Chapter 14
The Holy Joe Killer
Fr McCauley's first fare, as "Vernon James Moynihan" the taxi driver, was a quiet old woman, from Boston Logan Airport to Dorchester. The driver silently approved as the woman said a decade of the rosary as he drove. When they arrived at the destination, she wasn't finished with her decade so the driver stopped the meter and waited. Once she was finished and blessed herself, she smiled and thanked him for his kind thoughtfulness in allowing her to finish her prayers, and not charging her extra for the wait. He smiled at her but said nothing. The lady paid the fare and praised him for his silence. "May God bless you. I prefer the taxi drivers that don't talk."
Smiling at her, he carried her heavy cases into her home and doffed his hat at her.
"May God bless you too."
Looking at her house in the wing mirror, he drove away, and continued picking up fares.
Back at the BPD, in the evidence room, Korsak was examining the evidence gathered from Jane's rescue. Pulling out a couple of evidence bags from the cardboard box, Korsak opened one. He pulled out the full length coat that evidently belonged to Fr Stan Smith. Going through the pockets, he found a missal. Going through the missal, he found plenty of little prayer cards and articles inserted into the missal as place markers. What caught his eye was an old faded black and white photo.
The photo was of a group of soldiers somewhere in the jungle. He turned it over and found some names pencilled on the back, and "Korea 1952"
Fr D O'Neill
Sammy Rodriguez
Pete Brooke
Stan Smith
Chris Brown
John Lynch
Korsak scheduled a meeting with the US Military liaison, hoping he would be able to help with the case. They arranged an appointment on base the following day.
Looking at the copy of the photograph, and at the list of names, the Liaison officer went inside the archives room, leaving Korsak in the visitor's room, and returned with a list.
"Yes, Stan Smith served in the Korean War, and also in the Vietnam War. He was a priest by then, and served as chaplain. Here is a list of the names of the full squad in 1952, and a copy of his file regarding his activities in Vietnam, but that's about all I could tell you. Stan Smith left the military in '53, but came back for Vietnam in '67. He was honorably discharged from the US Army in 1975."
Korsak learned quite a bit about the other men in the squad as well, and he requested a copy of their files too, which was duly provided. Korsak thanked the Liaison officer for his help with the case, and returned to the BPD.
Frost and Maura saw him carry in old phone books and drop them on his desk. Grunting with the exertion, Korsak smiled at the other two. He handed over the list of names to Frost.
Frost looked at the phone books and laughed quietly.
"Ya know there is such a thing as the internet?"
"Huh, not everything is on the internet, I'll have you know."
Frost knew Korsak was only feigning umbrage by the twinkle in his eyes.
"Military Liaison gave us some possible leads in the case. Here, can you check for me whether these men are still alive, and if so, which ones. This is Stan Smith's military info, so I'll check these out."
Maura smiled and moved to the door, on her way back to the morgue.
"See you all later after work, perhaps?"
Korsak gently teased her:
"Yes, why not join us later at the Dirty Robber after we've done all the gumshoe work for the day?"
Laughing, Maura replied:
"Lovely, I look forward to it, see you later, gentlemen."
After thirty minutes, Frost reported to Korsak that death certificates were found for all the names on the list except for one man, a Fr David O'Neill.
"Perhaps this Fr O'Neill could help us… he's in his 90s now. Yet another priest. I'll look into his address now."
"Oh, I did that for you, he's at the Hillside Glen Home. Here's the address."
"Great, Let's go there now."
Driving up at the old manor, they didn't notice anything strange at first, not until they entered. They rang the doorbell waiting to be let in. When the big wooden door opened, they saw a set of inner glass doors that were only opened by keycards. The amiable nurse who answered the door closed the door after them, and the glass doors automatically locked shut.
"Forgive me, we have to be sure the patients don't get out. Who are you here to see?"
Korsak and Frost looked at one other in puzzlement at the strange statement about keeping patients imprisoned inside, but Korsak answered the nurse, showing his police ID.
"We'd like to speak to the manager first before speaking with Fr David O'Neill. We're here on official business."
The nurse looked at them before shaking her head and sighing.
"Oh dear… yes, I'll bring you to the manager."
The harried-looking but friendly trim middle aged woman they were led to turned away from her computer and stood up. With a regretful tone of voice, she blandly told the men, "No, you can't talk to Fr O'Neill, I'm sorry. You may try, but it's impossible."
Frost stared at the middle aged woman. He asked, looking for clarification,
"What do you mean? He may have some important information for us. It's police business."
Sighing, the manager stood up and brought the two detectives to Fr O'Neill.
The elderly priest was in bed, staring vacantly into space, drooling slightly. Frost recognised his gaze, as his own grandfather had the same condition. Fr O'Neill was not lucid anymore. Meanwhile, the manager continued.
"I am sorry, but he has advanced Alzheimer's disease. He's lost the capacity to hold conversations, and does not recognise anyone anymore."
The manager walked over to the old man and smiled gently at him, holding his hand, before leaving the room, beckoning the detectives to follow her.
"This is a specialist extended care facility for people who are living with dementia. Many of these patients have behavioural issues relating to their condition that means ordinary nursing homes would not be equipped to care for them properly. Fr O'Neill is with us for the past fifteen years. Perhaps he himself isn't able to help directly, but his grand niece, Siobhan, might be able to help."
Korsak replied:
"We'd be grateful for any assistance."
The manager smiled.
"Of course. She's here today visiting him. She also visits some other people here who have no living relatives, and she's with them now. These people are not as far gone as Fr O'Neill, and they all love her therapy dog, Bubbles. I'll get her for you."
Five minutes later, in the manager's office they met the grand niece, a friendly Irish-American woman in her 20s, who was more than obliging.
"My name's Siobhan McKenna. Pleased to meet you."
Walking to Fr O'Neill's room, with the easy-going Rottweiler beside her, Korsak commented:
"What a magnificent dog. Is this Bubbles? It's unusual to have a Rottie as a therapy dog though?"
Smiling broadly, Siobhan introduced Bubbles to the detectives.
"Say hello to these men, Bubbles. Yes, I noticed how gentle he was to the patients here, and he is such a softie with them, so I brought him to be accredited as a therapy dog."
The dog came forward with his mouth open and tongue lolling, and put his paw into Korsak's hand gently while at the same time sitting down beside Frost, leaning against him with just the slightest pressure. His goofy and easy-going nature soon won Frost over. He gave Bubbles a gentle pat on his massive head. The dog wagged his little stump of a tail.
Inside Fr O'Neill's room, Bubbles soon made his way over to Fr O'Neill, whose only response was a wizened arthritic hand rubbing Bubbles's head. Korsak smiled at the gentleness of the Rottie, but soon got down to business, when the nurses and aides provided chairs for them to sit on.
"We're investigating some murders. We see that your grand uncle was involved in the Korean War. What can you tell us about his time there? Did he tell you anything?"
Shaking her head, Siobhan exclaimed:
"Oh, it was like pulling teeth to get anything from him. You see, he was a very quiet man. You could have a chat with him, but he wouldn't talk about the wars he was in. All I know was that he was a chaplain and camp counselor for the soldiers on the front line…"
Korsak sighed after a surreptitious glance at Frost who looked on impassively.
Here, Siobhan paused for a moment, musing, then looked up.
"Oh yes! You might like to have a look at his journals. He was a daily journal writer and was obsessive about it. I have all his journals in boxes in the attic at home. He used to live with me, that's how I got to have them at home."
Frost and Korsak were relieved to hear this, perhaps their trip wouldn't have been a waste of time after all. A niggling thought wouldn't leave Frost so he asked:
"Pardon me Siobhan, this is important. For legal reasons we can only get these journals if we had your grand uncle's permission. As he is legally not of sound mind, do you, or anyone else, have enduring power of attorney?"
Siobhan's face dropped at this.
"Oh, no, I don't have enduring power of attorney. He became paranoid as his disease progressed and as a result it's too late now. I'm all he has."
Gently, Korsak reassured her.
"It's ok, Miss, we can get a warrant for the journals, so all is above board. You've been a great help."
Nodding, smiling, Siobhan got up.
"Anytime. Call me so I can have the journals ready for you when you get the warrant."
Shaking her hand, Korsak assented. "I will."
The two detectives were finishing writing up their notes by Fr O'Neill's bedside when an elderly man in the next bed started shouting at the detectives,
"Bombs! BOMBS!"
The detectives looked at him, startled. They saw a wizened old man pointing to the television, showing the latest news from North Korea. He shouted again,
"Ike will take care of them! IKE! BOMB, BOMB! IKE - BOMB! BOMB!"
The noise upset Fr O'Neill who grimaced, and started to wail. However, it wasn't long before the aides rushed into the room and reassured both patients as much as they could that all was well. One changed the channel to show an "I Love Lucy" rerun. The elderly man in the other bed quickly quietened down and watched the episode. Fr O'Neill stared at Frost vacantly and pointed at him. Frost gently smiled, and the elderly man seemed to respond to this with his eyes lighting up, but then the moment had passed and he went blank once more.
In the care home's parking lot, Frost asked Korsak about "Ike". Korsak looked at him before nodding to himself.
"Yes, the man probably got confused thinking the news was about the Korean War in the 1950s instead of the current day. Well, the patients here are in good hands."
Korsak continued, teasing Frost. "I sometimes forget how much of an infant you are! You probably don't know much about Ike Eisenhower, the president of the US during the Korean War!"
"Ah, ok, presumptuous of you. And you were alive during his tenure as president? Yeah, probably voted for him, eh? You old man!"
Laughing, the detectives returned to the station.
At the Bullpen, Korsak addressed the team working the case, gathered at the murder board. Frost and a few officers wheeled in four trolleys of boxes of journals.
Once Frost got the powerpoint ready, and the first slide was displayed, he nodded at Korsak to begin.
"Thanks guys. Now, you see this photo..."
The projected image showed Fr Stan Smith's photograph of the soldiers. Korsak continued filling the team in on the latest developments of the case, and on the files on Fr Stan Smith, Fr Peter McCauley and the other named individuals provided by the military Liaison officer. Once he was done, he turned to the boxes of journals.
"Now that you're up to speed, guys, these boxes of journals were written by the chaplain, Fr O'Neill. I was told they range from 1943 to 2005. I want you to focus on the following possible keywords or themes: Stan Smith, Peter McCauley and The Master. Ok? Remember their descriptions. Any accounts of very tall or short men. Focus on the Korean War, and the Vietnam War in the case of Fr McCauley, and relevant sections pertaining to the case. Frost's the lead here. Any questions or updates, go to him."
The detectives took a box each and started going through the diaries. Frost quickly noted from his box that there were two types of journals. Firstly there were Fr O'Neill's personal diaries, and secondly there were notes from his work as counselor, a book or two per client. He soon came across a snag. In each case, a client was assigned a code number by O'Neill. No names, but a number per client, in order to protect confidentiality. Each one would have to be read and eliminated. This was made a bit more challenging by the man's tiny handwriting. If they were to find anything, it was undoubtedly going to take quite some time.
At the hospital, after a week, Jane's doctors thought she was ready for discharge from the hospital. However, before signing the discharge papers, Dr Dorn and the other doctors agreed on Jane having one last session.
In her room, Dr Dorn and Jane sat by the window.
"Have you considered your answer to the question?"
Shrugging with her left shoulder, Jane looked outside the window and mumbled something.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Would you mind repeating what you said?"
Not looking at the doctor, but at her clasped hands on her lap, Jane spoke once more, quietly.
"You're right. I don't want them to see me, I am ... broken, but I don't want them to see that. If I could somehow…" Here she stopped.
Dr Dorn could see Jane being very withdrawn into herself. Gently, he asked her if she wanted to continue talking to him. She nodded, still studiously avoiding his eyes.
"The only person who would accept me for what I am, as broken as I am, and who would let me be, would be Maura. I miss her."
"I see. What about your mother? Your brothers? Friends?"
Shaking her head, Jane frowned.
"Ma? No. she never stops talking and hovering. I need to be alone. I don't want my brothers or friends to be all over me. I don't want their pity. They don't understand."
Dr Dorn steepled his hands and looked at her over his glasses.
"So it's only Maura you'd be comfortable with?"
Looking at him with frank honesty, Jane shrugged.
"I dunno. She's the best of the lot. At the moment, I feel numb... No that's not quite right. I dunno. I'm just… antsy and numb at the same time, if that makes sense. Maura wouldn't be bothering me the way other people would."
They talked further until they agreed on things. Dr Dorn left the room, with Jane following him. They met Maura and Angela in the visitor's room. Dr Dorn discussed the situation with them with Jane sitting there looking at the floor. Everyone, including Jane, who gave a non-commital grunt, agreed that Maura and Angela would be with her when she was discharged from the hospital. Jane would also be an outpatient in the hospital's therapy clinic for PTSD, with daily sessions at the outset. Even though constant monitoring wasn't required, she would be in Maura's company as much as possible. If Maura had to work, then that was fine, but when not working, Jane was to be with her. Having said that, space would be given if Jane asked for it. Maura readily agreed.
Angela wanted more time with her, of course, but Dr Dorn was able to get the importance of letting Jane heal on her own, without added pressure, across to her. He also gave a few words of advice to Maura too, which reassured her. Jane just sat there silently, with a blank expression, looking at none of them.
A nurse approached them with a wheelchair for Jane. Jane silently sat down in the chair without any objections. When Angela tried to cheer Jane up, momentarily forgetting Dr Dorn's words of advice, she was taken aback and somewhat hurt at Jane's lack of response and distant expression. Then she realised what she was doing to her daughter so she stopped.
She then gathered Jane's belongings and the three of them left the hospital. Jane never spoke to Angela, and was very quiet and subdued when talking to Maura. With Dr Dorn's words in mind, the two women did not take it personally, knowing that Jane needed time to heal.