Criminal intent bk-11 Read online

  "Tempers were high, sir. Words were flying-"

  "Did you say it?"

  "I did, sir. I did."

  "And did she respond by telling you she was going to report you to the bishop? That she would have you removed from the church?"

  "She did."

  "And how did you respond?"

  Father Beale did not immediately reply.

  "I have the words right before me, Father," Fleming continued. "But I would like to hear it from you."

  When Father Beale's voice finally returned, it was but an echo of what it had been before. "I told her I would not allow her to destroy thirty-four years of ministry. That I would stop her."

  "No matter what it took?"

  Beale closed his eyes. "No matter what it took."

  The silence that filled the parish hall spoke more clearly than all the testimony that had gone before. It was as if a collective chill shuddered down the spines of those present. Ben thought that by now he should be immune to such things, but he felt it, just the same.

  Without being obvious, Ben checked the expressions on the faces of the church members who had turned out to witness this event. Ben had hoped for more of a grand jury approach-no spectators allowed-but Payne had decided that since this action directly concerned the parish, and since the action was in fact being brought by the parish, he could not exclude them.

  Ben could see at a glance which of the spectators still supported Father Beale-not many-and which were of the clique that wanted him ousted. But even those who backed Beale seemed shaken by this horrible threat.

  "It was an inexcusable flash of temper, sir," Beale said. "I know that."

  "It was a breach of faith, Father Beale. With your own parish."

  "I know. And I have apologized and asked their forgiveness."

  Fleming frowned. "After you shouted these threats, you left the meeting?"

  "Yes. I was-quite agitated."

  "And the next time you saw Helen Conrad-"

  "She was dead. Asphyxiated."

  "Who found the body?"

  "A young woman from outside the parish. She apparently came to the prayer garden early in the morning to visit the remains of her grandmother. She found the body and, since the doors to the church were still locked, she called the police from her car phone."

  "When did you find out?"

  "When I arrived at the church, perhaps five minutes later."

  "What was your reaction?"

  Beale lifted his head, staring at Fleming as if his question had exceeded all bounds of propriety. "I was grief-stricken, of course. I was shocked and horrified. A member of my flock had been slain, in a cruel and heartless manner. And on holy ground."

  "And yet, the woman had been a thorn in your side. A thorn that was now very conveniently removed."

  Beale's lips trembled. His teeth clenched tightly and the lines of his angular face deepened. "I don't know what you're suggesting, sir, but if you imagine that I had anything to do with what happened, or even that it secretly pleased me, then you know nothing about me. I was her priest! Yes, we had disagreements. Yes, I felt she should be removed from the vestry, she and all the others who are so mired in the past they can't see the future. But I never wanted this-" His voice broke on the last word. He jerked his head around abruptly, trying to maintain control. "I would never cause or wish violence on any person. It's contrary to everything I believe."

  Fleming was unmoved. "Were you questioned by the police?"

  "Yes."

  "You were a suspect."

  "Most of the members of this parish were questioned. No charges were ever brought. Against me or anyone else."

  And Ben knew why. By picking the brain of his good friend, Major Mike Morelli of the Homicide division, he had learned that Father Beale was indeed the police department's top suspect. His collar didn't grant him any immunity from their inquiry. An unveiled threat followed by a violent death was simply too incriminating to be overlooked. The reason no charges had been brought was that there was simply no evidence. Motive, yes, but proof, no. No fingerprints, no footprints, no evidence of any kind. The woman had apparently been clubbed on the head then strangled shortly after nightfall, but it had rained in the early morning. Since the prayer garden was exposed to the elements, whatever trace evidence may have once existed had washed away.

  "Not by the police," Fleming continued. "But what about the vestry?"

  "On the Sunday following Helen's murder, the vestry formally requested that I resign."

  "They believed you had committed the murder."

  "They didn't specify their reasons."

  "But it was understood-"

  "Most of them had been wanting me out for a good long while. This development gave them the perfect excuse."

  "Was that what they said?"

  Beale pursed his lips. "They said I had engaged in conduct unbecoming a priest."

  "But you declined to resign."

  "Of course I did."

  Which is why we're all here now, Ben thought. He had counseled Father Beale that the simplest thing would be to simply resign and start fresh somewhere else. But Father Beale wouldn't hear of it. He had been sent here by the bishop, and he wouldn't give up-especially not now, when his resignation would be seen as a tacit admission of his complicity in a murder. When he refused to submit to the wishes of the vestry, however, they convened an ecclesiastical trial to resolve the conflict.

  "That's all," Fleming said. Ben waived cross. "You may step down."

  Father Beale did as he was bid, his legs considerably more wobbly than they had been before.

  Father Holbrook addressed the gallery. "I think we've heard everything we need. I want to thank everyone who took time to present evidence to this tribunal." He glanced across the room. "Mr. Kincaid, do you have anything you would like to say before we recess?"

  "Yes, sir, I do." Ben had no idea whether he could do any good here, but he certainly hadn't been much use so far, so he felt honor-bound to try. The evidence connecting Father Beale to the murder was tenuous and circumstantial, but as had been made clear to him repeatedly, the criminal court rules-including the standard of reasonable doubt-did not apply here. All they had to do was find him guilty of conduct unbecoming a priest, and if they suspected he had anything to do with the murder, they surely would.

  Throughout this trial, Ben reasoned as he approached the judge's station, he'd come up second-best-because this was a court of God, not a court of law. But maybe now he could use that to his advantage.

  "Perhaps it's just because I'm used to being in the criminal courts," Ben began, "but I can't help but believe that all these theological and doctrinal issues are a blind. The only reason this proceeding exists is that a tragic murder occurred. And some people believe-or want to believe-that Father Beale did it."

  "The charge against him," Payne said, interrupting, "is conduct unbecoming a priest."

  "I know. But I still think this court would never have been convened and none of us would be here but for the murder. True, Father Beale has some unorthodox beliefs. Is that news to anyone? He's an independent thinker, and has been his entire career. People who don't like it go somewhere else. Similarly, his temper flare-ups at the vestry meetings are regrettable, but who among us has never lost his temper? Would we even consider removing a priest from his parish for that? No, the reason we're here today is that a murder happened, and there is some superficial, circumstantial evidence that suggests Father Beale could be a suspect."

  Ben paused, turning slightly toward the gallery. "And that scares people. People want to love their priest-it's only natural. They want to place their faith in him. But how can they do that when a little voice in the back of their heads is whispering that he might be a murderer?"

  "Are you speaking on Father Beale's behalf, Mr. Kincaid?" Holbrook asked. "Because it certainly doesn't sound like it."

  "I am, sir, and here's my point. If you remove this man from his office now, for whatever reason, eve
ryone will assume it was because you believe he is guilty of the most heinous of crimes. No one will remember the theological debates, the temper spats. You will have convicted him more surely than a jury of twelve could have done-and on considerably less evidence."

  Holbrook's hands parted. "We must do what's best for the parish."

  "That's right, sir. And that includes the leader of the parish. Father Beale. Remember, there is a reason he was not charged by the police. There was no evidence against him. Rumor, yes. Gossip, certainly. But they won't condemn a man based on gossip alone. Will you?" He looked sharply at each member of the adjudicative panel. "Will you remove a man from his parish based upon that? Will you taint the rest of his life, his entire career, past and present, based on… innuendo? Is this a proper fate for a man of God?"

  Ben held their attention a few more moments, forcing them to consider his words. "His future now rests in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. Will you be the one to cast the first stone?" While the panel deliberated, Ben situated himself in the narthex, the connecting foyer between the church sanctuary and the parish hall. It was a crowded area; no one wanted to go home until they'd heard what the panel was going to do.

  Ben kept mostly to himself, avoiding eye contact. He knew this was as stressful for the other parishioners as it was for him. They undoubtedly felt some obligation to be cordial to a fellow church member. At the same time, he was defending the priest many of them were trying to oust, a priest who had become extremely unpopular.

  How had he gotten into this mess? It was Christina's fault, of course. Wasn't it always? She was the one who kept urging him to get out, to be more social, to join civic organizations. When he learned that his childhood priest had transferred to St. Benedict's in Tulsa, only a few miles from the boarding house where he lived, it seemed only natural to check it out. In no time at all, Father Beale had Ben singing tenor in the adult choir, and Ben was actually enjoying it-until a corpse turned up in the prayer garden.

  On the other side of the narthex, Ben spotted a group of women huddled together chatting. They were all in their thirties or forties. One of them he recognized as Kate McGuire-the woman who had been mentioned during the trial as one of Father Beale's opponents. If he wasn't mistaken, the blond woman beside Kate was Susan Marino. They were both on the vestry; Kate was senior warden. He couldn't tell what they were discussing, but given their extreme agitation, he could guess. Father Beale.

  "Excuse me. You're Ben Kincaid, aren't you?"

  Ben looked down and saw two teenage girls-about fourteen or fifteen, he judged-standing before him. The one speaking was tall and thin with short black hair. Her companion, who stood a half-step behind her, was somewhat shorter and heavier and had long curly brown hair.

  "I mean, I know you are. I should know, shouldn't I? I used to see you all the time. I just wanted to introduce myself. I mean, I'm sorry if I seem brash, but I think if you want to meet someone, you should just walk up and meet them. Why stand around until someone introduces you? I mean, it's not like we're in the eighteenth century or anything, you know what I mean?" She thrust her hand forward. "My name is Judy. Judy Jacobson." Ben took her hand and shook. "My friend here's name is Maura. Maura Hubbard. She doesn't talk much. That's why we're such a good pair. She's shy. I'm not."

  Ben smiled. "Nice to meet you, Judy. And Maura."

  "Am I turning you off? Because if I am, you can tell me. I know some men don't like women who are too aggressive."

  "Not at all. You remind me of a very good friend of mine."

  "Really? Cool." She jabbed her friend Maura. "Did you hear that? I remind him of a very good friend of his!"

  Maura giggled.

  "Have we met before?" Ben asked. "Because you said you used to see me all the time."

  Judy laughed. "Oh, I meant on television. When you were trying the Wallace Barrett case."

  Ben restrained himself from rolling his eyes. That again.

  "I was home that summer, and I thought your trial was a lot more interesting than soap operas."

  "Quite a compliment." Ben's defense of Wallace Barrett, then Tulsa's mayor, who was accused of murdering his wife and two daughters, was his highest-profile case to date. The media coverage had been extensive.

  "I used to watch you every day on Court TV. Man, you were so good. I couldn't believe everything you got people to admit on cross-examination. And your closing statement-it sent chills down my spine. Watching you made me want to be a lawyer."

  "My apologies."

  "After the trial, I went on the Internet and read everything I could about you. I even bought that book you wrote, on the Kindergarten Killer."

  "Ah. You were the one."

  "I've followed all your big cases. I even cut out articles about you in the newspaper and put them in a scrapbook."

  Maura's voice was a whisper's whisper. "You're her hero."

  Judy jabbed her again, rather more roughly than before. "Anyway, I know you're busy. I just wanted to say I think it's a great thing you're doing in there for Father Beale. I mean, other lawyers talk about taking unpopular cases, especially when they're getting paid a lot of money, but you really do it, and half the time you don't get paid anything at all. I think that's really wonderful."

  "Yes, so does my staff."

  "I mean, I know you're going to lose this one-the panel almost has to remove Father Beale, don't they? When half the church is up in arms against him, and the man maybe even committed a murder?" She giggled excitedly at the prospect. "But I think you did everything you could for him in there."

  "Girls, girls, girls. I hope you're not bothering Mr. Kincaid." An elderly woman wedged herself between them, pushing the girls back. Her face was familiar. Ben knew he had seen her around; she was one of the women in charge of ECW-the Episcopal Church Women's group. But what was her name? Ruth something. Carter? Conner?

  Bingo. "Not at all, Mrs. O'Connell. We're just having a nice chat."

  "Well, it's very good of you to spend your time with two silly girls." Judy shot her a look that could have leveled a city. "Shouldn't you two be folding robes or something? Remember, an acolyte's work is never done."

  Judy somehow managed to flash a smile that lacked even the slightest trace of warmth. "Yes, Mrs. O'Connell." The two girls skittered away.

  "Oh, hello, Ernestine." Ruth was greeting a woman of similar age who was decked out with enough jewelry to stock a Tiffany's. Ben couldn't help but notice the honking big diamond ring on her finger and the diamond-studded bracelet rattling around her wrist. Ben didn't know anything about gems, but he knew those baubles had to be seriously valuable. He'd heard rumors that Ernestine Rupert, a widow, was extremely wealthy, and that her tithe alone made up half the budget for St. Benedict's. With those doodads dangling in his face, he couldn't doubt it.

  "Ben," Ruth said, "I just wanted to tell you, on behalf of the entire ECW, that there will be no hard feelings against you when this trial is completed. We just want to put the whole chapter behind us. Let bygones be bygones. And once Father Beale is removed, we'll be able to do that."

  "Well, that's… very kind of you."

  "You mustn't feel that you've failed, either, dear boy," Ernestine added. "The panel really has no choice, does it? And in some respects, you've been part of the process that helped resolve the matter. You shouldn't come down too hard on defense lawyers, that's what I was telling Ruth. They're a necessary evil."

  "How kind."

  "Well, remember what I said. I expect to see you in the choir next Sunday." She wiggled her fingers and passed on.

  Ben felt Christina sidle up beside him. "Looks like you have some admirers."

  "What, the old ladies?"

  Christina crinkled her freckled nose. "No, the girls."

  Ben glanced to the side and saw that Judy and Maura were still watching him. As soon as his eyes met theirs, they giggled and ran off.

  "The taller one used to watch me on TV," Ben explained. "Now she wants to be a lawyer."
br />   Christina made a tsking sound. "Corrupting the minds of youth. Isn't that why they made Socrates take hemlock?"

  "I might take hemlock, if it got me out of here."

  "That seems a bit extreme."

  Ben felt a rush of air behind him. Harold Payne had entered the narthex. "Please reassemble in the parish hall. The panel has reached its decision." Father Holbrook settled his considerable weight into the chair behind a table draped with a purple cloth. His face was long and his expression flat.

  "First of all," he said, "I want to make it clear to everyone present that neither I nor the jurors take any pleasure in this proceeding. These internecine conflicts within a parish can do irreparable damage, and inevitably divert our attention from the more important matter of serving Our Lord Jesus Christ. I have a responsibility to my diocese, however, and the charges that have been brought against Father Beale are serious ones-ones that cannot be ignored. Therefore, we have conducted this trial in accordance with the canons of this church, and the panel has reached a decision. They have kindly allowed me to speak on their behalf."

  He glanced down at his notes. "Even if we exclude the speculations regarding the unfortunate death of Ms. Conrad, the court has received eyewitness accounts of open hostility toward parishioners, church resources used for improper or immoral purposes, and heretical teachings diametrically opposed to the true faith of the Episcopal Church. These offenses simply cannot be overlooked."

  Ben laid his hand on Beale's arm. "I'm sorry, Father."

  "At the same time, we must reflect that when this church brought Father Beale from Oklahoma City to be the shepherd of this flock, it made a contract. Not only with Father Beale, not only with the diocese, but with God. If, as we believed then, God called Father Beale to this church, what right have we to work against His wishes?"

  There was a stirring in the audience. Heads turned. Voices whispered.

  "We are also concerned about the suggestions that Father Beale might be involved in the murder of Helen Conrad, based on the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence. Although the evidence was clearly insufficient to warrant criminal prosecution, it is true, as his able counsel noted, that Father Beale will surely be tried and convicted in the minds of most people if we remove him from his sacred office. Therefore, we decline to do so."