Black Princess Mystery (8 page)

When they
reached her home, she thanked him for the drive, got out and hurried into the
house. Mrs. Green was waiting for her.

“Father
Tim is dead,” said her mother with the most frightful look Tasheka had ever
seen.

“No!”
Tasheka objected, her mind racing. “It is impossible,” she said slowly, as if
explaining something to a child. “It’s a mistake, Momma.”

“The
police identified him.”

“They’re
wrong.”

“He was
wearing Father Tim’s clothes and watch, carrying all Father Tim’s
identification.”

“I don’t
care,” she said, shaking her head. “They’re wrong, I tell you!”

“They
showed the body to Mildred,” Mrs. Green noted meaningfully, “and she said it
was him.”

“Mildred
said that?” Tasheka asked, shocked.

Mrs. Green
solemnly nodded. “She’s been keeping house for him ever since he moved to
Lakeside and she sees him every day. It was him, Tasheka. Mildred even identified
the small scar above his right eyebrow.”

“Not
possible,” Tasheka mumbled, staggering to a chair and sitting down. She rubbed
her head in confusion. “What’s happening, Momma? How can this be?”

“He’s
dead, Tasheka. Father Tim is dead.”

The young
woman couldn’t orient herself or understand what was occurring. It seemed
surreal, like in a dream or a drug-induced hallucination. As Tasheka sat with
her head in her hands, Mrs. Green answered the phone.

“Tasheka,”
she said, “it’s Jake Thompson.”

Tasheka
jumped to her feet and quickly took the phone. “Jake!” she said frantically,
her voice full of hope, “did you see Father Tim this morning standing in front
of the rectory?”

“I saw
someone,” he said, “and I assumed it was the priest, but I wasn’t sure. The news
is that he came to an unfortunate end on the golf course, so it obviously
wasn’t him.”

Tasheka
sagged. “You saw his car there, though, didn’t you?” she asked, the spirit
sucked out of her.

“I did
notice the car,” Jake told her, “but I’m not positive the man I saw was
Murphy.”

“Thanks,
Jake,” she mumbled and then hung up. She turned to her mother with the look of
someone heavily sedated. “Maybe I am losing my mind, Momma. I saw him. I know I
did.”

“It’s been
very stressful for you lately, dear,” her mother consoled. “You lost your
father, you’re away from home, and there are school pressures. The brain can
play tricks when it’s under stress.”

“If I
didn’t see him,” Tasheka said softly, “then I can’t trust my own senses
anymore. I wouldn’t know what’s real and what isn’t. That’s scary.”

Mrs. Green
hugged her daughter just as she had when Tasheka was a little girl who had
fallen off her bike and hurt her knee. Tasheka was literally shaking and tears
rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t know if the tears were only because Father
Tim was dead, or because she was seriously concerned about her mental health.

She walked
to the fridge and took out a pitcher of water. “I feel very fragile, Momma.”

“You’ll be
fine, dear. You just need some rest.”

“I’m
scared.”

“Scared of
what, honey?”

“This
research on serial killers has me unnerved,” she said, pouring a glass of
water. “Ever since I started the project, I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s so
spooky that people can murder and function as if nothing has happened.
Sometimes people create alter egos, like Norman Bates in
Psycho
, and sometimes killers aren’t even aware this other being
exists. A woman, for instance, might hate a man so intensely that she kills him
without even knowing it. That’s happened, you know, and more than once.”

“I
honestly can’t picture that,” Mrs. Green said. “If I hated a man so intensely
that I wanted to kill him, I would like to experience every second of the
murder. That would be the best part, wouldn’t it? I mean, if you hated him
enough to kill him.”

“I
remember a book when I was little. It was about the old days, when men fought
with swords and spears. At the end of a battle, the winners would arrange the
bodies of the dead so that they were shoulder to shoulder, then put planks on
their banks and sit on them to hold a victory feast.”

“I
remember that.”

“It was a
hardcover Russian book. It was black and red. Is that still around, Momma?”

“I’m sure
it’s in the chest.”

The phone
rang again and Mrs. Green picked it up. Tasheka stared into space like a mental
patient in a ward.

“Tasheka,
it’s for you. It’s Detective Henry.”

“Hello,”
she said listlessly.

“I have
some news for you.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve
positively confirmed that the victim is Father Tim Murphy, but I’m sure you
weren’t wrong about seeing him at the rectory earlier.”

Tasheka
shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You
weren’t imagining things.”

“But how
can that be?” Tasheka stammered. “It would be a physical impossibility.”

“The
housekeeper, what’s her name? I have it here somewhere.”

“Mildred,”
Tasheka said breathlessly, hoping against hope that somehow Thorston could
prove she had not gone insane.

“Yes,
Mildred. Mildred identified the body for us and after awhile she casually
mentioned that Father Tim Murphy has an identical twin brother named William.”

“A twin
brother?” Tasheka cried. She looked at her mother and then back to the phone.
“I had no idea.”

“Mildred
told us they look absolutely identical except for the fact that Tim has the
small scar above his eye and William has a prosthetic right leg.”

“Oh,”
Tasheka said with a groan, remembering the man she thought was Tim as he limped
to get the paper. “I saw the twin. I didn’t imagine it after all.”

“Yes, you
saw his brother. Tim Murphy is dead. We’re looking for William Murphy right now
and have an APB out for the car. We’ve assumed that he drove away in it this
morning. Why he took his brother’s car, and what he was doing there in the
first place, we have no idea. But it does raise some questions and McNab is
very eager to talk to him.”

Tasheka
felt a great rush of relief when she heard McNab was interested in someone else
as a possible suspect. “He once mentioned that he had a brother,” she said
distractedly, “but he was very vague. He said his brother was ten years younger
than him.”

“Actually,
Tim Murphy had two brothers. His younger brother was named Kevin and he died in
a car accident years ago. That’s probably why he didn’t want to talk about it.
The twin brother, William, he apparently neglected to mention.”

“Thank you
for calling, Thorston.”

“I thought
you’d want this information.”

“Yes,
thank you very much. Now at least I know I’m not nuts.”

“Tasheka?”

“Yes?”

“I know
it’s questionable for me to ask you out so close to the event, but, like I
said, I want to at some point in the near future, if you’re not opposed to it,
I mean.”

“Not
opposed,” she said.

“Here is
my personal cell phone number.” He gave it to her. “If you need me for
anything, don’t hesitate to call, even if you just want to talk. Other than
that, I’m going to call you soon. All right?”

“All
right,” she said.

“I’ll be
in touch if anything else arises.”

“Thank
you, Thorston.”

“You’re
welcome.”

There was
a brief pause and then Tasheka hung up. Tasheka felt overwhelmed by a series of
conflicting emotions. Foremost was a monumental sense of relief at believing
again in her own sanity, but interwoven with that was a dreadful feeling of
guilt. Father Tim was dead. Dead! And not only was he dead, he had been
brutally murdered. She had no right to feel anything positive.

Tasheka
explained everything to her mother and the machinery began working in her mind.
Naturally she was incredibly shocked and saddened by the crime, but soon there
arose in her a great sense of anger, an anger that was determined, unstoppable,
relentless. To McNab, Father Tim was just another case. No matter how seriously
McNab took his work, no matter how intent he was on maintaining his shining
record, this went way beyond some cop’s devotion to his job. Father Tim had
been her friend. He had been there for her and her mother all through her
father’s sickness, death, and the painful time after the burial. She had come
to trust him and to count on him. He was much more than just a friend. Come
hell or high water, she would track down the killer and accuse him to his face,
even if he was pointing a gun at her.

Chapter
Five

“Did
anyone hold a grudge against Father Tim?” Tasheka asked her mother.

Mrs. Green
looked strangely at her.

“What is
it, Momma?”

“There was
an incident in September just after you left for university,” Mrs. Green said.

“What kind
of incident?”

“I don’t
like rumors and gossip,” Mrs. Green replied with a smirk.

“Tell me,
Momma,” Tasheka insisted.

“Mike
Power was angry at Father Murphy over some golf thing during the tournament.”

“You mean
the club tournament?”

Her mother
nodded.

“What
happened?” Tasheka asked excitedly.

“There
were some accusations about cheating. That’s all I know.”

“Who
accused whom?”

“Mike
Power accused Father Murphy of cheating, but I don’t know the particulars. When
people talked about it, I turned a deaf ear.”

Tasheka
spoke with her mother for a short time longer, then went to her room and looked
in the phone book. She found the number she wanted and dialed. “Is this Adam?”
she asked when a young man answered.

“Yes,” he
said.

“Adam,
this is Tasheka Green. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing
well, thank you,” he returned, sounding more than surprised to be receiving a
call from Tasheka.

“You
worked with Green Landscaping last year, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he
answered quickly, “and I’m really hoping to get on again this year. I start
university in the fall and sure could use the money.”

“Did you
hear Green Landscaping is taking over the contract for the Lakeside Golf Club?”

“I heard.”

“You
played there for a long time, didn’t you?”

“Tasheka,
I know the course inside out,” Adam boasted. “That would be a dream job for me.
I could walk to work, and I’d be out in the fresh air and sunshine all day.”

“You would
like to work there, wouldn’t you, Adam?”

“Yes!” he
exclaimed. “I’d really like to work there.”

“You also
caddied a lot for Mike Power at the golf club, didn’t you?” Tasheka suddenly
asked.

He seemed
to freeze.

“Did you?”
Tasheka said.

“Yes,” he
mumbled.

“Did you
caddy for Mike Power at the Lakeside Golf Club Tournament in September?”

He did not
respond.

“Did you?”

“Yes,”
Adam finally said. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I did.”

“I thought
so.” Tasheka paused for at least five seconds. “Tell me, did something happen
between Mike Power and Father Tim?”

Adam did
not respond.

“Yes, Adam,”
Tasheka said. “If I get a chance, I’ll definitely put in a good word for you
with Green Landscaping. Momma and I own it, you know, but she allows me to make
all the decisions. With a year’s experience, I’d be looking at you for the
assistant manager job. That would be a raise in pay from last year.”

“Yes,” he
said enthusiastically.

“What
happened at the golf tournament, Adam?” Tasheka asked matter-of-factly, tired
of playing games.

“Everyone
heard about it,” Adam said lowly, as if trying not to be overheard. “You could
ask anybody.”

“But I’m
asking you, Adam. You were right there, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” He
lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was the only one right there besides Father
Murphy and Mike. Father Murphy used a cart to pull his own clubs around.”

“So you
heard and saw everything?”

“Yes,” he
surrendered.

“I need to
know what happened, Adam.”

“Listen,
Tasheka, this is a small village. I don’t want anyone angry at me or accusing
me of ratting anyone out.” The nervousness was palpable in his voice. “Mike
Power is a big man and he has a temper.”