MASS MURDER (7 page)

“Then we’ve got to finish the interviews tonight
-
- at least preliminary stat
ements.”

“We’ve called for extra help
.”
Swan glanced at Rocky.

“I’ll stick around. Who’s got a pen and paper?”

“Ask Father Damian over there. He’s
the abbot
.”
Rocky left and Swan turned back to Giorgio. “The woman was a literary agent from Marina
d
el Ray. According to the conference chairperson, she showed up at the last minute, pinch-hitting for someone who couldn’t make it. No one really knew her, although a few of the would-be writers interviewed with her.”

“Who was she replacing?”

Swan consulted his notes again. “A woman named Beth Tomlinson, also from
Marina del Rey
.”

“Okay. We’ll need to talk with Ms. Tomlinson. See if you can get someone over there tonight.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I need a cup of coffee.”

“No problem.”

Swan paused, his hazel eyes peeking coyly out from under a set of straight brows. “You know, Joe, you don’t look too bad in eye makeup. Makes those soft brown eyes
really pop. Know what I mean?”

Swan gave him a seductive wink and walked away smiling to himself. Yep, Giorgio thought, this would be a long night.

Chapter Five

Father Damian rested a limp hand across the shoulder of a woman dabbing at her eyes with a burgundy cloth napkin
, his
face an expressionless mask of boredom
. Y
et
,
the moment Rocky approached the monk’s visage became suddenly animated
,
and he stepped away from the weeping woman to give Rocky his full attention
.
After a brief exchange,
the abbot
pointed to a set of double doors and Rocky departed
. T
he monk gaz
ed
after him as if Rocky
had taken
the only light from a darkened room
.
Giorgio decided
the abbot
required some attention of his own and headed in that direction.

“May I ask you some quest
ions?” he called out
.

The abbot
made a full turn as Giorgio approached, his ge
nerous mouth stretching into an
expectant smile
.

“Are you with the police?”

His thick white hair matched a set of unruly brows that crowded narrow eye sockets, making Giorgio hunt for the
small brown eyes hidden within.

“I’m a detective
.
Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

The monk snuck a glance at the tearful woman behind him, perhaps feeling guilty for leaving her to her own devices. “We can go to my office, he offered.”

He led Giorgio out the door and across the now empty lobby, the silence emphasizing the soft rustle of
his
robes
.
The abbot
paused at the foot of the staircase where a wall niche held a small, painted statue of Christ on the cross
.
Father Damian quickly touched his forehead and each shoulder just as
a
door opened and Rocky met them coming out
with
pen and paper in hand.

“I’ll find Swan,” he said to Giorgio, “get a list of names and touch base with you later.” He pulled his radio from his belt
.
“What channel are we on?”

“Three,” Giorgio responded
.

Rocky adjusted his radio and returned to the banquet room leaving Giorgio to follow the priest into a warmly lit office
.
Floor to ceiling bookcases filled with gold-leafed religious texts
c
overed one full wall, while an impressive carved writing tabl
e sat in front of a
wall closet
.
The table’s clawed feet grasped for a burgundy fringed carpet, its ribbon carving filled with enough shadow to make it appear as if a brown snake had coiled itself around its
edge
.
A large brass lamp weighted one side of the desk, while a computer monitor balanced the other
.
To Giorgio’s right was a large, gold-framed painting of Christ’s descent from the cross held above a highly polished oak library table that sat against the wall
.
The table was graced with a red silk runner, hand-painted porcelain bowl, twin brass candlestick holders
,
and a large, gold-leafed Bible heavy enough to anchor a small ship
.
On the opposite wall was a red velvet settee and small, marble coffee table
.
As a lifelong Catholic, Giorgio felt right at home here and could almost hear the rich voice of Father Michael O’Hara patiently explaining the difference between obligatory pr
ayer and true spiritual prayer.

“
Praying is a discipline, Mr. Salvatori
,” Father Michael would say with a stiff lip. “
However, God wants your heart, not merely your mind
.
When you pray, you talk directly to God
.
Let go of everything you think you already know
.
Be humble and speak from your heart.
”

Father Michael would tap Giorgio on the head after that as if to say, “Get that, Salvatori?”  Then he would retreat
with his
hands clasped behind his back
.
To this day, Giorgio prayed because he’d been taught to do so, not because he held out any hope his prayers would be answered
.
His view of God was surprisingly cynical for someone who had at one time considered going into the ministry
.
When he caught himself staring at the limp figure of Jesus, Giorgio allowed the ghosts of his youth to fade and lowered himself into a richly upholstered Queen Anne chair facing
Father Damian
.

“How can I help you, officer
…
uh
…
?”

“Salvatori
.
I’m a detective with the Sierra Madre police.”

“I’m afraid we’re at a bit of a loss here, Detective
.
Nothin
g like this has ever happened.

Father Damian pressed his fingers
together as if kneading bread dough.

“I understand, Father, but we have a problem
.
All your guests leave tomorrow
.
We have a lot of information to gather before then
.
I need some background details
.
For instance, h
ow are these conferences booked?”

“People find us through travel agents and travel guides
.
Our own Chamber of Commerce mentions us in their material
. We even have a website.”

“Who provides the food?”

“We have a standing contract with a local catering company.”

“May I have their name?” Giorgio pulled a small pad from his pocket.

“Food for Thought
.”
The monk smiled
when
Giorgio
appeared confused
.
“The name is meant to be clever
.
They specialize in conferences both here and at several other locations
n the area
.
Their owner is Mary Fields
.
I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk with you.”

“Were any of the catering staff still here when the body was found?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment
.
“Yes, I saw Mary when the police arrived
.
I don't know who else might have been here.”

“What time did the dinner start?”

“We don’t have much to do with the conference schedules
.
Our coordinator arrange
s everything
.
I can give you her name and phone number
.
She isn’t scheduled to be back here until Monday
.
Her name is Anya Peters
.”
He pulled out a Post-it Note from a drawer and wrote down a number
.
“I’m afraid she was only just notified about this
.
She leaves once the event is running smoothly.”

Giorgio took the phone number, noticing the monk had known it by heart
.
Possibly an
innocent fact, but one he would remember.

“Would she have been the person who booked the conference?”

“Yes
.
She’s our employee. We try to keep the monastery separate from the retreat center.”

Giorgio made a note and then remembered that some priests move around
.
Father Michael
had been relocated to a parish in Brooklyn
when Giorgio was only a year short of graduation
.

“Have a
ny new monks arrived recently?”

“Many young priests come as postulants for one or two
-
year programs
.
They live here on a
temporary commitment
.
Some remain, while others conclude this isn’t the life for them.”

“Did
anyone come recently?”

Father Damian paused, his hands
crossed at
his abdomen
like the
bodice of a period dress. “Three came to us within the last few months
,
”
he exhaled the words.

“May I have their names?”

He sat forw
ard, bristling. “
They are referred
to us by the
ir seminaries and come with the
highest
recommendations.”