They pulled into the driveway of the seminary. A coroner’s van and a police cruiser were parked at the entrance. They went in the front door and were met by one of the priests.
“I’m Father Francis, please follow me,” the priest said with a solemn voice. He was dressed in a black floor-length cassock. A set of scuffed boots peeked out from beneath the heavy woolen folds. His clerical collar wasn’t on straight, as if he’d struggled to put it on before coming to meet them. He looked like he was in his eighties, but it was hard to tell in the half-light of dark wood and tapestry. Bernadette put him down as beyond his prime and living on something borrowed. She followed his shuffling figure.
They made their way down a long hallway then up several flights of stairs before they arrived at the room. Constable Stewart was standing outside with his notebook.
“What’ve we got, Constable?” Bernadette asked as she approached him.
Stewart looked at his notes. “One of the other priests, Father Joesaphat, found him this morning. He was hanging from the rafter in his room.”
“Has anyone disturbed the body?” Evanston asked.
“We couldn’t in all conscience leave Father Fredericks in that manner,” Father Francis said from behind them.
Bernadette turned to him. “Yes, I do understand that, Father, but still it—” She stopped in mid-sentence as the coroner, Dr. Keith Andrew, came out of the room. He was removing his gloves.
“Aye, I’d like a word with you if I may, Detectives,” Dr. Andrew said as he motioned for them to come into the room with him.
Dr. Andrew was a Scot, you knew it not only by his distinct brogue—he drew every word out like he was revving a car engine over his tongue—but the giveaway was he wore a kilt all year round. At this moment, he wore his kilt under his lab coat. He had on his tall leather boots and often wore a tweed jacket.
“What’s up?” Bernadette asked the doctor.
“This was no suicide. If it was, this old man would have been a former Olympian to have suspended himself from that rafter.”
“He couldn’t have got up there with a chair?” Evanston asked looking up at the high ceiling with the beam and the still dangling rope.
“No, not on your bloody life. Take a look for yourself.”
Bernadette put on her gloves and took the only chair that had been tipped over in the room. The body of Fredericks lay beside it. She righted it and stood on it. The noose was still a foot above it.
“You figure I’m about the same height as the deceased?” she asked looking down at the body.
“Ah, a dead ringer, if you don’t mind the pun.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Bernadette said as she got off the chair. “I assume this chair was checked for footprints.”
Dr. Andrew smiled, “Now you ask me. Of course, it has. We found nothing on it. Why do you think I let you get up there?”
“Any abrasions or marks on the victim?”
“None,” Dr. Andrew said. His busy eyebrows rose as if in a question mark. “I have a feeling we’ll find something in a toxicology screen.”
“You think someone drugged him before they placed him on the rafters?” Bernadette asked.
“Aye, the victim doesn’t look to me like someone with the strength to jump up into that noose on his own.”
“Wouldn’t the killer know that when he strung him up?” Evanston asked. “Wait, what am I saying? Most of our killers have the IQ of a turnip. Why wouldn’t he? He was probably in a hurry, saw the rafter, and thought he’d use it then found the rope was too short.”
“There you go, question asked and answered,” Andrew said.
“Any idea of time of death, Doctor?” Bernadette asked.
“Aye, from the liver temperature and the look on his face, I’d say around three this morning.”
Bernadette walked out of the room to Constable Stewart. “You happen to get any idea of people traffic in and out of here yet?”
Stewart shook his head. “The head of maintenance—” he looked at his notes, “—a guy named Dmitri Vlasik, he says they never lock their doors at night. They figure they’re far enough out in the country…and of course if someone needs their help, they can find shelter.”
“Great, so the killer can just walk in. They should put a sign on the door, maybe they’ll get some axe murderers,” Bernadette said.
Stewart just shrugged and looked back at his notes.
Bernadette looked around the seminary. “I guess we start by taking statements from everyone.”
“That’s about it,” Stewart said. “There’s only two farmhouses between here and Range Road and we had a near blizzard last night. I suspect we’ll get nothing, but I sent Constable Jellenick to talk to the few neighbors. Maybe one of them couldn’t sleep and saw some lights on the road.
Bernadette walked over to Father Francis. “How many residents living here right now, Father?”
“We have only seven residents. There is a cook, and a man who does some maintenance and shovels the snow; that’s nine in all. The cook lives here and the maintenance man lives in town.”
Bernadette turned to Evanston. “I guess we got three each. Stewart you take the maintenance man and the cook and the priest who found our victim and we’ll get statements from the rest.”
“You called Father Fredericks a victim?” Father Francis said, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
“Yes, I did,” Bernadette said. “Our coroner believes someone helped the good Father Fredericks onto the beam in his room.”
“But this is a sacrilege in this house of God. My word! What will I tell the bishop? First the shooting of Father Dominic, now this,” Father Francis said. He walked to a bench in the hallway and sat down, placing his hands on his knees.
Evanston stood beside Bernadette. “What’s it going to be, you going to interview him or me?”
Bernadette blew out a breath. “This is what I get for being a bad Catholic. I’ll take him. I’ll get a list of the residents from him and we’ll get to it.” She turned to Evanston. “We best tell the chief we got a murder investigation here. I doubt if this is going to make his day.”
“It certainly isn’t a good day for Father Fredericks,” Evanston said, and then paused. “I think that’s a bad analogy.”
Bernadette shook her head. “There are no good analogies for murder, but that one will do for now.”
In the next two hours they interviewed and took statements from all the residents in the seminary. What Bernadette learned is that the seminary was over one hundred years old. The place once bustled with students who were training to be priests, but with cost cuts in the Catholic Church, this place of fifty rooms and large acreage had become a burden.
“It’s been up for sale for five years,” Father Francis told Bernadette.
“Why do you live here then? To keep the lights on?” Bernadette asked, and then wished she hadn’t.
Father Francis sighed. “Yes, that’s about it, I was an educator here once. The old halls rang with the excited sounds of young men filling their heads with knowledge before heading out to spread the words of our Lord to the world.” His eyes closed as he let the memories flood over him.
“How long has it been mothballed…I mean how long since it hasn’t been a school?”
“Quite some time, I’m afraid. We had our best years in the nineteen sixties to the nineteen nineties, then, in this century, things began to falter…”
Bernadette dropped her head to her notebook. The unspoken item was the storm of sexual abuse of children by priests that broke over the Catholic Church in 2002. The first to uncover it was a newspaper in Boston. It rolled over the country like a tsunami as allegations came to light all over North America.
“When did it close as a seminary?” Bernadette finally asked.
“In two thousand and five, I’m afraid. Our last students were sent to Vancouver and Calgary and we became a sanctuary for those too old to carry out their duties.” Father Francis raised his eyebrows.
“I guess we’re a final home for the aged priest. We have a graveyard of our former residents out back.” He motioned with his arm towards the outside. “It seems the final destination for us all.”
“Can you tell me about your residents, how many have lived here for some time and any new arrivals?” Bernadette asked.
“That’s quite easy. All the residents have been with us for years with the exception of Fathers Dominic, Fredericks, and Joesaphat. They arrived from Ireland only a few weeks ago.”
“Who sent them?”
“I received word from the bishop in Edmonton that the two priests were to be our new residents and Father Joesaphat arrived one week before them.”
“Did you get a reason why?”
“Oh no, my dear detective, I would never question the directive of the bishop. We do God’s work here; we never question what is asked of us.”
Bernadette held back a frown. Those very words grated on her like a fingernail going over a chalkboard. She composed herself. “I’ll need to get the contact information for the bishop in Edmonton.”
“But why?”
“Because we do ask questions in the police force, it’s our job Father.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose it is. I’ll get it for you right away.”
Bernadette finished her interviews and joined up with Evanston at their car. The wind was doing a good job of throwing snow sideways and obliterating the roads as they drove back to the detachment.
“Any ideas?” Bernadette asked Evanston as she peered over the steering wheel trying to see the road.
“I got nothing from my interviews. I had three really old priests that could barely shuffle without a walker. Stewart had the same with the cook. That lady is less than five feet tall and just about as round. And did you see the maintenance guy? I mean, I don’t know how that guy gets around; he’s got a limp. His wife drops him off and picks him up.”
“So, you sum this up how?”
“Here’s my take. You got someone who follows these two from Ireland and is trying to settle a score of some kind,” Evanston said without taking her eyes of the road. She’d slowed down to a crawl as they approached the intersection. Going into the ditch on a snowy road got any officer or detective a good ribbing. Evanston had hit the ditch twice that year; she wasn’t going for a three-peat.
“But why? Do you think someone in Ireland made these guys for perv’s, found their case files and saw they did some nasty stuff back in Ireland, then followed them here to take them out?” Bernadette asked.
“You got me. I think we have to get their files.”
Bernadette looked out at the driving snow. “We’re going up against the Catholic Church. That’s going to be whole lot of bullshit we don’t need.”
“But they have to give it to us, don’t they? They can’t hold out on us, right?”
“You’re right, they can’t, but this is going to be far above our pay grade. I’ll get the chief to call our crown prosecutor who will put in the request and we go from there.”
“Oh, this sounds like fun. Look, I’m heading to the Rebels hockey game, what’re you doing tonight.”
Bernadette smiled. “I think I’ll be doing some catching up with my big hunk of a fiancé.”
“Is he cooking tonight? What’s the menu? And if you say it’s going to be you, I’m throwing your silly ass in the snowbank.”
Bernadette smiled. She looked at her phone, saw a message, and her entire face dropped.
“What’s up?” Evanston asked.
“The shit just literally hit the fan.”
5
Bernadette got back to the detachment and went to find Chief Durham. He was in his office, pushing piles of paper from one side of his desk to the other.
“You get my message,” Durham said, looking up.
“Yeah, I got it but I’m not sure if I believe it. Cahal Callahan is getting out tomorrow?”
Durham tilted his head to one side. “Yep, his lawyer heard the news about the death at the seminary. He filed for an immediate release. I got to admit if you want an alibi, being in prison is a good one.”
“But isn’t he still under suspicion for aggravated assault?” Bernadette asked in disbelief.
Durham shrugged. “No weapon, no witness, you can’t ask for a better case for acquittal. The Crown has nothing. They’d keep him if they did. With the heavy snow out there, I can’t send out the tracking dog to look for evidence.”
“Damn, this suck,” Bernadette said.
Durham pushed his files to one side. “We don’t prosecute without evidence. Thought you learned that in your detective training.”
“I just know this Cahal is up to something. I can’t put my finger on it. No one flies all this way to see someone, then doesn’t remember much of the details of the flight.”
“You ever flown to Hong Kong from Vancouver? I think my soul left my body halfway there on the eleven and half hour flight.” Durham said.
Bernadette just shook her head and looked at her watch. “It’s past seven, and I told Chris I’d be home by six.”
“Yeah, you better get going. Oh, and the crown prosecutor says he needs to speak to you.”
Bernadette was heading for the door and turned. “What for?”
“No idea. Maybe he wants to know if he’s on the guest list for your wedding.”
Bernadette rolled her eyes. “Sure, no really, what does he want?
“Again, I got no idea. Go home to your man. And by the way, my wife says we’re only coming to your wedding if it’s in Cancun but not if it’s in hurricane season.”
“Thanks, I’ll take that into consideration.” Bernadette headed out the door. She’d almost forgot, she did have a wedding to plan.
She was happy her Jeep had a remote starter, which it meant nice and warm by the time she got in. She brushed of the snow and drove home in the driving snow. The snow was going sideways again with the wind, never a good driving experience.
She made it home, pulled into the garage, and parked the Jeep. She heard the sounds of their dog, Sprocket, their large German Shepard barking at the door. He was a two-year-old dropout from RCMP training school. Bernadette picked him up when someone told her the dog was unable to make the grade. She was immediately attracted to him. The dog’s problem was attention deficit disorder, the same as hers. They ran together on both warm and cold days and he got into almost as much trouble as she did.
Sprocket took to Chris, her fiancé, easily. Chris was a big soft-spoken man who loved the outdoors. When Bernadette was working, Chris often took Sprocket on long runs or out to the streams to fish. They were like two kids hanging out.
Bernadette opened the door and was met by the big dog; he nuzzled her and put a big paw on her shoulder as she knelt down.
“You miss me, big fella?” Bernadette asked as she scratched his ears.
“How did you guess?” Chris answered with a laugh from the kitchen. He was wearing an apron, working a mixing bowl with a whisk.
Bernadette looked up with a smile. “Oh, yeah, you too, big guy.” She patted the dog and walked over to Chris and let herself fold into his big arms.
Chris was, in the terms of Evanston, a hunk. He was over six feet tall, curly black hair and brown eyes from his Greek heritage with a package of biceps, triceps and pectorals from his love of working out in the gym and being outside.
They’d had some rough patches together, got through them, and now they looked forward to their wedding plans.
Bernadette looked into his bowl. “What’s for dinner? And, so sorry I’m late.”
Chris winked. “I’m throwing together an Italian sausage and potato pie with provolone. I’m just about to mix it together and throw it in the oven. It takes forty-five minutes to cook.” He handed her a glass of red wine. “You have time for a shower, but of course if you want me to assist, I can be available.”
Bernadette kissed him hard on the lips and smiled. “Okay, sweetie, but just give me some time to get some o
f the daily grime off before you come in, okay?”
“Sure, hard day at work?”
Bernadette closed her eyes and put her hand to her neck. “You know, the usual cloak and dagger stuff. I could use a little neck massage.”
“I’ll be right in as soon as I put my latest creation in the oven,” Chris said.
Bernadette went into the bathroom and undressed. She let the shower run hot before getting in then ran the water down her back and shoulders. The biggest part of her day was unwinding. Putting dead bodies out of her mind, the sight of victims, the faces of the bystanders. So far, with the help of Chris and the faithful attention of Sprocket, she got by. But the dreams at night were the problem.
She grabbed the soap and began to clean the residue of the day from her body and her mind. She heard the door open. She leaned into the shower and let the water run down her back. Moments later, two strong hands began to massage her neck then her back. His hands moved in a methodical motion, and then reached her breasts. She moaned softly.
“We have to be quiet,” Chris, cautioned. “Sprocket’s at the door, he’ll start to bark if he hears you.”
Bernadette turned around and grabbed Chris. “Then cover your ears, because I’m going to make noise that’ll make him howl like there’s a full moon.”
Fifty minutes later they were sitting down to dinner. Sprocket lay in the corner, his big eyes regarding Chris with suspicion. The noises he heard from the bathroom had made him howl and scratch at the door. Bernadette had to call out twice to get him to calm down.
“This is an excellent dish,” Bernadette said as she swallowed a mouthful of Chris’s creation and reached for her wine glass.
Chris patted his lips with his napkin. “Just a little dish I picked up off the internet.”
Bernadette drank a sip of wine. “I thought this might be something you got from your Greek mother.”
Chris grinned. “You know my mother does nothing outside of Greek cuisine.”
“No offense against your mother, but that’s probably why I like this so much.”
Chris reached behind him and grabbed his iPad. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you ever since you got home.”
Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5) Page 3
