While Kate had her eyes closed, she could somehow hear faint laughter in the distance, as though some of her childhood friends were present in the room. She smiled but shook her head. “I can’t see anything.”
“That’s okay. Breathe in and out slowly. Keep thinking about that birthday party. Think of your friends. Your parents. Your cake.”
Kate obeyed, feeling her chest rise and fall along with her loud inhalations and exhalations, then suddenly she jerked.
“What is it?” the therapist prompted.
Kate crinkled her nose. “The smell!”
“What smell?”
“My mom’s lasagna. I’d forgotten about that. She’d made me lasagna that day.”
“What else can you smell?”
Kate inhaled deeper, letting her lungs fill up. “Vanilla from the cake.”
“Can you see your cake now?”
Kate shook her head while shriveling her nose. “No, but I can smell my dad’s cologne: Eternity for Men.”
And just as the words left her lips, a wave of sadness came upon her, taking away the scents and trading them with tears. Kate’s entire body began convulsing as memory after memory of her belated father flooded her mind. Although she couldn’t see anything now, the image of his cologne bottle came to mind. She remembered it clearly, sitting among the other products hidden behind the bathroom mirror. She remembered her dad dotting her neck with it once, and how much fuss she’d made to try to get him to get the manly odor off of her. And then, clear as day, for just a split second, she saw him.
Snapping her fingers, the hypnotherapist brought Kate back to the present.
* * *
Kate sat up and reached for her head, confused and sad.
“What the hell?” she asked the therapist, tears streaming down her face.
“Perhaps we didn’t choose the safest time to go back to. You had a strong emotional reaction to something. What was it?”
“For a brief second, I saw my dad. Then…” Kate brought her fingers to her face, wiping off a new round of tears.
“Okay. Here, take some tissues,” she said, holding up a box.
“So, what do you think?” Kate asked after composing herself.
“It’s interesting that you couldn’t see anything until the very end. But your sense of smell may help us revisit other times. I think we could unlock a few memories for you, but that would also mean reliving those very difficult moments. It’s up to you.”
A timer rang from behind the therapist’s chair, indicating the session had come to an end.
“I’ll let you think about it, perhaps discuss it with your husband—”
“We’re not married.”
“Your partner, whatever. If you decide to keep going, you’ll need his support—or that of another friend or relative—after each session.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’ll think about it and let you know.” Kate stood and headed to the door.
“You can pay the receptionist out front,” the doctor said as Kate reached for the door.
Luke ditched the magazine he was holding and got up from his chair the second she stepped back into the waiting room. “How did it go?” he asked, but he must have gotten his answer just by looking at her and her undoubtedly red, watery eyes.
He went to her and wrapped her up in his arms. “It’ll be okay. You’re safe,” he whispered against her hair.
Chapter Twenty
Detective Rosebud sat at Lorraine Taylor’s kitchen table, listening to yet another round of how wonderful their high school chastity club was.
“Even though high school ended quite a few years back for you, you’re still part of that club?”
She lifted her left hand in the air in a move that reminded Rosebud of Beyoncé’s Single Ladies video he may have watched a time or two. “You see a ring on that finger, Detective?”
Annoyed as he was by her reply, he let it slide. She was no Beyoncé. “No.”
“Then I will remain chaste.” She pursed her lips and nodded once.
He exhaled loudly, realizing the woman’s lasting chastity had probably more to do with her looks and behavior than a vow she made with a bunch of friends. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed the woman was a nun. A nun with an attitude, though. Her demeanor, combined with the medallion of the Virgin Mary pinned onto her gray turtle neck, was certainly not a strong mating call.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Why would you need to know that?”
“Just trying to identify those associated with your chastity club, either directly or indirectly—as in girlfriend or boyfriend—so we can talk to everyone.”
“Ah.” She frowned. “Well, no. Not at the moment.”
“And the same would have been true a few weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
Rosebud refrained from smiling. It was definitely not his place, and she didn’t need to hear his opinions as to why she was still single.
“Going back to the list of original members,” he said.
“I have a photo of us if you’d like.”
Her statement had made his ears prick up. “Yes! I’d like to see it, please.”
While the photo in itself would be helpful, if only to post on the board in the conference room and give the other detectives a visual representation of every member of their club, a tiny part of him wanted to see who among that group had joined of their own merit—i.e., who would have been in a situation to not be chaste if they had chosen—versus those who’d followed the “cool” kids. Hair-dos, braces, and acne coverage would easily answer that.
“Here we are,” she said, handing a portrait of twelve teenagers neatly lined up by height. The black sign with white lettering spelled out “Chastity Club 2013-14.”
Rosebud took hold of it. “Can I keep it?”
“Sure. I have a few of them left.”
None of the kids had been that bad looking, instantly shutting down the theory he had begun to build in his mind.
Was he the only one who looked like shit in all of his high school photos?
He flipped the picture and noted that names had been neatly printed in uppercase on the back.
“And that’s everyone’s name. In the order in which they appear in the photo.”
“That’s incredibly helpful. Thank you.”
“I always did that right after I had my photos printed. Now Facebook tags people for me.”
Her comment triggered a thought in Rosebud’s mind. “Is there a Facebook group for your chastity club?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Would you mind showing me?”
“No problem. I have nothing to hide.” She dug out her phone.
“Any chance you have a desktop computer or laptop so we can see more information at once?”
“Sure, follow me.”
They relocated to the living room where she kept her laptop.
A minute later, without having to enter a password anywhere—not to unlock her computer, not to enter Facebook—her fingers flew on the keyboard and she turned it toward Rosebud.
“Here it is.”
“May I scroll through?”
“Do what you need, Detective.”
Rosebud slowly went down the list of memes, animated GIFs, excerpts from the Bible, celebrity gossip (with lots of holier-than-thou comments from the group), and even posts about the odd celebrity like Selena Gomez who had also made chastity vows.
But what he had hoped to see was nowhere to be found. There was absolutely no slander toward Lori Davis.
“Can I see the list of members?” he asked, returning the laptop to her.
“Sure, but it’s the same people from our group. We don’t add or remove anyone.” She slid her finger over the mouse, then tapped it to display the members. “Well, that’s odd,” she said.
“What is?” Rosebud asked, now looking over her shoulder.
“It says eleven members… Lori is missing. Does Facebook know she pa
ssed away? Maybe it removed her?”
“Unlikely,” Rosebud said. “Can you look at her profile?”
She typed her name in the search box and her profile appeared, her timeline filled with condolence messages.
“Who are the admins for your chastity group?” Rosebud asked.
“Just me and Amanda.”
Rosebud spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing more members of the chastity club. After sharing his latest discovery with Chainey, he split the rest of his interviews with him.
Unfortunately, none of the chastity members claimed to have noticed Lori had been removed from the group a couple of weeks ago. So much for his theory that another member could have had something to do with her death.
And he also confirmed David’s and Amanda’s comments about Lori’s fiery temper. Everyone knew to avoid her for days when they had disagreements. It all added up. But that meant Amanda’s motive was weak at best.
Now, sitting at his desk, he went over his notes, trying to make sense of what he’d learned.
Perhaps passive-aggressive behavior or jealousy had led Amanda to do that, but at least she hadn’t posted publicly about one of their members being booted out of the group by breaking its only rule.
But that certainly didn’t eliminate any of the other members who could have noticed. However, Rosebud’s gut didn’t think it was worth pushing.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and was putting it on when Murphy walked in, coffee and brown bag in hand.
“What’s new?” he asked.
“Not much. Talked to neighbors and Amanda again. I’m still not finding enough for a warrant. With the wide berth on our time of death, it makes it near impossible to check for alibis.”
“The forensic entomologist is still working on it,” Rosebud said.
“I get that he can tell how many cycles of various insects hatched, but there’s no way he’ll be able to determine when those bugs got there. You know how chilly it was in that house. We don’t know if the temperature stayed that cold the entire time or not.”
“All we can do is go with the scene markers. Let the mail dictate the most probable date.”
“Last seen on Sunday morning, on all accounts I got. Did anyone you speak to see her after that?”
Rosebud shook his head.
“The oldest mail on the porch was dated Wednesday. So that means it arrived Thursday or later. That’s a long time. I’ll call that bug expert myself and ask. Do you have the number?”
Rosebud shook his head again. “The medical examiner will have it.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you have in there?” Rosebud asked, pointing to the bag.
“One of those chocolate muffins from across the street. Want half of it?”
“Do I?” He reached in while Murphy dialed a number.
He watched her write down a number as she talked on the phone. She soon dialed another one.
“Hi, this is Detective Murphy, is Dr. Mark there?”
She moved the receiver away from her mouth. “Break me off a chunk before you eat it all, will you?” Her hand extended, she waited.
Rosebud gave her a third of it, having already eaten half but wanting just a bit more.
Murphy had time to eat it before Dr. Mark came to the phone.
“Yes, thanks for taking my call. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing with the timeline for Lori Davis’s death. Our other evidence gives us a seventy-two-hour window. Is there any way you could narrow that down for us?”
She hummed and nodded as Rosebud finished off the crumbs from the inside of the bag. “No idea. No evidence to the contrary. Please assume the temperature remained constant.” She moved the mouthpiece away for a second. “Hand me the calendar, would you?” She returned the receiver to her mouth. “And what would that be in days?”
Rosebud watched her pen count the days from the time Lori’s body was discovered. She circled Sunday and Monday. “That’s very helpful. Thank you.”
She hung up. “He’s not completed his calculations. But based on the cycles, it can’t be as late as Tuesday or Wednesday.” Kate lifted the bag and peered into it. “I should have known and bought two.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Wednesday, June 20th, 2018
“St. Alban’s, this is it. The church the Davises attend,” Kate said as Rosebud slowed down to park.
“You have a plan?” Rosebud asked as they marched toward the large front entrance. Its white pillars made the building look more like a courthouse than a church to Kate.
“Let’s wing it. Start with the priest, or the father, or whatever he’s called.”
“Seriously, Murphy. Let me do the talking if you’re this clueless about Catholicism.”
“Be my guest!” Kate said as she pulled open the large black door for her partner.
A stale scent of old books and candle wax reached Kate’s nostrils as they entered. The clicks of her low heels made her self-conscious as they echoed against the pastel-colored walls. Only a handful of people were present, scattered along the front. Nobody was holding mass. The church was eerily quiet. Too quiet for her taste.
Kate took a few more steps then turned around to take in her surroundings. Various flags hung over the main area, perched along the edge of the two balconies that lined the main room. Above the entrance through which they’d just stepped reigned a large organ with long white and baby blue pipes. Although nobody was playing it now, she could easily imagine how beautiful the music would sound, echoing into this cavernous room.
She had to admit it was much plainer than she had expected, though. Nothing like the intricate churches she’d seen in movies… Then again, those had probably been cathedrals or some other larger places of worship built centuries ago.
“Come on, Murphy. Follow me. We’ll head to the sacristy.”
A minute later, Rosebud had found the man they had come to see: an older gentleman, probably in his early fifties, graying at the temples but still brown-haired everywhere else. He paced the floor, a loose sheet of paper in his hand as he talked aloud to himself. His round belly and short stature made Kate’s gut doubt the man had anything to do with Lori’s death—not to mention his profession as a man of God—but everyone was still a suspect as far as she was concerned. After all, hadn’t many Catholic priests been found guilty of the most dreadful sin of all?
“Father Coffedy?”
“Yes?” He stopped in his tracks and looked up from his script.
“I’m Detective Rosebud, this is Detective Murphy. We’re with the Boston PD. We’d like to ask a few questions if you have a minute.”
His eyebrows lifted as he began nodding. “Of course, of course.” Then he looked around him. “I’m afraid there isn’t really a place for us to sit down, though.”
“That’s fine. We can stand. We won’t take much of your time.”
“All right. How may I help you?”
“Lori Davis, the daughter of Francine and Doug Davis, do you know her?”
“Of course! It’s so horrible what happened to her.”
The man kissed the cross that hung from around his neck and crossed himself with his right hand. His face looked solemn and somber, but Kate wondered if it was just a facade. “The Davises have been coming here forever. She was baptized here, first communion, confirmation, the whole lot.”
“When did you last see her?”
Father Coffedy tilted his head and scratched his right temple with his index finger.
“I’m not sure, really. I want to say two or so weeks ago. It was while her parents were away. Do you know more? Why did this happen to such a lovely girl?”
“We don’t know yet. We’re trying to trace her last whereabouts. We’re also trying to find a motive. Other people have reported seeing her here for mass on Sunday, June 3rd. Does that seem right to you?”
He brought his hand to cover his mouth, then peeled it away as he twisted the one end of his mustache. “I’m n
ot sure she attended mass that day, but I remember hearing her confession.”
“Care to share what she confessed?” Kate asked.
“I’m sorry, Detective. But her words were between the Lord and her. I cannot relay that information to you.”
“I get that, Father,” Kate said. “But she’s dead now, and we’re trying to find the killer. We don’t know if he’s currently looking for his next victim—”
“You don’t think it was random? You think someone targeted this poor child?”
“Father,” Rosebud interjected, “I understand your responsibility toward the church and the confidentiality of the confessions you hear, but if there’s anything you remember that could help us identify her killer—and possibly prevent other murders—I’d greatly appreciate it if you shared that information with us. What you say will only be used to help the case. We won’t share it with the media.”
The man frowned at Rosebud. “Breaking the Seal of the Confession is grounds for excommunication.”
“Are there security cameras on the premises? Something that would allow us to see who she may have talked to after mass or if she left with somebody?” Rosebud asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Do you know a young man named David Dempsey?”
“Do you mean the son of Karen and Nate Dempsey? Over in the South End?”
Rosebud lifted his shoulders. “Maybe. He was dating Lori Davis.”
“Yes, that’s the one. I know him. Fine chap.”
“Does he attend church here?”
“No, his family lives over by the cathedral. They go to mass there.”
“And how do you know?” Kate asked.
“Lack of priests. We’re no longer assigned to one specific parish anymore. We rotate to cover all the various masses and ceremonies that are needed of us.”
“One more thing. Actually two more questions if you wouldn’t mind,” Kate asked.
“Of course, Detective.”
Kate pulled a photo of the blue rosary and showed it the him. “We found this at the scene. Do you recognize it?”
The Last Amen Page 8
