Second, I wanted Meg to ask if there was a New Age connection. There was nothing in the current evidence that connected the crime to the New Age and Wicca traditions that might be present in Sedona. I didn’t want this to be either the Sedona Priest Murder or the Flagstaff Druid Murder. I wanted religion, including pagan ones, left out of the reporting at this stage of the investigation. I also wanted this crime to be known as the Secret Mountain Wilderness Murder. That would make the Chambers of Commerce in both towns happier.
The press conference went about as I had expected. I began with a description of the crime scene as Chad and I had first seen it. There was an audible gasp when I mentioned that the body was burned alive in a steel cage. I believed that Father Sean was conscious before death because he was reaching through the bars of the cage and looking up toward the sky when we found the body.
I explained the evidence that the drug Ecstasy was found in the priest’s liver and that the test indicated a single large one-time dose. I referred to the crime as the Secret Mountain Wilderness Murder at least ten times during the half hour briefing. I repeated that the death did not occur in Sedona or in Flagstaff, but out in the Red Rock Secret Mountain Wilderness about half way between the two cities.
I reported that we had found physical evidence of how the murderers arrived at the grove on the plateau above the West Fork Creek, and I indicated that we were optimistic that we’d apprehend them soon. During the question and answer period, I was able to field most questions successfully. One of the Phoenix reporters asked how many murders I had investigated. I explained my twenty-eight years experience with the LAPD. An out-of-state reporter with a New England accent asked why a Jesuit with a Ph. D. in ancient cults and religions was a parish priest in Sedona. I answered that I would be briefing the bishop of Phoenix about the murder after Father Sean’s funeral and that I’d ask him that question.
Of course, I left many questions unanswered. I replied that those matters were still under investigation many times. I steered away from questions about pagan religions. I was asked directly if Kevin Riker, a hiker from Texas, had witnessed the actual murder. I answered in a single word, “No.” When the half hour question period was over, I reiterated that the Secret Mountain Wilderness Murder was our highest priority. It involved a coordinated effort between the FBI, State of Arizona, and local law enforcement. I ended by saying, “We will catch these murderers.”
I had brought a change of shirts to the theater. Backstage, I replaced my wet dress shirt with a fresh one before picking up the bishop.
Meg had asked the planted questions, and I had not stumbled on any of the answers. I left through the rear of the theater and drove straight back to my office without giving the reporters a chance to ask further questions. Sheriff Taylor’s Explorer was parked at the office. The local Flagstaff TV station had carried the press conference live, and the sheriff had watched it.
“Congratulations Mike, you handled the press like a pro. I especially liked the idea of naming the crime after the Secret Mountain Wilderness rather than connecting it with either of our towns.” The sheriff said, “Please be very circumspect when you talk to the bishop but find out why Father Sean was assigned to Sedona. We really need to know who he was in contact with here in town that might have targeted him. I think he may have learned too much for his own good.”
“It’s shocking that there might have been a long series of these Halloween disappearances. If Father Sean discovered that pattern, he might have made himself a target for the same murderous group. A Jesuit priest doesn’t fit the profile of young drifters or substance abusers who disappeared on previous Halloweens. Father Sean was certain to be missed. Of course, if the body hadn’t been found on November 1, we’d probably never know what happened to him. He’d be gone without a trace. We have Kevin Riker to thank for finding his body before the murderers buried it,” I said.
“Yep. He’s a fine young man. Look after him Mike.”
CHAPTER 14
We had a couple of hours until we needed to pick up the big wigs at the Sedona Airport. The sheriff offered to buy me lunch, and we went to the Rincon, my favorite Arizona-style Mexican restaurant. We enjoyed a table on the small patio sitting under the giant sycamores. We were the only patrons sitting outside, so we had a good chance to talk. A propane gas heater helped to warm the sunny autumn day.
This was the first time we had ever spent time together outside of work. The sheriff did not talk about the current case. We discussed our families and experiences in law enforcement. After lunch we drove our identical Sheriff’s Department white Explorers to the airport to await the arrival of the state airplane with Governor Garman, her aides, the senior Jesuit for the western United States, and the bishop of Phoenix.
I led the way to the airport, which is up on a mesa that rises from the center of town. Airport Mesa is a dramatic setting for new arrivals to Sedona because the area’s spectacular rock formations are visible in every direction. The Citation III jet arrived about ten minutes early and pulled up to where our vehicles were parked next to the runway. A burly man with a crew cut in a navy blue suit was the first off the airplane. Clearly, this “aide” was part of the governor’s security detail. He carefully scanned the scene before assisting Governor Garman from the plane. The governor was a well-dressed forty something woman about 5’7”. She was shorter and thinner than I had expected from seeing her on TV. She wore a trim black suit with a crimson scarf and a small black hat.
Next off the jet was the Most Reverend Thomas Kelly, the bishop of Phoenix. He was a man in his sixties with white hair and about thirty pounds of extra weight concentrated around his middle. Bishop Kelly was smiling and looking around at the spectacular view. I had never met him, but he was extremely popular in the Sedona parish. A very tall slender priest, maybe 6’4”, followed Bishop Kelly off the airplane. He was introduced as Monsignor Carlos Costilla, a Spanish priest who was the head of the Providence of California for the Society of Jesus. A very thin smile appeared as he was introduced. It seemed to be an unfamiliar expression on his stern face. I was sure that I would have hated to have him as my math teacher in high school. The final person off the airplane was a short blonde young man, Brett Ford, the governor’s press aide.
We shook hands, introducing ourselves. I took the bishop and the monsignor in my Explorer. The bishop from the back seat told the Jesuit priest about the scenery that surrounded us. Costilla, in the front seat next to me, looked around as if he might spot a pagan that needed salvation. He made no comment about the bishop’s tour guide monologue. He was here on business. The Jesuit asked if I was Catholic, and when I answered yes, he said, “Good.” That was our only conversation on the short drive to the church.
We arrived at St. Paul’s to find the newspaper reporters and TV stations had taken over most of the church’s parking area. There was a Channel 3 news helicopter hovering above the busy scene. A yellow school bus was delivering parishioners to the church door from some distant parking spot. No cameras were allowed inside the church, but there were a dozen photographers and cameramen near the front door. The news cameras were rolling as we parked and entered the rear of the church near the parish house. I saw Margaret’s car parked in the spot I had reserved for Kevin and her.
Father Antonio greeted us at the rear of the church and introduced us to Father Sean’s sister Sharon. She was an attractive woman about thirty with brown hair. Her red eyes indicated that she had been crying, but she seemed pleased to meet Bishop Kelly and Monsignor Costilla. It was an honor to her late brother that both senior clerics were present. I invited her to join the private briefing about the case that would be held after the funeral.
My press conference and the gruesome disclosure of just how our local priest was murdered had sparked even more interest in this crime. This funeral had become a media event on an otherwise slow news day. That evening, I saw coverage of the funeral of our unfortunate parish priest on all the national news programs, together wit
h the fifteen seconds of the press conference where I described the method of death. There was also a short clip on NBC of Kevin Riker describing the grove of trees where he found the body. Apparently, reporters had cornered Kevin outside the church before I arrived.
The sheriff and I had realized that the crime was sensational, but neither of us expected national attention this early in the investigation. If we substantiated a long series of murders at that location, the news coverage would only get worse. I was pleased to hear the term Secret Mountain Wilderness Murder, rather than Sedona Murder, used in most press accounts.
I found that Margaret had saved a place for me in the crowded church. Sheriff Taylor and Sharon Murphy sat in the first pew with Monsignor Costilla. Bishop Kelly, assisted by Father Antonio, began the mass promptly at 3:00. The bishop was dressed in the white robes now used in the requiem mass instead of the black ceremonial robes that were used when I was an altar boy. The mass seemed to go quickly, the familiar ceremony giving comfort to the Catholics present. For the non-Catholics, it was strange and much too long.
I remember the bishop’s sermon. He talked of martyrs. He had explained that the Catholic Church celebrates November 1, the very day that the body of Father Sean was found, as “All Saints Day”. It is the date on which all the martyrs and saints whose names we do not know are honored. Many of those honored on “All Saints Day” were martyred for their Christian faith. Bishop Kelly mentioned that June 30, Sean Murphy’s birthday, is the date of the Catholic religious calendar on which the first martyrs of the Church of Rome are honored. Many of their deaths at the hands of Nero were just as cruel as that horror visited on our own Sedona priest.
“In spreading the Word of God, many sons of the church have suffered, but our duty to bring the knowledge of Christ to the pagans remains,” the bishop said.
Bishop Kelly described the Martyrs of North America, who had brought knowledge of the Word of Christ to the Native Americans.
“Many suffered unspeakable deaths. Here in Coconino County, during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, priests suffered martyrdoms. Even earlier in 1630, the Hopi of Black Mesa burned two friars alive by hanging them over a fire. Again in 1633, the Hopi poisoned a priest who came to teach them of Christ. The Native Americans killed other priests in our area as late as 1700.”
The bishop said that Father Sean was the Coconino County’s first known martyr in three hundred years, but he joined the sainted group who have suffered and died spreading the Word of God in Arizona.
It was clear that the bishop already considered Sean Murphy a martyr although I hadn’t established that his death was actually related to his religion. However, even I had to admit that it looked like our parish priest was killed in a pagan ritual.
After the funeral mass and the brief ceremony at the graveside, we returned to the church for the private briefing on the crime. Father Antonio’s comments at graveside were touching, but he was repeatedly interrupted by the squawking of a congregation of raven perched on a nearby juniper.
Governor Garman, Bishop Kelly, Monsignor Costilla, Father Antonio, Sharon Murphy, and Sheriff Taylor were present for my briefing. It was after 5:00 when I finished my report. I told the small group everything we knew about the crime including the details of the lab reports. I felt it was premature to mention the other Halloween disappearances.
When I offered to show photos of the crime scene, only Monsignor Costilla wanted to see them. He showed the photo of the cage with Father Sean’s remains to the bishop. They were impressed by the posture of the corpse, arms reaching up through the cage, and they noticed that the face turned toward the sky. Costilla asked to take the photo.
After half an hour of questions, I reached the conclusion that the bishop and the Jesuit might be more interested in establishing the credentials of their martyr than in actually finding the perpetrators. Sharon Murphy was the only one who asked detailed questions about who might have been involved in the murder. The governor’s questions seemed to be centered on the negative impression that we were making in the national press.
When it was time for me to ask a few questions, I chose the direct approach. I asked why Father Sean had been assigned to Sedona. Monsignor Carlos Costilla said, “I asked Bishop Kelly to assign Sean Murphy here. I’m sure that you have already guessed that he was trying to learn more about the New Age groups. It is especially tragic when those who have known Christ and been baptized are lost to Christianity. Father Sean was on a mission to recover lost souls.”
I decided to continue with my frank approach. “Monsignor Costilla, we would like to review the reports that Father Sean was sending to the Vatican. He used a very good security method on his laptop, and even the FBI has not been able to recover the reports he was sending to Monsignor Francisco de Navarro, superior general of the Society of Jesus.”
There was a very long pause before Costilla answered. Finally he said, “I am not aware of any such communication.”
I continued even though the sheriff was cringing at my direct approach, “Would you ask Monsignor de Navarro to send us a copy of these reports? They may be critical in finding the perpetrators of this vicious crime.”
Costilla glared at me like a naughty schoolboy, and said in a manner intended to close out the conversation, “I will ask.”
It was 6:00 and almost dark when we took the dignitaries to the airport. Father Antonio took Sharon Murphy to her hotel. As we watched the state airplane take off, the sheriff asked me to call him tomorrow afternoon after I had read the reports of the previous Halloween disappearances. He sounded tired. I drove home and found that Margaret had a big dinner ready except for the T-bones, which it was my job to grill.
Kevin was quiet at dinner, left a little sad by the funeral. He would stay tomorrow night and then return to his hike across Arizona. Kevin mentioned that he wanted another look at Oak Creek Canyon. He intended to take the bike all the way through the canyon to the overlook parking lot at the top of the switchbacks. It would be a real aerobic test. I would not have been able to do it even at Kevin’s age. I reminded him to be very careful because of the heavy traffic on the narrow roadway. At least on the busy 89A highway through the canyon, the traffic moves slowly. A biker can usually keep up with the cars.
I suggested that we take Kevin out tomorrow on his last night in town to one of the best local restaurants. He would work up a good appetite on the thirty-five-mile bike ride, which gains about two thousand five hundred feet. After dinner, I was ready to turn in early, anxious to get another early start on the investigation. My day had been as exhausting as Kevin’s planned bike ride.
Vatican City, November 5, 2005
Monsignor Francisco de Navarro opened the photo attachment that had been e-mailed by Monsignor Costilla. He sat in his hard wooden chair and stared at the unbelievable photo. It showed the remains of a man he had known. It showed the horrible manner of his death, but it told another story to the superior general. It told the story of a Jesuit martyr, a man who was now certainly in heaven. He printed the photo to show to the Holy Father. He expected that within a few decades the American Church would have a new saint, a Jesuit saint who would be an example to all Catholics.
CHAPTER 15
Margaret woke me with a kiss. I enjoyed my early morning wake up surprise. Afterwards, we stayed in bed for twenty minutes talking about the case. We had kept our marriage going strong for three decades by sharing things in both the good times and bad. Like any married couple, we’d experienced difficult periods. Sixteen years earlier, we faced serious problems with our son John during his early teenage years. He got in with the wrong crowd. We grew closer together in our time of greatest stress and helped John through drug rehab. We rejoiced as he made a successful recovery. The proudest day of our lives was when we watched him graduate from USC, a Phi Beta Kappa. John went to Columbia for his MBA and stayed in New York to raise his family.
Margaret complimented my performance at the press conference. Since she was never one f
or idle compliments, I knew that she meant it. I told Margaret the troubling news of Sheriff Taylor’s discovery that the Halloween disappearances may go back for thirty years or more. I recounted the details of my meeting with the bishop, the Jesuit, the governor, and Father Sean’s sister. I provided my impression of each of the participants with only slight embellishments that made her smile. Margaret was my secret weapon in solving cases, and the more thoroughly she knows the details, the more she can help.
We continued to discuss the case as we ate breakfast. Sitting side by side, we watched the sunrise turn Wilson Mountain from gray to scarlet. Shortly after dawn, the ravens returned to soar and glide on the morning thermals. I love Arizona, and every morning makes me glad that Margaret had gotten us out of LA. I left for work at 7:00. Kevin was still in bed. He had stayed up late watching the DVD of Stagecoach. This was his last day with us, but we’d enjoy his company at dinner.
It was Friday November 5, and I had a lot to do. The sheriff had asked me to review all of the old files on the Halloween disappearances before he called me this afternoon. I also wanted to have another conversation with Alicia Magnus, at the Mystic New Age Bookstore to ask more about Sedona’s alternative religious community. Until Monday, I had been a little restless because there was not enough to challenge my skills in quiet little Sedona. Now, there might be dozens of disappearances to investigate as well as a murder case with national attention.
I stopped at Bashas’ to pick up a stack of newspapers on the way to work. A photo of me at the press conference was on the front page of the Flagstaff Arizona Daily Sun. The photographer had caught me with my mouth open making some comment. The Arizona Republic had a color photo of Bishop Kelly at the graveside ceremony on its front page. It was the USA Today that was most disturbing. They had a four-column article on the Secret Mountain Wilderness Homicide. It included a drawing of the crime scene. The drawing was horrifying, but accurate in most details. It even showed Father Sean’s hands reaching up through the bars. His face looked skyward with a saintly expression. There was a faint halo around the priest’s head. I wondered how the artist had gotten some of the details. Had Monsignor Costilla shared the photo I had given him? He had seemed more interested Father Sean’s martyrdom than his homicide.
The Dead Priest of Sedona Page 7
