Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
The Corporal Works of Murder (8 page)
“Now what?” Patricia muttered. Mary Helen wondered the same thing. Neither had long to wait.
“Although I'm sure none of you means it,” Anne began in a strong voice, “I just want to tell you how difficult it is for Mary Helen and me to come home after working all day with homeless women and their desperate needs and tragic lives and have some of you”âher eyes narrowed and swept the roomâ“some of you,” she repeated, “make our work more difficult by blaming us for the tragedies we stumble upon.” Her voice choked.
All eyes shifted like searchlights toward Sister Mary Helen, no doubt expecting her to say something, anything to save the day. She pushed her bifocals up the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat. Without warning her mouth felt furry and her mind went blank.
“What in the world is she thinking?” Patricia whispered. “Wasn't one scene at dinner enough?”
Apparently not. Anne went on. “As I said, I'm sure no one means it and Mary Helen would never complain, but it hurts.”
“What is Anne saying about Mary Helen?” Donata's voice pierced the frozen silence. “Did she complain about the desserts?”
Following a moment of shock, the room burst into laughter. Mary Helen was never quite sure whether or not Donata had made an honest mistake, not that it mattered. The spell was
broken. As someone once said, the next best thing to solving a problem is finding humor in it.
broken. As someone once said, the next best thing to solving a problem is finding humor in it.
Mary Helen fully expected that the situation was on the mend. It never occurred to her that she'd spend the next two hours accepting apologies, explanations, and fending off offers to help, etc. By the time she had shut her bedroom door she could have happily strangled Anne.
After a relaxing bath she settled into bed with the latest Gloria White mystery, hoping that Ronnie Ventana, private investigator, would take her mind off the events of the day. But even Ronnie wasn't tough enough for that assignment. Giving up, she turned off the light and lay in the darkness waiting for sleep to come. Heaven knows, she was tired enough. She turned on her side toward her bedroom clock where the glow-in-the-dark numbers read 10:15.
Had it only been sixteen hours since her day had begun? It seemed like a lifetime ago that Father Adams had spoken of the corporal works of mercy in his homily. She had bargained for feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless, but never had she anticipated dealing with another death.
Even with her eyes closed she could still see Sarah Spencer crumpled on the sidewalk. She watched the young woman's face grow pale as her blood slowly ran toward the curb. She felt Sarah's breath on her ear as she strained to hear her dying words.
Didn't that make her somehow responsible for trying to find the woman's killer?
The police will take care of that
, a still, small voice warned her. Her dear friend Eileen had cautioned her against getting involved, too, but she was already involved.
The police will take care of that
, a still, small voice warned her. Her dear friend Eileen had cautioned her against getting involved, too, but she was already involved.
Lord
, she prayed in the quiet of her heart, remembering the shadow she thought she'd glimpsed in the doorway,
what harm would it do to try to find out if anyone was there? And if so, what had he or she seen? Then I can pass the information on to Kate Murphy. She and Inspector Gallagher must be swamped. It would be
a real act of charity. You know, Lord, what Scripture says about charityâthat charity never fails.
, she prayed in the quiet of her heart, remembering the shadow she thought she'd glimpsed in the doorway,
what harm would it do to try to find out if anyone was there? And if so, what had he or she seen? Then I can pass the information on to Kate Murphy. She and Inspector Gallagher must be swamped. It would be
a real act of charity. You know, Lord, what Scripture says about charityâthat charity never fails.
“I see. I thought you might have another passage in mind,” the Lord said.
And what passage is that?
Mary Helen asked, sensing that she was walking into a Divine trap.
Mary Helen asked, sensing that she was walking into a Divine trap.
For an instant she thought she heard a deep, hearty chuckle. “That charity covers a multitude of sins, old friend,” the Lord said.
That, too
, Mary Helen answered and fell into a peaceful sleep before the Lord had a chance to go into detail.
, Mary Helen answered and fell into a peaceful sleep before the Lord had a chance to go into detail.
Feast of Saint Boniface, Bishop and Martyr
T
he first thing Sister Mary Helen heard when she awoke was the hum of the garbage truck coming up the college hill.
It must be Tuesday,
she thought, her eyes still closed,
and nearly seven o'clock
! Abruptly she sat up. Had she overslept or was the Sunset Scavenger early? One glance at her bedside clock told her that as usual, the truck was on time.
he first thing Sister Mary Helen heard when she awoke was the hum of the garbage truck coming up the college hill.
It must be Tuesday,
she thought, her eyes still closed,
and nearly seven o'clock
! Abruptly she sat up. Had she overslept or was the Sunset Scavenger early? One glance at her bedside clock told her that as usual, the truck was on time.
This is getting to be a bad habit, she thought, turning back the corner of her window shade to check the weather. A screen of thick fog shrouded the college. In the dampness the lawn glistened and dew on the startlingly orange and red Tropicana roses shimmered like tiny sequins.
Quickly Mary Helen slipped into her navy blue skirt and a white cotton blouse, and then took her Aran sweater from the closet. Layers was the only way to dress for a San Francisco summer day.
Father Adams and she arrived in the chapel at exactly the
same time. “Today is the Feast of Saint Boniface,” he began from the altar, “the patron saint of Germany.”
same time. “Today is the Feast of Saint Boniface,” he began from the altar, “the patron saint of Germany.”
At the mention of the Saint's name, Mary Helen's mind leapfrogged from the man to the church of Saint Boniface in the heart of San Francisco's Tenderloin. For years the Franciscan Fathers had fed hundreds of homeless men, women, and children each day. Most of the women from the Refuge had their main meal at St. Anthony's, the church's free dining room.
How
, she wondered,
had the women fared last night?
She hoped that they hadn't been as haunted by Sarah's murder as she had been.
How
, she wondered,
had the women fared last night?
She hoped that they hadn't been as haunted by Sarah's murder as she had been.
It wasn't until Sister Anne and she had picked up the dayold doughnuts and were nearly at the center that she realized just how drastically the women's lives actually were being affected by the murder of this young officer.
“Look at the police.” Anne pointed out the car window. They had turned off Geary Boulevard and were making their way down Jones Street. Police officers were everywhere.
“It's must be some kind of sweep,” Mary Helen said, watching pairs of uniformed patrolmen circuiting the streets, stopping people. A number of cars that obviously did not belong in the neighborhood were parked along the curb.
“It looks like a scene right out of a police drama,” Mary Helen said. “If I didn't know better, I'd think they were filming.”
“Nash Bridges
maybe,” Anne said.
maybe,” Anne said.
More like
NYPD Blue, Mary Helen thought, but let it go.
NYPD Blue, Mary Helen thought, but let it go.
A knot of women stood in the front doorway of the Refuge when the two nuns arrived. “You late, girlfriend,” Miss Bobbie called, “and we needs our coffee this morning.” The scar around her right eye twitched.
Venus smiled her one-tooth-missing smile. “We sure do,” she said with a shiver.
“What's going on around here?” Anne asked, unlocking the front door.
Tiny Peanuts held the door back so that the two nuns could
go in and start the coffee. “You don't want to know,” she said, but that didn't seem to stop her from telling them. “Them polices are all over asking questions, picking up peoples with warrants, hassling you for jay-walking, asking if you seen any thingâ”
go in and start the coffee. “You don't want to know,” she said, but that didn't seem to stop her from telling them. “Them polices are all over asking questions, picking up peoples with warrants, hassling you for jay-walking, asking if you seen any thingâ”
“Did you?” Mary Helen asked.
“If I did, I ain't telling,” Peanuts said.
Miss Bobbie sat down at her usual place at her usual table with a cup of coffee and two sugar doughnuts. “It's that policewoman got herself shot,” she said. “It wouldn't make no matter if one of us be shot. They'd just go on, business as usual.”
“I don't think that's true,” Mary Helen said. “I'm sure the police are very concerned no matter who is killed. Look how quickly they solved Melanie's murder.”
For a moment Miss Bobbie looked as if she might argue. Instead she shrugged. “That's'cause you got into it,” she said. “You going to get into this one, too?”
Mary Helen stopped short. She couldn't believe Miss Bobbie had asked that question. Was it just a coincidence or was her question somehow providential? Was it some sort of sign? One look at Anne's face and Mary Helen knew that she'd better not go thereâat least, not out loud.
“Morning, you all.” It was Geraldine. Mary Helen was glad to see her. Something Geraldine had said yesterday was bothering her.
“I can't stay long,” Geraldine said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and dumping in four teaspoons of sugar. “I can't stay long,” she repeated, sitting down at the table with Miss Bobbie.
Almost at once several groups of women came through the door. Soon the Refuge was crowded and Mary Helen was busy giving out shower rolls, replenishing the donuts, making more pots of coffee, and answering the telephone. Unfortunately, one of the calls was from the morning volunteer saying that after yesterday's murder, her husband was too afraid to let her come
down. Men, Mary Helen thought, hurrying to call a substitute. Judy, who happily was not busy, promised to be there in twenty minutes and she was.
down. Men, Mary Helen thought, hurrying to call a substitute. Judy, who happily was not busy, promised to be there in twenty minutes and she was.
At the first break in the action, Mary Helen found an empty chair beside Geraldine.
“What's happening, Sister?” the woman's dark eyes looked wary. “You all right?”
“I was just wonderingâ”
“'Bout what?”
“About something you said yesterday, Geraldine.”
“Yesterday? What I say yesterday?” The eyes shot open and her heavy shoulders stiffened defensively.
“You mentioned that your nephew, Junior Johnson, knew that the woman who was killed was a policewoman.”
“That part right.” Her words were clipped.
“My question is,” Mary Helen tried to keep from sounding threatening, “how did he know so quickly?”
For several seconds Geraldine studied her.
She is wondering, no doubt, just how much to tell me
, Mary Helen thought.
I can't blame her
. Geraldine leaned forward. She must have made a decision.
She is wondering, no doubt, just how much to tell me
, Mary Helen thought.
I can't blame her
. Geraldine leaned forward. She must have made a decision.
“We need to talk private,” Geraldine said and looked toward Miss Bobbie. One glance told them both that Miss Bobbie was not moving tables, no matter how much they needed to be alone.
“What about the office?” Mary Helen offered, but Geraldine had already decided that another table at the far corner was private enough.
When they were settled again, Geraldine bent forward and whispered, “My nephew Junior is an important man around here. People tells him things.”
“Like what?” Mary Helen asked.
“Like things. Take, for instance, that pink stucco house on Brannonâyou'll see it if you drive byâit's a house for working
girls. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that, not just Junior. Anytime some new face around lookin', Junior's friends tell him and he checks them out.”
girls. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that, not just Junior. Anytime some new face around lookin', Junior's friends tell him and he checks them out.”
“If everyone in the neighborhood knows it is a house for working girls,” Mary Helen said, presuming that working girls meant prostitutes, “why don't the police know?” It didn't make any sense.
“You is simple, girl, ain't you?” Geraldine asked in amazement and Mary Helen didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. What in heaven's name was the woman implying?
“Are you saying the police do know?” she asked, fear creeping into her chest.
Geraldine narrowed her eyes until all Mary Helen saw were slits. “I'm not saying nothing, for sure. I just be minding my business.” Her tone was cold. “But don't it stand to reason? There must be something more if they sends that pale face woman as a decoy. They knows what it is. Why not just move on it? Got to be something more.”
“What more has there got to be?” Mary Helen asked, a little short of breath. This was getting very complicated. “What does Junior say?”
“I don't ask him, he don't tell.” Geraldine let out an unexpected guffaw. “Like them gays in the military.”
“Do you think I can speak to Junior?” Mary Helen asked.
Geraldine shrugged. “It ain't up to me. It be up to Junior.”
“How can I get in touch with him? Is he around somewhere?”
Geraldine stared into her coffee cup as though the answer might be written on the bottom of the mug. “You know, Sister, now that I thinks about it, I ain't seen Junior yet this morning. Not since yesterday. He may be doing business somewhere.”
“Could his business have anything to do with the house on Brannon?”
Geraldine gave a hollow laugh. “Not that house,” she said. “Like I says, that ain't no ordinary whorehouse.”
“I don't understand,” Mary Helen said. “What do you mean no ordinary house?”
“For a smart woman, you be awful dumb sometimes.” Geraldine shook her head. “You thinks about it. You can figure it out.” All at once, her dark eyes hit Mary Helen like a shot. “What you think about the police knowing and nobody doing nothing until Miss Sarah come along and then somebody kill her? Huh? What you think about that? I ain't saying nothing more.”
“If you are asking if I think the police are responsible for Sarah's death, I certainly do not!” Mary Helen said emphatically. “Do you?” she asked and watched Geraldine's face become impenetrable.
“Like I told you, I ain't saying nothing more,” Geraldine said, “except watch your back, old lady. Watch your back.”
You can bet on that
, Mary Helen thought, her heart plummeting. Although she did not believe what Geraldine had said for one minute she was glad when the telephone rang. She needed a little distraction.
, Mary Helen thought, her heart plummeting. Although she did not believe what Geraldine had said for one minute she was glad when the telephone rang. She needed a little distraction.
Sister Anne, however, picked up the receiver before Mary Helen reached it. She could tell by the tightness around the young nun's mouth that the call was not a pleasant one.
Without a word, Anne pushed the hold button. “It's for you,” she said, thrusting the receiver toward Mary Helen. “It's somebody from Channel 5. They want to set up an appointment to interview you about Sarah Spencer's murder.”
Mary Helen stepped back, shaking her head.
“What shall I tell them?” Anne asked, staring at the receiver as if the thing might bite her.
“Tell them that I've stepped out for a few minutes, which I'm just about to do. And tell them that you don't know when I'll be back, which, of course, you don't.
Before Anne could comment, Mary Helen was out the front door of the Refuge. Outside the morning was beginning to warm
up. The leaves of the straggly maple trees along the sidewalk gleamed in the weak sun. Up the block the tower of the Holiday Inn loomed above the storefronts. Cars flowed down the street on their way to the Bay Bridge. Pedestrians, alone and in groups, filled the sidewalk. For all appearances, it was just another summer day in San Francisco. No one seemed to remember that just yesterday, Sarah Spencer had been killed on this very street. All that remained of her murder was an ugly stain, yellow plastic tape, and a blurred chalk outline.
up. The leaves of the straggly maple trees along the sidewalk gleamed in the weak sun. Up the block the tower of the Holiday Inn loomed above the storefronts. Cars flowed down the street on their way to the Bay Bridge. Pedestrians, alone and in groups, filled the sidewalk. For all appearances, it was just another summer day in San Francisco. No one seemed to remember that just yesterday, Sarah Spencer had been killed on this very street. All that remained of her murder was an ugly stain, yellow plastic tape, and a blurred chalk outline.
Death is often like that
, Mary Helen mused.
Those who are touched by it are always astonished that nothing stops, that despite their heartbreak the world continues to go on as if nothing extraordinary had happened
.
, Mary Helen mused.
Those who are touched by it are always astonished that nothing stops, that despite their heartbreak the world continues to go on as if nothing extraordinary had happened
.
All at once, she was aware of Venus, Sonia, and Crazy Alice. The three women stood in a knot beside the chain-link fence of the parking lot smoking cigarettes.
“Hi, Sister.” It was Crazy Alice sounding unusually sane.
“Good morning, Alice,” Mary Helen stopped, and then turned to include the others. “How are you all doing this morning?” she asked.
Alice thought for moment as if she were not quite sure. A dangerous sign, Mary Helen feared. Venus, her hair standing up on her head like black broccoli, rolled her large brown eyes. “We be fine. We just be smoking us a cigarette,” she said pleasantly enough.
“What you be doing out here?” Sonia asked, cocking her head. The woman's dark skin had a sickly gray cast to it. Mary Helen wondered if her sickle cell anemia might be acting up.
“Me?” the old nun asked. “What am I doing out here? I just stepped out for minute.”
“You needs some fresh air. Right?” Venus nodded. “I know what you means. All that talk about that decoy's murder. It be getting on my nerves, too.”
Mary Helen was just about to protest when Crazy Alice began
to giggle. “How am I?” she mumbled as though she had decided at last
. “Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn, I never was so happy since the hour that I was born.”
Tumultuous giggling filled the air. Crazy Alice was totally unaware of the three women staring at her.
to giggle. “How am I?” she mumbled as though she had decided at last
. “Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn, I never was so happy since the hour that I was born.”
Tumultuous giggling filled the air. Crazy Alice was totally unaware of the three women staring at her.
“Lord, help us. It ain't much better out here,” Venus said, flicking her cigarette butt over the edge of the curb.
Sonia turned away from Alice in disgust. “You ain't nothing normal,” she snapped and followed Venus into the Refuge.
Crazy Alice didn't seem to hear or see either one of them. Still tittering and looking neither right nor left, she stepped into the busy street.
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