CHAPTER 12
St. Jude’s occupied an edifice that was a throwback to the Middle Ages: four large spires towered into the air, gargoyles and detailed busts of saints, devils, and angels were on every surface, and stained glass windows threw off broken reflections of the passing traffic and surrounding buildings. Davis was familiar with the church, but only from the outside. He was a Catholic, but in name only, and not at all like Valerie, who was an Episcopalian, worshipping regularly and participating in fundraisers, bazaars, and support groups.
Father Peter Richter was tall and athletic looking, with a touch of gray in his well-groomed hair. He greeted the two detectives with a smile and a firm handshake. Davis liked him instantly. He wished they were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Father Pete,” said the priest. “It’s what my parishioners call me, and I really prefer it.”
Davis thought back to the archbishop and his similar call for familiarity. “No problem,” he answered. “Call me Matt, okay?”
Father Pete nodded.
Davis said, “This is Chris Freitag.”
“You can call me Detective Freitag,” joked Chris. All three men laughed, breaking the awkwardness of the moment.
“Well, can I get you fellows a cup of coffee…or perhaps some tea?”
“No thanks, Father Pete,” answered Freitag. “We’re running kind of behind.” Then, he looked anxiously at Davis, aware that he may have stepped on his partner’s toes.
“Maybe some other time, okay?” said Davis.
Father Richter smiled. “Right. How can I help you?”
Davis got right to the point, sparing no detail in describing the most recent murder. Reluctantly, he also revealed that this was the second such murder to occur in the same parish.
“How well did you know them?” asked Matt.
Richter reflected on the question. “Not particularly well. Neither woman was a regular at mass—mostly on holidays, that sort of thing.”
“Of course,” replied Davis. “If you knew anything more, you’d tell us though, wouldn’t you?”
“If you’re referring to something they might have confided to me about, like a confession or something—” here Richter hesitated. “I’d have to think about it. It’s a very delicate subject with the church. In fact, once I...well, you understand.”
“Absolutely,” replied Matt. “Anyway, it looks as if the killer has some kind of obsession with religion, or at least that’s how it looks right now. We were figuring he might possibly be...well...a member of your church. What do you think?”
Father Richter rubbed his hands together. “I guess anything’s possible. But, I really can’t think of anyone. I mean, I’m certainly willing to try, but—”
“Well,” replied Davis, “if you think of anyone at all in the parish who might be—let’s say, you know—behaving a little odd, please call me right away.” He handed the priest his card. “I’ve asked the archbishop to get me a list of anybody connected with the church who might have had a gripe or a problem.”
“Is there anybody who comes to mind?” asked Chris, “somebody you can think of who might be capable of doing something like this?”
A deep sigh escaped the priest’s lips, and he closed his eyes. Then, he opened them and looked hard into the eyes of both detectives. “There is the basic problem, of course, that we’ve already alluded to.”
Davis had been dreading this subject.
“You mean the confidentiality issue?”
“Yes,” answered the priest.
Davis was prepared with an answer.
“I’m not asking for anything specific necessarily. Just a name – a place to start.”
“Yes, I know” replied Father Richter. But, his voice appeared to betray his true feelings.
“I can do my own snooping around after that, okay?” said Davis. He and Freitag glanced nervously back and forth at one another. Working with clergy always presented problems. In this case, however, it was imperative that any objections be overcome.
“Okay, what do you say we try it something like this,” began Davis. “Let’s suppose we just talk in generalities. You know, suppose a Mr. X comes in to Confession, and just happens to mention that he had impure thoughts about Sister Margaret... or… whatever. You get the picture, right?”
Father Richter smiled and nodded. “In other words, you want to know if I’ve had any unusual confessions lately. Is that it?”
“Yeah,” answered Davis. “Something like that.”
“At least we’d know if we’re in the right pew,” joked Freitag, making no effort to hide his amusement at the humor he had created.
Davis flinched and flashed his partner a look that said, not now, asshole!
“I’m sorry, Matt. I only hear confessions when one of the other priests is out sick, and I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything unusual lately, except for the man who admitted he hated Mick Jagger.”
Matt looked puzzled, not quite sure what the reference to the rock star was all about.
He wanted to know if that was a sin,” said Father Richter. “You know, hating Mr. Jagger.”
“And?” queried Davis.
“I told him that he probably didn’t really hate him – just his music.”
Everybody laughed, and just like that the tension was broken.
“Listen, Father Pete, if I come up with any theories, I’d like to stop by and pick your brain, okay? You know—sort of run the whole religious thing by you.”
“Absolutely,” replied the priest. “Perhaps then you’ll join me in a cup of coffee, and we’ll see what we can accomplish.”
“Good,” answered Matt. “I’ll look forward to it.”
He genuinely liked the man and anticipated their next meeting.
“Oh, Father Pete,” he said. “There is one other thing.”
“Yes?” asked the priest. “What’s that?”
Matt smiled sheepishly. “If it’s not too much trouble—well—I’m kind of a hot chocolate guy. You know,” he blushed. “I mean—instead of coffee.”
The priest smiled warmly. “No problem at all, Matt. I’ll make sure I have some on hand.”
The two detectives said their good byes and headed out of the rectory. They had to make a stop at the ME’s office, and Davis wasn’t thrilled at the prospect.