The Last Amen Read online

  The father nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “That’s what we’d like to ask you about. How many of those are around?”

  He tilted his head once more. “I honestly have no idea, but I can give you the name and number of the volunteer who has been teaching people how to make them.”

  “Is this some sort of church program?” Rosebud asked.

  “No, no.” The father shook his head. “I’m afraid Catholics don’t normally partake in any sort of fundraisers, other than the money we collect during mass to help with church maintenance. But our numbers are dropping faster than I can get new parishioners. Times have changed so the other priests and I decided to try new things. Be more forward-thinking. It wouldn’t hurt to support those in need in the community. While they may not decide to join our church, at least we’re doing something good for the neighborhood.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following,” Rosebud added. “Your lessons on how to make rosaries help the community?”

  “Oh no! That’s just because we couldn’t meet the demand. We sell the rosaries that our volunteers make. All profits go to those who need financial help. The only money we keep is to cover the costs of the thread. The rest goes to families in need.”

  “Any idea how many people actively produce those rosaries that you sell?”

  He shook his head once more. “I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. Follow me. I’ll get that information for you.”

  Rosebud and Kate followed him through a couple of wooden doors and ended up in a small office where a man with a cast sat at a desk and typed with one hand.

  “Anderson,” the father said. “Could you print out Mary’s contact information, please? And before I forget, there’s some dry-cleaning I’ll need your help with later today.”

  “Of course, Father,” he said, smiling. He nodded at the detectives before moving his uninjured hand from the keyboard to the mouse and back.

  “Must be tough to do office work with just one hand,” Rosebud said.

  “All I can do is my best. It may take a little extra time, but it’s better my bones heal properly.”

  “What happened to you?” Rosebud asked, sitting on the corner of the man’s desk.

  Kate wanted to roll her eyes but refrained from it. As much as she despised small talk, she admired her partner’s ability to do it. To stand it.

  “Silly accident.” He shook his head. “A friend convinced me to try roller skating. I was going really fast down a hill and fell. Badly.”

  “Ouch!” Rosebud grimaced.

  “Wanna see my X-rays?” Anderson asked.

  Kate cleared her throat, putting an end to the useless chatter. “Could you get that contact information first?”

  “Of course.”

  A few seconds later, the intermittent sounds of an older dot-matrix printer echoed in the small room and a sheet of paper came out of the device just as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the room.

  “Should be on that piece of paper,” Anderson said.

  “Thanks, man,” Rosebud said as he got up to retrieve it.

  “Are you also a priest?” Kate asked, partly wanting to pin Rosebud for his lack of respect.

  “No, not yet,” he said.

  “And you?” Kate asked the newly arrived man.

  Father Coffedy chimed in. “This is Harold, a volunteer who helps us out. He’s not a priest. This here is Candidate Anderson. He took time off during his last year of seminary for personal reasons. But he’ll soon be returning to his studies. He should be ordained in the coming months.”

  Kate nodded. “So were all of you here after mass on Sunday, June 3rd?”

  “Yes,” Father Coffedy said while Anderson and Harold nodded.

  Father Coffedy continued. “I try to stay for about an hour and mingle with parishioners. We have a core group that likes to hang out when the weather is nice. Then, if I recall correctly, I had to leave to perform a marriage ceremony at a different parish.”

  “And you?” Kate asked Anderson.

  “I mingled for a while then probably came back here to catch up on my computer tasks. I’m not the fastest typist at the moment,” he said, pointing to his arm.

  “Harold?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah. What they said. I, too, stick around after mass and help with whatever task I can help with.”

  “Do you want to see my X-rays?” Anderson asked Rosebud once more, his tone overly enthusiastic for this early in the morning.

  But Rosebud took the bait. “Sure, I had a broken arm once. Let’s see the damage.”

  Kate looked at her watch. Parts of her wished she could come across as friendly as Rosebud did. But then again, she didn’t. Oh, the boring discussions he gets into sometimes…

  Anderson opened a drawer and pulled out his phone, then swiped past a dozen photos before finding the one he was looking for.

  “Look at that! Ain’t I lucky the bone didn’t pierce through the skin?”

  Rosebud winced as he stared at the image. “Whoa! When did that happen?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Take care of yourself, man. Let it heal properly.” Rosebud lifted the sheet of paper in the air. “Thanks, Father, Anderson, and Harold. You have a nice day now.”

  Rosebud started walking away when Kate pulled out one of her business cards and dropped it on the corner of Anderson’s desk. “Father, Harold, or Anderson, if you remember anything that can help us solve Lori Davis’s murder, do give us a call, please.”

  “Will do, Detective,” Father Coffedy said.

  “And Father,” Kate said, stopping in her tracks. “Who are the other priests you referred to earlier? The ones from the area who are more forward thinking?”

  “Oh, only one of them is the forward-thinking one: Father Matthews. He’s new and very smart. Very educated as well. His breadth of knowledge on most subjects is nothing short of impressive. Father Miller and I are convinced he’s onto something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A group of twenty kids sat quietly, their hands tying and twisting colorful bits of string. In the background, classical music played softly. In front of the room a stern-looking brunette in her late thirties or early forties sat in a wheelchair. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her lack of a smile made Rosebud reconsider approaching her for a second.

  She obviously wasn’t their killer. No way would she be able to climb stairs with her wheelchair. But interrupting her evening class was his job. He had questions that needed answering, and time was of the utmost importance.

  “Mrs. Mary Stuart?” he called out as he walked toward her.

  “Yes?” she turned to look his way.

  He opened the flap of his jacket, exposing the badge attached on his belt. “Do you have a minute?” He closed his jacket when he noticed several of the kids turning around.

  “Finish your decade, then ask your partner to double-check your work. I’ll be right back,” she said to the class before wheeling herself and joining Rosebud at the back of the room.

  “Can we step outside for just a minute? I don’t want the kids to overhear my questions.”

  She frowned. “I can’t leave them unattended for long. The church is holding me responsible for their wellbeing and safety.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I doubt they’ll figure out how to tie a noose on their own,” he said before instantly regretting his words. “Sorry. My sense of humor isn’t for everyone.”

  “I’d say. Please make it quick, Officer.”

  Rosebud held the door open for her as she rolled out of the room then spun around to face him.

  “Detective, actually. I’m here to ask about those rosary classes. Do you teach how to make rosaries to adults?”

  “Not normally. We’ve had a few mothers join their children here and there, but that was rare.”

  “What about Father Coffedy and Father Matthews?”

  “Our priests? Of course not. And Father Miller either in case you were curiou
s. They’ve got better things to do with their time.”

  “Okay then. Do you know if Amanda McCutcheon or David Dempsey have ever joined your classes?”

  “The names don’t ring a bell. Do they have children?”

  “No, they’re both in their early twenties. One attends St. Alban’s, the other goes to the cathedral in the South End.”

  “Then no. I don’t believe they’ve ever attended one of my classes.”

  “Okay, one last question. Could you tell me what happens to those rosaries that are put up for sale? Is there a large stash that you collect and store somewhere?”

  “We don’t stash them anywhere.” Her tone indicated she found Rosebud’s use of the term offensive.

  “Where do they go, then?”

  “At the back of our churches, there’s a box of rosaries for sale, with a donation bin next to them. We also offer them at various fundraisers.”

  “The fundraisers that Father Matthews has begun holding throughout various parishes?”

  “That’s right. They’ve been very popular, you know? We’ve raised several hundreds of dollars.”

  A slight moan escaped Rosebud’s lips. Perhaps the friendship bracelet craze of his youth had somehow been replicated with those handmade rosaries among the Catholic community in Boston. “Well, that’s it for now. Thank you for your time.” Rosebud put his notepad back in his jacket pocket. “Actually, one more question,” he asked, pulling his notepad out again. “The fundraisers. Who’s the one in charge of selling them at these events? You?”

  “No! I’m afraid these wheels aren’t allowed everywhere. You’d think public spaces would all be equipped for people like me, but that’s not the case. There’s a woman who volunteers for most of these fundraisers.”

  “Her name?”

  “Adrianna Johnston. I think she normally goes with her son as well, if that makes a difference. Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s related to an ongoing investigation. You have a great evening, now. Let me get that door for you.”

  Her stern look morphed into that of curiosity and fear for a second but then she rolled her way back into the classroom.

  Rosebud turned around and walked out.

  Something didn’t add up with these rosaries, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. At least he had one more name to track, which could lead to another dead end.

  Or maybe it would lead him to the killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thursday, June 21st, 2018

  “So who is she again?” Kate asked as she parked in front of a blue house.

  “Adrianna Johnston. She’s the woman who sells most of the rosaries at church fundraisers.”

  “That Mary woman who teaches how to make the rosaries gave you her name?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you look into her background, see if you could find a connection between Lori Davis and her?”

  “I tried. Couldn’t find anything, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a link.”

  “Tell me more about her.”

  “DMV gave this as her home address. Looked into her some more. She’s a single mother of a twenty-year-old named Jacob Johnston—still lives with her here.”

  “Maybe the boy…”

  “Maybe. His age makes him more likely to have something in common with Lori Davis. Or to at least know of her.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Kate said as she opened the door and stepped out of their unmarked vehicle. “You keep your eyes on the mother, I’ll keep mine on the son.”

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Rosebud and Kate patiently waited for Adrianna Johnston to return. She’d promised to bring her son upstairs to join them for coffee.

  That had been ten minutes ago.

  “What do you think?” Kate asked, getting up and peering out through the kitchen curtain next to her.

  “She said her son has behavioral issues. I don’t think she’s running away from us—”

  “I’ll be right there!” the woman yelled from downstairs.

  Rosebud shrugged. “There you go.”

  “What a waste of our time,” Kate muttered.

  “I hear you. If only we had more leads to follow. I’ve had very little sleep these past few days. But no matter how I turn the situation around, I can’t think of anything. There’s no freaking DNA. No fingerprints. Nothing was found at the crime scene that didn’t belong to either the vic, her family, her boyfriend, or her BFF.”

  “And our searches led to nothing on the last two.”

  “So here we are.”

  “Waiting for—”

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting. Here’s my son, Jacob.”

  Kate turned to look at the boy. His arms were crossed on his chest, his mouth stuck in a frown, his face red. “Say hi to the detectives, Son.”

  A grunt came out of him.

  “I’m so sorry.” She pushed him toward the table. “Have a seat, Jacob.” She looked up to the detectives. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something?”

  The boy didn’t move. His mother moved the chair and then pushed his shoulders to guide him down toward his seat, then she pushed his chair closer to the table.

  “Sure, coffee would be nice,” Rosebud said before Kate could turn the woman down.

  “Fine. Make that two.” If the initial wait had anything to do with the upcoming interview, they could very well be here for hours.

  “I have to apologize for my son. He’s not very sociable. I do my best to bring him to church functions so he can interact with people, but he really doesn’t enjoy socializing. All he wants to do is stay in the basement and play computer games. All day.”

  Anger—or perhaps impatience and stress—punctuated her speech. Kate looked at the young man but didn’t dare ask aloud what disability he suffered from. The mother speaking not so kindly of her son in the third person while he was right there sure didn’t make Kate feel comfortable about their household dynamics.

  “So, while the coffee is brewing, why don’t we start?” Adrianna suggested.

  “Okay, then,” Rosebud replied, retrieving his notepad and pen. “Lori Davis. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  Kate paid attention to the son, but he didn’t react any more than a brick wall would have. He hadn’t moved a hair. His face hadn’t twitched, he hadn’t even blinked.

  “Jacob,” Kate asked, trying to get his attention.

  Ms. Johnston exhaled loudly as she pressed a button. The first serving of coffee came out of the machine in front of her. “Please ignore him. He likes to stay in his head. Who’s Lori Davis? The name rings a bell.”

  “She was found dead in her home last Sunday.”

  “Oh! The young blonde woman from the news.”

  Kate continued staring at the boy who remained motionless.

  “Yeah. Her. Did you know her?” Rosebud pushed.

  “No! But it’s quite sad what happened to her. Do you know who did it?”

  “That’s what we’re investigating.”

  “I don’t understand. What do my son and I have to do with her murder?”

  “Because of the rosaries you sell at the fundraisers.”

  “What? The church’s rosaries?”

  “Yeah. The colorful knotted pieces of strings, like the one your son is wearing,” Kate noted, suddenly aware of the bright piece of yellow that was partly visible around the boy’s neck.

  “May I?” Kate asked, moving her hand forward toward the boy.

  “No! Better not,” Ms. Johnston said as she set the first cup of coffee on the table. “Let me get it for you.”

  She knelt next to her son and made eye contact with him. “Jacob! Jacob. I need your rosary. I’m going to pull it over your head now. Okay?”

  The boy began rocking back and forth on his chair, all the while shaking his head.

  “I’m so sorry, Detective. Any chance I can give you another rosary? I’ve got a whole box worth.
It’s just…” She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. “I can assure you that he and I have absolutely nothing to do with what happened to Lori Davis. But my son…” She crossed herself. “God bless his soul. He most certainly knows how to test my patience on a daily basis. Today’s a bad day. It’s like he’s in his own little world.”

  “Where were you on Sunday, June 3rd?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t recall off hand. Give me a second to get my calendar.”

  The woman left the room, leaving Kate and Rosebud with the kid who’d finally stopped rocking and shaking his head.

  “What do you think?” Rosebud asked.

  Kate lifted her eyebrows. “I’m no doctor. Is he autistic?”

  “No. I wasn’t talking about that. Is this your coffee or mine?”

  “All yours.”

  The woman’s footsteps echoed as she got closer again. “Here it is,” she said, holding a calendar filled with scribblings of various colors. “Oh, and where are my manners? I’m still missing one coffee. Coming right up. Have a look at my calendar. Everything’s written down on it, otherwise I’d forget. Jacob keeps me busy with all of his doctor appointments.”

  “May I ask?” Kate started, not sure how to finish her sentence.

  “About?”

  “Your son,” Kate said, her eyes directed at the young man.

  She pressed a button on her coffee maker and black liquid started pouring out. “The doctors don’t agree on what his condition really is. All we know is that the umbilical cord got wrapped around his neck at birth. He got some brain damage. The extent of which is yet to be determined. We’re trying all sorts of programs to see if we can reverse the damage. He’s not dangerous; he just requires a little extra care.”

  “Any chance Jacob would have known Lori from school or some group activity they could have partaken in together?” Kate asked.

  The mother shook her head. “No. I’m afraid his education has been lacking. Too many appointments with specialists. No time for group activities.”

  “So, the calendar says you attended a fundraiser at a school on June 3rd. Is that right?” Rosebud asked.