Sacred Sins

Catholic orphanage in Virginia. It's not even the one I was born with. I can't tell you that one because I don't know it.”
    “Father Moore, you're not a suspect,” Ben told him. “We have a witness who says the murderer is white, and you've got your arm in a cast.”
    Moore wriggled his dark fingers, which disappeared into plaster. “A couple of lucky breaks. Sorry.” He drew a breath and tried to pull himself together. “I'll be honest with you, these murders have more than once been a topic of conversation here. The press calls him a priest.”
    “The police have yet to determine that,” Ed put in.
    “In any case, we've all searched our souls and strained our minds trying to find some answers. I wish we had some.”

    “Are you close to your parishioners, Father?”
    Moore turned to Ben again. “I wish I could say yes. There are some, of course. We have a church supper once a month, then there's the youth group. Right now we're planning a Thanksgiving dance for the Teen Club. I'm afraid we don't pack them in.”
    “Is there anyone who concerns you, someone you might consider emotionally unstable?”
    “Detective, I'm in the business of comforting the troubled. We've had some drug and alcohol abuse, and an unfortunate case of wife beating a few months ago. Still, there's no one I would even consider capable of these murders.”
    “Your name might have been pulled out of a hat, or it might have been used because the killer identified with you, as a priest.” Ben paused, knowing he was stepping onto the hard-packed unmovable ground of the sanctified. “Father, has anyone come to you in the confessional and indicated in any way that he knew something about the murders?”
    “Again I can be honest and say no. Detective, are you certain it was my name?”
    Ed took out his notepad and read from it. “Reverend Francis Moore.”
    “Not Francis X. Moore?”
    “No.”
    Moore passed his hand over his eyes. “I hope relief isn't a sin. When I was given my name and was old enough to learn to write it, I always used the X for Xavier. I thought having a middle name that began with X was exotic and unique. I never got out of the habit. Detectives, every piece of identification I have uses my middle initial. Everything I sign includes it. Everyone who knows me, knows me as Reverend Francis X. Moore.”

    Ed noted it down. If he'd gone with instinct, he would have said good night and gone on to the next address on the list. Procedure was more demanding and infinitely more boring than instinct. They interviewed the three other priests in the rectory.
    “Well, it only took us an hour to come up with nothing,” Ben commented as they walked back to the car.
    “We gave those guys something to talk about tonight.”
    “We put in yet another hour of overtime this week. Accounting's going to hit the roof.”
    “Yeah.” Ed smiled a little as he eased into the passenger's seat. “Lousy bastards.”
    “We could give them a break, or we can go see the ex-con.”
    Ed considered a moment, then pulled out the rest of his trail mix. It should hold him until he could get a meal. “I've got another hour.”

    T HERE were no fresh flowers in the one-room apartment in South East. The furniture, what there was of it, hadn't been polished since it had been bought from the Salvation Army. A Murphy bed no one had bothered to tuck back into the wall took up most of the room. The sheets weren't clean. The unpleasant odors of sweat, stale sex, and onions hung in the room.
    The blonde had an inch of brown root showing in her frizzed mop of hair. She opened the door with the slow, wary stare of the knowing when Ben and Ed showed their badges. She wore snug jeans over a well-shaped rear, and a pink sweater that was cut low enough to show breasts that were starting to sag.
    Ben gauged her to be about twenty-five, though there were lines already dug deep at the sides of her mouth. Her eyes were brown, and the left one was set off by a bruise that had rainbowed into mauve, yellow, and gray. He judged she'd taken the hit three or four days earlier.

    “Mrs. Moore?”
    “No, we ain't married.” The blonde dug a cigarette out of a pack of Virginia Slims. You've come a long way, baby. “Frank went out for beer. He'll be back in a minute. Is he in trouble?”
    “We just need to talk to him.” Ed gave her an easy smile, and decided she needed more protein in her diet.
    “Sure. Well, I can tell you he's been keeping out of trouble.