Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

seriously wrong. I exited the restaurant, promising the hostess that we would return, but probably with an extra diner in tow, and headed across the street.

Eighteen
     
    “How did you find me?”
    I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t hard, Kevin,” I said, as if I had had anything to do with it.
    Crawford graciously acknowledged my noninvolvement by not making an issue of it. “What’s going on, Father?”
    We were back at our table at the Riviera, me starting my second martini, Crawford having switched to coffee, and Kevin with an untouched chardonnay in front of him. I had finished the basket of bread and was waiting for my entrée. I raised an eyebrow at Kevin, who remained silent. “Well?”
    Kevin took a deep breath, seemingly marshaling his courage. “I’ve been accused of ‘inappropriate behavior’ toward a student.”
    I was more comfortable with the “priest on the lam” charade that I had conjured up; in that fantasy, Kevin had gotten tired of the Catholic Church and pastoring to a bunch of uninterested college students and was living the life he had intended to live with a wife and twin sons. “Inappropriate behavior?” That was startling and discomfiting, to say the least.
    Crawford was able to remain impassive, a gift we did not share upon hearing unsettling news. “Tell me what happened.”
    And Kevin did. A sophomore whom Kevin would not name had been seeing him for counseling for several months for a problem he would also not name. Kevin had helped the student as best he could, but he could sense that the situation this student was in was worsening and that this person was in serious trouble. He wanted to alert the kid’s parents, the school, or anyone else who might be able to help further, but this suggestion sent the student into a rage that Kevin never anticipated.
    “And the next thing I knew, I was in Etheridge’s office being put on notice and told that I had to vacate the premises immediately while the situation was under investigation.” He rolled up the end of the tablecloth and worried it between his fingers. “Remember, Alison? That was the day I saw you in your office.”
    I did remember. What we thought was an innocuous meeting turned out to be much more. “They can’t do this to you, Kevin.”
    He smiled at my naïveté. “They can, Alison. And they did.”
    Crawford jotted a few notes into the notebook he kept in his jacket pocket at all times. “What can we do to help, Father?”
    “Well, you can start by calling me Kevin.”
    “Okay. Kevin.”
    “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help. I’m playing a waiting game right now and Etheridge holds the key to if and when I can return.” He looked at me beseechingly. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Alison.” He looked at Crawford, his eyes sunken beneath giant dark circles, then back at me. “You believe me, right?”
    “Of course I do,” I said. I did. Kevin was a lot of things—terrible homilist, lover of all things Broadway, and shitty driver—but he was true blue. And he took his vows very seriously. I had once seen a fellow professor make a pseudopass at Kevin, but he had shut her down in the kindest and most delicate way possible. It was clear that he wasn’t interested and she got the message—loud and clear.
    Crawford stretched his long legs to the side and reviewed his notes. “What else can you tell us?”
    “Nothing,” Kevin said. “Well, I should say nothing without compromising this person’s privacy and my vows. What someone tells me in confidence remains in my confidence. You know I can’t reveal anything else, Bobby.”
    Crawford nodded. He did know.
    Our food arrived but I was the only one who dug in. Kevin pushed his French fries around on his plate, and Crawford only picked at his meat loaf. I came up for air and asked Kevin who he was staying with. He was vague. “A friend.”
    “Anybody I know?” Realistically, I knew that Kevin must have other friends—I had actually met a few—but I liked to think that I was his only true friend.
    “Somebody from the seminary.”
    “And he lives down here?” I asked. “How come you can’t get a gig like that?”
    Kevin smiled. “Long story.”
    Without pouring on too much of the guilt, I asked Kevin why he didn’t let me know that he was leaving.
    “Not enough time,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his hands over his eyes, exhausted.
    Crawford gave me a tight smile that indicated that