Enter by the Narrow Gate

by David Carlson

  “Of course,” the spiritual director said. “To be blunt, Brother Andrew tried to kill himself this morning. He overdosed on medication, actually, but by some miracle, he was found by one of our suppliers, lying unconscious on the floor of the print shop.”

  “Horrible, horrible,” the abbot added. He looked over at Father Fortis and seemed to wait, as if for some response.

  “I’m sorry, Reverend Father. Have I met this Brother Andrew?”

  The abbot gave him a quizzical look. “You haven’t met him? Brother Andrew worked in the print shop with poor Sister Annetta.”

  “Anna,” Father Bernard corrected.

  “What?” Abbot Timothy asked, turning around in his chair.

  “Not important,” the spiritual director said.

  Lieutenant Choi cleared his throat. “From what we’ve been able to determine, no one saw Brother Andrew at breakfast this morning. But since he’s had a tendency to miss breakfast, no one paid much attention.”

  “Horrible, horrible,” the abbot repeated, rubbing his one hand with the other. “And such an odd coincidence,” he added, looking at the policeman. “It’s as if Brother Andrew knew that you were coming back today to interview him again.”

  A snort escaped Father Linus.

  Abbot Timothy looked around the room. “What?”

  Father Fortis caught the shake of Bernard’s head in Linus’s direction.

  Lieutenant Choi turned back to Father Fortis. “We’re searching the print shop and his room right now.”

  “Looking for what,” Father Fortis said, “a note?”

  “Maybe,” Choi responded evasively.

  “Father Nicholas,” the abbot said, “how could anyone not hear the commotion when the ambulance arrived?”

  “As I tried to say before, I was in Albuquerque at a library.”

  “We haven’t seen your detective friend around. Did he find his missing student, then?” Father Bernard asked.

  Father Fortis noticed the sudden interest in Lieutenant Choi’s eyes.

  “No, the girl hasn’t been found,” Father Fortis clarified. “Lieutenant Worthy flew back to Detroit yesterday for a few days of consultation. Now, about Brother Andrew. I’d like to help, but as I said, I don’t think I’d even know what he looks like.”

  “Of course you would,” Father Linus said acidly. “He’s Hispanic. Dark complexion, shifty eyes. The look of a killer.”

  “Linus, please,” Father Bernard scolded.

  “Well, the police interviewed me,” Brother Elias grunted. “And I’m Irish.”

  Father Linus spun in his chair and stared at his fellow monk, a wry smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, you’re the one exception. That’s a bit curious, don’t you think, dear brother?”

  Brother Elias’s face reddened. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t the only one who saw Brother Andrew’s moony look whenever she was around.”

  Father Linus’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the other monk. “What would St. Mary’s do without her vigilant librarian-slash-guardian angel, Brother Elias? Always ready to share every wild suspicion, aren’t you?”

  “Really, that’s enough, Linus,” Father Bernard said.

  Lieutenant Choi remained silent, though Father Fortis noticed that his eyes keenly followed the exchange.

  “And this Spanish connection …” Father Fortis said. “I still don’t understand.”

  Choi turned a few pages in his notebook and cleared his throat. “That’s what I was about to share when you arrived.” He nodded at Father Fortis. “The retreat house where the nun was murdered once belonged to a Hispanic religious group. They call themselves the Penitentes. I assume you’ve all heard of them.”

  “Of course we have, Lieutenant,” Father Bernard answered. “But the brotherhood of the Penitentes has all but died out. Surely you don’t think they had something to do with this.”

  Father Elias raised his hand like a schoolboy. “Actually, the notion of the Penitentes being a thing of the past isn’t completely—”

  “Oh, do tell,” Linus interrupted.

  Abbot Timothy turned toward the policeman. “I should say that Brother Elias’s hobby is to keep—”

  “Abbot Timothy, please,” Brother Elias broke in. “You gave me that as an assignment.”

  “An assignment, then,” the abbot said. “Elias keeps us informed of the activities of the more extreme religious groups in the area, particularly those who hate our church.”

  Father Fortis twisted in his chair so that he couldn’t see Father Linus’s face. Outside, a cloud moved over the rock face and deepened the gloom in the room. Was Choi suggesting that Brother Andrew was a Penitente? If so, why hadn’t Father Linus told him that?

  He decided it was less suspicious to ask the question directly. “How would Brother Andrew know about these Penitentes?”

  “We aren’t sure he does,” Choi replied. “You see, we didn’t know about the retreat house’s previous owners when we first talked with him.”

  “But even if there is some connection, Lieutenant, I can’t see why a Catholic group would want to harm St. Mary’s,” Father Bernard said.

  “No one is saying any group did,” Choi replied. “As I was saying earlier, we came out today simply to follow up on our new information.”

  Which means the police don’t yet know what Sister Anna’s wounds mean, Father Fortis realized.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Father Linus. “And is Father Fortis here because he’s been working with me, a dangerous Hispanic?”

  “Don’t look at me.” Lieutenant Choi shrugged. “The abbot mentioned that he might be able to help.”

  Abbot Timothy leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped before him on his desk as if he were about to offer a prayer. “I’m sure Father Nicholas knows why he’s here.”

  “But I don’t, Reverend Father.”

  “What? But what about the folder I left for you to read?”

  Puzzled, Father Fortis shrugged. “I don’t know what folder you’re talking about.”

  A vein stood out on the abbot’s forehead. “I’m talking about the one I put under your door last night.”

  “Don’t you mean the note you left asking me to meet with Father Bernard?”

  “No, no, no. I’m talking about the folder that was with the note,” the abbot snapped impatiently.

  “But there was only the note.”

  The abbot sat back as if struck. “Oh, good heavens.”

  “What was in the folder?” Lieutenant Choi asked.

  “Only a copy of Sister Annetta’s journal. Oh, my.”

  Oh, my, indeed, Father Fortis thought. He’d found the abbot’s note on his bed after Vigils. Had Brother Andrew entered his room and taken the journal? If so, did that mean it had been Brother Andrew spying on him from the balcony?

  The abbot turned to Lieutenant Choi. “Of course, it was only a copy. You have the real journal,” he said with a forced laugh. “Nothing incriminating. No, nothing at all.”

  Choi closed his notebook and rose. “The EMT says we’ll be able to talk with the young man tomorrow. He can explain himself then. My advice to you all,” he said, directing his comments at the abbot and Father Bernard, “is not to blame yourselves for what happened. Young people try to kill themselves for the oddest reasons.”

  “No doubt that’s true,” Father Bernard agreed, “but at St. Mary’s we take the command to be our brother’s keeper quite literally.”

  Father Fortis sat quietly, wondering why everyone in the room was assuming that Brother Andrew had tried to kill himself. “What if there’s no suicide note?” he asked.

  “I never said there would be,” Choi replied. “They’re not a requirement, you know, except in novels.”

  After Choi left, the abbot asked Father Fortis to stay. As the others filed out, Father Bernard leading the pack, Father Linus tugged on Father Fortis’s sleeve, mouthing the words “see me” before he closed the door behind him.

&
nbsp; Abbot Timothy sighed deeply. “You promised that you would help, Father Nicholas. Now might be a good time.”

  The abbot still had his lucid moments, Father Fortis acknowledged. Should he tell the abbot about the knife wounds? Since Choi knew about the morada, what sense did it make to withhold that piece of information any longer?

  As Father Fortis absentmindedly popped a spearmint into his mouth, he noticed the abbot reaching into his desk and pulling out a mint of his own. The abbot’s fingers fought at the cellophane, resulting in the mint dropping to the floor.

  No, Father Fortis thought, let’s not tell the abbot about the knife wounds yet.

  “I’m only too happy to help,” he said, “once we find something truly important.”

  The abbot found the mint and popped it into his mouth. “What’s that? You want to help? Fine, fine. Well, why don’t you meet with Father Bernard. He was Sister Annetta’s confessor, you know. Oh, I just remembered. He has another copy of her journal.”

  The sun broke clear for a moment before quickly disappearing behind another cloud.

  “Brother Andrew, dear Brother Andrew. What did we miss?” the abbot said, looking around his study as if the walls would know.

  “The lieutenant said that he’d interviewed Brother Andrew before. What do they suspect?” Father Fortis asked.

  The abbot shook his head slowly. He worked on the mint for a moment before answering. “Father Bernard doesn’t believe that poor Brother Andrew had the slightest thing to do with Annetta’s death. You see, Father Bernard has talked to the boy many times. But now this. Promise me, Nicholas, that you’ll talk with Bernard. And read her journal. Yes, that would be good.”

  “Of course, Reverend Father, but I can’t believe I’ll find something her own confessor missed.”

  “But Father Bernard requested it himself. He’s a very wise man,” the abbot said, his eyes fixed on his hands. “The type to succeed me. Perhaps you’ve heard the rumors, Father?”

  “No, not at all,” Father Fortis replied.

  “Well, you should know this. Talk like that doesn’t bother me. Being an abbot is a heavy cross, and my shoulders are too weak. I’m the shepherd of this community, and with Brother Andrew I’ve perhaps lost a second of my flock.” The abbot’s mouth quivered. “Sorry, Father Nicholas, I seem to be filled with self-pity tonight. That’s hardly helpful.”

  No, Father Fortis thought, but it’s blessedly normal. And this community needs her abbot to be normal right now.

  The abbot looked up and caught Father Fortis’s eye. “I’d like to tell you what Father Bernard said when I told him that you wanted to help. He said you weren’t the type to miss much.”

  The comment surprised Father Fortis. When had St. Mary’s spiritual director had a chance to observe him?

  The abbot clasped his hands in front of him tightly. “I think I should also tell you that Father Bernard is Brother Andrew’s confessor as well.”

  “I’ll see him today,” Father Fortis promised, even as another plan was forming in his mind. Brother Elias, the suspicious and nosy librarian, wasn’t the type to miss anything at St. Mary’s. He’d noticed or imagined something between Brother Andrew and Sister Anna. What else had he seen?

  Worthy’s stop at the chaplaincy offices at Allgemein College found the Catholic priest already gone for the day. No, the student receptionist said while she chomped her gum, she had no idea where Father Veneri was. Would Worthy like to leave his card and come back tomorrow?

  So it wasn’t until the next morning, June 1, after a night of sorting through old mail in his apartment, that he returned to the Student Services building at the college. In the chaplain’s waiting room, he found the same student receptionist playing solitaire.

  “Father P should be finished in a couple of minutes,” she said. “He knows you’re coming.”

  Worthy sat in one of the soft chairs and looked around the room. A diploma from the Gregorian University in Rome hung center stage with the name Abel Pius Veneri, S.J.,D.Min. Ph.D. in bold letters. Photos of students surrounded the diploma, one of a group in front of the Vatican, another of students kneeling beneath a Habitat for Humanity sign. Dead center in both photos was a bearded priest smiling beneath the same Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Father P, no doubt, Worthy thought.

  Full ashtrays and cups covered the coffee table in front of him. Beneath the glass was an assortment of quotations and yellowed cartoons. He leaned over and studied one of a pope standing dejectedly in front of the heavenly gates while St. Peter chatted with a haloed Che Guevara.

  The door to the priest’s office opened slightly, releasing the sound of moving chairs. Three females filed out into the waiting room, the last struggling to gain control of a backpack.

  The priest from the photos stood in the office doorway and called after the retreating student, “Remember what I said, Mickey. Cajole, request, twist an arm, beg on your knees, but get those two guys for the seven-thirty summer masses. Tell them there’ll be a plenary indulgence of a thousand years plus beers at Chiggers if they play two numbers each week. Capisce?”

  He didn’t catch the female student’s reply as two other students pushed past the priest and headed for the door. One yelled back a plea for prayer to get into a summer chemistry class before disappearing down the hallway. Father Veneri scooped up a pile of pink messages from the desk. “Jani, I know the semester is over, but remember that the term ‘work-study’ doesn’t include playing cards.” He flashed Worthy a broad smile and directed him into the office. Seeing him close up, Worthy noticed that the priest wasn’t the young Tom Selleck lookalike from the photos. His beard was full and curled on the sides, but thin strands of hair had been trained to cover a balding forehead. The white tab of his Roman collar was missing, leaving the shirt open casually.

  “Pardon the smoke, Lieutenant,” the priest said as he fanned at the air of his office and opened a window. He sat down in one of the chairs at a long table and motioned Worthy toward another. “I let the kids light up when we’re planning the weekend Masses.” The priest shook his head. “This place has to have the most idiotic smoking policy. The dorms are all smoke-free while faculty can do whatever they want in their offices. So, duh! Students are suddenly visiting their profs like crazy. I’d say that was the method to the administration’s madness, but that would suggest intelligence.”

  Worthy glanced around the smoky room at the crowded bookshelves. Various athletic trophies shared space with stacks of books and CDs. The only religious symbol he could find, a small cross with an abstract Christ, peeked out from behind an autographed football.

  “So tell me, how I can help you, Lieutenant?”

  Worthy handed a photo of Ellie VanBruskman across the table.

  “Ah, the missing girl. Sorry, I don’t know her. I’m pretty sure she isn’t Catholic.”

  “How about this one,” Worthy said, handing across a photo of Victor Martinez.

  The priest rubbed his chin. “Yes, I know Victor. But are you saying there’s some connection between the two?”

  “We’re not sure, but we’d like to talk with Victor. We think he may have some information about the girl.”

  “I wish I could help you,” Father Veneri said, “but I haven’t seen Victor at Mass for a couple of months.”

  “I assumed you knew. He withdrew from Allgemein in November.”

  Father Veneri folded his hands in front of him on the table, a large red-stoned ring glistening in the light. “Well, that would explain my not seeing him. When did you say he left school?”

  “Late November.”

  “Okay. I guess it has been that long.”

  “And you never saw him with a girl at services?”

  “No, Victor was a real loner. Not even a roommate, as I remember. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “It’s your office.”

  The priest laughed. “Good point.” He lit the cigarette and sent a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

  Worthy leaned
forward in his chair. “Did Victor come to you for confession, Father?”

  Father Veneri rested the cigarette on the lip of an ashtray. He offered an apologetic grimace as he said, “I’m really sorry, but I can’t answer that, Lieutenant.”

  Worthy held the priest’s gaze. His father being a minister, Worthy had grown up around clergy and mainly felt pity for them. But there was something about this guy he didn’t like. “I wish you’d reconsider that, Father. The boy may be a key witness in a missing person’s investigation.”

  The priest’s face contorted into a frown, but his voice remained firm. “It’s simply not that easy.” He raised his folded hands in front of him, his index fingers pointing up like a church steeple. “Simply not that easy,” he repeated.

  “Okay, let me start over. Tell me what Victor was like,” Worthy asked.

  The priest let his hands fall. “Yes, well, I don’t see any harm in that. Victor was by far, bar none, the most traditional student I’ve ever encountered at Allgemein. My God, he wanted confession in one of those old booths with a mesh grill!”

  Father Veneri paused to take another draw on his cigarette as he studied the missing girl’s photo. “VanBruskman. I guess I never made the connection. I bought a car at one of her dad’s places.”

  A headache began to pulse behind Worthy’s eyes. Welcome back to Detroit, he thought, where nothing is ever easy. “Did Victor ever mention problems he had at the college?”

  The priest shifted in his chair. “Remember, Lieutenant, I didn’t know he’d left the college until three minutes ago. But, if you’re talking about classes,” he added, “I’d say no. Someone told me Victor is pretty smart.”

  Worthy waited silently, the pain radiating out toward his temples. Finally he said, “How about outside of class?”

  “How would I know—”

  “You see, Father,” Worthy said, “Ellie VanBruskman is a very sick girl. She needs medication to stay in touch with reality. Victor could be our only way of finding her.”

  “But I already told you that I didn’t even know the two were friends. And from what I can tell, you’re not even sure she’s with him,” the priest added quickly, his nostrils flaring.