Murder At The Mikvah (29 page)

Yo, Collins cop! Did ya' shoot anyone today?

Kids weren’t always tactful, but they were brutally honest. John knew that's how they saw him, as part of a pack—like a dog. He tried not to show it, but it gnawed at him daily—sparking fantasies
of being
Officer Cooper or Clancy.
Without our individuality, who the hell were we anyway? Maybe this was why he had such empathy for his nephew. John knew once Jay made the decision not to go the academy, he was a marked man. The family had no tolerance for traitors, and John learned firsthand that there was a steep price to pay for straying from the pack. After he and Patty married, it didn’t take long for his brothers to start pulling back. Was it because he didn’t marry a girl from their neighborhood? Because he didn't buy a row home within blocks of his parents? His brothers acted like they didn’t even know him, giving him little more than polite nods when he’d pass them at the station. “How are things in the mansion?” they'd snicker. “What time is high tea?” He heard murmurings around the neighborhood about his
marrying up
—heartless gossip fueled by his own flesh and blood. They liked Patty, his dad admitted to him one summer night after he'd put away a few too many. The
old
Patty. As if she was the one who had suddenly changed
.
“You'll never be able to make a girl like that happy anyways,” his dad said, a feeble attempt to keep John in his place. Preconceived notions, John realized, could be as unyielding as leg irons.

Before Patty finally talked him out of it for good, John seriously contemplated changing his name. He researched it extensively, and the bottom line was that becoming a “Cooper” or “Clancy” was relatively easy. John learned that names were changed legally all the time. The way he understood it, unless a person sought the change for illegal or deceptive purposes, the process was fairly straightforward. So, yes, as painful as it was, John could empathize with someone distancing himself from his family, even severing ties altogether. But the fact that Peter Stem—or whoever the hell he really was—had taken an alias for so many years without bothering to change his name
legally
was cause for suspicion. Was Peter merely seeking refuge from a troubled past, like Father McCormick assumed? Or was he hiding from something much bigger?

“After living with the young man for so long, I think I have a pretty good sense of his character,” Father McCormick continued, snapping John out of his reverie. “Maybe I don’t know the name his parents gave him, or the town he was born in, but I know
him.
His essence
.” He took a deep breath before continuing, speaking with even more conviction. “Peter is a decent young man. A hard worker. Caring.” He shook his head. “I’ll say it again: I believe his only impetus for lying about having family upstate was to spare me the burden of worrying.”

“
Worrying
?” John repeated, trying not to sound condescending. “Why in the heck would you
worry
about him? It’s not like he’s some young kid starting out for God’s sake!”

“Your point is valid,” Father McCormick answered calmly. “Peter is in his thirties. For all practical purposes, he doesn’t need my help, but I admit, in my heart, he feels like a child—
my child
.” He sighed. “I know it sounds silly, but he’s lived with me for so long, I feel in some ways like I raised him. Needless to say, I’m not sure he’s ready or even equipped to leave the nest. And now, hearing he has no family to support him, I
am
concerned. I’m fairly certain he’s had no formal schooling beyond high school. Sometimes I wonder if he's even earned his diploma.” Father McCormick held up an open palm. “Please don’t get me wrong, John; Peter’s not a dumb man—he taught himself how to use a computer—and he’s remarkably good with his hands, but after all these years at St. Agassi, where will he go? What will he do? The church has been Peter's life, just as it has been mine.”

John rubbed the bite mark on his arm, willing himself to reconcile the fact that the
caring young man
Father McCormick spoke of with such compassion was in fact a murderer. He looked up and noticed the dessert tray. He had completely forgotten about it. “Please Father, help yourself,” he said, giving it a little push.

Father McCormick smiled, seemingly happy for the distraction. “I'd never turn down Patricia’s home baked dessert!” He leaned forward against the table, squinting as he moved his head closer to the tray. “I’m afraid general shapes are all I’m able to make out.”

“Oh… of course… I apologize Father. Let's see, there are cookies—sugar, chocolate chip and peanut butter, and cake—marble, pound or…”

“Lemon,” said Patty, coming through the door with a shiny silver tea service. “…with tiny bits of lemon rind—a new recipe, I think you’ll like it.”

The priest smiled up at her. “Sounds delicious… I’ll try a slice of the lemon then.”

“Can I ask you something else, Father?” John asked while Patty filled three porcelain teacups, and then joined them at the table.

The priest looked pleased. “Yes, of course! Ask away, John.”

“I've gone over it in my mind,” John began, as Patty looked on expectantly. “We know it was Rose Downey who identified Peter at the station. But that identification took place more than
forty-eight hours
after Peter's arrest. So, my question to you is: how could two days have gone by without you noticing that Peter was missing? Or if you did by chance notice, why weren't you
concerned
? You have to understand, Father, that with most people, a day, even a few
hours
of unaccounted whereabouts, and the phones are ringing down in
missing person's
.”

Patty squeezed the liquid out of her tea bag and placed it carefully on the side of the saucer. Her husband was asking an excellent question. She, herself, had wondered how Father McCormick was able to manage those few days alone without Peter's help.

Father McCormick smiled. It was a proud smile, as if John had asked something truly astounding. “That is an excellent question, John, and one that frankly, I was surprised
not
to have been asked by that young detective at the station.” He paused to take a long sip of his tea, dabbed his lips with the napkin and continued. “Yes, of course, I noticed Peter's absence! As to why I didn’t make anything of it: Simple. This was not the first time Peter has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Patty and John asked in unison.

Father McCormick held up his hands. “Well, he didn’t exactly
disappear
—maybe that’s the wrong word. Let me put it this way: in the past, Peter has
gone away
for a few days at a time.”

John was intrigued. “Did he tell you where he went?”

“No, but he didn’t have to. I figured it out on my own.”

“And?”

“And…” Father McCormick hesitated, then finally blurted it out. “He was off with his girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” John nearly choked on his cookie.

“Yes, there was a young lady Peter was courting. He didn’t talk about her… only mentioned her once to me, in fact. I think it was around the time of her birthday—he wanted my advice on a gift.” The priest chuckled. “I told him I wasn’t the best person to ask about that sort of thing—haven’t had much in the way of personal experience—though I suggested he couldn’t go wrong with a traditional gift of flowers and chocolate.” He sipped the last of his tea and Patty promptly came around to refill his cup.

“Did he tell you her name?”

“No, and I never asked; I didn’t think it was my business.”

“So, you're saying that Peter would pick up and go, just like that?” Patty asked, making no attempt to hide her displeasure. “He would leave, without any consideration for you?”

Father McCormick shook his head. “Oh, I didn’t mind at all, Patricia! On the contrary; I was happy for him! I’m sure he must have been terribly lonely at times. Of course he had me and Samson; and come to think of it, he did have a friendly rapport with a few of the older parishioners.” He smiled coyly. “But even
I
know that it’s not the same level of intimacy.”

Father McCormick reached down and gave Samson a loving pat on the head. The dog didn’t flinch. “Yes, my girl and I missed him, but we managed.”

Just then it occurred to Patty that despite living without Peter for nearly a month, Father McCormick seemed to be getting along just fine. She wondered just how much Father McCormick actually depended on Peter, or whether he simply wanted to give Peter the impression that he did.

“So, how often exactly did he see this girlfriend of his?” John asked.

Father McCormick thought for a moment, tapping his finger against his lip. “In the beginning it was one evening a week. Peter would always be back late, or at least by the next morning when I woke up. He’d sneak in, real careful, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear him.” Father McCormick chuckled at the notion. “But, I always heard him—hard
not to
with my big ears!” He tugged his earlobes playfully, then resumed his serious tone. “Anyway, Not long after that, Peter started going away for a few days at a time—not too often, though. I’d say once every other month. Was with her, I assumed. But then suddenly he stopped going,”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that.”

“Did you ever ask him why he stopped?” Patty asked.

“No. I didn’t feel it was my place, Patricia. I thought if he needed to talk about it, he would. Went right back to life before he met her. So, naturally, when Peter disappeared this time, I assumed the two of them had worked things out.”

John nodded his understanding. It was easy to see how Father McCormick would reach such a conclusion. But one thing John
didn’t
understand was why this was the first he was hearing anything about it.

“And you say Ron Smith didn’t ask you about any of this?” John asked tentatively.

Father McCormick shook his head. “No. Not one question.” He tapped his finger on his dessert plate as if contemplating an important issue “Come to think of it, he didn’t ask me about Peter's life outside the rectory at all.” He looked up, his brow furrowed with concern. “How much experience does the young detective have exactly?”

John looked over at Patty who was giving him a “see, I told you so” kind of look. John leaned forward, both hands flat on the table. “Ron has worked exclusively in investigations for the past five years,” he told the priest. “His father—my former partner—trained him. The man knows what he’s doing.” What John
didn’t
add was that he suspected Ron Jr. of taking shortcuts in Peter's case. Nor did he voice his opinion that Ron was too distracted by personal matters to be working the case on his own.

“Then tell me John,” father McCormick said, more than a hint of desperation in his voice, “why isn't he doing more? I get the feeling this whole episode is an inconvenience for the detective, that he'd like to lock Peter up, throw away the key and make this whole case go away.”

John couldn’t help but be impressed with how perceptive the priest was. Ron
was
pre-occupied. He
had
admitted his eagerness to put the case to bed.

The sooner I get this thing wrapped up, the better.

But Father McCormick didn’t give John a chance to respond. “I can't let that happen, John! I can't stand idly by and watch an innocent man spend his life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit!”

Innocent man.

John sighed. Okay, so Ron wasn’t being thorough. He was taking shortcuts. Still, the fact remained that there was solid evidence linking Peter to the crime. What would it take for Father McCormick to stop deluding himself and face the truth? Maybe the priest needed his
own
psychiatric session with Dr. Danzig.

Father McCormick shook his head as if reading John's mind. “It was my understanding John that in this country, a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty.”

John looked briefly at Patty, who had a look of absolute pity in her eyes. Was she too reading his mind? Between Ron Smith, who wanted to file this case away as soon as possible, and Peter's lawyer, who, along with the church powers-that-be, had written Peter off as guilty, Peter wasn’t exactly experiencing that American ideal.

John straightened up. The whole situation was incredibly dizzying and he couldn’t help but feel like he was riding a seesaw of emotion and logic. “In a court of law, a man is presumed innocent where there is
reasonable doubt
,” he said finally. He couldn’t let Father McCormick see him waver. The truth was, yes, in a perfect world, everyone deserved the presumption of innocence; but in this case, Peter's guilt was just so damn obvious!

“But…”

“But nothing! You're forgetting Father, I was there—I
saw
him.” John was about to add
and he was on top of a naked woman
but he thought better of it. “And, I have to be honest with you, it looked pretty incriminating.”