SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3) (11 page)

CHAPTER 18 – HOLY BURGLARY

As planned, I met Isabella just after noon the next day and she escorted me to Father Zapo’s room at the rectory. It was down a long hall at the rear of the ground floor. We passed a small library and a kitchen that smelled of cabbage.

Zapo’s door was indeed locked.

“You would think people trusted each other in a rectory,” I said.

“It’s the kids,” Bella said. “It’s a real problem. But how will you get in?”

I opened a small leather case I carried for just such a situation. A moment later, after inserting one of the tools of my trade, I heard a satisfactory click.

“The benefits of a misspent adulthood,” I said as the door swung open.

The priest’s room was larger than I expected, but colorless, furnished in Early American Goodwill. The single bed, neatly made, had a reading lamp clipped awkwardly to one of its metal posts. At the foot of the bed was an old footlocker that I suspected had been Zapotoski’s during his career in the Polish military. A chest of drawers stood next to the wall near the door and there was a night table on the other side of the bed. A beat-up lounger faced a small 19-inch TV on top of a small wicker stand in one corner of the room. If anything matched, it was by accident. There were two windows, between which was a small writing desk with a green-shaded banker’s lamp, pens and an old laptop. There was an open closet filled with clerical garb, as well as some “civilian” clothing: shoes, jackets and pants. The wooden floor was partially covered with two small area rugs, one brown; the other, browner. A door led to a small bathroom with a stall shower.

“It looks like he takes his vow of poverty seriously,” I said. “Where does the Monsignor sleep?”

“His suite is on the second floor,” Bella said. “She emphasized the word ‘suite’.”

We both heard the phone ring at the front desk.

“I’d better get back there,” she said.

“Don’t worry, Bella. This won’t take long.”

It didn’t. I’d done enough room searches to know where to look. Of course, an ex-intelligence officer might have a few obscure cubbyholes up his sleeve, but considering that Father Zapo had broadcast his investigation on everything but Facebook – at least I assumed he didn’t do that – I was pretty sure anything to be found would be in plain sight. Still, I was thorough. I looked under the bed, under the pillows, in the lamps, opened the bathroom cabinet and the back of the toilet. Nothing. I opened every drawer. Going through a priest’s underwear was a first for me. I checked all his other clothes. The only thing of note that I found was his cell phone, in an inside pocket of a jacket hanging in the closet. I opened it. It was dead. Without hesitating, I put it in my own pocket.

I went to the writing desk and rifled through the paperwork on top and in the single center drawer. Innocuous and religious. I opened the laptop, an old Dell, and booted it up. While I waited, I noticed the cell phone charger. I unplugged it and also put it in my pocket. When the laptop was booted, I opened up a MY DOCUMENTS folder. In it were perhaps 50 WORD docs, neatly arranged in three subfolders: FINANCES, RESEARCH and SERMONS. Everything was in English. I know kindergarteners who have 10 times as many folders and WORD files.

I had hopes for the RESEARCH folder but went through the other two first, on the assumption that an elderly man might accidentally drop a document in the wrong folder. It was an ageist assumption. Abby delighted in pointing out that I occasionally made the same mistake. I read every document in those folders, and found out that Father Zapo, not surprisingly, was poorer than a church mouse. But he could write a hell of a sermon.

  I opened the RESEARCH folder. And was disappointed. It had the most documents, and all were related to Zapo’s “investigation.” But there was nothing there that he hadn’t already told me. No smoking chalice.

I checked the laptop’s recycle bin. It was empty. That was a bit unusual. Most people don’t empty their recycle bin unless it becomes too full. Father Zapo didn’t strike me as the type of computer user who had a lot to discard.

Isabella stuck her head in the door.

“The Monsignor just called. The Rotary meeting broke up early. He wanted to know if he could bring in a deli sandwich for me. He’s nice like that. I ordered one to stall him but he’ll be here in a half hour, maybe less.”

“What did you order?”

“Tuna on …. What the hell difference does it make!” She saw me smiling. “You’re impossible!”

“I’m almost done. But, listen, did Father Zapo have an email account? I can’t find one on this laptop.”

“No, I don’t think so. He used the house email, if at all. And then only for church business. Monsignor is very strict about computer use, ever since some kids snuck in and went on some raunchy sites.”

“Raunchy?”

“Hard-core porn.”

“Learn anything?”

She laughed.

“I was there when Imogene opened up some of the stuff they downloaded. I thought I would have to give her CPR.”

“That alone would qualify as porn.”

“Please, just hurry.”

But she was still laughing as she went down the hall.

I opened up an internet connection and checked recently visited sites. There were none. I also found that strange. I knew Father Zapo had searched the web to come up with some of the material he gave me. Of course, he might have used another computer in the rectory, or perhaps in a library. But I couldn’t ignore the possibility that someone had wiped his laptop. 

I heard murmuring from down the hall. I stuck my head out the door. Monsignor Barilla and Miss Bulger, deep in conversation, were both headed my way. I assumed the College of Cardinals might show up next so I quietly locked the door and ran to a window, scooping up the laptop. Luckily, the window opened easily and silently. I dropped to the pavement of the rear parking lot, praying that no one was watching. I could see myself explaining to the cops why I was climbing out of a rectory window with a comatose priest’s laptop and cell phone.

As I drove away, I reflected on another first: I’d just burgled a rectory.

“Forget purgatory,” I said aloud. “I’m going to hell.”

CHAPTER 19 – CHILD’S PLAY

Sacrilege apparently stimulates the appetite. I was starving. But I wanted to have an expert look at the laptop. Killing two birds with one stone is a specialty of mine, so I drove to Wagner College on Grymes Hill. Twenty minutes later I was in Dave Clapper’s office in Ithan Hall, the school’s new administration building. Dave is the Chief of Staff for the college and he works directly for Spenser Bradley, the school’s Wagner’s president, whose office is a few feet away.

Dave used to run the Coast Guard base on Staten Island before retiring to a life of academia to work on another pension. A no-nonsense type who never puts up with bullshit and posturing, he was, naturally, despised by many professors and beloved by most students. After my final tour in Afghanistan, I had rehabbed various wounds at the Coast Guard base and when he moved over to Wagner he gave me full gym privileges to complete my recovery. Then, I did a huge favor for him and President Bradley by running a drug-dealing, sexually predatory professor named Pierce Lancaster out of town, saving the school huge embarrassment. The fact that Lancaster had his sights set on Alice Watts was a bonus. In any event, my temporary privileges were extended to a free lifetime membership. At the time, Dave said it was a no-brainer, because they didn’t expect me to live very long.

“What’s on the laptop?”

“Hardly anything,” I said. “I thought one of your whiz kids might be able to look it over and see if I missed something. I must have skipped the
Windows for Dummies
chapter on how to access permanently deleted files on a PC.”

“You watch too much N.C.I.S., Alt.”

“Great show.”

“Will there be anything a kid shouldn’t see?”

“A college kid? Be serious.”

“I don’t mean porn. I mean anything illegal.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not go to the cops.”

“I stole the laptop from a church. I’m hoping to get it back before it’s missed.”

“Perhaps we should keep that between ourselves.”

He picked up his phone and 10 minutes later a gangly, long-haired kid wearing ripped jeans and a sweatshirt walked through the door.

“Brendan hacked into the school computer last semester, looking for tests.”

“I was just foolin’ around, Commander. Just to see if I could do it.”

Everyone on campus called Dave ‘Commander,’ even though he retired as a full captain in the Coast Guard.

Dave ignored him.

“They wanted to expel him, but I hate to see talent wasted. So now he does some odd jobs for me. Protects our computers from other idiots, mostly, as long as he keeps his nose clean.” He handed the laptop to the kid. “I want you to find out what might have been deleted from this.”

“Files and internet searches, especially,” I said. “How long?”

He opened the laptop and booted it. After hitting some keys and checking some drives, he said, “Child’s play. Half hour, max.”

  “Good,” Dave said. “You can sit at my desk.” He looked at me. “Let’s head over to the Bear’s Den, Alton. I could use a cup of coffee. Brendan, try not to steal anything while we’re gone.”

“Aww, Commander.”

Like most colleges and universities, Wagner had several modern dining halls offering menus that Caligula’s chef would have had a hard time matching. The Bear’s Den wasn’t one of them. Located in the basement of the old administration building, it was a holdover from the days of caffeine and cholesterol, famous for its multilayered Grizzly Burgers, known by students as “Gristle Burgers.” The place was jammed. In the land of blind health conformity, the one-pound burger is king.

“How’s Alice, Alt?”

“Fine,” I mumbled through a mouthful of burger. Dave was nursing a black coffee.

“And you? Big Dom says you haven’t been yourself at the gym.”

Dom DeRenzi is Wagner’s Athletic Director, who, despite being married three times, believes he an expert on matters of the heart.

I shrugged, not the easiest thing to do when holding something dripping like a severed jugular.

“Going to visit her?”

“When she’s ready for a visit. She deserves some time to herself.”

Dave is a good guy. He let it drop. I really didn’t want to talk about Alice. It was tough enough being on campus, where I first met her. And where, later, I found out that she could be the one.

When we got back to Dave’s office, we found Brendan asleep in a chair, feet up on the desk.

“They can sleep on a picket fence,” Dave said, slapping the kid’s sneakers.

“Got some stuff,” Brendan said sitting up, instantly awake. “Figured you wanted to see them.” He handed Dave several sheets of paper, which he passed on to me. “Only computer I ever gashed that didn’t have a zillion porn websites cached away somewhere on its hard drive. In fact, it didn’t have many files or sites deleted. Basically just those I printed out. Considering how ancient it is, my guess it’s a factory refurbish, with the old hard drive wiped clean, or maybe a new one installed.”

That made sense. Like his cell phone, Father Zapo’s computer was probably a retread or hand-me-down.

“Can you tell when the files and sites were erased?”

Brendan gave me a “what century were you born in” look.

“I wrote it down on the top of the first page,” he said. “Everything was shit-canned yesterday.”

I looked at the sheet. Last night. When Father Zapo was tethered to machines in the hospital. I thanked the kid and slipped him $40, all I had on me, as I walked him to the door. He didn’t want to take it.

“Bail money,” I said. “For when you hack a Pentagon computer.”

He put it in his pocket, laughing.

I went back to Dave’s desk.

“I know that look,” he said.

“Yeah. A clue just walked up and bit me on the ass.”

I pulled up a chair and started to read the printouts. Before I got very far, my cell phone buzzed.

It was Dr. Gallo from Richmond Memorial.

Father Zapo had regained consciousness and asked for me.

CHAPTER 20 – MARYKNOLLS

When I got to I.C.U., Monsignor Barilla was huddling with Dr. Gallo. Isabella Donner stood apart from the two men, looking distraught. I went up to her. She was wearing jogging clothes. For the first time I noticed how athletic she looked.

“How is he doing?”

“He’s drifting in and out of consciousness,” she said. “We got here just as fast as we could when Dr. Gallo called but he had slipped away again.”

I patted her arm and walked over to the others. They turned at my approach. Barilla looked like he was annoyed to see me.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Rhode?” he asked.

“I called him,” Gallo interjected. “Father Zapo asked for him by name. Frankly, I’m stunned.  He must have a will of iron. But he’s very weak and his vitals are morgue worthy.” He looked at me. “I’m glad you didn’t waste any time getting here.”

“Did he say anything, Doc?”

“Nothing I could understand, Mr. Rhode. Then he went out again.”

“Wode!”

We all turned at the sound. The old priest was awake and struggling to sit up. Some of the machines he was tethered to started chirping excitedly. He stared right at me.

“Wode!”

“Nurse!”

Gallo and a nurse who ran over gently pushed the priest down as I leaned over him.

“I’m here, Father. What did you want to tell me?”

“This is not the time, Rhode.” It was Barilla. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“Back off, padre,” I said harshly. “Time is what we don’t have.”

I leaned down.

“Mary knows!”

The stroke had obviously affected his speech. With one side of his mouth useless, the words were distorted.

“I didn’t get that.” I said, “Did either of you?”

“Mary knows!”

“Mary knows what, Father?”

He became more agitated. The effort to speak more clearly was exhausting him.

“Knows! Mary knows!”

I looked at the others. They all shook their heads. Suddenly Father Zapo let out a gurgle. His face lost all expression and his eyes roiled back in his head. The machine alarms were now in symphony. His grip on my arm suddenly relaxed and he fell back against his pillow. The doctor and nurse elbowed me away from the bed.

“Wait outside,” Gallo barked.

We stood in the hallway. With a “Do Not Resuscitate” on Father Zapotoski’s chart, we didn’t have to wait long.

Gallo came out.

“He’s gone.”

“Oh, no,” Isabella said, and began to cry. Barilla put his arm around her.

“I know you and he were close, Miss Donner,” he said gently. “It was a blessing you were here at the end. He really had no one else.”

“The poor man,” she said. “The poor sweet man.” She looked at us. “Does anyone have a tissue? I must look a sight. I didn’t even have time to change.” None of us had one but she quickly said, “Don’t worry, I saw a ladies’ room down the hall. I’ll only be a moment.”

She walked away and Barilla turned on me.

“I begged you not to excite him.”

“Don’t blame him, Monsignor,” Gallo said. “Medically, it wouldn’t have made any difference. He was determined to say something to Rhode. That was possibly the only thing keeping him going this long.”

Barilla looked at me.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rhode. This is very upsetting.”

“Forget it. But what was that other thing he was saying? Mary Knows? Do you have any idea what that means?”

Isabella rejoined us. She was no longer crying.

“I don’t think that was it,” Barilla said. “It was ‘Maryknolls.’ It’s a religious order of sisters that does wonderful work in the third world. Father Zapotoski spent years in the missions. Africa, the Pacific. We sometimes forget what a dedicated priest he was. At least I sometimes forgot. He was probably remembering his time with them. Well, I’m sure he will be seeing some of them in heaven.” He turned to the doctor. “I would like to give him the last rites, and say a few prayers over him.”

“Of course, Monsignor. Let me tell the nurses.”

“Miss Donner,” Barilla said, “I have to stay here a while. The parish and diocese will, of course, handle all the final arrangements. Can you go back to the rectory and tell Imogene what’s happened. Perhaps you can help her make some phone calls to people who might want to know. And tell her to start on Father’s obituary for the paper.”

“Of course I will, Monsignor.”

He looked at me.

“Mr. Rhode, Isabella came with me in my car. Would you be so kind and take her back to the parish.”

Before we left, Gallo pulled me aside.

“It will be a couple of days before I have anything definitive from the lab,” he said.

***

On the drive to Our Lady of Solace, Bella asked me if I could stop by her home so she could freshen up and change into something more appropriate for work.

“It’s only two blocks from the rectory,” she said.

When we got to her house, a neat two-story Cape, she asked me in. I said I had some calls to make and would wait in the car. Isabella came out 15 minutes later, wearing a grey skirt, white blouse and black jacket. She had brushed her hair and put on a touch of makeup. She looked very attractive and I said so.

“It’s hard to look good in a sweat suit,” she said.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You looked pretty terrific in that as well, Bella.”

She smiled at me and I suddenly realized that there was a sexual vibration between us. Jesus. I changed the subject quickly, asking her if she knew of anyone who had been in Father Zapo’s room after he went into the hospital.

“There are people in and out of the rectory all the time. But, again, his door is locked.”

“I got in.”

“I don’t think everyone has your skill set, Alton.”

When we got to the rectory, Bella turned to me and said, “By the way, how did you get out of here yesterday? I almost had a stroke myself when the Monsignor and Imogene walked down the hall. They told me they were going into Father Zapo’s room to get his missal to bring back to the hospital.”

“The window. I’m glad I was on the first floor.”

She shook her head. I didn’t tell her about the computer and cell phone. I’d already made her more of an accomplice than I wanted. Of course, I might need her help returning the items, which apparently had not yet been missed.

But I didn’t want her worrying about it. I said goodbye and then went home. I showered, shaved and went to sleep. This time, I didn’t need the help of the Senate.