Chapter Eight

WE GOT IN our respective cars and drove off, Hannah to the Twelfth District and me to my apartment. Since we were both heading toward downtown, I tried to keep up with Hannah as long as possible. That lasted until we turned onto the freeway, where she left me quickly in her dust.

After a quick stop in my apartment, I figured I would continue meeting with the parishioners on Father Lawrence’s list. I managed to get in touch with Miriam Lomax, Father’s “not well-connected” suggested source. Miriam agreed to meet with me that morning in her apartment at the Morning Hill Assisted Living Center, an upscale facility located a couple of miles from Saint Edmund’s. After Hannibal’s gasping, wheezing effort driving me to a night with a pretty detective, I was able to hit over seventy on the freeway to visit Mrs. Lomax. The car did hate me somehow.

Like all assisted living facilities, Morning Hill’s buildings and décor sought to convey a bright and cheery impression to both residents and family members. The design ensured the facility’s apartments remained fully occupied despite the exorbitant monthly fees charged for the most basic of services. I entered the main office and was greeted by an equally bright and cheery receptionist who likely assumed I was either visiting a loved one or considering moving one there. I wondered if she was paid on commission.

The receptionist continued smiling as she gave me directions to Mrs. Lomax’s apartment. It was just past the Stevens Aviary, no doubt filled with bright and cheery birds, on the second floor of the main building. After a ride up the elevator, I knocked on Mrs. Lomax’s door and tried to ignore the bird noises that would have driven me crazy if I was ever unlucky enough to live there.

Mrs. Lomax greeted me with a smile. I saw no signs of the instability Father Lawrence had warned about in this slender, well-dressed woman with gray hair. Like many assisted living facilities, Morning Hill allowed its residents to keep small animals. Mrs. Lomax had taken advantage of this nod to companionship and held a brown chihuahua. Once I was inside, she offered me a seat on her couch and a glass of tea. I didn’t want to take up too much of her time, so I got right to the point.

“I’m not sure how much Father Lawrence told you about my visit, but I’m here to see if you have any information concerning two break-ins that occurred at Saint Edmund’s on June 3rd and June 11th. We believe these break-ins took place during the time Father Samuel was hearing confessions. We wondered if you might have noticed anything or anyone unusual while you were there.”

“Do you mean more unusual than Father Samuel? As my late husband used to say, he is one unlikeable SOB. Sometimes I think I hear more from God here in the apartment than I do in church.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her mention of Father Samuel. I didn’t know if she’d be of any help, but I was enjoying my visit.

“Father Samuel aside, Mrs. Lomax, did you notice anyone unfamiliar at the church on those days? Was anything out of the ordinary?”

“There was one young woman who looked like she might be pregnant. Without a wedding ring, it was easy to guess what she was confessing. Let me see if Betty noticed anything.”

Confused, I asked, “Who is Betty, Mrs. Lomax?”

Clearly thinking I was a moron, Mrs. Lomax pointed to her chihuahua. “This is Betty. She comes with me everywhere, including confession. She helps me talk to God.”

Without meaning to, I had gone way over into alien territory. I tried to clarify and somehow made things worse. “So, you talk to God through Betty?”

Her look turned to scorn. “Look at her. She’s a chihuahua, you idiot, not some sort of cosmic transmitter. I just sometimes hear God speak to me when she’s close by. Here, you try.”

She gestured for me to come closer to Betty, probably the last place I wanted to be at that moment. I hesitated, but Mrs. Lomax kept motioning. Finally, I moved closer, and the dog started to growl and bare its teeth. If Betty was channeling God, this was definitely the Old Testament version of our Savior. In any case, the last thing I wanted was to get rabies from an animal that looked more like a rat than a dog.

A quick retreat seeming like my best option, I tried backing away from Betty and ended up bumping the coffee table holding my teacup. The cup fell, spilling half a cup of tea onto the white carpeting. Even Inspector Clouseau would have laughed. All I needed was the Pink Panther theme song to make my day complete.

I apologized profusely while absorbing withering looks from Mrs. Lomax and Betty, the latter continuing to growl and bare her teeth. I considered offering to clean up the tea, but who knew what additional damage I might cause if I stayed. I thanked Mrs. Lomax for her time and left as quickly as I could. When I walked past the main desk, even the receptionist appeared distinctly less bright and cheery.

I felt foolish and increasingly angry. The anger wasn’t aimed at Mrs. Lomax or her God-fearing dog. In evaluating my progress, it seemed like I was checking off boxes on a list pulled from some “Private Investigation for Dummies” handbook. Interviewing people from the church had led me nowhere, and I was wasting time until the next murder.

I needed a new approach. Until I could figure one out, however, I thought I might as well finish talking to Father Lawrence’s other two contacts.

So far, my face-to-face interview record hadn’t been stellar. My first ended with a gunshot, while my second culminated with an attempted mauling by an overly religious dog. I decided I shouldn’t be stubborn. I would conduct my next two interviews by phone.

Joyce Taylor was at home and seemed more than willing to discuss her memories of the days in question. Unfortunately, she had little to add to the previous two accounts, though she did include some choice words concerning Mrs. Lomax’s ill-mannered chihuahua.

My last contact, Mrs. DePaulo, didn’t answer her phone. I left a message on her answering machine, but I knew this course was a dead end. It was now two o’clock. With nothing left to do, I drove back to my apartment.

Heading home, I again found myself caught in one of Cleveland’s frequent road construction delays. To my surprise, however, the holdup proved to be beneficial. Given time to think, I realized what I’d been missing. I called Hannah and left a message. She called me back just after I reached my apartment.

“I was going to call you,” Hannah said. “You start, and then I’ll tell you what I found.”

“I just finished speaking with two other parishioners who remembered absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about the two days in question. With that, did it ever strike you our approach may be too by the book?”

“What do you think we’re missing?”

She sounded more than a little annoyed, but I plowed ahead anyway. “Everything we’ve done up till now—talking to potential witnesses, reviewing the evidence, etc.—it’s all been focused on the question of who did this as opposed to why.

“I recognize the “who” answer is ultimately the most important, but if we can figure out why they did it, that might give us our best chance to get there.”

“You mean, like, why the confessional?” She sounded a little more intrigued.

“That’s one question, but there are several more. We also don’t know why the killer chose Saint Edmund’s. The church is in Westlake, but the killings occurred in Cleveland and Avon. What’s the killer’s connection to the church?

“You could go one step further and ask why he chose Father Samuel. I figured it was because the killer had a work schedule, and Samuel covered the weekend confessions. It didn’t hit me until today what a poor assumption that was, given the killings all occurred on weekdays.

“Since I’m on a roll, why did our murderer stab both women in their throats? There must be some significance in that. Also, why take a shot at me? I learned nothing from those women, and I have to believe our killer knew that would be the case. Why would he take that risk?”

“I agree we need a change in direction,” Hannah said. “Let me tell you my news, and then we can talk about where we go from here. When you called me earlier, I was with the medical examiner. There’s been another murder.”