall. Three witnesses to the fall didn’t see the second person on the bridge. Why? Who saw the second person on the bridge?
“I like it,” he said. “I think you’re on to something.”
“Excellent. I don’t suppose you could take a peek at Father Dominic’s file?”
“I got it on the list. So Morty doesn’t think we looked at Sister Maggie’s case, even though it logically originated here?”
“That’s what he said.”
Chuck was quiet for a moment and I knew that silence. He was a cop and that went to the bone. He didn’t want to say that the department screwed the pooch on Maggie’s disappearance and murder, but it didn’t look good.
“I’ll let you know,” he said finally.
“Tonight at dinner,” I said.
The worry turned happy. “Your place? I’ll bring wine.”
Wine. You sneaky bastard.
“No way. Not with Uncle Morty stinking up the place. Let’s meet at Kronos at eight.”
“This is why we need to move out of the city proper. No more uncle camping.”
I ignored that volley and we said goodbye.
Joy rinsed out her cup and put it in the dishwasher. “Mary’s having a good day. We can see her now.”
“We?” I asked.
“I want to go. I’ve never investigated anything before.”
“Won’t Millicent expect you to be here when they get back?” I kept the hope out of my voice. I didn’t relish a partner. I just wanted to interview and get the job done. No chatting. No nothing. Done.
“Oh. You’re probably right.” Joy was so crestfallen, I broke down and promised to give her an update as soon as I was done with Mary.
It worked and I escaped without a partner. It lasted exactly thirty-five seconds.
CHAPTER TEN
“YOU!” FATS LICATA leaned against the Bled stable/garage, angrier than I’d ever seen her.
I turned to run back into the house, but she was on me before I got over the threshold, dragging me back and quietly closing the door. The woman had skills and they all worked against me. She got me under her arm like a troublesome two year old, sashayed back to the garage, whipped open the door, and tossed me inside.
I stumbled across the floor and bumped into the Auburn, causing Rocco to shriek, “My girl! Are you fuggered up, woman? Don’t touch her.”
Rocco took me by the shoulders and removed me from the vicinity of the Auburn, who, might I add, wasn’t injured or even smudged. “Run,” he whispered. “Save yourself.”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, backing up as Fats glared at me. Think angry cheetah in hot pink workout wear and Timberland chunky-heeled boots because she needed to be taller.
“I told her you weren’t in Greece.”
“And…”
He shrugged and held his toothbrush like a shiv.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to Greece,” Fats said in a low malevolent tone that made shivers go up and down my spine at breakneck speed.
“I didn’t go to Greece, so we’re all good,” I said.
“Calpurnia knows you tried to go to Greece without telling me and then failed because you are on the No Fly List.”
“Nice,” said Rocco. “It doesn’t take a lot to get on there, but still, I’m impressed.”
“It’s not impressive it’s a strong arm tactic by the FBI.”
He tossed his toothbrush in a bucket and cracked his knuckles. “What are you into? A girl like you, I’m betting designer drugs. Probably not prostitution, but you never know, everybody’s got a dark side.”
“Shut up, idiot,” barked Fats. “Mercy doesn’t have a dark side. She’s a human marshmallow Peep.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I protested.
“Peep!”
I clammed up and Fats pointed at Rocco. “Get out.”
“I work here. You’re just erupting here.”
Fats lowered her sunglasses. “Are you saying that I am the size of a volcano?”
Rocco paled and that took some doing. He was born with the perfect tan. I’d seen the pictures. “I’m saying you’re angry and you should go see some fucking shrink and get over yourself.”
I had to give it to him. He didn’t pee. He said it like he could back it up, which he obviously couldn’t without a weapon of mass destruction. Anything less and Fats would crush him like a saltine cracker.
Fats advanced on her brother and Rocco stood his ground, but I bet he wished he had his toothbrush back. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“You’re lucky that my mother calls you son,” she hissed.
“I’m her favorite child,” he said.
“You had to repeat kindergarten,” she said.
“You peed on Grandma’s fur stole.”
“I thought it was your cat.”
I raised my hand and backed up toward the alley exit. “This sounds like a family thing. I’m going to go.”
“Don’t move,” said Fats. “Rocco was just leaving.”
“I’m not leaving.”
God help me. These people are crazy.
“Can we just not do this right now?” I asked. “I’ve got to ask an old lady some questions and she’s waiting on me.”
“What old lady?” asked Rocco. “The Girls okay?”
“They’re fine,” I said. “It’s another thing that I’ve got to go do.”
“Rocco, leave,” said Fats.
“No.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” She bent over him. Her forehead was almost touching the top of his head, but Rocco said, “Fuck you, ya big pink sasquatch.”
“You are insane,” I said.
“I said, ‘Calpurnia knows Mercy tried to go to Greece without telling me and then failed because she’s on the No Fly List.’”
Rocco stepped back, held up his hands, and said, “I’m starving. Anybody want anything from Kronos? Raw meat, perhaps?”
“I’ll have a metaphysical malt, double chocolate, and cheese fries, double bacon,” said Fats.
“Got it,” said Rocco. “Mercy…wait what? You want a malt and cheese fries?”
“Never mind.” Fats grabbed him by the collar and waistband, literally lifting her brother off the floor and carrying him to the door.
“You don’t eat fat,” said Rocco. “You don’t eat anything good. Did Tiny dump you?”
“Mercy,” said Fats, “open the door.”
Rocco waved his arms at me. “Don’t open the door.”
I opened the door. Sometimes you have to choose. I chose life.
Fats tossed Rocco outside in one smooth movement. He ran full tilt back at us, but she slammed the door in his face.
“Fats!” he yelled. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Go away!”
“Mom’s going to hear about this!”
She banged on the door and I guess he went away.
“You and I are going to have a talk,” said Fats.
I so wanted to go with Rocco. I ate fat. I loved fat. “What about? Greece? I’m allowed to go to Greece.”
