I looked at my watch. Four-fifteen. Time to clear out before the partners’ meeting.
Father O’Flaherty met me in an old-fashioned parlour furnished
in a vaguely Victorian style with a worn Aubusson carpet, and some large, ornately framed portraits of former bishops.
“Good day to you, Montague,” Michael O’Flaherty said cheerfully. “Tea?”
“Not for me thanks, Father.” He poked his head out and asked Mrs. Kelly for one cup of tea and a plate of sweets to go with it.
“How can I help you this fine day, sir?”
“I’d just like to get your recollections of the dance, if I could.”
“Certainly, certainly. What would you like to know?”
“What time did you get there, do you remember?”
He paused to think, then said: “I got there early and helped the youngsters set up the bar. Well, not what you and I would think of as a bar. Soft drinks only. I looked through the selection of music, but once again there was nothing from my era! That’s only to be expected. The dance was for young people of the nineties, not for those of us who were young in the thirties and forties. But the music was tuneful enough for me to carry on as a dancing fool.” Mrs. Kelly arrived with tea for the priest, and a tray of sweets.
“What time did Leeza Rae arrive, did you notice?”
“Yes, I noticed, because she was supposed to help out like the rest of the young people who worked at the centre. But she got there just as the dance was about to start. Young Erin made a remark to her, and Leeza must have sassed her back because Erin just walked away from her. A minor little spat, though. It happens.”
“Did you notice whether Leeza arrived alone?”
“I didn’t see her till she was inside the gym, so how she got there I can’t say. She didn’t live on the peninsula, though, so she must have had a ride or taken a bus.”
“Was there anything different about her that night, that you were aware of?” I plucked a brownie from the plate.
“She seemed just the same to me, but then I didn’t know her very well. So I’m obviously not the priest she claimed had taken such an interest in her.” He put his teacup down and looked at me with a sombre expression. “In retrospect, I wish I had shown more of an interest, found out what was going on in her life. Maybe I could have made a difference, prevented this tragedy.” He sat back and took a deep breath.
“What did you mean just now, Father, when you said a priest had shown an interest in Leeza?”
“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. That was something I heard from certain acquaintances of mine in the police department. You’re aware that I have friends in those quarters?”
“Yes. So what is it you heard?”
“Just that this girl had been telling people — friends, family, I don’t know who — that there was a priest she had ‘wrapped.’ Around her little finger, I take it. My police informant tried to say this priest had the Rae girl ‘wrapped’ around his, em, well, a crude suggestion. I was having none of it. And I told him so!” Father O’Flaherty was offended all over again at the insinuation.
“Who did you think he was talking about?” As if I didn’t know.
“Well, it wasn’t me. You can rest assured of that,” he said with finality.
“So, unless she made a practice of attending religious activities around the city — and I don’t think you and I believe that — we’re talking about Father Burke.”
The old priest reddened. “That was the implication. But I said flat out that the idea was preposterous. Brennan is no fool. There was nothing going on.” I thought back over my heated conversation with Burke about Leeza and her attempts to seduce him into helping the boyfriend. His explanation had sounded convincing, but I recalled thinking he had had time to fabricate a story to explain the tawdry scene.
“How did Leeza behave towards Father Burke at the dance?”
“Honestly, Monty, I didn’t even see them together. Whenever I stopped to have a word with him, she wasn’t anywhere near him. That much I can remember.”
“Do you know whether he danced with her?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see them dancing together.”
“Did you dance with her yourself, Father?”
“Yes, I did. For one number at least. I can tell you proudly that, as a man of seventy, I danced with every female in the gym that night. Well, with the exception of Marguerite Dunne. Marguerite doesn’t dance. A bit of a relief, to tell you the truth.”
“Did you see Leeza when she left?”
“No, Monty, I didn’t. I’m sorry I can’t help you there.”
“Can you tell me anything about her time at the centre?” He shook his head sadly, as if admitting failure. “Father, what went through your mind when you heard about a religious angle to this killing?”
“It didn’t make any sense to me at all!” He was emphatic. “I don’t believe for one minute a priest, or anyone else in religious life, committed this murder. Moody wouldn’t... nobody I know in law enforcement circles would tell me what kind of religious signs or signals were left at the murder scene.” The priest looked at me shrewdly. “Do you know?”
I shook my head and he went on. “It has to have been someone with a grudge against the Church. But why take that out on her? Unless somebody was jealous of the time she spent around here. Which seems unlikely, doesn’t it? Or somebody was jealous of this priest she was supposedly spending time with. Perhaps she told these stories to provoke some other man in her life. Provoked him beyond endurance.” It was as good a guess as any I had come up with.
As I walked back to the office, I remembered something I had neglected to ask, so I dialed the rectory and got Father O’Flaherty on the phone.
“Just one more thing Father. Did the police question you after the murder?”
“Yes, they did.” I thought I detected a trace of excitement in his voice.
“Did they ask you for samples of threads or anything like that, for elimination purposes?”
“No. They didn’t.” Excitement had turned to puzzlement and perhaps disappointment. I thanked him and hung up.
II
It was the first week of April and the weather was balmy. Maura had agreed to drop the kids off before she headed out for the evening. They greeted their dad and went off in their own directions, Tommy Douglas to my collection of guitars and harmonicas, Normie to the boathouse. Later we had a pleasant dinner of poached salmon, which
of course must be eaten with boiled potatoes, peas and strawberry shortcake.
“Let’s take a walk around the park and see if anyone has a boat out,” I suggested.
Normie asked: “Can we go up to the top of the tower? Please!”
It’s a long climb up the steps of the Dingle Tower but the view from the top of the stone structure is magnificent. You can see the city, the waters of the Arm, and farther out the blue of the Atlantic Ocean. The three of us went off and had a brisk walk around Fleming Park, donated to the city by Sir Sandford Fleming, the man who devised the system of Universal Standard Time. Normie, as she always did, nearly had a stroke trying to choose among the playground, the beach, and the tower. But we managed, as we always did, to enjoy all of them. It was cool and breezy, not yet prime sailing season, but one hardy mariner had his sails up. We peered across the water at the houses, some of them grand, on the other side, and waved at the Strattons’ place just in case they were gazing over the water in our direction. They were not, as it turned out. At least Rowan wasn’t. He had gone to the office, which I found out when we got back to my house and I listened to my answering machine.
I dialed the office number and Rowan answered on the second ring. “Rowan. You called.”
“Splendid news, Monty,” came the British voice over the phone. “There will be no charges laid against Brennan Burke in the Leeza Rae case. My man tells me the police were satisfied with our client’s alibi. There were ‘indications of physical contact’ between Brennan and the victim, as my source put it with great delicacy, but whatever traces they found could have been transferred if he danced with her. So at this point they are not looking at him as a suspect. It was suggested to me that this chap Walker is a little intense on the subject of religion. Sounds as if there was a spot of bother with his sister when she was young, something about a preacher. Walker may have a motive of his own.”
“Motive?”
“His own agenda, going after Burke the way he did. But as far as I am concerned, Brennan is clear.”
III
Now that Father Burke was not going to be charged with murder, a low-key celebration was in order. Or so the Strattons believed. They invited Burke to join a few people at their house on Friday night. I wondered whether this sort of thing was, as the Strattons would otherwise have put it, good form. Rowan had to use all his powers of persuasion to get Burke to come, and people were warned not to breathe a word about the murder.
Maura and the kids had been invited, as they always were when there was an extended family gathering at the Strattons’, and they would be coming a little later. My brother Stephen and Janet Stratton were there with their children. A couple of lawyers from our office were in attendance. The others were people I did not know.
Burke, dressed in a dark blue suit, tie, and crisp white shirt, was perched on the edge of a chesterfield next to the fireplace, the tension of the past weeks still evident in his face. He was clutching a glass of whiskey like a relic of the true cross. Sylvia and a younger woman were chatting to him and he nodded absently in time with the cadence of their speech.
“I’m fascinated to meet you, Father Burke,” the young woman said. “I don’t know any priests.”
“I’m a bit of exotica for you then,” he said, and downed his whiskey.
“No, no, not at all. I just haven’t had much contact with people of your persuasion, your religion.”
“Ah.” His eyes followed the drinks tray as it sailed past without stopping in port.
“But I’m very accepting of all religions and faiths.” She smiled and put a hand lightly on his left arm. “My idea is that we’re all God.”
“Speak for yourself,” he retorted, giving her a look that would curdle mother’s milk.
Clearly, he had not yet unwound. Or, more likely, he found such theological twaddle offensive at the best of times.
“Hey Dad!” We all looked up, whether we had a sixteen-year-old son or not.
“Tommy! Come on in. Hello, Tanglyhead!” I put one arm around
my boy and hoisted my little girl up in my other arm. “Are you all set for a party?”
Maura swept in and made a beeline for Rowan, who was lifting a glass in greeting.
“Is the revolution here at last?” Rowan greeted my wife.
“The revolution is imminent, Rowan, and you and I are the vanguard. So pack up some of these baubles and choose a room for yourselves. Nothing too big. I’m moving six families into this house tomorrow. In the meantime let’s fortify ourselves with drink. What have you got?” Rowan had everything, and Maura accepted a large tumbler of it. She took a long swig and turned in my direction. She caught sight of Father Burke and gave him an appraising look.
“So you’re the demon priest.” She held out her hand to Burke, who eyed her coolly as he rose to shake her hand. “I’m Maura MacNeil. Did you find him to be of any use at all?” She jerked her head in my direction as she spoke.
“He has been an enormous help to me, Professor MacNeil. Even an innocent man needs wise counsel.”
“Bit of an arsehole personally, though, eh? But that needn’t put you off. You’re not going to marry him. I’m pleased to meet you, Father. Now, do I hear music being played, badly?” Maura tilted her head towards the sound.
“The children, I’m thinking,” answered Burke.
“Well then, we’ll let it pass.”
“Sounds like a magnificent piano, whoever is playing,” Father Burke remarked. He got up to have a look. Someone called to Maura, and she went over to chat.
Normie looked vexed with boredom, so I took her downstairs to a playroom the Strattons had set up for their grandchildren. My son joined us. We played games and laughed and lost track of time. Eventually they remembered there were treats upstairs so we trooped back up to the party. My watch told me I had missed more than an hour of the soiree. I could hear snatches of conversation from the piano room. As Tommy helped himself and his sister to an assortment of sandwiches and sweets, I headed for the piano.
At the far end of the glassed-in conservatory was Burke, his tie off and his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His head was
thrown back as he laughed and he was enjoying himself immensely. With, of all people, my wife. I attributed this to Rowan’s top-of-the-line whiskey, the mind-altering properties of which I had yet to sample. I picked up a music book and thumbed through it. When I looked up again, Burke and Maura were in deep conversation. He reached out and lifted an errant strand of hair from her face and patted it back where it belonged. He appeared to have done this without thinking. Could anyone be that comfortable in the presence of my wife?
Somebody called to Burke from across the room. I could not make out the question but his response was that he would be saying a Latin Mass early the next morning.
“I thought the Latin Mass was
verboten
these days,” Maura said.
“Non licet,
you mean? Not at all. A common misunderstanding. But if I told you it was forbidden and had to be celebrated clandestinely in the hedgerows, you’d be the first one there, now wouldn’t you?”
“You got me there. But I just may show up anyway. I grew up with the Latin Mass.”
“Well, this is the new version, but I’m planning to set up a high altar and start saying the old Tridentine Mass as soon as I can.”
“I saw a very clever cartoon once,” Maura said. “It showed a really depraved party going on, people in masks, performing all kinds of bizarre antics, and the caption read: ‘I prefer the old Latin Mass myself.’
“Yes!” Burke smiled in appreciation. “It was in
Punch,
a contest. That was the winning caption. I have it tacked up on the wall in my room. I can’t, of course, invite you up to see it.” He paused. “Because it’s in New York.” She laughed. “Yes, another whiskey would be just the thing,” he said to someone going by with a tray of drinks. “Thank you.”