The Slain Saint

Two

Two

AFTER CALLING CLARK to tell him about the workshop and finishing some work on my homily, I go to the church for Noon mass. Afterward, I walk to the police station and meet Helen for lunch. Since she insists that we need to start saving for our honeymoon—a seven-day cruise to the Bahamas, followed by an additional week at a hotel in Baltimore—we brown bag it. I’m providing ham and swiss sandwiches on bread from Nick Hallstead’s bakery, while she’s bringing the salad that she also insists we have.

Ever since our engagement, she’s expressed concern about my eating habits and overall health. Helen even made an appointment for me to see the same doctor the police department uses for officers’ physicals. Unfortunately, I had to cancel because of her injuries and have not yet rescheduled.

I am hoping that her efforts to get me in better shape are somehow related to the honeymoon, but I am ashamed to ask.

I get to her office and we spread our small feast on her desk. “How's your day been?” I ask.

“So-so, I guess,” she says between bites of salad. “I’m still not used to all the administrative stuff. It’s not hard or anything, just kinda boring.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But someone has to do it. And that’s why they give you the big bucks, remember?”

Helen gets a twinkle in her eye. “So you don’t mind that I now make about three times what you make?”

“No, remember, I have no ego when it comes to something like that,” I say. “You’re going to manage the money, so it just makes sense that you make most of it.”

“Now about that, Tom. I think sometime soon we need to sit down and make a budget.”

I set my sandwich down. “What’s the hurry? I mean, we still have a few months.”

She lays her hand on top of mine. “Because, darling, we’re going to have some shared expenses right away. The trip, for example. But it will also give us a head start on our life together.”

I smile. “Well, when you put it that way, OK. Just give me enough warning so I can have a couple of drinks in me.”

“Still don’t like to deal with money?”

“Look, I’m sorry, but the way my mother acted when she paid bills has scarred me for life. At least I’m mature enough now to realize it and let you handle everything. I’ll be quite content for you to let me know how much I can spend on books.”

“I’ll be generous,” she says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss.

We eat some more, then Helen asks, “So what about you? How’s your morning been?”

“Still not accustomed to you not being there all the time,” I say. “Got a call from the Archbishop asking me to host a workshop on s*x trafficking. It will be for both Protestant and Catholic clergy in the area. Someone from the Archdiocese, Father Timothy Stratton, will be leading it.”

“Oh, that sounds really good,” Helen says. “When is it?”

“The 19th.”

“Oh, Tom, I’ll hate to miss that, but I’ve got to be in Baltimore all day at a meeting of the Maryland Chiefs of Police.”

“Oh, that’s right. And this will be your first one, right?”

“Yes. And, I might add, I got a call from the Baltimore Police Commissioner personally inviting me.”

“My, my, my, aren’t you important?” I say with a smile. “Should I be jealous?”

“No, since he’s been happily married to someone about half my age and a third my size for several years now,” she laughs. “No, rumor has it that he has his sights set on running for governor, so he’s currying favor with everyone, including one of the few female chiefs of police in the state.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” I say. “You’re a pretty big deal.”

“I don’t know about that, Tom. There are other women police chiefs. I served under one in D.C.”

“You’re the first woman police chief to marry a Catholic priest,” I point out. “Thus, you are a big deal.”

She nods. “OK, point taken.”

“Well, since I love having you around anytime, I will miss you that day. But, it's just a church meeting. I promise that you’ll have many more chances to attend those in the years to come.”

With my comment, Helen grows serious. Jabbing her desk with her finger, she says, “No, Tom, it is not ‘just a church meeting.’ This is important. What the people involved in s*x trafficking do ruins lives, not just of the young men and women they recruit, but the people they sell their vile products and services to. Good people, men and women with families, use their services, maybe even start buying and using porn, and then get hooked. Their lives, and the lives of those they love, are hurt.”

She is getting rather worked up and, while I agree with her about the issue, it's not like this is the first time she’s seen evil. “Helen, I didn’t realize this meant so much to you. Is it because of what we saw in Bellamy?”

She doesn’t meet my eyes as she says, “That, and other things.”

I see tears gathering in her lashes, so I get up, close her office door, then crouch down beside her seat where I can put my arms around her.

“Honey,” I say, “what is it?”

She is obviously struggling with what to say next but finally says, “This is not when or where I planned to tell you about this. I’ve known for some time I needed to but haven’t wanted to get into it. It’s something about John and me, or just about John, I guess. I’ve never known where I fit into this.”

She pauses again and I say, “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

I take her by the hand and lead her there, sitting so I’m facing her. Even now, Helen doesn’t look at me. She’s slumped on the couch, looking at her hands, which she’s uncharacteristically twisting.

“You know, I don’t know too much about your marriage to John,” I say. “I didn’t want to pry. I mean, you told me you loved him deeply, and you were happy together, and he was good to you. But I always had the sense there was something you were holding back.”

“Yes,” she sighs. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.” She pauses before continuing, “Tom, I did not know this until after his death, but John loved porn.”

“When you say he loved porn,” I say, “I’m assuming you mean more than the occasional viewings of videos or magazines when he was in college.” I decide now is not the time to bring up my own post-adolescent, pre-Helen dabblings. I was driven more by curiosity than anything else, and once curiosity was satisfied, shame and guilt quickly replaced it. It was the vestiges of whatever passed for my Catholic upbringing, I assume, because it is one of the few times I remember going to confession in college.

“Oh, yes. Much more than that. He was renting a small storage unit when we got married, and said that he used it to store old law books and stuff from when he was a kid. He kept the key to it on his key ring, and I never gave it much thought until after he died. His parents and I went out there together to clean it out, and when I unlocked the door, there were boxes and boxes of magazines and DVDs, along with a laptop filled with downloads. And I found it with his mother standing there by me and his father looking every way but down. It was worse than when I had to go identify his body, even worse than the grisliest crime scene I’ve ever worked.”

“Oh, my God, Helen. What did you do?”

“What could I do? I grabbed a box and started loading it in my car, crying and railing at him before his body was even cold. I cursed him for not telling me, for making me deal with the filth by myself. I was afraid his mother was going to faint, so his dad took her back home. So I just hauled box after box of that s**t to the nearest dumpster, by myself. It took me four trips. Afterwards, I went home and took the hottest shower I could, just to get the feeling of dirt and filth off of me. Then, I cried some more.”

I put my arm around her and pull her head down on my shoulder. Rubbing her arm, I say, “I am so sorry you had to deal with that alone. How awful for you.”

“My only comfort was that everyone in the pictures was obviously an adult,” she whispers. “There was nothing illegal about it, just so dreadfully immoral. Later, I ran his credit card records and found dozens of calls he made to phone s*x businesses. All I want to know is, what was he doing with me that he was talking about with another woman? I wonder who he was really seeing when he was making love to me? I believe he loved me, but I must have fallen short physically somehow—which I can understand. I mean, I’m never going to be mistaken for one of those women he watched.”

I have tried very hard since coming back in her life not to express jealousy about her marriage to John. After all, I was the one who left her. I’d found another to love, as Helen had. But sitting here and hearing the woman I love say that about herself, I’m growing angry at her first husband.

“Helen,” I say, taking her hand, “you know I would never tell you anything that I have ever heard in confession. But one of the things that they taught us in seminary is that addiction to pornography is one of the most common things we will ever deal with as priests.”

“I’m not surprised by that at all,” she says.

“But they also drilled into our heads that this was rarely a sign of an unhappy or troubled marriage. Most of the time, the men involved claim they have very happy s*x lives and are very satisfied with their wives. It is just a bad, addictive habit that someone has developed over the years and cannot kick. But oh, my darling, I am so sorry you had to go through that, especially alone.”

She smiles and caresses my cheek. “Thank you, my darling.” Then she grows serious again and asks, “but what about the phone calls, the things he talked about with those women?”

“It’s all the same thing,” I say. “It was a habit that he got into like the porn. Again, it didn’t mean he didn’t love you or care about you. Not to cut John any slack, he probably got addicted to the thrill and found himself unable to stop. And because of the shame he no doubt felt, he couldn’t tell you. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Tom, I hate to ask this, but . . .”

“No,” I shake my head. “I have many faults, many failings, and many sins. But that’s one you don’t need to worry about.”

“I didn’t think so,” she sighs. “The past is in the past, and I am very much looking forward to focusing on our future.”

I know I should feel guilty at how angry I am at a dead man, but I don’t. It’s about time Helen Parr had someone that she could count on to love her 24/7, and always have her back.

Sitting up and wiping her eyes, Helen smiles and says, “Speaking of the future, we need to sit down with Nick about the cake.”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “Have you made an appointment with him?”

“Yes,” she says. “He and Clayton can meet with us next Tuesday at the bakery. He’ll have different flavors to choose from.”

“I suppose chocolate’s not going to be one of them?” I ask.

“Not for our cake,” Helen says. “But you can have whatever you want for a groom’s cake.”

“Hmm, well,” I say, “I have some ideas for that.”

“NASCAR theme, I assume?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Oh, Tom,” she smiles, “you’re always full of surprises.”

I lean in to give her a quick kiss when there’s a knock on the door. We both laugh quietly and Helen says, “Come in.”

Angela Jenkins, State Attorney, marches in, all five-foot-four of her in an emerald green suit. She has the look of a woman who is pissed off at someone.

I pray that someone is not in this room.

“Sorry to interrupt you two love birds,” she says, “but Helen, we’ve got a situation. Where is Gladys?”

“Um, I guess at lunch or in her office?” Helen says.

“I just checked her office,” Angela says. “I wanted her to be here, but I guess it’s just as well she’s not.”

I look at Helen and say, “I’ll leave you two to talk shop.”

“Tom,” Angela says. “I think it’d be a good idea for you to hear this.”

“OK,” Helen says slowly. “What’s going on?”

Angela snorts and says, “I finally heard from my counterpart in Massachusetts. They have no interest in extradicting Richard Davenport.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I exclaim. “Richard confessed to Gladys that he was driving the car that hit and killed her parents and left her in a wheelchair!”

“Tom, the fact of the matter is other than his own statement, there’s no evidence to tie Davenport directly to the accident. The statute of limitations has run on vehicular homicide, and they’re not about to charge him with second-degree murder based on the evidence.”

Helen sighs. “I was afraid of that, Angela. OK, thanks for letting us know. We’ll tell Gladys.”

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Angela says. “I really did try. But that’s not the only bad news I have.”

Helen plops back on the couch. “What?”

“Davenport’s attorney is pushing to have the evidence against him in the Hudson case thrown out.”

“Damn,” Helen says.

“Why? He confessed! That should be enough,” I say. “I don’t even know why he hasn’t pled guilty yet.”

“Because Tom, he has an extremely good lawyer and the evidence against him is extremely thin.”

“He’s on tape!”

“Yes, on a recording made by Gladys, his former lover,” Angela says. I start to protest when Angela says, “Don’t shoot the messenger, Tom! Davenport’s attorney is saying Gladys was motivated by jealousy.”

“Angela,” Helen says, “What can we do?”

“Right now, nothing,” Angela says. “If I need anything, I’ll call you. But I wanted you to know.”

We thank her and she leaves. I look at Helen and say, “Do you want me to tell Gladys?”

Helen shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I will. She’ll need you later.”