MASS MURDER (61 page)

He glanced up at the statue’s face
.
The alabaster expression was benevolent
, with the
eyes lowered with a graceful smile
.
The image moved Cato, as it always did
.
He couldn’t help but wonder at the serendipity of his being here at the monastery
.
His father had been killed on the steps of a Catholic church, yet instead of shunning the church
,
his mother had forc
ed
Cato to attend Catholic schools and even serve as an altar boy
.
It was one of the reasons he’d been able to pull off this masquerade so easily
.
Then, his best friend in college had moved to
San Francisco
after his senior year to become a priest
.
A fact he now used to his advantage
.
Finally, he and Jacko had shot Mangano on Easter Sunday
.
And, now, here he was not only living on the grounds
of a
Catholic monastery, but living as one of the monks
.
What were the odds?  What did it mean?  Would he somehow die by the cross?  Was he meant to repent?  Or, was it just life coming full circle?

He stared at the face of Christ thinking about the convergence of all these things
.
He didn’t think this was the end of the road, but he would accept it if it was
.
He wasn’t afraid
.
On the other hand, he wouldn’t go easily if caught
.
He had no intention of spending the rest of his life in jail
.
If all else failed, he could run, but this time
there would be no place to go.

He took a deep breath and stood up, thinking perhaps it was time to leave
and
get out from under the watchful eyes of the police
.
He needed time
.
San Francisco popped into his head and an embryo of an idea began to form
.
Jack, the real priest, no longer existed except in the minds of the people who had once known him
.
Maybe he could stretch the charade out a little further
.
He decided to return to his room, craft a
plan, and be gone by morning.

As he stepped away from the bench something clinked at his feet
.
He glanced down to find a small, round object glistening in the moonlight
.
He bent down and wrapped his fingers around an old brass button
.
Holding it up, he could see it was imbedded on one side with a Latin cross
.
Suspicious, he looked around wondering who had thrown it
.
There was no one else in the garden
,
and all the windows to the monk’s rooms were closed
.
Only two of them were even lit
.
The air had grown cold
,
and a slow chill inched its way down his spine.

Cautious now, he decided it was time to go inside
.
He was getting spooked and that could spell disaster
.
Tossing the coin into the flower bed, he turned toward the door
and then
stopped cold
.
Standing in the middle of the cactus garden was a boy of about thirteen
.
The youth wore dark knickers and suspenders and was eerily transparent
.
Cato stared with horror at the flickering image
.
The boy was suspended about six inches off the ground
.
A moment later, a second boy, dressed nearly the same, appeared next to a rose bush a few feet away, his image as transparent as a piece of gauze
.
Two
more
bo
ys hovered near the far wall.

Cato b
acked away, trembling
.
Not from the chill, but from a fear he’d never known
.
Father O’Leary had talked about ghosts at the monastery, but he’d never believed him
.
Is that what this was
− ghosts?

Slowly, Cato edged to his right along the path, never taking
his eyes off the apparitions
.
They didn’t move to stop him, but merely watched him from where they shimmered in the moonlight
.
When something moved to his left, he snapped in that direction
.
A large, dense shadow emerged from the garden wall like someone stepping through a doorway
.
The shadow had a vaguely human shape, but was much taller and larger than the boys
.
As Cato watched in a near panic, the shadow took on the distinct shape of a rotund man dressed in th
e traditional robes of a monk.

Father O’Leary!

Cato turned and ran for the double doors, grabbing the knob and flinging the door open so violently it slammed against the wall
.
He entered the hallway breathless, searching the shadows for more apparitions
.
In a panic now, he ran for the stairs to his
left.

“Father!”

Cato whipped around to find Father Rosario in the kitchen doorway, a dish towel in his hands.

“Are you alright?  You look frightened.”

The small priest stepped forward as if to comfort him.

“No, Father, I’m fine,” the young monk blathered rapidly
.
He held up a hand when Father Rosario started to move towards him
.
“Really
.
I’m fine,” he gulped
.
“I just had a bit of an anxiety attack out there, out in the garden
.
I was thinking about that young woman and then Father O’Leary and Father Damian
.
All the murders
.
It’s just so tragic, so horrifying
.
All of this.”

His breathing came in short gasps and he struggled to calm himself
.
He couldn’t help stealing glances back towards the garden, but nothing had
followed him through the door.

“I understand,” Father Rosario commiserated
.
“Perhaps you should lie down
.
You don’t look well.”

“Yes
.
Yes
.
It’s time I retired anyway
.
And then, I think, Father, I may choose to leave the monastery.”  The moment the words left his mouth he realized he may have hit on just the excuse he needed
.
“I’m just not sure I can take much more of this
.
I’m scared, Father
.
I feel any one of us might be next
.
You understand, don’t you?  Aren’t you frightened?

“Of course, my boy
.
We all are
.
You didn’t bargain for this when you came here
.
No one could blame you
.
Get some rest and perhaps things will look better in the morning.”

“Thank you, Father. I will.”  Cato started backing up the staircase, nearly tripping on his robes
.
“Good night, Father.”

Both men were surprised by a flash of headlights that swept across the front windows.

“Now, I wonder who that could be so late,” Father Rosario said, moving in that direction
.
“I’ll take care of it, Father
.
You go to bed.”  The little priest wandered down the hallway towards the front door saying to himself, “I do hope it’s not that detective again.”

C
hapter Forty-Two

The huge building sat docile in the cool night air, a complacent child compared to the storm-raged teenager it had been only a few nights before
.
A light glowed from within as if the building were half asleep
.
Rocky had barely turned off the truck’s sputtering engine before Giorgio jumped out, heading for the chapel
.
He felt the same kind of excitement he’d felt as a child on Christmas morning when he knew
what
present
s he would get
.
They’d solved the crime
.
Now all they had to do was reel in the killer
.

Father Rosario met them at the door
,
and Giorgio
asked to see Father Frances.

“Detective, it’s late and Father Frances just retired,” the small monk said with restrained patience
.
“He helped me clean up earlier, but something has upset him and he’s gone to bed
.
Perhaps this could wait until tomorrow.”

“No, Father, it can’t wait.”  Giorgio brushed past him
.
“We need to see him tonight
.
”

“
All right
, but I hope there w
on’t be any more surprises.”

“You can count on at least one more surprise, Father,” Giorgio snapped
.
He ordered Grosvner
to stay
put and turned
away.

“Please, Detective,” the small priest raised his voice. “We’ve lost bookings and bread orders
.
The Abbot is in the hospital under suspicion
,
and the monks are feeling the strain
.
Father
Frances
just said he plans to leave the monastery tomorrow
.
What more could you possibly find?”

“The killer,” Giorgio replied with a level gaze
.
“Please, watch the dog.”

The two officers left Father Rosario staring after them
.
They crossed the carpeted hallway
and took
the back stairs two at a time
.
The residence hallway was no more than a dimly lit tunnel at night, but they caught a retreating figure at the far end
.
The figure turned back as the brothers reached the landing
.
It was Father Frances
.
Giorgio called out
,
but Frances turned with a jerk and rounded the corner, robes flying
.
An instant later, a door slammed and the brothers broke into a run.