Saint Mary's was situated in the heart of downtown Toronto and was a well maintained piece of work considering it's founding over fifty years ago. Then again, it was only the third Roman Catholic church to have been constructed in the fledgling city's history and that kind of past demanded attention and respect. Many revered the awe-inspiring nature of it's grand arches, stained glass windows and Gothic tower (though this was still under construction). Today however it was being scrutinized for a startling reason; the suicide of a priest.
"What have we got doctor?" enquired Inspector Thomas Brackenreid who had come to stand outside of the confessional booth. The body had been discovered within but removed so that Dr. Ogden could better exam it.
His right hand for the time being was George Crabtree, an energetic youth with many unusual ideas. Spending so much time with the lad was starting to grate on his nerves but there was nothing for it, Detective Hammon was unavailable to do his job because he had been injured badly about a week ago, after he fell from a rusty ladder in pursuit of a suspect.
In any case, it didn't appear that Crabtree's assistance would really be necessary this time around. It was a clear cut case of suicide. There was nothing to investigate, which was good news for both of them because the constable had barely managed to solve the previous case and Brackenreid was not in much of a mood for intrigue. He was looking forward to a speedy wrap up of this examination so he could go back to the station and get his Goldcure. With any luck, it would be arriving soon and he couldn't wait.
The younger attractive woman looked over at him and then back to the dead priest. She was holding his head in her hands as she examined him. "Single gunshot wound to the head at point blank range," she said, highlighting the gun powder residue with her fingertip. She turned his head to the other side to reveal a small hole. She then held up his arm and let it fall. "As well, Rigor Mortis and Lividity mark time of death sometime last night."
"Anything else?" he asked shortly, getting ready to leave.
"Yes, inspector, as a matter of fact there is." She glanced up again and smiled. "This was not a suicide, this was murder."
Her words pounded through his skull like a thousand hammers.
"What the bloody hell do you mean it was murder?" he yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to glance over at them. "The poor sod shot himself!"
Brackenreid had been rather surly this morning with little to no patience and it didn't take much to set him off. The others had been trying to discover the reason for this change but as of yet had been unable to.
"I have to disagree, sir. While there was gun powder residue present, there were no actual contact burns from the muzzle on his skull."
"So?" he roared, "So he didn't stick the gun to his head, so bloody what?"
"It's not just that," she said frowning at his behaviour. "The pattern is too spread out. If the Father had pulled the trigger, the gun powder residue would be more concentrated than this. I believe this would indicate that someone sitting in the," she paused for a second, "left confessional booth was guilty of actually pulling the trigger. But you can verify that for yourself by simply taking a look at the grate in there. If I'm right, there will be gun powder residue present. It might not be visible though so use your finger in that case."
Brackenreid huffed the short distance to the central booth where the priest was found. There didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary except for his blood and brain matter splashed across the wall. And the bullet. It was lodged in the right hand booth's grate. He turned his attention to the left grate and peered closely, not detecting anything. So Brackenreid stuck his pinky finger in several of the holes and pulled it back to examine it. A black smudge was present.
Brackenreid restrained himself from screaming with a great force of will.
The doctor must have taken his silence as confirmation that she was right because she said, "So I'll need to take him back to the morgue for further examination."
He didn't respond.
"Inspector?"
"Fine," he grumbled, biting his lip. He cocked his head to the side and yelled "Oye!" and two constables, (Crabtree and Higgins) who had been taking statements from the priests' apprentices came running. "Took you long enough!" he screamed, causing them to jump in fright as his words echoed in the high walled chamber. "Well what are you lot waiting for? Hop to it!" he hollered, pointing savagely at the corpse with his cane. The constables hopped to it.
"It's a pity," said the doctor, watching their progress. Brackenreid just looked at her blankly so she elaborated. "He was quite handsome." Then she followed the body out.
Once that had been sorted, Brackenreid was filled in by Crabtree.
Jerking a thumb, "Were those blokes able to shed any light into this affair?"
"Not really, sir," replied the constable, glancing at his notes. "They were terribly shocked to find Father Brennan in that state but they are none the wiser as to who could have done this. According to them he was well liked among his congregation and the community and didn't have any enemies. As well, they have never seen the murder weapon before and are quite adamant that it was not the Fathers."
"Give me something to go on, Crabtree!" he growled.
"Well, sir," he said quickly, afraid of another outburst, "young Charles was under the impression that Father Brennan was out of sorts recently."
"How so?" Brackenreid said, becoming more collected again.
"Apparently he overheard him saying something about a mistake he had made."
"Mistake? What mistake?"
The lad looked apologetic. "I don't know, sir, that's all he heard."
"Bloody hell!" exploded the inspector, startling everyone in the vicinity. "Why are you so bloody useless Crabtree?"
The constable looked upset but didn't say anything.
Brackenreid then pushed past him and stormed out of the church.
Goddamn bloody case!
Father Brennan had no next of kin in this part of the world so they called in the next best thing, another priest from another Roman Catholic church, Father Murdoch. The apprentices from St. Mary's had said this man was the particular friend of Father Brennan, having gone to seminary school together in Montreal.
"Tell me, Father," said Brackenreid pacing behind his desk, "do you know anything about this mistake Father Brennan made?" The dark haired man stared at him impassively. "Could it be the reason he was killed?"
"I'd rather not speculate," replied the younger man softly but firmly.
Brackenreid eyed him closely and clenched his teeth together. "So you do know something then?"
"Possibly."
"Would you care to elaborate?" he said, annoyed at his cryptic manner.
"Michael told me certain things in confidence, during confession. It is not my place to divulge such things to anyone else."
"Confession?" said Brackenreid sharply. "Why would a priest need to go to confession?"
Unless he's guilty of a crime.
Father Murdoch smiled slightly. "Even saints need to confess, inspector. To be human is to err."
He frowned. "You aren't going to help me, are you?" he sulked.
"On the contrary, inspector. I'd be happy to help as long as I'm not required to divulge any of Michael's sins. Those are between him and God."
Brackenreid tried to control his anger before speaking again but couldn't. "With all due respect, Father," he said slamming his hands into the desk, shaking the pen in the ink pot, "but that is a load of bollocks! Father Brennan is dead! Surely that should free up your goddamn tongue a bit!"
The young priest had been unimpressed with his display. "I'm sorry but you have my answer. I will not break my vows for any reason."
Brackenreid half thought of breaking out the old black glove on this uncooperative bastard but then thought better of it. He tried another tactic instead.
"And what if you are the key to solving your friends murder?" he barked. "Will you be satisfied with never knowing the truth?"
Father Murdoch simply looked at him sadly. "If it is God's will, then so be it."
Bugger this! Why is everyone so goddamn useless?
"Might I see, Michael?" the priest asked, somewhat abruptly.
The inspector restrained himself from grabbing his stupid hat and shoving it down his stupid throat. "Why of course, Father!" bellowed Brackenreid with impressive vigour, (even for himself) making heads turn. "It would be my goddamn pleasure to grant you access to the goddamn body since you've been so goddamn helpful in this investigation!"
"Please stop taking the Lord's name in vain," was the priests only response to this. He had barely flinched throughout the inspectors whole display. Clearly it took a lot to ruffle his feathers.
Brackenreid screamed.
Julia was washing her blood stained hands when George and a handsome priest entered the observation room. It was not the time to be making such comparisons but she couldn't help but think that this man was even more attractive than the dead one in front of her, far more so, even in his flowing robes and somewhat silly priest hat.
"Father Murdoch would like to say goodbye to his friend," said the constable, fiddling with the helmet in his hands. He seemed to be uncomfortable around the man for some reason. Perhaps he had misbehaved recently?
She did her best not to smile at the thought.
"Yes, the inspector just called."
"There's something wrong with him," said the priest bluntly.
"We know," both Julia and George said simultaneously, sharing a look.
"Anyway..." She glanced at the priest and gestured to the body. "Please, Father."
He walked over to the slab with the y shaped blood pattern poking through the white sheet and waited for her to lift it back. She watched as he crossed himself and as his expression softened at the sight of his dead friend. No tears were shed and he said nothing, not even when she gave him her condolences. Julia had the distinct impression that he was off in another world, silently praying. She knew she should give him some space but she couldn't seem to help herself. She felt compelled to watch him for as long as possible, to be near him, to hold him close and console him.
Get a grip, Julia! He's a priest!
She had some serious issues! Every man she had ever been remotely attracted to had either been married or else unobtainable in some other way (like being a homosexual for instance). This was the first time though that a man of the cloth had caught her eye so completely (undoubtedly this was due to her poor church attendance). Maybe she did this sort of thing to herself on purpose so that she would never actually have to commit to anyone and risk losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve? Whatever the reason, it was extremely annoying and frustrating.
All too soon, Father Murdoch nodded at her curtly and then left rapidly, George scrambling to keep up with him. Julia sighed to herself and glanced down at the dead man.
"Looks like it's just you and me again."
She picked up her scalpel and got back to work.
Brackenreid visited the morgue about an hour later for the full autopsy results.
"Dr. Ogden," he said with a distinct edge to his voice, "do you have anything else to report?"
He was hoping the answer to that was yes as he didn't have much to go on so far and didn't want to bring in another detective to help him out, further proving his incompetence and bringing into question his position at the head of the precinct. But worse than all that would be Crabtree's smug look at his failure. Brackenreid would be the first to admit that he was often hard on his men, but Crabtree in particular since he really got on his nerves.
Bloody well deserves it, the tosser.
She pulled the body sideways to reveal his back. There were many angry welts popping out in bold red. Some were older and faded but most appeared to be quite fresh.
"As you can see, Father Brennan had been practising self flagellation."
"Self what?"
"Flagellation. I've read that it's something religious types do when they want to physically repent their sins."
"Bloody mental is what it is," he scoffed. "So he was feeling guilty about something. We bloody well already knew that!"
She looked at him unimpressed and he continued, "What else?"
"Time of death was between eleven and midnight."
Brackenreid made a face. "Is it usual for priests to still be in church so late?"
The doctor made a similar face. "I really have no idea, inspector." She smirked. "I'm not what you'd call a devout follower."
He remained intensely serious. "Is that everything then?" he snapped.
"I'm afraid so, inspector," she said coldly.
He grit his teeth and managed not to scream obscenities at the doctor.
Looks like I'm on my bloody own with this one! As usual!
"Bollocks!" he snarled instead.
The doctor put her hands on her hips. "Really now, inspector, what seems to be troubling you so much today?"
"It's this bloody case!"
"Since when has a case gotten you so riled up?"
"It was supposed to just be a suicide!"
She looked at him pointedly for a moment. "No, there's something else bothering you. From what I understood from George-"
"Bloody bastard can't keep his mouth shut!"
Her voice got louder, "-you were like this before we got the call from the church. I'd like to help you but I can't do that if you don't tell me what's wrong."
He pointed his cane at her, eyes popping out of his skull. "Just bloody well leave me alone woman!" Then he stormed out of there.