Aisle of the Dead

by Joseph E. Wright

  “We know what we’re doing,” Pat said. There was just enough conviction in his voice to assure the detective, who sighed his resignation. “It’s only a question of bringing out a few facts, maybe play a few unfair tricks along the way, and get the killer to admit to everything.”

  “For whatever it’s worth, Detective,” Father Sieger spoke up, “these two have not yet told me who the murderer of Father Paul is. But I must say I do have confidence in them.”

  “Did you make those phone calls?” Pat asked Phillis.

  “I called them. Leslie will be here, as well as Nelson Paquette, and Grace Everett. Kelsey Quentin and Tom Benson I asked to stay.”

  “I’ve already spoken to Jeremy, and I would like Beatrice here, too,” Pat said.

  Father Sieger nodded. “I thought you might. I asked Beatrice not to leave this evening to go to wherever it is she goes each night until I told her it was all right.”

  Kelsey came into the room and began clearing away the dishes. “I’ll bring coffee into the study, if that’s all right with you, Father,” he said.

  “I’ll help.” Father Sieger got up from the table.

  “No need, Father. Tom’s in the kitchen. He’ll help clear.”

  Pat and Phillis thought they saw Kelsey blush.

  “What time is it?” Pat asked.

  “Six-thirty,” Phillis told him.

  “Could have sworn it was much later. It’s so dark outside.”

  “We’re going to have a storm. And from the looks of it out there, it’s going to be a pretty bad one, too.”

  Kelsey brought the coffee into the study. A stained-glass lamp was burning on Father Sieger’s desk and a floor lamp lit the opposite corner of the room, casting an aura along the walls which gave the room with its high ceilings and leaded windows a feeling of an earlier age, an almost medieval setting. Hymn was asleep on one of the bookshelves. Err was curled up on the corner of Father’s desk enjoying the heat coming from the lamp. Both animals looked up at the intrusion of humans into their world, yawned, and went back to sleep. The imminence of what was about to happen announced itself in the form of the doorbell ringing. Father Sieger hurried off to answer it and returned with his nephew, Leslie Victoire, and Jeremy Knollys in his wake. Jeremy made no secret of the fact that he thought his presence being required here this evening was an affront both to his dignity and his reputation, and he made the subtlest of threats to the effect he would relate this incident to his friend, the mayor.

  Leslie said the whole thing was a great deal of fun. “I intend to sit near the light switch so that the murderer won’t get a chance to turn off the lights and make good his escape.” He refused coffee. With a shudder, he explained to the room: “The murderer may have poisoned it.”

  The doorbell again. This time, it was Grace Everett accompanied by Nelson Paquette who had to turn sideways to come through the doorway. He was out of breath by the time he sat down on one of the wingback chairs, the frame of which gave out a loud groan from his weight.

  Pat went outside and returned almost immediately with Beatrice. The latter took a straight-back chair in one corner of the room. Kelsey and Tom came in from the kitchen.

  Detective Worton was standing somewhat dramatically in front of the fireplace. “You’ve all been asked to come here this evening at the request of Mr. Montgomary and his--”

  “Of all the effrontery!” Nelson Paquette snorted. “If I had known--”

  “I should let you know that I was the one who finally decided it was appropriate and you’re all here at my invitation. I hope that is understood.” He deliberately stared at Nelson, to forestall any further outbursts from that quarter. “I shall turn the floor over to those two. No one is obliged to answer any questions. This is all purely informal.”

  “This is, nevertheless, a gross violation of the law and of my rights,” Nelson spoke up. “I for one will refuse to answer any questions unless my lawyer is present.”

  “Lighten up, Nelson,” Leslie said. “Enjoy yourself for once. I think the whole thing’s a blast. Frankly, I’m having a ball.”

  “Having a lawyer present is certainly your prerogative,” Detective Worton told Nelson. “I had hoped that because of the nature of this case, the fact that the first victim was a priest and that both murders took place on church property, that all of you would be cooperative, if nothing more than to keep the media out of the picture and save the church any embarrassment. Of course, if you’d rather….”

  “Then let’s get on with it,” Nelson begrudgingly mumbled.

  There was silence in the room. Off in the distance, the first faint rumble of thunder was heard.

  Pat stood up. “Beatrice…” he began, but got only the one word out of his mouth before she jumped to her feet.

  “Don’t you go tryin’ to pin no murder on me,” she shouted. “I ain’t never done no one no harm, least of all ’round here.”

  Pat held up a hand to try to stop her, but she went on illustrating her innocence by educing a number of character references, including the person who delivered the daily mail to Saint Alban’s.

  “Beatrice, no one is trying to attribute any blame to you for any of the things which have been happening around this parish,” Pat said in a conciliatory tone. “I need your help. There are some things which only you can help with, that only you witnessed. On the day Father Mowbray was murdered, you saw that young man, Sherrill Rothe, come to the rectory door and be admitted, is that right?”

  She nodded as she slowly sat down, but the look on her face told him and the others in the room that she had not totally bought what had been said to her about her not being accused.

  “Did you actually see who it was who let Sherrill into this rectory?” Pat continued.

  She shook her head. “Couldn’ see who it was let him in.”

  “Was that the only visitor Father Mowbray had that day?”

  “Course it was. I wouldda said if there was any others, wouldn’ I? I wantta see his killer caught much as anybody else.”

  “Beatrice, think hard,” he pursued his point. “Try to remember everyone you saw come and go that day. Did you see any of the people in this room that day?”

  Beatrice looked around the room as though she had never seen them before, then said, “I see Miss Everett, course, when she come to work.” She pointed at Grace.

  Pat smiled. “Good. No one else?” he asked and walked towards Beatrice.

  “You callin’ me a liar?” Beatrice snapped at him.

  “Not at all, Beatrice. But tell me, didn’t you see Father Sieger that day? Didn’t you see him walking through the church yard?”

  Beatrice bounced her head up and down. “Course I seen him. I see him ev’ry day. Thought you meant someone special.”

  Pat suppressed a smile. “Well, now, Beatrice, that makes two people in this room you saw that day. Are you sure that’s all? Take as long as you need before you speak.”

  Beatrice mumbled in the direction of her lap where her hands were busy intertwining themselves with the strings of her apron. Without lifting her face, she pointed across the room. “I seen him, but he’s here lots. Had some man with him.”

  “You mean Mr. Paquette?” Pat asked.

  “See here, this really is going too far when I have to sit here and be pointed at by that… that… person!” Nelson protested. “Really, Father Sieger, I intend to let the other members of the vestry know that you use this rectory--which is church property, I shouldn’t have to point out--for such foolishness. And I don’t intend to sit here and be abused publicly. I’ve already told the police and Mr. Montgomary that I was here that day, and the purpose of my visit.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Paquette,” Pat said. “We know that. No one is accusing you, either. I am just trying to make sure Beatrice recalls everyone who was here that day, that’s all.” He turned back towards the object of his questioning. “Beatrice, please try to remember. No one else?”

  She shook her head. “No one,”
she said.

  Pat looked at Leslie Victoire. “Leslie, were you here that day? Wednesday?”

  “Oh, dear me, I suppose it’s my turn now to be browbeaten until my spirit is broken,” Leslie responded, the back of his hand against his brow. “You see, I honestly don’t remember. My days are truly just one hectic unending race. I luncheon almost every day with friends, and what with shopping these past several weeks--getting ready for a cruise, you understand--one day runs into the next. If I had known I was going to get the third degree over how I spend my days, I would have brought along my social engagement calendar.” He smiled and looked around the room to see if anyone appreciated his humor.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Pat told him. “We already know you were here Wednesday, and that you let yourself into this rectory with the key you have.”

  “Oh, then you won’t mind refreshing my memory,” Leslie said smugly.

  “Not at all,” Pat told him. “You told us you were here. You see…” Pat now walked slowly towards Leslie, “…you yourself told us you were here when you said you found out only last Tuesday that your uncle had a gun and that you came here the next day to talk your uncle into handing that gun over to you. But, he wasn’t here. You must have let yourself in.”

  Leslie shrugged. “As I said, one day blends into the next. I may have been here. I really don’t remem--”

  “Hold on just one minute!” Detective Worton interjected. “What’s all this about you having a gun?” he asked the rector.

  Pat answered. “Father Sieger has had a gun for some time. He felt unsafe living here in this rectory. And, the events of the past few days confirm that fear. He no longer has it. I have it now.”

  “Then, turn it over. It should be tested. As for withholding evidence--”

  “It won’t be evidence unless it’s shown to be the murder weapon. And since it’s been in my possession since Tuesday evening, you’ll find it’s not the weapon used to kill Father Mowbray,” Pat pointed out. He went on, addressing Leslie. “Letting yourself into this rectory one more time didn’t mean anything, did it, Leslie? After all the times you did it before, all the times in the dead of night when you let yourself in, then began climbing those stairs to the second floor for the purpose of frightening your uncle, didn’t mean anything, either. What did matter was that you had just found out your uncle was in possession of a gun and that would never do. In his panic, he might use that gun on you during one of your nocturnal visits here.”

  “I say!” Leslie shouted. “I not only told you, but everyone, absolutely everyone, knows that I am terrified of the dark. I can prove that beyond--”

  “Please, please,” Pat said to stop his protestations. “Your fear of the dark won’t hold up, especially when the police question your houseboy, Eustace. I think he’ll cooperate and admit to all the middle of the night visits to this place, his waiting on the first floor as you silently climbed the stairs to your uncle’s bedroom. You even let yourself into this rectory two nights ago, the first night Phillis and I were here. We were awakened at three-thirty in the morning by someone in Father Mowbray’s rooms. When we investigated, we both noticed a certain scent, the scent of Muscle Men’s Cologne, the same one you’re wearing this evening.”

  “Along with many others who wear it,” Leslie said. “I would never have bought it, but it was a gift from someone whose feelings I simply could not offend. It’s not my taste.”

  “We wanted to spare Father Sieger the humiliation of finding out that his own nephew was the one who was coming here at night,” Pat said. “But we can no longer spare him that. We know it was you who was here Thursday night.”

  Leslie smirked. “So what if I did. I wanted something from Paul’s room and I didn’t want uncle to know about it. I thought it would be more discreet that way. How was I to know he had got it into his head to run off and hire the Bobsy Twins to do some detective work for him.”

  “Care to tell us what was so important you had to go to Father Mowbray’s rooms in the middle of the night?” Worton asked Leslie.

  Leslie had not expected the policeman to question him. It took him by surprise. “I… er… I wanted to see Father Paul’s appointment book. He faithfully put all appointments in his book, for fear of forgetting them. I had an appointment to see him mid-afternoon on the day he was murdered and didn’t want anyone to know about it. I might as well tell you now. I got here sometime around three-thirty, I guess, Wednesday afternoon, and when he didn’t answer the bell, I simply let myself in, thinking he must be on the telephone or in the shower. I called out, but no one answered, so I went up to his rooms. He wasn’t there. I went downstairs through the office. Grace wasn’t there. I heard someone in the ladies room. Presumed it was her. I went directly into the church. He was there, in the middle of the aisle, lying face down. There was a trail of blood, fresh blood. All I could think was that someone would come in and find me there and think I had killed him. I ran out the back door, making sure Beatrice wasn’t there, and ran like hell and got home as fast as I could. It wasn’t until the following day when someone said something to me about an appointment book that I remembered Father Paul kept such a book and must have written my name next to the time of our appointment.”

  “So you were here twice on Wednesday,” Pat said. “In the morning to see your uncle, and later to keep your appointment with Paul. Why did you want to see Father Mowbray that afternoon?”

  “I didn’t. It was his idea and all I knew was that he had called my place earlier and left a message with Eustace that if convenient, he would like to see me at three-thirty on that day. I have absolutely no idea why he wished to see me.”

  “I ought to have you brought in for not reporting a crime,” Detective Worton said angrily. “You should have reported the priest’s death when you found him.”

  “To get back to your fear of the dark,” Pat went on. “I spoke to someone about that. He feels that fear of the dark is an extension of claustrophobia for some people, and in some cases it is often restricted to fear of the dark within relatively restricted quarters. People with this phobia are seldom afraid of the dark in wide-open spaces. You’re not afraid to go out at night. You often do that, you told us. This is a big house and you’re familiar with it. You know every inch of the place. And, when you did let yourself in during the middle of the night, you always knew there was someone here, your uncle asleep in his room, and Eustace was always waiting only a few feet away in the downstairs foyer. It was quite easy for you to overcome whatever trace of fear you might still have as you slowly climbed those stairs to the second floor. They are fairly well lighted with a night light on each landing. As soon as you heard your uncle get out of bed, you hid behind the drapes on the second-floor landing and when Father Sieger went downstairs to see if anyone was there, you raced up to the third floor to Father Mowbray’s rooms. On each occasion, you struck when Father Mowbray was away. You made sure he’d never be here, so you could go through his rooms and out the window in his bedroom and down the fire escape.”

  “And I suppose I got into bed with him that one time,” Leslie smirked.

  “As a matter of fact, you did,” Pat agreed. “By that time, you had the man so unnerved, so distraught from want of a good night’s sleep, that it was relatively easy to fool him. While he was searching the rectory, instead of making your getaway--probably on a reckless impulse--you slipped into his bedroom and got under the covers. You waited there until he returned. You hoped that the shock of his finding a body in bed with him would be enough to kill him. You were certain the fright would be enough to make it impossible for him to reason properly. As soon as he reached over and felt you and screamed, you silently slipped out from under the bed covers and went under the bed. You stayed there, hoping that at any moment you’d hear him stop breathing, but he didn’t die, did he?”

  “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever--” Leslie began to protest.

  “Leslie, I may sometimes forget things, but I
know one thing for certain,” Father Sieger said to his nephew. “I never told you or anyone else, with the exception of Mr. Montgomary and Miss Toner, about someone being in the bed with me that one time. How did you know about it?” The priest seemed more than a little disgusted.

  “A little over a week ago, you tried your most daring nocturnal exploit,” Pat went on. “By that time, you were desperate, desperate because you had to see him dead, but terrified to do it yourself. You entered your uncle’s bedroom and stood there at the foot of his bed, no doubt making some slight noise to awaken him. Then, he saw you standing there like the ghost of the Reverend Fotheringay. You made your move and came around to his side and slowly put your hands around his neck. You were sure that would do the trick, but it failed, just like all your other attempts. Then, you began to squeeze, but fortunately for Father Sieger--and even for yourself--you came to your senses and stopped just in time.”

  Leslie had not removed the smirk from his face. “And just why would I wish my uncle dead?” he asked. “Surely not for the money in the trust. I don’t need it, even you know that.”

  Pat looked at the rector. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was genuinely sad. He sat down. “Father Sieger, when you first came to us, I felt there was something evil, diabolical, if you will, about what was going on in this rectory at night. I’m sorry to have to say this in front of you, but it has to be said. You understand, don’t you?”

  The priest nodded. “I think so.” His voice was as full of sadness as was Pat’s. “I think I know what you are about to say.”

  Lightning filled the room, casting shadows about the walls. It was followed by a clap of thunder which made the building shake and the lights flutter.