JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (48 page)

“How did your brother feel about it?"

“I don't know. I never asked him."

And your mother?"

“She needed the money. As long as Stacy paid the rent, she didn't care. Mom didn't see much of her anyway. Stacy worked long hours."

“How long did Stacy live there?"

“A little over a year. A year and a half or so."

Daryl drummed his fingers on the table. This was the second time he had asked the priest this question, and there had been no change in the time-line. It was obvious Father Glowacz was telling the truth. “And you haven't seen her since she cleared out?"

“That's correct.” Father Glowacz looked nervous again.

“Was Stacy into bondage at all, Father Glowacz?"

“I beg your pardon!” John Glowacz looked shocked at the question.

“Let me rephrase it. Did she like to be tied up? Whipped? Spanked? That kind of thing?"

Father Glowacz stammered, his face growing red again. “Th-that's none of your business!"

“Do you know if she and Charley had a thing going on?"

“What kind of questioning is this?!” Father Glowacz was getting irritated now.

“They're straightforward questions, Father. Your brother turned that center room into quite an S&M dungeon. I was just wondering if the change to that room was recent, or if your little girlfriend perhaps was into the same thing your brother was."

“I don't need to listen to this.” Father Glowacz stood up. His eyes were livid, blazing with anger.

“Sit down, Father. I'm not finished yet."

“You may not be, but I am."

“Just a few more questions. And I promise I won't ask about your sex life again."

Father Glowacz regarded him for a moment. Daryl Garcia beckoned him to sit down. “Please. Have a seat."

Father Glowacz sat back down slowly. Daryl saw that he had pushed his limit with the priest. It was obvious that his mother had warped him to the point that he grew extremely defensive whenever any mention of his relationship with Stacy Temple was brought up. Daryl jotted a brief note to have this lead checked out, then turned back to the priest. “Okay. I'm sorry. I won't ask you about that again. Let's talk about your work with Our Lady of Guadalupe, okay?"

Father Glowacz nodded. His features set, still glowering with anger.

Daryl studied the priest for a moment before continuing. “Your mother and Charley both attended Our Lady of Guadalupe, even before you became a parish priest there, correct?"

Father Glowacz nodded. “My mother was very proud that I had become a priest.

She was even happier when I returned to the community to minister at the church we had been confirmed at."

“How close were you to your brother when you returned home?"

Father Glowacz sighed and related a boring series of anecdotes that covered the last seven years. He saw his mother and brother at least once a week, usually at the house when he stopped by for his weekly visits. And he always saw them at church. They attended the Sunday morning 10 a.m. mass.

“Your brother did volunteer work at Our Lady of Guadalupe, right?"

“Yes,” Father Glowacz said, appearing to grow tired of the questioning. He sighed. “But not very much. He was especially drawn to children's causes. He was great with kids. But because of his job at Acme, that made his volunteer work very difficult.

And within the past three or four years he volunteered less and less at the church."

“Did he know any of the gang members who lived in the area or who attended mass at Our Lady?"

Father Glowacz frowned again, as if grimacing before stepping into black, oily waters. “I suppose he might have. He would only have come across them at mass. He kept pretty much to himself at church."

“Did your brother ever try to move out of the house?” Daryl asked.

Father Glowacz thought about it for a minute then shook his head. “No. In the last

... oh, I'd say, ten years, mother's health had gone rapidly downhill. I was away at seminary when she had her first stroke, and we decided that it was in her best interests if Charley take care of her. She retired from her job as a secretary, and Charley kept up his job at the insurance company. When I came back from missionary work, I did all I could to help."

“No vow of poverty for you then, Father?"

Father Glowacz smiled. “The only priests who take a vow of poverty are Franciscan and Dominican priests. Diocesan priests take no such vow and receive a salary from which they must pay for their cars, insurance, clothing, entertainment, vacations and whatever else. My salary goes towards my bills and the remainder went to helping my mother."

Daryl Garcia glanced at his watch and saw that nearly an hour had gone by. He didn't want to keep the priest any longer and he also didn't want to fall back into his full interrogation mode. He knew that he had pushed it to the limit already, and that the priest was going through a lot right now. He wouldn't get anywhere if he tried to chip away at the stone any further. He was confident that Father Glowacz was telling the truth, but he had the impression that the priest was reluctant to divulge much information about his brother. Blood ties can be strong, even if the blood tie was accused of brutal murders. It was a human thing to protect those that you loved from harm, and Daryl silently commended Father Glowacz for telling him as much as he knew. The priest could very well have secured an attorney and refused to answer any questions. Daryl felt very lucky to have gotten this much information from him. He could get the rest from the task force members who would be questioning Charley's co-workers, neighbors, and former schoolmates.

Daryl pressed the STOP button of the tape recorder. He rose, holding out his hand.

“Thank you, Father. I really appreciate this."

Father Glowacz rose to his feet as well, his imposing figure looming over the detective. He looked a little more relaxed, lighter on his feet than he had when he came in earlier. “Forgive me if I sounded a little ... defensive of my mother, Detective Garcia. I loved her and I know Charley did as well. She was a good woman. I know that in these days and times people tend to look upon those who hold such views on sex and wickedness and the like as—oh, how shall I say it?—fanatical. Extremist perhaps. Maybe she was. I don't know. All I know is that Charley seemed to—how shall I put it?—
rely
on our mother more. When mother said jump, Charley asked how high. But even though he was ever the devoted son, I sensed the struggle within him. I know he wanted to get out from under her thumb, so to speak. Knew that he held the same sinful desires as all men. I tried to speak with him about it, of course, tried to divert him to something more positive and uplifting. I tried to get him to join the Catholic singles club, and while he came to a few meetings he dropped out. I don't know why because I know he had ... you know, those desires.” His features darkened. “I just didn't know they were desires of the most wicked sort."

Daryl pocketed the tape, opened the door to the interrogation room and escorted the priest out. He led the priest down the hall to the lobby, engaging him in small talk. As they reached the elevators, Father Glowacz turned to Daryl and managed a smile. His features were a little brighter. He was doing remarkably well in keeping his emotions under control despite the pressures and circumstances of the last twenty-four hours. “I would like to see my brother, Detective Garcia. Could it perhaps be arranged for me to—"

“Consider it done,” Detective Garcia said, shaking the priest's hand. “I can get you in to see him tomorrow if you want."

Father Glowacz smiled. “That would be good. Tomorrow at three would be a good time."

“Three tomorrow it is."

“Thank you.” Father Glowacz's large, strong hands encircled his own. His grip was firm and warm.

“I have one small favor to ask of you,” Father Glowacz said, his eyes locking with Daryl's.

“What is it?"

“Your girlfriend, Rachael. I met her for the first time a few weeks ago when she came to interview me for a story she's doing on the murder series. She's a lovely girl.

Smart woman, too. I understand she was seriously hurt at my mother's house ... that Charley tried to kill her. Is she all right?"

Daryl smiled. “She's fine, Father. Thanks for asking."

Father Glowacz nodded. “It must have been terrible. The ... suddenness of the attack. It must have been a shock for her. I know she'll heal physically, but I hope it hasn't damaged her mind any."

“Rachael's tough,” Daryl said, walking the priest to the elevators. “She bounced back, tough as nails.

Father Glowacz nodded slightly and smiled. “I'm glad to hear that.” He paused for a beat, then said, “I take it she won't be covering the case for the paper much then?"

“Oh, she will,” Daryl said. “In fact, she can't wait to get back on it."

“Ah. I was hoping that ... well perhaps if you could ask her ... as a favor to me ... if she would..."

Daryl nodded, already knowing what the priest was asking. So far the only news items that had come out since Charley's arrest were reports on the Reuters and AP wire, as well as the local coverage. Charley's name hadn't been released, but the media found out about it despite police efforts to keep that information under a tight lid. Daryl surmised that Father Glowacz was doing everything he could to stay away from the media frenzy.

“I don't want to get in the way of Rachael's career as a journalist,” Father Glowacz went on, smiling nervously. “But if you could perhaps—"

“I'll ask her to not mention Charley's relationship with you, Father,” Daryl said, patting the priest on the shoulder.

“Thank you.” Father Glowacz smiled.

“But I have to tell you, Father,” Daryl said as the elevator opened and Father Glowacz began to edge toward it. “Somebody is going to find out about it sooner or later.

I'll do what I can to keep that information under lock and key, but I can't guarantee that it's going to stay put. The media is already hungry for information on Charley, and we don't intend to release anything until he's arraigned. Unfortunately, the media is already finding out about him through the usual sources. Sometimes the best detectives are journalists. Know what I mean?"

Father Glowacz nodded, entering the elevator and turning to face Daryl. His features were grave again. “Yes, detective. I know what you mean.” The elevator doors closed.

Daryl Garcia stood at the elevator as the doors closed, then turned and began to slowly walk down the corridor to homicide. It was closing in on three p.m. He wanted to get home to Rachael. The last two days had put a strain on him.

He went to his desk and retrieved his notes. On his way out he stopped by Bernie Haskins’ office. Bernie was inside, sitting at his desk on the phone. He looked up as Daryl stepped in and raised his hand to stop him. “...yeah, Bill, I know. The goddamn press is nosing in everywhere. I've got as tight a lid on it as I can but these fucking vultures are relentless. One of them posed as Evelyn Glowacz's
brother
for Christsakes and managed to talk to one of the detectives who arrested Charley. Hold on a sec...” He looked up at Daryl. “Daryl, hold up a minute!"

Daryl stepped in the office and set the tape down on Bernie's desk. “I think you'll find this interesting,” he said softly.

Bernie cupped his hand to the receiver of the phone. “What is it?"

“My interrogation of Father Glowacz. Charley's brother."

“Holy shit!” Daryl turned back to the phone. “Listen, Tom, you're doing a great job. Just have your report on my desk tomorrow at seven. And remember. Nothing to the reporters. Ya got me? Great. Later.” He hung up the phone and turned to Daryl. “What does he say?"

“I think you'll want to listen to it,” Daryl said. “He revealed so much without really saying much at all."

“Like what?” Bernie Haskins was eager to hear the news.

“In a way, it's almost predictable,” Daryl began. “Both of them grew up in an abusive home. Father was an alcoholic, beat the wife, thrashed the kids around. Dad left when Charley was thirteen and John was eight or so, and they never saw him again.

Mother was a Catholic and got into the Church very intensely after her husband left. She raised the boys in an almost puritanical way, the most prominent theme being that sex of all kinds, even thinking about it, was a grave sin."

“I was raised a Southern Baptist and they believe the same thing,” Bernie Haskins said. “I was taught the same shit.
I
didn't turn out to be a raving psycho."

“That's where this story gets interesting,” Daryl said. “Like I said, Father Glowacz didn't go into details, but it was obvious from what he told me that Charley was very much the mama's boy. He relied on Evelyn for everything: advice, companionship, comfort. He loved and respected his mother, but because of the way she raised him, being a strict disciplinarian and her views on the church and sin and what not, he also came to despise her. In fact, she had such a puritanical view on sex that she forbid Charley to even talk to girls."

“Christ,” Bernie said. “That's just like Kemper.” The two of them had talked about the similarities between this case and that of Edmund Kemper, the early seventies’ serial killer who murdered young college co-eds in the Santa Barbara area. Kemper had grown up in similar circumstances and his mother had put similar restrictions on her son. The murders ceased when Kemper killed his mother and humiliated the corpse, thus finally striking out at the person who was the basis of his psychosis. Which was exactly what Charley Glowacz had done.

“Exactly,” Daryl replied. “And like Kemper, he killed his mother at the end.

When we burst in there and found him sitting on the floor of his bedroom cradling her ...

her head in his lap, and rocking back and forth bawling like a baby ... well, it was obvious that he'd finally snapped and struck out at the authority figure who was the cause of his obsession. And in killing her he not only set himself free from his sickness, but he destroyed a part of himself as well."

Bernie Haskins was silent for a moment. Daryl continued: “He also gave me some pretty important information on the South Bend connection."