Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (17 page)

There was nothing I could do for him. I turned and ran from the sanctuary and through the garden to the parish house.

Mary looked up. “He's not here."

I'm sure she meant Edward. “I need to call the police."

"An accident with your car?"

Since I'd already dialed the local station, a number I've memorized, I didn't answer. No sense repeating my news. “Pete Duggan, please. Tell him it's Katherine Miller."

A few minutes later, I heard his voice. “Officer Duggan."

"Pete, I need you."

"Another body, Mrs. M."

"How did you guess?"

"You're kidding."

"Not one iota. At St. Stephen's. In the sanctuary."

"What happened?” His voice sounded in one ear and Mary's in the other.

"It looks like he fell from the choir loft."

"Roger?” Once again, the question was stereophonic.

"Yes."

"Sit tight. We're on our way.” The phone clicked.

"Katherine, what do you think happened?” Mary asked. “I can't stand the thought of him being dead. He was so wonderful."

"I don't have time to talk. I'm going back to the church and make sure no one disturbs him.” And to retrieve Marcie's jacket. When the police received the report from the hospital, she'd head the list of suspects. And if they found her coat, they'd be sure she killed him.

When Pete and the rest of the team arrived, I stood at the side door. The overhang protected me from the misting rain. Pete took my arm. “Lead the way, Mrs. M."

We reached the sanctuary door and he paused. He glanced into the changing room. “Wait here and don't move unless I tell you to."

"I'll be good, Officer."

He rolled his eyes. “Right. You attract murders like a metal pole draws lightning. Like I said, stay put. One body is enough."

From my position in the chair facing the door, my view of the sanctuary was limited. The deep voices of the policemen rumbled but the acoustics that are so wonderful for music blurred their words. What had happened in the hour since I'd taken Marcie home and my return? How could I protect the girl?

A dozen times I checked my watch and saw the hands had barely moved. I used the time to decide what I wouldn't say.

Pete strode into the room. He held an evidence bag. “Do you recognize this?” The bag held a blue scarf."

"It looks like Beth's."

"It is hers. Has her initials."

"Where did you find it?"

"In the choir loft on the floor near the organ. Looks like someone tried to remove the initials. It's torn where they are. Any idea how it got here?"

"No."

"Was she here today?"

"How would I know? I just arrived before I called you. What's wrong with you?"

He sat on the other chair. “You know that she invited me to that party to spite him. Maybe they made up their quarrel."

"And she pushed him over the balcony because she was so happy. I don't think so. When do you think this happened?"

He shrugged. “Don't know. Won't until the results of the autopsy are in."

I leaned forward. “Roger was charming and a master of manipulation. He had a great ability to fool people but once a person saw the real man, they couldn't be fooled again. Beth's not dumb."

"Are you sure?"

"I know he called her and had the nerve to ask to borrow her car and for an invitation to dinner. She turned him down because she knew he was using her. There are things —” How could I tell him what I'd learned today without involving Marcie?

He nodded. “Beth told me about his call. I want to believe her, but there's this.” He groaned. “She'll have to be questioned by someone else."

"What now?"

"I'll need a statement from you. Begin with why you were here and what time you arrived."

"I came to see Roger, and it must have been around four when I arrived. Not more than ten or fifteen minutes before I called you."

"Why did you want to see him? Thought the Evensong was your last hurrah."

My thoughts scrambled and I sifted through the things I wasn't ready to reveal. “To tell him to back away from the Simpsons. Frankly, I'm worried about them."

He shook his head. “We'll get back to them later. Start with your arrival here, and details, please."

"I parked at the curb and walked to the side door. When I opened it, the stray cat that hangs around the church flew out the door.” I paused. “That struck me as odd. I don't know how it got inside. Roger's afraid of cats."

"How afraid?"

"Deathly. Every time he comes to the house, I have to send Robespierre over to Maria's. Not that the cat minds. He has a thing for little Carlos."

"Mrs. M, don't stray from the story.” His tone held a warning.

"I went up to the choir room where he has his office. The door was open and the lights were on but he wasn't there. After I checked the music library and the robing room, I headed to the sanctuary. I couldn't see him in the choir loft, but since it was lit, I decided to see if he was working on the organ. Sometimes a stop will stick. I called and walked down the aisle. Then I saw him. I knelt to check his pulse, saw his head and the blood and knew there was nothing I could do. I ran to the parish office and called you."

"And I told you to stay put."

"But someone could have come in or they could have left."

"And you could have been a second corpse. What would Andrew say to that?” He shook his head. “This is my fault for putting you in a detective's role.” He made a face. “All I said was prove those kids weren't burglars."

"Didn't you want me to be your partner?"

"I was joking.” He made a face. “Promise this is your last case."

"Gladly."

"Would you come into the church and sit at the organ bench? Maybe I can get a handle on how it happened."

"Not happily. He removed the back of the bench. Watching him while he played gave me the chills. He threw himself into the music. I've had visions of him falling."

"Then this could have been an accident."

"Anything's possible, but knowing Roger and the way he stirred things —"

He nodded. “After that party and the things that went on, I agree with you. Except, I figured if anyone was offed, Mrs. Simpson would be the victim.” He took my arm. “Let's get this done."

When we entered the sanctuary, I paused and stared at the nave. Memories arose of the day Roger had given me a private concert, and his reaction to the church and the town. Why had things gone so sour? Why hadn't I sensed the flaw in his character?

Pete tugged on my arm. “The body's gone."

"I was just remembering the first time I heard him play the organ here. A private concert. And I was wondering why such a bright moment went wrong."

"So you think he was murdered?"

My breath rushed out. “Maybe, maybe not and I'm not sure it can be proved he was."

A memory flashed into my thoughts. Judith on the walk. Her attempts to catch the stray cat. How she had wanted to bring the animal to choir. Her knowledge of Roger's fear. The look in her eyes.

The cat had been in the church and something told me Judith was responsible. What if I mentioned my theory to Pete? Would he believe me? I followed him up the stairs to the choir loft.

"Would you sit at the organ and pretend to play? Show me how he'd act."

I made my way to the organ bench. My legs felt stiff and I almost bolted. I don't like heights. Pete left the loft.

A moment later, he called, “Show me how he played."

Though I quaked inside, I gave a fair demonstration. I even turned and leaned over the railing as Roger had often done. Except I kept my eyes closed.

Pete returned. “Thanks, my turn.” He sat on the bench and repeated my turning movement. Then he leaned straight back and for I moment I feared he would fall.

He straightened. “The man had guts."

"He once told me he liked to take chances and he had no fear of heights. So what's your verdict?"

"Could have been an accident. I can't see how someone could have pushed him. No room for them to stand in front of him. He was a big man. All our measurements point to him being about mid-bench when he fell."

"So it was an accident?"

He shrugged. “Maybe someone startled him. Slammed the door. Or appeared at the top of the steps and shouted and he reacted and went back too far."

Or a cat suddenly appearing on the organ console and he reacted the way he always did to the appearance of one, I thought.

"It's a tough call. Unless we discover who was here, we may never know what happened. Maybe Mary or Rev. Potter saw someone coming in. They're being questioned now."

Unfortunately cats can't talk. Was there a way to prove my theory was right?

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Pete escorted me to the side door. I heard voices from upstairs. “What's going on?"

"They're checking his desk and his calendar to see if he had any appointments,” Pete said. “Go home."

"Yes, sir."

He shook his head. “Someday your curiosity is going to put you in the soup."

"Probably. See you."

I stepped outside. The misting rain continued and I was glad the temperature wasn't cold enough to freeze.

My day had been long and filled with an abundance of shocks. Though barely six o'clock, I was ready for bed and not dinner at Sarah's. When I got home, I'd call and apologize, but there were things I had to do before I crashed.

Edward stood on the small porch outside his office. “Katherine, whatever will we do? I can just imagine the publicity this will engender."

I crossed the garden and walked up the steps to the porch. “I'm too tired to solve any problems today. I'm going home."

"What did Pete say?"

"Very little."

"What am I going to tell people? The Vestry will expect an explanation and there have already been phone calls from the media."

By media, I suppose he meant the local radio station. “Refer them to the police."

He heaved a sigh. “I've done that. Surely, this was an accident, a tragic accident. I can't bear to think it was anything but that. Katherine, can you imagine the negative publicity? Churches have had more than their share of that lately."

If the full story of Roger's past and his proclivities reached the media, the publicity would be horrible. Not only the local news would feature the story, but with today's voyeuristic journalism it would hit the national media.

"What should we do?"

The whine in his voice rasped my already abraded nerves. “Handle the matter with dignity. I have to go home. This has been a long and exhausting experience.” And he'd only seen the top layer of my day. “It's raining and I'm cold."

"Come inside. A glass of sherry will warm you."

"A glass of sherry will lay me out cold. Then you'd have another body to explain. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Call me early. I'll let you know what the Vestry says.” He reached for the door. “Mary's calling them. We have to meet this evening to discuss this situation. Oh, Katherine, they'll be so disappointed. Will they blame me?"

"Why should they do that?"

"Because I acted hastily and offered him the job."

"But they also heard the other candidates and he outshone them. I remember hearing that."

He nodded. “Whatever will we do about Christmas?"

"I don't know."

"Could you return and head the search committee?"

"Not on a bet.” I left the porch. “Talk to you later."

"I'm sure this was an accident, a tragic accident."

"Maybe, maybe not.” There was no comfort to be had for Edward or me. We both bore some guilt for the situation. Except once Roger had come to St. Stephen's and showed his mastery of the organ, there'd been no other choice.

I walked to my car. Plans formed in my thoughts. I believed I knew what had happened, and in the morning, I'd prove my theory. Catching Roger's killer wasn't my goal. Protecting the innocent was.

Marcie. Once the police learned what Roger had done to her, they would accuse her of at the least startling him and at the worst of his murder. She'd been at the church this afternoon at close to the right time. I wish I could remember if I'd heard the organ before our collision, but all I could remember was her terror and shock.

Beth. Her scarf had been found in the choir loft. Pete knew about the way Roger had used her and how he'd abused their friendship. She might be labeled as a woman scorned, especially it they thought she'd witnessed the scene between Roger and Marcie.

Since the year moved toward the winter solstice, darkness had fallen by the time I started the car. My thoughts were as dark as the night. An answer had to be found before more lives were ruined.

The drive home was a horror for me and probably a nightmare for the drivers in the string of cars behind mine. The misting rain, the moving windshield wipers and the blinding headlights kept me to a crawl and further depressed my spirits.

After I parked the car, I grabbed my umbrella and walked back to Beth's house. I needed to learn why her scarf had been in the choir loft. I refused to suspect her, but I wanted to know where and when she'd worn it last.

When she opened the door, a thrill of fear jolted my spine. Had I suspected the wrong person? She looked gray and drained.

"Are you all right?” We said the same thing at the same time.

"I need to talk to you about something that happened this afternoon."

"Come in. I'm not sure how much sense I'll make. I'm beat."

"What happened?"

"It was one of those days at the hospital. I didn't get home until four thirty."

Relief buckled my knees and I grabbed the door to steady myself. “Where's Robby?"

"At Maria's. He's having dinner there. When I knew I'd have to work late, I called the Simpsons. No one was home. Then I tried for Blanca and she wasn't home either. Maria met Robby at the bus stop."

"Thank heavens. Is that all?"

She headed to the kitchen. “Pete just called. He's tied up with a case. He sounded cold and formal. Is it the case or me?"

"Make some tea. It's not you."