William Krueger: Blood Hollow

“He says he’s in love with Rose. He wants to marry her. Is that the behavior of a good priest?”

“I like him.”

“So do I, but that’s not relevant at the moment. What do we know about his past?”

“He ran a homeless shelter in Chicago. I’ve heard he risked his life to keep money for the shelter from being stolen.”

“Maybe that’s the story he tells to explain his scars. Is it true? What else do we know?”

“What do we know about anybody except what they tell us? My God, Cork, some things you just have to accept.”

“Not when murder is involved.” He nodded at the kitchen telephone. “Boomer agreed to check out Mal, find out about the incident that resulted in his scars, anything else he can turn up about the priest’s background.”

Jo shook her head. “This feels wrong.”

“If Boomer comes up with nothing, fine. No harm done.”

“Why don’t you just ask Father Mal where he was the night Fletcher and Solemn died?”

“He’s dead drunk right now. And there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t lie.” Cork sat back suddenly. “But there is someone who might be able to help. What time is it?”

Jo glanced at her watch. “Nine-thirty.”

“It’s not too late.” Cork got up.

“Where are you going?”

“To the rectory to talk to Ellie Gruber. Jo, believe me, I’m hoping she’s able to give Mal an alibi.”

The housekeeper answered the door in her robe.

“I’m sorry to come knocking so late, Ellie.”

“That’s all right, Cork. I’ll be up until Father Mal comes in. Was it him you wanted to see?”

“You, actually. Do you mind if I ask you a question about Mal?”

“I won’t know until you ask me, now will I? Would you like to come in?”

“No, thanks, Ellie. This will only take a moment. I don’t know how to phrase this delicately. Have you noticed him acting a little strange lately?”

“Well.” She clutched her robe tight at her throat.

“I’m a little worried about him, is all,” Cork went on. “A lot of us are. Do you have any idea what’s troubling him?”

“If I did, Cork, I’d be doing my best to help him.”

“Ellie, think about the night Fletcher Kane and Solemn Winter Moon died.”

“Lord, that’s one night I’d rather forget.”

“Do you remember Mal? How he seemed?”

“That was a bad night, to be sure. He got a call and went out. When he came back, he was very upset. Then a bit later he got the call from the sheriff’s office about Dr. Kane. What a terrible, terrible night.”

“Do you know who that first call was from?”

“No.”

“What time did he go out?”

“Oh, it must have been around nine.”

“When did he come back?”

“About an hour and a half later.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not that I recall. He’s usually so pleasant. He likes a little Irish coffee before bed, so I had everything ready. But he didn’t want any. He went straight to his room. I’m worried, Cork. I pray for him a lot these days.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt, Ellie. One more question. Did you spend New’s Year Eve here with the fathers?”

“Lord, no. I have a life outside this rectory. I was with my late husband’s family, out at Tower.”

“So Mal and Father Kelsey were here alone?”

“I believe so. Father Kelsey was probably asleep by nine, so I’m sure poor Father Mal had to see the New Year in all alone.”

“Tragic,” Cork said.

Jo was waiting in the kitchen when he got home.

“Well?”

“The night Kane and Solemn died, Mal went out about nine. Came back around ten-thirty. Very upset, no explanation.”

Jo picked up the phone and handed it to him. “Boomer Grabowski called. He wants you to call him back.”

“That was quick.”

“The execution of a good reputation goes fast around here.”

Cork ignored her comment and punched in Boomer’s number.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already got something,” Cork said.

“It’s all in knowing who to call.”

“Spill it.”

“Remember Dave Jenkins?”

“Yeah. Shaved head, right? You used to call him Cueball.”

“That’s him. He’s with homicide out of Area Two. Been there for a couple of years now. You hit the jackpot with the priest, Cork. Before he took over the unit, Cueball got assigned to investigate two homicides in Hyde Park. Somebody iced a couple of punks with rap sheets almost as long as my dick. Turns out, they were the primary suspects in the assault and attempted robbery of a priest named Father Malachi Thorne.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. The bust was bad, and they had to let the douche bags go on a technicality. But get this. Cueball says that for a while the priest was a suspect in those murders. Seems the guys were beat up pretty bad before their throats were cut. And guess who was a hotshot boxer back in college. The priest. Here’s where it gets interesting as far as your situation goes. It wasn’t the first time the priest had been connected with a murder investigation. Sixteen years ago, a children’s home he was in charge of burned down. Arson. A fifteen-year-old girl died, name of Yvonne Doolittle. You sitting down, Cork? This Doolittle girl had accused your Father Thorne of molesting her.” Grabowski was quiet a few moments. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Not enough evidence to build a case against him. The Church hustled him away from there and hushed things up.” Boomer laughed softly. “One more thing you’re gonna love. The Hyde Park killings? There was something real whacko about them. Seems the perp had himself a feast at the scene after he’d done the deed. Cueball did some digging. You know that knack of his for uncovering the truly weird? This time he looks for weird and Catholic, discovers there’s some kind of old Catholic mumbo jumbo goes along with feasting over the dead.”

“Sin eating,” Cork said.

“That’s right.” Boomer sounded impressed that Cork knew. “Another good reason Cueball liked the priest for the killings. In the end, your Father Thorne had an alibi they couldn’t break. Also, there was another double homicide with the same weird MO, and it happened before the priest came to Chicago.”

“Know anything about those killings?”

“No. You want I should ask?”

“Let’s get everything we can.”

“All right. But you know, Cork, if I were you, I’d put this priest away right now. He sounds to me like one sick bastard. For all you know, you could have your own little serial killer right there in Nowhere, Minnesota.”

“Thanks for the insight, Boomer. I’ll be in touch.”

He reported everything to Jo who sat tight-lipped at the table. When he was finished, she stood up, walked to the door, and looked through the screen, where dozens of moths shuddered their wings against the mesh. She said nothing.

“It makes sense,” he argued quietly. “Solemn thought Charlotte had been seeing a married man. Mal is a married man.”

“I thought we knew who the married man was. Arne Soderberg.”

“When I talked to Glory Kane-I mean Cordelia Diller-she told me that Charlotte-Maria-related to her father in a sexual way and that she’d come on to Fletcher, hoping to secure his love that way, too. Mal’s not only married, Jo. He’s Father Mal. And think about the graffiti on the wall at St. Agnes. Liar. Who do you suppose that was directed at?”

She spoke carefully and with her back still to Cork. “I know you think anyone is capable of murder. That’s how you’ve been trained to think. I find it hard to believe that Father Mal is the kind of monster you’ve painted.”

Cork followed her to the door. He put his arms around her and spoke quietly. “I wish I had your faith. In God, in people. I don’t. I’ve seen too much, I guess.”