Black Princess Mystery (29 page)

“You don’t
think much of women, do you?” Tasheka said.

He stared
at her.

“You look
down on us,” Tasheka continued. “I could tell that the first moment I saw you.
There’s nothing you would like more than to pin this crime on me. Yes, I was
promiscuous for a time. I was immature and stupid. Maybe I was rebelling
against my father, spreading the wings of my womanhood, or just having a good
time. I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t owe you, or anyone else so
wholly unconnected to me, an explanation.”

“Why did
you stop having the affair with the victim?”

“Three
reasons,” she said. “One, it would have hurt my father and I love him.
Secondly, it would have hurt my mother and I love her. Finally, it hurt me and
Father Tim because we both knew it was wrong. At first that added to the
excitement, but as it actually happened in that motel room, it just got ugly.
We decided to break it off and I bought the ring as an expression of the
friendship I had once felt with him. I stopped going to church just before my
father’s death and stayed home to care for him. I saw Father Tim only at the
funeral and on Halloween night in that room. I desperately missed the
friendship we once had. I wanted to see him and bare my soul when I stopped at
the church the day I found the body. But it was too late.”

“It’s not
too late to find out who did it, Miss Green. It’s my job and I will do my job.”

“It’s your
job, but it’s my obsession.”

“Jealousy
is a terrible thing, too,” McNab said, obviously wanting to twist the knife one
more time out of spite. “Can you imagine living with a man like Jake Thompson?
It would be hell. Or can you imagine if you slept with a man only to have him
sleep with your mother shortly after you broke it off? That might drive a woman
to murder, don’t you think?”

“It’s time
for you to go, detective.”

McNab
looked at the board again, still clearly shocked that he had been beaten by a
woman. “Stop sticking your nose into police business,” he snapped, “and stay
away from Detective Henry. He could lose his job for funneling information to
an amateur Nancy Drew like you, especially as you are under suspicion.”

“Good
evening,” she responded, handing him his hat.

McNab
stood up, walked to the door, and then turned to her. “I think you did it,” he
stated in a cold tone. “I think you killed Father Murphy.”

“What you
think is irrelevant,” Tasheka shot back, “because you need evidence, not just
vapid opinions from a spiteful old bastard.”

“Confess,”
he said with an intense glare. “It’s good for the soul.”

“Go fuck
yourself!” Tasheka exclaimed.

McNab’s
eyes flashed and he trembled with rage. “You have a problem with authority,
little girl, don’t you?”

“You have
no authority over me, little man.”

“No one
has authority over you, Miss Green. You are God, at least in your own eyes.”

“Oh,”
Tasheka suddenly said in a pleasant voice, “I have something for you.” She left
and moments later returned with the ivory chess pieces stored individually in a
wooden carrying case with a see-through, glass top. She passed it to him. “This
is my gift to you,” she said strangely.

“I can’t
take this,” he replied, obviously shocked by the offer and not accepting it
right away.

“Gifts are
a Russian tradition,” Tasheka insisted. “My mother wanted to remove it anyway.
Too many memories, you see. She told me to do with it whatever I want. And I
want to give it to you, Detective McNab.” She passed him the case. “It’s
yours.”

He took
the case and clung to it like a monkey who has found a shiny object. “This
isn’t a bribe, is it?” McNab queried, regaining his comfortable, suspicious
attitude.

“Good
night,” Tasheka said, opening the door for him. She winked. “Work on your game,
little man.”

McNab
glared, but quickly walked away before Tasheka changed her mind. She locked the
door behind him and folded back the curtain to watch him pull out of the
driveway. He could see her face, but could not see her fondling the Black Widow
knife in its sheath.

Chapter
Eighteen

Tasheka
rummaged through a stack of old newspapers and found an article on the murder
with a picture of McNab at the golf course. She took a pair of scissors and
some tape out of the junk drawer and cut out his photo with meticulous care.
Then she went to her bedroom, taped the picture of McNab to the mirror and cut
out the eyes. When she finished her ghoulish amputation, she turned the eyes
around so that they were facing inward, and taped them over the holes.

The next
morning she heard a car door and knew it was her mother. She pulled the picture
of McNab off the mirror, threw it into the garbage, and went downstairs. When
her mother came in the door, they hugged warmly and wished each other a Merry
Christmas. They ate breakfast and opened the half dozen gifts under the tree.
They thanked each other, hugged, and then took Kie for a walk. It was very mild
and before long, drops of rain fell. They hurried home and only moments after
closing the door, the skies opened to a winter downpour.

The house
was bathed in a grey light and a melancholy spirit pervaded, but the women
changed clothes and puttered around together, alternately admiring the
Christmas lights on the tree, working in the kitchen, or simply watching
television. Though Tasheka wanted to continue focusing on the killer, Father
Tim had now been dead a week and during that time she had hardly allowed
herself a moment’s diversion. On Christmas Day, she tried to put everything out
of her mind and enjoy the time with her mother. Somehow they revived a festive
atmosphere, even singing together that night after sharing turkey with all the
stuffings. But, inevitably, the buzz of Christmas began to subside and it was
replaced by a relaxed aimlessness. Feeling melancholy, Tasheka went to her room
and was pleased when Thorston phoned.

“Merry
Christmas,” she said cheerfully, sitting down on her bed like a teenager and
pulling her knees to her chest. “What’s going on with you?”

“Well,” he
said with special warmth in his voice, “I just wanted to connect with you. I
hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at
all. And even if you were, I’d still be glad you called.”

“Can I ask
you something, Tasheka?”

“Yes.”

“It’s
about me and you.”

“Go
ahead.”

“Please be
straight with me,” Thorston said, clearing his throat. “But before you answer,
I just want you to know that I’m not afraid of the truth. I don’t know if you
see our relationship only as a sexual thing, or if there’s something deeper. If
I’m not even in the ballpark, tell me and that’ll be the end of it.”

“I like
you, Thorston,” was all she said.

“Like me?”

“Yes, I
like you.”

“Like me
enough to be my girlfriend? Official?”

“Is that
what you want?”

“That’s
exactly what I want.”

“I feel
comfortable with you,” she said. “You’re on the short list.”

He
laughed. “Exactly how short is the list?”

“There’s
only one name on it. Is that short enough for you?” She paused. “But if you
knew everything about me,” she cautioned, “you might not think I’m such a
prize.”

“What do
you mean?”

Tasheka
laughed nervously. “What’s new?” she asked, changing the subject.

“We’ve
interrogated the brother,” said the detective, sounding befuddled.

“How does
it look?”

“Complicated,
like the rest of this case.”

“Tell me
something,” Tasheka said. “I stopped at St. Timothy’s the morning of the murder
and I saw a woman’s coat hanging there. That’s bothered me ever since. Have you
got an explanation?”

“William
Murphy was wearing a white parka with pink on the sleeves. He apparently went
to a thrift store and that was the best winter coat they had that fit him. It
cost him two dollars.”

“I see,”
she said. “What else can you tell me?”

“This
isn’t public knowledge, so not a word of what I say is to be repeated.” He
gathered his thoughts. “Everything checked out just as we thought. William has
been in trouble with the law from an early age. He spent years in and out of
the juvenile system for everything from stolen cars, to selling drugs, to
assault. Tim Murphy followed in his footsteps and they had a little racket
going.”

“What?”
she cried incredulously.

“But Tim
wanted to make something of his life, so he got out of the lifestyle and
applied himself to school. There was a power struggle between the brothers over
young Kevin. Tim got accepted into university and majored in religious studies.
He seemed to have an aptitude and a natural charm for dealing with people, even
though, as you say, he didn’t even believe in God. Anyway, Tim and William were
like two opposing forces pulling on the younger brother. Unfortunately, Kevin
found smoking dope and stealing hubcaps more exciting than the writings of St.
Thomas Aquinas. There was a confrontation one night over the dope and William
sped away with the young boy. That’s the night Kevin was killed.”

“What a
terrible shame.”

“But
William apparently changed,” Thorston said. “He took a new road, sort of like
Lazarus rising from the dead. He was tired of living a degenerate life, and
like his brother before him, he wanted to make something of himself. I spoke to
the prison psychologist and he said William literally transformed. Maybe an
angel visited him in his cell, I don’t know, but William Murphy became a model
prisoner. He applied himself and got his high school equivalency, then took a
real interest in the Bible. Ironically, one of the pastors he assaulted became
his mentor and tutored him. I spoke with the pastor on the phone and he said
that William gained a deep understanding of Christian theology and was born
again, as they say.”

“Do you
buy it?”

“The
pastor verified it. Two weeks before he was released, William called his
brother and wanted to put the past in the past. When William got out of prison,
they decided to meet. The first meeting took place with the parole officer
present. I spoke to him and he said it was a little tense at first, but once
Tim saw how genuine his brother was, they hugged and cried together. There was
no animosity whatsoever. Tim apparently invited William to visit Lakeside to
stay the night, which he did on December the eighteenth.”

“That’s
interesting,” Tasheka said, “but if that’s true, how did William end up with
Father Tim’s car, wallet, and credit card? And why did he not report Father
Tim’s disappearance?”

“Tim Murphy
gave him the car, credit card, and his old wallet as gifts of reconciliation.
William just got out of jail and had nothing, so Tim was helping him get
established.”

“Is there
any evidence to verify the car and credit card were gifts?”

“When we
picked him up, William had a letter in his possession and a bill of sale. The
letter was written and signed by Tim Murphy and it stated that he had given his
brother the credit card and had arranged for withdrawals of one thousand
dollars per month. The bill of sale shows Tim Murphy sold William Murphy the
car for one dollar. Our handwriting expert verified the letter was written by
Tim Murphy. Therefore, there was no theft. William stole nothing and, in fact,
because of the credit card, it was in William’s best interest that Tim remain
alive. Now he can no longer use it.”

“But why
didn’t he report that Tim was missing?”

“He says
he didn’t know about it.”

“He
didn’t?”

“According
to William Murphy, Tim gave him the credit card, wallet and car the evening of
December the eighteenth. Because he had been in prison for so long, he was
accustomed to rising early and going to bed early. He said he went to bed at
nine that evening, just after Tim left for his walk. When he woke up early in
the morning, he wanted to wait until his brother rose and even read the
newspaper and took a shower to pass the time. But according to him, he didn’t
want to disturb Tim, thinking he was simply asleep. They had agreed to meet
again on New Year’s Day and William simply had no idea what happened, so he
quietly left.”

“Sounds
plausible, Thorston.”

“Does,
doesn’t it?”

“Why would
he go and be alone in a cottage, though? That seems odd.”

“Having
been in prison for years, he was having a difficult time adjusting to so many
new people. Apparently it’s a fairly common thing among inmates who have been
released after years behind bars. He said he wanted to buy enough groceries to
last several days, then rent a cottage by the lake and just enjoy the freedom
of walking in the woods. Tim Murphy gave him the money to do it.”

“It all
seems to come together,” Tasheka concluded.