Aisle of the Dead

by Joseph E. Wright

  “She managed to split herself into two persons, psychologically speaking,” Pat said. “She is evidently capable of watching herself do things, things which her own conscience would never permit her to do, things which would be so very abhorrent to her otherwise good nature.”

  “But why would Sherrill Rothe go to the church with her today?” Father Sieger asked. “After all, he came here today to see me.”

  “She possibly said you were in the church,” Phillis told him.

  “Okay, enough of this psychostuff,” Detective Worton interrupted. “Tell me how the hell Grace Everett did all that on Wednesday afternoon. We have Beatrice’s testimony that Sherrill Rothe was admitted to the rectory and must have been here for quite a while. Explain how that could be.”

  “You’ve hit on the last problem we had to solve,” Pat said. “It had us stumped, but the simple truth was staring us in the face. Beatrice saw Sherrill Rothe ring the rectory bell. He probably stood there talking to Grace, although he did not recognize her, and if that took more than a minute or two, Beatrice presumed he went inside. From Beatrice’s bench, you can see only a portion of the rectory door. You can not see who might open it from the inside, or whether a visitor actually stepped inside. She took it for granted that it was Father Mowbray who answered the door, but remember, Sherrill told us he was met there by a woman he had never seen here before, and she told him Father Mowbray was out. Everyone was puzzled how Father Mowbray could have left a stranger alone in the rectory, so you came to the conclusion that Sherrill was lying.”

  “Then how come Beatrice didn’t see Sherrill leave if he was only there for a minute or so?” Worton asked.

  “We all know Beatrice is prone to take those little naps of hers. She saw Sherrill go to the rectory door and presumed he would be there for some time. Beatrice sees much, but I dare say she sleeps through much, too.”

  “How did you two come to the conclusion Grace Everett killed Father Paul and Sherrill Rothe?” Leslie asked. During the last half hour he had dropped his false levity.

  “And don’t forget Diane Knollys,” Pat responded. “There were a number of things which pointed to Grace. The first thing was something vitally important she said to us. After spending the evening with you, we headed back here to the rectory. Grace was waiting for us. We went with her to the coffee shop around the corner. I must confess now before all of you that Phillis and I missed the significance of a remark she made. It didn’t register with us until this evening. We knew there was something nagging away at us, something we knew was important, crucial in identifying the killer, but couldn’t bring it up to our conscious level. If we had sooner, we might have been able to prevent Sherrill Rothe’s murder. Grace commented how horrible it was that Father Paul was killed ‘while in the act of performing one of his priestly duties.’ She was referring, of course, to something which only the police and Father Sieger knew, that Father Paul was wearing a stole when Father Sieger found him in the church, mostly likely killed while in the process of hearing confession. The only other person who would have known that was the killer.

  “Getting back to Sherrill,” Pat continued, “Phillis and I spoke to someone who had seen Sherrill probably a matter of an hour at the most before he arrived here and was killed. He told that person he had a message from Father Mowbray for the rector of Saint Alban’s. Father Mowbray had told Sherrill that if anything happened to him, he was to warn Father Sieger. Sherrill couldn’t deliver a simple message. That would have been too easy. Instead, he rephrased Father Mowbray’s warning into one of his own cryptic puzzles. Sherrill said, ‘People can be fallen by as well as from a certain state.’ The individual who told us made the understandable mistake of thinking Father Mowbray was talking geographically when he referred to a state. As a priest, you wouldn’t have made that same mistake, would you, Father?” Pat asked the rector.

  “No,” Father Sieger said sadly. “Sherrill Rothe was obviously talking about the State of Grace.”

  “Right. According to Sherrill, one can fall not only from grace, but by Grace,” Pat explained.

  “How did she… kill Diane Knollys?” Kelsey asked.

  Phillis turned and spoke to the librarian. “As we suspected. Something she put in Diane’s bottle. An empty bottle was found in the car with Diane, but no one bothered to examine the residue. Everyone thought it had to be just alcohol.”

  “But why did she want Diane dead?”

  “Because Diane had been blackmailing her,” Pat answered. “Diane found out about Grace’s past and was bleeding her for money every month. I suppose Grace couldn’t take it any longer. Besides, there was always the danger that Diane, while drunk, might have told someone about Grace serving time in prison. Grace could no longer run the risk that what she had done would be told to Father Sieger.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Tom Benson said. “So, Grace was in the slammer, too. What for?”

  It was Father Sieger who answered Tom’s question and gave a brief account of what Mr. Whitesall of Baltimore had told him about Grace killing her husband. He continued: “She is probably the finest person I’ve ever known. She is generous to a fault with herself, her time, her energies. She helped everyone, and so many took advantage of her generosity. This parish is her life, not a job. What will happen to her now?”

  “I’ll have to take her in,” Detective Worton said. “No doubt she’ll be bound over for psychological examination.” He got up and went over to the desk and picked up the telephone. “I’ll get a policewoman here in a few minutes.”

  “I want to help. The church will help,” Father Sieger said. “We will never leave her now, now when she needs us more than she ever did before.” He got up. “I want to go upstairs and talk with her. It would be better if she’s not left alone too long.”

  Detective Worton returned and stood in front of the fireplace.

  “That still doesn’t get you off the hook, Leslie,” Pat said to Father Sieger’s nephew.

  Leslie looked surprised.

  Pat addressed Detective Worton. “He did try to frighten his uncle to death. That was one thing Grace did not imagine. She did see him here in this rectory in the middle of the night going to his uncle’s bedroom. And, if anyone thinks Grace’s testimony won’t hold up, I suggest you work on that houseboy of his, Eustace. He’s been an accomplice all along. And while you’re at it, I would also suggest you check Diane Knollys bank deposits against Leslie’s checks. She was blackmailing him, too. What was it, Leslie? Like most drunks, I bet she got around a lot more than people realized. Did she know you’d been trying to bump off uncle? Or did it have something to do with you and Eustace? As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say--”

  It was at this precise moment that everyone heard the crash outside the study in the downstairs hall. Pat was the closest to the door and was out in the foyer first. The others followed close upon him. He saw immediately what had happened. A jardinière and pedestal were overturned. A fern and dirt were strewn over the floor. Father Sieger was lying on the floor, propped up against the wall. He was clutching his chest. Pat knelt down next to him.

  “What’s wrong?” Pat asked the priest.

  Father Sieger was having difficulty breathing.

  “Don’t move and don’t try to speak,” Phillis told the priest as she, too, knelt down next to him. She reached around to the back of Father Sieger’s neck, undid a button, and removed the stiff white collar the priest was wearing. Father Sieger immediately seemed to breathe easier. He tried to push himself up. Pat urged him not to, but the priest was insistent. He finally managed to sit upright.

  “In… in… there,” Father Sieger gasped and pointed towards the hallway.

  Pat looked in the direction in which the priest was pointing. The hall was in semi-darkness. Pat knew there had been more light there earlier. He stood up and stared ahead. Phillis, too, got up and stood next to him. They exchanged glances. Pat was the first to react. He ran into the hall and stopped so suddenly Phil
lis crashed into him. On their immediate left was a short stretch of wall and about twenty feet ahead of them was the doorway which led into the dining room. To the left of that doorway and at a right angle to it, was the flight of stairs which led to the upper floors. Alongside the stairs was a wall going up to the underside of the flight which led from the second to the third floors, an expanse of some twenty-five or more feet, for the floors each had high ceilings. Light from a series of bolts of lightning filled the stairwell and illuminated the wall. The flashing light projected the silhouette of a human figure against the wall. The head was leaning to one side, as though growing out of the right shoulder. A pencil-thin line ran upwards from the neck and out of sight.

  Pat raced across the hall and up the stairs three at a time. He could be heard, he and Phillis, racing to the third floor. Worton was right behind them. The others stayed below.

  “We’re probably too late,” Pat said to Phillis as they stopped at the top floor stair railing. “Here, help me pull her up.”

  The three of them lifted the limp body over the railing and laid her gently on the carpeted floor. Phillis felt for a pulse, then shook her head. “Her neck is broken,” she whispered.

  Pat carefully loosened and removed the heavy drapery cord from around Grace Everett’s neck.

  They stood up. They remained motionless and silent for a moment, then Phillis spoke again.

  “It’s Reverend Fotheringay all over again,” she said, more to herself than to either of the two men.

  Pat nodded. “And let’s hope Grace finds enough peace so she won’t have to roam these halls.”

  “We must take care of Father Sieger,” Phillis said and turned to go downstairs.

  “I’ll call and arrange everything,” Detective Worton said and immediately went into Father Mowbray’s rooms to use the telephone.

  An ambulance took Father Sieger away. His doctor had promised to meet him at the hospital. Grace’s body was taken out of the rectory. Detective Worton left soon after, with Leslie Victoire in tow. The place became suddenly so very quiet.

  Nelson Paquette was alone in the downstairs study when Pat and Phillis walked into the room. He was sitting in the same chair he had occupied all evening, one of the leather wingbacks, filling every inch of it, his head slung down. He did not seem to hear them when they came into the room, but he had. He slowly looked up and stared at each in turn. In the light shining from the lamp across the room, they could see tears in his eyes.

  “It’s been a sad evening,” Nelson said softly. “I’ve known Grace Everett going on five years. I was fond of her, you know. Father Sieger was right about her being a good person. She should someday be canonized. I’ve never known a more generous soul. I presume something went wrong with her and none of us noticed. We were all too engrossed in our own problems.”

  “Diane Knollys was blackmailing Grace and Leslie and you,” Pat said as he and his sister sat down. “Care to tell us what she used?”

  “When my son left home, Grace helped him find a place. I suspect she gave him money, too. Well, I take that back. The part about his leaving home, I mean. He did not leave. I threw him out. Do you know that? Do you? I threw my own son out of my home, out of his home. I told everyone he wanted to live on his own, that he was old enough, and that we parted as good friends. I didn’t want anyone to know the truth: that he was gay and that I threw him out. My pride dictated that my reputation in this parish, as an esteemed member of its vestry, would suffer. Diane found out the truth and she threatened to tell everyone, broadcast it all over the parish, which she could and would do. Not only my reputation, but my business would have suffered. I paid her a few dollars a month to keep her quiet. Oh, I knew where that money was going--to support her expensive drinking habit--but I didn’t care. God help me.

  “My son and I haven’t talked since the day he left. I see him on the street from time to time. He works in town. I’ve wanted so often to go over and speak to him, but I’ve never….” He was having difficulty going on.

  “It really wouldn’t be that difficult, you know,” Phillis said.

  Nelson looked up at her as though not comprehending.

  “I bet he wants to talk to you every bit as much as you’d like to talk to him,” Pat added.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I’m positive. It can be lonely being gay. He needs a father,” Phillis said.

  “And I need… I need my son,” Nelson whimpered. He took a long, deep breath and straightened up slightly, as much as his mass would permit. “For these past several years, I have convinced others and myself that some priest seduced my son. It was easier that way. I didn’t have to blame my son for being what he is. I didn’t have to blame myself, either. It was simpler to put the blame on someone else, someone who is no longer here. It was wrong of that priest, I suppose, but he was weak and I guess he found my son attractive. I don’t know. But I know now my son would have been gay even if he had never met that priest.”

  “Did something happen this evening which convinced you of that?” Pat asked.

  “Yes, it was seeing the events of the past few days open up in front of us, almost as though they were reenacted. I realized especially with Grace that it is so easy to hide behind what we want to be the truth, to hide behind the stories we make up, rather than come out and face the truth. Because she couldn’t believe she could do something like murder, she saw someone else do it. She was fully prepared to accuse someone else. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, it’s possible Jeremy Knollys, or someone equally as innocent, could have gone to jail on the basis of Grace’s testimony. She could just as easily thought it was Leslie or myself she had seen commit those murders. Although I must say in my case she would have been hard put to say I was the one who came around here dressed as an attractive female. They don’t make dresses in my size.” His body shook in a silent chuckle. “I think I saw a bit of myself in Grace this evening and I don’t mind telling you it scared me, scared me a great deal.”

  “I would like to make a suggestion,” Phillis said. Her voice was soft and almost a whisper.

  Nelson looked at her and nodded.

  “It might be a while before you accidentally run into your son on the street. Why not give him a call this evening. Who knows, he might be home.”

  “On a Saturday evening?”

  “Not all us faggots go out on the town every Saturday evening,” Pat said.

  “I don’t know exactly where he lives and I certainly don’t have his telephone number.”

  Pat went over to the telephone on the desk and dialed a number from his small notebook. He mumbled on the phone for a while, hung up, and returned to his seat.

  “Ralphy Baby to the rescue again?” Phillis asked.

  Pat nodded. “I have your son’s address and his phone number here,” he said, and reached over and stuffed a slip of paper into Nelson Paquette’s breast pocket.

  Nelson took the paper and held it in his outstretched hand and stared at it for a long time.

  Pat jerked his head as a signal to Phillis that they should leave the room. They quietly closed the door after themselves as they left.

  “Think he’ll call his son?” she asked as they walked towards the dining room.

  “Who knows? I’d be surprised if he didn’t already know where his son lives and even has his telephone number. Hatred like Nelson’s poisons the soul. He may never come around to his son.”

  Jeremy Knollys was in the dining room. Beatrice had him cornered as she spoke to him and was poking a finger in his chest. He had just discovered they were distant cousins and seemed intent upon maintaining that distance.

  “Seems there were more of us when this evening began,” Jeremy said when he saw Pat and Phillis come into the dining room.

  “The place is empty, isn’t it?” Pat said as he fixed himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, put the cup down, and said he was going upstairs. Phillis followed.

  “What was all that about fear of the d
ark being related to claustrophobia?” she asked as they stopped outside the bedrooms on the third floor.

  “I have no idea. Made it up as I went along. But you’ve got to admit it sounded like I knew what I was talking about, right?”

  “You’re taking this whole thing pretty hard.” She could tell he was hurting.

  “I like Grace, even though we really didn’t get to know her. And I wonder what will happen to Father Sieger now. If that was a heart attack he had….”

  “There’s usually at least one good person who gets hurt in these investigations,” she said. “If that bothers you….”

  Pat shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I don’t mind. Not when you consider the good that comes out of it. Just think, Nelson Paquette was right when he said that Grace could have been responsible for sending a perfectly innocent person to jail because her mind, in its condition, had to find someone on which to project her own actions. Without sounding too Pollyanna-ish, I like helping in these investigations.”

  They separated and went into their rooms. Phillis threw herself across her bed and was soon asleep. Pat sat in a chair and began to doze off.

  It was about three-thirty when Phillis was startled from a dream about being chased through deep caverns under the church by Beatrice Mulrooney (nee O’Brien)‎. Her eyes opened. She thought she had heard a sound. She listened. A few seconds later, she heard it again. Someone opening the first-floor door. She quietly got up from her bed and silently opened her bedroom door. She tiptoed to her brother’s room, tapped gently on the door, and opened it. He was still seated in his chair. He opened his eyes. She put a finger to her lips and gestured for him to follow her.

  They walked out to the hall and to the railing and looked over. Below, they could see a figure, in black, walking slowly up between the first floor and the second floor landing. Pat ran to the end of the top floor hall and headed down the staircase. He and Phillis stopped in their tracks when they reached the second floor the same time that their nocturnal visitor reached the door to Father Sieger’s rooms.