Six John Jordan Mysteries

by Michael Lister

  “I had nothing to do with that. I swear it.”

  “Lie to me again and see if I don’t cover that wall with your diseased brain.”

  “I—”

  He stopped as one of Steve’s officers came to the cell door and called to him.

  “Go away,” Steve said. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

  “No it can’t, sir,” he said. “I wouldn’t interrupt you if it could.”

  Steve let out a mean laugh and shook his head. Easing the hammer down and holstering his gun, he said to Reid, “He just bought you a few more minutes of life. Use it wisely. Make peace with your maker.”

  After Steve had gone and Reid and I were alone in the cell, he said, “You gonna let him kill me?”

  “What can I do?” I asked. “I’m just one guy.”

  “Whatta you—”

  “That’s what one of the girls in town was saying about stopping the way in which the Gulf Coast Company is gonna rape our land.”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “You corporate rapists are so used to doing whatever the hell you want and having the government and everyone else just wink and hold out their hands, that you think you can do anything anytime. And most of the time you’re right. But not this time. Try offering Steve some of your precious money to forget about the fact that you raped his cousin.”

  His eyes grew wide as he heard Steve’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

  When Steve entered the room, he motioned me over to him. Walking out of the cell and closing the door, I joined him over at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Come on,” he said.

  “What?” I asked. “Where?”

  “Father Thomas just confessed.”

  62

  “I would’ve confessed sooner, but I didn’t realize what I’d done,” Father Thomas said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  We were in Steve’s office. Steve was seated behind his desk. I was leaning on a filing cabinet in the corner behind him. Father Thomas was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Two walls of Steve’s office were mostly glass, but the blinds were down. So were the blinds on the door, and it was closed.

  “Until I was delivered, I was deceived,” he said. “It had me blinded, my memory blacked out.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “The exorcism worked after all,” he said.

  Most of what was in Steve’s office looked to have been chosen by an amateur decorator—probably a girlfriend. The black-and-gray furniture was modern and sleek and comfortable, but didn’t seem to reflect Steve’s personality or sensibilities. A laptop on his desk was closed and held a light covering of dust. Everything around it was neat, orderly, and symmetrical.

  “It came out of her,” Father Thomas continued. “I just didn’t realize it until today.”

  “Realize what?” I asked.

  “When the demon left Tammy, it came into me. In the clearing—I wasn’t knocked unconscious, I was possessed. The wickedness flew right out of her and right into me. Knocked me down. And when she came over to check on me, I grabbed her and I killed her—well, the ancient evil that was in me did, but I’m still responsible. I did it. I killed her. Steve, I’m so sorry. Please just believe I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Do you remember killing her, Father?” Steve asked. “I mean, actually remember doing it, how you did it? Everything?”

  He thought about it, rubbing his beard with his thumb and forefinger as he did. Finally, he nodded. “I wish to God I didn’t, but I do. I didn’t—not until I was delivered. Now that the demon’s gone I can remember everything.”

  Looking away from Father Thomas, I studied the only thing in the office that spoke of Steve. To my right, a large trophy case covered most of one wall. It was filled with pictures and plaques from Steve’s career in law enforcement and several marksmen trophies from shooting competitions he had dominated.

  When I looked back at Father Thomas, I saw a pale, frail man whose life was being measured in days instead of decades, whose time was spent in moments and memories rather than hope and plans.

  “What about Clyde?” I said. “There’s no way you could’ve lifted him up, let alone held him and nailed him into place.”

  “No, but the demonic presence inside me could have,” he said. “I had superhuman strength. Don’t you see? I was just the vessel, the incarnated. I was possessed, and in that condition, under that power, I had the strength of ten men.”

  “Father, are you sure about this?” Steve asked. “You can’t take it back later.”

  “I’m sure,” he said. “I’m a killer and I deserve to be punished. I just want to make sure my actions are seen as entirely my own and don’t reflect badly on the Christian faith, the Catholic church, or St. Ann’s.”

  “But you’re saying your actions weren’t your own,” I said. “If the demon made you do it, that’s the same as not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  “It’s not a defense. I don’t plan to offer any. Before a judge and jury I’ll confess my guilt, but I wanted you two to know, especially you, Steve, what really happened. Not as an excuse, but an explanation.”

  “Still sounds like to me you’re saying you’re not responsible,” Steve said.

  “I’m saying I am. If there hadn’t been room in me, the demon could’ve never come in. No, I’m as guilty as sin. Why do you think all the evidence points to me?”

  Steve tilted his head and looked up at me. His expression said the priest had a point.

  “Hold that thought a minute,” I said. “We need to confirm something. We’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” Father Thomas said, “take your time.”

  I started out of the room and Steve followed.

  “And Steve,” Father Thomas said as he reached the door, “I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could take it back.”

  In the squad room outside his office, Steve said, “What is it?”

  “I want us to talk to Richie before we go any further with Father Thomas.”

  The squad room was empty except for a uniformed officer pecking on a typewriter at a desk in the back. He was a large man with wiry gray hair and a brown mustache. Though he was obviously not very fast with his two fingers to begin with, I could tell he slowed the pace of his pecking in an attempt to overhear us.

  “Everything okay, Chief?” he asked.

  “Fine, Wade.”

  “Need anything?”

  Steve shook his head, then lowering his voice, asked, “Whatta you think of Father Tom’s confession?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m finding it hard to swallow.”

  He frowned and shook his head, then narrowing his gaze at me, said, “Could it be because you’d rather it be someone else? Or you wanted to uncover more evidence, make more amazing deductions, that kind of thing?”

  “Could be. I don’t know. But I’m having more trouble believing he crucified Clyde than he killed Tammy.”

  “I mean, all the evidence says he did it,” he said. “Now we have a nice corroborating confession.”

  I shrugged and shook my head.

  “What about what Reid said? You believe Tammy killed Tommy?”

  I shrugged again. “I think it’s possible.”

  “But?”

  “No but, just... I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure. And it’s not just the nature of drownings. It’s this case. I’m afraid there’s so much we’ll never know.”

  “Do you believe he had nothing to do with the attempt on Kathryn?”

  “No. Though he may not have been involved directly. Order probably came from higher up in the company. He really does just seem like a drone.”

  “Why? Why try to kill her?”

  I told him.

  He looked weak and pale when I finished, his pallor pasty and green-tinged.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “Kathryn’s my fuckin’ cousin? You sure? Fuck.”

  We were quiet a
long moment.

  “Somehow Reid or someone from the Gulf Coast Company found out—maybe it was in Tammy’s diary. One of the signs of possession is having knowledge you shouldn’t have. Or maybe she found out the old fashion way. Or maybe Reid or the company did.”

  “How long you known?”

  “Not long.”

  “You wait to tell me ‘cause you still suspect me?”

  I didn’t respond right away and we were silent a moment.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Will be.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “Wade,” he said, turning toward him, “keep an eye on Father Thomas for me.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  We walked through the squad room and down the hallway to the interrogation room. When we reached it, he held out his hand as if ushering me in. We walked inside, and the uniform who had been watching Richie walked out and closed the door.

  63

  I held up my phone as I walked in the room.

  “We got a witness,” I said. “Any minute the cop interviewing her is gonna call, and then you’re done.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Richie said.

  Steve let out a low, mean laugh. “I want a world without rapists and murderers and thieves. Looks like neither of us are gonna get what we want today.”

  “But I have a constitutional right—”

  “John here warned me this case was too personal for me, but I didn’t listen. I knew I could maintain objectivity and professionalism. Truth is, I have until now. But it’s not working so well and I’m havin’ a little bit of a meltdown, so you know what I say? I say fuck it. If you cocksuckers aren’t gonna play by the rules, how can I hope to catch you if I do?”

  By the time Steve had finished his rant, Richie had grown very still and very quiet, and his eyes were full of fear.

  “You ready to answer some questions?” Steve asked.

  He nodded his head very slowly.

  “Why were you running away from the abbey?”

  “I got scared,” he said. “I figured before it was all over y’all’d blame all this shit on me.”

  “You got scared.”

  It was a statement not a question, and Richie went with his right to remain silent.

  “I knew we’d find a connection between you and Clyde,” Steve said, tapping the file folder on the table in front of him.

  Richie seemed to implode, sinking in on himself with nothing inside any longer to hold him up. As if actually shrinking, he didn’t seem nearly as tall as he had before.

  “We know you two were arrested together a couple of times. Used to have a lucrative drug business, but you had a falling out.”

  “They say if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” Richie said, seeming to regain some of his fight. “That’s what I was doing. That’s all I was doing. It had nothing to do with Clyde—’cept somebody killed him and I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. That, or you’d find the connection and jump to conclusions—just like you’re doing.”

  “And you weren’t running before we got evidence back from the lab?”

  His eyes widened ever so slightly, but he recovered well, and I wondered if Steve had noticed it.

  Steve shook his head in frustration.

  Beneath the table, I reached into my pocket and pushed a button on my cell phone that made it ring. I then pulled it out and pretended to answer it.

  “Really?” I asked, looking at Richie. “Are you serious? Yeah. We’ll be right there.”

  Richie’s expression let me know he was curious.

  “What is it?” Steve asked.

  “Come on,” I said.

  We stood and started to leave the room.

  “What is it?” Richie asked.

  “Witness is righteous,” I said. “Says she saw what you did. We’ll be back as soon as we get and verify her statement.”

  We turned to leave again, this time taking a step or two.

  “Wait,” he said.

  We continued to walk.

  “Wait,” he said. “Wait. Give me a chance to explain. I can tell you exactly what happened.”

  “We know what happened,” I said.

  “But let me explain,” he said. “You don’t understand why I—”

  We walked out and closed the door.

  Outside in the hallway, Steve’s expression asked the question.

  I shook my head.

  “Nice,” Steve said. “You’re a very convincing liar.”

  “Comes from years of practice.”

  64

  “We have an eyewitness who saw you crucifying Clyde,” I lied.

  The color drained from Richie’s face.

  “Shit, man, I was afraid of that,” he said. “Listen, you gotta believe me. I didn’t kill him. I swear to God. I didn’t kill him.”

  His words rushed out as if escaping from prison. His movements were jerky, his hands jittery.

  “You saying you didn’t nail him to that tree?” I said.

  “No,” he said, “I’m saying he was already dead when I did. He OD’d, man, I swear. On his own. I had nothing to do with it. He came to see if I’d handle his action while he was away. Said he had to get out of town, but I told him I couldn’t. I wasn’t goin’ to prison again. I think his plan was to get me high and convince me. We went down to the boathouse and hung out. I did some shit, you know, just to be sociable, but he got all serious with it. Broke down about Tammy, said she was the best thing that ever happened to him. She was going to be rich—his one shot at a decent life. Anyway, he kept on pumping shit into his arm and sucking it down his mouth and snorting it up his nose until he just fell over. I swear that’s the truth and I’ll take a lie detector test to prove it. Strap it on me. Give me a drug charge. Violate me back to prison, but don’t charge me with murder. I didn’t kill nobody. I swear.”

  I wanted to tell him to settle down, to relax, but that’s not what we needed, and I wondered, not for the first time, at how often my two vocations conflicted with each other. Richie needed pastoring, but we needed the truth.

  “So why crucify him?” Steve asked.

  “With all the spooky shit goin’ on, I figured everybody’d buy it––at least for a while. Distract everyone long enough for me to get away.”

  “It was just a diversion?” Steve asked.

  He nodded.

  “Did you have help?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Then how the hell’d you do it?”

  “With a pulley. Threw a rope with a pulley on it over a branch and hoisted him up. I had already nailed him to the board. Wasn’t hard at all. Hell, if I’d been a little less shit-faced I couldda done it a lot quicker.”

  I nodded. I was satisfied. I looked at Steve. He seemed to be too. We both stood at the same time and headed out of the room.

  “It’s the truth,” Richie said. “I swear it. Strap me to the machine and I’ll prove it.”

  Before I stepped out of the room, I turned and said, “Since you’re telling the whole truth and nothing but these days, tell me this: Did you have sex with Tammy the night she died?”

  He glanced at Steve, then back at me and nodded. “We had a go right before dinner––but only because she wanted to. I didn’t force her. And I didn’t kill her. I swear.”

  65

  “Father, we know you didn’t kill Clyde,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed and his forehead furrowed. He started to say something, but stopped and shook his head. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “I thought for sure I did,” he said. “After I killed Tammy I knew I was capable of it, and I knew there was nothing the demon would like more than mocking Christ.”

  I was half sitting on the front edge of Steve’s desk, directly across from Father Thomas. Steve was standing to my right close to his trophies.

  “Maybe you didn’t kill Tammy either,” I said. “I think you need to reconsider your confes
sion. Wait until we can finish our investigation.”

  “I wasn’t sure about Clyde, but I am about Tammy. I’m certain I killed her. There’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever.” He looked up at Steve. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I mean, it was the demon. I know I’m still responsible, but I just wanted you to know, I never would have otherwise. I’m just so sorry for what I’ve done, not only to her, but to your whole family.”

  Steve nodded and patted him on the back. “It’s okay, Father. I understand.”

  “I’m just not convinced you did it,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know what I can do to convince you,” he said. “Is there anything to say I didn’t?”

  He looked from Steve to me and back to Steve. We both shook our heads.

  “I know you don’t want to believe it about me,” he said, “but it’s the truth. I just wanted to explain why. I won’t offer any explanation to anyone else, just an apology and plea for forgiveness.”

  He stood, turned, and Steve began to cuff him.

  “But Father—”

  “John,” Steve said. “He’s our man. We would’ve had to arrest him sooner or later anyway––on the physical evidence alone. Think about it. Come on now, let it go. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

  66

  That night Father Thomas died in one of Steve’s jail cells.

  The ME ruled it death from natural causes—though he noted in the strictest sense of the word there was nothing natural about cancer—but I would always wonder.

  Three days later, Father Thomas was lowered into the ground in a small ceremony before a small crowd. Like most of us, he had lived a little life in obscurity––something that was made manifest nowhere more than in the smallness of the final farewell being bid him.

  Sister Abigail had asked me to say a prayer, and I stumbled through it the best I could.

  Afterward, she was crying so hard when I hugged her that she couldn’t say anything but “Thank you, John.”

  Kathryn, though just as upset, was less demonstrative.