Crime Times Two

by Julie Howard

  “Did he say anything?” Curtis asked the priest. “Last words?”

  “Nothing.” Father Michael pressed his lips together and shifted on his feet. “Of course, even if he’d said something, it would have been in the confines of confession, privileged, inviolable. I told all this to the doctor. We’ve waited a long time for you to get here.”

  The priest glanced at her and then gave the slow-arriving sheriff a disapproving stare. She sensed they’d been judged and found wanting. Today was Sunday and neither of them were wearing church clothes. She studied the priest, thinking she saw something change in his demeanor. Defiant, she thought. And anxious.

  She glanced up at Curtis, wondering if he was nervous about approaching the dead man. “We had to drive up from Hay City,” she broke in, trying to sound official. “The sheriff got here as soon as he could. He’s chief deputy coroner, you know; he has to sign off on the death certificate.”

  The priest frowned at her, as though he knew more about her than she knew herself. She glanced away from him and to statues of saints, the large crucifix behind the altar and rows of pews. Guilt washed over her even though church was never a part of her upbringing. She was suddenly glad she didn’t belong to a religion requiring confession. Where would she begin? Where would she stop? I could go on for days.

  “Who are you?” Father Michael’s tone sounded as if he wasn’t prepared to believe anything she would have to say.

  “Just a helper,” she answered, guilt intensifying. This wasn’t technically a lie. She was helping, after all, even if she had somewhat ulterior motives for doing so.

  “She’s my assistant,” Curtis said at the same time, then gestured toward the confessional. “I guess I should take a look now.”

  He paused, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders as though preparing for battle. “I’ll talk and you take notes,” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. “Let me know if you need to leave, if it’s too much for you.”

  She followed close behind as he stepped closer to the booth. Without touching the body, he peeked inside the half-opened door and started his observations. “The body is inside the confessional except for one leg,” he intoned, his voice cracking. “It appears he was already inside when he collapsed. There are no marks on the body. The man is mid- to late-thirty’s, maybe older, Caucasian…”

  “Excuse me,” the priest interrupted, exasperation in his tone. “I know this man. Jacob Burns. He lives around the corner. And the doctor already knows this. Why don’t you just talk to her?”

  Meredith had been waiting all this time, wanting to see the man’s face, to see if she recognized him. The name meant nothing to her since the man in the library never introduced himself. She needed to see him to know for sure. If it was the same person, Curtis would be impressed by her insider knowledge.

  “This is just procedure in deaths like this.” Curtis glanced over at the priest and then returned his gaze to the crumpled body. “I need to make my own observations and make my own report.”

  Father Michael made an impatient sound. Meredith watched him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t have much experience with churches and especially not the Catholic Church. Priests, with their black garb and white cutout collars, made her think of chanting and vows of silence, although it didn’t make sense someone taking a vow of silence would chant so she wasn’t quite sure about that. She did know priests took a vow of chastity and for some reason that made her uncomfortable in his presence. She wondered why such a normal looking man would enter the priesthood, and then immediately chided herself for stereotyping. People of all sorts would get callings for religious service: tall, short, handsome, homely.

  “…puddle of vomit on the floor,” Curtis was saying, his head back inside the booth. She hurried to write his comments down, worrying she missed something important while she’d focused on the priest. “No wounds on the body.”

  He backed out of the confessional and wiped a hand across his mouth. His face was pale; she hoped he wouldn’t faint. He took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll go talk to the doctor now. Compare notes. We’ll get someone to remove the body.”

  Father Michael nodded and gestured toward the church doors, as if inviting them to leave.

  Meredith peered over at the confessional, trying to see inside at the man’s face. She crept closer, feeling ghoulish but needing to know. The man she’d met in the library was so certain he was going to be killed by his church-going wife. Then, here was a man, about the same age, coincidentally dead in a church.

  “Probably a heart attack,” the priest was saying. “The doctor said so several hours ago.”

  She turned toward the priest. “Wouldn’t you need an autopsy?” she asked. “To confirm a heart attack?”

  His Adam’s apple twitched beneath his collar. She sympathized; he’d have had a terrible shock, with a man dying right in front of him. “That’s up to the doctor,” Father Michael said. “She would know, as a medical professional. I’ll pray for the family.”

  Curtis cleared his throat. “I’m done here. We’ll get him out of your, uh, box soon enough. I’ll talk to the doctor about this…this unfortunate event.”

  As Father Michael took a step toward the entrance, she saw her opportunity slipping away. “Curtis,” she whispered. “Flip him over.”

  He looked horrified at the suggestion. “What?”

  “Flip him over,” she hissed. “So you can see the rest of him. For your report.”

  Father Michael took another step toward the entrance. “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” he said. “The doctor will examine the body in more detail later.”

  Curtis focused back on the booth and his shoulders slumped. She sensed he didn’t want to touch a dead body and felt sorry for him. On impulse, she stepped in front of him, grabbed the man’s leg and tugged, hauling him out of the confessional. The two men stood frozen, as though in shock.

  “Meredith, stop!” Curtis protested. “What are you doing?”

  “Assisting your investigation,” she grunted as she dragged the body out of the confessional. After heaving the body over, it flopped face up on the wood floor. A sour stench of vomit rose up. While sheriff and priest winced at the smell, Meredith’s focus remained on the man's features cruelly twisted to one side.

  “It’s you,” she said. “I knew it would be you.”

  Chapter Six

  “Tell me again,” Curtis queried, his tone puzzled. How did you know this man?”

  They stood outside the office of Doctor Rose, the county’s only physician, who had gone to the late afternoon Mass at the grange hall. From the front stoop, they watched the quiet village come alive as church-goers filled the streets on their walk home.

  The peaceful tableau was very nearly a timeless scene, with villagers living close enough to forgo using a vehicle. Even the older residents walked, assisted by family members or fellow parishioners.

  While they waited, she related how she met Jacob Burns, about how he rambled on about his marriage and his certainty his wife was going to kill him. “I didn’t believe him,” she said. “I just thought he was this weird Idaho guy, so I never said anything about it. But see what happened. I should have told you.”

  “‘Weird Idaho guy’,” he muttered. “Okay, you didn’t say anything to me. How could you have known this would happen? He must have been very sick.”

  “No,” she protested. “That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. He predicted his own death, his own murder.”

  “You.” The accusation came from the street. The librarian glared at her.

  Meredith stood still, stunned at the venom in the woman’s voice. Had she kept a book past its due date? Other church-goers glanced at them curiously and hurried past.

  “Hiding in corners with him,” the librarian spat. “A married man. See what comes from deception?”

  Another woman hurried up and touched the librarian on her arm. “Leona, go on home. Today’s been an upsetting day for
all of us.”

  Leona the librarian shot Meredith a distasteful scowl before stomping off through the thin snow. The other woman strode up, shook their hands in a firm grip. “I’m Doctor Rose. Glad you made it. The whole town is topsy-turvy this morning over Jacob Burns’ death. Father Karl forgot the words to his sermon twice and, well, you saw how upset Leona is. Come inside.”

  They followed the woman into her office where she waved them into seats before a broad desk. Doctor Rose settled behind the desk and folded her hands together. The room was stark, the desk free of clutter. A diagram of a human body hung on one wall, skin stripped off so bones, organs and veins could be visualized. Behind the desk hung three framed diplomas, with type too small and ornate for Meredith to decipher. Her gaze settled on the woman before her: mid-forties perhaps, wavy black hair shaped in a severe bob that accentuated an unfortunately long nose. There was a clunk under the desk, indicating the doctor had kicked off her shoes. “I guess you’ve seen the body?”

  Curtis nodded with a grimace. “Father Michael showed us everything.”

  Dr. Rose eyed Meredith but spoke to Curtis. “You have a deputy, too?”

  “Meredith is assisting today, taking notes,” he explained, his cheeks coloring.

  “Ah, the deputized coroner has a deputy,” the doctor said with a laugh, and quickly continued in a serious tone. “Jacob Burns wasn’t well. In fact, I’d seen him a few times recently. High blood pressure. High cholesterol. I told him just last week he needed to change his lifestyle right away. I’m not a magician, just a doctor. He didn’t want to take responsibility for his own health. I see this all the time. ‘Give me a pill,’ they say. Then they can hold onto their bad habits.”

  Taken aback at the doctor’s lack of empathy, Meredith protested. “His death wasn’t his fault.”

  Again, Dr. Rose frowned at Meredith; again she spoke to Curtis. “Is she a doctor as well as the deputy coroner’s assistant?”

  “I’m not a doctor, but I met Jacob a couple of times,” Meredith said. “He told me…”

  The doctor interrupted her. “You met him a couple of times? I’ve been his family doctor for nearly ten years.” Dr. Rose continued to direct her attention to Curtis. “Is there a problem here?”

  He held both hands up in a gesture of peace-making. “There’s no problem. Meredith just informed me of some disturbing information about the victim and some claims he made recently. In view of what’s occurred, we need to talk about it.”

  Dr. Rose sat back in her chair and tapped her fingers on the desk in front of her. It was clear her pride was injured. “In the past, I’ve been deputy coroner for the deaths up here, since I’m a medical professional. The only reason you were called in this time is because of the location, in the church. And, I suppose, my brother.”

  Meredith was puzzled at the comment. What would the doctor’s brother have to do with anything?

  “Your brother?” Curtis asked.

  The doctor gave a small, mirthless laugh. “My brother, the father. Father Michael is my brother. He returned here after he was ordained. I guess my brother is now my father. Anyway, it’s best you confirm the death certificate, considering the relationship. We don’t want the perception of anything done wrong, do we?”

  “He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Meredith broke in, annoyed at the doctor’s pushy attitude. “Jacob told me his wife wanted to kill him.”

  Doctor Rose blew out an exasperated breath. For the first time, she spoke directly to Meredith, glaring at her as she did. “Do you know how upsetting an autopsy is to a family? I take my job and my role in this community very seriously. Jacob was under my medical supervision and he was unwell. In my medical opinion, this is a clear case of myocardial infarction, provoked by a documented lipid disorder, chronic hypertension and ongoing stress.” Meredith’s head swam at the doctor’s continued recitation of medical terms. “The signs of an MI include vomiting and wheezing, both of which were evident at his death. Other symptoms are self-reported, which obviously can’t occur if the victim dies suddenly.”

  The doctor turned to Curtis. “My understanding of state law is no autopsy is required in this instance. I won’t even comment on the tasteless accusations against his wife. Jacob was known for saying a lot of strange things.”

  “We’ve all had a tough day here,” he started, speaking slowly. “There are some personal connections here, too, which means we need to proceed carefully. It seems I was called in so there’s no perception these personal connections taint the record. We all have the same goal: do the right thing. So, let’s start there.”

  Meredith was impressed how he took control of the conversation. She wished people who called him “Barney” could hear him stand up to this bossy doctor. Something akin to pride surged through her. “I think we need to consider a limited autopsy to examine his heart,” he continued. “A limited autopsy would focus on the heart alone and not be as invasive. I’m sure the family would want this confirmed for their own peace of mind. Could we agree on this, Doctor?”

  Doctor Rose’s face turned stony, but she gave a brief nod before standing. “I’ll arrange for a limited autopsy and have the report sent over to you.”

  Once the decision was made, their departure from the doctor’s office was swift. Within minutes they were back in the truck. “He was so certain the wife wanted him dead,” she said. “I didn’t believe him, no matter how many times he said it. I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t say anything other than tell him to leave me alone because I had enough problems of my own.”

  The truck rumbled past the library, past the “Welcome to Twin Lakes” sign, and out of town. “What could you have done?” he asked.

  She glanced up and, with a jolt, noticed they weren’t in Twin Lakes anymore. “Wait. What about the wife? You need to ask her some questions. Hear her story, her alibi.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “His wife’s just had a terrible shock and now Doctor Rose is going to tell her there’s going to be an autopsy. We need to wait for the doctor’s report. Give Jacob’s wife a bit of time with family for now.”

  “But if she killed him, she’s not in shock at all. You need to talk to her, right away, before she covers everything up.”

  Curtis pulled to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He rubbed one hand at the back of his neck and twisted in his seat to face her. “I hear what you’re saying, I promise. There’s just a process I have to follow. I can’t just barge in with allegations of murder without any proof. We don’t even know a crime’s been committed. Just think if it’s not true.”

  She knew exactly how that felt—being accused of a murder you didn’t commit—but bit her lip from saying so.

  “This wasn’t a gunshot, something clear cut,” he added, as though he knew what she was thinking. “This man had some kind of medical episode; the doctor’s certain it’s a heart attack. We’ll see if the autopsy confirms this diagnosis. If not, we continue to the next step. But I didn’t see anything on the body or in the church pointing to anything suspicious.”

  She couldn’t argue with this, but he could at least talk to the wife. He could size her up, judge for himself whether the woman wanted to kill her husband. A small voice inside warned her she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop tears from springing to her eyes. The man’s accusations echoed now he was dead. The situation was Brian’s murder all over again, with another unhappy wife and a murdered husband.

  Brian. She’d done her best to put him in the past, but he wouldn’t stay there. She would carry a share of guilt for his murder the rest of her life, even if she hadn’t squeezed the trigger. She’d considered killing him herself, after all, to escape her marriage. It was as though she’d wished his slaying into reality. Now another man was dead.

  Curtis laid a hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have let you come with me today. What was I thinking?”

  Meredith gazed out the passenger window and breathed deeply, willing her tears away. She’d ma
de it this far without breaking down. The forest was all around them, the trees packed tight together, branches intertwined with branches, creating an impassible thicket. A squirrel perched on a nearby limb stared down at her. The critter twitched its tail and chattered at the truck. “I’m okay,” she said, even as a tear slipped down one cheek.

  His hand shifted from her shoulder and a moment later he pressed a tissue in her hand. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You were good back there,” she said softly. “In the doctor’s office. I was proud of you.”

  The truck rumbled to life. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get you home.”

  ****

  Jacob’s not Brian, she told herself later. Two dead husbands, two unhappy wives. Those are the only similarities. Just because one was murdered didn’t mean the other one was as well. What was it called, when terrible events from the past came alive in the present? Post-traumatic stress.

  One day at a time, she breathed, eyes closed.

  She needed to get Jacob and Brian out of her mind, so that evening she turned to the topic of rabbits.

  Jamie hooted at the news. “Babies? Grendel’s going to have baby rabbits?”

  Meredith nodded, her mouth twisting to one side. What was great news to Jamie was worrying news to her. The hutch was big enough for one tubby rabbit, but wouldn’t hold six to ten rabbits.

  She tried to explain to Jamie plans for getting rid of the coming bunnies. “Crusty’s going to let you sell the babies at the hardware store and you can keep the money.” This was the best way out of an emergency situation.

  Jamie’s tone was indignant and she anchored her hands on her tiny hips. “I don’t think so. I’m not selling Grendel’s babies. I’m keeping them.”

  She shook her head. “No way, kiddo. This isn’t a rabbit farm. Anyway, we can’t keep them warm during winter. They would die in the shed.”