In the Name of the Father

by Gerri Hill

  “Well, great. Maybe I can catch her there.” She tapped the counter as she left. “Thanks a lot.”

  Sikes ripped open the bag Tori handed him, bypassing the two burritos for the treat she’d added. He took a large bite, his eyes closing. “God, that’s so good.” Then he grinned. “Not as good as Mama Ramirez, of course. Thanks, Hunter.”

  “Sure.” She handed over the cup of coffee and sat down at her desk, opening up her own bag. She quickly unwrapped her burrito and took a bite. “You got Mac’s report?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He wiped his mouth, then sipped from his coffee. “Not a whole lot. The place was clean. But Spencer found a smudge on Hagen’s forearm. Wasn’t able to get a print, but it’s a possible transfer from the killer. She’s got the analysis there, but it’s some kind of lotion, I think.”

  Frowning, Tori took another bite. “Lotion?”

  “I think so. But what did you guys find out?”

  Tori put her burrito down, snatching a napkin from Sikes. “Father Tim said both Hidalgo and Alice Hagen knew about their affair. He also said both of them were loyal to Father Michael and wouldn’t have told Bernard. But the monsignor knew and they basically shipped Father Tim out of here without notice. He wasn’t allowed to talk to Michael at all. And four days later, Michael is dead.”

  “So you think the monsignor is involved?”

  Tori picked up her burrito again, then thought for a moment before taking a bite. “He’s involved somehow, yes. If neither Alice Hagen nor Juan Hidalgo told him, how did he find out about the affair? And when he did find out about it, why did he send Father Tim away as if he’s a criminal and not Father Michael? And why not just confront them about it?”

  “Of course, you’re just assuming Hagen and Hidalgo didn’t talk.”

  “Yeah. But neither were on good terms with the monsignor, so why would they go and tattle about the affair?”

  “But you don’t think he killed them, do you?”

  Tori shook her head. “No. And I’m not saying that just because he’s a priest. He’s a large, overweight man who looks like he’s a candidate for a heart attack at any moment. I can’t see him pulling off a murder. Especially Juan Hidalgo.”

  “Why?”

  “Third floor, no elevator.”

  “So?”

  “So I can’t see a guy his size making it up three flights of stairs and still have the physical capability to pull off a murder.”

  Sikes shrugged. “He didn’t seem all that winded.”

  Tori frowned. “What are you talking about? When?”

  “When Ramirez and I were there trying to get statements. After you guys left.”

  Tori’s eyes widened. “He was there?”

  “Yeah. He came to console the family. And he didn’t seem winded at all.”

  Tori stood up and began pacing. “He’s winded just walking. The first time we met him at the rectory, he was winded. Even in his office that day, just talking to him, he sounded winded.” It didn’t make sense. “Not possible he walks up three flights of stairs.”

  “Well, he did.”

  Tori spun around. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you and Ramirez say Juan was the maintenance man at his apartment building?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So it stands to reason then that he’d have a master key to all the rooms.” Tori kept pacing as John finished off his second burrito. “Where is Spencer’s report on Alice Hagen?”

  “She e-mailed me the full report,” he said as he pulled up his mail. “I doubt her file’s been updated yet.”

  “Find the part about the lotion smudge.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Casey walked into the offices behind the church, surprised to find them unlocked. Even more surprising was the empty chair at the receptionist’s desk. She paused, listening, but there was no sound. She glanced at her watch, wondering what time the church service would be over. It was nearly eleven now. But she didn’t want to wait, so she went down the wide hallway, looking at each closed door, hoping she remembered which one was Marissa’s temporary office.

  She found it easily. It was the only one open.

  She stood in the doorway, looking inside. It appeared to be undisturbed, but Marissa’s purse and laptop lay unopened on the desk. Casey looked back down the hallway, then stepped inside, her curiosity getting the better of her. She placed her hand on the laptop. It was cold with no sign that it had been turned on recently. Beside Marissa’s purse was her cell phone. Casey picked it up and flipped it open. It was turned off.

  No wonder it went to voice mail, she thought.

  She tossed it back down, turning a slow circle in the office, wondering what to do. Marissa was obviously still here. Somewhere. And Casey wanted to see her before she left.

  So she went in search of her. Loudly.

  “Marissa?” she called, looking down the hallway in both directions. “Marissa? You around?”

  Silence.

  She cocked her head. “Is anyone around?” she called again. “Hello?”

  It was eerily quiet and she walked to the end of the hallway, trying every door. All were locked. At the very end were two double doors. They opened into a small amphitheater, but it too was dark and empty. So she turned back, going down the hallway to the reception area and entering the hall on the other side of the building. Here, the doors were massive, all with etched wood carvings. Elegant. Prestigious. She supposed these were the offices of Bishop Lewis. Perhaps Monsignor Bernard had an office here as well. She tried each door, but they were all locked.

  “Hello? Anybody around?” she called again. “Marissa?”

  Still nothing. Just the strange quiet. An unnatural quiet.

  “Creepy,” she murmured.

  Tori leaned over John’s shoulder, reading through Spencer’s report and trying to sort through the medical jargon.

  “Here,” John said, pointing.

  “Okay. Partial print. Too smudged for detail.” She kept reading. “Lavandula extract, vegetable emulsifying wax, almond oil, aloe vera, vegetable glycerin, sea algae,” she said. “What the hell?”

  “Lotion.”

  “Wheat germ oil? Titanium dioxide? How the hell does this help us?”

  “I asked Mac to have one of his people analyze it. Maybe we can get a brand or something.”

  “Scroll back up. Cause of death reads nearly identical to Juan Hidalgo’s. Are they confirming?”

  “With no physical evidence, how can they?”

  Tori started pacing again, moving behind John, her mind racing.

  “I have a hard time believing Monsignor Bernard could have killed these people, but I have a memory of him using lotion.” She shrugged. “Of course, does that really mean anything? Lots of people use hand lotion.”

  John leaned back, his arms crossed behind his head. “A lotion smudge won’t help us. And we have no leads on either case. Tell me how someone could walk into both residences in broad daylight and no one see a thing?”

  “Perhaps it’s just that no one noticed,” she said. “What if it’s someone who people are used to seeing there? What if it’s a frequent visitor so no one took notice?”

  “And no evidence of a break-in. Would have to be someone they knew.”

  “Like a priest,” she said quietly.

  Casey retraced her steps through the quiet hallway one more time, finally giving up on finding Marissa. So she stopped by her office, intending to leave her a note, although she felt a bit like a snoop as she opened the middle drawer looking for paper and a pen.

  She scribbled out a note, leaving her cell number and a request for Marissa to call her before she left town. She tucked the note under Marissa’s phone and quietly shut the door.

  Walking back to the reception area, she heard it. The slamming of a door and the sound of muffled voices, then the unmistakable sound of a sharp, quick scream. A woman.

  Then quiet again.

  She turned around, raising her eyes to the ceiling. It ha
d definitely come from upstairs, but whether it was the second floor or not, she had no way of knowing. With the building closed and quiet, it could have been the third floor. So she bypassed the elevators and eased open the door to the stairwell. It was dark, lit only by soft glowing bulbs at the landing.

  She took a deep breath, then moved up the stairs, sliding along the wall, her eyes turned upward. She peered through the glass on the door at the second floor, but the hallway was dark, no sign of movement. She carefully cracked the door, listening. Again, nothing.

  As she crept into the hallway, turning around slowly, there was nothing but the eerie silence of an empty building. She was about to call out Marissa’s name when she heard movement above her.

  “Third floor,” she murmured, heading back to the stairwell.

  Taking the steps two at a time, she paused at the landing, her hand on the door. She reached to her side, briefly touching her weapon, feeling somewhat comforted by the cool metal against her hand. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find but she had no intention of going out with her weapon drawn. So she let her leather jacket fall closed as she opened the door to the third floor.

  But it too was dark and quiet. Thankfully, the plush carpet muffled any sound of her boots. There were a handful of doors on each side of the hallway, so she went to the first one, leaning closer, listening. She sighed when she heard nothing, then moved to the next. She was nearly to the end of the hallway before she heard a low voice—a man’s voice.

  Casey raised her hand to knock and then stopped, thinking better of it. Instead, she reached for the doorknob, slowly turning.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  “Figures,” she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand again, this time knocking loudly on the door. Only a moment passed before she heard the man’s voice again.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m looking for Marissa Goddard,” she called through the closed door. She tilted her head, waiting for a response. “I’m a friend of hers.”

  She heard footsteps approach and, out of habit, she reached to her side, her hand grazing her weapon. But she had no time to react when the door was pulled open and a gun barrel stuck in her face.

  “Whoa, now,” she said, taking a step back.

  “Do not move.”

  She stopped, her gaze moving past the hulk of a man to see Marissa sitting on a chair, a rope tied tightly around her waist. She looked back to the man’s puffy red face, taking in the perspiration on his brow, his labored breathing. Thinking back to Hunter’s description, this had to be Monsignor Bernard.

  “I shall assume you are the police.” The gun came closer, the barrel nearly touching her forehead. “I don’t need to remind you that I know how to use this gun.”

  Oh, man, this can’t be good, she thought, blinking several times as she tried to focus on the handgun that was now touching the bridge of her nose. “I’m Detective O’Connor. I kinda had a date with Marissa,” she said calmly.

  “Well, as you can see, she’s tied up at the moment.”

  Casey smiled. “I see that. So I guess I should just leave you to it and I’ll catch up with her later.”

  “I’m sorry, but I no longer have a sense of humor, Detective. You will come inside.” He stepped back. “Please hold your hands above your head.”

  She did as she was told, watching him closely, looking for the opening she needed. But her eyes widened as the monsignor darted over to Marissa, belying his size, and he put the gun against her temple. Marissa’s eyes were swimming in fear as she looked at Casey.

  He said, “Please place your gun on the table beside you.”

  Casey tilted her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Detective, I have no intention of hurting either one of you.”

  “Well, seeing as how you’ve got a gun pointed at her head, forgive me if I’m hesitant to believe you.”

  “Let me rephrase, Detective. I have no intention of hurting either one of you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t if you do not place your gun on the table,” he said, his voice rising.

  Casey could see the vein pounding rapidly in his head as his face reddened. She glanced at Marissa, meeting her frightened eyes. It went against all protocol to give up her weapon. But she also knew that if he was serious, nothing she tried would be quick enough to stop him.

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She slowly reached to her side, sliding her weapon out of the small leather holster she wore. “Take it easy.” She didn’t know if she was talking to him or to herself.

  “Place it on the table. And your cell phone, please turn it off. Lay it on the table with the gun and move away.”

  She did as he asked, stepping away from the table as he moved behind Marissa, the gun still held to her head.

  “Way to go, O’Connor,” Marissa said, her voice shaky, hinting at her fear. “Maybe I should have slept with Hunter. I doubt she’d give up her weapon this easily.”

  Casey laughed nervously. “No. She also wouldn’t have slept with you.”

  “Do you have handcuffs?” Monsignor Bernard asked.

  “Oh, man, you’re not going to make me use handcuffs, are you? That’s so humiliating to use my own cuffs.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Come on, Hunter. I think you’re overreacting,” Sikes said as he held on when she squealed around a corner, one hand on the wheel and the other dialing her cell. “Are you trying to kill us or what?” he hissed.

  “I’m trying to get to the goddamn church.”

  “We can’t go busting in on him. We don’t have a warrant,” he reminded her for the third time.

  “She’s not answering her phone. Marissa Goddard is not answering her phone. Something is going on.”

  “Ever think they might be together and turned their phones off?”

  “Then I’m likely to kill her myself.”

  Her phone rang and she fumbled with it as she drove, glancing at Sikes.

  “About time,” she muttered, easing up on the accelerator.

  “You better have a goddamn good excuse for not answering your phone, O’Connor.”

  “And hello to you too, Hunter.” It was Mac.

  Tori held the phone to her chest for a moment, her jaw clenched, before putting it back to her ear. “Mac, I’m sorry. I thought it would be O’Connor.”

  “Obviously. But Sikes said to give you a ring about the lotion. We narrowed it down to a brand, believe it or not. Don’t know if it’ll help you any. It’s Organic Lavender Hand Cream. Peaceful Herbs Farm is the brand name. It’s got French lavender and Roman chamomile. It’s amazing what this new analysis can do for us, Hunter. We were able to pinpoint even trace ingredients, just from this smudge. Imagine how this can help—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mac, just imagine,” she said, cutting him off. “Kinda in a hurry here, you know. You got anything else? We’re about to go busting in at the church without a warrant.”

  “I’m assuming Malone doesn’t know this?”

  Tori grinned. “No. And Sikes has already pissed his pants.” She jumped as John took a swipe at her. “Thanks for the info, Mac. We’ll be in touch.” She cut him off in mid-sentence as she folded her phone. “Try O’Connor again, Sikes. I’ll try to keep two hands on the wheel this time.”

  “I don’t know why the hell I listen to you. We’re going to get busted big-time for going in without a warrant.” He flipped open his phone. “I miss Ramirez. He never did this shit to me.”

  “Big baby.”

  “I’m serious, Hunter. When Malone tries to bust our ass, you’re taking the heat for this, not me.” He looked at his phone, letting out a sigh. “What’s her number?”

  “Pull a chair next to Ms. Goddard, please. Sit down, slip your arms between the bars and cuff your hands behind your back.”

  Casey did as she was told, briefly considering leaving one side unlocked, then thinking better of it as the monsignor moved behind them to watch her progress.

&nbs
p; “There. All locked up,” she said, pulling her arms out to her side to show him.

  “It was a good choice you made, Detective O’Connor.” He went over to the table where her weapon lay, then placed his own beside it. “As I said, I have no intention of harming you. I simply cannot live with what I’ve done any longer.” He lifted the lid on a large box that sat on a leather sofa. “I have my confession to make. I had intended on Ms. Goddard being my witness. It appears you will be as well, Detective.”

  “Then why the gun? Why are we tied up?”

  “I have killed two people. But I am not ready for the police to arrive.”

  Casey looked at Marissa with raised eyebrows.

  Marissa gave a subtle shrug. “I have no idea,” she whispered.

  They watched in silence as he pulled a long, white linen robe from the box and slipped it on, struggling to secure it over his large belly. He leaned on the desk as he breathed heavily, then he stood straight and pulled a beautiful purple stole from the box and draped it over both shoulders. On top of this, he hung a wooden cross around his neck, the cross bouncing against his stomach as he turned back toward them.

  With his hands raised skyward, he tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. And sinned again.” He lowered his head, the cross around his neck moving with each breath he took. “I killed Juan Hidalgo. And I killed Alice Hagen,” he said in a low tone. “I was not strong enough to say no.”

  Puzzled, Casey watched him, her brow drawn tight. “Excuse me, but do we get to ask questions? Or what?”

  He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Casey’s. “You’re not Catholic, are you? Not familiar with the confessional process?”

  “Not so much, no.”

  “But you were raised Catholic, I’m guessing?”

  Casey nodded. “My parents divorced when I was young. It was kinda nasty. My mother never went back to church after that. And then, well, I got older.”

  “Do you wish for confession then, Detective? I will hear it.”

  “Oh, hell, no. That’s just a bunch of crap, as far as I’m concerned.”