Other Men's Sins

by Lawrence Falcetano

  “My dear,” I said. “You are talking to a fine-tuned, seasoned detective, with years of experience. I resent the implication of professional incompetence.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me and went back to attacking her chow mien.

  ***

  I had a crazy idea of why Eileen Conlon might want to kill her brother. It was a bit “far-fetched” even for me, something I had been contemplating for weeks, but had kept to myself. Unless she was being framed, which was unlikely, those prints on the crucifix made her guilty. I had to justify the motive before I could prove it.

  A week had passed since my encounter with Troy Conlon at the Conlon home, and I had nothing to add to substantiate Eileen Conlon’s guilt. I was looking for a motive.

  I didn’t believe Troy Conlon killed his brother. He, no doubt, had drawn that depiction of a knife in his brother’s heart in the photo I’d found, probably while in a semi-drunken stupor. It was evident that he held an unwarranted animosity toward his brother and always felt like the family, “black sheep”, but that didn’t make him a murderer.

  I drove to the Conlon home alone, unannounced. I knew what I was trying to do, but had no idea how to do it.

  When I rang the bell, Eileen Conlon answered the door with a surprised look on her face. She looked like she had been crying. Her hair was in disarray, and she wore no makeup. She was dressed in black sweatpants and a matching black sweatshirt and navy blue Adidas running shoes. The silver crucifix around her neck shone brightly against the black cloth.

  Dark circles beneath her eyes confirmed to me she had been losing sleep.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “Of course,” she said. “Come in.”

  We went to the living room and sat on the leather sofa. “Can I get you something?” she said.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  I could see she was uncomfortable with my being there, by the way she kept rubbing the crucifix between her thumb and forefinger and fidgeting on the sofa like she couldn’t find a satisfactory sitting position. There were several moments of awkward silence between us, until she said, “Are you any closer to finding Andy’s killer?”

  “I may be,” I said, “if I can tie up a few ends.”

  “I’ve been tying up a few loose ends myself,” she said. “I gave Troy his money. He promised he would leave for places unknown by the end of the week. I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “I’ve been praying to the Lord for guidance,” she said. “There is so much sin. There is sin everywhere, in the good as well as the bad. There is obvious sin, and there is hidden sin. Hidden sin is the worst kind,” she said. “It must be brought to light and eradicated. It must not be allowed to exist.”

  “Do you see sin in Troy?” I said.

  “Troy is an imprudent individual,” she said. “He sinned himself, not the Lord.”

  “And Father Conlon,” I said. “Did you find sin in him, as well?”

  She became anxious when she heard the question. She walked to the piano, removed a tissue from the box there, and pretended to wipe her moist eyes.

  “I loved my brother Andrew dearly,” she said. “He was closer to God than I had ever been. But he succumbed to the devil.”

  “Your brother loved,” I said. “What sin is there in love?”

  “He did not love the way God intended one to love,” she said.

  “Love is love,” I said, “regardless of how it’s expressed.”

  “There was no love there,” she said, “only carnal pleasure.”

  “Andrew struggled and resisted against his secret sin. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was offending God, but the devil won. I could not help him. No one could help him. He could not help himself. I had to stop the evil influence. I had to remove Satan from within him.”

  “Without the Lord’s help, how did you accomplish that?”

  “Prayer did not work,” she said. “Confession did not help. There was no other way.”

  “But to end your brother’s life,” I said.

  “Yes!” she said. “He was on the road to perdition. I couldn’t let it happen. The Lord answered my prayer, told me what had to be done, I was simply the instrument of his wishes.”

  Her emotions were building now, bordering on hysteria. I stood, not knowing what to expect when I saw her remove the gun from the pocket of her sweatpants. She pointed it at me. Her hand was shaking. I didn’t say a word, but watched her every move.

  “You were the one that would not allow it to happen,” she said. She held her arm out straight and pointed the gun directly at my face. “You wouldn’t let Andrew ascend to the Lord in peace. You would not let me accomplish the work the Lord had assigned to me. For your sin, you must answer to the Lord.”

  Instinctively, I knew she was about to pull the trigger when a voice came from the open doorway. “Put the gun down Eileen!”

  I looked to see Troy Conlon entering the room. Eileen Conlon kept her gun pointed at me, but turned to look at her brother. “Why did you come back?” she said.

  “Put the gun away,” he said. “This isn’t the right thing to do.”

  “It is all part of his plan,” she said.

  There was a moment of intense silence between us. I waited to see who would make the next move. I couldn’t reach for my gun without eliciting a dangerous reaction, so I broke the stalemate by saying, “I guess I was wrong about you, Troy. You’re just as guilty of killing your brother as she is.”

  “I came here with money on my mind, not murder,” he said.

  “Yet, you let yourself get tangled in a web of murder,” I said.

  “When my brother made his will, he left the pie to my sister and the crumbs to me. The wayward, prodigal brother didn’t deserve what was rightfully his; not an admirable way to think for a priest who is supposed to demonstrate compassion. I never had much love for my brother, and I suppose he never loved me. But the crumbs he left me were an insult. I was broke, couldn’t find work. I even had to borrow money for my flight here.”

  “You’re breaking my heart,” I said.

  “You have about as much compassion for others as my brother had,” he said.

  “I have little compassion for criminals,” I said.

  “The Lord shows his compassion,” Eileen Conlon said.

  “Did you know she was the one who killed your brother?”

  “Not until a few days after I arrived. She confided in me, wanted me to help her make it look like David Crockett had killed my brother. She said she would split her part of the inheritance with me.”

  I was watching Eileen Conlon. Her gun hand was shaking. Her eyes kept darting from me to Troy and then back to me. Her face was glistening with perspiration. I paid close attention to her trigger finger.

  “Half of her inheritance was a lot more than the crumbs I was left with,” Troy Conlon was saying.

  “You are a part of God’s plan as well as I am,” Eileen Conlon said.

  “When you found out what she had done, why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “The idea of getting all that money sounded good to me.”

  “Accessory after the fact makes you as guilty as her,” I said.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I can’t let her commit another murder. You heard her twisted reasoning for committing these crimes. She needs help.”

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” Eileen Conlon said.

  “She also killed Father Faynor,” I said.

  “When I saw it on the news, I knew she was the one. The connection was obvious. I knew she would be caught eventually, all I had to do was keep my mouth shut and wait.”

  “And with her in jail, the entire inheritance would be yours.”

  “I deserve it more than her,” he said.

  “You’re blinded by greed.”

  “Guess I am,” he said, “but I’m not a murderer.”

  “You should not have come back,” Eileen Conlon said. “You have interfered with God’s design. When T
roy Conlon stepped closer to her, she stopped him with, “Stay where you are, Troy. I have the Lord on my side. I don’t need you anymore.”

  He extended his hand to her. “Give me the gun,” he said. “We will ask the Lord to forgive us.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “ ‘Thy will be done’.”

  She turned the gun suddenly and pointed it at her brother. Troy Conlon put his hands out in front of him. “Wait, Eileen,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”

  “You should not have come back,” she said again, and then she pulled the trigger…twice!

  The sound of gunshots reverberated within the room with a deafening explosion. Both rounds hit Troy Conlon in his chest. Ribbons of red blood exploded on the white shirt he wore as he grabbed himself and fell to the floor.

  Eileen Conlon swung her gun back in my direction. I didn’t wait for her to fire again. I dove to the floor and rolled behind the end of the sofa. She squeezed off another round that whizzed by my head, spraying plaster out of the wall behind me. I pulled out my gun and waited. I wasn’t sure what her next move would be or where it would come from. My finger was tight on the trigger.

  The room was quiet. I peered over the top of the sofa’s arm. Eileen Conlon was rushing out of the living room. I watched her hurry through the kitchen and out the back door.

  I got up and walked to where Troy Conlon was lying. Blood had saturated the front of his shirt and was spilling onto the carpet. Although his eyes were open, I was sure he was dead. When you see it enough, you just know.

  A mental picture of Father Conlon lying on the carpeted floor in his office came back to me. The horrific stab wounds, the blood trailing down his white shirt and pooling on the carpet, and the look on his face, similar to Troy Conlon’s. I shook the image out of my mind and walked to the back door.

  When I looked through the screen door, I saw several acres of manicured lawn and shrubbery, and a large kidney-shaped pool and a pool house close by. The area was meticulously kept. There were several poolside tables with umbrellas poking from the middle of them. Scattered around the pool were several cushioned lounge chairs. There was a glass, and metal bar and a stone barbecue grill. At one end of the pool was a diving board.

  Eileen Conlon came into view, suddenly. I watched her run past the pool and continue along a hedgerow at the perimeter of the property grounds. She was headed for what looked like an intricately designed rose garden in the distance. From where I stood, I could see a low picket fence surrounding some elaborately configured rose bushes. The giant bushes were comingled with concrete statues of various Roman figures and an occasional wrought-iron bench.

  I pushed open the screen door and moved along the same hedgerow she had. As I did, I watched her disappear into the rose garden. I didn’t know if she knew where she was going, but I had to stay close or I’d lose her.

  When I reached the rose garden, I crouched low and hugged the hedgerow to make myself less of a target. She was still carrying her gun. I was not familiar with the grounds and didn’t know if she had an escape route or if she was playing “hide and seek” with me, or I was being sucked into a trap.

  I stepped over the low fence and took cover behind a life-size statue of a man wearing a toga. He had wings and a halo sculptured in concrete and looked out with pious majesty over the Conlon estate.

  The grounds were quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds.

  I waited.

  I couldn’t see or hear movement. I kept low with my gun at my side. The garden was of substantial size, and as I moved deeper into it, I began to feel like I was navigating a maze. I didn’t see Eileen Conlon, but startled myself more than once, each time I turned a corner and ran into another of my concrete friends.

  Not far ahead, I came upon a small opening amongst the rose bushes; it appeared to be a circular area designed for meditation or prayer. At its circumference, there were several wrought-iron benches; at the center, on a pedestal, stood a larger-than-life statue of Mother Mary.

  I stepped out into the opening.The area was serene and comforting, much like the interior of a chapel. A gentle breeze swayed the surrounding roses, disseminating their fragrance in the air, while the tranquility was disturbed only by the muted chirping of birds.

  A gunshot rang out! A round passed close by my head and lodged in the Holy Mother’s chest, spitting fragments of concrete into the air. I hit the dirt. When I looked up, I saw where the shot had been fired from by the lingering smoke encircling the area. I fired off three quick shots in the direction of the smoke, to discourage any additional shots that might be coming my way. I scrambled to my feet and maneuvered around the edge of the circle until I got to where the shot had been fired. I could smell gun powder but saw no one. At the base of a bush, I noticed a spent casing reflecting sunlight. I picked it up. It was still warm. Eileen Conlon was desperate to get away, and I knew now, for sure, if it meant killing me to accomplish it, she would. She was somewhere within the maze of this rose garden. I had to be careful, or I’d wind up as cold as one of these statues.

  As I continued toward the front of the rose garden, Eileen Conlon burst out of a bush and darted across the lawn in the direction of the pool house. I holstered my gun, vaulted the low fence and put on a good pace after her. When I was close enough, I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back and off-balance. She tumbled to the ground. I went down with her. She tried to bring her gun up. I grabbed hold of it and tried to twist it from her. That’s when my body exploded with pain as she drove her knee into my crotch. I rolled over onto the grass, convulsing in agony. When I looked up, she was running across the lawn toward the pool house. I wondered why she hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill me.

  I laid in the grass, waiting for the fire between my legs to subside, as I watched her open the pool house door and disappear inside. I struggled painfully to my feet and hobbled across the lawn toward the pool house. I felt vulnerable in the open space of the yard until I reached the pool area where I was able to conceal myself behind the furniture. I kept low and moved from table to lounge chair, to table.

  Outside the pool house, I hunkered behind one of the arborvitae scrubs that surrounded it. The door of the pool house had a small window in it. I looked through the window, but it was too dark inside to see anything. Eileen Conlon had entered the pool house. Why did she run in there?

  Opening the door and walking into the darkness would set me up as too much of a target. I walked around the building and found no additional windows or doors, which meant Eileen Conlon was still inside. I decided to wait her out. I walked back around to the front of the building, concealed myself between the shrubbery, and removed my gun from my holster and waited.

  There was silence other than the low humming of the filter in the pool behind me.

  After I had given her enough time, I crawled closer to the door, reached up and turned the knob. As I pulled the door open, a shot splintered the wood of the doorframe near my head. I slammed the door and threw myself back into the shrubbery. As I did, Eileen Conlon pushed the door open and rushed past me. She was carrying a large overnight bag as she ran toward the front of the house. She was still carrying the gun at her side. I waited for her to disappear around the front corner of the house and then got to my feet.

  I inched my way along the side of the house, hoping she wouldn’t jump out from the corner and start firing at me. When I reach the front of the house, I peered around the corner. From my position, I heard the humming of the electric garage door opener, which told me she was attempting to get away in her car. I moved along the front of the house until I reached the garage door. It was in a fully open position. I had to think fast. I couldn’t let her back the car out of the garage and make good her escape. I didn’t want to shoot her, and I didn’t want to get shot.

  I waited, expecting to hear the car’s engine start. When it didn’t, I stepped into the garage opening behind the car and pointed my gun at the car interior through
the back window.

  “Eileen,” I said. “Don’t try to run.”

  The inside of the garage was dark. The only light visible was the car’s dim interior light. The car’s engine still hadn’t, so I moved along the driver side of the car. The driver’s door was ajar. Through a side window, I saw Eileen Conlon in the driver’s seat, staring through the windshield, her eyes wide and empty. She appeared to be looking at nothing as if she were in a stupor. I opened the car door carefully. She was holding the gun on her lap. I reached in and slipped it from her fingers and put it in my pocket.

  “Eileen,” I said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Eileen, it’s time to come with me,” I said.

  I looked closer to see if she had harmed herself. There were no signs of injury. I could see motion in her chest, due to her heavy erratic breathing. I waved my hand in front of her face. She remained static, not a twitch of a muscle or a blink of an eye. She was entirely inanimate. I felt like I was looking at a store mannequin.

  My eye caught movement at the curb out front. Danny Nolan had parked the Impala at the curb and was getting out. When he saw me, he walked into the garage. He assessed the scene quickly. He saw Eileen Conlon seated in the car, and my gun in my hand.

  “You okay?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Garcia told me you’d be here.”

  “Troy Conlon is on the floor in the house with a bullet in his chest,” I said. “He’s dead.”

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “She did,” I said.

  Danny peered through the car’s rear window at Eileen Conlon sitting motionless.

  “Is she...?”

  I shook my head, “no”.

  “I’ll call it in,” he said.

  As he turned and walked out of the garage, I looked back at Eileen Conlon. She was lifeless, a prisoner in her own world, unaware of her surroundings.

  I called her name again.

  She didn’t react.

  I shook her shoulder, gently, and said, “Eileen...Eileen...”

  No response.

  Chapter 33