Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

“You don’t think that guy had anything to do with Joanna’s…” Doherty seemed unable to say the word “murder.” “Why, if he touched her, I’ll break the little bastard in two with my bare hands.” He slammed his clenched fist against the arm of the chair.

Mary Helen jumped. All the color had left the boy’s face. Only the blotchy freckles stood out; those, and the blazing blue eyes. Talk about your wild Irish temper, Mary Helen thought, studying the young man. She cleared her throat. “Kevin, I know you are upset,” she said. “And you have every right to be,” she added quickly.

“Sister, do you think he did it?” He strained the question through his teeth.

“I don’t know what to think,” she answered honestly. The young gardener was on her list to call. She’d put him off till later. She’d have to get to him today or tomorrow.

“If he did it, I’ll kill him.” Doherty’s bellow interrupted her thought.

“For heaven’s sake, Kevin, haven’t we had enough killing?” she asked in her sternest, schoolmarm voice. “Why don’t we try to make sure no one else has to feel as hurt and angry as you do today?” She stopped, surprised at her own impatience.

For a moment the young man stared at her. He reminded her of a valiant warrior who has suddenly lost his taste for the battle. Unexpectedly, he hunched forward, burying his face in his two broad hands. Mary Helen felt a hot, sick pain of empathy. Reaching over, she tousled his blond, curly head. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Then, like the tall, lanky youngster he was, Kevin Doherty sobbed unashamedly.

When he looked up, his freckled face was streaked with tears. “I think I loved her, Sister,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

“I think you did,” Mary Helen answered.

On her way to lunch, Mary Helen met Eileen. “Feel like a stretch before we eat?” she asked.

“It sounds marvelous.” Eileen checked her watch. “More than likely, there’ll be a line in the dining room if we go now. Ten minutes of fresh air will do us a world of good.”

“Up this way and back?” Mary Helen asked, swerving onto the narrow path leading off the driveway. Eileen followed. The two walked in silence for several yards.

“Why so quiet?” Mary Helen said finally.

“At this pace, old dear, who can both talk and breathe?”

Mary Helen slowed down. “I saw Kevin Doherty this morning,” she said. “Poor kid. Really loved Joanna.”

Eileen clucked sympathetically. “Did he say anything you think might be helpful?”

“I don’t know. He talked about the thesis.”

“The missing thesis?”

“Yes, I’m sure there is some connection. He also asked me if I thought Tony might have done it.”

Eileen looked shocked. “Tony kill Joanna? Why, that seems impossible. Tony’s a gardener! He spends so much time making things grow and flourish, I just can’t imagine him killing anything, much less anybody. Besides, wasn’t he a bit sweet on Joanna?” Without waiting for an answer, Eileen continued. “No,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis. “I just can’t believe it. Love and a garden-that should add up to something good, not evil.” She stopped, a sudden look of realization in her wide, gray eyes. “Although I must admit it didn’t work out quite so well in the Garden of Eden, now did it?”

Mary Helen knew a rhetorical question when she heard one. “Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps,” she quoted, hoping to ease Eileen’s mind a bit.

Her friend kicked a loose pebble in the pathway. “What do you think?”

“Tony’s on my list to call.”

“Not about Tony-about the whole business.”

“I don’t know what to think until I mull it over for a while,” Mary Helen answered. The two walked a few more feet. “You know, I’ve done an awful lot of mulling about these murders,” she said.

“And just who hasn’t, old dear?”

“I really can’t figure out yet how the professor and Leonel and Marina and Joanna and now Tony, plus a missing thesis, figure into this puzzle, but I’m sure they do. One thought that has struck me is that whoever our murderer is, he or she always makes very sure poor Leonel is around so he can be implicated.”

“Unless poor Leonel is our murderer,” Eileen reminded her softly.

Mary Helen continued as though she hadn’t heard the remark. “Now it is our job to figure out just who could possibly know all of Leonel’s movements.” She stopped and faced Eileen.

“Why, several people could, I’m sure.”

“Who comes to your mind first?”

“Marina, of course, but…” Her gray eyes opened wide, then blinked. “But you couldn’t possibly think…”

“He was so defensive about her at the Hall of Justice. Remember?”

“Certainly I remember. But you can’t possibly believe for one moment that sweet, young Marina killed the professor and then her own sister.”

“Why can’t I possibly believe it?”

“Let’s turn back.” Eileen checked her watch. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss lunch completely,” she said, walking quickly toward the driveway. Obviously, Eileen didn’t want to discuss the subject any further.

“I said, why can’t I possibly believe it?” Mary Helen pushed the point.

“You can’t believe it because it’s… it’s so unnatural,” Eileen stammered. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“Really, it’s nothing so new,” Mary Helen said, following close behind her friend. “You just mentioned the Garden of Eden. And you know as well as I do, that if you keep on reading the Genesis story, the next thing you run right into is the story of Cain and Abel.

Turning quickly on her heel, Eileen shot her old friend what she later denied was a dirty look.

“Damn!” Kate Murphy slammed down the phone receiver. The creeping charlie in her desk planter quivered.

Across from her, Gallagher looked up. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked in a mild, controlled voice.

“For God’s sake, Denny, don’t use that tone of voice on me. It makes me feel like a-an hysterical woman.” Replacing her earring, she stared out the window of the Hall of Justice at the heavy freeway traffic.

“Well?” Gallagher returned to the large stack of papers piled on his desk.

“Just what did that ‘Well’ mean?”

“It could mean ‘Well, what the hell is wrong with you?’ or it could mean ‘Well, you are a-an’ ”-he mimicked her fumble for the correct article-“ ‘an hysterical woman’!”

Kate knew that much.

“You wanted to be the detective, Murphy; you figure it out,” he said, going back to his paper work.

Kate felt the color rise in her face. She flopped into her swivel chair and began to twist a few strands of hair around her index finger. “Sorry, Denny,” she said. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Let’s start again. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s that damn nun!” Kate slammed her fist on her desk.

“Hey, Murphy, no police brutality,” one of the officers hollered from the coffee urn. Chauvinistic smart-asses, she thought, I’ll show them when I catch the Holy Hill killer!

“The problem?” Gallagher asked.

“The names of the people the professor helped-the ones I got from Marina. I couldn’t get hold of a single one of them. I called Marina at home and got the names of any of their relatives that she knew. I’ve been calling them. Most every call ends the same way. ‘The Seester, she ask already,’ they say. When I mention I’m from the police, they hang up. What I can’t figure out is where ‘Seester’ got the list, and why in the hell she’s calling these people.”

“Why do you want to make her stop?” Gallagher asked.