CHAPTER 28

 

8:45 a.m., Friday, April 14

The Tenth Precinct headquarters is situated in the middle of the block on 20^th Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. Nobody knows for sure how old the building is, but it is generally considered a safe bet that it pre-dates the turn of the century. At first glance, it appears to be just another apartment building, sandwiched in between two others. However, upon further inspection, its large double doors and twin globe lights that illuminate its entrance give it away for what it is—a police station. Davis shuffled up the ancient metal stairs to his office on the second floor. The day was warming quickly, and he removed his heavy topcoat before signing in on the movement sheet. It was about nine when he decided to phone St. Jude.

Margaret Flynn, the seventy-eight-year old housekeeper, answered the phone on the fifth ring. Except for being a little hard of hearing, she was as spry as the day she left her native Ireland to come to America, almost sixty years ago. She had been employed by the church ever since.

“It’s for you, Father Pete,” she shouted from the large, white-tiled kitchen, adjacent to the head priest’s study.

Richter put down the latest copy of Golf Magazine and picked up the extension. He waited for the click, which signaled that Margaret had hung up, then spoke clearly into the phone. “Hello, this is Father Richter.”

“It’s Matt Davis, Father Pete,” said the detective, remembering the priest’s request for informality. “I was wondering—” he hesitated briefly, carefully phrasing his request “—I was wondering if it would be possible to find out who was hearing Confession last Friday afternoon?”

The silence on the other end of the line was palpable.

“I really need to know,” he said, quite forcefully. He immediately regretted the tone of his voice and his choice of words.

“Well, hello to you, too, Matt,” said Father Richter, as if he had never heard the detective’s question. “And how are you?”

Oh boy, thought Davis, I was right. I pushed too hard. He forced himself to respond. “I’m sorry, Father Pete. I’m fine. And you?”

“Great, Matt. So, what can I help you with?” His voice sounded more relaxed.

“Well, I guess you heard about the McKenzie woman, right?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I did,” replied Father Richter, with a sigh. “In fact, her funeral is tomorrow morning. I didn’t know her very well, though.”

“No, no, I’m sure you didn’t. I understand she hadn’t been to Confession in over ten years.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” answered the priest. “Is that what her husband told you?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Davis. “That’s why it’s so important that I speak with who ever it was that heard her confession. Maybe he can give us some idea of what was troubling her.”

“Well, the funeral mass is at ten tomorrow morning,” replied Father Richter. “And, of course, it is the weekend. Perhaps sometime Monday afternoon; would that be okay?”

Matt sensed some reluctance on the priest’s part, and answered quickly. “Actually, I was hoping for a little sooner. But, I guess Monday would be fine. Do you know who it was, that heard the confession, I mean?”

Father Richter’s voice smiled as he replied. “Well, not right off the top of my head, Matt. I’d have to look at the assignment sheet, talk to the other priests. But, I’ll tell you what: I’ll find out who it was and make sure they’re here when you come by on Monday. Is four o’clock okay?”

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. “Four o’clock will be fine, Father. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, Matt. So long.”