The Perfect Patsy

Two

Two

“NATE!” I SAY, MY EYES locked onto his glazed-over, unfocused orbs. “What happened? Who did this?”

He doesn’t answer—I’m not even sure he knows what I said. I start to shake him, ignoring any injuries he may have. “Listen, Nate! You’ve got to talk! Is someone in there!”

Finally, he shakes his head. “No,” he says weakly. “Just Ashley. It’s so horrible. She’s alone. Someone needs to be with her. It’s not right that she’s alone.”

I look from Nate to the open door. Hearing sirens in the distance, I say, “Stay here, Nate. I’m going to find something to cover you up with.”

He nods and curls himself into a fetal position. I stand and slip past him into his apartment. Nate’s bloody footprints form a trail from the door, down the hallway and back to where his bedroom probably is.

I follow the footprints to a partly-closed door. The bloody handprint on the jamb is mute testimony to this being the crime scene. I am about to open the door when a forceful voice behind me yells, “Freeze! Police!”

“It’s Tom, Dan,” I say as I slowly move my hands to where he can see them. “OK if I turn around?”

“Sure,” he says, and I hear him holstering his weapon as I slowly turn so he can see my face.

Dan Conway, Myerton’s chief detective, is a big ex-Marine who’s usually unflappable in a crisis. I’m thankful he’s here, knowing that his cool professionalism will bring order out of this chaos.

But one look at him tells me that he’s as stunned and confused as I am.

“What the hell is going on here?” he says as he walks up to me. “What happened to Nate? He looks like he’s been in a slaughterhouse.”

“I don’t know. He called me a few minutes ago, hysterical, saying something terrible had happened, a woman was dead, and there was blood everywhere.”

Dan grows ashen. “Gladys?” he whispers. “Did . . . did that son of a b***h do something to her?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Dan, Nate says it’s not Gladys, and we don’t know he did anything. He did mention a name. Ashley Becket.”

Dan sucks in his breath. “What? Ashley Becket?” He says. “What the hell was she doing here? She wasn’t—”

“She wasn’t what, Dan?” I say, confused at the detective’s reaction.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Ashley Becket. Oh, s**t. Oh, s**t,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, no. First his wife, now his daughter.”

The mention of a wife hits me, and I know why the name sounds familiar.

“She’s the daughter of Frank Becket, right? The stepdaughter of Sharon Richardson,” I say. Looking at the door, I begin to push it open when Dan grabs my wrist.

“Don’t,” Dan says. “Step away from the door, Father, and go back outside until I clear this area.”

I suddenly realize that I am not at a friend’s apartment but instead at the scene of a violent crime. There could easily be someone else in here, armed and ready to kill. I beat a hasty retreat to the door, pulling out my badge and holding it up in case any other officers have arrived. On my way through the living room, I stop to grab an afgan off the couch when I remember that would be disturbing the crime scene. When I get back to Nate, I slip the badge on its lanyard around my neck and slip off my shirt, using it to create a sort of makeshift loincloth for Nate.

Ironically, pulling off my shirt to wrap around a bloody body sets me off worse than anything else that has happened up until now, and I have to fight the panic rising up in my throat. I force myself to turn my eyes from Nate, who is sitting up now, still stunned and still covered in blood, but clearly not in any serious physical danger.

I see the night sky instead of a dank basement. I’m standing up instead of laying on a cold concrete floor. Helen is fine, fully recovered from her injuries. Thanks to Dan’s coaching, she was able to shoot well enough to requalify on the pistol range, so she can carry her gun again. She may not be the shot she was, but she’s well on her way.

I see police arriving, Officers Thompson and Hallstead and Potter. They’re trained to handle this situation, to deal with the crisis. I can trust them. They are in charge now. I can focus my attention on the victim and her spiritual needs.

It's at about this time that Dan comes out, saying loudly enough for everyone to hear, “The apartment is clear. Thompson, it's a bad one, and I need you to stay with the body. Hallstead, you go, too, but be prepared for the worst. Potter,” he says to his newest and youngest officer, “son, you stay out here.”

Then he comes over to me and says quietly, “The EMTs will be here in a minute. I’ll stay with Nate until then.”

His meaning is clear, so I go inside and walk back to Nate’s bedroom. There I find the dead body of Ashley Becket. In spite of myself, I see the blood sprayed on the walls and soaked in the sheets. It's pretty obvious how Nate got so bloody.

Hallstead steps back, giving me room to anoint her. Ashley’s naked body is still uncovered and I know it must remain that way until the crime scene techs arrive. It is only because of my training that I’m even allowed in at all. I quickly anoint her forehead, praying fervently for a gentle journey for her soul to heaven. Then I gratefully leave this charnel house to return to the land of the living.

“Dan,” I say, “The girl in there is definitely Ashley Becket.”

Dan nods, a grim expression on his face. “I know. I recognized her. And her fingerprints came back confirming it.”

“Wait,” I say, growing confused again. “What were her fingerprints doing in the system?”

He looks around, then pulls me to one side. “Tom, they were in the system because Ashley has a record. She’s been arrested several times for solicitation of prostitution.” Dan pauses, then says, “She’s a Freshy Fresh girl.”

I close my eyes. “Oh, dear Lord!” I whisper. “What the hell was she doing here, in Nate’s bed?”

“Only one reason I can think of, Tom,” Dan looks back at Nate.

“No, not Nate,” I say. “It’s impossible!”

“Tom, trust me,” Dan says, “nothing is impossible.”

Dan returns to the bedroom while I go back over to where the EMTs are working on Nate. I sit nearby, praying for all involved, but especially for the young man who, no matter how this turns out, has been through something he will never be able to forget.

Nate’s talking, answering the questions posed to him, but he’s still not making much sense. The EMTs look at me and say, “Father, we need to take him in. I don’t know what’s going on. It could be drugs or shock or both, but only a doctor can tell for sure. Do you want to ride along?” I nod my head and go to Dan, who’s just emerged from the bedroom.

“I’m going to ride with Nate to the hospital,” I say.

“Sorry, Father,” he says quietly, “I can’t let you do that. I’m not letting him leave here without an officer with him.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I whisper.

Dan just looks at me, then steps over to Nate. “Nathaniel Rodriguez,” he says, “I am placing you under arrest for suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent.”

I stand there dumbfounded by what I’m seeing, but know enough to not interrupt until Dan finishes informing Nate of his rights. “Do you understand what I just read to you, Nate?” Dan asks, gently.

Nate looks at him, then nods. The EMTs move him to a gurney, where they lay him down and cover him with a blanket. Officer Potter steps up, takes one of Nate’s wrists out from under the blanket, and handcuffs him to the side rail.

I’m about to protest this to Dan when he turns to me and says quietly, “Father, we need to talk.”

I turn and follow him into the kitchen, where he says, “Tom, a young woman is dead in Nate’s bed. She’s nude and bound to the bed by her wrists and ankles. She appears to have had her throat cut from ear to ear with a kitchen knife we found on the floor, not to mention she has other horrific injuries. Tom, it looks for all the world like Nate killed that girl in some kind of crazed rage.”

“That’s not possible,” I say firmly.

“Yes, Tom, sadly, it is. And until I know otherwise, I have to treat him as I would any other suspect.”

“That may be true, but I don’t.”

“It is true, but you are also correct. You don’t have to treat him as a suspect. In fact, I’m hoping now that you will treat him as what he obviously is, a scared young man in big trouble.”

“I’m going to the hospital.”

“Of course, but you have two other stops to make first.”

“What do you mean, Dan?”

“First, I need you to inform Ashley’s parents of what happened. I could go, but with Helen out of town, I need to stay here. And anyway, you’re their priest. Also, someone needs to let Gladys know what’s going on before she tries to reach Nate and begins to fear something is wrong. Can you please do those two things for me before you go to see Nate? You know as well as I do that the ER is going to keep him pretty busy for the next couple of hours anyway.”

“I’ll be glad to do both,” I say, “but I need to at least let Nate know what I’m doing, and probably even get his permission for me to talk to Gladys first.”

“No, Tom. We don’t have time for that. If he brings it up later, just remind him that she was going to find out sometime from someone and ask him how he’d want the woman he says he loves to learn that he had a dead, naked woman in his bed?”

I take a deep breath. “OK, I see your point. But what about Nate and what he’s going through?”

“One way or another, Tom, he’s the one who’s caused this mess and likely either killed or got that girl killed. He can just cool his heels until you get around to seeing him.”

I want to try to reason with him to make him understand that Nate, too, could be a victim, but I know better than to get into that now. Instead, I just listen as he concludes, “We need to protect Gladys, our living victim.”

“Understood, but I’m heading to the Beckets now.” I pause, then ask, “Do they know she was a prostitute?”

“That,” Dan sighs, “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t mention anything about what she was doing, or where she was killed, or how she was killed. The fact she’s dead is going to be enough of a shock.”

“Agreed,” I say. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way to Gladys’”