Inside Out (23 page)

“Melissa and Emily live here at the rectory,” the priest was saying. “Emily’s a delightful little girl. Bright, pretty, and very well behaved.”

Yeah, I bet she’s well behaved,
Nat thought.

Melissa made a speedy exit while Father Joe was talking, and firmly shut the doors behind her.

“How long have they lived here with you?” Nat asked the priest.

Father Joe paused to mull this over. “Let me see. It must be close to nine years now. Yes, Melissa just turned thirty-three. She came here when she was twenty-four. Yes, so that would be nine years.”

Nat’s mind was racing.
Nine years. And Emily is in kindergarten. So Melissa got pregnant while she was living at the rectory. Did she get pregnant
at
the rectoryf Was I on the right track when I considered the possibility that the priest had fathered an illegitimate child? Is Emily his?

“Who’s the father?” Nat asked bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Father Joe said, visibly taken aback for the first time.

“She'asked you who Emily’s father is,” Leo repeated.

“Well, I can’t really . . . That’s not a question I feel 1... I have the right to answer.” Finally, a crack in the veneer.

“I suppose we can wait until your housekeeper gets back and ask her,” Leo said offhandedly. “Let’s get back to my earlier question.”

“What was that?” Father Joe looked plenty flustered now. Maybe they were actually getting somewhere.

“How would you describe your relationships with Suzanne Holden and Lynn Ingram?” There was nothing offhanded in Leo’s voice now.

“I’m a spiritual counselor, Detective. I am spiritual counselor to many inmates, Suzanne and Lynn among many.” He shifted uneasily on the sofa.

“Is that right?” Leo said, eyeballing Father Joe.

The priest looked away, letting his gaze rest on the tea service. He didn’t, however, make any move to pour the tea. Although, Nat bet he could use a drink right about now, probably something stronger than tea, though.

There was a prolonged silence.

Leo broke it big-time. “Suzanne Holden witnessed you raping Lynn Ingram at Grafton.”

The priest stared at Leo, looking dazed. “What?”

Leo glared at him. “My bet is you raped Suzanne as well. Maybe you didn’t call it rape. Probably not. You probably told yourself—and her—every time you fucked her that you were just tending to her physical as well as spiritual needs.”

The priest didn’t look half as shaken by these reprehensible charges as Leo looked dishing them out. All signs of being cool and collected had vanished. Nat was starting to worry that Leo might decjde to tend to some of his own physical needs any moment now. There was no doubt in her mind: Leo would have liked to punch the living daylights out of Father Joe.

Father Joe rose slowly. It seemed to require some serious effort, as if he’d aged twenty years in the last few minutes.

“I am deeply saddened by the poor girl’s utterly unfounded charges, Detective. What grieves me most is that I am certain these lies are causing her to suffer deeply. And Suzanne’s already suffered so much. May God forgive her.” He paused for a few moments. “Please tell her, next time you see her, that I understand. And that I forgive her.”

Without another word, Father Joe crossed the room, shoulders drooping, his step no longer spry.

“Where were you Saturday afternoon at four forty-five?” Leo said sharply, just as Father Joe was about to slide open the doors. The priest didn’t turn around. “I was here at the rectory.” “Can anybody back up your story?”

The priest turned slowly to face Leo. “My ‘story’?” He nodded sadly. “I was putting the final touches on my sermon. I believe Melissa was here— No, wait, I’m sorry. All this . . . I’m a bit. . . flustered.”

He looked more than flustered to Nat. He looked close to panic.

“Saturday is Melissa’s day off. She took Emily to the zoo. E
mil
y was so excited when they got home. She started darting around the room imitating a monkey—”

“What time did they get home?” Leo’s voice was as hard-edged as his expression.

Father Joe sighed. “I believe it was sometime after six. As a special treat, Melissa took Emily to McDonald’s for supper. Emily adores the Happy Meals, but it’s really for the little toy they put inside. And the fries. I think she likes the fries—”

“And last Thursday between the hours of eleven a.m. and one p.m.?” Leo continued in the same iron-fisted tone.

Father Joe fixed a weary gaze on Leo. “An alibi for the time Lynn was attacked?”

Leo said nothing.

“I don’t remember exactly—”

Leo folded his arms across his chest. “Think about it. Fve got plenty of time.”

The priest cast Nat a quick glance. She remained silent and grim.

“I believe I was again here at the rectory during that stretch of time.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, I was here until shortly before three o’clock.” An anguished look shadowed his face. “I did not harm either of those women, Detective. Not while they were in Grafton. Not since they left the prison. I swear—”

“To God?” Leo finished bitingly.

twenty

The goal is to break you. They thought I’d break easily. I thought I could prove them wrong. I couldn’t.

L. I.

AT THE END of the day, Nat was back in the ICU at Boston General. She felt worn out, and while Father Joe was now a prominent name on the suspect list, Leo had been firm in reminding her that there was still no hard-core evidence tying the priest, Harrison Bell, or anyone else for that matter, to the recent attacks on either Lynn or Suzanne.

As Nat approached Lynn’s bed, she noticed the inmate’s eyes dart anxiously past her—as if she was checking to see if Nat was alone or not. When she saw there was no one else present, she seemed to relax a bit, leaving Nat to wonder who it was she didn’t want to see.

“Good news. The doctor says she might move me out of ICU by the end of the week,” Lynn said, clearly pleased by this possibility.

Nat was less pleased. It was easier to protect the inmate in the ICU, where the comings and goings of outsiders—and insiders—were rigidly controlled. If she was moved, Nat was sure Leo would increase the number of cops on watch.

“I look pretty bad, huh?” she said softly.

The truth? Lynn looked awful. What little of her face wasn’t bandaged was blotchy and discolored. Her hair was matted. Her eyes were so bloodshot, Nat still couldn’t see the whites. Her lips were horribly chapped. Had Lynn seen herself in a mirror yet? Nat knew that the doctor had been gently feeding her patient more details about her condition—but had it all really sunk in yet? What state would she be in when it did?

“You look a lot better than you did last Thursday,” Nat said. But then, it was hard to imagine she could look worse than she had that day and still be alive.

“Yes, I guess that’s true.” She tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Oh, and my mother called this morning after you left. I was ... so surprised.”

Nat was relieved that Ruth Ingram at least had called her daughter. Nat was sure Ruth had phoned while her husband was at work.

“Your mother was here the day you were brought in.” Nat hoped that would give Lynn some measure of comfort.

“Yes, Dr. Varda told me. I couldn’t believe it. We haven’t exactly been, well, close these past few years.” The pained look in her eyes spoke volumes. “She’s going to try to come in to see me again. I told her it wasn’t necessary. My dad—” She let the rest of the sentence fall away.

“Yes, I know.”

Lynn nodded, blinking back tears.

“Harrison called, too. But it seems they weren’t authorized to put the call through.” There was no missing the note of disappointment in Lynn’s voice. Surely, if Harrison Bell had been her assailant, it was hard to imagine Lynn would speak his name now with that unmistakable hint of longing. But then Nat was reminded that Lynn’s memory of the attack remained deeply buried. Maybe she didn’t even remember the argument in which she’d called off their affair—or what Nat was assuming was an actual affair, if that tape was to be believed. The woman on the tape gave no indication of when that argument had taken place. Was it shortly before the attack? Weeks before? Nor was there any way to know why Lynn called it off. Was it the old, familiar story of a young woman falling in love with a married man—a married man who fills her with promises that he’s going to divorce his wife and marry her? Was Lynn’s relationship with Harrison Bell a replay of her relationship with Matthew Slater? Did she finally come to her senses, realize that Bell, like Slater, wasn’t about to leave his wife? More significantly, that he was not about to make his relationship with her public. It was one thing to have a secret affair with a transsexual, quite another to announce it to the world.

And when Lynn did finally break it off, had Bell been unwilling to let her go? Did he—? Nat abruptly stopped her ruminations, realizing that on some level she preferred thinking that Bell, rather than a priest, was behind the attacks. But even if Father Joe wasn’t responsible for the assaults, there was no dismissing Suzanne’s confession. She’d seen Father Joe rape Lynn at Grafton. The priest had committed a crime, even if it wasn’t the crime currently under investigation.

Unless Suzanne had been wrong. Unless she’d been mistaken. Was it possible?

Nat focused back in on Lynn, who also seemed lost in her own ruminations.

“I visited Father Joe today,” Nat said quietly, her gaze fixed on the patient.

“Who?”

“Father Joe Parker,” Nat repeated, watching Lynn intently for any signs of... of what? Nat wasn’t sure what she was anticipating Lynn’s reaction would be, but it certainly wasn’t this blank look. How far back in time did her memory lapse extend?

“Don’t you remember Father Joe? From CCI Grafton?”

A worried expression replaced the blankness. “Oh, yes. Yes, I . . . think so. I’m still a little . . . foggy about. . . everything.” Foggy, or afraid?

Nat pulled up a chair close to the bed. “What do you remember about Father Joe?”

Lynn didn’t respond right away. Her eyes darted around the room again. She definitely seemed to be growing agitated. Nat experienced a wave of guilt. Was Lynn ready for this? Was Nat pushing too hard too soon? But time was weighing heavily on her. On all of them. A lot of people were in mortal danger here: Lynn, Suzanne, Ross Varda, Nat herself. The longer it took to nail the bastard, the greater the risk to all of them.

“Lynn,” Nat said softly, “Suzanne Holden has already talked to me about Father Joe.”

“Suzanne?”

“Something’s happened, Lynn.”

“To Suzanne? Is she all right?” Lynn’s agitation was palpable. Well, at least she remembered her roommate.

“She’s fine,” Nat quickly assured her. “But she nearly ODed the other day.”

Lynn looked incredulous, then horrified. “No. No, that’s not possible. Not Suzanne. She wouldn’t go back . . .”

“She says she didn’t. She says she was knocked out by an unknown assailant who then pumped her up with enough heroin to kill her.”

A small, strangled cry escaped from Lynn’s throat. “No, no, no . .

“She told me about Father Joe. Do you understand what I’m saying, Lynn? She told me what he did. To you. I went to see him. I know this is hard, Lynn, but please, please try to remember.”

“No, no . . .”

“What’s going on here?” Carol Jacobson, the head ICU nurse, came storming into the room, fuming. “Whatever it is, it stops now. Out.” She pointed a finger at Nat as if it was a weapon. Like, if Nat didn’t leave instantly, she’d gun her down.

Nat got to her feet, but she paused long enough to murmur an apology to Lynn, adding, “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” Her words sounded hollow to her own ears.

Nat could feel the head nurse glaring into her back as she made her exit.

Ross Varda was coming through the ICU doors as Nat stepped into the corridor. Just the man she wanted to see.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

“Can’t it wait until after—”

“No.” “I hope you realize you may have caused irreparable damage,” Varda said sternly.

“I went through all your notes on your therapy sessions with Lynn. There’s no mention of Father Joe. Of any priest. She must have talked about him. A trauma like that—”

“Are you listening to me, Superintendent?”

“Nothing Fve done compares to what might happen to Lynn if we don’t catch this bastard.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes. Of course that’s true.”

“We got nothing out of the priest.”

“No,” Varda said. “I don’t expect you would have.”

She pulled out a copy of the gruesome drawing of the woman. “Do you think a child might have drawn this?”

The psychiatrist was taken aback. Nat wasn’t sure if it was her question or the drawing. He took hold of the photocopy. “Is this—?”

“Yes. Pretty awful, isn’t it?”

He studied it more closely. “What makes you ask me if I think this is a child’s work?”

“It’s one professional’s opinion. What’s yours?”

“I’m not a child psychiatrist, but I did some testing with children years back. During my training. Using their drawings as a way of getting at their underlying feelings. The drawings are often crude, sometimes shockingly graphic.”

“Like this one?”

He nodded. “Yes. It could have been drawn by a child. But—”

“Father Joe’s housekeeper has a five-year-old daughter. Mother and child live at the rectory.”

Ross Varda continued staring at the drawing.

“Father Joe’s not handing us a confession on a silver platter, Ross.”

“I really don’t know what to tell you.”

“You believe the priest was Lynn’s assailant, don’t you?”

Fie gave her a helpless shrug. “I don’t know.”

“But you believe Suzanne was telling the truth about having witnessed him rape Lynn at Grafton.”

“I see no reason why she would lie about such a thing.” “Maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe she mistook someone else for him. Another priest. Or someone dressed like a priest. Someone who—” _

“Do you really think that’s likely?” Varda’s tone suggested the psychiatrist was questioning a not-too-lucid patient.