Cry From The Grave
Chapter 30
Ballack reasoned that their team at half strength was better than no team at all. After Tori picked him up, they stopped by Suzanne Lamotta's house and--seeing no one was homes--placed the keys in a small labeled security envelope in the mailbox. Forty minutes later, Tori parked the Sprinter in the same spot as they had Saturday morning, and within a minute, they had breached the front door of St. Matthew's Grove. Krieger himself was in the narthex scribbling notes as Isabel Andrews was gesturing wildly to him. Although she seemed relatively calm once Ballack drew astride her, the detective saw the red splotches around her eyes and smelled a prior crying attack.
"Anyone else in the chapel?" asked Ballack, and Krieger nodded.
"Holbrook arrived fifteen minutes ago and is prepping," he said. "Sheilah should arrive in ten. Heard from Missy?"
"Tori texted her before we left to come here. How long will you be around?"
"Long enough until you get started. Just taking a few notes. I'll be gone before you're ready to see the staff."
Tori was almost to the chapel doors when she noticed something on the floor near the lip. Ballack sidled up next to her and followed her gaze.
"Bloody print," she said, pulling out her camera, "from the front part of a shoe."
"Won't be able to see what size," Ballack demurred, "but it's something." They pushed open the left door and moved into the chapel.
The ghastly tableau before them was more appropriate for a Druid hall than a Christian church. Father Giles' battered body was neatly placed on the altar, with a tray of Eucharistic wafers on the floor nearest his head and a chalice of wine four feet to the right at his feet. His hands remained wrapped around the altarpiece; upon closer investigation, Ballack saw it was a stainless steel cross. It had not been on the altar either time they had held interviews in the chapel.
Holbrook approached them wearing his examiner's outfit, a crisp white pullover uni-suit that looked practically starched. Soft blue slippers graced his feet.
"Just you two," he said.
Tori frowned. "I guess you heard about Missy and Zane."
Holbrook slowly gestured his assent. "Krieger let me know. Before you arrived, I was able to get a temperature." He raised his eyebrows toward Ballack, who disliked seeing the violation of the lifeless victim's privacy. "And you'd better find out what night life is like around here."
"Why's that?" asked Ballack.
"According to the temperature, death was likely just after nine-thirty last night."
Ballack's eyes widened. Tori nearly dropped her camera. "What?" she said.
"The thermometer doesn't lie. Neither does the body," replied Holbrook.
"Okay, okay," said Ballack. "So, we're talking over twelve hours ago. Walk us through it first. I'm guessing the line of blood from the aisle to the altar shows the attack took place in the middle of the chapel. That much we can see."
"Most likely," Holbrook answered as he walked down the aisle to the exact point. "Hard to tell why or even if it was a surprise. Not many areas in this room to shock with an appearance unless you came straight through the doors. There is, though, a small closet built into this back wall." He pointed to the spot, sort of a hidden nook. But there's a vacuum cleaner and several supplies in it. The attacker could have hidden there, but the problem is he'd have to crouch down and it's not a very good starting position to spring into action."
"No weapon found?" Ballack asked as Tori continued to snap pictures.
"None," Holbrook shook his head, "but given the contusions, marks, and the amount of blood, it's safe to say it was solid metal and quite heavy. You can count out the altar cross, of course. Even if it was heavy enough, it's not even dinged up or damaged; in fact, it's in immaculate condition. The marks are about an inch and a half with severe discoloring of the skin. That's why I'm counting on solid metal, perhaps iron, although Sheilah will take any fibers or filings that may be embedded in the wounds. Anything wooden would need more mass and thickness, like when we handled Father Jonathan's death at St. Basil's."
"Respect," said Ballack, hand on his heart, recalling the harsh beating the priest received via the baseball bat.
"Lots of blood," said Tori, "but even with the marks on his face, the wounds aren't exactly open ones. I'm guessing the death blow was from behind, given the gunk all over this side of the altar?"
"First and subsequent strikes appear to be in the back of the skull. The first one would have stunned him, possibly rendered him unconscious but not killed him. After repeated strikes--say, the third or fourth--you'd get the spurting that resulted in everything you see here on the carpet. Bleeding in the cranial cavity and so on. He was probably dead within seconds, but whoever this was kept at it. Either turned or kicked him over and continued beating him in the face."
Ballack cringed, the bile stinging in his throat. The calculating mind he normally brought to each case was giving way to any anger he found difficult to control. He had experienced little interaction with Father Giles but found him to be a gentle and reasonable man, scarcely imagining he could have enemies. So why this, this unchecked rage, this avalanche of ire, this deluge of fury which swept this priest away in its flood waters? Ballack stared at Giles' corpse, the wrath and frustration escalating. He could not fathom what had happened, but by heaven and earth--he covenanted with himself--he would discover the one responsible, and there would be justice.
"Frenzy in the attack, if you ask me," said Holbrook, calling Ballack's mind back to the present as the doors opened.
"Detectives," called Stu Krieger. "Sheilah has arrived and wants to conference with Evan for now. I'm heading out now, but the staff has assembled in the cafeteria. Reverend Fisher was alerted and has joined them."
"Thanks," replied Ballack, then turning to Holbrook, said, "When you're done, email me everything."
He and Tori began the walk down the hallway toward the cafeteria. "A little reserved on the way over, were we?" he asked her.
"Paula was having significant pains last night," she replied, packing away her camera. "Felt like contractions."
"Contractions? But she's not due for three weeks!"
"Tell that to the baby. Probably not enough square footage in her womb anymore."
Ballack smiled broadly but wiped the grin from his face as they entered the cafeteria. Nick Fisher was speaking in low tones to Isabel Andrews. Beverly Overton and Anna Barber sat erect in their chairs. The Hagans appeared, leaving the dishes soaking in the massive kitchen sink. There was also a housekeeper Ballack did not recognize, but he wasn't going to waste time on introductions.
"Reverend Fisher," Ballack announced, "I am sorry our questions must come at this time, but can I have a few moments?" As the small crowd quieted, Ballack addressed them en masse. "I am truly sorry for the events of the past couple days. Dr. Hibbler's death was tragic, and now, as all of you might know, Father Giles was found this morning in the chapel. He was brutally murdered. I had only the briefest contact with him, but I found Father Giles to be a gentle soul and a kind man. I can see from some of your looks here that he was not only a fellow laborer, but a dear friend. You have my deepest sympathy."
Ballack cleared his throat. "But tragedy does not deter us from assessing the facts. As we have another murder on these grounds, we must ask the hard questions and your answers--as difficult as it might be to formulate them in these moments--will expedite the process of justice."
He allowed the words to sink in and gestured Tori to pose the next query. "The most important question to ask is this: Were any of you here in the facility last night?"
Fisher frowned at the last two words. "Last night, detective? What does this have to do with Rory's death? Surely you're not saying he was killed yesterday?"
"The question stands, Reverend Fisher," said Ballack coolly, noting Fisher's use of the word yesterday.
"Good heavens! He had just assisted me at church at the five-thirty service last night! Are you telling me--us--that he was killed last night?"
"We'll give more details once we've spoken to Mrs. Giles," said Tori, "but please answer the question for now: Were any of you here last night between the hours of eight and twelve?"
No one said a word. Ballack's frustration had passed the simmering stage.
Tori sensed it and followed up. "Fine. Just for the sake of argument--and we should have asked this yesterday--how many of you have access to the building during off hours with a key or card?"
Isabel Andrews uncomfortably drew herself up in her chair. "Every member of the staff does. We all have entry cards with magnetic strips and a code square on the back. If you take a look at the door at the end of the northwest hall, there is an alarm pad. That's the off-hours entry door. The slide pad is on the outside. There's a wraparound ramp that leads into the parking lot."
"Not that it does much good," came a voice from the door. Helen Smith had rolled her wheelchair into the room. "Can someone get me a glass of water?"
"I'll handle that," said a concerned Bob Hagan, starting to his feet.
"What did you mean by that, Mrs. Smith?" asked Tori.
Helen cleared her throat. "Oh, even if someone wanted to sneak in, you can see a lot from the windows on that hallway. I could write a book about it."
"Excuse me?" Ballack asked, keeping one eye on the rest of the assembled crew.
"I couldn't help but overhear this conversation as I went by," said the silver-haired septuagenarian. "If you're wondering about the chaplain's death, I never saw it happen. But if you're wondering about who might have done it, why not consider the shadow in the grass last night?"
"Shadow?" Tori drew near to Helen Smith.
"Snaking through the lawn running north of here. He was gliding away fast like his tail was on fire!"
"You're sure it was a male?" inquired Tori.
Helen shrugged painfully. "I can't think of anyone else moving at that speed. Not like I get out that much to judge for sure." She saw Bob Hagan returning with her water. "Thank you, dear. I think I'll have my drink now."
Ballack turned to the entire group, facing Nick Fisher and Isabel Andrews in particular. "Is this the extent of your security system?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" replied the nursing director.
"Is that the only after-hours entry?"
"Yes."
"And is there a computerized system that tracks entries, or is the card system just for entry with no log data?"
"We don't have that, Detective Ballack," said Nick Fisher, "nor have we ever seen reason to. With the small staff and work area, we've never viewed it as cost-effective."
"I'm sure the last couple days have changed your perspective," Tori said.
"It's not required by law," offered Isabel.
Ballack lifted his head suddenly, as if he'd had a revelation. "Can we get brief statements from each of you? We have several folks with whom we still need to meet. Reverend Fisher, your whereabouts?"
"Left the church at seven-fifteen last night. Went home. With my wife all evening and in bed by ten."
"Mrs. Andrews?"
"Home. With my husband. We were watching a movie on Netflix."
"Mrs. Barber?"
"My cousin came in from out of town. She's staying for a few weeks through Thanksgiving. She flew into Lambert and touched down at eight-ten. If needed, I can produce her ticket and my parking receipt."
"Mrs. Overton?"
"I also was watching a movie, but went out to see it at the Des Peres cinema." She handed a barely one-square inch card to Tori, who looked at it.
"Lincoln. The seven-forty show," she said, passing it to Ballack.
"I was there with a friend if you need further confirmation," Beverly added.
"Anyone here seen it?" asked Ballack, which elicited a flurry of denials from all present. "My parents saw it opening night. Interesting, my Yankee father and Southern mother watching this film. I'm surprised Fort Sumter didn't break out all over again."
Beverly Overton nodded. "It's worth the price."
"Hearing the chimes at daybreak," Ballack said dreamily, with a slight British accent.
"I beg your pardon?" she replied.
"Lincoln quoting Falstaff. It was my father's favorite quote from the movie."
The nurse smiled, the quote apparently registering. "That's right, that's right."
Ballack tapped the stub twice against his chin, handed it to Tori for safekeeping, then asked the Hagans, "And the two of you?"
"We were planning the menu two weeks in advance," said Patricia Hagan. "We were doing that at home together."
Her husband nodded his agreement.
Ballack copied and pasted his notes into a separate document on his laptop and raised his eyebrows to Tori. "That will be all at present. We have some additional people to meet, but please know that we might return for some follow-up questions."
The moment they were in the hallway, headed back to the chapel, Tori's phone rang.
"Detective Vaughan, this is Suzanne Lamotta. Thank you for returning the keys. I just wanted to let you know I got them out of the mailbox."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Lamotta," replied Tori with a pained look, "but there's something about the house."
"Yes, the house! How did you like it?"
"Um, well..."
Ballack put his wheelchair in high gear, ripping through the hallway into the narthex, leaving Tori on her own.
"Anyone else in the chapel?" asked Ballack, and Krieger nodded.
"Holbrook arrived fifteen minutes ago and is prepping," he said. "Sheilah should arrive in ten. Heard from Missy?"
"Tori texted her before we left to come here. How long will you be around?"
"Long enough until you get started. Just taking a few notes. I'll be gone before you're ready to see the staff."
Tori was almost to the chapel doors when she noticed something on the floor near the lip. Ballack sidled up next to her and followed her gaze.
"Bloody print," she said, pulling out her camera, "from the front part of a shoe."
"Won't be able to see what size," Ballack demurred, "but it's something." They pushed open the left door and moved into the chapel.
The ghastly tableau before them was more appropriate for a Druid hall than a Christian church. Father Giles' battered body was neatly placed on the altar, with a tray of Eucharistic wafers on the floor nearest his head and a chalice of wine four feet to the right at his feet. His hands remained wrapped around the altarpiece; upon closer investigation, Ballack saw it was a stainless steel cross. It had not been on the altar either time they had held interviews in the chapel.
Holbrook approached them wearing his examiner's outfit, a crisp white pullover uni-suit that looked practically starched. Soft blue slippers graced his feet.
"Just you two," he said.
Tori frowned. "I guess you heard about Missy and Zane."
Holbrook slowly gestured his assent. "Krieger let me know. Before you arrived, I was able to get a temperature." He raised his eyebrows toward Ballack, who disliked seeing the violation of the lifeless victim's privacy. "And you'd better find out what night life is like around here."
"Why's that?" asked Ballack.
"According to the temperature, death was likely just after nine-thirty last night."
Ballack's eyes widened. Tori nearly dropped her camera. "What?" she said.
"The thermometer doesn't lie. Neither does the body," replied Holbrook.
"Okay, okay," said Ballack. "So, we're talking over twelve hours ago. Walk us through it first. I'm guessing the line of blood from the aisle to the altar shows the attack took place in the middle of the chapel. That much we can see."
"Most likely," Holbrook answered as he walked down the aisle to the exact point. "Hard to tell why or even if it was a surprise. Not many areas in this room to shock with an appearance unless you came straight through the doors. There is, though, a small closet built into this back wall." He pointed to the spot, sort of a hidden nook. But there's a vacuum cleaner and several supplies in it. The attacker could have hidden there, but the problem is he'd have to crouch down and it's not a very good starting position to spring into action."
"No weapon found?" Ballack asked as Tori continued to snap pictures.
"None," Holbrook shook his head, "but given the contusions, marks, and the amount of blood, it's safe to say it was solid metal and quite heavy. You can count out the altar cross, of course. Even if it was heavy enough, it's not even dinged up or damaged; in fact, it's in immaculate condition. The marks are about an inch and a half with severe discoloring of the skin. That's why I'm counting on solid metal, perhaps iron, although Sheilah will take any fibers or filings that may be embedded in the wounds. Anything wooden would need more mass and thickness, like when we handled Father Jonathan's death at St. Basil's."
"Respect," said Ballack, hand on his heart, recalling the harsh beating the priest received via the baseball bat.
"Lots of blood," said Tori, "but even with the marks on his face, the wounds aren't exactly open ones. I'm guessing the death blow was from behind, given the gunk all over this side of the altar?"
"First and subsequent strikes appear to be in the back of the skull. The first one would have stunned him, possibly rendered him unconscious but not killed him. After repeated strikes--say, the third or fourth--you'd get the spurting that resulted in everything you see here on the carpet. Bleeding in the cranial cavity and so on. He was probably dead within seconds, but whoever this was kept at it. Either turned or kicked him over and continued beating him in the face."
Ballack cringed, the bile stinging in his throat. The calculating mind he normally brought to each case was giving way to any anger he found difficult to control. He had experienced little interaction with Father Giles but found him to be a gentle and reasonable man, scarcely imagining he could have enemies. So why this, this unchecked rage, this avalanche of ire, this deluge of fury which swept this priest away in its flood waters? Ballack stared at Giles' corpse, the wrath and frustration escalating. He could not fathom what had happened, but by heaven and earth--he covenanted with himself--he would discover the one responsible, and there would be justice.
"Frenzy in the attack, if you ask me," said Holbrook, calling Ballack's mind back to the present as the doors opened.
"Detectives," called Stu Krieger. "Sheilah has arrived and wants to conference with Evan for now. I'm heading out now, but the staff has assembled in the cafeteria. Reverend Fisher was alerted and has joined them."
"Thanks," replied Ballack, then turning to Holbrook, said, "When you're done, email me everything."
He and Tori began the walk down the hallway toward the cafeteria. "A little reserved on the way over, were we?" he asked her.
"Paula was having significant pains last night," she replied, packing away her camera. "Felt like contractions."
"Contractions? But she's not due for three weeks!"
"Tell that to the baby. Probably not enough square footage in her womb anymore."
Ballack smiled broadly but wiped the grin from his face as they entered the cafeteria. Nick Fisher was speaking in low tones to Isabel Andrews. Beverly Overton and Anna Barber sat erect in their chairs. The Hagans appeared, leaving the dishes soaking in the massive kitchen sink. There was also a housekeeper Ballack did not recognize, but he wasn't going to waste time on introductions.
"Reverend Fisher," Ballack announced, "I am sorry our questions must come at this time, but can I have a few moments?" As the small crowd quieted, Ballack addressed them en masse. "I am truly sorry for the events of the past couple days. Dr. Hibbler's death was tragic, and now, as all of you might know, Father Giles was found this morning in the chapel. He was brutally murdered. I had only the briefest contact with him, but I found Father Giles to be a gentle soul and a kind man. I can see from some of your looks here that he was not only a fellow laborer, but a dear friend. You have my deepest sympathy."
Ballack cleared his throat. "But tragedy does not deter us from assessing the facts. As we have another murder on these grounds, we must ask the hard questions and your answers--as difficult as it might be to formulate them in these moments--will expedite the process of justice."
He allowed the words to sink in and gestured Tori to pose the next query. "The most important question to ask is this: Were any of you here in the facility last night?"
Fisher frowned at the last two words. "Last night, detective? What does this have to do with Rory's death? Surely you're not saying he was killed yesterday?"
"The question stands, Reverend Fisher," said Ballack coolly, noting Fisher's use of the word yesterday.
"Good heavens! He had just assisted me at church at the five-thirty service last night! Are you telling me--us--that he was killed last night?"
"We'll give more details once we've spoken to Mrs. Giles," said Tori, "but please answer the question for now: Were any of you here last night between the hours of eight and twelve?"
No one said a word. Ballack's frustration had passed the simmering stage.
Tori sensed it and followed up. "Fine. Just for the sake of argument--and we should have asked this yesterday--how many of you have access to the building during off hours with a key or card?"
Isabel Andrews uncomfortably drew herself up in her chair. "Every member of the staff does. We all have entry cards with magnetic strips and a code square on the back. If you take a look at the door at the end of the northwest hall, there is an alarm pad. That's the off-hours entry door. The slide pad is on the outside. There's a wraparound ramp that leads into the parking lot."
"Not that it does much good," came a voice from the door. Helen Smith had rolled her wheelchair into the room. "Can someone get me a glass of water?"
"I'll handle that," said a concerned Bob Hagan, starting to his feet.
"What did you mean by that, Mrs. Smith?" asked Tori.
Helen cleared her throat. "Oh, even if someone wanted to sneak in, you can see a lot from the windows on that hallway. I could write a book about it."
"Excuse me?" Ballack asked, keeping one eye on the rest of the assembled crew.
"I couldn't help but overhear this conversation as I went by," said the silver-haired septuagenarian. "If you're wondering about the chaplain's death, I never saw it happen. But if you're wondering about who might have done it, why not consider the shadow in the grass last night?"
"Shadow?" Tori drew near to Helen Smith.
"Snaking through the lawn running north of here. He was gliding away fast like his tail was on fire!"
"You're sure it was a male?" inquired Tori.
Helen shrugged painfully. "I can't think of anyone else moving at that speed. Not like I get out that much to judge for sure." She saw Bob Hagan returning with her water. "Thank you, dear. I think I'll have my drink now."
Ballack turned to the entire group, facing Nick Fisher and Isabel Andrews in particular. "Is this the extent of your security system?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" replied the nursing director.
"Is that the only after-hours entry?"
"Yes."
"And is there a computerized system that tracks entries, or is the card system just for entry with no log data?"
"We don't have that, Detective Ballack," said Nick Fisher, "nor have we ever seen reason to. With the small staff and work area, we've never viewed it as cost-effective."
"I'm sure the last couple days have changed your perspective," Tori said.
"It's not required by law," offered Isabel.
Ballack lifted his head suddenly, as if he'd had a revelation. "Can we get brief statements from each of you? We have several folks with whom we still need to meet. Reverend Fisher, your whereabouts?"
"Left the church at seven-fifteen last night. Went home. With my wife all evening and in bed by ten."
"Mrs. Andrews?"
"Home. With my husband. We were watching a movie on Netflix."
"Mrs. Barber?"
"My cousin came in from out of town. She's staying for a few weeks through Thanksgiving. She flew into Lambert and touched down at eight-ten. If needed, I can produce her ticket and my parking receipt."
"Mrs. Overton?"
"I also was watching a movie, but went out to see it at the Des Peres cinema." She handed a barely one-square inch card to Tori, who looked at it.
"Lincoln. The seven-forty show," she said, passing it to Ballack.
"I was there with a friend if you need further confirmation," Beverly added.
"Anyone here seen it?" asked Ballack, which elicited a flurry of denials from all present. "My parents saw it opening night. Interesting, my Yankee father and Southern mother watching this film. I'm surprised Fort Sumter didn't break out all over again."
Beverly Overton nodded. "It's worth the price."
"Hearing the chimes at daybreak," Ballack said dreamily, with a slight British accent.
"I beg your pardon?" she replied.
"Lincoln quoting Falstaff. It was my father's favorite quote from the movie."
The nurse smiled, the quote apparently registering. "That's right, that's right."
Ballack tapped the stub twice against his chin, handed it to Tori for safekeeping, then asked the Hagans, "And the two of you?"
"We were planning the menu two weeks in advance," said Patricia Hagan. "We were doing that at home together."
Her husband nodded his agreement.
Ballack copied and pasted his notes into a separate document on his laptop and raised his eyebrows to Tori. "That will be all at present. We have some additional people to meet, but please know that we might return for some follow-up questions."
The moment they were in the hallway, headed back to the chapel, Tori's phone rang.
"Detective Vaughan, this is Suzanne Lamotta. Thank you for returning the keys. I just wanted to let you know I got them out of the mailbox."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Lamotta," replied Tori with a pained look, "but there's something about the house."
"Yes, the house! How did you like it?"
"Um, well..."
Ballack put his wheelchair in high gear, ripping through the hallway into the narthex, leaving Tori on her own.
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