Chapter 9
Cash surveyed the church. It was a spartan building in whitewashed stone with a modest spire and cruciform ground plan, the neat facade flanked by two spruce trees.
It stood at the top of the main street on a high point overlooking the town of Burns.
A bust of Christ looking down with a kindly expression, His two fingers raised, occupied a niche above the entrance.
Feeling its eyes upon her, she climbed the steps and heaved open double doors to the vestibule.
She was immediately immersed in a cool stillness.
The smell of incense mixed with stone wafted through the air.
Colcord followed her, removing his hat to reveal his receding fringe of blond hair.
Rows of oak pews stretched on either side, ending in an altar framed by several carved wood statuettes of robed saints in various poses of piety.
Cash shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, taking in the grand pillars that rose on either side, feeling a bit like a little girl again attending Mass.
An old, familiar feeling of anxiety began to steal over her, which she quickly pushed down.
“You all right?” Colcord asked, clapping a palm on her back, seeming to sense her unease.
“I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”
Cash strode down the center aisle. The church appeared empty, the trappings of what had possibly been a wedding adorning various pews.
A lone priest wearing black robes materialized from behind the altar, a candlesnuffer in one hand.
He was a mousy man with brown hair and a prodigious mole lodged to the right of a button nose.
Bushy brows shaded eyes the color of cement.
As he got closer, she realized the top of his head barely reached her chest. Despite his stature, he spoke in a polished voice that carried far.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff. Welcome to Saint Mary’s Church. My name is Father Moore. How can I assist you today?”
Father Moore held out a hand to Colcord, who shook it and introduced himself.
The priest did not offer a handshake to Cash, and she stepped forward to introduce herself as well. “I’m Agent Cash with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation,” she said, perhaps louder than she intended.
He turned to her with eyebrows raised in query.
“We’d like to ask you some questions about Willy Grooms.”
“Has Mr. Grooms gotten himself into some trouble?” Father Moore turned back to Colcord and spoke to him as if he was the one who had made the request.
The church doors opened behind them, and a woman clicked into the vestibule and took a seat in one of the pews.
“Is there a place we can speak that’s more private?” Colcord asked.
“Certainly, Sheriff.” Father Moore led them around the altar and past the supplicating eyes of the statuettes. Cash recognized them as Saint Matthew, Saint Christopher, and a third she could not place.
Father Moore noticed her looking at the statue.
“Saint Neot,” he said, “my favorite saint. I had him added when I assumed my duties here. An ascetic, a wise man, and the patron of fish. Said to have stood four feet tall. There are many formidable men in history that were of short stature, you know.”
“Right, of course,” Cash said.
The tiny priest ducked through a nondescript door tucked into the wall, Colcord stooping to follow suit. Cash slipped through the miniscule door, wondering if it had also been added specially for Father Moore.
They passed through a sacristy and entered a spare office.
A small photograph of the pope holding the papal ferrule aloft hung behind Father Moore’s desk, the only decoration in the room.
Cash seated herself across from Father Moore.
Colcord set his hat on the desk and propped himself against the back wall.
“Mr. Moore—-” she began.
“Father Moore, if you would. I did not go through seminary formation to be called ‘mister.’ ” The priest folded his hands together and pursed his lips, his eyes shifting between Cash and Colcord, as if confused why Colcord was not conducting the interview.
Cash forced a strained smile. “Pardon. Father Moore. I have some sad news. Willy Grooms has passed away. The CBI and the sheriff’s office are investigating his death as a homicide.”
Father Moore’s forehead knotted deeply. “Homicide? Good heavens. That is regrettable news, indeed. May eternal rest be granted unto him.” He made the sign of the cross.
Cash ignored Father Moore’s rather mawkish reaction. “I’d like to open by mentioning that this interview is completely voluntary. Do you mind if I record?”
Father Moore shook his head. Cash hit Record and placed her cell phone on the desk between them.
“How long have you known Mr. Grooms?” Cash asked.
“I met him three years ago, and only once,” he began, speaking in an oddly sonorous and precise voice.
“His son, Samuel, was a parishioner and rarely spoke of his father. Mr. Grooms suffered from severe mental illness and did not know Christ until Margie Brooksfield brought him to the light. He did not have the power to know God due to his mental state. Invincible ignorance, we call it—-ignorant of God, but still able to achieve salvation. While he was not able to attend church on account of his disability, I was able to help him gain eternal salvation by baptizing him in Solitary Lake. It was the only time I met him.”
“Did Grooms ask to be baptized?”
“Not in so many words,” Father Moore responded. “But he was clearly aware of his original sin and responding in signs of humble gladness because of Christ.”
“You mean, Mr. Grooms wasn’t lucid enough to consent to the baptism at the time?”
Father Moore’s gray eyes gazed at her almost too steadily. “In his Confessions, Saint Augustine affirmed that mentally incapacitated people should be baptized. As a priest, it was my duty to ensure that he was able to enter heaven.”
“No offense intended; I’m just trying to get a better understanding of Grooms’s mental state. So, you hiked out to Solitary Lake about three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“With Mrs. Brooksfield?”
“Yes. She brought me up there.”
“Anything in the cabin that seemed unusual or out of place?”
“Plenty. You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“Discounting the sculptures, I mean. We’re trying to establish if something was taken.”
“It was full of junk as far as I could tell,” Father Moore said. He checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Do you know how Mr. Grooms made a living?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“What is your relationship with Margie Brooksfield?”
“Margie is an angel. A truly devout and devoted mother and wife.”
Cash took a moment to consult her notes. “Mother and wife. Anything else?” As she said it, she realized there was a note of irritation in her voice, which she tried to cover up with a smile. She wouldn’t allow this man to get under her skin.
“Being a good mother and wife should be enough for any woman in this world,” he said.
She thought she saw his gaze drift to her bare ring finger. She fumbled with her notepad, looking for the next question.
The priest turned to Colcord. “I’m sure, as sheriff, you know just how crime can be traced back to the home. The breakdown of the family.”
Cash cast a rather pointed glance in Colcord’s direction, and Colcord shifted awkwardly. He didn’t respond, looking a little bit like a man caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Father Moore, if we could stay on subject here?” Cash said. She took a deep breath, trying to even out her voice. “How long have you known Margie Brooksfield? Is she a member of your congregation?”
Father Moore’s eyes drifted once more to Cash’s face, but he never quite met her own gaze. His eyes seemed to be fixed above, on her forehead.
“I’ve known Margie all her life, and her parents before that. Most of the good people of Burns are Catholics.” He paused. “Are you Catholic, Agent Cash?”
She felt like she was being goaded—-or was that perhaps her overly sensitive feelings about the church?
She could never be sure, her thoughts were so complicated.
“That’s irrelevant,” Cash said, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“We’re investigating a homicide, and if you don’t mind, our role is to ask the questions, not yours. ”
The ends of Father Moore’s mouth curved upward in a knowing smile, and he leaned back in his chair.
Cash tried to ease her breathing, feeling a little hot under her collar. “Was Grooms ever married?” she asked.
“I know very little about Mr. Grooms. I understand the son took care of his father until his passing. He was a good Catholic.” He spoke the last sentence rather pointedly.
“How was their relationship?”
“I honestly don’t know. I think Samuel was embarrassed of his father, given his alcoholism and mental illness. Samuel never married, had no children.”
“How large is your parish?”
“Out of the three hundred and fifty--three residents of Burns, Colorado, about two hundred and ninety attend Mass on Sundays.”
Cash tried to put on a friendly smile. “Wow, that’s impressive. I imagine you must know a great deal about the people in your parish.”
“Yes.” Father Moore preened. “Did you know that Burns has one of the lowest crime rates in the state? Which I would like to believe can be attributed to my guidance and that of Christ.”
“Since you know so many people in town, are there any you might like to bring to our attention?” Cash asked. “Maybe someone who might have wished ill of Willy Grooms?”
Father Moore frowned, revealing lines characteristic of someone who scowled often. “I don’t know.”
Cash did her best not to return his scowl. This priest was going to drive her crazy. “We’re just asking for a little help here solving a murder. As a priest, maybe you heard something, know something, that would be relevant.”
Father Moore turned to Colcord. “I sincerely hope Agent Cash is not suggesting I violate the sanctity of the confessional.”
Cash’s fists whitened around her clipboard. “Father Moore, since I’m the one asking the questions, I’d appreciate you directing your answers to me.”
“Of course. It’s just that I’m not used to being interrogated by a … policewoman.”
“If you need help processing that a woman’s in charge, I can draw you a picture,” said Cash.
Father Moore’s penetrating voice spoke over her. “And I take issue with being asked to tattle on my parishioners by someone who doesn’t seem to be familiar with the Catholic faith and the sanctity of the confessional.”
Cash spoke, her voice shaking with emotion. “I was an obedient Catholic until I heard what our priest was doing to boys in the sacristy.”
Father Moore’s jaw tightened, and he responded stiffly, “It’s not surprising someone with your disposition chose law enforcement. I imagine the badge offers a certain sense of usefulness when marriage is not an option.”
Cash surged to her feet. “You sexist prick!” she snapped, immediately wishing she could take it back.
“Christ,” Colcord muttered behind her.
Father Moore met Cash’s stare not with fury but with eyes glittering with triumph. He rose stiffly, brushing his robes off with open palms, then gestured grandly to the door. “This interview is now concluded. I can assure you, the proper authorities will hear of this offensive comment.”
“Father Moore,” Colcord said hastily, “we’re just trying to gather the facts with no intention of giving offense—-”
“I ask that you both leave immediately.”
Colcord grasped Cash’s shoulder and steered her through the little doorway. She brushed him off, strode down the aisle, and shoved open the double doors to the outside. He jogged after her, a concerned look on his face.
“Cash … I love ya, but what the hell was that?”
“I know, I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. She couldn’t believe she had let that insufferable jerk get under her skin. Her standing with CBI was already shaky. This unprofessional outburst could very well get her taken from AIC in the case, maybe off it entirely.