A Novena for Murder
Page 5
“I’m afraid, sir, you’ll have to come with us,” Kate repeated. With the precision of a fine acrobatic team, the two inspectors whipped into action.
Quickly, Gallagher spread-eagled Leonel against the college building, patted down his sides, and slipped on the handcuffs. With a steady rhythm, Kate read him his legal rights, then grumbled something into the car radio. Gallagher wedged Leonel into the back seat.
Sister Mary Helen stood speechless, a phenomenon that many later remarked was most unusual. Kate Murphy walked toward her. “Are you all right, Sister?” she asked.
Mary Helen nodded. “But why Leonel?”
“We dusted that statue for prints, Sister, and his turned up.”
“Only his?”
“No, but his were the only ones that didn’t belong there. We understand he threatened to kill the professor. ‘Crush the life from him,’ was the direct quote.”
“But Kate.” Mary Helen reached over and touched the young woman’s forearm. “Leonel may have touched that statue, but he could not have killed anyone with it. Just look at his eyes—such gentle eyes.”
Kate compressed her lips. “Sister,” she said politely, “right now we are not looking at eyes; we are looking at motive and opportunity.”
Sister Mary Helen chose to ignore motive. “Did you check on where he was that night?”
“Yes,” Kate answered. “With Marina, he says. And she says so, too. They are each other’s alibi. Yet she was alone when you saw her. Claims Leonel stayed in his room while she went to the office to pick up some work. You thought someone was in the upper hall, right? Could have been he. Anyway, we’re taking him downtown for a few questions.”
“Ready, Kate?” Gallagher called from the car.
“Talk to you later, Sister.” Kate slid in beside him.
Even before she turned around, Mary Helen felt the silent stares of the kitchen help crowding the doorway. Their stained aprons covered the opening like a patchwork curtain. Only the small, black figure of Sister Therese, eyes wide, mouth shut, broke the pattern.
Even poor Therese is stunned into silence, Mary Helen thought as she turned back to watch the taillights of the Plymouth round the building.
Almost instantly, the kitchen burst into a babble, with Therese’s voice rising above the pack.
Forgoing her coffee break, Mary Helen walked down the driveway toward the Sisters’ Residence. Poor, poor Leonel! She knew he hadn’t killed the professor. When lined up beside motive and opportunity, nice eyes and instinct were hardly a logical argument. Mary Helen realized that. Yet she knew, as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the east, that Leonel was innocent. Well, old girl, she thought, squaring her shoulders, with the police making that mistake, the burden of proving it seems to be falling directly on you!
Opening the front door of the convent, she suddenly remembered why she had gone to the professor’s office. Joanna. She had forgotten to tell Kate Murphy that Joanna Alves was missing.
“Thanks, Sister.” Kate Murphy replaced the phone and walked across the Detail to the small interrogation room. She called Gallagher out. Reluctantly, he left Leonel.
“That was Sister Mary Helen,” she said, replacing her right earring.
“What did she want?”
“Seems she forgot to tell us that Joanna Alves is missing.”
“Who the hell is Joanna Alves?”
“The secretary’s sister. You know . . . Marina Alves—Joanna Alves.”
“How long?”
“Only overnight, but the sister is very worried. Called relatives, friends, everyone she can think of, and Joanna’s not with any of them. You don’t suppose something has happened to her?”
“Naw! She probably just has a boyfriend.”
“Wouldn’t her sister know?”
Gallagher yawned, then checked his watch. Most of the Detail had gone home for the night, and Kate was starting to perk. He yawned again. “I think we’ve got enough to hold this guy overnight. Let’s give him to the lads upstairs and get the hell out of here. We can question him again first thing in the morning, after we’ve all had a good night’s sleep.” He emphasized the “all.”
Kate didn’t answer.
Gallagher sighed. “What’s on your mind, Katie girl?”
“I was just trying to piece the day together.”
“Yeah?”
She flipped open her note pad. “Marina found the body. Swears she was with Leonel in his room until then. If she’s telling the truth, maybe we have the wrong guy in there.” Kate was thinking aloud. “Or, maybe she did it. But then, it doesn’t seem logical to hit him, then run out and raise such a commotion.”
“Who says women are logical?”
“No sexist jokes.” Kate’s blue eyes leveled on him.
Gallagher cocked his head toward the interrogation room.
“Far as I can see, the guy in there is our best bet so far. His prints are on the statue. His and Marina’s. She’s the secretary. Secretaries sometimes move things. Dust. But him? What are his prints doing on it? Which, if you remember, is why we picked him up for questioning in the first place.”
Kate chose to ignore the sarcasm in Gallagher’s voice. “He claims that Sunday night he was with Marina. And he might just be telling the truth about the prints. He could have helped Marina replace the statue. The shelf is high.”
“If not, he is a quick thinker.”
“Or maybe the two of them could have been in it together. He bashes the professor, then disappears.”
“Wouldn’t it seem more chivalrous for him to stay with the body and let her slink away?” Gallagher yawned again.
“Chivalry is clearly dead, Gallagher,” Kate said. “Besides, he would have no valid reason to be in the office.”
“True. The girl says they were together in his room up to just before she found the body. And she’s sticking to the story, which is one of the reasons we don’t have an open-and-shut case, Katie girl.”
Again, Kate chose to ignore the sarcasm.
She ran down her notes. “Let’s see, there was the janitor, Luis Neves—says he was sweeping at the time. Officers found a pile of dirt that looks like he is either very clever or very innocent. Tony Costa is the only other person who lives on the property, besides the nuns, and he claimed he was with about one hundred other Portuguese at a hang-out in Santa Clara. I checked it out. Bartender remembers him.”
“How come the bartender remembered one guy in a crowd that big?”
“Seems Costa is a regular. Plus he gets as belligerent as hell when he has had more than his share. So the bartender keeps an eye on him.”
Gallagher shrugged. “Figures. What about the nuns?”
Kate stared at him in disbelief. “They were all together in the Community Room. Several verified that. All, that is, except Cecilia, the president, who was at an important Board of Directors’ Meeting. Mayor’s sister-in-law was with her. It’s this shadow on the stairs, the one the old nun thinks she saw, that interests me. Now, I’ll bet that’s our murderer. Maybe one of the Portuguese the professor helped, but didn’t help enough. Maybe a disgruntled student he flunked.”
“Good thinking, Kate!”
“Anyway, in case our Leonel doesn’t work out, I’m getting a list of failing students from the Registrar’s Office. And Marina told me she’d put together a list of people Villanueva is known to have helped.”
“We can pick that up tomorrow.” Gallagher checked his watch again. The Homicide Detail was growing dim. “Let’s take the guy upstairs and get the hell outa here,” he said.
The two inspectors rode down in the elevator. “Do me a favor, will you, Kate?” Gallagher asked as they walked across the Hall of Justice parking lot.
“What is it, Denny?” Kate fumbled for her car keys, unlocked the door, and slid in.
“Will you handle that old nun?”
“Why?” Kate frowned.
“Because I’ve had one session with her already, Kate, and frankl
y, you two deserve each other.” He slammed her door shut.
Waving, Gallagher walked toward his car.
Kate giggled. Poor Denny. But then, he was not the only man who had trouble dealing with strong women. There had been her father. Poor Pa. Turning on her lights and windshield wipers, Kate merged into the downtown traffic. Fog had blunted the city. In a few minutes, she’d be home. Signaling left, she turned toward 34th Avenue—and Jack. He should be home already. She could hardly wait to tell him about her day.
On the way toward the avenues she passed the college. It had been nice going up there today, she thought. Seeing Sister Eileen and all the nuns again. She felt a little nostalgic. College had been such a safe, stable time in her life. Everything had been so certain. Pa reading the paper, ruling the household. Ma cooking, cleaning, loving every minute of waiting on them.
Everything had been so secure. That is, until her senior year. Pa had sent her to this small Catholic liberal arts college, so she would be prepared to take “a woman’s proper place in the home.”
“So as you’ll make some man a good wife and a good mother to his children,” he had said. Poor Pa. Kate had to laugh. He had deliberately chosen a small, safe, liberal arts college for her. Pa had counted heavily on the “arts.” Little did he realize that his choice would turn his only daughter, the apple of his eye, into a flaming liberal.
She remembered clearly the night when all the resentment she had built up toward her “proper place” burst into rebellion.
Pa and she had had a terrible row in the kitchen. “A regular Donnybrook,” Ma called it later, shaking her head.
“No daughter of mine is going to join the police force,” Pa shouted, his face red with anger. “I’d be the laughing-stock of the entire Department.”
“Oh, yes I am,” she shouted back. “As soon as I graduate.”
“I said, you are not! I forbid it!”
Stubbornly, Kate folded her arms.
Furious, her father had stormed from the kitchen, but not before he turned and shouted, “I wish you were ten years younger. I’d march you right upstairs and wallop a large dose of that stubbornness out of you!”
“Don’t be too hard on the girl, Mick,” Ma called from the sink. “Remember, the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.”
“How can you stand him?” Kate asked her mother.
“Stand him? I love him.” Ma wiped her hands on her crisp apron. “And when you love someone, you can give a little.”
“I’ll never give an inch to any man,” Kate said.
“We’ll see,” Ma said. “In the meantime, Kate, do what you need to do. Pa will come round.”
“I love you, Ma.” Kate kissed her soft cheek.
“But remember, Kathleen, whatever you choose, it’s almost impossible to have your cake and eat it, too.”
So much had happened since that night. Kate had joined the police force. Poor Pa had died suddenly. Heart. Not long after, Ma followed him. Now, Kate was living in the old, peaked wooden house on 34th Avenue with Jack Bassetti. Ma had been wrong. So far, Kate was having her cake and enjoying every bite of it.
“Hi, hon,” she called, turning the key in the front door. From the entryway, she could see the light in the kitchen.
Eyes closed, lips puckered, Jack stuck his face around the corner of the small entryway. “Kiss me, Kate,” he said in his Charles Boyer accent.
Laughing, Kate pushed the front door shut with her foot. Eyes closed, she kissed Jack loudly on his puckered lips.
Before she could open her eyes, he wrapped her in a bear hug and carried her, feet dangling, into the warm kitchen.
Rocking her back and forth, Jack kissed her neck and ears. “I made spaghetti, salad, and pot roast, my love,” he whispered. “There is Dago red chilling in the fridge. Let us eat dinner, then I will eat you.”
“Put me down, you beast!” Kate pushed against his chest, which was covered with flour. “Why don’t you ever wear an apron?” she complained, dusting the white film off her blue plaid jacket. “And don’t you know red wine should be room temperature?”
“Sixteen hours over a hot stove, and all I get is bitch, bitch, bitch.” Teasing, Jack dabbed his eyes with a pot holder. Turning to the stove, he stirred the rich, red meat sauce bubbling in an iron pot.
“What a day I had, pal.” Kate slipped a butcher apron over her head and stood next to Jack at the stove. She stole a quick peek into the oven. The spicy aroma of Italian pot roast filled the cozy kitchen. She slipped her arm through Jack’s, and rested her head against his shoulder.
“I was on Holy Hill all day. Made me feel a little sentimental. It was such a nice, sheltered place to go to school.”
“ ‘Was’ is right. That homicide is big news.” Jack took the lid off the pot of boiling pasta and tested one strand.
“Yeah, the history professor. Talked to the old nun that reported the body. Quite a character. You’d enjoy her. And you know what Gallagher asked me as we were leaving the main hall?”
“What?” Jack held up a wooden spoonful of sauce for her to sample. His dark eyes waited for her reaction.
“Delicious. He asked me if I would do him a favor and handle the nun.”
“Why?” Jack put the spoon back into the pot.
“He says we deserve each other. She is quite a formidable lady. Sharp old gal. I like her. Has one of those faces that may not have launched a thousand ships, but she certainly is captain of whatever ship she’s on.
“But you know what I think his reason really is?” Kate kicked off her shoes.
“What?”
“I think he wants to sic the nun on us and our living arrangement. He doesn’t approve, you know.”
“He doesn’t! Hell, neither do I. Neither does my mother, speaking of formidable ladies!”
“Did your mother call again tonight?” Kate stiffened. She dreaded the phone calls from Mama Bassetti. Jack was always more insistent about marriage after one. “Marry the girl, Jackie! Irish is better than nobody. Start a family before you’re too old!” Jack never said so, but Kate was pretty sure that’s what Mama Bassetti said. And she knew, even if his mother had never called, that he wanted a family, too. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she’d be able to put him off.
Jack turned toward her. He always looked more than his six foot three when he was making a point, she thought. “Kate, why don’t you just marry me?”
Lovingly, Kate reached up and ran one hand through his curly, dark hair. She knew that would distract him. No sense having the argument again and spoiling a perfectly good dinner.
“I love you, Jack,” she whispered, running her long, slim fingers down the back of his neck. “And some day we will get married. But I’m not ready yet.”
Softly, she planted a kiss on his cleft chin, then one on each corner of his wide mouth. “Smile,” she coaxed.
Slowly, Jack’s face softened, and he grinned. Reaching behind, he turned off the gas burners on the old Wedgwood. “The hell with dinner, my love.” He poured them each a tall glass of red wine. “Dinner, we will eat later. Now, I will eat you!”
Playfully, Jack carried Kate into the old-fashioned sun porch off the kitchen. Laughing, they sank into the soft, chintz-covered couch. The Dago red on the kitchen table got warm.
Third Day
Right after breakfast, Sister Mary Helen nabbed Eileen in the Sisters’ Residence. “What are you doing this morning?” she asked, trying to be offhand.
“The same thing I do every morning.” Eileen eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just hoping you might be able to get away for a couple of hours.”
“And what is it you have in mind?”
“I want someone to go with me to visit Leonel.”
“Oh, poor Leonel.” Eileen’s wrinkled face puckered with compassion. “He’s such a lovely young fellow. I know in my heart there must be some mistake.”
“You’ll come, then?” Mary Helen asked, as if s
he didn’t already know.
“Of course I’ll come. Just give me a moment to notify my office. Someone can fill in for me. The worst thing that can happen, God knows, is that a few books won’t get straightened.”
She’s almost too easy, Mary Helen thought affectionately, watching Eileen, round and blue, bustle toward the nearest intercom phone.
“Meet you by the garage,” she called after her friend.
Lifting the keys off the hook by the garage door, Mary Helen automatically began to sign out on the car calendar that hung beside the hook. “S.E. and S.M.H.” She wrote their initials in the tiny square. “Eight a.m. until noon, Hall of Jus . . .” She stopped abruptly. Sister Therese was an avid car-calendar reader. No sense spending an entire lunch answering questions about Leonel. Erasing “Hall of Jus . . .” she boldly printed “OUT.”
Smart move, she congratulated herself, hearing Therese’s nervous footsteps clipping along the parquet corridor toward her.
“I’m on my way to the chapel,” Therese whispered. “Third day of my novena.” She raised three arthritic fingers.
Mary Helen winked. With two of her own fingers, she shot the fleeting Therese a V for victory.
“Here I come,” she heard Eileen call cheerfully down the hallway.
“I’ll warm up the brown car,” Mary Helen called back.
With Eileen firmly planted in the passenger’s seat, Mary Helen pulled out of the garage. The headlights cut a comet of light through the low, dripping fog as she nosed the car down the curved driveway. The fog made small, bright halos around the headlights coming up the hill toward them.
“I can’t see the cars coming in until they’re nearly on top of me,” Mary Helen said, shifting into low.
“You keep an eye on the cars. I’ll keep an eye on the hill.” Eileen moved forward in her seat and crossed her fingers. “Don’t worry, old dear, I’ll let you know if the road disappears.”
“Eileen, if the road disappears, we’ll both know it!” Mary Helen hit the bright beams.
Eileen gasped. “Glory be to God, look!” She pointed over the side of the hill. “I swear by all that is good and holy, someone is crouching in the bushes.”