Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
The Corporal Works of Murder (26 page)
With eyes wild, Alice searched the alley. “I saw him,” she said breathlessly. “He's after me. He's going to shoot me, too.” Without warning, her voice changed to a childlike singsong “
Fe, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood of a police a-man,”
she giggled.
“Be he alive or be him dead, he'll grind my bones to make his bread.”
Fe, fi, fo, fum! I smell the blood of a police a-man,”
she giggled.
“Be he alive or be him dead, he'll grind my bones to make his bread.”
Dineen glanced over the woman's head at Wong. He mouthed, “5150.”
Alice must have sensed that they were thinking of taking her to the mental ward. She began to tremble again. “Please take me home,” she pleaded. “He can get me at the hospital.”
“Who?” Dineen asked.
“Him! You know him.” She was nearly hysterical.
“All right, Alice,” Dineen said calmly. “We'll take you home. just tell us where you live.”
Although Alice wouldn't tell them, she agreed to show them the way. Once they had seen her safely inside a tenement, Dineen suggested their coffee break.
Wong readily agreed. Crazy Alice had given him the willies. “What about that
Fe, fi, fo fum
business?” he asked while they waited to be served.
Fe, fi, fo fum
business?” he asked while they waited to be served.
“Like.
One flew east, one flew west, one flew over the cuckoo's nest,
” Dineen joked.
One flew east, one flew west, one flew over the cuckoo's nest,
” Dineen joked.
It didn't strike Wong as funny. The woman was deadly afraid of someone she thought they knew. But who? And for what possible reason would he be after her?
Back in the car patrolling the near-empty streets, the questions plagued him while the answers continued to elude him. His partner didn't seem to be doing any better.
Wong was almost glad when a domestic violence call came in. At least it would get his mind off the homicides of his two fellow police officers. For the time being, anyway.
Little did he realize that Crazy Alice was watching them from her window, just in case.
Sister Mary Helen shut off her bedroom light and stared into the blackness. A branch from a nearby tree rubbed against her window screen making a strange scraping sound. A
fitting end,
she thought,
to a very strange day.
What had started out as a day set aside to bury an undercover policewoman had ended up with her finding a second officer, also undercover, murdered. Both had died of a single bullet shot to the headâmuch too much of a coincidence to actually be one.
fitting end,
she thought,
to a very strange day.
What had started out as a day set aside to bury an undercover policewoman had ended up with her finding a second officer, also undercover, murdered. Both had died of a single bullet shot to the headâmuch too much of a coincidence to actually be one.
Again, the wind scraped the branch against the screen. Like the branch at the scene of Junior Johnson's murderâthe branch covered with bits of his brain matter. She shuddered and she felt the goose bumps run up her arms. That sight alone would have been enough horror to last her a lifetime.
And Junior, too, had been killed by a single shot. SarahâJuniorâTim. Again, too much of a coincidence. Three people dead. What was the single thread that joined them? There had to be one.
She turned on her side, fluffed her pillow, and closed her eyes.
Her whole body felt heavy. From somewhere down the hall, she heard the central heating click off. Soon the temperature would drop. Time to go to sleep before her feet got cold.
Her whole body felt heavy. From somewhere down the hall, she heard the central heating click off. Soon the temperature would drop. Time to go to sleep before her feet got cold.
She knew from years of experience that this staying awake fretting business, rolling the questions over and over in her mind, wouldn't do anything but make her feel punchy tomorrow. But she couldn't seem to help it. What were the chances of stumbling across Sarah Spencer right after she had been shot and hearing her final word? Or discovering the body of Junior Johnson? Or walking into the tattoo parlor only to discover the body of Tim Moran and find his bloody scribble on the floor? Things like that didn't happen without a reason, she knew.
In her mind's eye, she saw those scratches again.
Imagine the heroic effort it must have taken the man to draw them.
She was certain that they had to be the key to solving his murder.
Imagine the heroic effort it must have taken the man to draw them.
She was certain that they had to be the key to solving his murder.
A small D, a I or an I, something that looked like a candle in a candle holder, a wobbly stick figure or maybe an upside down Y.
She replayed all the possibilities she could think ofâ
dicandle stickman ⦠stick deholder ⦠man distick ⦠dicandly?
No combination seemed to make any sense. She must be overlooking something or confusing something. Something obvious, she was certain.
dicandle stickman ⦠stick deholder ⦠man distick ⦠dicandly?
No combination seemed to make any sense. She must be overlooking something or confusing something. Something obvious, she was certain.
At this moment, her whole world seemed in a state of confusion.
Topsy-turvy
. She smiled, thinking of how much old Donata had enjoyed looking up the etymology of that word for her, finding the answer.
One never got too old to enjoy finding an answer,
Mary Helen thought, and wondered crazily if that saying would make a good bumper sticker. It was true and surely as good as, “Old Age Is Not For Sissies,” which she had seen on somebody's car.
Topsy-turvy
. She smiled, thinking of how much old Donata had enjoyed looking up the etymology of that word for her, finding the answer.
One never got too old to enjoy finding an answer,
Mary Helen thought, and wondered crazily if that saying would make a good bumper sticker. It was true and surely as good as, “Old Age Is Not For Sissies,” which she had seen on somebody's car.
Topsy-turvy.
Everything was upside down. She couldn't argue with that. Police officers were being shot; the refugees were blaming the police for committing crimes; a small-time crook
had been murdered in the same way as those trying to catch him.
Everything was upside down. She couldn't argue with that. Police officers were being shot; the refugees were blaming the police for committing crimes; a small-time crook
had been murdered in the same way as those trying to catch him.
Now Anne and she were going to shut down the Refuge for a few days because of the danger. In a perfect world, if there were danger, they would open additional space to keep the women safe. But you didn't need to look very far to know that this was not a perfect world and it should come as no surprise. The fact was that it hadn't been since Adam and Eve were escorted out of the Garden of Paradise and their son Cain killed his brother Abel.
It had been imperfect when Norbert, today's Saint, if she remembered correctly, had helped reform the Church of the Middle Ages. And, she guessed that it probably wouldn't be perfect until Gabriel blew his final horn.
Mary Helen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In spite of it all, she thought, God continues to love us unconditionally. This realization always comforted her.
In the last analysis, she thought, her eyes beginning to burn, the best thing was to put the whole mess in God's hands. As some wise woman had once said, “He's going to be up all night anyway.”
Ninth Week of Ordinary Time
W
hen Sister Mary Helen woke up, her bedroom was filled with light. Blinking at its brightness, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. The large illuminated numbers read 9:00. She couldn't believe that she had slept so long. How, in heaven's name, had she managed to miss the garbage truck making its noisy rounds, as well as all the other Sisters taking their morning showers?
hen Sister Mary Helen woke up, her bedroom was filled with light. Blinking at its brightness, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. The large illuminated numbers read 9:00. She couldn't believe that she had slept so long. How, in heaven's name, had she managed to miss the garbage truck making its noisy rounds, as well as all the other Sisters taking their morning showers?
Despite sleeping so soundly, her body felt heavy and her eyes burned. She wondered what time she had finally fallen asleep. After midnight, she had not checked the clock on the assumption that what you don't know won't hurt you.
She closed her eyes again as the ache of the last few days rushed in and she wondered for a moment, if she'd ever be able to reopen themâever be able to get up and face today.
A good strong cup of coffee and a hot shower and I'll be better,
she thought, willing herself to try to put one foot on the floor.
A good strong cup of coffee and a hot shower and I'll be better,
she thought, willing herself to try to put one foot on the floor.
She had not yet succeeded when she heard a light tap on her bedroom door.
Who in the world?
she thought, clearing her throat. Should she pretend to be asleep and hope whoever it was would go away?
Who in the world?
she thought, clearing her throat. Should she pretend to be asleep and hope whoever it was would go away?
She was still trying to decide when her visitor tapped again and cracked open the door. “Sister Mary Helen?” a voice whispered.
It was Anne. Mary Helen could smell the rich, eye-opening aroma of the cup of French roast coffee she was carrying. “Come in,” she said, sitting up in bed. “What's the matter?”
“Nothing,” Anne said sheepishly.
Then what possessed you to knock on my door?
Mary Helen wanted to say but bit back the words.
Mary Helen wanted to say but bit back the words.
“I just wanted to let you know that I am on my way to the Refuge. I'll put a notice on the front door for the ladies saying we'll be closed until Monday.” Anne placed the steaming cup on Mary Helen's nightstand. “It shouldn't take me long.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Mary Helen asked.
Without a second's hesitation, Anne said, “No,” and closed the door softly behind her.
Finally awake now, Mary Helen reached for her cup of coffee. Next to it were her bifocals. She slipped them on, then reached, once again, for the slip of paper on which she had copied Tim Moran's scribbles.
She placed the paper on her lap and studied it hoping that it would somehow make more sense this morning.
Topsy-turvy,
she had thought last night. Everything was upside down. She took a deep breath, then a sip of hot coffee.
Topsy-turvy,
she had thought last night. Everything was upside down. She took a deep breath, then a sip of hot coffee.
She closed her eyes. Maybe this was upside down, too! Was that the answer? Was it that simple? Had she been too tired or too upset to see it?
Bolting from her bed, she sat at her desk. Ignoring her cold feet, she copied the letters, deliberately turning each one upside down. “P,” she wrote. “I.” Upside down, the candlestick
became a “T” and the wobbly stick figure a “Y.” PITY! The word she had written was “pity”!
became a “T” and the wobbly stick figure a “Y.” PITY! The word she had written was “pity”!
Her heart beat suffocatingly against her ribs. That was the word Sarah Spencer had whispered with her last breath. Mary Helen had thought it was her prayer. But would two police officers have chosen that same word with their dying breath? Hardly! Her pulse was racing. That was too much of a coincidence. There was some meaning to the word. Some meaning that both of them knew and of which she had no clue. The realization crept in like the chill.
But somebody might,
she thought, shaking it off.
But somebody might,
she thought, shaking it off.
Quickly slipping into her bathrobe and slippers, she hurried down the deserted convent hall to the telephone and dialed. This was a job for her friend Kate Murphy. If anyone would know, Kate would.
Mary Helen waited, anxiously counting the rings until someone finally answered. Her heart sank when the Detail secretary told her that both Inspectors Murphy and Gallagher were out in the field and that she had no idea when either of them would be back.
The first thing Sister Anne saw when she turned onto Eighth Street was a small crowd of women waiting at the front door of the Refuge. Miss Bobbie, who seemed to be serving as a lookout of sorts, was perched on the curb. Peering down the busy street, she pointed the moment the convent car came into her view. “Here she come!” she hollered.
Shouts of “Where you be?” and “You be late!” and “'Bout time, girl!” greeted Anne as she parked the car, then made her way to the front door.
Even though a weak sun was already shining, the women huddled together, looking cold. With a twinge of guilt, Anne
wondered if she should open the Refuge just long enough to serve them some hot coffee.
wondered if she should open the Refuge just long enough to serve them some hot coffee.
But how would I ever get them to leave?
she thought, standing in the midst of the group.
she thought, standing in the midst of the group.
“Why you be closed?” Peanuts was the first to grasp the situation.
“They not be closed,” Venus's dark eyes shifted accusingly to Anne. “She be running late!”
Anne hesitated.
“What the matter?” Miss Bobbie asked suspiciously. “The police already down the block.” The scar along her right eye twitched as she nodded toward the New You Tattoo Parlor. “What really happening here?”
Anne had been so concerned with the women gathered in front of the Refuge that she hadn't even notice the activity further down the street. Sure enough, she spotted Inspector Gallagher in front of the storefront talking to the owner of the Chinese restaurant. Kate Murphy must be inside.
“I'm sorry, ladies,” Anne raised her voice so that all could hear.
“Hush, girl!” Venus chided a noisy newcomer. “She be talking.”
“I'm sorry,” Anne repeated, “but we are going to be closed until Monday.”
Someone groaned. “What for?” Peanuts demanded indignantly.
“To give things a chance to settle down,” Anne said. Peanuts looked puzzled.
“There have been two murders on this block,” Anne explained, trying not to sound defensive.
“There be murders all over down here,” Sonia said.
Anne hesitated, wondering if Sonia thought that was supposed to make her feel better or worse.
“You hear about Crazy Alice?” Venus asked with a mean smile that showed her missing front tooth.
Anne suddenly felt hollow.
Oh, no,
she thought.
Don't tell me she's been murdered, too.
Oh, no,
she thought.
Don't tell me she's been murdered, too.
“What'bout her?” Miss Bobbie's eyes narrowed as they fastened on Venus. “You know something we don't know?”
“I seen her this morning,” Venus raised her chin as though she were bracing for a fight. “That girl be real scared.”
Peanuts laughed. “She usually be the one scare other people.”
“You got that right,” Venus said. “But this time she be scared. She say she be up all night watching him prowl around, afraid he might find her. Her eyes be all black around them.” With her fingers, she circled her own eyes to make her point. “Yes, ma'am, and Crazy Alice be saying them rhymes, like she do, about some police man's be after her. Going to crush her bones.”
“What policeman?” Anne asked. “Maybe the police officer was trying to help her.”
Several women guffawed. “That'll be the day!” Miss Bobbie said. “You dream on, girl!”
“You be opening or not?” Peanuts demanded.
“Not,” Anne said before she changed her mind. “Not until Monday.”
Grudgingly the small crowd of women dispersed. Several looked back in case she changed her mind. When Anne was sure they had all gone, she unlocked the front door of the Refuge. Inside the darkened building, she made her way to her small office, shivering in the cold that seemed to seep from the walls. Quickly she looked through the desk drawers for a piece of typing paper and a felt tip to make her “Closed until Monday” sign.
The ragged ring of the telephone startled her. She was even more surprised when she picked up the receiver and heard Sister Mary Helen's voice. “Did you by any chance see Kate Murphy
down there?” the old nun asked, a note of urgency in her words. “She may be at the tattoo parlor.”
down there?” the old nun asked, a note of urgency in her words. “She may be at the tattoo parlor.”
“Yes,” Anne said, not liking the sound of this. “Why?”
Mary Helen ignored the question. Or to be charitable, Anne thought, perhaps she hadn't heard it.
“Is it possible for you to ask her to call me? Immediately,” she added.
“If she's still there,” Anne said, “butâ”
“Thanks,” Mary Helen said.
The dull hum of the dial tone was the only answer to Sister Anne's questions. Blinking at the receiver, she replaced it.
Uh-oh! Here comes trouble,
Kate Murphy thought, watching Sister Anne walk toward her on Eighth Street. Luckily there was only one of them today. She glanced over her shoulder, checking on Gallagher's whereabouts. Her partner was busy doing whatever he was doing. She guessed from the noises coming from the small office where Tim Moran's body was found as well as the frustrated expression she observed on his round, ruddy face when they passed, moments ago, in the entrance to the New You, that things were not going well. The Chinese restaurateur had probably not been much help. What he didn't need to complicate his life further were the nuns.
Kate Murphy thought, watching Sister Anne walk toward her on Eighth Street. Luckily there was only one of them today. She glanced over her shoulder, checking on Gallagher's whereabouts. Her partner was busy doing whatever he was doing. She guessed from the noises coming from the small office where Tim Moran's body was found as well as the frustrated expression she observed on his round, ruddy face when they passed, moments ago, in the entrance to the New You, that things were not going well. The Chinese restaurateur had probably not been much help. What he didn't need to complicate his life further were the nuns.
“Good morning, Kate,” Sister Anne called.
Kate waved in reply. “What can I do for you?” she asked, fervently hoping that the answer was, “Nothing.” Neither Gallagher nor she was in any mood to be polite. Some of yesterday's headlines suggested police incompetence. Others hinted at an alleged cop cover-up. Still others made innuendoes about corruption and possible scandals in the vice unit. These unfounded allegations, of course, were driving the Department to distraction.
The pressure was on to find the perp. Lieutenant Sweeney, their boss, had made this abundantly clear when they checked in this morning. They had no time to waste listening to the off-the-wall if well-intentioned theories of these two nuns.
When Sister Anne was close enough, Kate noticed an especially worried expression on her usually placid face. Her hazel eyes jumped about nervously, almost refusing to meet Kate's own.
What now?
Kate thought.
They can't have found another body, can they?
She felt almost relieved when all Anne wanted was for her to call Sister Mary Helen at the convent.
That will only take a minute
, she thought. She should have known better.
Kate thought.
They can't have found another body, can they?
She felt almost relieved when all Anne wanted was for her to call Sister Mary Helen at the convent.
That will only take a minute
, she thought. She should have known better.
Using her cell phone, Kate dialed Mount St. Francis Convent and was not surprised when the phone was picked up on the first ring.
“Kate?” Mary Helen asked without even a hello. “I have something to tell you, although I have no idea what it means,” Mary Helen admitted.
When did that ever stop you?
was on the tip of Kate's tongue, but she caught herself. Hearing the old nun swallow, she held her breath and listened as Mary Helen finally began to speak. With every word, Kate felt the tendrils of dread work their way up her spine.
It couldn't be,
she thought numbly,
or could it?
“Thank you,” was all she could manage when the old nun finally finished.
was on the tip of Kate's tongue, but she caught herself. Hearing the old nun swallow, she held her breath and listened as Mary Helen finally began to speak. With every word, Kate felt the tendrils of dread work their way up her spine.
It couldn't be,
she thought numbly,
or could it?
“Thank you,” was all she could manage when the old nun finally finished.
Her face burned as they disconnected.
This is every cop's worst nightmare,
she thought, letting Sister Mary Helen's message sink in. She fervently hoped that Sister was wrong, but she had to find out. With a sense of doom, she went to find her partner. Maybe he would be able to poke some holes in the theory. Someone had to be able to. This couldn't be right.
This is every cop's worst nightmare,
she thought, letting Sister Mary Helen's message sink in. She fervently hoped that Sister was wrong, but she had to find out. With a sense of doom, she went to find her partner. Maybe he would be able to poke some holes in the theory. Someone had to be able to. This couldn't be right.
Pulse racing, Kate found Gallagher and related her phone call from Sister Mary Helen. While she spoke, Gallagher's face might
have been chiseled from stone. He seemed frozen, scarcely breathing. When she had finished, Kate waited.
have been chiseled from stone. He seemed frozen, scarcely breathing. When she had finished, Kate waited.
All at once, his mouth twitched and he burst into a string of swear words that Kate had never heard him use in all the years they had been partners. She fought down an unreasonable urge to laugh, biting her lip to make sure she wouldn't.
“What are you waiting for, Katie girl?” he strained through clenched teeth. “Let's go get the son-of-a-b.”
“Alleged son-of-a-b,” Kate reminded him as he turned on the siren. The two of them sped toward the Hall of Justice.
Officer Mark Wong had finished a quick snack and was preparing for bed when his telephone rang. He debated for a moment whether or not to pick it up. It had been a busy night and he was exhausted. Besides, it was probably some reporter trying to get a quote from somebody in the unit. They were as persistent as flies on fruit when they thought they were on to a juicy story about the Force. It was their job, he knew, and you really couldn't blame them, but right now he needed some sleep. He'd let the answering machine handle it. Then, if it were anyone he wanted to talk to, he'd call back.
Wong was surprised to hear a familiar voice. It took him a moment to recognize Lieutenant Donaldson, urging him to pick up if he was at home. What in the world did Donaldson want?
If it is overtime, forget it. I'm not here,
Wong thought yawning. Every muscle in his back ached.
If it is overtime, forget it. I'm not here,
Wong thought yawning. Every muscle in his back ached.
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