In the Name of the Father

by Gerri Hill

“Sure, O’Connor. Try sweet-talking her. Maybe it’ll work for you.” Tori pushed the doorbell and held it, then let up and pushed it again. She saw movement through the glass and heard the locks being turned. The door opened slowly and Mrs. Hagen peeked through the crack. Tori saw the dismay in her eyes.

  “You again? What do you want this time?”

  Casey stepped forward. “Actually, it’s me, Mrs. Hagen. Detective Hunter was just kind enough to drive me over. I’m Detective O’Connor, from Special Victims, ma’am. May we come in?”

  “I don’t have anything else to say. I already told her that.”

  “I understand. And we don’t really have many questions, Mrs. Hagen. I just wanted to fill you in, let you know what’s going on.”

  The door opened a little wider. “Fill me in about what?”

  Casey looked around. “You want to talk out here?” She leaned closer. “Neighbors and all. Perhaps we should come inside.”

  Mrs. Hagen hesitated, looking across the street to the neighbor’s house, then nodded. “Very well.” She held the door open. “Come in.”

  Casey looked at Tori, then offered for her to go first. Tori rolled her eyes and stepped back.

  “Fine. Be the bigger dyke,” Casey murmured.

  Tori managed to smother her laugh before following them inside. It was quiet this time, no noise from the TV drifting through the house. But something smelled delicious. Chicken soup? “How’s your husband, Mrs. Hagen?” Tori asked as they went into the kitchen.

  “He’s not feeling well today. He’s resting.” She moved to the stove and lifted the lid on a pot, stirring slowly. “He’ll be wanting his lunch soon.”

  “Well, we won’t take up much of your time,” Casey said. Standing by the small table, she pulled out a chair, spinning it around to face the stove and sat down, casually crossing her legs and resting one ankle on her knee. “I said earlier that I was from Special Victims. Do you know what that is, Mrs. Hagen?” When the older woman continued to silently stir the pot, she continued. “We investigate sexual crimes, Mrs. Hagen. Rape, sexual assault, murder caused by a sexual attack. Things like that.” She glanced at Tori, who was watching Mrs. Hagen. “Just thought you’d like to know that we’re going to close the case on Father Michael. Juan Hidalgo killed him. You knew Juan, right?” When she still didn’t answer, Casey stood up and approached her. “Mrs. Hagen? Didn’t you know Juan?”

  She finally turned away from the stove. “Yes, I knew Juan. He’d worked there for several years.”

  “Bet it was a surprise then, right?”

  “Of course. Juan was always so cordial, so polite. No one would have suspected he would be capable of murder.”

  Casey smiled. “Oh, murder, right. But I’m talking about the affair he was having with Father Michael.”

  “What?” Mrs. Hagen gasped.

  “Yeah. We couldn’t believe it either. But apparently they’d been having this big love affair for a while. It’ll be on the news later in the week, as soon as we close the case.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. They weren’t… they weren’t having an affair,” she whispered.

  “They had to have been, Mrs. Hagen. The medical examiner says he’d had sex,” she said matter-of-factly. “The way we figure it, the affair went sour, or they got into a lovers’ quarrel or something. Juan snapped and strangled him.” She paused. “Just like that, Mrs. Hagen. Just goes to show, you never know, right?”

  “No. No, they weren’t.”

  “Mrs. Hagen, there’s no need to protect him any longer. We know you knew. I mean, you’re the housekeeper. You know everything that goes on in the house, right?” She turned and pushed the chair back under the table. “Detective Hunter here tells me she asked you who he was having an affair with. We understand why you wouldn’t say anything, Mrs. Hagen. I mean, Juan Hidalgo, who would have thought? But it’s all over now.”

  “It’s going to be on the news?”

  “Yeah. I feel bad for Father Michael. I mean, he didn’t want anyone to know, obviously. Now it’ll be all over TV.” She came closer. “But Juan? He just didn’t seem his type, you know?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t Juan. It was never Juan.”

  “Mrs. Hagen, you told me you didn’t know of an affair,” Tori reminded her. “You said Father Michael wasn’t involved with anyone. Are you trying to protect him or Juan?”

  Just then an elderly man, humped over a walker with oxygen tubes attached to his nose, shuffled into the kitchen. “Alice? Who are these people?”

  “They’re just leaving.” She looked at them quickly, then went to her husband. “Come. It’s time for lunch.” Mrs. Hagen helped him to a chair, which Casey held out for him, then motioned for them to follow her out. “He has his doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” she said. “My daughter Kathleen always takes him.” She glanced over her shoulder, back down the hallway. “Come by in the morning,” she said quietly. “About ten.”

  “Mrs. Hagen?” Tori said.

  She reached in the pocket of her housedress, her fingers moving nervously, and Tori knew she was fingering the rosary beads she always kept with her.

  “Tomorrow. I must get back to him now.”

  She closed the door as they stood there, and Tori heard the distinct click of the deadbolt as she locked the door.

  Casey grinned. “See? We got an invitation for coffee tomorrow. And if we’re lucky, she’ll bake banana bread or something.”

  Tori raised an eyebrow. “If we’re lucky, she’ll give up a name.” She headed back to her Explorer, feeling like maybe they were going to get a break. Finally. She stopped at the curb. “Good work, by the way.”

  “Thanks, Hunter. I figured if she liked Father Michael as much as you all said she did, she wouldn’t want his name soiled by the likes of Juan Hidalgo. You know, say you and I were good friends and I knew you were having an affair with Samantha Kennedy—who I hear is hot, by the way—and someone else is accusing you of having a fling with, say, Teresa Fillmore over in Central.”

  Tori laughed. In her mid-fifties, Teresa Fillmore was, as someone once called her, a dyke’s dyke.

  “Now, see, I wouldn’t want people thinking you had bad taste. So I’d confess that no, it wasn’t old, ugly Teresa you were having an affair with, but that cute, young Detective Kennedy.” Casey opened the passenger door, pausing. “And I’d confess even if I knew it would get you into all sorts of trouble because being with Teresa Fillmore would just be gross.”

  “So you’re going on the assumption that Alice Hagen is simply appalled that we’re closing this case, leaving everyone believing that Father Michael and Juan—his killer—were lovers. Is that right? So now she’s just going to tell us the truth?”

  “She’s going to tell us the truth, yes, and I believe she’s wrestling with it because it’s another priest. Hell, it could even be someone from the seminary. Maybe that’s why she’s hesitant. I mean, Father Michael was what? Early forties? In her eyes, maybe she’s trying to protect one of the young men there.”

  Tori made a U-turn in front of the Hagens’ house, stopping at the end of the street before turning on Nichols Avenue. “If we get a name, our next step is to try to interview him. And good luck getting that out of Marissa Goddard.”

  “What’s she like, anyway?”

  “Obnoxious. Arrogant.” She paused. “Cocky.”

  Casey laughed. “Damn, Hunter, you just described yourself.”

  Tori frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I also heard a straight woman say you were sexy.”

  Tori felt the flush creep over her face, which grew even warmer when O’Connor noticed.

  “But anyone who blushes like that can’t be cocky, right?” Casey teased.

  “I don’t think I like you,” Tori murmured.

  “Oh, hell, Hunter, everyone likes me. Now, about Goddard, really, what’s she like? Is she cute?”

  “Cute? Why the hell do you want to know if she�
�s cute?”

  “Because any woman who’s called arrogant, obnoxious and cocky has got to be gay.” Casey reached across the console and lightly punched Tori’s arm. “So? Cute? Yes?”

  Tori shook her head. Cute was the last thing on her mind when it came to Marissa Goddard. “No.”

  “No? Damn. And I’ve got a dinner date with her.”

  “Are you meeting somewhere?”

  “No. Hell, she’s picking me up.” Casey stared at Tori. “How old is she? I mean, she’s probably old, right?” She paused. “I should have never agreed to let her pick me up.”

  Tori chuckled, picturing the young, smartly dressed woman. “Yeah, she’s old. In fact, she reminds me a little of Teresa Fillmore without the bleached hair.”

  Casey’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Okay, so tell me she’s straight, she’s got a husband back home, kids.”

  “Nope. She’s gay.” Of that, she was certain. Casey scowled. “I hate you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  That night, Tori walked into their apartment and tossed her keys on the bar, hating the quiet, hating the darkness. In the kitchen, she opened the fridge, the light bouncing shadows across the room as she surveyed the contents without interest. Last night’s dinner—leftover chicken spaghetti—was ready for the microwave, but she reached around it and grabbed a bottle of beer, easily twisting the cap off and flipping it into the trash.

  Now nearly February, the days were getting a bit longer, and she went out onto the tiny deck, missing the last rays of sunshine but sitting down on a patio chair anyway. She hadn’t talked to Sam all day and had no idea when she’d be home.

  And she hated it—the empty house. It brought back… well, it brought back memories of her life before Sam, before she had a reason to come home. And it also made her realize how much her life had changed in the last year or so. She was no longer the arrogant, obnoxious bitch no one wanted to work with. No longer the first to arrive and the last to leave. No, now she had a life, had someone to share it with, someone to love, someone to be with. And God only knew why, but she also had someone who loved her.

  So she pushed that tiny, nagging fear away, the one that had been eating at her all day. It tried to rear its ugly head, pointing out that here she was, alone. Just like the old days. She took a swallow of beer, knowing it wasn’t at all like the old days. Because she knew Sam would be home. She smiled slightly as she tilted her head back, staring aimlessly at the darkening sky. Yes, she knew Sam would be home.

  And a short time later, when she heard the front door slam shut, she let out a deep breath, relaxing—finally—because she wasn’t alone any longer. And Sam found her quickly, the patio door sliding open as she stuck her head out.

  “There you are.” She slipped her hands around Tori’s shoulders from behind for a tight hug. “God, I missed you today.”

  Tori turned, capturing a quick kiss from Sam before she released her. “I missed you too.”

  “Let me change,” Sam said, squeezing Tori’s arm as her hand slipped away. “I’d love a glass of wine,” she called over her shoulder.

  Tori nodded, her glance going one last time to the dark sky before going inside and closing the door.

  She poured out the rest of her beer and filled two wineglasses, taking them into the bedroom, watching shamelessly as Sam stood there in nothing but her panties, searching for something warm to wear. Soon, she donned an oversized sweatshirt covering her small breasts, and Tori handed Sam her glass of wine.

  “How long are you going to make me wait?” she finally asked.

  Sam laughed. “For a recap of my first day? How boring would that be? I’d rather hear about your day.” She linked arms with Tori and led her back into the living room. “Anything new with Father Michael?”

  “Uh-huh. But you first.”

  Sam tucked her hair behind her ears, then sat cross-legged on the sofa, facing Tori. “I think Detective Travis—excuse me, Lieutenant Travis—is going to be wonderful. The job, however, is going to be boring as hell, I’m afraid. I spent most of the morning being introduced around.” She leaned forward to touch Tori’s leg. “And yes, I was Hunter’s partner,” she said with a smile. “I got that question a thousand times.” She took a swallow of wine, then twirled the glass back and forth between her fingers. “The case I’m assigned to is money laundering. Apparently, how these cases work is, we get a tip from the FBI, CIU then does all the legwork and investigation, and the FBI gets to swoop in and make the arrests.”

  “What kind of money laundering?”

  “Drugs. The phony company is some computer hardware place. They—or we—already know there’s no inventory there, yet a lot of money changes hands each month. I really got in on the end of it though. The FBI is about to take it over.”

  “So no exciting homicides, huh?”

  “No. And what’s worse, they’re sending me away for training.” She reached over again and squeezed Tori’s leg. “For three weeks, sweetheart.”

  “Three weeks? Where?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a program put on by the FBI. Travis says it’s topnotch.”

  Tori felt the panic set in. “Three weeks?” she repeated.

  “I know, Tori.” She leaned closer, lightly kissing her on the lips. “I don’t want to talk about it now, okay? It’s going to come soon enough.” She kissed her again. “Now, tell me about your day.”

  Tori leaned back, letting her breath out slowly. Three weeks? God, she’d die.

  “Come on. Tell me how it went,” Sam coaxed, her hand still lightly rubbing Tori’s leg. “How was the new detective?”

  Tori nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Sam. “Three weeks?” It would be an eternity.

  “Yes. Now, how was the new detective?”

  “I’ll die in three weeks.”

  “You will not.” She sipped her wine. “You going to tell me or what?”

  Tori sighed. “Casey O’Connor. Ever heard of her?”

  Sam frowned. “Yeah. She got assigned to Assault after I left. I never met her though. What’s she like?”

  “She talks too much.”

  “I bet that was fun for you,” Sam said with a laugh.

  “Yeah. Loads of fun. But she got Alice Hagen to open up.”

  “You’re kidding. So who was his lover?”

  “We’re going back in the morning. Her husband has a doctor’s appointment. She said she’d talk then.” Tori tapped Sam’s leg. “But too little, too late. They’re going to close the case this week. O’Connor says her captain actually told her that her involvement was just for show.”

  “Orders from the chief?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam shook her head. “This is going to come back and bite someone in the ass. Maybe not now, but someday, some reporter is going to be snooping around and someone’s going to let slip what happened. I mean, what if he does get elected? Stevens, I mean. He’ll have the interest of national media then. They’ll dig. And out of the blue, some reporter will ask him about his brother. Then what?”

  “Not our deal.”

  “So this O’Connor, she’s just here for the week then?”

  “I suppose. But she is having dinner with Marissa Goddard tonight.”

  “Oh, really? When did they meet?”

  Tori smiled. “Tonight at dinner. Apparently Goddard is going to give her the spiel on why the case should be closed, and O’Connor is supposed to agree and sign off on it.”

  “So is she okay with it? O’Connor, I mean.”

  “No. That’s why she’s trying to get the housekeeper to talk. If we can find something else, then maybe the push to wrap things up will lessen. I mean, we all know Hidalgo did it.”

  “Which is only a small piece of the puzzle.”

  Tori nodded. “I just have this gut feeling that Hidalgo was really innocent in all this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not a k
iller. I think he really was ordered to kill Father Michael.” She finished her wine. “Blackmail maybe. Maybe something else. But I think someone told him to kill the priest, and then he got a bullet for his trouble.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense, Tori. Like Ramirez said, if someone was willing to kill Hidalgo, why not just shoot Father Michael himself and not get a third party involved?”

  “I don’t know. There’s too many ifs and maybes. We may never know what really happened.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Casey stood on the corner outside the precinct, glancing at her watch for the third time. Marissa Goddard was five minutes late. Maybe she changed her mind. But Casey shook her head. She couldn’t get that lucky. And if the woman turned out to be a carbon copy of Teresa Fillmore, it was going to be a short night anyway. She’d feign a headache if she needed to.

  “O’Connor?”

  Casey turned, her smile widening as an attractive woman approached. “Yes. I’m Casey O’Connor.”

  The woman held out her hand. “Marissa Goddard.”

  Casey stared, taking in the long, straight blond hair, tight-fitting black slacks and the red and black sweater. She looked back into expressive blue eyes, then arched one eyebrow. “You’re Marissa Goddard?”

  “Yes.”

  Casey laughed. “I’ll kill her,” she muttered as she took the offered hand, surprised at the firmness of the woman’s handshake. Teresa Fillmore my ass.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just… nothing,” she said. “Really nice to meet you, Ms. Goddard.”

  The woman nodded, then tucked her hair behind her ears impatiently. She motioned toward a silver Lincoln parked along the curb. “Shall we?”

  Casey followed, her eyebrows shooting skyward as Marissa Goddard held the passenger door open for her.

  “I’m in the mood for something spicy,” Marissa said. “Perhaps you could recommend a good Tex-Mex place.”

  “Spicy? If it’s spicy you want, I’m your woman.”

  “I’m sure you are. However, I was only talking about dinner.”

  “Well, so was I, Ms. Goddard. Whatever in the world did you think I meant?”