The Slain Saint E-Book

Susan Mathis

• Herausgeber: Mercy and Justice Mysteries
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

When a beloved older priest is found murdered in the Rectory's guest room, Father Tom and Helen try to find the person who wanted him dead. But they find that even saints have secrets . . .and those secrets may have gotten him killed.

Leseprobe

The Slain Saint

The Father Tom Mysteries, Book 8

By

J. R. Mathis and Susan Mathis

Copyright © 2021 by James R. Mathis and Susan S. Mathis

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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First Printing, July, 2021

Contact: [email protected]

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Cover Photo: Depositphotos

Cover: Millie Godwin (www.fiverr.com/millieg0414)

Also by J. R. Mathis

The Father Tom Mysteries

The Penitent Priest

The Framed Father

The Redemptive Return

The Buried Bride

The Defining Decision

The Silent Shooter

The Purloined Paintings

The Slain Saint (Coming Soon)

The Perfect Patsy (Coming Soon)

The Haunted Heritage (Coming Soon)

The Fatal Fall (Coming Soon)

The Father's Family (Coming Soon)

Watch for more at J. R. Mathis’s site.

Also by Susan Mathis

The Father Tom Mysteries

The Redemptive Return

The Buried Bride

The Defining Decision

The Silent Shooter

The Purloined Paintings

The Slain Saint (Coming Soon)

The Perfect Patsy (Coming Soon)

The Haunted Heritage (Coming Soon)

The Fatal Fall (Coming Soon)

The Father's Family (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By J. R. Mathis

Also By Susan Mathis

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Chapter One of The Perfect Patsy

Acknowledgements

Also By J. R. Mathis

Also By Susan Mathis

About the Author

Dedication

To the doctors, nurses, and other dedicated health care professionals who have spent the last eighteen months treating the victims of COVID-19. Your sacrifice, and that of your loved ones, is appreciated.

One

“ATTENTION!” HELEN COMMANDS, looking absolutely gorgeous in her dress blue uniform. “Officer, come forward!”

She allows her female officers to choose slacks or a skirt for their dress uniforms, but she always prefers skirts. People think that it's because she’s just old-fashioned or perhaps because she likes to embrace her femininity.

I, of course, know better. She insists it’s easier to get to a thigh holster just above her knee than to an ankle holster.

I have no idea, so I take her word for it.

All of the 20 or so men and women under her command are assembled this morning in the police station parking lot, along with Dan Conway’s wife and kids and several other families, for a special ceremony giving a commendation to one of their own. Walking proudly between the two rows of her fellow officers, this morning’s hero comes forward with her partner.

“This commendation reads,” Helen says, “‘that on July 24, 2021, this officer, while not on duty, nonetheless stepped forward, putting herself at risk, to secure evidence related to a major drug operation, which also resulted in the solution of three murders in the city of Myerton.’ For her bravery, initiative, and selfless devotion to duty, it is my pleasure to award this medal of commendation to Officer Cupcake. Officer Cupcake, please step forward.”

As the assembled officers applaud, the proud black and silver German shepherd walks forward with her partner, Officer Bob Sparks, and sits on command. Helen bends over and places the metal in question around her neck. She reaches out her hand and Cupcake extends a paw for her to shake.

Helen signals for quiet and says, “I am also pleased to announce that as of today, Officer Cupcake is promoted to the rank of Sergeant in the Myerton Police Department.” More applause as Helen hands Sergeant stripes to Officer Sparks who salutes his Chief before the two police officers return to their seats.

Helen commands, “At ease!” As everyone in line relaxes, she says, “You are now dismissed. Go out and do some good today.”

The crowd breaks up, with officers on duty going to their cars or their posts in the station while others crowd around Cupcake and her handler. I join the crowd as Helen comes over and says, “There are doughnuts in the break room if you want one.”

“When have you ever known me to turn down a doughnut?” I say, offering her my arm and beginning to escort Helen to the back door of the station.

“Excuse me, Father Tom.” Helen and I turn as Officer Sparks and Cupcake approach us.

“Father,” he says, “I would be grateful if you would give Cupcake a blessing. I normally take her to the Blessing of the Animals at Saint Clare’s in October but we missed this past year.“

“I’ll be glad to,” I say with a grin, “but I assumed since she was a German shepherd that she was a Lutheran.”

I can hear Helen rolling her eyes as Sparks laughs politely. Realizing my joke really isn’t that funny, I bend over and give Sergeant Cupcake a blessing, for which I am rewarded with a lick on my hand.

“This will certainly tide her over until then,” I say. “But do bring her by the church for a booster blessing on the first Saturday in October.“

“Oh, I will, Father. My kids look forward to it. Are they going to have a petting zoo this year?”

“Yes, as far as I know, as it will be an opportunity for me to demonstrate my reconciliation with the alpaca who attacked me last Christmas.”

Helen snorts as Sparks says, “Oh, yes, sir, Father. I know all about that.”

Since Sparks’ family is not a member of the parish, and I don’t recall seeing him at the Living Nativity—though to be fair, I remember little of that night—I ask, “Oh? Who told you?”

“Oh, no one told me about it sir. I saw it on YouTube. Well, if you’ll excuse us, Father, Chief Parr,”  Sparks says, as six-year-old Catherine Conway comes running over, crying, “Cupcake!” and dropping to the ground to put her arms around the Sergeant’s neck.

“Catherine,” Dan says sternly, trotting up behind her. “We’ve talked about this before. You are not supposed to hug Sergeant Cupcake’s neck or even pet her, without asking first. She might think you’re a bad guy and hurt you.”

“Daddy,” Catherine says patiently, “Cupcake knows me and would never think I was a bad guy. She likes me better than she likes the twins, because they want to bounce on her, and also because I remind her of the little girl who had her when she was a puppy.”

We all just look at Dan, who shrugs his shoulders, takes Catherine by the hand, and walks off, as Sparks comments, “Strangely enough, she does look like the daughter of the officer who trained her.”

He then walks off and I comment to Helen, “I’m beginning to worry about Catherine and how her, I guess we can call it a ‘gift,’ is affecting her life. I don’t want her to feel stigmatized by being different.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” Helen replies reassuringly. “Things are different from when we were young. Kids are less likely to bully, especially kids who are homeschooled. Not to mention, she’s a pretty tough little cookie.”

“I hope you’re right,” I sigh, and then add, “Well, let me get that doughnut before I go to my office and leave you to your duties, Chief.”

***

WITH HELEN FINALLY back at work full time as Myerton’s new Chief of Police, the Christmas in July Bazaar over and Anna back as parish secretary, and July turning to August, I am just beginning to think that my life might be getting back to normal.

Obviously, I am wrong. In fact, I have just poured myself another cup of coffee—my third one today, caffeine being one of the few things Helen is not insisting that I limit for my health—and returned to my desk when this becomes abundantly clear.

As I prepare to spend a couple of quiet hours reviewing details of parish life that I’ve neglected while playing Florence Nightingale to my bride-to-be, the strains of Ave Maria float from my cell phone.

I recognize the number immediately and know my hopes for a quiet, normal life are about to be dashed.

I mean, why else would Walter Knowland, the Archbishop of Baltimore, be calling me?

Taking a deep breath and putting a smile on my face, I answer with, “Good morning, Your Eminence. How are you today?”

“Fine, Tom,” he replies with his usual jovial manner. “How are you, and more importantly, how is Helen?”

“She is very well, thank you, and back at work full time,” I say. “As far as I am concerned, Sir, would you hold it against me if I say that I am thankfully lonely now that we are not together all day?”

He laughs. “So, absence makes the heart grow fonder, huh, Tom?”

“I guess so,” I chuckle. “I’m very happy to see her when I see her, which is still at least twice during the day.”

“But she’s doing well?“

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“And she’s back to chasing bad guys?”

“Actually,” I say slowly, “as Chief of Police, she is still only supervising those who are chasing the bad guys. Helen hasn’t recovered sufficiently to be recertified on the shooting range, and until then, she can’t technically go out into the field herself, although I’m sure it will not surprise you to know that that doesn’t stop her from going to a crime scene.”

“Since she found a way to marry a Catholic priest, I have no problem believing that she can find her way around any obstacle.”

“Certainly she has you to thank for that, sir, more than anyone else.”

“She has herself to thank, Tom, and you. The decisions you made in Bellamy to put your own desires aside in favor of remaining true to the Church more than earned you the right to be considered. The rest, well, as I told you, that was the grace of being in the right place at the right time. Not to mention she is now the only member of the Ladies of Charity to ever arrest someone at a Christmas in July Bazaar.”

“Thank you for those kind words, Sir. I’ll be sure to pass them on.”

“Please do, along with my love and my congratulations to her being named Chief. I believe she’s one of the few female police chiefs in the state?”

“Yes, and the first woman in Myerton,” I say proudly.

“Something to add to her unique character,” the Archbishop says. “But, I did not call you to talk about Helen. Actually, I am calling about your activities in Bellamy.”

My heart goes to my throat. Helen and I returned from Bellamy a few months ago, having gone down there to locate my missing sister, then investigate her death. It was there that we admitted that we were in love with each other. We returned to Myerton committed to pursuing a platonic relationship while I remained in the priesthood.

But it was also far from our finest hour. We went further than any priest should ever go, even if that was far from breaking my vows of celibacy and chastity. But I was weak in my faith after what happened with Father Leonard and not even certain of my own vocation anymore. I reached a point where my desire for Helen was so great, I was prepared to cast everything aside to have her.

Fortunately, Helen was strong enough for both of us.

The Archbishop has known all of this for months. We told him as soon as we came back from Bellamy. And he still petitioned the Vatican to allow us to marry.

I can’t imagine what the problem is now.

“Sir,” I say nervously. “I . . . I’m not sure what you mean.  Helen and I were very forthcoming about our behavior in Bellamy when we met with you. We held nothing back. There was no inclination on either of our parts to conceal the truth from you. So what—”

“Tom, Tom,” the Archbishop says gently. “I know all of that. I’m not referring to your personal behavior. I’m talking about your other activities. As you know, there was a significant amount of media attention concerning your role in breaking up that sex trafficking ring. For a number of years, the Church has worked to raise awareness of the problem and to help rescue those who are being exploited by the people who head these abominable operations.”

“I’m well aware of that, Your Eminence,” I say, trying to control the relief in my voice. “I’ve wanted to become more involved, both because of what I saw in Bellamy and because of what I’ve seen here in Myerton. How may I be of service?”

“We’ve held several workshops on the topic around the Archdiocese for local priests and even Protestant ministers who are interested in the topic. They’ve been very successful, but we’ve yet to hold one in western Maryland. So, I’d like to schedule one in about a month at Saint Clare's, if you’re willing to host?”

“I’d be glad to, sir,” I say with a sense of relief. “Will you be in attendance?“

“Unfortunately, my schedule is already packed for the month, including a commitment to celebrate my niece’s wedding Mass, so I won’t be able to be there. However, I’m sure that you will have no problem running the program. I am sending Father Timothy Stratton to you as your keynote speaker. He has been working for decades with those who have fallen prey to sexual exploitation.”

“I have heard of his work,” I say. “It will be an honor to meet him.”

“Father Stratton will help you with publicizing the event. They’re typically held on a Saturday, beginning with a light breakfast, followed by a keynote by Father Stratton and some large group presentations. After lunch, the attendees break up into small groups for discussion. The goal in the end is to lay the groundwork for developing local programs to aid victims.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I say. “My friend, Clark Applegate, the minister of Myerton Methodist, I’m sure will help spread the word among our Protestant brethren.”

“Fine, fine,” the Archbishop says. “As far as the food, I have no doubt that you can persuade Anna to prevail upon the Ladies of Charity to provide some light refreshments at the beginning and then a lunch of some sort.“

“Well, Your Eminence,” I say with a smile “if I’m not able to persuade her, I’m sure you can.”

The ominous silence tells me I just made a big mistake.

“Oh, Your Eminence,” I say immediately. “I am so—”

“Just take care of it, Father Greer,” the Archbishop says gruffly. “Father Stratton will be in touch.” He then ends the call without saying another word.

I close my eyes and curse myself inwardly. “Tom, are you determined to be sent to Outer Mongolia?” I say to myself. I make a mental note never to mention to the Archbishop his high school relationship with my mother-in-law again.

No matter how curious I am.

Feeling sufficiently chastened, I walk to Anna’s office. She’s there as she has been since the Archbishop assigned me permanently to Saint Clare’s. Long before she was parish secretary, she was the mother of Joan, “the wife of my youth.” Since coming back to Myerton, she’s been my friend, confidant, ally, conscience, and ass-kicker when necessary.

Anna stops typing and turns away from her laptop. Smiling, she says, “Still happy to have me back?”

“Ecstatic,” I say. “As much as I enjoyed having Helen around all the time, she didn’t quite have your way with the job.”

“Someday, I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Oh, she’ll agree with me.”

“Well, in any event,” Anna says, “I take it the Archbishop was telling you about the workshop?”

Once again, I’m amazed by her abilities. “How do you know about that?”

“Father Wayne sent an email with the information while you were still on the phone,” she says. “Apparently, His Eminence had a strong feeling you’d agree. I’ve already found a date and placed it on the calendar. I’ll send it to Father Stratton, along with a formal invitation to stay at the Rectory. I’ll make sure the guest room is ready. I assume you’ll contact Clark?”

“I’ll do that right away,” I say.

“Now as far as refreshments, I’ll talk to Virginia Hill about getting the Ladies of Charity to provide a light breakfast—I’ll suggest coffee and juice, with muffins and pastries provided by The Muffin Man. Nick’s been angling for the Sunday morning doughnuts when that starts back up in the fall. We’ll cater the lunch ourselves.”

“Anna, once again,” I say, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Tom, Lord willing, it’s going to be a long time before you have to find out.”

“I certainly hope so,” I say. “Anything else?”

“Just one thing,” Anna says. “Dr. Maycord called and asked if you were available this afternoon. I said you were free after 2 p.m., and he said he’d be here.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

She shakes her head. “No. Have you spoken to him lately?”

“Unfortunately not,” I say. “I know his nieces are living with him now, and I’ve been meaning to stop by, but I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, looks like you’ll have your chance after lunch.”

Two

AFTER CALLING CLARK to tell him about the workshop and finishing some work on my homily, I go to the church for Noon mass. Afterward, I walk to the police station and meet Helen for lunch. Since she insists that we need to start saving for our honeymoon—a seven-day cruise to the Bahamas, followed by an additional week at a hotel in Baltimore—we brown bag it. I’m providing ham and swiss sandwiches on bread from Nick Hallstead’s bakery, while she’s bringing the salad that she also insists we have.

Ever since our engagement, she’s expressed concern about my eating habits and overall health. Helen even made an appointment for me to see the same doctor the police department uses for officers’ physicals. Unfortunately, I had to cancel because of her injuries and have not yet rescheduled.

I am hoping that her efforts to get me in better shape are somehow related to the honeymoon, but I am ashamed to ask.

I get to her office and we spread our small feast on her desk. “How's your day been?” I ask.

“So-so, I guess,” she says between bites of salad. “I’m still not used to all the administrative stuff. It’s not hard or anything, just kinda boring.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But someone has to do it. And that’s why they give you the big bucks, remember?”

Helen gets a twinkle in her eye. “So you don’t mind that I now make about three times what you make?”

“No, remember, I have no ego when it comes to something like that,” I say. “You’re going to manage the money, so it just makes sense that you make most of it.”

“Now about that, Tom. I think sometime soon we need to sit down and make a budget.”

I set my sandwich down. “What’s the hurry? I mean, we still have a few months.”

She lays her hand on top of mine. “Because, darling, we’re going to have some shared expenses right away. The trip, for example. But it will also give us a head start on our life together.”

I smile. “Well, when you put it that way, OK. Just give me enough warning so I can have a couple of drinks in me.”

“Still don’t like to deal with money?”

“Look, I’m sorry, but the way my mother acted when she paid bills has scarred me for life.  At least I’m mature enough now to realize it and let you handle everything. I’ll be quite content for you to let me know how much I can spend on books.”

“I’ll be generous,” she says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss.

We eat some more, then Helen asks, “So what about you? How’s your morning been?”

“Still not accustomed to you not being there all the time,” I say. “Got a call from the Archbishop asking me to host a workshop on sex trafficking. It will be for both Protestant and Catholic clergy in the area. Someone from the Archdiocese, Father Timothy Stratton, will be leading it.”

“Oh, that sounds really good,” Helen says. “When is it?”

“The 19th.”

“Oh, Tom, I’ll hate to miss that, but I’ve got to be in Baltimore all day at a meeting of the Maryland Chiefs of Police.”

“Oh, that’s right. And this will be your first one, right?”

“Yes. And, I might add, I got a call from the Baltimore Police Commissioner personally inviting me.”

“My, my, my, aren’t you important?” I say with a smile. “Should I be jealous?”

“No, since he’s been happily married to someone about half my age and a third my size for several years now,” she laughs. “No, rumor has it that he has his sights set on running for governor, so he’s currying favor with everyone, including one of the few female chiefs of police in the state.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” I say. “You’re a pretty big deal.”

“I don’t know about that, Tom. There are other women police chiefs. I served under one in D.C.”

“You’re the first woman police chief to marry a Catholic priest,” I point out. “Thus, you are a big deal.”

She nods. “OK, point taken.”

“Well, since I love having you around anytime, I will miss you that day. But, it's just a church meeting. I promise that you’ll have many more chances to attend those in the years to come.”

With my comment, Helen grows serious. Jabbing her desk with her finger, she says, “No, Tom, it is not ‘just a church meeting.’ This is important. What the people involved in sex trafficking do ruins lives, not just of the young men and women they recruit, but the people they sell their vile products and services to. Good people, men and women with families, use their services, maybe even start buying and using porn, and then get hooked. Their lives, and the lives of those they love, are hurt.”

She is getting rather worked up and, while I agree with her about the issue, it's not like this is the first time she’s seen evil. “Helen, I didn’t realize this meant so much to you. Is it because of what we saw in Bellamy?”

She doesn’t meet my eyes as she says, “That, and other things.”

I see tears gathering in her lashes, so I get up, close her office door, then crouch down beside her seat where I can put my arms around her.

“Honey,” I say, “what is it?”

She is obviously struggling with what to say next but finally says, “This is not when or where I planned to tell you about this. I’ve known for some time I needed to but haven’t wanted to get into it. It’s something about John and me, or just about John, I guess. I’ve never known where I fit into this.”

She pauses again and I say, “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

I take her by the hand and lead her there, sitting so I’m facing her. Even now, Helen doesn’t look at me. She’s slumped on the couch, looking at her hands, which she’s uncharacteristically twisting.

“You know, I don’t know too much about your marriage to John,” I say. “I didn’t want to pry. I mean, you told me you loved him deeply, and you were happy together, and he was good to you. But I always had the sense there was something you were holding back.”

“Yes,” she sighs. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.” She pauses before continuing, “Tom, I did not know this until after his death, but John loved porn.”

“When you say he loved porn,” I say, “I’m assuming you mean more than the occasional viewings of videos or magazines when he was in college.” I decide now is not the time to bring up my own post-adolescent, pre-Helen dabblings. I was driven more by curiosity than anything else, and once curiosity was satisfied, shame and guilt quickly replaced it. It was the vestiges of whatever passed for my Catholic upbringing, I assume, because it is one of the few times I remember going to confession in college.

“Oh, yes. Much more than that. He was renting a small storage unit when we got married, and said that he used it to store old law books and stuff from when he was a kid. He kept the key to it on his key ring, and I never gave it much thought until after he died. His parents and I went out there together to clean it out, and when I unlocked the door, there were boxes and boxes of magazines and DVDs, along with a laptop filled with downloads. And I found it with his mother standing there by me and his father looking every way but down. It was worse than when I had to go identify his body, even worse than the grisliest crime scene I’ve ever worked.”

“Oh, my God, Helen. What did you do?”

“What could I do? I grabbed a box and started loading it in my car, crying and railing at him before his body was even cold. I cursed him for not telling me, for making me deal with the filth by myself. I was afraid his mother was going to faint, so his dad took her back home. So I just hauled box after box of that shit to the nearest dumpster, by myself. It took me four trips. Afterwards, I went home and took the hottest shower I could, just to get the feeling of dirt and filth off of me. Then, I cried some more.”

I put my arm around her and pull her head down on my shoulder. Rubbing her arm, I say, “I am so sorry you had to deal with that alone. How awful for you.”

“My only comfort was that everyone in the pictures was obviously an adult,” she whispers. “There was nothing illegal about it, just so dreadfully immoral. Later, I ran his credit card records and found dozens of calls he made to phone sex businesses. All I want to know is, what was he doing with me that he was talking about with another woman? I wonder who he was really seeing when he was making love to me?  I believe he loved me, but I must have fallen short physically somehow—which I can understand. I mean, I’m never going to be mistaken for one of those women he watched.”

I have tried very hard since coming back in her life not to express jealousy about her marriage to John. After all, I was the one who left her. I’d found another to love, as Helen had. But sitting here and hearing the woman I love say that about herself, I’m growing angry at her first husband.

“Helen,” I say, taking her hand, “you know I would never tell you anything that I have ever heard in confession. But one of the things that they taught us in seminary is that addiction to pornography is one of the most common things we will ever deal with as priests.”

“I’m not surprised by that at all,” she says.

“But they also drilled into our heads that this was rarely a sign of an unhappy or troubled marriage. Most of the time, the men involved claim they have very happy sex lives and are very satisfied with their wives.  It is just a bad, addictive habit that someone has developed over the years and cannot kick. But oh, my darling, I am so sorry you had to go through that, especially alone.”

She smiles and caresses my cheek. “Thank you, my darling.” Then she grows serious again and asks, “but what about the phone calls, the things he talked about with those women?”

“It’s all the same thing,” I say. “It was a habit that he got into like the porn. Again, it didn’t mean he didn’t love you or care about you. Not to cut John any slack, he probably got addicted to the thrill and found himself unable to stop. And because of the shame he no doubt felt, he couldn’t tell you. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Tom, I hate to ask this, but . . .”

“No,” I shake my head. “I have many faults, many failings, and many sins. But that’s one you don’t need to worry about.”

“I didn’t think so,” she sighs. “The past is in the past, and I am very much looking forward to focusing on our future.”

I know I should feel guilty at how angry I am at a dead man, but I don’t. It’s about time Helen Parr had someone that she could count on to love her 24/7, and always have her back.

Sitting up and wiping her eyes, Helen smiles and says, “Speaking of the future, we need to sit down with Nick about the cake.”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “Have you made an appointment with him?”

“Yes,” she says. “He and Clayton can meet with us next Tuesday at the bakery. He’ll have different flavors to choose from.”

“I suppose chocolate’s not going to be one of them?” I ask.

“Not for our cake,” Helen says. “But you can have whatever you want for a groom’s cake.”

“Hmm, well,” I say, “I have some ideas for that.”

“NASCAR theme, I assume?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Oh, Tom,” she smiles, “you’re always full of surprises.”

I lean in to give her a quick kiss when there’s a knock on the door. We both laugh quietly and Helen says, “Come in.”

Angela Jenkins, State Attorney, marches in, all five-foot-four of her in an emerald green suit. She has the look of a woman who is pissed off at someone.

I pray that someone is not in this room.

“Sorry to interrupt you two love birds,” she says, “but Helen, we’ve got a situation. Where is Gladys?”

“Um, I guess at lunch or in her office?” Helen says.

“I just checked her office,” Angela says. “I wanted her to be here, but I guess it’s just as well she’s not.”

I look at Helen and say, “I’ll leave you two to talk shop.”

“Tom,” Angela says. “I think it’d be a good idea for you to hear this.”

“OK,” Helen says slowly. “What’s going on?”

Angela snorts and says, “I finally heard from my counterpart in Massachusetts. They have no interest in extradicting Richard Davenport.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I exclaim. “Richard confessed to Gladys that he was driving the car that hit and killed her parents and left her in a wheelchair!”

“Tom, the fact of the matter is other than his own statement, there’s no evidence to tie Davenport directly to the accident. The statute of limitations has run on vehicular homicide, and they’re not about to charge him with second-degree murder based on the evidence.”

Helen sighs. “I was afraid of that, Angela. OK, thanks for letting us know. We’ll tell Gladys.”

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Angela says. “I really did try. But that’s not the only bad news I have.”

Helen plops back on the couch. “What?”

“Davenport’s attorney is pushing to have the evidence against him in the Hudson case thrown out.”

“Damn,” Helen says.

“Why? He confessed! That should be enough,” I say. “I don’t even know why he hasn’t pled guilty yet.”

“Because Tom, he has an extremely good lawyer and the evidence against him is extremely thin.”

“He’s on tape!”

“Yes, on a recording made by Gladys, his former lover,” Angela says. I start to protest when Angela says, “Don’t shoot the messenger, Tom! Davenport’s attorney is saying Gladys was motivated by jealousy.”

“Angela,” Helen says, “What can we do?”

“Right now, nothing,” Angela says. “If I need anything, I’ll call you. But I wanted you to know.”

We thank her and she leaves. I look at Helen and say, “Do you want me to tell Gladys?”

Helen shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I will. She’ll need you later.”

Three

I RETURN FROM LUNCH with Helen in a sour mood.

Richard Davenport.

The very name makes my skin crawl.

He’s responsible for the death of three people that I know of.

He made a game of robbing young women of their innocence.

And now, he might walk out of jail a free man.

I know I’m supposed to be merciful. But it’s hard for me to feel any amount of mercy for this man.

Fortunately, I have little time to brood when I get back to the Rectory. Around 2 p.m., the front doorbell rings, heralding the arrival of Dr. Martin Maycord.

Given how his life has changed since I first met him a couple of months ago, I am not surprised to see a few new lines in his otherwise youthful face.

“Martin, I am so glad you decided to stop by,” I say, shaking his hand and offering him a seat.

“I've been wanting to, Tom,” he says, his voice confirming the weariness displayed by his body, “but between the hospital and getting the girls settled, I’ve just been so busy.”

“How is everything going, with your nieces?”