MASS MURDER (41 page)

Of course, there was one other way.
A route that only he and a few living persons knew about
.
The thought had bothered him all week and reminded him of the Snickers Bar he’d snacked on that night and the bitter aftertaste he thought was a bad peanut.

He pulled another mouthful of smoke into his lungs, allowing it to escape slowly, curling up into the night air.

A twig snapped in the thicket of bushes behind him and the crickets’ symphony abruptly ceased.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his breath catching.

He let the cigarette drop to the ground and snuffed it out.
It wouldn’t be good to be caught smoking, even though he wasn’t the only one on the premises who did.
He waved his hand in front of his face to dispel the lingering evidence and then stood up and turned around.

“Anyone there?”

His eyes strained to see in the darkness.
Although it was still nearly a full moon, shadows filled every gap and crevice, making it difficult to distinguish shapes and forms beyond a few feet away
.

“It’s Father O’Leary here, enjoying a few moments alone.
Come and join me.”

A rustle to his right made him jerk in that direction.
Was someone circling him?
Was someone there at all?
Perhaps it was just a rabbit.
There were plenty of the little critters at this time of year.

“Who’s there?
Please.
This isn’t funny.”

His voice cracked
,
and he swallowed a wad of sour tasting saliva.
There was another sound behind him
,
and he whirled around to face the open field that stretched away towards the south.
Nothing.
And still no crickets.
He waited, listening until all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.
Finally, he backed up a few steps.
This was silly.
He was letting his imagination run away with him
. I
t was time to go inside.
There was work to do.
Those books needed ca
taloguing whether the b
ishop arrived this weekend or not.

The trees rustled again
,
and the tips of the rose bushes swayed back and forth in the breeze.
A chill snaked down his spine making him turn again.
Someone was here with him.
He knew it.
He could feel it.
He spun a full 360 degrees until he found a figure standing a few feet away, draped in shadows, yet fully recognizable.

“Oh, it’s you!” Father O’Leary clapped his hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. “You frightened me.
You shouldn’t sneak up on people.
Shame on you.
You don’t want a cigarette, do you?
I’m flat out and I was just thinking of going back inside.”

“Good idea,” the figure replied, “it’s chilly out here.
And you’re not well.”

“Yes, yes,” O’Leary acquiesced, “I agree.
I just couldn’t resist.
You know me.
It’s so lovely out tonight.”

The figure gestured.
“I’ll follow you up.
I want to make sure you get back safely.”

Father O’Leary smiled, feeling a nervous twitch in his gut.
“That’s very kind of you.”

He hesitated before stepping past the other figure, never seeing the arm that swung around to land a crushing blow to the side of his head.
One knee buckled
,
and he reached out for help, grabbing only a handful of cloth as the figure pulled away.

“Please,” Father O’Leary groaned.

His plea was rewarded with a second blow to the crown.
He collapsed sideways onto the rim of the pond, his breath coming in short rasps as something warm begin to run down the side of his face and into his mouth.
Incapacitated, he couldn’t resist when two strong hands grabbed his legs and pulled them onto the ledge.

“Why?” he muttered through blood and spittle.
“Why are you doing this?”

But he knew the answer
,
and before he could resist, the hands gripped the edges of his robes and rolled him into the water, face down.
He struggled
to get his knees underneath him, but the hand found the back of his head and pressed his face to the bottom.
His nose glanced off the mossy stones and panic seized him.
He struggled to pull his head away, but the hand pressed harder, breaking his lips and cracking his teeth against the stones.
Algae and blood flowed into his mouth
,
and he coughed and sputtered before taking a final, large gulp.
The foul tasting water filled his lungs, expanding his chest like a water
balloon.

For a brief moment, he was flying above the wheat fields in
Illinois
where he’d grown up.
Below him he saw his little sister running with her kite through the tall grasses, the family dog chasing after her.
The sky was a brilliant blue, the clouds a starchy white
,
and then there was only darkness.
             

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Giorgio woke to a persistent ringing and turned toward the noise, his pupils bringing the room slowly into focus.
Angie moved underneath the blanket, motivating him to reach for the phone before it woke her completely.

“Hello,” he croaked
.

“Joe,” someone said sharply.
“You’d better get up to the monastery.
There’s been another murder.”

Giorgio sat up.
He recognized Jack Barnes, one of the officers who worked the graveyard shift.
“You’re kidding?” he whispered, rubbing the stubble on his face.

“They just called it in.
One of the monks was found floating in the pond.”

“Jesus.
Which one?” he sighed.

His eyes were fully open now.
It was barely light outside and the elm tree that bordered the house danced gently to a soft breeze.

“Someone named O’Leary.”

Giorgio groaned.
“Okay
,” he exhaled, “I’m on my way.”

H
e approached the duck pond by the flagstone path.
There were no ducks, probably never had been, but still it was a peaceful spot, a grassy spot, a place for quiet contemplation – or a murder.

The morning sun was just rising above the sycamores casting the sky in a warm glaze.
The small body of water sat about two hundred feet down the slope from the southeast corner of the building.
A bank of large Rhododendron and Camilla bushes rimmed the pond along the east side.
Roses along the west.
A stone bench offered the only seating.
The pond wasn’t much larger than a backyard pool, but quite shallow.
Giorgio gazed down on the dark Lily pads that floated on top of the murky green water along with the billowy shape of a brown robe.
He suddenly felt very old.

A group of officers were already processing the crime scene.
Mulhaney stood on the two-foot retaining wall that encircled the pond, legs spread for balance, his camera poised to take aerial shots of the dead priest.
The medical examiner was close by, taking note of the air and water temperature.
An officer contained a gaggle of reporters down by the entrance.
Three murders at a Catholic monastery had put both the town and the retreat center on the media map.

Officer Barnes stood off to one side talking with Father Damian who stared blankly in the direction of the water-logged priest as if this new murder had suddenly turned him to stone.

Giorgio glanced at his watch.
It was only seven o’clock and he hadn’t even had his morning coffee.
He ignored the rumbling in his stomach and approached Barnes.

“What do we know so far?”

“Not much.
Father Daniel found him.
He was out for an early morning jog.”

Giorgio looked over to where the good-looking Father Daniel stood
with the
group of monks openly gawking at the floating image of their fellow Jesuit.
Daniel wore a loose fitting black, nylon running suit with a sweatband around his thick, dark hair.
His expression was placid, the brown eyes calm in stark contrast to the tense anxiety of those around him.

“Disperse the crowd,” Giorgio said tersely.
“But tell Daniel to hang around.
I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
Barnes nodded and moved away while Giorgio stepped in to speak with
the abbot
.
“Any reason, Father Damian, why anyone would want to see Father O’Leary dead?”

Father Damian’s eyes had trouble focusing, but when they did, his expression became guarded.
“Of course not.
I don’t know what’s going on here.
This is a horrible nightmare.
You have no idea.”

“I have far too many ideas, Father,” Giorgio snapped, glancing over to the pond and the liquid figure of Father O’Leary.
“Do you know of any reason why Father O’Leary would have called me yesterday?”

He watched the priest struggle to concentrate before saying, “No.
I can’t think of any reason.”

“We’ll need to talk with every monk, again.”
The abbot
’s eyes seemed to glaze over at this.
“Please tell each monk to go to his room and
this time,
stay there.
I don’t want anyone to leave the premises
,
and I don’t want them talking to each other.
Understand?”

Damian stared at Giorgio for a long moment without moving.
Then he turned rigidly to leave, his shoulders squared and his eyes focused straight ahead.
Giorgio’s gaze came to rest on Father Daniel who watched Giorgio cautiously.
Giorgio found Barnes again.

“Call the station and get some help.
I want every monk interviewed before lunch.”

Barnes rolled his eyes but left for the squad car.
Giorgio pulled out his cell phone and got his brother out of bed.
Rocky swore softly but agreed to come as soon as he could.
Giorgio signed off as Mulhaney approached.

“The victim has a big gash in the side of his head and a hole in the top of it, so I’m guessing he didn’t drown,” he said, trying to smile.
Mulhaney held his camera in front of him like a child he was protecting from the cold.
He hadn’t had time to comb his hair
,
and it stuck out at odd angles
,
accenting the apprehensive look on his face. “What’s going on here, Joe?
How many more murders are we going to have?”