Grace and Disgrace (11 page)

“May I see your invitation, Father?”

“I am afraid I do not have it anymore,” Donnelly replied. “The contents seemed absolutely absurd at the time, and became provender for the hearth after my first read.”

“If I may, what did the letter say?”

Donnelly finished his sherry, setting the empty glass down. “In fact, it read nearly identical to these. The only real difference was what I suppose could be considered the ‘clues’ or information.”

“And they were?”

Donnelly thought for a moment, but shook his head. “For the life of me, I cannot remember.”

“I see,” Tuohay replied.

Donnelly smiled fondly at Tuohay. “Is there anything else?”

“That will do, Father Donnelly. I appreciate the time you have taken.” Tuohay glanced at the grandfather clock near the window. Frowning thoughtfully, he slipped his pocket watch out. “Speaking of time, you are aware that your clock is fifteen minutes fast?”

Father Donnelly smiled ruefully. “You are an observant man, Inspector Tuohay. Yes, I am quite aware.”

“And why is that?”

“It was a practice of Abrams, my nephew.” Donnelly indicated the stern painting over the fireplace. “That is a self-portrait he did when he was in Ireland. As you can see, he was a priest. But he was also a wonderful artist, like his brother.” Donnelly seemed to drift back into a fond memory. “Such wonderful promise. Oil on canvass, wood working, stained glass, murals. He was a gifted boy.”

“Sounds like he took after you, Father. A man of many talents.”

Donnelly smiled soberly. “That was of his own accord. I call him nephew, and have all the love and affinity I would for my own kin, but he was adopted, to use the term loosely. He and his brother were orphans in a convent in Ireland, but their gifts were recognized at a young age by the nuns, and the Church became their official benefactors, and I his guardian. He spent time both here and in Ireland.”

“I have heard of such practices,” Tuohay said. “If I may, you said he ‘was’ a priest?”

“He passed on of complications of tuberculosis nearly six years ago, a very difficult loss. He was a frail boy, and even as a man was pale and lacking physical vigor. When he got sick in Ireland, he sailed back in an attempt to regain his health. I looked after him myself, up until his last days in the spring of ‘96.” Donnelly’s eyes had a distant look to them. “To the last moments, in fact.”

The phrase caused Tuohay to pause. “Last moments?”

Donnelly contemplated his next words for a moment, the ghost of a smile passing across his lips as he did so. It was tinged with sadness. “I am a man that has mastered many skills, Inspector Tuohay. In the case of my nephew, I acted as his physician, his priest, and his mortician.”

“Mortician?” Tuohay twisted his mouth into a perplexed frown. “You embalmed the body?”

“Yes.” Donnelly acknowledged Tuohay’s surprise with an appeasing nod. “Peculiar, I know. And I would be the first to concede that I have led an interesting, albeit rather extraordinary, life. I learned embalming during my short tenancy as a missionary in Haiti thirty years ago. Not from the Vodun sorcerers who practiced
zombi
, mind you,” he added with a chuckle. “That would be frowned upon.”

“Zombi. Dare I ask?”

“A term for the phenomenon of returning the dead to the world as mindless slaves,” answered Donnelly, his voice devoid of mirth. “Supernatural beliefs are quite integral to their culture. It is fascinating, in truth.
Zombi
is the removal of the
ti-bon anj
, or the awareness and remembrance, from a persona, while retaining the functioning body, or the shell.”

Tuohay frowned with distaste. “I see. Yes, I imagine that practice would be frowned upon.”

“It would,” Donnelly emphasized. “And yet it is my nature to inquire about such astonishing things—outlandish religious practices, ancient sorcery, magic. Not for application, for I am a devout Catholic, of course. But for insight. That may surprise you, coming from a priest, but there are many of us of the cloth who are philosophers at heart. We too want to learn from history, from nature, from science; to truly understand the beauty and purpose of God’s universe, and some of us are willing to occasionally look beyond our own scripture for inspiration.”

“That does surprise me,” Tuohay admitted.

“But,” Donnelly continued, pushing himself back from his desk, “I am rambling now.” He pointed at the grandfather clock. “You are still interested, I presume?”

“I am.”

“To answer your question, I have continued the admittedly sentimental practice of running the clock fifteen minutes fast in my nephew’s honor. He did it with all of his time pieces—it was the way he assured he would be on time. He was creative, but not…punctual.”

“I see.” Tuohay gently snapped his watch shut. “I am sorry for your loss, father.”

“Thank you.” Father Donnelly smiled anew. “If I may ask one question of you?”

“Yes.”

“By your own admission, you have come a very long way. In your own words, you are here in search of the Templar Diamond. Why were you asking questions about Aiden Kearney?”

“First, because he too received an invitation on black paper with silver writing. But more importantly, because Father Kearney then uncovered hard evidence about the Templar Diamond, and shared it with me. I intend to use that evidence to find the diamond, and finally collar the criminals responsible.”

“And this evidence of Father Kearney’s…are you sure he truly
uncovered
it?”

“Sorry?”

“Inspector Tuohay, are you certain it was not
always
in his possession? These…letters, or invitations, or whatever they are. They appear to me to be…well, a ruse of sorts. A game. And games are just that. They are not to be taken seriously.”

Tuohay stood, leaning heavily on his cane. The pained expression on his face appeared to be from more than just his leg. “Whatever the case may be, I will root out the truth.” He bowed stiffly. “Thank you for your time, Father Donnelly.”

Departing without another word, he left the overwrought silence behind him.             

*

The late-hour express carriage running the Old Coast Road to Boston rattled over a scattering of fallen branches, jostling the passengers as the storm blew fiercely without. The flickering lights of Plymouth faded behind a welcoming grove of dark oaks buffeting the wind to a near standstill. The two men inside the carriage sat across from each other just as they had on the reverse trip, their faces cloaked in shadow.

The crimson light of a match appeared suddenly, driving the shadows back by the width of a hand. Tuohay’s face was revealed in the red glare, pale and fatigued.

“We should have stayed the night in Plymouth,” Eldredge said as Tuohay lit his cigarette. The small cabin instantly filled with the aroma of smoke and cloves. “You look like the face of hardship itself.”

Tuohay took a long drag and seemed to crumple back into his seat. “In these circumstances a midnight exit is far more exhilarating than a morning one, especially when there is a fresh storm afoot.” He coughed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “And I am visiting Aiden and Rian’s apartment in the morning with Eliza, so it is best I get back.”

“Yes, the apartment on Kneeland Street where their bodies were found. While I go to visit my mum in Lowell.”

“You cannot avoid it?”

“I am afraid not,” said Eldredge. “She was not well when I visited last night.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Straight from here to Lowell, will it be?”

“It will be simple enough to pay the fare and go straight, yes.” Eldredge shrugged. “Besides, mum is an early riser. The earlier I arrive, the earlier I depart to get back here.”

Tuohay smiled. “Good man.”

Eldredge peered closely at Tuohay’s pale countenance. “It seems the case is a little more involved than those we took during our Sleuthhound days. It certainly seems to have done a number on you.”

“Uncovering a law exam scandal and who stole the coffer from Grendel’s pub were not exactly difficult works of sleuthing.”

“They
were
, in fact,” protested Eldredge. “You never gave yourself enough credit for our successes.”

“Formative collegiate challenges,” grumbled Tuohay.

“But look at you now, investigating a proper case. Surely you cannot deny that our early cases played a role in your current profession?”

Tuohay coughed again, specks of red covering his thumb. “Yes, look at me now.”

“Are you feeling proper?”

“Sufficiently so, thank you.”

Eldredge shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “A train would have had us home by now. But no matter. Did you…. did you get what you intended from Father Donnelly? It was a long trip for such a short interview.”             

“It was simple enough to obtain, yes.”

Eldredge’s attempt to moderate the impatience in his voice fell short. “And that was…?”

“To make him nervous, apprehensive. I told him that I had significant evidence in my hands.”

“Do you?”

“The letter, for one. And this.” Tuohay produced the codex from his leather case. “Take it with you to your mum’s.”

“Did you have any luck with the invisible ink?”

“I ran some simple experiments in my hotel room, but to no avail. My notes are included for your reference.”

Eldredge nodded and put the book aside. “You do realize Father Donnelly will not sit idly by if he believes you have evidence about the Templar Diamond. If he is truly involved, that is.”

“Yes.
If
he is involved.”

Eldredge asked the question hanging in the air. “So what precisely do you expect him to do?”

“Unfortunately, I am not a man of imagination.”

“So… we just wait and see?”

“Presumption, however, I am better at.” Tuohay took a long drag on his clove cigarette and closed his eyes. “And I presume we will not have to wait long before we see.”

The morning was stark blue and cold.

Tuohay disembarked from the clatter of the single-horse taxi into the welcoming din of the poor district. Dilapidated tenement buildings stretched the length of Washington and Kneeland Streets in various fades of brown, each building attached to its neighbor by a dizzying array of clotheslines. A vast multitude of garments hung from the lines like a hundred billowing sails, endless in their discolored glory. Windows were thrust open, enabling a vibrant mix of shouting, jeering, and laughing to fall like rain onto the street below.

Tuohay waited on the sidewalk as a silver trolley rolled past him from the building’s shadow, the metal gleaming in the sunlight. The whistle of a distant train rose from the alleyways facing South Station, the shrill distraction ignored by the multitude of passersby.

Leaning on his cane, Tuohay set off in the direction of Kneeland Street. The Saturday afternoon folk were out in droves, enjoying their only free day of the week—huddles of lean men in worn coats, cigarettes drooping from thin-lipped mouths; weary-eyed but forcibly energetic women marching with arms linked to the nearby nickel theater; dirt-encrusted boys in roving gangs heading for a dusty lot, a single tattered baseball glove and oil-stained ball between them. 

Tuohay passed them by in silence, his eyes missing nothing. Three blocks down Kneeland Street a sagging Gable-house slouched in wait. Tuohay stopped at the dilapidated edifice and read the sign at the front door:
Ivers' Tenements, Rooms for Rent
. Checking his watch, he snapped it shut and stepped to the front door, but paused to take in the sight across the street.

Directly perpendicular from the house was St. James, the neighborhood church. Claiming a handsome gate of wrought iron and a tastefully decorated yard, the great stone building was an island stronghold amidst the wooden tenement buildings and their tangle of discolored sails.
Confessions open Saturday and Sunday
was printed in gold letters along a board out front.

“Jack!”

Eliza appeared from the crowd, standing out in her cranberry brocade bodice and maroon silk skirt. The bodice was highlighted by imprints of majestic gold roses, the skirt chocolate flowers. She clutched her satin hat as she raced over to Tuohay, her boots clattering along the pavement.

Tuohay met her with an anxious frown. “Is everything alright? You look worried. You are not late.” He reached into his pocket and flipped open his watch. “Just a quarter past the hour. Time to spare.”

Eliza put her hands on her hips. “Do you really think I would be this troubled about making you wait a few extra minutes?” She shook her head before he could reply. “Don’t bother answering that.”

She took a moment to catch her breath before continuing. “I received a telegraph from Sara Conall this morning.” A nervous tension crept into her voice. “She has been contacted by Mr. McBarron, her late uncle’s lawyer.”

“Yes?”

“He had it on good authority that the Boston police dispatched an inspector for Plymouth this morning to investigate the death of Father Donnelly.”

“
What
?”

“Evidently Father Donnelly fell from a balcony early this morning.”

Tuohay massaged his forehead. “There is little doubt that the inspector dispatched for Plymouth was Frost. He will want to talk.”

Eliza crossed her arms as if against a bitter wind. “Jack. Father Donnelly is
dead
. Possibly murdered, and the morning after you interviewed him. What did you say to the poor man?”

“Nothing that he was not already aware of, I am sure.”

“I purchased us two tickets on the next train to Plymouth, 3
rd
class. We can spend exactly twenty-five minutes investigating Kneeland Street before our train arrives, and then we are taking a look at the scene of Donnelly’s death.”

“Very good. And I am going to need to see Mary Hart again to discuss what else she knows about her late beau, Father Donnelly.”

“One step ahead of you,” Eliza replied. “I also purchased two tickets from Plymouth to Medfield via the Boston C-Line exchange, and sent a return telegram to Sara announcing our impromptu visit. The return rail will give us about an hour in Plymouth.”

“Medfield, you said?”

“It is where Sara Conall lives. Mary Hart is staying with her, remember? Our schedule is tight. And there is one more thing.” She cast a meaningful glance back down the busy street. “I’m pretty sure a man in an olive trench coat is following me.”

Tuohay nodded curtly. “Right. Then we best get inside.”

Entering the tenement building, Tuohay and Eliza were met by a musty smell and the steady drip of water into a tin pail. A staircase immediately ahead led to the upper floors, a narrow passage beside it trailing into shadow. An open doorway at Tuohay’s left housed a small anteroom with a table and several rickety-looking chairs.

An old trolley bell hung by the front door with a thin rope available to ring it by. Tuohay pulled on the rope and the bell clanked unceremoniously. A moment later a narrow-faced man with a beakish nose and balding crown appeared from a side doorway near the stairs. He rubbed his hands on his shirt as he stared at Tuohay and Eliza with cautious interest. His gaze lingered several moments longer on the latter.

“Are you interested in a room to let?”

“Mr. Ivers, I presume?” Tuohay asked.

“Aye, the landlord of this fine establishment.” He straightened the lapels of his withered coat with pride. “And you are?”

Tuohay revealed a leather-bound badge marked with the stamp of a delicate but elaborate crown. “Inspector Tuohay of the RIC,” he said. “And this is Miss Eliza Wilding.”

“Right. Been expecting you, I have. You’re here to look at the room on the third floor.”

“Precisely. The room in which the Kearney brothers resided.”“Strange pair. Liked fresh air, even in the winter. Always was getting complaints from other tenants about the chill coming from their room. I even painted the fool window while it was open. Priest would have it no other way, even in winter. Liked his fresh air, he did. Not so much now, I suppose.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Ivers shrugged. “Well, the place has been nearly untouched for three months. A benefactor saw to the rent.”

Eliza raised a brow. “Benefactor?”

“The room has been rented since the death of the brothers,” said Tuohay. “’By a member of the archdiocese of Boston.”

Eliza frowned. “For what purpose?”

“For the reason of unmolested evidence,” said Tuohay, dropping his voice. “You see, there are those, even in the Boston archdiocese, who believe the death of Father Kearney needs further review. Or, more to the point, want any clues about the diamond undisturbed.”

“You don’t say. And they knew enough to keep the room unoccupied by taking up the rent?”

“With some advice from the Irish authorities, yes.” Tuohay turned back to Ivers. “If you would lead the way, good man?”

*

Eliza waited until Tuohay had sent Ivers on his way before viewing the third floor. The cramped hallway was quiet, the uncomfortable silence hanging over their heads like a waiting whisper. She pulled a small sketchbook and lead pencil from her purse.

Tuohay nodded appreciatively. “Prepared?”

“Ready when you are, Jack.”

The door to the bedroom was a deep burgundy, like old blood. Tuohay took the key that Ivers had given him and slid it into the keyhole. It turned with a reluctant thunk.

Eliza entered the dark chamber one step behind Tuohay, who removed his top hat. The smell of stale fumes filled their nostrils, abrupt but fading in effect. Gray light slid through a sliver in a small curtained window, revealing a one-room affair with a bed in the right corner of the room.

Eliza began a rough sketch of the surroundings. The scene had a sense of fatal permanency that she strained to capture.

“Has anyone been in here since the bodies were found?” she asked, incredulous at the thought. It had been months since the priest and his brother had been found lying in a peaceful repose, dead upon the bed.

“So it appears, though I must assume infrequently. And it does not seem to have been cleaned thoroughly. These walls may speak yet.”

The two took separate paths, Tuohay to the right towards the shadowed bed, Eliza to the left where faded light seeped through a curtained window.

“Here is where they were allegedly found by Doctor Kearney,” said Tuohay, pointing at the bed. “Cross reference your memory of the newspaper reports for me.”

Eliza tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The bodies of the two brothers were found by Doctor Kearney, who visited them on a recurring basis. They were fully clothed above the blankets, serenely side by side. He stated that the air was heavy, the smell of gas prevalent. The furnace door was open, and a lamp was on the table. The one window was closed tightly.” She paused in her recollection. “Why didn’t you ask the doctor about the details when you interviewed him yesterday morning?”

“I wanted to see the scene for myself first,” replied Tuohay. “I plan to have a follow-up interview with our good friend Doctor Sean Kearney in the near future.”

“Right.” Eliza turned her attention to her half of the room. A cracked basin was sunk into a small wooden protrusion, beside which hung a cupboard and cabinet. The squeaky door on the cupboard revealed nothing but dust, but the cabinet held two glass cups. Eliza took a few quick notes and moved to the basin, from which hung a brittle hand towel. She touched its surface with the end of her pencil, and small flakes fluttered from it into the basin.

Turning to the curtain, she eyed it closely. Scarlet red, it ran from the top of the window frame nearly to the floor, not unlike an evening dress. It had thin lines of dust at the creases, and cobwebs near the corners. A sprinkling of white caught her eye near the floor, and she bent down.

“Paint chips,” she murmured. Peering up, she realized that the surrounding walls were a stark white, newly so. “Jack, did the landlord say when he painted in here?”

There was a pause, and then Tuohay’s voice from the other side of the room. “No, except that the brothers were still alive. I would judge it is several months old.”

“Several months old,” Eliza murmured to herself. She bent closer to the paint chips on the floor, and followed the wall up. Pushing the curtain aside, she watched the yellow glow of day spread across the floor like something holy.

“Paint chips came from the sides of the window,” she remarked, taking notes. Putting her forehead to the glass, she peered out the window. There was wooden stair, narrow and rickety, at the base of the window leading down. A fire escape. A busy thoroughfare was some thirty feet below. Across the way the great stone church rose towards heaven, its splendid spires singular against the blue sky.

“I may have something of interest here,” said Tuohay, drawing Eliza’s attention away. As she turned, her eyes fell to the varnished Victorian oak desk at her right, further from the window than she would have imagined proper, as it was clearly a writing desk with an attached bookshelf pressed against the wall. The shelves were unadorned save a single bible. Her eyes were drawn to the bare surface, as if the spirit of the recluse fallen priest was there now, scribbling madly away.

She shivered, but not before four long scratches along the wall caught her eye.

“Eliza?”

“One moment, Jack.” She walked over the desk where it rested against the wall. The scratches were nearly six inches in length running horizontal along the wall, and darker in color.

Tuohay was kneeling by the bed, but looking in Eliza’s direction. “What is it?”

Eliza assessed the weight of the desk. “I think…I think this desk was moved. There are scratch marks on the wall from the bookshelf.” She put her notepad on the floor and took the end of the desk with her hands. The heavy mahogany barely budged as she pulled.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to move this thing.”

Tuohay stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “I can help.”

“Stay put,” she directed. “Time for some virtuosity.”

“Really, Eliza. It has been years since you’ve been on the stage.”

“So?” Pressing her back to the wall, she lifted one foot and rested it against the far support of the desk. She repeated the feat with her second leg, using the wall as leverage. With a grunt, she pushed with both feet and smiled as the desk and bookshelf pivoted outward with a screech. Catching her balance, she repeated the acrobatics, this time finding purchase on the near leg of the desk. It swiveled out with a tremble.

Tuohay came around just as Eliza slid to the ground on her rump. With a wink, she held out her hand.

Pulling her up, Tuohay’s gaze changed from one of bemusement to astonishment as he looked beyond her to the wall. Eliza turned and suppressed a gasp.

Behind the area where the bookcase had been was a scrawling message, etched crudely into the wall: