“Come on, Raymond.” She grasped Raymond’s arm and led him back to her car.
*
Elizabeth pulled her car into her parents’ circular drive and cut the engine. She looked over to Raymond, who stared straight ahead. He hadn’t moved or made a sound since leaving his mother’s home.
“Okay, Raymond, we’re here.”
He offered no response and remained motionless in the front seat. She exited the car and circled to Raymond’s door and opened it. She gingerly lifted his arm that rested in his lap, urging him to stand up, and kept a hold of his hand as she led him up to the large front door that stood guarded by two stone pillars.
As they crossed through the entryway, he stopped and took in the enormity of the room. She couldn’t imagine how this compared in Raymond’s mind to his shed. Elizabeth tugged on his sleeve to encourage him to continue following her as she led him into the kitchen.
“You must be hungry,” Elizabeth said as she pulled open the industrial-sized refrigerator and surveyed the contents. While assembling the ingredients for two sandwiches, she asked, “Raymond, why did you tell them that you killed that priest?” She hoped a new setting would provide new answers.
Raymond stared down at the black and white floor, his lips slightly moving. He was counting the tile squares and simply shrugged in response to her question.
She wasn’t sure if he was refusing to answer or really didn’t remember. As she struggled with a jar of mayonnaise, Elizabeth watched him, still trying to figure out this boy trapped in a grown body.
“Here, Raymond, can you open this?” She held out the jar, and Raymond stretched his hand across the counter. She noticed a scar across his left palm that was once a deep cut, and she traced her finger across the raised edge that wrapped around to the side of his hand. “Raymond, where did you get this scar?”
He looked at his hand and tilted his head slightly as though noticing the scar for the first time, and as Elizabeth had come to expect, he again shrugged in a noncommittal answer. Before she could finish her questions or even embark on her sandwich preparation, Elizabeth’s mother entered the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” her mother stated before she stopped in her tracks to stare at Raymond. “Who is this?”
“Hi, Mom, this is Raymond Miller. Raymond is going to be staying with us for a little while.”
“Elizabeth, may I speak with you for a moment please?” she asked in an artificially nice tone.
Elizabeth drew in a breath for courage as she followed her mother into the sitting room.
“What are you thinking? I thought I raised you better than that. You don’t just drag strangers into our home.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t shed.”
As if on cue, Charlie jumped on the white sofa to allow Elizabeth to greet him.
“Ugh! That cat is a menace! He climbed the drapery. Did you know that?”
Elizabeth wisely chose not to answer the question because she knew there was no right answer. She also decided to withhold the information that Charlie had used her mother’s prized potted plants in the sunroom as his personal kitty litter box.
“Mom, Raymond has no place else to go.” Elizabeth told the story of Raymond Miller. The simple man whose mother rejected him and forced him to live in a shed, who was falsely accused of a crime that he didn’t commit and duped into confessing, and who was viciously beaten in prison. Elizabeth could see her mother’s rigid posture soften as the story unfolded. She knew by the end, she had reached her.
“All right, he can stay…for now,” her mother said as she stood and headed back to the kitchen.
“Well, Raymond, if you’re going to live in this house, I’m going to feed you right.” She pushed aside Elizabeth’s efforts at sandwich making and pulled out a skillet. “I bet you like pancakes.”
Raymond’s eyes widened and he clapped in approval.
Elizabeth had to give credit to her mother. She knew when to step up.
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth opened a side door to St. Augustine, Father Rossi’s former church, and strolled past a row of pews. She wondered when she had become so comfortable wandering into churches. At the forefront, a middle-aged man dressed similarly to Father Parker was lighting a candle on the right side of the chancel.
He turned to her as she approached. “You must be Elizabeth Campbell.”
“Yes.” She reached out and shook his proffered hand.
“I’m Father Estevan.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Father Estevan.”
“Anything I can do to help. Father Rossi’s death was a shock to us all.”
“I can only imagine. I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Thank you. How about we go into the office?” Father Estevan led her to a well-appointed office more lavish than Father Parker’s.
Elizabeth learned that Father Samuel Rossi had retired from the day-to-day activities of the church about ten years prior, and Father Estevan stepped up to fill his role. After a pleasant conversation with the father, Elizabeth learned nothing more about Father Rossi than she had already gotten from the news coverage of his murder.
He discussed Father Rossi’s background with confidence, as though he had become the recent authority on the man, at least with the media, since his death. Father Samuel Rossi was born in Italy in 1926 in a small town near the border of Austria, shortly after Benito Mussolini abandoned all pretenses of a democratically elected prime minister and set up his dictatorship. The events of the war shaped his childhood, and he pursued his calling to priesthood at the age of eighteen, in lieu of following the family business in medicine. His father was the town doctor where Father Rossi was born and raised, as was his father before him. Although Elizabeth found the father’s early life interesting, it was unhelpful in her quest.
Defeated by the lack of new information, she rose and thanked the father for his time. She pulled on her coat and admired several photos hanging on the wall that chronicled Father Rossi’s life. There was a photo of a younger Father Rossi in a crude rural setting with a group of smiling children surrounding a Spanish sign that announced San Salvador’s Home for Children, a middle-aged Father Rossi posing with another man dressed in a purple cassock, and a more recent photo of Father Rossi at what Elizabeth presumed to be the Vatican.
Father Estevan came up beside her. “Father Rossi had a full life.”
“He seemed like a wonderful man.”
Elizabeth turned to exit the office but stopped in the doorway, causing Father Estevan to stop short before running into the back of her. She reached for the photo of Father Rossi standing with the other man dressed in purple, and drew it close to her face, scrutinizing the details.
“Where was this photo taken?”
“I don’t know. It was many years ago. Why?”
“The gate behind them, it’s familiar.”
Behind a smiling Father Rossi was a black iron gate with the words “Deo duce” forming a circle around a cross in the center. The glossy, well-maintained gate indicated it was in much newer condition.
“Do you mind if I borrow this? I just want to make a copy. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
Without giving Father Estevan an opportunity to respond, she pushed the framed photo into her bag and headed for the door, not waiting to see if he was following.
*
Elizabeth returned to the clinic but sat in her car in the parking lot with the photos of the first victim on her lap. After her encounter with Dan in her office, she felt the pirated file was safer in her presence and traveled with it. She held each photo from the file close to her face and compared them to the photo of Father Rossi. There was no doubt that the gate on which the killer displayed his first victim was the same as the one in the Father Rossi photo. What Elizabeth found curious was that the location where the first victim was found wasn’t stated in the file. Was it an oversight?
She briefly considered paying Grace a visit but doubted she’
d be forthcoming with the information. She hadn’t seen or heard from her since the night her home was broken into, and she spent a great deal of time overanalyzing the detective’s brief visit. Although she thought she saw true concern on Grace’s face, in her frazzled state, she could have mistaken it for what was really professional sympathy. Showing empathy toward a victim was simply part of the job.
No, visiting Grace wouldn’t be part of her plan, but neither would waiting and obtaining the information during the discovery phase of the trial. She didn’t want to wait that long; she wanted to know now.
Elizabeth blew out a breath and walked to the clinic. The front desk stood empty, so she surreptitiously made her way to her office and closed her door. She half expected Dan to come barreling in accusing her of wasting time and resources chasing this case, but that didn’t stop her from her research. However, a search of the Internet offered her no information on the gate.
“Somebody must know,” she told herself and stared down at the photo. “You, you know.” She pointed at the man dressed in purple in the photograph. “Who are you?”
Chapter Thirteen
Following a morning in court, Elizabeth made good on her promise and returned the framed photo to Father Estevan after making several copies. She made enlarged copies, as well as copies that zoomed in on the gate.
When she entered the church, she found Father Estevan kneeling at the front of the church, head bowed. She sat in a pew halfway down, patiently waiting, and was struck by the peace that seemed to come from the bent figure and envied the unquestioning faith that he seemed to possess. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the back of the pew in front of her. As she stared at the crucifix with Jesus taking center stage at the front of the altar, she pondered his blind faith and where it had led him.
Father Estevan stood and crossed himself. He turned toward her and offered a smile. “Ms. Campbell, back so soon?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to return the photograph.” She pulled the framed picture from her bag and handed it over.
“Ah yes, thank you.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “I don’t want to keep you. I just had one question. Who is in the photo with Father Rossi?”
“That is Cardinal Ryan. He was a bishop then.”
“Cardinal Ryan? Where is he?”
“He’s the archbishop.”
Elizabeth stared at him, hoping for more information. “Of our archdiocese,” Father Estevan said with a slight inflection in his voice.
She made a mental note of his answer and figured she would look it up on the Internet later. “Great. Thank you again for everything.”
“My pleasure. Take care.”
Elizabeth made her exit with a plan of action and nearly walked into Grace, who entered through the vestibule.
Grace reached out to catch Elizabeth by her shoulders when she stumbled a little at their impact. “Ms. Campbell, I’d say I’m surprised to see you here, but that wouldn’t be true.” Grace allowed her grasp on Elizabeth to linger a little longer than necessary, and it didn’t go unnoticed, but was also not unwelcomed.
“Just feeling the need for a little spiritual guidance, Detective.”
“Maybe more than a little?” Grace snorted. “How about you stay out of trouble?”
Although they were being more cordial since Grace made an unexpected appearance at Elizabeth’s home, they were not on the same side either.
*
Elizabeth pulled her car into a parking garage of a high-rise building. The address she pulled up on her phone led her to this location for the archdiocese. After becoming well versed with the inside of churches, she expected to be led to a more spiritual location than an upscale office building. She guessed many of the building’s occupants prayed to a different deity, one that controlled the stock exchange.
The lobby of the building oozed opulence with glossy marble tiles and columns. She approached the black security desk and faced a stern thirty-something officer dressed in a black uniform, with a large gold badge on his chest.
“How may I help you?” the officer asked in a professional tone.
“Good afternoon. I need to speak to someone in the archdiocese.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Well, no, but I’m investigating a case that concerns the Church and needed to see someone—”
The security officer cut her off. “I’m sorry. If you don’t have an appointment, then you can’t pass through.”
“Well, if you could just call and see if someone is willing to see me, now that I’m here.” Elizabeth started to remove her identification from her bag.
“Please put that away, ma’am. You’ll need to contact the archdiocese and schedule an appointment. Have a good day.”
She got the none too subtle hint and turned away without another word. She returned to her car, discouraged but not defeated. Her prior research on the archdiocese listed a cathedral where the archbishop performed mass. She pulled up that address and continued on her quest.
Elizabeth could see the cathedral before she reached the parking structure down the block. She walked toward the church and was in awe of the size. The cathedral was substantially larger than the other Catholic churches she visited. The architecture reminded her of European churches she had seen on her trips abroad. Two large gothic spires extended above the church, one on each side of an elaborate entrance with stone pillars. Large gold-plated doors with oversized handles stood in the center.
Elizabeth walked along a stone pathway that cut through a lush green lawn and climbed a set of stone steps. She stood at the front doors, intimidated. After a deep breath, she pulled on the door, but it didn’t budge. She figured it would be a bit much to expect to find the front doors open and be able to stroll in. She rounded the building and found a modern structure that boasted a gift shop and what she hoped to be offices. She walked in the gift shop, thankful that it was open, and perused the selections. The store offered T-shirts with embroidered photos of the cathedral, postcards, and other religious-themed trinkets. A woman who was restocking a glass case emerged from beneath the counter.
“May I help you?”
Unsure where to start because of her last encounter at the office building, she hesitated. “Hi, um, I’m Elizabeth Campbell. I was wondering if there is anyone here I can talk to about a photograph.”
The woman stared at her completely confused. “A photograph?”
“Yes, sorry. I’m not being very clear. I’m investigating a case that involves the death of Father Samuel Rossi.” Elizabeth heard the woman let out a small gasp. “I have a photograph of Father Rossi and Cardinal Ryan taken many years ago. I’m trying to identify the location of the photo. This may prove to be very helpful in my case.”
The woman stared at her. “Let me see who can help you. One moment, please.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth called after her as the woman disappeared through a side door. She resumed inspecting the store and picked up a small glass bottle with a cork. The label told her that it was “Holy Water Blessed by Cardinal Ryan.” While she was closely inspecting the divine water, the clerk reentered the store followed by another woman. Elizabeth gently set the bottle back down, afraid of breaking it, and moved to the new woman.
“I’m Jenny Tulls. I’m the manager here. I understand that you have a photograph that you were looking for help with?”
Elizabeth repeated the woman’s name in her head and took a breath to stifle her laugh. The woman cocked her head at Elizabeth, oblivious to the humor she found in her name.
“Sorry, yes, I have it here.” She pulled out a copy of the photo and handed it over.
“Yes, that’s Cardinal Ryan and Father Rossi.”
Elizabeth nodded at the information she already knew. “I was hoping that someone could identify where the photo was taken.”
“Hmm, well, I’m not really sure.” The woman gripped her chin with her thumb and forefinger as she spoke.
“Do you know if there is anyone else here that might be able to identify it?” Like maybe Cardinal Ryan, Elizabeth finished in her head.
“I don’t know, but we of course always want to help the police when we can. I’ll go check. Why don’t you go out to the garden and have a seat on the bench?” The woman pointed to a stone patio ringed by marble benches and returned the picture.
It wasn’t lost on Elizabeth that the woman believed she was with the police investigating the case. She felt no need to correct her. She figured this was the reason why she was getting some cooperation, as opposed to her encounter in the other building. She took a seat on the bench as instructed and waited. She turned to admire the vast green lawn and garden of well-manicured roses boasting a diversity of colors. The minutes stretched on, and she started to fidget on the hard bench, the roses long since losing her interest. She started to wonder if they figured out she was an imposter and were keeping her there until the “real” police arrived. She reasoned with herself; it wasn’t a lie, but an omission.
Elizabeth’s internal discourse was cut short when a man dressed in a black cassock with a purple sash crossed the patio. She stood as he approached. Unsure of the protocol, she held back her urge to extend her hand and remained still.
“I’m Bishop Pallone,” the man said. He extended his hand that was adorned with an engraved golden ring.
Elizabeth forewent the urge to bow or kiss the ring and grasped his hand and shook it. “Thank you for seeing me, Bishop Pallone.” She hoped that was the right title to address him. He didn’t react to her greeting, so she figured she did the right thing.
“Certainly. I understand that you’re looking for assistance in Father Samuel Rossi’s murder.”
“Yes.” She was really hoping she wasn’t going to hell for her lie of omission. Elizabeth pulled out the photograph and handed it to the bishop. He studied it for a moment while she remained silent. He lifted his head and made eye contact with her. “Yes, this is Father Rossi with Cardinal Ryan. Cardinal Ryan was a bishop at the time this photograph was taken.”
Sins of Our Fathers Page 9
