Part 6 (1/2)
By the time I left the church, it was just after six o'clock. The temperature had dropped and the overcast moonless sky made it seem later. The lights in the arched Gothic church windows and along the colonnade of the Rosary Portico glowed like lanterns, gilding the gardens so the place looked like an enchanted fairyland. Except for the two MPD cruisers parked at oblique angles in front of the statue of St. Christopher carrying the Christ Child, the Franciscan Monastery seemed serene and peaceful. Ursula Gilberti's Mercedes was gone, and presumably Yasmin had left, too.
After everything that had happened today, I hoped Ursula still didn't expect an answer to whether I would photograph Yasmin and Victor's wedding for free.
Someone called my name. Standing in one of the arches of the portico was a Franciscan, hood pulled low over his face, a dark silhouette backlit by the soft yellow light. I caught a flash of snow-white hair as he pushed back his hood.
Father Xavier. I walked across the lawn to where he stood.
”Officer Carroll said she just finished interviewing you,” he said. ”I wanted to make sure you were all right after what you've been through. Kevin spoke warmly of you, my dear. He was very fond of you.”
”Thank you, Father. I was fond of him. I still can't believe he's dead.”
”Nor can I.”
”Did you know Kevin thought someone was following him? He told me about it when I saw him this morning. It really bothered him.”
The old priest looked troubled, his face lined with fatigue and sadness. ”Officer Carroll just asked me about that. I knew nothing about it. I wish Kevin had said something to me. To be honest, I was more worried about his health after what happened the other day.”
”What are you talking about?”
”He went to the ER at Providence Hospital complaining of chest pains three days ago,” he said. ”Thought it might be his heart. They kept him overnight and released him.”
That explained Officer Carroll asking me if I thought Kevin hadn't looked well this morning.
I pulled the key out of my pocket. ”Do you recognize this, Father? Does it unlock something at the friary? A door or a locker?”
He shook his head. ”No. We have few locked doors or cabinets. The church and the chapels are another matter; it is a regrettable fact of life that we can no longer leave the place open as we once did. For insurance purposes and for general safety we installed a security system. But that key does not unlock anything here that I know of. Why do you ask?”
”I think Kevin might have dropped it today. I was going to return it, if it was his.”
He took the key and turned it over, rubbing his thumb over the etched number 58 on the head of the key. ”Perhaps it opens a locker, as you suggest. Why don't you ask Edward?”
”Edward Jaine?”
”Yes, Kevin's benefactor.” He smiled at the expression on my face. ”Ah, I see you are surprised. You didn't know about their relations.h.i.+p? He was very generous in supporting Kevin's research, paying for his trips and anything he needed for his work.”
”Last night at the Austrian amba.s.sador's home I overheard Kevin arguing with him. And when Edward Jaine arrived at the party and walked into the room with Senator Gilberti, Kevin was really upset.”
Xavier's forehead furrowed. ”Are you sure? When I saw Kevin this morning at breakfast, he said he had enjoyed himself last night.” His smile was tinged with regret. ”Not that he would say any differently. Kevin kept himself to himself.”
I nodded. Kevin was also a peaceful person. So why had he been arguing with the man who paid for his research?
”Is there something else, Sophie? I didn't mean to upset you further.”
”I apologize for asking so soon, but I was wondering if you had any idea yet about . . . arrangements.”
”You mean Kevin's funeral?” I nodded, and he said, ”Yes, of course. Kevin planned it himself.”
”He did?”
”It's one of our requirements,” he said with a small smile. ”Each of us must specify the readings, the music . . . everything must be on file. Don't look so shocked . . . we all leave this earth to join G.o.d someday. So far, I haven't heard of a single soul who's found a way around that immutable truth.”
I smiled. ”So you already know?”
”His funeral Ma.s.s will be here at Mount St. Sepulchre, of course, and he'll be buried with his brothers in our cemetery. But it probably won't take place for a few weeks to give Kevin's colleagues and friends from all over the country-all over the world, actually-time to make arrangements to attend.”
”Can I do anything to help?”
”Keep us in your prayers, my dear. I am expecting an onslaught from the press once word gets out. Kevin was an international celebrity, and the media attention we'll likely receive will be difficult for many in this quiet community to handle. In his professional life as a scientist Kevin was revered and admired for his work around the world, but, as you know, there were others who found him a threat for speaking his mind.”
I walked back to my car mulling over what Father Xavier had just said, along with Kevin's worry-fear, actually-that he was being stalked. His death was no accident. He hadn't slipped and fallen on those wet stairs or suffered a heart attack.
Someone had killed him.
Possibly someone who didn't like his politics, what he stood for, and decided to deliver his message in person this afternoon. Or had it been someone who knew about Kevin's current research, the discovery he'd mentioned to me this morning that he needed to keep secret?
Edward Jaine, maybe? Kevin said what he found might be worth ”millions of dollars.” Jaine was a multibillionaire, even though he'd invested in a few flops. He didn't need money, so perhaps that knocked him out as a suspect.
Then who was it? Who had cornered Brother Kevin Boyle, one of the kindest men I knew, in the Grotto of Gethsemane, a sacred place of agony and death, and killed him?
6.
I got in my car and turned on my phone. A text message flashed on the screen.
Just leaving work. Going straight to Trio's. If I get there first, I'll order us a bottle of red.
I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. The message was from Grace Lowe, the first person I met the day I started school in Virginia after Harry and my mother got married. Last week she and I made dinner plans for tonight so I could fill her in on the book project I'd discussed with Kevin this morning.
As kids, Grace and I had been as close as sisters; even our teachers mixed us up, which we thought was hilarious since we looked nothing alike-my dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin inherited from my Spanish father, and Grace, a cool, fair, blue-eyed blonde. What had cemented our friends.h.i.+p for more than twenty-five years was a bols.h.i.+e, restless curiosity that occasionally got us into trouble but eventually led us both to careers in journalism, me as a photographer and Grace as a writer. Now she was a senior reporter on the Metro desk at the ”other” Was.h.i.+ngton newspaper, the Tribune.
A month ago she covered what was supposed to be a feel-good story about the reopening of an elementary school not far from her home in Adams Morgan after a fire. When the interview was over, one of the teachers took her aside and told her about the kids in her cla.s.s who missed school regularly because their parents could afford only a single pair of shoes, which all the children had to take turns wearing. Then there were families who lived in their cars, barely a rung on the ladder above being on the streets. Pride, the teacher said, kept most of the parents from asking for help. Grace had been so devastated by that kind of poverty in her own backyard that she came to me and asked if I'd help her raise money for new shoes for every child in the school. We wrote checks and pa.s.sed the hat among our friends and family. Two weeks later, we had enough cash, so we went looking for a shoe store to sign on to the project. On Sat.u.r.day, Sole Brothers Shoes in Adams Morgan was closing to the public for the afternoon so the kids and families could buy their shoes.
The idea behind the photo book was that the profits would go toward continuing the shoe project and also to raise money for the run-down Adams Morgan Children's Center, where most of those children went after school. The very last thing Kevin had said to me before he kissed me goodbye was that I could count on his help. The thought of taking this on without him was heart-wrenching.
I pressed the Call b.u.t.ton on my phone. When Grace finally answered, I heard the familiar doorbell chime of the D.C. subway and a m.u.f.fled voice announcing the doors were closing.
”I just got on the Metro,” she said. ”What's up?”
”Gracie.” I raised my voice so she could hear me over the din. ”I've got some bad news. Kevin Boyle is dead.”
She gasped as though someone had elbowed her hard in the ribs. ”Oh, my G.o.d, Sophie, that's awful. What happened?”
I told her, and then she said, ”I need to call the desk. Actually, I probably need to get off this train and go back to work. Someone's going to have to get out to the monastery and cover this.”
I ma.s.saged my forehead with the back of my free hand. Father Xavier said he expected to be inundated by the media because of Kevin's notoriety. I had just opened the floodgates. But if I were in Grace's place, I would have done the same thing.
”Are you going to do it?” I asked.