Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Yes, Sister.” The janitor nodded, frowning in a cranky way. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Rita wagged a finger at him. “Now, Brother Washington, please keep a civil tongue. We have a guest here, in Miss Mary DiNunzio, and this is the Lord’s sacred house. We’re all working just as hard as we can, and we’re all in the same boat. Let’s make this a joyful celebration, not a pressure cooker.”

  “All right, all right.” Brother Washington turned away and disappeared among the women.

  Rita looked at Mary. “Sorry about that, but you know how men can be, so we let him think he’s boss.”

  Sister Christina laughed. “I know that’s right!”

  Rita smiled. “Mary, I’m sure Linda will be here soon, and if you can wait, we can sure put you to good use.”

  Sister Christina nodded enthusiastically. “Miss Mary, we could use you to help Brother Washington with those folding chairs.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” Mary checked her watch, and it confirmed her worry. It was after six o’clock, and if she were going to wait for Linda, she’d miss drinks with Anthony and his colleagues. She held up an index finger. “Ladies, just let me make a quick phone call. Please excuse me for just a second.”

  “Of course,” Rita answered, with a grateful smile.

  “Be right back.” Mary hit A to speed-dial Anthony and walked away from the crowd to the basement door, where there was an anteroom that was being used as a temporary coat room, holding jackets, umbrellas, purses, and other belongings on rolling metal garment racks. She pressed the phone against her ear, barely able to hear it ring for the hubbub coming from the meeting room and the rain pounding against the metal door.

  Anthony’s voicemail came on, and Mary realized she wasn’t sure what message to leave him. She knew he wanted her to go out with his colleagues, but she was on fire to interview Linda Wall. “Babe,” she said, after the beep sounded, “I’m so sorry, but I can’t make drinks with your colleagues, at least not on time. I’m in West Philly on the Gardner case, and I just can’t leave. I’ll try my damnedest to get there, I hope you understand. I’m really sorry, and please make apologies for me.”

  Mary pressed the End button and returned her BlackBerry to her jacket pocket, torn. She left the anteroom, following the noise of the women laughing and talking as they got ready for the picnic, hurrying this way and that with supplies. They made quite a commotion for only thirty women, and Mary watched them for a moment from the threshold of the meeting room, which was when it struck her.

  And she got a hunch that she didn’t have to wait for Linda Wall.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Mary waded into the crowd in the meeting room and made a beeline for Rita, who was at the table on the right, packing paper cups. “Rita, let me ask you a question. Remember today, you told me you got cancer and ended up in University Hospital?”

  “Yes, I surely do.”

  “When exactly did that happen? When did you get your diagnosis? You said that you had cancer while Lonnie was in prison.”

  Rita frowned in thought, cocking her head. “I was diagnosed in May, six years ago, yes, that’s right.”

  Mary’s thoughts raced ahead. “And that was almost about the time that Fiona Gardner was murdered. She was killed on May 1, and Lonnie was arrested immediately, that night. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Rita stopped packing cups, evidently picking up on the urgency Mary was feeling. Sister Christina and Sister Helen lingered behind them, fussing with Brother Washington, but Mary screened them out, trying to put two and two together.

  “When was the first time that the plea bargain was offered to Lonnie, do you remember?”

  “No, not really, but it was fairly soon, I would say sometime in about a month, like maybe in June.”

  “And that was the one he turned down, correct?”

  “Yes that’s correct, yes it surely is.” Rita’s brown eyes flared slightly. “Does this matter? Why are you asking me this? Will it help Lonnie?”

  “I’m not sure, let me follow up this train of thought, and you could help me think.” Mary paused. “When did the church start tithing, or beginning to raise funds for your operation? You said they had been doing it for a year.”

  “Almost right away, they started, we all started chipping in, yes we did, and I remembered it was going strong through Christmas, I remember thanking Jesus with all my heart that everyone was so unselfish and loving that they were, when they had their own families to take care of, presents to put under the tree.”

  “Then, if you follow the chronology, Lonnie’s trial starts about nine months after his arrest. In February, if I remember correctly from the transcript.”

  Rita nodded again. “Yes, it was February, I remember because he was on trial on Valentine’s Day, and my heart about broke for him, for Linda, and for all of us, it was the darkest time, the darkest time of all.”

  Mary became vaguely aware that Sisters Christina and Helen, as well as Brother Washington, were eavesdropping, so she lowered her voice. “Who in the church would know how much money was raised for you, and when? Who kept track of that, back then?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t remember,” Rita answered, her voice trailing off, and Sister Christina came over.

  “Sister Rita, don’t you remember, it was Brother Kelverson. He was in charge of the Treasury Ministry, and the tithing for your fund went through him. That’s how I remember it.”

  Sister Helen nodded, chiming in, “Me, too.”

  Mary turned to the three of them. “Where is Brother Kelverson now? Can I speak with him?”

  Rita shook her head. “No, may God rest his soul, he passed.”

  Mary couldn’t stop now. She was practically tingling, she felt so close to something. “Who’s the head of tithing now? Is he or she here?”

  Rita pointed to Sister Elizabeth, who was packing hot dog buns into a shopping bag, at the table on the left. “There, Sister Elizabeth does it now. You met her earlier, when she held the door for us, she’s a wonderful Christian woman. But why are you asking?”

  Mary didn’t want to announce it to everyone. “I’m just curious, for the moment. I’ll let you know if I find anything out. I’ll come back and help you after I go see Sister Elizabeth, is that okay with you ladies?”

  “Of course,” Rita answered, nodding excitedly. “If it helps Lonnie, please, Mary, do what you need to do, and go with God’s graces and the power and glory of God, working for you and through you.”

  Mary put a hand on her shoulder instinctively, hoping it would calm her down. “You ladies keep up the good work, and I’ll be right back. Thank you very much.”

  “Harrumph!” Brother Washington muttered under his breath. “I know I’m not carryin’ those chairs hither and yon, all by myself.”

  “Mary, go, don’t worry about him.” Rita squeezed her arm, and Mary took off, wending her way through the crowd to Sister Elizabeth, who was short and heavyset, with big round eyes, pleasantly chubby cheeks, and a broad, omnipresent smile. Sister Elizabeth looked up at Mary, which meant she was only five feet tall.

  “Sister Elizabeth, remember we met earlier? I’m Mary, the lawyer trying to help Lonnie Stall.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “They tell me you’re in charge of tithing, and I have a question or two about the way funds were raised for Sister Rita’s operation, for cancer, about six years ago. You weren’t in charge of tithing then, Brother Kelverson was, but I’m wondering if you know where those records are kept.”

  “What records?” Sister Elizabeth’s eyes blinked up and down, like a plastic doll.

  “You know, records like who contributed how much.”

  “Most of it was cash, in the basket on Sunday.”

  “But some had to be in checks.” Mary had put checks in the collection plate herself, when she was short on cash, and so had her parents. “And those checks had to be recorded somewhere, didn’t they? In a ledge
r or in a computer?”

  Sister Elizabeth curled her upper lip, in doubt. “I’m not one to speak ill, but Brother Kelverson wasn’t known for his record-keeping abilities. Our ministries are volunteer positions, and we don’t have any kind of accounting training, or record-keeping on financial things. I’m a dental hygienist, and I do the best I can, like with my own checkbook at home. I use the computer, Quicken and Excel. He didn’t even do that.”

  Mary felt momentarily stumped. “Here’s what I’m trying to understand, and I’m going to lay it out for you. Sister Rita told me that the congregation raised $50,000 for her operation, and that doesn’t make sense to me, now that I see how small the congregation really is. This isn’t a large church, and it seems like it would be too hard for this small a group to raise that much money in such a short time. Can you explain that to me? Where’s my reasoning faulty?”

  Sister Elizabeth leaned closer, wreathed in a powdery perfume. “I don’t know the answer to that question for sure, but I can tell you the rumor. But you have to keep it to yourself.”

  “I will, I swear.” Mary couldn’t believe her ears. The last piece of the puzzle was falling into place. Her working theory was that Tim Gage got to Lonnie while he was in prison and made a deal with him to plead guilty to Fiona’s murder, in exchange for a large donation to Rita’s fund. Lonnie would have sacrificed himself to save his mother’s life, because he was devoted to her, and it explained why he took the deal the second time it was offered, but not the first. Evidence of such a deal would be a home run, not only undermining the guilty plea, but nullifying it entirely.

  “Sister Rita doesn’t know about it, and if she ever caught wind of it, I could get in a heap of trouble with the pastor and the first lady, real trouble.”

  Mary felt her heartbeat quicken. “I promise I won’t tell her, just tell me what you know or what you heard.”

  “Everybody did commit to tithing, and this congregation always does, whenever any one of us falls ill. Sister Rita is one of our most popular members, and everybody gave just as much as they could. I’ve heard that they even went to the merchants on Lancaster Avenue and asked them to contribute, and they did. You know, the stores that the church patronizes, like the grocery store where we bought these rolls, for example.” Sister Elizabeth gestured at the hot dog rolls.

  “That still doesn’t add up to $50,000, does it? In less than a year?” Mary became aware that Sisters Helen, Christina, and Rita, along with Brother Washington, were inching their way over, to hear what was going on.

  “Well, there was one thing that I should mention, but I don’t have any proof of that or anything, either.”

  “That’s okay, this isn’t a court. This is just me asking you what you know.”

  “I heard that there was a single contributor, like that somebody donated a mighty big check, on the condition that it be anonymous.”

  Mary’s mouth went dry. That fit with her theory, too, because Rita would never have accepted the collection money, if she had known that it had cost her son his freedom. No loving mother would let her child sacrifice his life for her own, least of all Rita. “Who was the anonymous donor, and how much was the check for?”

  “I don’t know the name of the donor, or the amount of the check, but I heard it was the lion’s share.”

  “I thought so! There must be a record of this somewhere. There has to be a record of a check that large.” Mary was thinking aloud, but even as she said it, she realized that if there had been a payoff, it wouldn’t be by a personal check or by any other check that could be traced to the anonymous donor. “Was it a cashier’s check? It had to be.”

  “I think it was, but I still don’t know the donor.”

  “If I say his name, will you recognize it? Is it Tim Gage? He would have been young, like seventeen, and handsome. He drove a Jaguar convertible.”

  “I don’t know, I’m so sorry.” Sister Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know who it was. I never heard a name. I never saw him. I wasn’t involved with tithing at all, back then.”

  “Somebody has to know his name.” Mary wasn’t about to stop now. She’d ask everybody in the congregation, if she had to. She felt sure it was Tim Gage, but she needed the proof. “Would the Pastor know?”

  “I think he might, but I don’t know for sure.”

  Mary looked wildly around the room. “Is he here? Where is he?”

  “He’s not here. Only the Culinary Ministry is here. The church officials are over at Belmont Plateau, Fairmount Park, setting up for the picnic tomorrow, getting the permits and what not.”

  Mary’s thoughts clicked ahead. “So whoever the donor was, he came here and delivered the check?”

  “Yes, that’s what I assume happened.”

  “Who would he have delivered it to? Brother Kelverson?”

  “Yes.”

  “When would he have delivered that, day or night? Do you have any surveillance cameras here, outside, or in the church office? Or a sign-in log?”

  Sister Elizabeth laughed, waving her off. “Oh no, we don’t have anything like that. But if somebody brought a cashier’s check for Sister Rita’s operation, he would’ve done it at night, because Brother Kelverson had a day job at FedEx. He worked at night for the church, and that’s when he counted the tithes and did his paperwork.”

  Mary tried a different tack. “Sister Elizabeth, do you know if the donor was white or black?”

  “I heard he was white,” Sister Elizabeth answered, lowering her voice. “You know who I think it was? University Hospital. Sister Rita works there, and they love her there, she’s been with them for almost twenty years. I figured that they got together and took up a collection for her, and one of the hospital men brought it over.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Mary was following her gut. “A group couldn’t collect that much money. This donor had to be somebody rich, somebody who could write a big check and not even blink, like this rich kid I’m thinking of, Tim Gage.”

  “Excuse me,” said a voice behind Mary, and she turned around to see Brother Washington scowling at her with dark, glittering eyes, set deep into his gaunt, wrinkled face.

  “I’m sorry, Brother Washington.” Mary knew she was shirking her assigned chore. “I’ll help you with the folding chairs, in just a minute. Can you wait?”

  Brother Washington curled his thin lips. “No, not that. Sister Elizabeth is wrong. I was there. I saw the man give the check to Brother Kelverson.”

  “You did?” Mary asked, incredulous.

  “I was sweeping the office, and he came in.”

  Mary gasped. “Was it a young white guy? Good-looking? Was his name Tim Gage?”

  “No.” Brother Washington shook his graying head, which swiveled on a skinny neck that stuck out of his uniform’s collar. “He wasn’t white.”

  “He was black?” Mary’s heart sank. Then it couldn’t be Tim Gage. It shot her whole theory.

  Brother Washington shook his head again. “No. Not white or black. An Indian fella, in a tie and jacket. Brother Kelverson call him Mr. Patel.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  Mary couldn’t believe her ears. It didn’t make any sense. “Are you sure you heard him right?”

  “Sure I’m sure,” Brother Washington answered, annoyed. “I may be old but I ain’t stupid.”

  Rita frowned. “Now Brother Washington, please don’t talk that way to our guest, in the Lord’s House.”

  Mary didn’t mind Brother Washington, who was a piker compared with The Tonys. She was already thinking it couldn’t be the same Neil Patel who worked at The Gardner Group, especially because Patel was such a common Indian name. “How old would you say this man was?”

  “About forty years old.”

  Mary didn’t understand. Neil Patel of The Gardner Group looked about forty-six years old now, so he would’ve been forty then. “What did he look like?”

  “Tall. Thin. Bald.”

  Mary thought the description fit Neil. “Did
he have glasses?”

  “Yes. He look like a lawyer. Act like one, too.”

  Rita interjected, sternly, “Brother Washington, now that’s enough. Mary is a lawyer, and she’s here to help Lonnie.”

  “Hmh!” Brother Washington sniffed.

  “Brother Washington, let me show you a picture, and you tell me if this is the man, or not.” Mary was already reaching into her pocket for her BlackBerry, logging onto the Internet, and scrolling to the website of The Gardner Group. She enlarged the website with some difficulty, clicked About Us, then Legal, and found a thumbnail of Neil Patel and showed it to Brother Washington. “Is this the man you saw with the check?”

  Brother Washington squinted hard at the BlackBerry screen. “How you expect me to see that lil bitty thing?”

  Sister Helen took off her hot pink reading glasses and handed them to Brother Washington. “Here, put these on. They’ll help you.”

  “Hmpf! Pink? No!”

  “Please, Brother Washington.” Mary barely kept the impatience from her tone. She was dying to know if it was Neil Patel. “This is very important.”

  Sister Rita stiffened, angering. “Brother Washington, I know you don’t want to make me lose my temper, no, you don’t.”

  “Don’t need no pink eyeglasses,” Brother Washington muttered, but he accepted the glasses, put them on, and peered through them at the BlackBerry screen. “Yes. That him. That the man.”

  Mary felt thunderstruck. She’d felt so close to solving the crime, but she didn’t understand anything, anymore. She had no idea why Neil Patel would be paying Lonnie Stall to plead guilty to Fiona’s murder. “You’re sure?” Mary asked, incredulous.

  “How many times I gotta say?” Brother Washington glared through the glasses, his cloudy brown eyes magnified like brown marbles.

  Rita touched Mary’s arm. “Tell me, what’s going on? Does this make a difference for Lonnie?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Mary’s mind was already racing through the possibilities. If Neil wasn’t the killer, he had to be protecting whoever was the killer. She put her hands on Rita’s soft shoulders. “Don’t get your hopes up, okay? I didn’t expect his answer, but I don’t know if it tells us anything.”