For my family
THE GUMSHOE DIARIES
Father Hollyweird
Chapter Fifteen
McArthur
Park, Los Angeles…December 5, 8:00am
December in Los Angeles means warm sunshine and cool crisp
air courtesy the Pacific Ocean which loomed large just a few miles to the west.
Father Quinn enjoyed early morning walks like this, which he did daily except
for when a film project forced a change in his routine. He walked down the
stairs leading into McArthur Park, LA’s version of NYC’s Central Park. The air
was cold enough this morning to leave a vapor trail as he walked along the pathway.
Each exhale revealed by a tiny cloud of carbon dioxide. Still it was a far cry
from the constant rainfall this time of year back in Ireland where the man
spent the first half of his life as a footballer prior to entering the priesthood. Word is he was a pretty good midfielder back in the day actually. I
watched him as he entered the park and strolled the path near the small
man-made lake. Perhaps he was reminiscing, it was possible. He definitely
looked like he was mulling something over by the look on his face.
Even though early morning constitutionals like this were part
of his daily routine, today Father Quinn had an ulterior motive for being in
the park. He was here to meet with me to compare notes on the Alex Whembley
angle. If he was right this young man could be the alibi that exonerates him, and
the Church for that matter where Megan Malloy and her baby were concerned. The
priest had mentioned a letter sent to a nun at The Immaculate Heart of Mary by
the young man. Sister Patricia Cromwell, Sister
Pat to anyone who knew her longer than fifteen minutes. She was very popular
among the congregation. The Sister was soft hearted with a warm and pleasant demeanor.
And apparently this nun had been a confidant of Alex and, by that association, with
Megan Mallory as well. An interesting revelation that motivated me to skip my
breakfast and get here early.
I
watched the Priest make his way along the footpath to where we agreed to meet.
I kept out of sight for the moment and studied him as he got closer. I wasn’t
sure what I was expecting to see, maybe nothing, but after 25 years on the job
I’d learned that it really was better to be safe than sorry. He stopped about
50 yards from where I was standing and exhaled deeply. The man appeared a
little winded from the long walk from the Church and I sympathized immediately as
age was creeping up on me as well. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled
out a timepiece. By my Timex he was a little early which explained why he
started looking all around trying to spot me. That was when I stepped out into
the open and strolled over to a bench on the pathway. I waived at the Priest as
I reached the bench and waited for him. He nodded in acknowledgement picked up
the pace. I think it surprised him that I arrived before he did. Pretty sure he
expected me to be a slacker. Well, like they say, “don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Top of the morning you’re
Grace,” I said with only a hint of sarcasm.
“Father Quinn will do detective,”
the Priest replied extending his hand.
I reached out and we shook
hands gently, then I reached into the paper sack I was holding and offered him
coffee in a paper cup. “It’s black, I assumed you took your coffee like a man,”
I said.
“I do, what gave me away?” he
replied.
“I have to be honest, you were
drinking coffee when we first met at one of your shoots downtown and I have a eidetic memory, sort of.”
“Really? Well I rather doubt
that but I’m impressed nonetheless.” He said accepting the coffee and removing
the lid to blow across the top. We sat beside each other and sipped at our
coffee quietly for a couple of minutes. Of course, not having the
patience God gave a tse tse fly I
broke the silence straight away.
“Looks like it’ll be a warm one today.” I said
clumsily, never being one for small talk.
“I suppose,” replied the Priest.
I got right to the point, “So
did you bring the letter Father?”
“I did.”
I waited a nanosecond, “Okay
well you know something about football Padre, pass it!”
Father Quinn grinned,
apparently amused by my street humor. He opened the folder under his arm,
removed an envelope and handed it to me. I grabbed it quickly and removed the
one page handwritten letter, unfolded it and began to scan it. Uncomfortably I
reached into my jacket for my reading glasses. “Huh, must be the glare.” I said
sheepishly as I put them onto my face and started to read.
“Positively blinding I must
agree,” Father Quinn replied sarcastically as he mockingly shielded his eyes
from the sun. We sat together in silence while I read through the letter from
Alex Whembley to Sister Pat. I took my time, read it twice pausing a couple of
times to chew on bits and pieces of what Alex shared with the elderly nun.
Without commenting I removed my glasses and returned them to my jacket pocket
and then refolded the letter. put it back into the envelope and handed it back
to the priest. He waited a moment before speaking. “Your thoughts detective?”
“Well if the letter is legit
you and the Church can breathe easy because this gets you both off of the hot
seat. No pun intended.”
“None taken. How exactly would
this exonerate us?” asked the Priest.
I turned in my seat to face
him and replied, “Well for one thing it adds two new suspects to the line-up,
Mr. Ipso and Mr. Facto, i.e. Alex and his obliging Dad. Which sort of
overshadows your working relationship with Megan.”
“You’re implying that Alex was
the father of Megan’s child? You think that he somehow provoked Megan’s
suicide?”
“Possibly, actually it’s
highly likely. But my gumshoe intuition is telling me to be careful not to jump
at the first theory. I want to dive a little deeper into this and see what’s
lurking beneath the obvious.”
“I believe that Alex was the
father of the child alright, but I’m less sure that it was Alex that drove
Megan to suicide.”
Father Quinn rubbed at his
chin and thought a moment. “I see, but why on Earth would you suspect the boy’s
father?” asked the Priest.
“It was Alex who put that
pebble in my shoe when he revealed that he told his Dad about Megan’s situation.
And I got the impression that he didn’t like Daddy-O’s reaction to the news. It
wasn’t what he wrote so much but what he didn’t write. I’m reading between the
lines here and I need to use my gumshoes instincts now.”
“So you plan to interview Mr.
Whembley now?”
“Nope. I’d like to talk to
Sister Pat first. If that’s jake with
you of course Father.”
“If you’re asking my
permission you needn’t. That’ll be up to Sister Pat but I see no reason for her
to object. What exactly does ‘jake’ mean anyway?”
“It’s just a bygone slang term we used
back in the old neighborhood, same as okay.”
“Oh, well then it’s jake with
me if you speak with Sister Patricia. I assume you’ll want to talk with her as
soon as possible.”
“Natch, that’s short for
naturally. Can you arrange that Padre?”
“Natch, I’ll see if she can make time for you later this afternoon.”
Tossing what was left of my
coffee onto the grass behind me I looked around for the nearest rubbish bin to
deposit the Styrofoam cup into. I spotted one a few yards away and excused
myself. “Just a sec Padre, let me toss this empty cup and I’ll be right back. I
have one more question for ya.”
The priest nodded an acknowledgement as he
stood up to stretch his legs. I tossed the empty cup in the bin and walked back
slowly, giving the priest a once over. You never know about people, they can
surprise you if you let your guard down. This letter would get him and the
Church out of a jam, if it’s legit that is. First thing they teach you in
detective school is the five “whys,” who, what, when, where, and why. The
tricky one is always “why.” I needed to talk with Sister Pat and drill into why
this letter surfaced now. Why hadn’t she showed this to Father Quinn sooner?
Why indeed.
“One last question Father, if
you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, what is it my
son?”
I grinned at the ‘my son’
reference. I haven’t been called that since my mother died, God rest her soul. “Has
anyone else seen this letter? I mean besides you and Sister Pat.”
The priest rubbed at his chin,
“to my knowledge no, but you’d best ask Sister Patricia that question, she
would know best I expect.”
“Why do you ask?” added Father
Quinn.
It was my turn to rub at my
chin, “Well to be honest I’m not exactly on good terms with the LAPD and as you may
know they are investigating Alex Whembly’s murder. Looking into this letter
will likely find me crossing paths with them. They take a dim view of outsiders
interfering with their business. They call it obstruction of justice, and I don’t
want to wind up in the pokey if you get my drift. That won’t do either of us
any good, you or me.”
“Indeed. I had not considered
that, but surely they would welcome any help that you could provide, wouldn’t
they?” asked the priest naively.
“You’d think so wouldn’t you!
But no, those guys are territorial and I need to stay out of the way or at
least out of sight. My job is to quietly clear you. I’ll figure out how to
leave an easy trail for the cops to follow once I figure out what’s what. This
letter puts me a step ahead of them, that’s why it’s important to know who else
may have seen it.”
“Understood. How can I assist
you?”
“Just keep your trap shut
about this Padre, and make sure Sister Pat does likewise. Remember, loose lips
sink ships. Go about your business as you normally would and as far as anyone, and I mean anyone, is concerned this
meeting never happened. Understand?”
“Of course, you’ll keep me
informed of your progress I expect?”
“I’ll let you know what you
need to know when you need to know it Father.”
Father
Quinn studied me pensively for a moment and then nodded an acknowledgement. I
could see the wheels turning in his expression, he wasn’t accustomed to being
talked to in such a manner but he held his tongue and swallowed his pride. That
was a good sign, the last thing I needed was any amateur kibitzing that might tip
off the cops to the trail I was on. I gave the priest a pat on the shoulder and
we walked out of the part in opposite directions.
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