SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3) (12 page)

CHAPTER 21 – OH, CANADA

Back in my office the next morning, I started going through the printouts Brendan had given me.

Father Zapo had been searching the Internet, visiting various websites devoted to crime news. He had downloaded several articles that dealt with multiple murders where the victims had been poisoned. He apparently restricted his search to the previous decade. There were four incidents that caught his eye, one each in Australia, Canada, England and Belgium. In all but one case, the murderers, all women, had been apprehended.

The unsolved case was the one in Canada, and from the sketchy news articles it appeared that the local authorities were not even sure there had been more than one murder. Five years ago, an Ontario woman named Mary Naulls had disappeared after the mysterious death of a local priest in a small town named Cashman about an hour north of Toronto. He, indeed, had been poisoned and the Naulls woman was the main suspect, since the priest had left her house shortly before dying and she was a scientist who worked with toxic materials at a nearby laboratory. The fact that the poison was unknown to local authorities but had characteristics similar to agents she had ready access to forced an obvious conclusion. However, subsequent searches of her home and laboratory provided no hard evidence. The case against Mary Naulls was described as “compelling but circumstantial.”

Mary Naulls? Why did that name sound familiar?

“Jesus Christ!”

I said so loudly Abby stuck her head in my office.

“You OK, boss?”

“Mary Naulls. We thought he said ‘Maryknolls.’ He was saying Mary Naulls.”

“Who?”

“Father Zapo.”

She shook her head and went back to her desk. I went back to reading.

At first the police naturally considered that there might have been other victims, and exhumed the bodies of three men. The exhumations caused quite a flap because toxicology reports on the bodies came back negative. There were presumably a lot of angry relatives. When it came out that the dead priest had been abusing children, it was assumed that Naulls, known to be religious and active in the church where the priest worked, had simply taken matters into her own hands and rid the community of a predatory pedophile. She had disappeared completely, although there was a brief sighting of someone fitting her description on a train heading to the United States. But that was well after the fact. The train’s final destination was New York City, but no one could be sure where the woman, if she even was Mary Naulls, got off.

There was nothing else of interest in the clips. I spotted Zapo’s cell phone and charger where I had thrown them on my desk. I plugged them in and opened up his recent-call list. There were so few calls I considered the possibility that someone had also wiped his phone clean. But there was one unfamiliar area code: 905. I looked it up on my laptop. It was an Ontario number. I called it. A woman answered.

“Constable Barrett. O.P.P.,  Cashman.”

Ontario Provincial Police. If any number should have been deleted, it was this one. The phone hadn’t been touched.

“My name is Rhode. I’m a private investigator in New York working on a case that may have a connection to your jurisdiction.”

“What’s the connection?”

“Constable, I’m not sure. I’m just fishing. But tell me, is the name Mary Naulls familiar to you?”

There was a long pause.

“I think you should speak to Sergeant Preston, sir. Please hold.”

I’ve been on shorter “holds” with a credit card company. When Preston finally came on the line, he said, “What’s this about Mary Naulls, eh?”

I told him.

“We’ve already spoken to this priest of yours, Mr. Rose.”

“It’s Rhode. R-H-O-D-E. I know you spoke to him. That’s how I got this number.”

“We told him that his so-called suspicions made no sense. No disrespect to a man of the cloth, mind you, but just between us, I think the man is off his noggin’. Sounded a bit dotty. How old is he, anyway, eh?”

“Eighty.”

“Of course.”

“Look, I was inclined to doubt him, too, but now he’s in the hospital, a possible poisoning victim himself, and someone deleted files on his computer related to the Naulls case.”

“You’re sure about the poison?”

“No, not yet. I’m waiting on a tox report.”

I didn’t mention that it was unofficial.

“How about when, or if, you are sure, you call us back, eh.”

“What about the missing computer files?”

“If they were deleted, how do you know that?”

Apparently, I wasn’t dealing with the brightest bulb in the O.P.P. chandelier.

“I had the files recovered by a forensic computer specialist.”

I made it sound official. Preston was unimpressed.

“Have you gone to your local coppers with this?”

“Not yet. I wanted to get all my ducks in order first. That’s why I called you.”

“Ducks? What does this have to do with ducks, eh?”

I should have said Canadian geese. I soldiered on.

“Are you actively pursuing the Naulls case?”

“Of course. It’s an open homicide. No statute of limitations on murder in Canada, you know. The law is the law. Same as in your country, eh.”

I wanted to say that I thought there should be a law against using “eh” but I didn’t want to antagonize Preston.

“Making any progress?”

“It’s being handled from headquarters in Toronto. Now, I’m a busy man, Mr. Rose.”

“It’s Rhode. What can you tell me about the men who were exhumed during the Naulls investigation?”

“Nothing. Other than that they should have been left to rest in peace. Their families were outraged. Justifiably, in my opinion. They died of natural causes.”

“You’re sure?’

“Coroner was sure, eh. Is that all?”

“Let me guess. Heart attacks.”

“I believe that was the determination. Happens all the time to men in their 60’s.”

Bingo.

“I’d like to come up and see you,” I said.

“Can’t stop you. But it will be a waste of your time, and mine. Better make it quick, though. I leave on a fortnight’s holiday in three days. I’ll switch you out to Barrett. She handles my appointments.”

Before I could ask why a rural “copper” had to make appointments, I was talking to the woman constable.

“He can see you Friday afternoon at 4 PM,” she told me.

“I’ll be there.”

I called Cormac at the D.A.’s office.

“That’s interesting,” he said after I finished. “All in their 60’s.”

“Will you guys move on it now?”

“I’ll do what I can, but it will take more than some missing computer files. Six dead guys in their 60’s ain’t that much more shocking than three. Don’t forget they are a thousand miles and years apart. It would be nice if we could prove your priest didn’t have a run-of-the-mill stroke.”

“I may have some more for you in a couple of days.” I told him what Gallo promised me he would try to do through the hospital lab. “In the meantime, I’ll send Abby over with everything I do have.”

“Worried about someone slipping a poisoned olive into your martini?”

After I hung up, I went online and booked a flight out of Newark for Toronto. Then I helped Abby put together the file for Mac. He was old school, so I wanted him to have it in print, as well as on a flash drive. We also made copies for my trip to see Preston, although I suspected that the only way I’d make an impression on the dim sergeant would be to drop a corpse on his desk.

“Cops know you got this stuff robbing a church?”

“It was a rectory.”

“Oh, that’s real good. They’d probably let you slide on burglarizing a rectory. But if they give you any problems, my brother can get you a good lawyer.”

It was almost 7 PM when we finished, so I took Abby out for dinner at the Rosebank Tavern.

“So, the priest thinks that there is a connection between this Canadian woman and what may be happening in his parish here on Staten Island,” Abby said as we dug into our Caprese salads. “Just how did he reach that conclusion, boss?”

“Perhaps he heard something in the confessional. Maybe he had an overactive imagination. He was a former spy. Maybe he saw conspiracies everywhere. He was an old guy. He seemed sharp enough, but maybe he wasn’t all there. It doesn’t matter. Someone poisoned him and wiped his laptop clean of any references tying the Naulls case to his investigation of suspicious deaths in his parish.”

“I know you hate that word, but it could be a coincidence. Another killer who just wanted to erase any hint of a crime.”

As a former Army MP, Abby was a perfect devil’s advocate.

“It doesn’t do me any good to think that way, Abs. I have to eliminate Naulls first.”

“How old would this broad be now?”

“She was 40 when she left Cashman, five years ago.”

“Lots of 45-year-old women in Tottenville.”

“I don’t think she would be married. Mary Naulls wasn’t the type, apparently. She would need freedom to have her affairs and bump off her lovers. Tough to do with a husband. I also think that, given the religious fervor attributed to her, she’d probably be involved in church activities at Our Lady of Solace.

That would limit the pool of suspects.”

“And just how are you going to narrow that pool down without making a damn fool out of yourself? The church is likely to run an exorcism on your ass.”

Our pastas came. Puttanesca for me, Alfredo for Abby.

“I think I know someone who might be able to help me. Isabella Donner. She already knows some of what is going on.”

“How can you trust anyone in the parish?”

“She’s been there all her life. And she’s too young to fit the profile. But I’m not going to do anything until I find out more about Mary Naulls.”

“If this nutcase relocated here five years ago,” Abby said, “she’d need a year or two to get established before she killed anyone. Otherwise she might attract attention, being the new gal in town. What was the interval between the deaths of each man here?”

“Approximately a year apart.”

“The timing is right. Speaking of killing, when did the last guy die?”

I knew what she was getting at.

“Three months ago. If it’s Naulls, and she did kill Clifton, Lydecker and Spinelli, I have time.”

“Unless one or more of them was really a natural death, or there are others you don’t know about. That would screw up any time frame. And wasn’t the time span between alleged murders in Canada longer?”

“It was about 18 months.”

“So, she may be speeding it up. She’s older. Maybe thinking she’s running out of time, looks-wise. Or maybe she gets bored more easily. She could also be planning to beat feet again, and start offing men elsewhere, in which case you may not have any time at all. She might decide to kill one for the road, so to speak.”

***

I was home by 8:30 and looking forward to a full night’s sleep.

I made myself a martini to relax. I had opted for a lemon twist when I recalled Mac’s last remark about a poisoned olive. He was trying to be funny, but it occurred to me that if someone had indeed tried to knock off Father Zapo, he might not be the only target.

It was true that he hadn’t been very discreet in his inquiries, but with most people dismissing his suspicions, a murderer wouldn’t be that concerned – except with those people who might believe him. I was one, and Isabella Donner was another.

I realized that I didn’t have her phone number. I went down to the computer in the alcove off my kitchen and tried to look it up, while at the same time calling the rectory. Her home number was unlisted and I got an answering machine at the rectory. I decided to drive out to Isabella’s house in Tottenville. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I wanted to warn her to be cautious.

I brought Father Zapo’s cell phone and laptop with me.

Might as well tell her about them. Maybe she could get them back in his room before anyone missed them.      

CHAPTER 22 - BRUCE

I had to park on the street because there was a car behind Isabella’s in the driveway. I didn’t want to disturb her if she had company, but since I was there to warn her to be careful I wanted to make sure her company’s visit was benign. It was probably just one of the other church ladies over for tea. Hell, maybe a drink. I hoped it was for a drink. She might invite me in, and I’m not that crazy about tea.

I left the cell phone and laptop in a shopping bag in my car and walked up to the front door. I was about to ring the bell when I heard a woman cry out. I tried the door. It was locked. Another scream. It sounded like it came from the back of the house. I pulled my gun and sprinted toward the source of the cries. There was a double glass door off a rear patio leading into what looked like a den or small library. It was dark but from moonlight and light coming into the room from elsewhere in the house I could see a man on top of Isabella Donner on the carpet. His pants were around his ankles and he was thrusting wildly into to her. She was beating on his chest, moaning. I stepped back and kicked the doors open. Glass from the panels shattered.

The man turned at the crash and looked at me. There was a table next to the door with a lamp. I turned it on and reached down and grabbed him by the hair and yanked him to his feet. I leveled the gun at his head. There was a look of sheer terror on his face. And humiliation. I soon saw why. My intervention had come at an inopportune time for him.  He was gripping his erection, trying to stop the unstoppable. He was making a mess and wouldn’t be a threat to anyone for a while.

“Alton! What are you doing?”

I turned to Isabella. She also looked shocked. Then she stood slowly, completely naked. She had a remarkable body with legs, as they say, longer than a Ken Burns documentary. Her breasts, high and firm, were splotched with red, her nipples fully erect. She did not try to cover anything. The man whimpered behind me. He was looking at the trousers now bunched pathetically at his feet.

“It’s all right, Bruce,” Bella said calmly. “I know this man.”

Uh, oh.

She turned and walked out of the room. It was the name that did it. I looked at Bruce.

“Hello, Congressman,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, I voted for you.”

Bruce Purvice, who represented Staten Island and part of Brooklyn in the House of Representatives, pulled up his pants. And zipped. Too quickly, given his flagging, but still impressive, arousal. He cried out, cursing, as metal met flesh. But he finally got dressed and then for the next half hour told me what a fucking imbecile I was, and how he knew every law enforcement officer and regulator in the Western Hemisphere. He was going to ruin me.

I let him rant. I owed him that much. But finally I had my fill. I got him to stop shouting at me by asking if all those powerful people he mentioned also knew his wife.

“You might want to get those trousers cleaned before you go home,” I added, perhaps uncharitably.

He left shortly after that.

***

I was in Bella’s kitchen. While she showered, I’d gone out to the car to get the cell phone and laptop and was now nursing a water glass full of scotch from a bottle I found in a cabinet. The situation seemed to call for it. Finally, she walked in barefoot, rubbing a small white towel through her hair. She looked fresh and lovely, with a post-coital glow I recognized.

“Bella, I’m sorry.”

“Can I have one of those,” she said.

I fixed her a drink while she put on a pot of coffee. While the coffee brewed she sat in one of the two tall wrought-iron ice cream chairs that flanked a glass-top table. I sat opposite her.

“I can’t be mad at you,” she said, draining half her scotch. “I guess it did sound like I was being murdered.”

She put her drink down and leaned forward to put a comforting hand on my wrist. Her robe slipped open, revealing one breast. She saw where my eyes traveled and slowly closed the gap with her free hand. She laughed. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.”

“It’s none of my business, Bella, but you must know he’s married and has four kids.” My voice sounded a little strange to me. “And runs all his campaigns on family values.”

“I guess you won’t vote for him again.”

“I’m thinking of you.”

“You thought you were saving my life, and now you want to save my soul? You were right the first time. It’s none of your business.” She got up. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she brought two mugs back to the table. “I’m just being bitchy. But it’s complicated. Hell, I think it’s a moot point now. I doubt Bruce will get over what happened.”

She walked to her refrigerator and took out butter and something wrapped in aluminum foil. She grabbed two small plates and a knife from a rack next to the sink.

“Some people smoke after sex,” she said, unwrapping the foil. “I eat. It’s soda bread. Mrs. Mullens, one of my neighbors, makes it. Have you ever had any?”

I happen to love soda bread.  

“Well, I wouldn’t want to insult her,” I said.

“Do you really think I’m in danger because I helped Father Zapo?”

I reached into the shopping bag and brought out the laptop and cell phone.

“These are both Father Zapo’s. I took them from his room. Someone wiped files from his hard drive after he went into the hospital. That worries me.” I didn’t tell her that I’d recovered some files. That would be dangerous information for her to know, if she was indiscreet. “Does anyone know you copied files and articles for him?”

She thought about it, sipping coffee from the mug she was holding with two hands.

“I don’t think so. He wanted it kept quiet. I think he wanted to protect me from retribution from Imogene and the Monsignor. He wasn’t supposed to use the copier for that sort of thing.” She paused. “No, I don’t think anyone would connect me to what he was doing.” Suddenly, she looked concerned. “But you are an obvious target!”

“I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but that often comes with my job. You didn’t sign up for any of this. I want you to be careful. Can you get the cell phone and laptop back in the rectory without anyone noticing?”

“I don’t see why not. I might not be able to get in Father’s room, but I can leave them in the library under some old magazines. He was always so forgetful no one will think anything of it.”

I hesitated. But I was pretty certain she was right about not being in danger.

“You know most of the women in the parish who are active in church groups. I’m looking for someone, between 45 and 50, who has lived here five or so years. Almost certainly unmarried. Undoubtedly attractive for her age. Could you make me a list?”

“It won’t be a big list,” she said, laughing. “I guess I can leave Imogene off it. Oh, God. I’m still being a bitch.”

***

Bella walked me to the front door.

“I’ll send someone over first thing in the morning to fix the back door. Are you sure you will be all right tonight?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll lock the library’s interior door.” She laughed. “I’ll be safer than I was before you smashed your way in.”

“Again, I’m sorry I messed things up for you, Bella.”

Then she did something that took me by surprise. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. Her robe fell open. She pressed her breasts into my chest and my hands instinctively went around her and I cupped her buttocks. The blood was roaring in my head but I finally managed to push her away. We were both breathing heavily.

“Bella,” I said in a voice that sounded far away. “I can’t.”

“Why? I know you find me attractive.” As if to prove her point she pushed her pelvis forward in to my groin. “Obviously.”

“You are beautiful, Bella. And desirable. But I’m involved with someone. I don’t know where it’s going, but I want to give it a chance. If it’s any consolation, I must be out of my goddamn mind.”

  She looked at me, more with curiosity than disappointment. Then she smiled.

“Tell me, Alton, do you always get your man? Or woman?”

“Always.”

“So do I.”

I couldn’t help but think that Alice had picked the wrong time to leave me to my own devices. I quickly banished the thought.