Chapter Twenty

 

 

Friday, June 25

11:00 a.m.

 

He wasn’t surprised to see how many people were there to pay their last respects. Although their paths hadn’t crossed often, Mitch was well aware of the fact that Ben Naismith had been the kind of guy who would give the shirt off his back and the food from his plate to help someone else.

Mitch placed the plaid blanket alongside the piles and piles of contributions people had brought in tribute. Even now Ben was helping others. The donations were going to be given to a homeless shelter on Ben’s behalf, a selfless gesture in honor of a selfless man.

Mitch took a seat in one of the center pews and waited for the service to start. There were surely a hundred people gathered in St. Theresa’s that morning. Many of the faces he saw were familiar, nearly all of them touched personally by Ben’s special ways. He noticed Chief Maynard sitting four rows up with a few of the council members, and Mayor Brown off to the side speaking to Ben’s widow.

As the opening notes of the processional began, he rose to his feet. The site of the pallbearers carrying Ben’s casket brought a renewed sense of determination. He was going to catch the monster who did this. And he was going to see that he paid dearly.

During the service, several people stood at the lectern and spoke of Ben. Mitch had heard that Ben was a selfless guy, but the endless stories of ways he helped people surprised him.

“I remember the day that Benjamin came to see me.” Father Leahy spoke slowly, considered each word carefully. “He hadn’t been raised in a religious home, didn’t know much about God. But he realized his life held little meaning and so he sought answers. He listened to what I said, read the Bible, asked questions, and learned everything he could about our faith.”

The elderly priest stopped for a moment and looked at Kelly. “As he learned and practiced Christianity, he saw the rewards from God. Kelly was the biggest. But instead of resting on what he’d discovered, he sought to share it with people less fortunate. He was a missionary in every sense of the word, only his mission field was right here in our own backyards instead of in some third world country.”

Father Leahy stopped speaking and nodded at a man in the second pew. The director of the Groverton Homeless Shelter introduced himself and shared a few memories of his time with Ben. Mitch tried to listen, but it was the quiet man who stood beside the director that caught his attention. He was oddly dressed in mismatched clothing, a look of profound sadness on his face. Mitch watched the man closely, curious as to his connection to Ben. He seemed wary, uncomfortable in his position at the front of the church. But when it was his turn to speak, his words were heartfelt.

“My name is Louis and I’ve spent many a night at the homeless shelter in Groverton where Ben volunteered. He always treated me like a human being, an equal.” The man’s eyes narrowed, his stance drooped. “Ben was a true gentleman in a world with very few.”

The shelter’s director slipped an arm around the man’s shoulders and led him to a pew near the front of the church.

Mitch quietly cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. It didn’t matter that twelve years had passed since Dad’s funeral. It seemed like yesterday at times. He swiped quickly at a tear that formed in his left eye, reluctant to let anyone in the church see him. Too many people counted on him for crimes that were happening now. Not something that happened in the past.

When it was Kelly’s turn to speak, he listened closely to every pained word that left her mouth. But it was when she spoke of the children she and Ben would never have that he felt the tears start again.

Mitch closed his eyes and forced himself to think of something other than the words Kelly spoke. Father Leahy had once told him that he couldn’t change what was in the past. He needed to look forward, pray for guidance. It was a lesson that applied as much to his life now as it did when he first consulted the priest four years ago. There wasn’t anything he could do to bring back Susie or Cindy or Ben. He needed to look forward, concentrate on solving the crimes so there wouldn’t be any more victims and so loved ones like Kelly could have answers.

Mitch prayed silently, a mantra that always helped him escape troubled thoughts. And gratefully, it worked once again.

When he opened his eyes, Kelly had returned to her seat. Her anguish was more than he could handle at that moment. He wanted so desperately to offer her a measure of comfort that would come with the knowledge of who and why. But he couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

He looked at the piano as the first few notes of “Amazing Grace” began and noticed Ray Carlson. How the man could sit there and play such a sad song just two weeks after the death of his own daughter was beyond Mitch’s comprehension.

As the second verse of the hymn began, Mitch noticed a quiet commotion off to the side of where he stood. Chief Maynard and Mayor Brown were escorting a woman to a side exit, and from where he sat it didn’t appear as if it were friendly. He strained to see around the open hymnals beside him, to catch a better glimpse of the woman’s face. But it was no use. The only thing he noticed was the long caftan she wore with a simple pattern, and black hair in a bun.

“I’m surprised she actually showed up, knowing the rumors going around about her.”

Mitch looked at the gentleman standing beside him.

“Who is that?” he whispered.

“That’s Madame Mariah. She’s the fortune-teller that Ben saw just before he died.” The man lowered his voice so only Mitch could hear him. “I guess the police chief and the mayor think her presence is inappropriate.”

“Did you know Ben well?” He knew it wasn’t the time to carry on a conversation, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Yes. Kelly is my niece.”

Mitch nodded, reached a hand to the man’s shoulder and squeezed gently. They both turned back to their hymnals and finished the song. But Mitch’s attention was no longer on the words he was singing. He wanted to walk out the same door the chief had gone through with the fortune-teller, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want his hasty retreat to call attention away from the person everyone had come to mourn.

When the service was over, Mitch turned once again to the man beside him.

“I’m sorry about your loss. I’m Detective Mitch Burns and I’m working very hard to find out who did this. Please know that.”

The man held out his hand to Mitch and shook it firmly.

“I know that. And Kelly knows that as well. I was told you were out at the house the other day and I know your visit meant a lot to her. I just hope she didn’t notice Madame Mariah being escorted from the service.”

“I hope so too. I got the impression when we spoke that Ben and Madame Mariah were friendly with each other and that he respected her.”

“He did. And Kelly is convinced that the fortune-teller had nothing to do with Ben’s murder. Frankly I find it a bit far-fetched as well.” The man patted Mitch on the back and then excused himself quickly so he could join Kelly’s family in the receiving line.

Mitch started for the side door where the chief had gone out with the fortune-teller, then stopped. His boss’s actions only served to reinforce the animosity Mitch knew the man had for psychics like Madame Mariah. But just how far would that animosity drive him?

“Detective Burns?”

Mitch turned and saw the balding man he had met briefly at Kelly’s house just a few days earlier.

“Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name the other day.”

“Frank Mertz. I’m Kelly’s father. I was hoping you had some sort of lead or information that might help my daughter out right now . . .”

Mitch shook his head, searched for words that would bring comfort to the man. But there were none. “I’m sorting through every piece of evidence I come across and I know it’s going to happen. We’re going to get him, you have my word.”

If only he could have faith in his own words. So many people were counting on him to stop the killing. He took a deep breath and walked toward the end of the pew. His gaze fell on a man hunched over in a chair in a far corner of the church. He stepped to the right just enough to get a better view of the person and realized it was Father Leahy. Worried, he headed over to the priest.

“Father, are you okay?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m so deeply troubled by what is happening to my parishioners.” The priest looked upward as he spoke. “I have presided over three funerals in two weeks and I feel so powerless. Susie, Cindy, and Ben were all so faithful and good. I just don’t understand what the Lord’s plan is right now. Then, today, I watched as two of my parishioners removed a mourner from my church. I am saddened by the way people seem to be rushing to judgment.”

“You saw that?”

“Yes, I did,” the priest answered quietly. “I asked the men why they made the woman leave and our mayor said she did not belong in God’s house.”

Mitch reached out for the priest’s hand and held it gently. The man’s sickly pallor alarmed him. Normally very energetic and youthful, Father Leahy suddenly looked every bit of his seventy years.

“I’m doing everything I can to figure out who is doing this. I have some solid leads right now, Father, but I have to examine every aspect to make sure the right person is brought to justice for these crimes.” He looked at the elderly priest with concern, hoped his words were bringing some sort of reassurance and comfort to the man he had come to depend on so heavily since moving to Ocean Point.

“I will say a special prayer for you, Mitch, so God may give you the wisdom and strength to see these investigations through. I will also pray for our parishioners so they may find it in their hearts to keep their minds open until you have completed your work.”

“Thank you, Father.”