MURDER RITES: THE JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERY SERIES (JOHNNY SUNDANCE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by Ronald Yarosh

  "You’re correct. It is their jurisdiction. I’m looking into it by request of a private client."

  "Hmmm …I see. Well, if it will make you feel any better, ask away."

  "Thank you. Apparently, you were one of the first persons to get to the scene. Is that correct?"

  He heaved a sigh. "As I said in my statement, I was one of the first people to arrive. I believe it was sometime after four. I came in earlier through the main entrance. I went directly to the sacristy. I put on my alb shortly after I got there. I spoke to Father Small and a couple of altar boys who were present. I also had other things to attend to at the time."

  "Do you remember seeing anyone else when you arrived at the church?"

  "I didn’t notice anyone else. I had just found out my wife was suffering from lung cancer and my mind was mainly on that. The afternoon was a blur."

  "How is she doing?"

  "She died a few months ago. Her pain and suffering are over." His face became somber. I noticed his eyes were tearing.

  "I am sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you. Look, I’ve got lots of work to do. This place doesn’t run by itself. Let’s get on with this." His phone buzzed again. He looked at it, and then returned it to the table.

  "I understand. Go on."

  "That day, I could have walked by fifty people and not really recognized any of them. In any case, I heard screams coming from the front of the church. They were emanating from the West Reconciliation Room area. When I got there, Father Small was trying to get Lupe Perez away from the body. I immediately checked Father Watson’s pulse. He was dead. I was an Army Medic so I know what to look for. A policeman arrived shortly thereafter. He got Mrs. Perez away from the body. The policeman asked me to take Mrs. Perez outside the room. We were both bloody at that point. He told us to stand by for questioning. A while later, a female detective interviewed me. A male detective was also there interviewing witnesses. The EMS people checked out Mrs. Perez and myself. Oh, and I had to give the police my alb for evidence purposes. Mrs. Perez’s daughter later came to the church with some clothes for her, so Lupe could give the police the clothes she had on at the time. All that should be in the record somewhere."

  "Yes, it’s in the record. By the way, thank you for your service."

  "You're welcome."

  "Now, before you entered the Reconciliation Room, did you see anyone leave the church in a hurry? Maybe even run out?"

  "No. If anyone ran out, I didn’t see him or her. I think that’s also in my statement." He looked at his phone again. "I have to take this call. Would you mind waiting a moment?"

  "No, go right ahead."

  He left the booth with his phone in hand and walked to another area. He seemed to be having an intense discussion with someone. A minute or so later he came back to the table. "This place will be the death of me yet. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. My seafood supplier just informed me that prices will be go up by thirty percent on my next order. Apparently over-fishing in the Northeast is causing a problem."

  "I’m sorry to hear that. Besides yourself and Mrs. Perez, did you see anyone else with blood on their clothing?"

  "No."

  "Did you see anyone leave through the rear door of the Reconciliation Room when you arrived?"

  "No. I’ve been asked those questions before, and my answers are the same."

  "There was no stole found on Father Watson, or anywhere else in the room. As far as you know, was Father Watson wearing a stole when you checked is vital signs?"

  "That’s a new question. I don’t recall seeing a stole, but I know for a fact there has always been a stole hanging on the privacy screen. It’s SOP. Standard operating procedure. I can’t believe Father Watson wouldn’t have been wearing one. But again, I don’t remember if I saw a stole or not."

  "Did you see Father Preston in or around the church at that time?"

  "Preston? No. I don't recall seeing him anywhere after I arrived."

  "I see. Did you have the combination to the rear door of the Reconciliation Room?"

  "Yes, along with just about everybody else who worked or volunteered at the church. I’m sure they also had the combinations to the other locks as well, but you have to ask them about that detail."

  "Did you happen to see anyone in the side hallway of the church while you were there?"

  "No. Father Watson was pretty strict about people being there. I had authorization since I am a member of the clergy. But, I rarely ever used the hallway. I didn’t use it that day."

  "Did you notice anything suspicious at all around the time of the murder?"

  "No. I can’t say that I did. I didn’t see anyone running around in bloody clothes with a knife in their hand if that’s what you mean. Like I said, I was in a daze." His cell phone vibrated again. He looked at it, and then put it back on the table.

  "By any chance, did you see any bloody footprints around Father Watson’s body?"

  "I really didn’t notice. My main concern was to check Father Watson’s condition."

  "Do you know of anyone who might have had it in for Father Watson? I mean for any reason whatsoever?"

  He frowned. "I’ve answered that question before. The only one, and I really hate to say this, would be Bernie Flowers. He and Father Watson really got into it after some money was missing. Bernie later told me he was very upset with Father Watson over the accusation that he might have stolen the money. At least that’s how Bernie looked at it. He swore up and down he didn’t take the money. He quit volunteering at de Sales after that. Anyway, he’s the only one I know of who had any grievance against Father Watson. That’s not saying Bernie murdered Brian because of that. I’ve known Bernie for a long time. He’s not that kind person. I don’t say that just because he was in the military like me. I can’t believe anyone would deliberately murder someone, especially a priest, over something like money."

  "Did you see Flowers around the church that afternoon?"

  "If he was there, I didn’t see him."

  "Can you think of anything else that might be of help?"

  His face was red. His attitude became very curt. "Not really. Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work. This place doesn’t run on its own. Although sometimes I wish it would."

  He stood up. I followed suit. I gave him one of my cards and asked him to call me if he thought of anything else. I was surprised when he asked me if I’d like to stay for lunch. He said it would be on the house. I may have surprised him when I took him up on his offer. He escorted me to another booth, and then left.

  The stuffed cod was excellent. The clam chowder was really tasty. And, the corn fritters were outstanding. I made a mental note to stop by again when I was in the mood for fish. I figured Lent would be a good season to return.

  It was time to get back on the road. I found Sidwell at the front of the restaurant talking to Joanne. He gave a forced smile and nodded. Joanne smiled, then said, "Come back soon".

  "I sure will. Food and the service were wonderful."

  "Thanks," Sidwell said.

  I shook his hand, and then left. I had more work to do.

  14

  I called Mrs. Perez’s daughter, Mrs. Michael Forrester. She told me she would be free for the next hour and twenty minutes. I told her I could be there within thirty minutes. She said she would wait. Her voice was soft and smooth.

  About twenty minutes later, I drove up the quarter mile drive to The Water’s Edge, a secluded neighborhood located just outside of Winter Park. It’s an upscale subdivision with a guarded entrance. I showed the young pimpled face security guard my identification. The kid got on the phone. He spoke to someone. He smiled at me as he opened the gate. I waved to him as I drove through. He didn’t acknowledge my gesture. His eyes were glued to his cell phone.

  The Forrester home was a large, two-story brick structure. Two thick chimneys poked thru a beige tiled roof. A wide three-car garage stood off to the left. The grounds contained an abundance of Japanese lands
caping, including miniature red maple trees, Japanese creeping pine and red tip photons.

  The sound of a garden chime, heavy with patina, seemed to beckon me as I walked up the flagstone sidewalk toward the wrought iron enclosed entry way. I rang the doorbell.

  An Asian woman came to the gate. Her gray hair was pulled up into a bun. Her skin was wrinkled. Her face was pale. She wore a simple gray kimono. She had wooden sandals on her dainty feet, which were covered by white split-toe sox, also known as Tabi sox. She formally bowed to me. I bowed as well. She smiled, and then ushered me inside the house.

  The home smelled of sandalwood incense. The sounds of small children playing vied with the peaceful Koto background music. As we entered the living room, the old woman called out something in Japanese. A female voice said, "Thank you, Aiko." The old woman turned back to me and bowed. I bowed. She left the room like a whisper in a summer breeze.

  It was a large, room fully decorated with Japanese art and antiques. Three Japanese cabinets, called Tansus, sat next to an elegant Asian rug. The room also held a long sectional couch. Two rosewood tables flanked it. Each one supported a brass lamp with jade accents.

  Mrs. Forrester entered. She was a tall, tan skinned beauty with dark eyes. Her hair was severely pulled back into a bun pierced with two chopsticks. She appeared to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in a long black and pink kimono.

  She extended her arm toward me. Her features were refined. I took her warm, delicate hand into mine. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sundance. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How can I help you?" She sounded subdued and gentle when she spoke.

  "Well, I’m taking a fresh look into the murder of Father Brian Watson. I’m attempting to talk to those who were present at the time. By the way, please call me Johnny."

  "Okay, Johnny." She gestured toward the couch. "Please sit down."

  We sat. She smiled a warm and delightful smile. My heart melted at the sight. I had to remind myself that she was married.

  She began. "Well, Johnny I’m sure you know by now my mother has passed away. She told everything she knew to the police. When they found her over the body, they automatically suspected she had something to do with the killing. But, she was innocent of course. Many people from the church affirmed her story. As you might imagine, it was a harrowing experience for her, and our family. That afternoon, I had to bring some clothes to the church for her to change into because the police wanted her bloodstained attire. I was also with her later when she talked to the police at their office. There was a female and a male detective present. I believe the woman’s name was Amanda."

  "Amanda Sands."

  "Yes, as I recall, she was a nice woman. Mother told her everything she knew concerning the incident. Anyway, I’ll gladly help you with your investigation if I can."

  "Thank you. I appreciate that. I read the statement your mother made to the police. But, often there are facts and memories which reveal themselves later, once the emotion and drama have subsided."

  "Yes, my husband Michael said the same thing. He's a psychiatrist."

  "I’d like to know if your mom mentioned anything to you later about the murder."

  "Well, she wouldn’t discuss it at all for a few weeks. Even Michael couldn’t get her to open up about it. She went back to work at the Rectory since Father Small was living there. Finally, one day at breakfast she mentioned a few things about it to us."

  "What exactly?"

  "She said she was sure she had seen someone else in the room with Father Watson. They were arguing about something, but it was muffled because the place is sound proofed and the window is frosted."

  "Anything else?"

  "Not really."

  "What about when she was in the hospital? Did she say anything then?"

  "Well, she suffered a massive stroke which destroyed most of her speech capability. She didn’t talk very distinctly. I couldn’t understand much of what she said. It was mostly about The Virgin Mary."

  "What did she say in that regard?"

  "Now and then, she would open her eyes and whisper in Spanish, ‘Mother Mary knows what happened to Brian’. But, I’m not really sure what she meant by that. Her voice was very weak at that point."

  "Can you tell me anymore about the statement she made to the police, you know, the one where she said Father Watson would die?"

  "About three months before the murder, she told me, he was going to die a horrible death. Her statement was totally unbelievable to me. I questioned her about it. I told her it was wrong to make up such stories. I told her I couldn’t believe Our Lady would tell her such a gruesome thing, but mother kept insisting it was true. Then of course, it happened. The man died a tragic death at the hands of a murderer right in his own parish, in the confessional of all places."

  "What do you now think about what she told you?"

  "I still can’t wrap my head around it, or the story she told us about Father Small."

  My ears perked up. "What about Father Small?"

  "Weeks before he came to de Sales, Mom told me he would be coming. She said Mary told her an English priest would soon be assigned to the parish. I was skeptical, so on one of her days off, when she was napping, I called Father Watson. Without telling him what Mom had said, I asked him if he was expecting a new priest in the parish. He said he wished he could have another priest there, but the Bishop said it was out of the question. Well, three weeks later, low and behold, Father Small, a Brit, showed up at his door. I was floored. I questioned mother about it, thinking she got word of it from someone she knew at the church. She was the President of The Catholic Women’s Society. She knew a lot of people and word gets around. She insisted Mary told her."

  "That is quite a story."

  "There's more."

  "Oh?"

  "The same day she told me about Father Small, she told me she would also soon die. I told her that was nonsense. I reminded her she just had a complete physical from head to toe. She wasn’t taking any mediation. She had no medical issues. She was healthier than any of us in the family."

  "Did she ever say how Father Watson or she herself would die?"

  "She didn’t elaborate regarding Father Watson. She said something bad would happen to her. She didn’t say what that was. But, she did die about a month later. We had her cremated."

  "I heard something about that from Father Small."

  "Father Preston discussed cremation with us while mother was in the hospital after her stroke. Father Preston said he and mother had talked about it on several occasions. I was surprised to hear that since Mother had always told me she wished to be buried next to Daddy. They had purchased a double burial plot for that purpose. But, I thought, after listening to him, she changed her mind. Mother seemed to believe and act upon anything a priest or religious told her."

  "Did your mother ever happen to mention whether or not Father Watson was wearing a stole that day?"

  "She never said anything to me about a stole."

  "Is there anything else your mother might have mentioned?"

  "That’s it. I wish there was more. I don’t think I’ve been much help to you."

  "Every little bit helps. May I call again if I have any other questions?"

  "You certainly may. Aiko will show you out. It was a pleasure to meet you. I've got to run."

  "The pleasure is all mine."

  "I wish you well in your investigation, and I hope you find the murderer. Father Watson was a wonderful man. My mother loved him dearly." We shook hands, and then she left the room.

  Aiko escorted me to the front gate. She bowed. I bowed. I walked to my car, and then left.

  There were more questions awaiting answers. Did Ann’s mother die of natural causes even though she seemed to be in perfect health? Then again, there’s the story of the guy who sees his doctor. The doctor tells his patient he’s in perfect health. Then, the guy drops dead in the parking lot. I also wondered why Mrs. Perez insisted on cremation when she always talked of being buried
next to her husband? My mind was in a tailspin.

  15

  I drove to EPPD. Jake was in the reception area talking to a civilian woman. Her arms were waving as she shouted something about being a "tax payer" who paid his salary. Jake nodded and smiled. Suddenly, the conversation ended. The woman walked out in a huff. She almost ran into me. She was mumbling under her breath with a series of expletives. Jake saw me walking toward him. He winked at me. I smiled.

  "Another happy customer?" I said.

  "That lovely tax payer is upset because I won’t place a patrol car and an officer in her neighborhood to see who’s dog is crapping on her lawn. Like we haven’t got anything else to do. What’s up, Hot Shot?"

  "A little of this, and a little of that. Can we go to your office?"

  "Sure."

  As we walked there he said. "I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard that damn tax payer argument."

  "It’s part of the job."

  "I know, I know. But, it’s getting tiresome. I need a vacation. I need a new job. I’m getting too old for this crap."

  "Why don’t you try to get a job somewhere else, like at the state level?" I said, without thinking.

  Jake turned to me. He gave me his, "Is there something you’re not telling me?" look.

  "What?" I said.

  "What do you know about jobs at state the level?"

  I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing, really. Somebody around here said there may be some job openings in Tallahassee." I had to lie to cover my slip up.

  "Who said that?"

  "I might have heard it at Cassie’s. I’m not sure."