Liturgical Mysteries 01 The Alto Wore Tweed (27 page)

“Why didn’t the bishop come forward with this information?”

“Why would he? The complaint was acted on, the charges of an affair were denied by Loraine and myself, and then the complaining party up and got himself killed before the inquiry.”

“This is just incredible.”

“I guess the note on the organ was to throw another monkey-wrench into the works. I sure never thought that it would point to me though.”

“Well, the convolution worked up to a point. Once we found out the cross was poisoned and figured out the anagram, it made us think that Loraine Ryan was the target when it was Willie all along. The bad thing for the killer is that it kept the case alive for two months when it probably would have disappeared by now. Another case of the incredibly clever criminal being too smart for his or her own britches.”

Rhiza smiled for the first time since she arrived. “So who did it?”

“I’m going to call the bishop, you know, and check your story out.”

“Of course you are. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Then it’s obvious who did it. It was Malcolm.”

I caught her totally surprise.

“Malcolm?! No!”

“All right,” I said, laughing. “I’m just kidding. It was Loraine. She must have seen him playing with that cross on any number of occasions and probably told him to just take it, knowing it would finally end up in his mouth. But Malcolm sure knew about it. Still and all, proving it is going to be something else again.”

It was a stretch and I knew it.

• • •

The Sunday morning before Christmas was usually a big service for the choir and this year was no exception. The Liturgy of the Word, or the first half of the service, was to be the traditional English Lessons and Carols. However, due to the length of the service and the Eucharist that was to follow, the traditional nine lessons had been trimmed to six. The choir had four anthems to sing, along with carol arrangements and service music. Herself, if she was hearing any footsteps behind her, didn’t look nervous or preoccupied in the least. It was a fine service, if I do say so myself. The anthems would have to do double duty on Christmas Eve because rehearsal time was at a premium this time of year. On Christmas Eve, our musical program began at 10:30 followed by the Christmas Mass at 11:00.

• • •

On Monday I went shopping. I usually waited till Christmas Eve to do my shopping, but this year, it looked like Christmas Eve was going to be busier than usual.

I went into Boone to pick up the presents I’d found for the McCollough kids. For Bud, a bottle of Deloach Reserve Estate and a Ravenswood Mendocino, two Zinfandels that would age nicely in the next five or six years. Then a good looking first baseman’s mitt, a couple of baseballs and the
Lord of the Rings
trilogy, which he said he hadn’t read yet. For Pauli Girl, some doll stuff and some clothes that Meg picked out and had on hold at several dfferent stores. A lot of clothes. And for Moosey, a BMX bike, the Harry Potter books, and a new jacket. I didn’t get Ardine anything. The one time I did, a few years ago, she didn’t know how to act around me for months. So now I just take care of the kids. It’s probably all she wants for Christmas anyway.

I stopped at a little farm on my way up to Boone to check on Megan’s present, a present that I wouldn’t retrieve until Christmas Eve. I also checked in with Dave at the station. Nothing going on. I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening on the Willie Boyd case.

• • •

On Tuesday morning I decided I had puzzled enough. I couldn’t come up with any way to prove that Loraine had killed Willie Boyd. I had gone through a lot of plans that included, but were not limited to:

• Confiscating her computer and looking for undeleted notes that would implicate her—a virtual impossibility. Even if she was stupid enough to leave them on her computer, which I doubted, her office was always open and anyone could have gone in and written them.

• Trying to trick her into confessing—“Yes, I admit it. You tricked me. I’m the one who killed him! If only you weren’t as incredibly smart as you are handsome, I would have gotten away with it.” The chances of this happening were slim and none and slim was out of town.

• Somehow luring her into somehow doing or saying something only the murderer would know, thus hoisting her on her own petard. Although this works on
Matlock
, it’s generally not enough to convict anyone and I had nothing but bad circumstantial evidence. Dead hedgehogs, a reference to a love note that Willie may or may not have written and a clue that didn’t actually point to the murderer.

I had to go with plan B.

Chapter 20

I put a call though to the Bishop from my cell phone—first routing it through the St. Germaine police department to give it the appropriate caller ID—while sitting in my truck directly outside the Bishop’s diocesan office at about 11:00 on Tuesday, December twenty-third. I got his secretary. Bishop Douglas’ office was a good three hour drive from St. Germaine, but I had found out he was still in town and had left early, enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the road.

“I’m sorry Mr. Konig. Bishop Douglas is out of the office until January the twenty-second.”

“That’s quite a little vacation.”

She sniffed. “The Bishop works very hard as I’m sure you know.”

“I’m sure he does. Do you have his home number?”

“He prefers not to be disturbed.”

“This is
Detective
Konig of the St. Germaine police department. I’m calling in regard to a homicide investigation and I would like a return phone call from Bishop Douglas within the next five minutes or I’m coming down there with a warrant, confiscate his computer, and take his offiapart. Now, do you need my number?”

“No, it’s on the caller ID.”

“Thank you. I’ll expect his call shortly.”

I opened the coffee that I’d picked up at Starbucks and waited for the return call while I listened to the Mendelssohn
Christus
. It was his unfinished oratorio, but the Christmas choruses were wonderful. I was about halfway through
There Shall A Star From Jacob Come Forth
when the phone call rang and I answered.

“Hayden. It’s Dave. He’s on the line.”

“Go ahead and put him through.”

I listened and heard “He’s right here. Just a moment.” Then I came on.

“Hello, George. I’d like to meet with you. Today.”

“I’m sorry, Hayden, I’m not available today. Perhaps you could make an appointment with Frances.”

“Are you at your house?”

“Why, yes I am, but...”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, George. I have come into some information about Willie Boyd’s murder. This information concerns you and I think you’d better meet with me or my next call is to the Presiding Bishop’s Office, followed by the office of the Council of Bishops. And I can pretty much guarantee that the newspapers won’t be far down the line.”

“Why don’t we meet, Hayden? I can see you at about four.”

“That’ll be fine. I can’t even leave St. Germaine for another hour,” I said, hanging up.

• • •

It wasn’t a long wait. The Bishop showed up in about fifteen minutes. I gave him about three minutes—just enough time to fire up his computer—then I followed him into the office.

“Hi, Frances, the Bishop in?” I asked as I pushed past her, opened the door and found him hunched over his keyboard typing in his password.

“It seems my timing is impeccable,” I said, putting my coffee down on his desk and pulling his chair back away from the keyboard. “A warrant will be here shortly but we don’t need you to take anything off the computer that might pertain to this investigation.” I was lying about the warrant.

“You can’t—you won’t—” he sputtered, standing in indignation.

“Just sit down, George. It’s time for us to have a talk. Or rather for me to talk. You can just listen, if you like.”

• • •

“I know that Loraine Ryan killed Willie Boyd. I also know that you not only knew that, but did not come forth with this information.”

“Priest and penitent privilege,” he ventured, still rattled/font>

“Are you saying that Loraine confessed to this murder to you? It hardly seems like something she’d do.”

“I’m prepared to say that she did.”

“You’re prepared to say that she confessed to the murder?”

“No...What I mean is...that, well, if she
did
confess to the murder, which I’m not saying she did, then I couldn’t tell you about it. So I’m not. Telling you, that is.”

Matlock’s got nothing on yours truly. But it wasn’t information I could use and I knew it. I gave him a minute to get his thoughts back on track.

“She didn’t confess, did she?”

He sighed. “No. No, she didn’t.”

“But you knew.”

“Not for sure. I didn’t know for sure. She’s my first female appointment and I needed her to be good. Not just good—great. I thought she was golden. She was great in seminary, but she’s been nothing but trouble. That ReImagining Conference was awful. I’ve never heard of such things.”

“You
did
know about the sex.”

“Willie Boyd called me. But I couldn’t take the word of a drunken janitor over a priest, a senior warden and his wife.”

“You never asked the right questions. And you sure didn’t follow up on it.” I was beginning to feel sorry for him. “When Willie was killed, you should have looked a lot harder. You knew she had something to do with it.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, his right hand holding tightly to the cross around his neck. I sat back and took a sip of the coffee.

“Look here, George,” I continued, not unkindly. “You know as well as I do that she
cannot
stay at St. Barnabas, but more than that, you can’t even let her remain a priest.”

He opened his eyes and looked out the window at nothing in particular, his eyes unfocused.

“Rhiza Walker is ready and willing to testify concerning Loraine Ryan’s ‘sexual healing’ practices with herself and her husband in Loraine’s private counseling sessions. That is out of bounds in every conceivable way and she should be defrocked. I’m not going to arrest her for murder—quite frankly I don’t have enough evidence—but she has to go. Today. You have all the evidence that you need for a hearing if she insists on one, but I suspect she won’t. Make no mistake—if she remains in the priesthood, I will go to the council of Bishops and lay this out before them, including your part in all this.”

“What about Willie Boyd? This is something I’ll carry with me to my grave.”

“Pray for forgiveness, George. If it’s any consolation to you, Willie had less than six months to live anyway. He had a bad heart.”

“It’s no consolation. That man’s life is on my head.” He looked ten years older.

“You announced that you were planning to stay another year before you retired. I suggest that you take your pension and retire now...for health reasons.”

He nodded.

“I expect that Loraine Ryan will be gone by the time I get back to St. Germaine.”

“I expect she will.”

“Merry Christmas, George.”

He didn’t answer. His eyes closed again and his hand was clutching the cross around his neck. His lips were moving silently.

“You can erase your computer disk now if you want.”

• • •

I got to the courthouse in Asheville at about 2:00 in the afternoon. It took almost an hour to find what I was searching for. With the document firmly in hand, I headed for home. It was a day well spent.

Chapter 21

Christmas Eve

I had called Tony Brown, our retired priest, on the way back from my meeting with the bishop and filled him in on the goings on. He agreed to be the celebrant for the Christmas Eve service since he was planning on being there anyway. Past that, he had no plans to return, even on a part-time basis, but indicated that he might fill in on occasion until we found a new priest.

I never saw Loraine Ryan leave. Nor did anyone else I talked to. I didn’t get up to the church to practice until Wednesday night and by then her office was cleaned out and she was gone. Marilyn was off for the afternoon and didn’t know Loraine was gone until Thursday morning. Christmas Eve was always a half-day for the staff and was generally taken up with opening various gifts which were brought in by the parishioners and other staff members.

I filled Dave, Nancy, and Meg in on the case when I returned to town, but cautioned them not to say anything. We’d just let it go, but leave the case file open—the unsolved murder at St. Barnabas. Rhiza informed me later that day that she and Malcolm had decided to separate, but were going to try to work things out. She was going to try one of the Baptist churches in Boone for a while—mainly because she found out that they had installed some tanning beds in their family life center.