A Novena for Murder (11 page)

Rising from her pew, she hurried up the center aisle. She cleared her throat several times, hoping not to startle the young woman. The figure did not move. Very gently, she touched the thin shoulder.

With a thud, the woman’s head slid off the bench, and her body fell. It wedged between the bench and the padded kneeler. Both arms stuck straight up in the air. Mary Helen had read enough crime novels to know rigor mortis when she saw it. Yet the legs dangled loosely. Whoever had stuffed the stiffened body into the pew must have broken the rigor in her knees. Mary Helen retched.

Sightlessly, the young woman stared up at her. The right side of her skull had been smashed, and a sickening clot of dried blood was splashed across her delicate face. Mary Helen recognized the face—it was Joanna.

Those two thin legs hung as loosely as a rag doll. Joanna had died the death of a rag doll. Mary Helen
closed her eyes, hoping to blot out the sight. Instead, an image of the professor lying in a bloody halo flashed before her.

Mary Helen didn’t remember screaming. Yet she must have. Her mouth was open, her throat dry and sore. An agonizing shriek reverberated through the nave and resounded in her ears.

She lurched down the middle aisle. Her footsteps hit hard against the waxed parquet squares, their echo ringing through the empty chapel.

She leaned against the heavy, bronze door. Calm down, old girl, she cautioned herself, trying to catch her breath. Think sensibly. First things first. Phone. Yes, phone. Where was the nearest phone? It took her a moment to remember. In Eileen’s library, of course.

Throwing open the chapel door, Mary Helen turned left and headed down the deserted corridor. Thank God most of the girls were gone. No sense in alarming everyone. This might be a dream. All this might be part of a long, cruel dream. By the time she reached the door of the library, she was panting.

“What happened?” Eileen asked as soon as she saw Mary Helen’s face.

“Let’s go into your office,” Mary Helen whispered, trying hard to keep calm. Several stragglers were studying at the long, oak table. “I don’t want to be overheard. I’ve found a body in our chapel.”

Eileen followed her into the small room. Closing the door, she sank into a chair. Her gray eyes were wide.

Mary Helen headed straight for the phone on the desk. Robotlike, she picked up the receiver and dialed O. “I found a body. I think it’s Joanna.” She stopped. Eileen blessed herself. “Yes, Operator.” Mary Helen’s voice was steady. “Please, may I have the police? Homicide, please. Yes, it is an emergency.”

Mary Helen hung up. Walking to the water cooler, she filled two Dixie cups. “I wish this was something stronger,” she said, offering one to her friend. Only then did she notice that her hand was trembling.

“Come, sit down.” Eileen patted the chair across from her.

Silently, the two nuns sat facing one another. Each sipped water from her paper cup. Both strained to hear the high-pitched screech of the police siren coming up Turk Street.

“You aren’t going to believe this, Denny.” Kate Murphy hung up the phone and quickly replaced her right earring.

“Try me.” Gallagher looked up from the stack of papers on his desk.

“That was Sister Mary Helen.”

“What’s up with her?”

“She found another body. A young woman in the college chapel.” Kate grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair.

“What the hell is this world coming to?” Gallagher sputtered, leading the way out of the Homicide Detail. “Is there no place sacred any more?” he
asked to no one in particular. Following him, Kate smiled. Bizarre homicides always threw Gallagher into a barrage of clichés.

With sirens screaming from their vehicle, the two inspectors maneuvered their way through rush-hour traffic toward Mount St. Francis College for Women. “Wait till the papers get hold of this,” Gallagher said.

“Papers, nothing! Wait till the Chief hears. His daughter is an alumna, and the Mayor’s sister-in-law is on the Board of Directors!”

For a long time, the two nuns sat in heavy silence, waiting for the police to arrive. A sudden gust of wind howled against the metal weather stripping. Its mournful wail filled the small library office.

Quick tears welled up in Eileen’s eyes. They ran down her pudgy cheeks. “That’s the second death,” she said.

Mary Helen fumbled for a Kleenex. “Almost new.” She handed her friend two crumpled pieces of tissue. Eileen bent over and began to sob. Clapping her hands over her ears, Mary Helen let her weep.

Several minutes later, a car slammed to a stop in front of the building, and two doors banged shut. The hollow, metallic sound floated up to the silent office. Mary Helen peered out.

“They’re here.” And, thank God, she thought, they didn’t use the siren on the hill.

“Do you think we should go out to meet them?” Eileen asked.

“Better wait right here. They know where we are.”

“Have all the students left the library?” Eileen asked, dabbing her red-rimmed eyes. “I’d hate to meet any of them.”

From the half-glass office door, Mary Helen surveyed the reading room. “The place is”—she swallowed the urge to say
dead as a doornail
—“deserted.”

The main door of the library swung open, and Kate Murphy clipped across the long room toward the office. Gallagher stopped long enough to stuff his cigar stub into the metal cannister. Then he followed Kate. Mary Helen was relieved to see them both. Quickly she threw open the door. “Here we are,” she whispered. Her voice filled the vacant room.

“Sister, are you all right?” Kate asked as soon as she was close enough to get a good look at the old nun’s face. “You look as white as a ghost.”

“Fine.” Mary Helen wished the young woman had thought of another figure of speech.

“You said the body was in the chapel?”

“That’s right. In the front pew.”

Gallagher stepped back deferentially. “Sister, will you take us there, please?”

Sister Mary Helen took the lead. Silently, the other three followed her into the hall.

Long shadows webbed the walls and floor in the narrow corridor. The click of Kate’s high heels echoed through the silent building. A sudden chill
ran up Mary Helen’s spine. How can a place be so alive and vibrant one minute, she wondered, and so dead and desolate the next?

When the four finally reached the chapel door, Gallagher flung it open. The familiar odor of wax and incense greeted them. They stepped inside. Slowly, the heavy door closed, leaving them adjusting to the semidarkness.

Everything looked so quiet, so peaceful, so ordinary. Maybe she had just imagined everything, Mary Helen hoped. Maybe it really hadn’t happened. Maybe . . . On the main altar, the sanctuary lamp sputtered and popped, throwing a finger of light on a thin, white arm. The body was there. She had not imagined it. Beside her, Eileen trembled. Her single sob filled the vast emptiness. Gallagher plunged down the middle aisle. “Get the overhead lights,” he ordered, loosening his tie.

“They are in the sacristy,” Eileen whispered, then sank into the back pew.

“That’s the room next to the altar.” Mary Helen pointed toward the small door to the right of the altar.

Pivoting, Kate hurried up a side aisle. Moments later, the electric candelabra flipped on overhead. Muted light flooded the nave.

“Sister, could you by any chance identify this young woman for us?” From the front, Gallagher’s voice echoed through the chapel.

Mary Helen faced her friend. Eileen’s color was gone. Yet her Irish jaw was firmly set, her gray eyes
determined. “We’ve no choice but to be brave,” Eileen whispered.

“Then it’s brave we’ll be.” Mary Helen patted Eileen’s hand. Deliberately, Eileen rose from the hard pew. Steadying herself against the bench, she linked arms with her friend. Fighting down a sudden sweep of nausea, Mary Helen forced herself to accompany Eileen up the middle aisle toward the corpse.

The two nuns skirted the bony hand grasping lifelessly at the marble. They joined Kate and Gallagher in a small, tight circle hovering over the crumpled body.

“It’s Joanna. Joanna Alves,” Eileen whispered hoarsely. Moving back, she leaned against the altar rail.

I hope she didn’t see those thin dangling legs, Mary Helen thought, moving back with her friend. Gently she put her arm around Eileen’s shoulders.

“Are you two okay?” Gallagher asked the nuns. Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward Kate. “I’ll get the boys,” he said. “You take care of these two.”

Lumbering toward the side exit, Gallagher shook his head. “Jeez, is no place sacred any more?” he grumbled. Before he reached the exit, he pulled a fresh cigar from his inside pocket. He stuck it into the corner of his mouth. The exit door was only half closed when he struck a match against the outside chapel wall. Cupping his hands, he protected the flame from a quick gust of wind.

“Goddam,” he exploded. His curse rang through the chapel. “Goddam, no place is sacred any more!”

“Come on, Sisters, let’s go into the sacristy,” Kate said, rising from beside Joanna’s broken body. Mary Helen noticed Kate’s gaze pause sympathetically on each of their faces. “The boys will be here in a few minutes to take care of things,” she said. “We can talk inside. Besides, you two had better sit down for a few minutes. Murder isn’t your usual line.”

I hope to heaven she’s right, Mary Helen thought, letting Kate shepherd them across the sanctuary. “We’re both fine,” she reassured the young woman. She noticed, however, that when she stopped in front of the tabernacle to genuflect, her knees wobbled.

Once they were settled in the small anteroom, Kate turned toward Mary Helen.

“That’s the girl you reported missing, isn’t it?” Kate asked.

The old nun nodded her head. “She didn’t come home last Sunday night, and no one had heard from her since,” Mary Helen said. “And now we know why.”

“The deceased was the sister of Marina Alves, Professor Villanueva’s secretary?” Kate checked the facts with Eileen.

“Yes.” With the back of her hand, Eileen caught a single tear escaping down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I can’t seem to stop crying.”

Without comment, Kate turned her attention toward
Mary Helen. “How did you happen to find the body?” she asked.

Quickly, Mary Helen recounted her research on Dom Sebastiao and her pop-in visit to the chapel.

“Interesting!” was the only remark Kate made at the end of the entire recitation.

“I’ll tell you what else is interesting,” Mary Helen said. “That the old expression is true! You know, the one—‘It’s an ill wind that blows no good.’ ”

“What exactly do you mean, Sister?”

“At least one good thing has come from this tragedy,” Mary Helen said.

“And what exactly is that?” Eileen looked amazed.

“Leonel. I was right about Leonel. He couldn’t have killed the girl. He is still in jail.”

Kate studied Sister Mary Helen. “I hate to break this to you, Sister,” she said, leaning her head against the sacristy wall, “but your friend, Leonel, was released from the sixth floor this morning.”

Out on 34th Avenue, Jack Bassetti was busy preparing a candlelight supper. He’d taken the day off so he would have plenty of time. Tonight, he intended to propose to Kate. Again! He took the leaves out of the dining room table to make a small intimate circle.

Standing back, Jack admired his handiwork. The delicate Bavarian china looked both romantic and domestic. Just the right touch. He was glad he’d remembered the Waterford Crystal. The flickering
candles caught the sharp cuts in the wineglasses. Kylemore, Kate had called the pattern. Named after a large abbey of nuns. Good touch. Furthermore, they had been her mother’s. A little sentimentality never hurt.

No flowers, Jack decided. That decision was easy for him to make. First of all, he didn’t know how to arrange flowers. Second, how could you hold hands across a table with flowers plunked right in the middle? Hand-holding was definitely in his plan. Flowers were out.

Mentally, Jack ran down his list: table set, wine cooling, martinis in glass pitcher in fridge, Chinese from Yet-Wah’s in oven. That last item bothered him. Take-out Chinese food lacked a certain romance. But, he reasoned, the Chinese people must propose to one another over egg roll. Look how many Chinese there were!

Atmosphere! That was the one thing missing. Jack pulled the long chain on the glass chandelier in the living room. Off! He lit the large candle on the coffee table. Perfect. Now to block out the noise of the traffic on Geary Street. He had just tuned in KFOG when he heard Kate’s footsteps on the front porch.

Gently, Jack planted a light kiss on her neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She looked exhausted.

“Yes, I’m okay. Just beat,” she said. Her slender body sagged against him. She let him take off her jacket and put her purse and gun in the hall closet.

“You’ll never believe the day I had.”

“You’ll never believe the night I have planned,” Jack said, taking her in his arms. Slowly, he moved her in a smooth dance step from the entrance hall into the living room.

“Good grief, pal.” Kate gazed around the candlelit living room. “Did we forget to pay the P.G. and E.?”

Ignoring her remark, Jack hummed softly. Getting her to accept his proposal wasn’t going to be any easier even with his added romantic ambience. Maybe he should wait till she had a better day. Hell, he thought, twirling her into a dip, when could he ever count on Homicide having a good day?

“My feet are killing me,” Kate whispered.

“Let me sweep you off your feet,” Jack whispered back.

“Let me take my shoes off.”

Good old practical Kate, Jack thought, his eyes following her up the stairs; it was part of her charm—and part of what made her so damn frustrating.

While she was getting her bedroom slippers, Jack poured the martinis.

“To us,” he said, handing her a long-stemmed glass.

“To us.” Kate sank into the overstuffed couch by the front windows. Jack sat beside her. Silently, they each took a sip. The candle threw soft shadows across Kate’s freckled face. Putting her glass on the coffee table, she began to twist a strand of hair around her index finger, then push it into a tight curl. Jack recognized the infallible sign. She was thinking hard.