by Joanne Fluke
Judith tried to smile, but her face was so swollen it turned into a grimace of pain.
“I don’t suppose you’d buy that old line about running into a door?”
“I don’t think so. Hold on a second. You should have ice on that.”
Michele rushed to the refrigerator and emptied a tray of ice into a plastic bag. She wrapped a soft kitchen towel around it and went back to Judith.
“Here, this should reduce the swelling. Now tell me the truth.”
Judith tipped up the vodka bottle and took a swallow. Michele noticed that her hands were shaking.
“Look, Michele, I really need your help, but you have to promise not to tell anybody.”
“I promise. What happened, Judith?”
“Three men in ski masks broke in here and raped me. You called about twenty minutes after it happened. I’m all right, Michele. I just feel so damn . . . invaded.”
Michele sat down on the couch and put her arm around Judith. “Did you recognize them?”
“No. The only thing I remember is that one of them was wearing a Timex watch. There must be a thousand men in this town with Timex watches.”
“Do you think you’d know their voices if you heard them again?”
“It’s hard to tell. Look, Michele, I’m not reporting the rape, so there’s no sense going over all this.”
“But, Judith—”
“No.” Judith shook her head. “There’s no point to it. Those men weren’t ordinary rapists, if there is such a thing. They were local drunks who decided it would be a kick to rape a gay woman. There’s no way I’d press charges even if I knew who they were. I just refuse to go through that kind of hassle.”
“But rape’s a crime.”
“So is testifying at a rape trial in a town like St. Cloud. It’s taken ten years for the local people to accept Toni and me. A rape case, against local men, would put us right back where we started. It’d be us against them, and that’s the very thing GALA’s fighting against.”
Michele sighed deeply. “I really hate to say it, but you’ve got a point.”
“Except for the swelling on my face, I’m not really hurt. They just broke in here and—and screwed me. Thank God they didn’t have any imagination.”
Judith lifted the bottle with both hands and took another drink. Her hands had stopped shaking, and there was a little color in her cheeks.
“God, I’d love to get even with them, but there’s no way. The whole thing makes me so furious! I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking at every man’s wrist for a damned Timex watch and I feel so helpless.”
“Here. Take one of these.” Michele pulled a silver punch packet of drug samples from her purse. “It’s a new kind of morning-after pill.”
Michele watched as Judith washed down the pill with another swig of vodka.
“Don’t you want some orange juice to go with that stuff? At least you’ll be getting some vitamin C that way.”
“No, I can’t stand orange juice. I grew up in Florida, and anything citrus makes me sick. I could use a cup of coffee though, if you don’t mind getting it. I’m still a little shaky.”
Judith leaned her head back against the couch and listened to Michele putter around in the kitchen. The familiar sounds made her miss Toni dreadfully. Only three hours to go, and Toni would be home.
Michele carried two mugs into the living room and set them on the table.
“How about Toni? Are you going to tell her?”
“I’ll have to. She’s flying home tonight. She’ll know something’s wrong the minute she sees me. I suppose I’d better call Brian, too, just in case. This whole thing might have been an attack against GALA.”
Michele swallowed hard and handed Judith the vodka bottle.
“Have one more drink, Judith. There’s something I have to tell you.”
CHAPTER 15
Steve turned into the treelined driveway on Third Avenue South and parked his car at the side of the stone mansion. The archbishopric was certainly an imposing structure. As he walked up the neatly shoveled sidewalk, Steve wished he’d worn his good jacket. Was it proper to call on the archbishop of St. Cloud in a parka?
The door opened as Steve touched the buzzer. They must have been waiting for him to arrive. A young priest took Steve’s worn parka and hung it in the closet as carefully as if it were an expensive vicuna overcoat.
“The archbishop is waiting in the library.” The priest gave him a friendly smile. “If you’ll follow me?”
Steve tried not to gawk like a tourist as the priest led him past rooms furnished with expensive antiques and priceless artwork.
“I’m sorry I called so late, but it’s extremely important that I talk to the archbishop tonight.”
“Oh, that’s no problem.” The young priest turned to smile again. “The archbishop seldom gets to bed before midnight.”
They stopped before a set of polished wooden doors, and the young priest knocked softly before he opened them and ushered Steve inside.
“Mr. Steven Radke, Your Excellency.”
A tall man in his fifties sat behind an elaborately carved desk. Steve guessed it was from the baroque period. He’d once seen a similar piece in a museum.
“Mr. Radke. It’s not often we’re honored by a visit from our local police.”
The archbishop rose and extended his hand. Steve noticed the large ring on his finger, and a scene from a movie flashed through his mind. Supplicants had bowed to touch their lips to a ring. Steve couldn’t remember who’d been wearing the ring. The pope? A cardinal? Steve hesitated slightly. Would it be a breach of etiquette if a fallen-away Methodist only shook the archbishop’s hand?
Archbishop Ciminski smiled as Steve hesitated. He walked around the desk, took Steven’s hand, and shook it warmly. Steve stared at the older man in surprise. The archbishop was dressed in a navy blue velour warm-up suit complete with the Lacoste alligator on the jacket.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Radke?”
“No, not at all,” Steve managed a grin. “I just expected you to be wearing clerical garb, that’s all. I guess I never thought about what an archbishop might wear at home.”
Archbishop Ciminski laughed. “We wear our vestments only for church functions now but most people still do a double take when they see me in street clothes. You’re not Catholic, are you, Mr. Radke?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then we can dispense with the formalities. Come sit down. You’ll find the leather chairs by the fireplace quite comfortable. Would you like a drink or a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee would be nice if it’s not too much trouble. I seem to live on it lately.”
“We keep our coffeepot filled twenty-four hours a day. It was the first order I gave when I came here. Some of our visitors claim we’re in competition with Perkins.”
Steve laughed. The archbishop seemed like a nice man. He certainly wasn’t stiff and formal the way Steve had expected.
Archbishop Ciminski pressed a buzzer by his chair, and almost immediately the young priest appeared with two cups of coffee and a small plate of cookies. He arranged them efficiently on the table and left silently.
“Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Radke?”
“I’m investigating a murder that took place tonight, just across from the Newman Center.”
The archbishop nodded. “Father Ross called me right after it happened. They were holding a guitar mass at the time.”
“Three boys testified that they saw a bishop and a nun in the vicinity shortly before the crime took place. I’m hoping you can help me locate them. They might have seen something.”
“A bishop?” Archbishop Ciminski looked surprised. “There’s a certain protocol when a bishop visits the area. I’m always notified. Let me check with Father Ross.”
Steve watched as the archbishop opened a panel in the table next to his chair and pulled out a telephone. In a moment he had Father Ross on the line.
“Teddy? This is
the archbishop . . . Yes, very well, thank you. I need to know if you had a bishop at Newman tonight.... No? . . . Do you know of any bishop visiting in the area?”
There was a moment of silence, and then the archbishop nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you, Teddy.”
Archbishop Ciminski hung up the phone and turned to Steve.
“I’m afraid your bishop is a mystery to Father Ross. He suggested we check with St. John’s. They’re rather independent out there. It’s possible they invited one of the bishops without notifying me. Are you sure the boys saw a bishop?”
“One of them went to parochial school, and he was very definite about the description. He said the bishop was wearing a purple cap.”
“It’s called a calotte.” Archbishop Ciminski nodded. “I’ll call St. John’s right away.”
Steve munched on a cookie while the archbishop spoke on the phone. It was his favorite kind, loaded with miniature chocolate chips. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d finished the plateful.
Archbishop Ciminski glanced at the empty cookie plate and pressed his buzzer.
“St. John’s is just as puzzled as we are, and the St. Paul-Minneapolis archdiocese knows nothing about a visiting bishop. I’ll call the other dioceses in Minnesota next.”
The young priest came into the room and approached the archbishop’s chair.
“Do we have any rare roast beef left from dinner, Joe?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Could you make us a few sandwiches? Roast beef on rye, Swiss cheese, horseradish sauce, and a few gherkins on the side. I’m sure Mr. Radke could use something a little more substantial than cookies.”
“Right away, Your Excellency.”
Steve waited until the young priest had left. Then he gave Archbishop Ciminski a sheepish grin. “If I’m going to eat you out of house and home, you’d better call me Steve.”
“I could use a man like you on the church supper circuit, Steve. They’re all potluck affairs, and the ladies get very upset if I don’t eat at least one helping of their favorite recipe. You’d be an unqualified hit.”
Archbishop Ciminski made one more call before he went up to bed. He left a message for Father Sherman, the editor in chief of the Catholic Visitor. Sherm always had his ear to the ground for news. If a bishop from out of state were visiting, Father Sherman would know about it. Then the archbishop turned out the lights in the library and went up the stairs to his living quarters. He wished he could have been of more service to Steve Radke, but he’d placed calls to New Ulm, Crookston, Duluth, and Winona and no one had been able to provide a clue to the bishop’s identity. Of course he’d promised to call Steve if he came up with any new information, but the archbishop was convinced the boys had made an error.
It wasn’t until he had brushed his teeth and readied himself for bed that the archbishop thought of Holy Rest. Bishop Donahue always wore a purple calotte.
There was a phone by his bedside, a private line that bypassed the switchboard downstairs. Archbishop Ciminski dialed the unlisted number for the guard’s quarters at Holy Rest. He breathed a great sigh of relief when the guard assured him that everything had been quiet at the home when he made his hourly rounds. Perhaps the call had been unnecessary, but now the archbishop felt secure. The asylum was his responsibility on direct orders from the Vatican.
Archbishop Ciminski was proud of the innovations he’d made at Holy Rest since he’d taken charge. The new large-screen television and the computer seemed to be just what the patients needed. Even Bishop Donahue was responding to the new stimuli. Before the modernizing of his therapy, the bishop had sat at his chessboard for hours on end. He’d been sullen and secretive. Now, just this afternoon, he’d shown interest in the new computer and had actually related in a friendly manner to another patient. It was a great step forward. Sister Kate reported that the bishop’s whole attitude had changed for the better. All his needs were met through Sister Kate’s capable ministrations, and the bishop had adjusted well to his confinement. There was no possible reason he’d want to escape.
Steve hung up the phone and slipped on his parka again. He had to get right over to the jail. Thanks to Pat Krueger’s tip, Steve’s men had just picked up Herb Swanson, Arnie Dietz, and Spud Nuhoff.
Fifteen minutes later Steve was sitting across a table from the suspects. All three men had given him the same alibi for the time of Brian’s murder.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Herb. You’re confessing to rape. Is that right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“You say that at the time of Brian Nordstrom’s murder you were at Judith Dahlquist’s residence, raping her.”
Arnie leaned forward. “Yeah. You got it. We were there for the whole time, and that’s why we’re not the ones that killed the queer, see?”
Spud Nuhoff nodded his head energetically. “We couldn’t be in two places at one time, right?”
“You’re sure you were raping Judith Dahlquist? All three of you?”
Herb squirmed. He seemed to be the only one who was sober enough to see the writing on the wall.
“Well, uh . . . sort of—”
“Either you were raping her or you weren’t. If I book you on rape charges, and Miss Dahlquist confirms that the rape took place, then I’ll be forced to clear you on the murder rap.”
Herb sighed deeply. Steve wasn’t cutting them an inch of slack, and Herb knew they were in big trouble. Spud and Arnie had already blabbed their fool heads off, and Herb couldn’t think of a single way to get out of this mess.
“What do you say, Herb? Are you willing to sign a confession?”
Herb nodded reluctantly. “Write it up, and we’ll sign it. Rape’s a hell of a lot better than murder.”
“Here comes Steve.” Michele turned on the light over the outside staircase as Steve pulled up and parked his car. “I still think you should tell him, Judith.”
“My mind’s made up, Michele. Let’s drop it, okay? Just remember that you promised not to say a word.”
Michele nodded. She was honor-bound to keep her promise even though she didn’t want to have secrets from Steve.
Steve pulled Michele close and kissed her when she opened the door. Then he took off his boots and left them on the rug at the top of the stairs.
“Do you two ladies have a cup of coffee for a weary man?”
Michele nodded. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you go in the living room with Judith?”
Steve looked at Michele sharply, but she dropped her eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling him. Could the ridiculous story about the rape be true?
“Hello, Judith.” Steve sat down in Judith’s big wooden rocker and stretched out his feet. “Did Michele tell you about Brian?”
Judith nodded. She looked as if she’d been crying, and the side of her face was swollen.
“I still can’t believe it, Steve. I picked up the phone to call Brian just a couple of minutes ago, and then I realized that—God, it’s awful!”
“I need to ask you some questions, Judith.”
Judith looked up in alarm. “You don’t think I murdered Brian, do you?”
“Of course not. Look, Judith, I know this is going to sound incredible, but three local men just confessed to raping you at nine-thirty this evening.”
“Raping me?” Judith looked shocked. “Who were they, Steve?”
“Three men from the Defenders of Decency. Herb Swanson, Arnie Dietz, and Spud Nuhoff.”
“Herb Swanson? He’s the man who started that fight with Brian.”
Steve nodded. “I got a tip that they were threatening to take action against GALA. We picked them up about thirty minutes ago at the Paradise Bar. All three of them claim they were raping you when Brian was murdered.”
Judith kept the shocked look on her face, but her mind was spinning. This was a perfect way to get even. The three men who raped her were trying to use her as an alibi. It was delicious.
�
��Well, they picked the wrong person to use for an alibi. That’s the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard. Good heavens, Steve, don’t you think I’d call the police if three men broke in here and raped me?”
CHAPTER 16
“Steve?”
Michele’s voice was hushed in the darkness of the bedroom. She’d been silent all the way back to his apartment, and Steve could tell she was worried about something.
“What is it, honey?”
Michele sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Do you really think those three men murdered Brian?”
So that was it. Steve made a lunge and pulled Michele down into his arms.
“Of course not. They were at Judith’s.”
Michele pulled back just a bit so she could see Steve’s face in the moonlight.
“But, Steve, Judith claimed she wasn’t raped.”
Steve grinned and held her tighter.
“But, Michele, Judith was lying.”
Michele looked up into his face for a moment, and then she gave a big sigh of relief.
“You knew all along?”
“Of course I did. It’s the most ingenious piece of revenge I’ve ever come across. Most rapists pray their victims won’t testify against them, but those three are stuck in jail, hoping she will.”
Michele kissed him soundly on the lips. “I’m really glad you know the truth. I promised Judith I wouldn’t tell, and it’s been driving me crazy. I hate to have secrets from you. You’re not really going to charge them with murder, are you?”
“It’s tempting, but I know they didn’t do it. I figured I’d just let them stew in jail for as long as I can. Maybe it’ll keep them out of trouble.”
Michele was quiet again for a full minute. Then she snuggled up and hid her face against Steve’s chest.
“Steve?”
“What is it, honey?”
“Remember what I just said about how I didn’t like to keep secrets from you?”
“I remember.”
“Well, there’s something else and you’ll probably hate me but . . .”
Michele faltered slightly. She really didn’t want to confess everything, but her conscience was bothering her.
