Chapter 5 - Charity
Father Ernest had told everyone at the parish that they must put aside their grief for the good of the Parish. They were to attend their midday meal with an FBI Agent, to help him in any way they could. Then they were to receive the grieving parishioners. Dana, however, could not move. She'd returned to her cell and begun praying for forgiveness – seeking an absolution that she knew she didn't deserve. Ten thousand Hail Mary's and Lord our Father's could not undo what she had done. It was one thing to bear false witness – a life of lies had not seemed dire sin, not when balanced against the need to answer the call of service. But now, what was she? Thou shalt not kill. The commandment seemed to ring in her ears.
Knelt on the prie dieu, she held her rosary in both hands and begged God for forgiveness and assistance. She had been far too long in this lie, and was uncertain how to live in any other way. Yet, she could not see a way out of this but by her own death – hardly an option for a catholic.
And what of the investigator? Would he see her sin displayed on her face – an unwelcome stain visible to those who served God by delivering justice?
The doorbell rang, and she prayed harder, hoping for some direction from her Heavenly Father.
Their drive had been silent. Booth had told Brennan about the invitation from Father Ernest. He expected castigation, or at the very least questions, but Brennan had said nothing, keeping her attention straight ahead. He might have though she had not heard him, if he hadn't seen her brow raise ever so slightly. This new, silent Brennan had him unnerved. It occurred to Booth that he'd prefer getting K.O.ed by a girl to this.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he said, as he pulled into a parking spot street side. The church lot and street spots were cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. The whole area was considered a hot zone by the latest rules of fire scene control. Until all chemical tests were completed, the public would be steered away. The poor sots who lived right behind the church though – the parish hall residents – were not being told to hold their breath. Sometimes rules made no sense.
"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" Brennan replied tersely. Caught. He wasn't entirely sure. Misleading her had been a bad decision, but he knew Brennan was probably over that.
"I should not have lied about the jurisdiction arrangements."
"You're damned right. Booth, I'm your partner. You either trust me enough to tell me the truth or you don't. Clearly you don't." She opened the door and got out, straightening her clothes and hair from the car ride the way she always did.
Booth also got out, checking his cell phone status and glancing at the gun in his holster. He found he wanted to leave it in the car, but that was against procedure. It had been one thing to carry one while he spoke to Father Ernest, still half-suspecting the culprit was hanging around. But he was about to share a meal with a bunch of priests, all of whom must be treated as potential suspects, and all of whom could not be seen in that light by Booth.
"Is there anyone you like for this yet?" Brennan asked.
Booth stared at her for a moment. Brennan was a strange study. Terribly unversed in pop-culture references and unfamiliar with the newest slang, she often misused or misunderstood statements of those types. Yet she had an unbelievable learning curve. She'd picked up things from her brief tryst with Sully that still appeared every so often. That was the only place she could have come up with this one, and thoughts of Sully made Booth inexplicably want to hit something.
"No," he answered finally. "They're all possible suspects, and none very likely."
Brennan narrowed her eyes ever so slightly but said nothing, leading the way to the door and ringing the bell.
Lunch at the Parish was strange. The food was simple, but tasty nevertheless. It occurred to Booth that he seemed to be the only one really eating though. Brennan's eyes traveled over everything and everyone, as if she was cataloging information. Most Reverend Ernest was attempting to answer questions and urging the others repeatedly to help. As for the others, none of them seemed like killers. Of course, in the right circumstances anyone could kill and no one knew that better than Booth. But his gut didn't scream cold-blooded psychopath about anyone in the room. The Parish Secretary, Louise Willey, treated Booth and Brennan with suspicion and regularly defended the priests and especially Father Thomas Cleary, but that seemed very normal. Deacon James McMasters was bewildered, still in shock at the thought of having lost a priest in such a ghastly way. Mrs. McMasters, who did the cooking and cleaning at the parish, was unable to sit still for any length of time, and had begun to clean up rather than eat a bite. She was fidgety, but it seemed to be her nature. Father Samuel Green, a new priest ordained only two years before, was visibly shaken, and no doubt wondering if he'd chosen a life that would get him killed in a gruesome way. Father David Dillon had not yet stopped crying. The poor man was so distraught, that even as he attempted to help, he could not stop tears from pouring down his cheeks. He repeatedly bowed his head in silent prayer as Booth asked questions in the hopes of finding someone who seemed out of place, and who may have been stalking Father Thomas with the intention of harming him.
"It is as I told you earlier, Agent Booth," Most Reverend Ernest said. "Father Tom was a wonderful man and a devout priest. He cared for others deeply – hardly the kind of man who attracts enemies."
Booth was feeling lower and lower, and he nodded his understanding, even as Brennan's cell phone rang. She apologized, taking the call just outside the door, and unable to think of anything to ask before she returned, Booth and the Parish residents fell into a long silence.
Brennan returned, immediately taking her seat. She slipped a business card into Booth's hand, and when he looked at it, she had written something on the back. "We have a positive ID from dental. Thomas Cleary."
Booth felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He'd known of course, and had let the questioning proceed in that way. Father Tom had been a kind man and Booth's favorite confessor. Some part of him had wanted to believe he was still alive, even though he'd known it would not turn out that way. He wanted his edge back, and he turned to Brennan half hoping she'd announce it to the others in less-than-compassionate way, simply so he could build anger at her and ignore his own grief.
"I assume you know with certainty that our Father Thomas is the victim?" Most Reverend Earnest asked.
Brennan nodded. "I'm very sorry for your loss," she said stiffly. That learning curve again. She gave them a moment before pressing on, "Do you take turns checking on the chapel? It was such a late hour for him to be there."
"There isn't a set schedule per say," Ernest replied. "The chapel is open at all times, though certain parts of it aren't left accessible to the public. Thefts have caused us to be mindful. Father Tom would minister to someone if they seemed particularly distraught, or if arrangements were made in advance. All of us took turns checking the chapel and being vigilant, so he might have come across someone unexpected."
"Still, if he had planned to meet with someone, perhaps he kept a calendar to let us know," Brennan suggested, while Booth watched the reactions of the others. He already knew the answer though.
"Father Thomas had an excellent memory," Father David said. He sniffed and wiped his face again. "He believed that it stayed sharp because he forced himself to remember appointments and things. He didn't even keep a calendar for medical appointments. He only kept a calendar for parishioners' birthdates. Everything else was stored in his memory."
"But if you're seeking a witness to something," Father Samuel said, "you might want to start at the soup kitchen. Many of our regulars visited the chapel in the latest hours. Father David lets them stay with the understanding that they can only be here between eleven and five."
Reverend Ernest gaped at Father David, and for the first time Booth got a glimpse of something other than solidarity. "That's against the rules."
"Should I have turned them to the streets?" David asked. "The homeless are to be pitied and cared for by those who trust and revere the word of God."
Ernest grew angry. "The homeless are very often mentally ill. Yet you let them sleep in the chapel? In the same place where our flock kneels to pray? What have you brought into the house of God?" Reverend Ernest hissed.
Father David sagged in his chair, overcome with another bout of tears so strong that he seemed very frail. For the first time, Booth noticed his hands, slender and long fingered – a strange match to his stout body.
Father Samuel seemed inclined to side with David. "Psalms 140:12, 'I know that the Lord will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and justice for the poor'. James 2:5, 'Did not God choose the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him?' Matthew 5:42 'Give to him who asks of you, and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you.' Isaiah 58:10 'And if you give yourself to the hungry'…"
"ENOUGH!" Reverend Ernest roared, rising from the table and turning over his glass of milk in the process. Instantly Mrs. McMaster's appeared with a rag to mop up the mess, watching Father David with a look of pure incredulity.
"Please Samuel," Father David said in a soft voice, putting a restraining hand on Father Samuel's arm. "Do not defend me, for by my choices I have killed Father Thomas."
Brennan sat up straighter, regarding David as if he had made a confession, but Booth saw the words only as the grief of one who may have let a murderer in. "Please, don't argue. The soup kitchen is a good start, and maybe we can get someone there to talk to us. Do you know if any one took your hospitality last night?"
Again consumed by tears, Father David only shook his head.
"It was a warm night, Booth," Brennan said. She was still eying Father David.
Booth was feeling torn. His faith had taught him that Father David's actions made him a good man, his experience taught him that David's actions made him an easy target. He'd not received council from Father David, but he couldn't help but like him in spite of it all.
"If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to see Father Tom's office anyway…" Booth started.
"And a list," Brennan interrupted, "Of any homeless who frequent the chapel."
Ernest grudgingly agreed and practically ordered Father's David and Samuel to comply immediately. Then he led the way to the office.