MASS MURDER (20 page)

Giorgio knew when he’d been bested and decided to change the subject.

“So, this
is the kitchen the monks use?”

“We have three kitchens on the premises.
The one you saw last night was built when the boys’ school was created.
When we began baking commercially, we had to create this kitchen out of the old library.
Because this is the commercial, we k
eep it separate from a smaller kitchen that serves to make our meals.”

He gestured for Giorgio to follow him through a doorway to a smaller kitchen that wasn’t much bigger than his own.
There was no outsid
e window
making him think it had been converted from something else.

“As you can see,” Father Rosario began, “it’s quite smal
l in comparison, but adequate.”

Through the far wall was a well-stocked pantry
;
to the left was a door leading into the dining room.
This was a long room with a high ceiling and large, arched windows
,
looking out to the east parking lot where a delivery truck sat.
Two long wooden tables ran the length of the room, dotted on both sides by wooden chairs.
The room was mostly u
nadorned, except for two fresco-
style wa
ll paintings at the far end.

“Is this how most of the monks spend their time during the day, Father, working in the business o
r
bread baking?”

“This or gardening.
Of course, there is always time for prayer and meditation
,
and we also hold classes for our novitiates and guests.
In fact, twice a year, we offer one week of fasting and meditation for guests who come from all over the world.”
The monk’s eyes lit up.
“You might want to consider joining us, Detective.”

Giorgio made an immediate left turn.

“D
o any of the guests mingle with the monks?”

“We’ll often run into guests when we’re working around the grounds.
We are not a mute society, so we have no problem conversing with others.”

“I appreciate your time, Father, and thank you for the bread.
It was delicious.”

“You’re most welcome.
You can return to the hallway through the door at the end of the room.”
He pointed to a set of double doors at the far end and retreated to the work area.

Giorgio returned to the main hallway and found Rocky sauntering toward him from the direction of the main lobby.

“Wha’ sup?”
he slurred
.

“I’m trying to figure out how someone might have carried
Olsen’s
body to the kitchen.
What’ve you been doing?”

“Interviewing some of the monks.
A Father O’Leary was taken ill last night and isn’t up to talking yet, but I’ve met with two of the young ones.”
Rocky stuck his nose in the air and sniffed.
“What’s that smell?”

“Bread.
Which ones?”

“Frances and Julio.
What bread?”

“They bake bread here.
What did they say?”

“Who?”

“The two monks,” Giorgio sighed with exasperation.

“
Frances
was very forthcoming.
Julio was more difficult.
What do
you mean they bake bread here?”

“To sell,” Giorgio snapped.
“What did you learn?”

“Nothing much.
Can we get some?”

“Not so fast.
I want an update first.
Let’s go into the chapel.”

Giorgio opened the door and they stepped inside.
The room embraced them with its hushed silence and strong smell of incense.
A row of stained glass windows glistened with the little bit of sunlight outside.
Overhead, the spindly slivers of richly polished cherry wood arched across the cathedral ceiling like the skeleton of a large whale.
More ornate carvings filled each corner in graceful curves, giving the appearance that the entire room had been carved out of one large piece of wood.
An octagonal stained glass window sat high above the altar where the ceiling came together in a point.
A single monk silently polished tall, golde
n candlesticks near the altar.

Giorgio and Rocky quietly took seats in one of the back pews where Rocky stretched his long legs underneath the pew in front of him, clasping his hands tightly in his lap.
As comfortable as Giorgio might feel in being here, his brother looked like he’d just been sent to the principal’s office.
Rocky sighed before speaking in a whisper.

“You know, I haven’t been in a church since Rebecca died.
In fact, I haven’t been in one since we picked out the church for our wedding. You remember?
We we
re going to use St. Anthony’s.”

Rocky allowed an awkward moment to stretch into two.
Finally, Giorgio leaned forward, resting his arms on the pew in front of him.

“You never talk much abou
t that night,” he said quietly.

“I try not to think about it.”

“But you do.”
Giorgio glanced at his brother.
“You do think about it.”

Rocky raised his eyes to look at Giorgio.
The handsome face had all the attributes Giorgio’s lacked.
His brother had a strong jaw, an irrepressible smile
,
and the only straight teeth in the family.
But when Rocky was ill, it was a face that resembled a charcoal drawing someone had started to erase
-
- all definition seemed to disappear.
He was looking into that
face now
.

“I think about it all the time,” Rocky said in a whisper.
“It’s why I drink, Joe.
It’s why I can’t stop drinking.”

They sat quietly, each with their own thoughts.
The monk busied himself at the altar.

“What does the department say?”

“I have another week to make a decision.
Go into rehab, or get clean on my own.”

“And?”

Rocky turned and the two brothers locked eyes. “I’m not sure I want to get clean.”

Rocky and Giorgio had never been competitive.
Instead, they had shared an unusual bond from the time they were small.
When their father died, Rocky had turned to his big brother and Giorgio had risen easily to the task.
The decision to move to the West Coast and to leave his brother behind had been difficult, but Rocky was happily engaged to Rebecca, a beautiful girl in the police academy.
One week before the wedding, Rebecca had been raped and brutally murdered in her own apartment.
The killer was never found.

It
had
all but shattered Rocky
,
and he moved to Southern California six months later hoping to put his life back together.
It hadn’t worked.
Rocky had only been a social drinker in college, but now he sank longingly into alcohol’s fatal embrace.
When he’d been ordered on medical leave, Giorgio had avoided the urge to lecture his little brother, knowing
that
what he needed was support, but Rocky hadn’t asked for it.
Giorgio thought perhaps this investigation might help get Rocky back on track.
Now he wasn’t sure.

“Rehab wouldn’t be so bad,” Giorgio said, looking away.
“I’d probably give it a try.”

“You didn’t hear me, Joe,” Rocky cut him off.
“I’m not sure I
want
to recover.
It’s a part of me you’ve never quite understood.
You have it all, Joe.
You always did.
You laid your life out long ago and everything fell into place.
You don’t know what it’s like for me.”

Giorgio felt the heat rise in his belly. “What do you mean everything fell into place?
Because I worked hard to get where I am?
Because I worked overtime every chance I got in order to provide for my family?
What all do you think I have?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You mean because I have Angie?”
Rocky flinched but Giorgio ignored it.
“You forget little brother that I lost someone, too.
I
know damn well what it’s like.”

“You mean Dad,” Rocky replied matter-of-factly.

“I was closer to him than you
,
and I was older.
I understood what happened.
I was at the morgue
. I
saw the hole blown in his chest.”
Giorgio stood up and moved away a few steps, unable to control the anger.
“Shit, Rocky!
I used to lie awake at night
willing myself not to cry because you were in the bed next to me.
Sometimes, I’d climb to the rooftop just to be alone
−
me and New York City!”

The monk at the altar turned in response
to
Giorgio’s
raised
voice
, prompting him to turn
back to his brother
a
nd lower his voice
a notch.

“I was the one who had to comfort mom.
Do you have any idea how hard that was?
I was just a kid, but everyone said I was the man in the family now and had to be strong for the two of you.
Crap, I was just as torn up.”
He stopped and took a breath and lowered his voice
even more
.
“I
do
know how you’re feeling.
You want to scream and you want to cry.
Sometimes
,
you just want to run in front of a bus and end it all.
But most of all, you just want someone to take away the pain. You want someone to fix it.
But they can’t.
Because death can’t be fixed, Rocky.
And that’s why you feel so helpless.”
He paused and took a deep breath.
“And that’s why you drink.”

Rocky’s face had grown ashen
,
and he dropped his he
ad.

“Drinking won’t fix it either though, little brother.
And that’s the truth.
Life isn’t a promise.
It just is what it is.
Nothing more.
We get what we get!”