Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
The Corporal Works of Murder (2 page)
The three women were so busy keeping up with the demands that none of them saw Sarah and her cart leave.
“Isn't it time for another break?” Anne asked finally. “It's after two o'clock and we haven't even stopped for lunch.”
By now, Mary Helen's legs were numb. She expected that Ruth's weren't too far behind. She had staved off her hunger with small bites of doughnut. If she didn't watch out, soon she'd be unable to button her skirt. In fact, she probably should think about getting skirts with elastic waistbands.
Or think about not taking bites of doughnut,
a nasty inner voice suggested. Mary Helen chose to ignore it.
a nasty inner voice suggested. Mary Helen chose to ignore it.
The three had just sat down to tuna sandwiches when Sonia burst into the room. “Something going down out there,” she said. “Something bad! Somebody be hurt.”
No one spoke. Tension pressed down on the group like a lid.
“What's happened?” Anne asked, her voice loud in the silence, but Sonia had already ducked out of the Refuge.
“It ain't nothing good,” Peanuts said.
The smell of fear permeated the gathering room. Instinctively, Mary Helen rose and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Anne asked nervously.
“To find out what happened,” Mary Helen said. “Someone might be hurt.”
“Be careful it ain't you,” Geraldine called.
The quiet was shattered by Crazy Alice's high-pitched giggle. “Stop that noise,” Venus hollered.
“Get off her back!” Peanuts piped up. Without warning the room exploded into an argument with Crazy Alice giggling above the fracas.
“You better stay here,” Mary Helen whispered to Anne. “Ruth is a nurse. She can come with me.”
Outside Mary Helen smelled the distinct odor of scorched metalâa gunshot. There was no mistaking it for anything else. She stood on the deserted sidewalk trying to get her bearings. Cars sped by on their way to the freeway. Halfway down the block she spotted Sarah's wire cart. It seemed to be abandoned in front of a tattoo parlor. For an instant she thought she saw a man in the shadow of the doorway, but when she looked again it was empty.
Beside the cart was a mound of discarded clothes. Had someone draped a brown cape over it? Mary Helen's stomach lurched.
It can't be,
she thought, racing down the block with Ruth right behind her.
It can't be,
she thought, racing down the block with Ruth right behind her.
Sarah lay on her back, her rosy skin ashen now. Great spots of blood grew like flowers from her chest. The brown cape was quickly darkening and blood began to run in rivulets toward the curb. Her eyelids fluttered.
“She's alive,” Mary Helen whispered, looking around for help.
Ruth felt for a pulse. “Just barely,” she said. “You stay here and I'll call 911.”
Mary Helen knelt beside the dying woman and reached for her hand. “Dear Lord, please,” she prayed, rocking back and forth, straining to hear the scream of an ambulance.
“Hold on, Sarah,” she coaxed, unable to stop the tears running down her cheeks. “God loves you,” she whispered in the woman's ear. “God loves you.”
All at once, Sarah's eyelids fluttered again. Her lips moved.
Mary Helen bent to hear the words above the sound of passing cars. They were too faint. She bent still closer, until she felt the woman's breath on her ear. At first, she couldn't make out the word.
“Pity,” she thought she heard Sarah whisper. “Pity.”
Helplessly, Mary Helen watched the last blush of the color fade from Sarah's angelic face. Her ear was still near the woman's mouth when she heard the final rattle of death.
Eyes closed, he clutched the steering wheel of his parked car, waiting for the shaking to stop. His mind replayed every detail, refusing to shut off. And her eyes kept staring. As hard as he tried, he couldn't make them stop.
How much does she know? he had wondered, walking up behind her, the sweat beginning to form on the palms of his hands. She had been unaware of him as he snuck up to her. Unaware that he was checking out her getupâthe old, baggy, secondhand clothes, the brown blanket thing draped around her, the white dishtowel concealing her hair. Nice touch, he had thought, pleased with her disguise. Even her own mother wouldn't recognize her. At first, he had felt like laughing out loud but he hadn't wanted to startle her. It was obvious that she hadn't heard him yet. He had moved closer and stuck his hand
in the right pocket of his windbreaker. He had felt the cold steel of his gun with its silencer.
in the right pocket of his windbreaker. He had felt the cold steel of his gun with its silencer.
How much does she
really
know? he had wondered, feeling a little sick to his stomach. He had tried his best to keep her in the dark, feeding her half-truths. But she was a sharp oneâtoo sharp for her own good, an insistent voice nagged at him. She's got to go before she blows everything. But not if she doesn't know anything, he had reasoned, struggling to put down his fear.
really
know? he had wondered, feeling a little sick to his stomach. He had tried his best to keep her in the dark, feeding her half-truths. But she was a sharp oneâtoo sharp for her own good, an insistent voice nagged at him. She's got to go before she blows everything. But not if she doesn't know anything, he had reasoned, struggling to put down his fear.
The phone call he'd received just about twenty minutes before he'd left had spooked him. “Do you think that girl is onto us?” the familiar voice had asked. A simple question whose answer could destroy their lives.
Anxiously he had checked out the street. Very little foot traffic. Good! Cars whizzed by intent on getting out of the cityânot noticing or caring about any action on the sidewalk.
Shifting from one foot to the other, he had been uncertain exactly what to do. “Sarah,” he had said her name quietly.
She had spun around, her beautiful young face clear and unblemished. Her cheeks were flushed and a half smile played on her lips. But when her blue eyes met his, he knew. It wasn't so much the fear in them as it was the hurt and the disbelief that made him realize that she knew the truth.
Fighting to steady his right hand, he gripped the gun in his pocket. At first she didn't seem to notice.
“You!” she had said, instantly looking older. “Why?” Her eyes shifted to his pocket and she watched, almost mesmerized, as he pulled out his weapon.
“But, why?” she had asked, forgetting even to run.
“I'm sorry,” he had whispered. “I don't want to do this, but I can't let you ruin my life.”
Sarah had studied him as if she didn't believe it was he. Well, she'd believe it soon, he had thought. With marksman
precision, he had put one bullet through her chest and watched her crumple to the ground, her eyes still on him.
precision, he had put one bullet through her chest and watched her crumple to the ground, her eyes still on him.
The shaking had started as he walked swiftly toward his parked car. Gripping the wheel, her eyes still haunted him. Would he ever forget those open blue eyes? he wondered, turning the key in the ignition, those eyes studying him, admonishing him, pitying him.
Pulling out into the traffic, sweat breaking out on his forehead, he knew with certainty that he would never rid himself of them, never.
Homicide Inspectors Kate Murphy and Dennis Gallagher were both at their desks completing some paperwork when the call came in. Gallagher reached for the telephone. “Anything, even murder, is better than writing up this damn report,” he muttered, picking up the receiver.
Kate glanced up at her partner's pudgy face, frowning now as he listened, then jotted down an address. For an instant he lookedâwellâold. That was the only word for it. Although Gallagher constantly talked about retiring, he had never really looked “old” to her. Not that sixty-five was old. But this afternoon he did.
How had it happened? Kate wondered. The same way that her son John had gone from his little blue layette to getting ready to enter kindergarten this fall,
she thought, gazing out the Detail window at the cars speeding along the James Lick Freeway. Time flies, life is so short.
she thought, gazing out the Detail window at the cars speeding along the James Lick Freeway. Time flies, life is so short.
“Geez, Katie-girl,” Gallagher's voice startled her. She turned to find him staring at the paper in his hand as if it were hazardous.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to keep her imagination from running wild.
“This address,” he said. “They said a young bag lady was shot. Happened on Eighth Street in front of a tattoo parlor, but I could swear it's awful close to where that nun friend of yours hangs outâthat Refuge.” His face was beginning to redden.
“She's
our
friend,” Kate said calmly, “and she doesn't hang out. She ministers to homeless women.”
our
friend,” Kate said calmly, “and she doesn't hang out. She ministers to homeless women.”
“I'm not sure just what the hell she does,” Gallagher grumbled and took his wrinkled jacket from the back of his chair, “but she does it too often for my liking, right in the middle of our homicide cases. Swear to God, if she's involved in this one, I'll pull her in!” Huffing, he turned on his heel and started toward the door.
“On what charge?” Kate asked, running behind him, trying to put on her trench coat. “What charge would you use to pull in an elderly nun?”
“Being a general nuisance,” Gallagher grumbled, pushing the down button for the elevator.
“On being generally very helpful, would be more like it.” Kate waited beside him. “You are an ungrateful son-of-a-gun, you know that?”
“Ungrateful? Me?” His watery blue eyes opened wide.
He was beginning to annoy her. “Do you remember how many cases she's helped us close?”
“Do you remember how many times she's got right in the middle of things?” Gallagher ran his hand across his bald crown. “All I'm asking, Kate, is that she stay in the convent where she belongs. Is that too much to expect? Huh? That she just does whatever it is that old nuns are supposed to do? Maybe retire. However that works. I'd give my eye teeth to retire to a nice, quiet convent.”
Kate stared at him, imagining the cigar-smoking, tough-talking Gallagher in a peaceful convent garden surrounded by elderly nuns. “You'd be quite a novelty, if nothing else,” she said.
“Besides, you don't know for sure if that address is near Sister Mary Helen's Refuge.”
“Besides, you don't know for sure if that address is near Sister Mary Helen's Refuge.”
“Want to bet? Five bucks?” Gallagher challenged.
For a moment, Kate considered it. Later she was happy that the elevator came before she had a chance to say yes.
By the time the two homicide inspectors arrived at the scene, the paramedics and the uniformed officers responding to the call had covered the body and cordoned off the sidewalk immediately in front of the tattoo parlor. One of the uniforms was talking to a bearded man in his mid-forties. His biceps, bulging below the rolled sleeves of his T-shirt, were crisscrossed with an intricate web of tattoo. A blue dragon curled around the back of his neck, and across the fingers of one hand ornate letters spelled
MOTHER. He is either the owner or a very good customer,
Kate thought.
MOTHER. He is either the owner or a very good customer,
Kate thought.
The afternoon sun had burned off nearly all the fog, leaving the pavement hot. Kate unbuttoned her trench coat and scanned the curious crowd gathered behind the yellow tape. The younger patrolman was trying with limited success to move them. Even the motorists on Eighth Street were slowing down for a quick peek at what was causing all the commotion. At the sight of the mound and the blood on the sidewalk, most turned away quickly, but not all. Before long there was bound to be a fender-bender.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate caught sight of a cluster of women huddling around a short, solid figure in a navy blue suit and flat shoes. Her heart fell. Gallagher was right. Mary Helen was nearâvery near, in fact.
Quickly Kate walked toward the group. Several women drew back as though they were afraid. Kate recognized some of their faces from the murder case nearly a year ago involving the Refuge, but she was only able to remember a few namesâGeraldine, Miss Bobbie, and Peanuts, a tiny woman hovering protectively next to the old nun.
“Sister, are you all right?” Kate asked softly. Thankfully, her partner had not yet noticed this group.
“I am as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” Mary Helen said in a thin voice. Her face had lost all its color and she looked close to tears.
“Did you know the woman?” Kate asked gently.
Mary Helen shook her head. “I saw her for the first time today. Her name was Sarah. Or at least, that's what she told us.”
“Any of you ladies know her?” Kate eyed the group.
Geraldine sighed. “Far as I knows, she only be on the streets for a couple of weeks,” she said.
“Nobody know her,” Miss Bobbie smiled sadly. “She must come from out of town.”
“If nobody know her, why somebody kill her?” Peanuts asked. It was the same question Kate had.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice bellowed.
Mary Helen jumped. Gallagher had startled her. For a tense moment, she glared at him, her hazel eyes blazing. “I minister here!” she said, pointing toward the corner. Her tone was crisp, but controlled. “This woman, God rest her, was in our place taking a shower. After she had left, one of the other women alerted us that something was amiss on the street, that someone was hurt. The volunteer, who happens to be a nurse, and I came out to see if there was anything we could do to help.”
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