Grace and Disgrace (12 page)

I AM MY BROTHERS KEEPER

“Someone moved the desk to cover that up,” said Eliza.

“It was written after the paint had been applied,” remarked Tuohay, his voice soft. “So it could not have been that long ago.”

“There is nothing about it in the papers, as far as I remember.” She examined the wall closely, taking a few moments to sketch the message onto her pad. Sighing, she turned to the cockeyed desk. “I need to get this thing moved back.”

“I do not think that’s possible,” replied Tuohay. “No wall for leverage this time.”

Eliza was forced to agree. “So we leave it?”

“No use in covering up potential evidence.”

She turned to him with a small grin. “So what did
you
find?”

Tuohay cast a sidelong glance at Eliza. “A four foot piece of carpet under the bed. Rectangular, roughly cut and soiled with chunks of dry, crumbling dirt. Strange, that. A shovel, also encrusted with soil. A shuttered lantern beside the bed, along with some tallow candles. No electricity in the place, as to be expected. Gas lamp and gas furnace, also as expected.”

“Intriguing, the lamp and the furnace. The alleged devices of suicide. Which we already knew, of course.”

“Admittedly, you win this time in the search for clues,” Tuohay confessed. “Next time, I go left and you go right.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Your drawings are complete?”

Eliza reviewed the sketches with a critical eye. “Yes. But Jack—”

“Yes?”

“Are we running two investigations, or one? We are searching for the Templar Diamond
and
investigating the death of Father Kearney. Should we not be focused on one or the other?”

Tuohay leaned against his cane. “I believe the two crimes are threaded together. Working through one will gain us knowledge about the other.”

“I’ll take your word for it, for now. But I’ll want a better explanation soon.”

“You and me both.” The click of Tuohay’s watch-clasp caught Eliza’s ears. “Time is up. We have a train for Plymouth to catch.”

The lingering scent of burnt cedar hung in the air as Tuohay stepped through the pocket doors into the study. Eliza was at his side, notebook and pencil in hand. The late morning light spilled onto Father Donnelly’s large mahogany desk from a glass door behind it, the curtains pushed aside to reveal an iron-wrought balcony beyond. Two adjacent sets of curtains remained drawn on either side of the far wall behind the desk, glowing a dark burgundy.

The train to Plymouth
had
been quicker than the express carriage, bolstering Eldredge’s former argument for expediency. Departing from the train, Tuohay and Eliza walked the route along the beach to the rectory, where Inspector Frost and a uniformed officer were smoking outside. The Boston inspector greeted Tuohay formally, but was less than professional in his welcome to Eliza. The gracious smile had a poorly hidden leer behind it, but Eliza took it in stride. Ten minutes later they were led to Donnelly’s study, the very same spot that Tuohay had interviewed the priest less than twelve hours ago.

Tuohay indicated the balcony beyond the opposite door. “That is the location from which Father Donnelly fell?” His question was directed at the imposing figure of Inspector Frost standing in the hall, a pipe clamped between his teeth.

“Right you are,” Frost replied. The Boston official nodded at a uniformed officer positioned at the entrance as he stepped past. “The local constable and I gathered any relevant evidence from the premises early this morning. All the trappings, inspector. The constable is writing up his report, and all signs lead to an accident, pure and simple. Not sure what you expect to find here beyond our record.”

“Most likely nothing,” Tuohay replied, eyeing the portrait of the young man hanging gloomily over the fireplace, “but I appreciate the opportunity to take a look, nonetheless.”

Frost shrugged. “No skin off my nose. You’re still brass, even if you’re a Queen’s man.”

“Perhaps we can start with your discoveries,” Tuohay offered, “to save time.”

“Good, then.” Inspector Frost pulled a notepad from the depths of his trench coat. “The rectory is home to Father Donnelly, two curates, and a cook. The curates, Father Bryeth and Father McCallister, are attending a week-long retreat in Vermont. The maid, Miss Newell, arrives promptly at eight o’clock every morning and vacates the premises after dinner at seven in evening. She was not on the premises when the accident occurred.”

“Which was?”

“Just after six this morning.”

“Based off…?”

“The testimony of the live-in cook, Mr. Dunbar, and the condition of the priest’s body under examination.” Frost smiled around his pipe. “It will all come out in the wash, inspector. Nothin’ will get by us, trust me on that.”

“Timeline?”

“Straight forward.” Frost squinted at his notebook. “Father Donnelly awoke every morning at four in the morning for prayers. At five, he was known to practice his sermon on the balcony, or verses from Shakespeare. Was a devoted follower of the old bard, evidently.” Frost shook his head as if amused by the thought. “He took his breakfast in the study every morning at six, with a cigar afterwards. After that, he was known to spend hours gardening, a passion of his.” Frost turned to a new page. “Concerning breakfast: Today being Monday it consisted of hot bread, fried potatoes, cold caraway seed cake, an omelet, and tea.”

“And what of Mr. Dunbar?”

“Mr. Dunbar wakes at five every morning, takes a brisk walk, and subsequently makes breakfast for Father Donnelly. This morning it was delivered at five-fifty sharp, no different than any other. He rang that chime there,” Frost pointed to a small bell resting on the edge of the mahogany desk, “as he does every morning to indicate that breakfast has arrived.”

“Mr. Dunbar leaves breakfast on the desk?”

“Yes. Father Donnelly would have it when he was finished with his sermon.”

“And the whereabouts of Father Donnelly when breakfast was delivered?”

“Out on the balcony, practicing his sermon, as was normal. He liked to look over his garden when he did so, or the sea, even if Old Man Winter was blowing. Quite a view.”

Tuohay walked to the desk and bent over the small bell with a careful eye. “And Mr. Dunbar saw Father Donnelly on the balcony when he delivered the breakfast?”

“The curtain was drawn, as it always is at that time in the morning. Father Donnelly preferred privacy when he was reviewing a sermon.”

“No visual contact whatsoever by the cook?”

“Mr. Dunbar stated that he saw the shadow of a figure outlined through the curtains, against the rising sun just so. And the light of a cigar, as well.”

Eliza, who had unobtrusively walked up to the glass door to view the balcony beyond, turned to Frost. “I thought you said that he took his cigar
after
breakfast.”

Frost smiled wanly at Eliza. “I could use an assistant like you, miss.” He made no secret of the prolonged gaze at her figure.

“Maybe I will be available when Inspector Tuohay returns to Belfast,” Eliza replied with a coy smile, rolling her eyes the moment Frost turned to Tuohay.

“Hear that, old chum? She prefers red-blooded Americans after all.”

“Actually, I prefer men that answer my questions,” said Eliza.

“Well then, I shall happily oblige,” Frost returned amiably, removing the pipe from his mouth with a flourish. “I asked Mr. Dunbar the same question as yours, and he stated that while it was unusual that the priest would be smoking prior to breakfast, it was not unheard of.”

“Indeed.” Tuohay limped around the desk, his eyes darting to and fro about the room. “So, the remainder of the timeline?”

“At approximately six-fifteen this morning Mr. Dunbar, while in the kitchen reading last evening’s newspaper—”

“No doubt about the search for the Templar Diamond,” Eliza interrupted. “It’s all over the news. Which of your coppers is spilling the beans, anyhow?”

Frost cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Mr. Dunbar was in the kitchen, at which time he heard a terrified shout from the balcony. He immediately exited the kitchen through the back door to investigate, and coming around to the garden, discovered Father Donnelly in an unconscious state upon the cobblestone terrace two stories beneath the balcony. The priest’s position indicated a fall, which was confirmed by the authorities upon arrival.”

“May I?” Tuohay opened the glass door at a nod from Frost and stepped out onto the balcony, a sharp sea gust greeting him. Stretching past the balcony, the rectory property, primarily a well-manicured garden and an acre of stunted crabapple trees, spilled onto a stony beach fronting the steel ocean. The sun kissed the gray horizon with the promise of return.

Tuohay’s cane clicked against the wooden floorboards as he limped to a circular oak table covering nearly half of the balcony. Two chairs were squeezed between it and the iron grating of the balcony perimeter.

“He fell about here,” Frost indicated a spot near the front center of the balcony. “You can see the bloodstains below. The body has been removed, of course.”

Tuohay peered over the edge and nodded in confirmation at the dried crimson streaks stamped like veins across the stones. “No signs of a struggle on the balcony?”

“None whatsoever.”

“What about possessions? Any indication of theft?”

“So far, none,” Frost replied. “There is no indication of any valuables being taken, either from Father Donnelly’s person or from the premises. We are continuing to investigate the latter, but everything we have checked on is in its place. Even Father Donnelly’s ecclesiastical ring, with its precious ruby, was still on his finger.”

“What could have caused him to fall? Did he have any medical issues?”

“We are looking into that,” Frost replied.

“Some of his breakfast remains,” said Eliza, sidling close to the table. She slipped her notebook into her purse as she regarded the silverware and cold remnants of food scattered on the plate.

“Where is the teacup?” Eliza asked. “You said he took tea this morning.”

“Below in a thousand pieces,” answered Frost.

“So he was drinking his tea, or holding it, when he fell,” remarked Tuohay. He turned to Frost. “Everything we see here is as it was left?”

“We have moved nothing except the body,” said Frost, “per your request in the telegram.” Frost took off his hat to scratch his head. “Just so you know, I’d appreciate the chance to move on soon. I’ve been here since nearly the crack of dawn, and walked through this once already with the constable.”

“Do not let us keep you,” said Tuohay.

Frost chuckled. “Nice try, inspector. I stay for as long as you stay.”

“Then we shall quicken our pace for your sake.” Tuohay met Eliza’s gaze, who nodded in return. They returned to the relative warmth of the study, Eliza pulling her notepad out again. She approached the desk, making note of its sparse contents: a quill pen, a half-full bottle of ink, a blank slate of paper, a worn bible, and a glass ashtray the color of caramel. The ink and pen were to the left of the paper, beside which rested the bible and the empty ashtray.

From there the partners split paths, Eliza to the right towards the grandfather clock, Tuohay to the left in the direction of the fireplace. The pair slowly circled the room in opposite directions, ignoring each other as they crossed paths. Eliza had her pad out and was sketching rapidly, occasionally taking a small knife to sharpen the lead. She was careful to catch the shavings and place them into her pocket.

Frost watched them through the haze of his newly restocked pipe, and finishing that, another. The constable left with Frost’s permission as the Boston inspector was stacking his pipe for a third go, the air growing thick with the scent of tobacco.

As Tuohay reached the grandfather clock for a second time he spent a few moments in silent contemplation before turning back towards the room. “What time is our return train?”

“Two forty-five,” Eliza replied, looking up from her notes.

“Thirty minutes,” Tuohay murmured to himself. “How long was the walk here from the train station?”

“Fifteen minutes,” said Eliza. “Yes, good point.”

Frost muttered something under his breath about missing lunch, and Tuohay exchanged glances with Eliza. “Shall we move on, then?”

Eliza nodded. “I am ready.”

“Finally,” Frost declared with relief, tapping the remnants of his pipe into the ashtray on the desk. As they exited the study, he turned to Eliza. “Did you enjoy yourself, miss?”

“How so?”

“Playing copper.” He winked roughly. “Looking for dark and dirty deeds, and all that.”

“I thought this event was a mere accident. Nothing dark or dirty about it, is there?”

“You know my meaning,” he replied sourly.

“Right,” was her flat response, “I think I get the gist.” They walked on in silence, Frost grinding his pipe with his teeth.

Emerging into the fresh air, Tuohay stopped short only moments after exiting. He held his top hat against a sudden gust of wind. “Inspector Frost, if you do not mind—I would like to take a quick sojourn over to where Father Donnelly’s body was found.”

Eliza leaned against Tuohay and whispered into his ear. “The train, Jack.”

“We have time.”

“No, I do not believe so.”

Tuohay cast her a puzzled look. “I need to see the courtyard, Eliza. It will be fine.”

Frost was already heading towards the back. “This way, Tuohay.”

Tuohay flashed a quick glance at Eliza as he followed, who rolled her eyes. At a second glance from Tuohay, she cried out and stumbled awkwardly. “My foot!” She sat down on the steps of the rectory, rubbing her ankle.

Frost halted at the corner. “What is it, Miss Eliza?” 

“I turned my ankle on these cobblestones. It’s these damn shoes.” The pout in her voice drew Frost to her in a few quick strides. “I think it’s twisted rather badly.”

Frost took a knee. “Here, let me have a look. I’m no stranger to injuries.” His inspection in full swing, Frost barely noticed Tuohay as he disappeared around the side of the house.

Frost wrapped his hands around Eliza’s ankle, his cold thumbs stroking her ankles and calf. “Does this help, Miss Eliza?”

Eliza smiled weakly, “Yeah, it’s really working wonders.” She turned away from him and bit her lip to keep from gnashing her teeth.

*

Tuohay and Eliza walked along the shoreline in the calming presence of the thrumming waves, Tuohay’s cane sticking in the cold sand as they went. Close by, the town road arched at an elbow to meet the beach, and the train station was just visible beyond the first cluster of cottages. The two strollers watched as the tide slowly rolled in, the furrows in the sand made sleek by the cold rumble of hissing seawater.

“It is a question of ironing out the wrinkles,” said Tuohay, indicating the retreating water as it smoothed out the sand. “A smooth surface hides no hills.” The tip of an exposed seashell completed the analogy.

“Frost was trying hard to smooth
something
out,” said Eliza. “For nearly
ten minutes
, Jack. You owe me.”