Authors: LYNN BOHART
Giorgio was beginning to wonder if just about everybody had owned a Basset at one time or another.
“He’s a new addition to the family,” he
r
eplied.
“We’re just getting to know each other.”
The monk patted Grosvner on the back and lifted the rake again.
“Well, I must get back to work.”
“Before you do, maybe you could answer a few questions.
Does Father Damian always lead the nine o’clock prayer?”
“Yes, unless he’s sick or otherwise detained.”
“Does he usually arrive on time?”
“He’s very punctual.
Is there a problem with Father Damian, Detective?”
“I’m just trying to establish some timelines.
Do you know what time he arrived the night of the murder?”
“Actually, as I told the officer who interviewed me, I was a little late that night myself.
I got caught up writing some letters.
I arrived just before Father Damian.”
“When
was that
?”
“A few minutes after nine, I guess.
He came in and told us about the body being found.
He called for Brother Joseph and asked all of us to stay there.
I believe the police had already been called.
Brother Joseph led a short service to offer a prayer for the young woman.”
It was the first time he’d heard any of the monks express concern for Mallery Olsen.
Giorgio stroked his chin.
“Was anyone else late or absent?”
“Only Father O’Leary
. He
was taken ill right after the evening meal.
I’m afraid he’s still not feeling well.”
A damp breeze brushed against Giorgio’s cheek
. He’d
have to hurry if he was going to finish h
is inspection before it rained.
“Well, thank you, Father Frances.
I’ll le
t you get back to your leaves.”
“We’re all here to help in an
y way we can.”
Giorgio called Grosvner and the dog followed, ears sway
ing back and forth
.
They passed the cemetery, moving slowly so that Grosvner could stop every few feet to mark his territory.
Giorgio had trained with a few police dogs and knew that the canine’s sense of smell was some
five hundred
times stronger than humans.
Dogs gather all sorts of information by sniffing what other dogs leave behind.
Giorgio estimated that
Grosvner was
gathering enough information to write
a short novel o
n the grounds of the monastery.
Giorgio
glanced over
the fence
to the graveyard, reading
some of the inscriptions on the gravestones.
At the far end, an imposing marble statue of an angel
, her wings pulled back, her head lowered as if gazing at the ground,
appeared to stand guard over the gravestones. Directly in front of him,
near the fence,
was a grave
marker
carved out of a heavy block of granite with a perfectly polished round ball on top.
The inscription read, “Father Anton Wingate – Lost, But Not Forgotten.”
It was a curious sentiment, especially for a priest.
Giorgio passed the corner of the building looking up at the windows and taking note of their proximity to each other,
all the while
thinking about stairways and backdoors.
He strolled through the circular courtyard and climbed the hill past
the abbot
’s cottage, then crossed over to the tool shed and the vegetable garden.
The shed’s windows were almost opaque with dirt.
He pulled
the creaking door open
and
stepped inside leaving Grosvner to sniff his way around the garden.
Inside, Giorgio found nothing more than an old push lawn mower, some weathered rakes, hoes, garden tools
,
and bags of fertilizer.
He
sifted
through some shelves against the wall, lifting a layer of dust that made him sneeze.
H
e decided there was nothing here related to the murder and emerged
from the shed
into a light drizzle, cursing at being caught without an
umbrella.
Wiping the moisture from h
is face, he called for Grosvner
, bu
t the dog was n
o
where to be
found
.
Giorgio whistl
ed
just as
the skies opened up and it began to pour.
He marched into the vegetable garden
,
angry now that the dog had strayed.
He
found Grosvner at the end of a cornrow, nose to the ground, digging a hole in the quickly forming mud.
Giorgio
shouted
a command
,
but the dog’s short, stubby legs worked like earthmovers pulling up mounds of dirt while his ears hung into the ever-deepening hole.
He looked up
once and
was
hardly recognizable as the same dog.
Although he looked more comical than ever, Giorgio was not amused and moved over to take hold of his collar.
“Gr
osvner!” he yelled, “let’s go!”
Giorgio yanked on Grosvner’s collar just as the dog’s paw snagged on something, bringing it out of the dirt.
Giorgio froze holding the dog mid air, his eyes locked on a single, muddy finger casually curled up in the dreary morning light like the last shrimp on the
"barbee"
.
The appendage was adorned with a deep blue
class
ring.
Giorgio pushed Grosvner aside and squatted down, scooping out handfuls of mud, releasing several more fingers, a man’s wristwatch
,
and shirt cuff.
Grosvner whined at having lost his prize while Giorgio pulled out his cell phone to report what was probably a second murder on the grounds of the Catholic monastery.
Then, he sat back on his heels and glanced over at the dog.
For the second time in two days, he said,
“Good boy, Grosvner.”
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time a tent was erected the ground had disintegrated into a sloppy mess, eliminating any possibility of footprints.
Rain-filled pockets glistened in the mid-day light, creating small, muddy swimming pools.
The police worked quickly in their slickers and rubber boots to section off the entire area with yellow tape
while
Mulhaney moved around the site in a cellophane
-
covered hat snapping pictures from every angle.
Giorgio directed the operation, sans rain gear, looking very much like he’d just climbed out of a swimming pool fully clothed.
Off duty officers had been called in to intercept anyone, especially reporters, who wished to get a closer look by sneaking through neighboring homes.
Giorgio
had no illusions this time that he wo
uld be able to avoid the media.
Father Damian stood by
protected by a golf-sized umbrella Father Rosario held above his head, his face a bland mask of self-defeat.
Several other monks, including all three young recruits, huddled a few feet away under a bank of trees.
Grosvner had retreated quietly to the tool shed.
While several officers combed the area for evidence, two more used shovels to carefully remove dirt from around the body.
A shirt cuff and sweater sleeve emerged first
,
then an arm resting on the hip of the corpse.
Eventually, a dark-haired young man dressed in black slacks and a black sweater was revealed lying on his side only inches beneath the surface, his head twisted to one side as if he had been tossed carelessly into the makeshift grave.
Although rigor mortis wasn’t evident, Giorgio knew from long experience that about thirty-six hours after death
,
rigor mortis reverses
itself
relaxing the muscles.
That and the reddish-green color of the skin gave him the eerie feeling he was looking at a man who had died the same night as Mallery Olsen.
It was the dirt-stained blood caked to the side of the man’s head however, that confirmed he
was looking at a second murder.
Before the body could be removed, the coroner stepped in to examine the position and condition of the body.
He recorded the air temperature and time of day and then extracted samples of dirt from around the corpse, checking for any insects already living on the body that might help determine the time of death.
More pictures were taken
,
and thirty minutes later the body was loaded into the coroner’s van.
Several officers continued to search the surrounding area, dividing it into grids.
They pushed their way through bushes and looked under benches and in between the rows of corn.
They even worked their way out a hundred feet into the underbrush.
Anything found was photographed and bagged and the spot marked with a small colored flag.
Giorgio had worked crime scenes with so many evidence markers they’d created a maze, difficult to negotiate without squashing one into the ground.
It was clear this body hadn’t been in the grave long
,
and hope remained that clues could be found when the weather cleared.
However, after almost four hours, the only evidence collected was an old shoe from behind the shed, a torn cover from a girlie magazine
,
and a half-smoked cigarette found near the burial site.
The paper casing from the cigarette bore half of a capital
“
M
”
.
Finally, an officer was assigned to stand guard while the rest of the police entourage returned to the station
.
Giorgio
was left
to wander the crime scene alone.
It was three o’clock.
Giorgio sent Grosvner back to the station with McCready
.
After a cursory
turn
around the perimeter of the gravesite, he walked the leng
th of the upper hillside
studying the characteristics of what he could see of the main building.
Something about this building bothered him.
It was a typical Spanish design with a red-tiled roof that overhung the walls by at least two feet and a tower that extended upwards in three ornate tiers heavily supported by large masonry buttresses. The middle tier of the tower had an arched window on each wall that revealed a small hanging bell.
The top level had no openings along the north side, but Giorgio had seen three arched windows along the front of the building.
The roof was domed and accented with a cupola crowned with a cross and decorated with broad bands of etched stone.
Cornices rimmed all three sections.