Marked for Murder

by Donna Raider

  Mrs. Rodríguez looked around the room then looked behind Carlie. “You no have Leah Redman with you, miss?” she asked.

  “No,” Carlie growled. “This is the real thing.” She put on her nice face when Mrs. Rodríguez recoiled from her.

  “What time did you find the body?” She smiled, trying to put the woman at ease.

  “I come in around nine thirty,” Mrs. Rodríguez, answered. “The TV was on, so I started to clean. Then I see he all falling over on the sofa. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth. I scream.” Mrs. Rodríguez forgot to tell them that she had turned on the air conditioning, so the apartment was now cozy instead of the oven she had walked into.

  “Did you pick up anything or touch anything?” Carlie queried her.

  “No, miss.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Martin Tate sank to his knees and began crossing himself and praying. “What happened?” He was surprised to find the room so cool. Good, he thought.

  “Sir.” Carlie touched the man’s shoulder, indicating she wanted him to stand. “What time were you supposed to pick up the archbishop this morning?”

  “The time varies.” He struggled to his feet. Carlie held his arm, steadying him. His biceps felt frail, with barely enough flesh to cover his bones. She looked into his hazel-brownish eyes. Even his eyes were nondescript. “I just show up at eight and wait for the archbishop to come out. What happened?” Martin asked again.

  “We are not certain.” Carlie frowned. “Did you drive him home last night?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Martin nodded. “I picked him up from his office then we stopped by his favorite restaurant to pick up his dinner. He doesn’t like hotel food.”

  “What time did you leave him?” Carlie studied the man as he spoke. He was obviously shaken.

  “About seven.” Martin frowned. “I helped him to his room, and offered to fix his dinner for him, but he said he wanted to finish his drink first. He was drinking and watching TV when I left.”

  “That’s him. That’s the man.” The couple Martin had passed in the hall the night before pointed at him. “He was talking to the archbishop when we walked past.”

  Martin smiled faintly. “Yes.” He nodded. “We did see each other last night. Like she said, the archbishop and I were talking, and they walked by.”

  Dr. Davis approached the detective. “Carlie, I won’t know for certain, but I am pretty sure he died of anaphylactic shock.”

  “Really?” Carlie raised her eyebrows. “Natural causes?”

  “Looks that way.” Dr. Davis nodded. “Judging by the liver temp, I’d say he’s been dead no more than six or seven hours. Died sometime after midnight.”

  “That was a new bottle of Scotch.” Martin pointed to the near-empty bottle.

  “Was he allergic to anything you know of?” Carlie was looking around the suite. Nothing was out of place.

  “Shellfish. He always made me specify on his food orders ‘No Shellfish.’” Martin shrugged. “That’s all I’m aware of. The church would probably have that information in their files. You could ask Priest Mika.”

  Ah, and there we have it, Carlie thought, the ever-present Priest Mika. She knew that she and Jennifer had been out dining and dancing with the Crosses until two a.m. She knew Mika could in no way be involved with the death of the archbishop. Her name just kept coming up.

  ##

  Mika’s sudden appearance startled and pleased her. “Darling.” Leah smiled as Mika pulled her into her arms and held her tighter than usual. “Is anything wrong? The children?”

  “The archbishop is dead!” Mika’s voice was troubled.

  “How? When?” Leah bombarded her with questions.

  “Last night.” Mika frowned. “Evidently he ate something he was allergic to and went into anaphylactic shock.”

  “I can’t say I am surprised,” Leah said as she stroked her wife’s back. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll tell Stiles something has come up and I must leave.”

  Mika nodded, then pulled her in to kiss her slowly, allowing the feel of her soft, full lips to wash away everything but Leah from her mind. “I love you so,” she mumbled against Leah’s lips.

  Pelosi was the last name on the list Mika had given the Pope. It troubled her that the men on that list were dying. They had systematically been eliminated. She didn’t think it was a coincidence. They were marked for murder, she thought.

  ##

  Watcher smiled to himself as he walked to his apartment. He had parked the limo on the church parking lot and put the keys on the desk of the transportation supervisor. He still marveled at how easily they had turned a limo over to him when he had walked in and informed them he was Archbishop Pelosi’s private driver.

  Once he was safe in the privacy of his home, he removed the chauffer’s uniform, cap, and shoes. He no longer needed them. He threw them in a trash bag. He would take them to the fire barrels, where the street people lived under the bridge, and burn them after dark.

  He hid the wire-rimmed glasses and colored contacts under the board in his flooring then pulled the rug back over it. He quickly colored his hair as close to his natural blond as possible. He blinked his eyes. It was good to be rid of the contact lenses. His green eyes were tired. He grimaced in the mirror at his skeletal body. He had never looked so bad in his life.

  He turned on the TV. Mika was being interviewed by several news people. She seemed to be holding the press conference instead of Bishop Cantrell. “It’s with deep regret that we must inform the public that Archbishop Norman Pelosi was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital yesterday. He died of anaphylactic shock.”

  “Priest Cross.” A pretty redhead pushed her microphone into Mika’s face. “Are you certain this is an accidental death and not another one of the Catholic Murders? This is the third Catholic clergyman in New York to die or disappear in a very short period.”

  Mika shook her head. “I only know what the medical examiner has told me. Information about the services for the archbishop will be on the Catholic website. His body will be returned to his family in Rome.”

  “Weren’t you involved in quite a verbal battle with the archbishop this month?” another reporter yelled.

  Watcher was distressed that the news media was hounding Mika. She was one of the truly good priests.

  “Archbishop Pelosi was a valiant champion of his beliefs,” Mika said slowly. “As I’m certain most of you know, we’ve been in a conference on celibacy for a long time. The archbishop and I were on opposing sides of the argument.”

  “You don’t believe in celibacy, do you?” The redhead smiled enticingly at the priest, as if inviting her to prove it.

  “No.” Mika smiled. “I’m married to a marvelous woman.”

  “Lucky her.” The redhead laughed.

  “I appreciate all of you attending our press conference.” Mika smiled her warmest smile. “If you need any further information or background on the archbishop, our press secretary will be delighted to help you.”

  Mika stepped from the podium and walked toward her office.

  “Priest Cross.” The redhead followed Mika. “May I speak with you, off the record?”

  Mika turned and saw her cameraman was still shooting footage. “Not now, Miss…”

  “Riley.” She smiled. “Riley Rabbit.”

  “For real?” Mika laughed. “Your name is Riley Rabbit? Is that your real name?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, joining in her laughter. “You don’t think I would pick a name like that, do you?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Rabbit, I didn’t mean to be rude.” She laughed again. “Riley Rabbit.” Mika closed the door to her office.

  Watcher had to laugh at the surprised expression of the young newswoman when she realized the door had closed in her face and she had just lost her interview.

  The live news switched to a team of archeologists that had just unearthed a large cave filled with ossuaries in Bethsaida Valley. A dirt-covered young man that looked very much l
ike Mika was in the background with the team. The ossuaries seemed to be filled with bones and writings that dated back to the time of Christ.

  Watcher made a mental note to search the Internet to learn more about the find and the team involved. Right now, he wanted to eat.

  He finished his beer then slipped on his jacket. He was ravenous. He had existed on nothing but red beans and rice during his stint as Martin Tate. He was going to order the biggest steak on the menu and anything that would help him put back on his weight and get back into shape. He was so skinny he didn’t even want to show his body to a woman. Give him a month. He would be back in the game of one-night stands and easy women, he told himself.

  ##

  Leah materialized in Mika’s office. “You better be the only one in here.” She smiled her most engaging smile as she wrapped her arms around her wife’s waist. “I saw that brazen minx coming on to you, on national TV, no less.”

  Mika locked her sparkling blue eyes with Leah’s teasing brown ones and slowly pulled her into her arms. She nibbled at Mika’s lower lip and teased it with her tongue. Mika held her tighter. “Want to go home with me, Priest?” Her voice was deep with the promise of things shared by just the two of them.

  “Oh, yes, please, Your Majesty,” Mika whispered. “You have no idea how much I need you right now.”

  “That’s my good girl.” She grinned as she swirled them to their penthouse.

  ##

  Carlie couldn’t believe she had finally caught a break. Pelosi’s death was ruled accidental. Mika had confirmed that Pelosi’s file showed him highly allergic to shellfish. By some freak accident, the restaurant had managed to get shrimp into the man’s gumbo. He had emphatically requested no fish of any kind, but accidents happened. Convenient accidents. Her stomach turned. She knew it was her gut telling her something was wrong. The appearance of Ben Davis in her office confirmed the premonition.

  “Don’t tell me! Let me guess,” she growled. “Archbishop Pelosi was murdered!”

  “Possibly.” Ben nodded as he dropped into the chair in front of her desk.

  “Possibly?” Carlie almost yelled. “Don’t give me any half-baked guesses, Ben. For once in this damn case, give me some hard facts I can get my teeth into.”

  “We ran some additional tests. Tests most medical examiners wouldn’t run.” Ben patted his own back. “I checked his stomach contents. I compared the shellfish residue from his stomach to the bits of shrimp we found in the bowl. The gumbo broth was laced with heavy quantities of shellfish, but they weren’t the same as the shrimp residue that was found in the gumbo. He didn’t die from the shrimp. He died from the broth. He never ate any of the shrimp. Someone pureed shrimp and mixed it with the chicken gumbo. The tiny pieces of shrimp were added to his bowl after he died. He didn’t ingest any pieces of shrimp. It must be murder.”

  “Dear God,” Carlie moaned. “Thanks, Ben. You’re the best.”

  “That’s why you always request me,” the ME said, smiling as he stood, “or maybe you like my devilishly good looks.”

  “Yeah, in your dreams.” Carlie grinned good-naturedly.

  “I’m just offering, if you ever want to try something new.” Ben smiled as he left the office.

  Carlie called the Human Resources Department of the Catholic Church and requested information on Martin Tate. She desperately hoped Martin could cast some light on the archbishop’s death.

  “I am sorry, Detective Carlyle,” the girl spoke hesitantly, “we have no one in our employment by that name.”

  “Maybe he is a volunteer,” Carlie suggested.

  “Let me check,” the girl said amiably. “With all the pedophiles and nuts running around, we require background checks on all our volunteers too.”

  Carlie waited impatiently as the girl clicked the keys of her computer.

  “No, ma’am. Not on our volunteer list either. I don’t show that we have ever had anyone by that name associated with the church.”

  “Who’s in charge of your limos?” Carlie was beginning to get a bad feeling.

  “Brady Cantor is the transportation supervisor. All the drivers answer to him.” The girl was trying to be helpful. “Do you want me to put you through to him?”

  “No, just give me an address where I can speak with him in person.” Carlie sighed. She knew she needed to talk with Martin as soon as possible.

  Detectives Carlyle and Holly entered the cavernous building that served as office space and garage for the diocese’s fleet of automobiles. Carlie noticed the limo she was certain Pelosi had been using.

  “May I help you?” A tall man dressed in neatly creased jeans and a white shirt walked toward them.

  “We are looking for Brady Cantor.” Carlie pulled back her jacket, exposing the badge clipped to her belt.

  “You found him.” Cantor grinned. “Please don’t tell me you are serving a warrant on one of my men for a traffic violation.”

  Carlie returned his smile. “I just need a word with Martin Tate, Archbishop Pelosi’s driver.”

  “I haven’t seen him since the archbishop passed away.” Cantor frowned.

  “Do you have an address or phone number where I can reach him?” Carlie walked casually toward the limo she was sure Pelosi had used.

  “No, ma’am,” Cantor replied. “He didn’t work for us. He was the archbishop’s personal driver.”

  “Who paid him?” Carlie asked.

  “I guess the diocese Pelosi was from.” Cantor moved to stand beside the limo. “He just told us he was the archbishop’s personal driver and he needed a limo. When an archbishop is involved, one doesn’t ask many questions.”

  “Did you ask for his driver’s license?”

  “Sure did.” Cantor grinned, pleased that he had secured the information. “Even have a picture of it.”

  “Is this the limo the archbishop used during his time here?” Carlie motioned toward the limo.

  “Sure is. We haven’t even had a chance to clean it.” Cantor nodded. “If you’ll follow me to my office, I’ll give you a copy of Tate’s license.”

  “Holly, secure this vehicle,” Carlie barked. “We’ll need to take it. I want CSI to go over it with a fine-toothed comb. Have it towed. I don’t even want anyone else sitting in it.”

  Carlie looked at the driver’s license for a long time before speaking. “There’s no picture. It’s issued by the Vatican. Even I know the Vatican doesn’t issue drivers’ licenses. The address is the one listed on the Internet for the Vatican.”

  Cantor scrutinized the copy and shook his head. Someone in his office had dropped the ball. “Looks like we messed up.”

  “Holly, stay with this limo. Ride back to the lab with the tow truck. I need to talk to Mika.”

  ##

  Mika was sitting on her desk. Her wife was standing between her knees, kissing her as if for the first time. “I’m so glad you dropped in.” Mika grinned as she kissed Leah again.

  Carlie rapped her knuckles against the open door. Both Crosses turned to glare at her for the interruption. “How did you get here so quickly?” Carlie demanded. “Weren’t you on the set when I called you?”

  “Yes, but I left immediately after I spoke with you,” Leah explained, still leaning against her wife. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mika, I need the phone number for Martin Tate.” Carlie scowled. She so wanted Leah to move from between her wife’s legs. “I need to talk with him.”

  “It’s in my cell.” Mika reached into her pocket and retrieved the phone. She pushed buttons and Carlie’s phone dinged. “That should be it now. From me to you.” She grinned.

  “Why do you need Martin?” Leah asked.

  “I just need to ask him some questions.” Carlie pushed the button that dialed the man’s number. She put the call on speaker so the priest and her wife could hear the conversation. A recorded announcement greeted them: “I’m sorry, the number you have called has been disconnected.”

  “How did he get as
signed as the archbishop’s driver?” Carlie asked.

  “I have no idea.” Mika frowned. “He drove Father Cantrell to the airport to pick up the archbishop. Let’s walk to Larry’s office and ask him.”

  Carlie sighed a breath of relief as Leah stepped from between Mika’s knees. Finally!

  Father Cantrell looked up as the three women entered his office. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” His smile was genuine.

  “Who assigned Martin Tate to drive the archbishop?” Carlie asked.

  “I suppose the transportation department did.” The bishop frowned. “Someone called my secretary and told her the limo would be waiting at the curb when I was ready to go to the airport. Martin was a wonderful driver, very careful, very kind to both the archbishop and me. Has something happened to him?”

  “He’s disappeared,” Mika explained as she whirled on her heel to return to her office.

  Mika typed in the password, known only by a few, which allowed her access to the church’s entire personnel database. No Martin Tate existed in any country.

  “I’m calling the archbishop’s death a homicide,” Carlie growled at Mika. “How do men just disappear from the face of the Earth? First Ben Clinton disappears, then Byron Welch, and now Martin Tate.”

  “We know what Martin Tate looks like.” Leah frowned. “He bears no resemblance to the artist’s sketch of Byron Welch, so they can’t be the same man.”

  “I know.” Carlie ran her hand through her long, dark hair. “This case is killing me. I can’t sleep at night. I just keep going over every molecule of evidence, looking for something I might have missed.”

  In her heart, decorated Detective Carlie Carlyle knew she had held a serial killer by his scrawny little arm and let him go.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Can you believe she slammed the door in my face?” Riley Rabbit fumed.

  “She didn’t slam it,” Herb, her cameraman corrected her. “She simply closed it. You were in her face.”

  “I don’t care if she is the golden girl of the diocese; she can’t treat the news media like that.” Riley knew she was being unfair to Priest Mika Cross. She hated that she knew almost everything there was to know about the attractive priest and Mika didn’t even know her name. She was an award-winning journalist! She deserved her attention.