Saints & Sinners Ball Page 23

  “How was he feeling?” Harper asked. She couldn’t imagine what that must feel like, not to know your birth family. For as hard as it was with her father sometimes, at least she had a home, knew her roots and had the connection. She couldn’t imagine as an adult meeting family for the first time like that.

  Camille shrugged. “It was hard to tell. One minute, Fr. McNally seemed really happy and excited, then another he was full of fear about making contact. I think he was more concerned about rejection. There was also a part of him that wondered why, if his father could have been a good father to other children, why not him.”

  “But Fr. McNally didn’t really know his father was a good man, correct?” Fr. Borger interjected.

  “No, that’s true,” Camille conceded. “He just knew there was a half-brother so maybe Fr. McNally had worked it up in his head that his father was this great man supporting another family but not his own.”

  Playing on a hunch, Harper pulled the file Dan had given her from her bag. As she flipped through it, she hoped, “Did Fr. McNally have a photo of the brother or show you one?”

  “No. I don’t know that he had one. I don’t know what if any research or information he had on his brother other than a name and a city.”

  “But you knew Fr. McNally really well, correct?” Harper pressed.

  “Yes, I saw him nearly every day for years, and then we were in constant communication while he was in Brazil until he disappeared.”

  “What are you getting at?” Jackson asked Harper.

  In response, Harper laid a photo on the table in front of Camille and asked, “Who is this?”

  Camille picked up the photo and studied it. She looked back to Harper and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.” Turning to Edna and Fr. Borger, she asked, “He’s a priest, do either of you know him?”

  Edna took the photo from Camille and studied it. With confusion in her voice, she said, “I don’t know him either. He does look a little like Fr. McNally. There is a resemblance.”

  Harper took the photo back and laid it on the table. She laid other photos of Fr. McNally next to them. Pointing with her finger, she indicated, “This one is Fr. McNally.” Pointing to the more recent photo the two women were just looking at, “This is the man claiming he’s Fr. McNally.”

  Camille sucked in a sharp breath and started to cry. Edna turned to Fr. Borger. “We need to get ahold of someone in that mission in Brazil now.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Fr. Borger spent the next hour tracking down his contacts both locally at the diocese and over in Brazil. One person reached out to another and then to another. Finally, they got someone on the phone connected to the local mission where Fr. McNally had lived. The story Edna initially received that Fr. McNally had packed up and left was not the full story. The story they now heard caused them all to sit back in shock.

  Fr. Borger detailed, “Two weeks before Fr. McNally was supposed to return to the states, he had a visitor. He told people it was his half-brother Paul. The man didn’t seem too friendly or nice, according to others at the church. In fact, Fr. McNally expressed to them some reservation about the man’s visit. Apparently, it had been unplanned. Paul just showed up. But Fr. McNally said that he wanted to take the time to get to know his brother so they were going to stay at a place Paul had rented in Cabo Frio on the beach.”

  As Fr. Borger was speaking, Harper was struck by blinding violent images. She wasn’t sure where they were coming from, but they were vivid. A pain shot to the front of her forehead and she reached to rub the spot. Jackson looked at her with eyebrows raised. Harper nodded that she was okay, rubbing the spot gently with her fingers.

  Turning his attention back to the group, Jackson asked, “Did Fr. McNally go on the trip then?”

  “He did,” Fr. Borger responded. He looked down at his notes from the call. “The man I spoke to, who was a caretaker at the church, said that Fr. McNally packed up all his belongings and left them in his room. Fr. McNally said that as soon as he was back from his trip that he’d be headed back to the U.S. But, according to the man, Fr. McNally never returned. When the new priest started, and they hadn’t heard anything, they assumed Fr. McNally went back to the U.S. without his things. They are currently in storage in the church basement.”

  Camille started to cry again, and Edna reached over to comfort her. She asked, “What does this mean? Where is he?”

  Harper, Jackson and Fr. Borger shared a look. Jackson, his voice quiet and kind, speculated, “We can’t know for sure. This is pure speculation on my part, but Paul could have killed Fr. McNally on that trip and returned to the U.S. as him.”

  Camille looked at him through red, swollen eyes. “You really think Fr. McNally is dead?”

  “I do,” Jackson said solemnly. “If he’s not, where is he?”

  “I think that’s the question whether he’s deceased or not,” Harper said. Looking to Fr. Borger, she asked, “Is there anyone who can go through his things looking for information? Clearly the police aren’t going to do anything so someone should check his belongings.”

  “Let me make some calls,” Fr. Borger said. He stepped out of the room.

  “Edna, do you have a laptop or tablet connected to the internet we can use? I’d do this on my phone, but it’s too small,” Jackson explained.

  “We do,” she said. Edna got up and walked out of the room.

  Turning to Harper, Jackson explained, “I want to see if we can find anything on Paul. We can search under the two last names Camille provided.” Handing the file of emails to Harper, Jackson added, “Why don’t you skim through there, maybe there are more clues you can find. If we can find a photo of him, I think we’d have some more answers.”

  Harper started with last year, right around the time Fr. McNally and Camille started talking about finding their birth families. Harper read each of the priest’s emails very carefully. It was clear he was at first excited to find his birth family. After gaining access to his original birth certificate and finding that his parents were deceased, his tone became more apprehensive. He had even cautioned Camille that sometimes it was almost better not knowing because the picture wasn’t always what’s imagined, but Fr. McNally didn’t provide any specifics on what he meant.

  The door to the room opened and Edna handed a laptop to Jackson. “How can we help?”

  “Is there any way you can track down someone at the Dallas Diocese? We are going to need them on this as soon as possible,” Harper indicated. “I’m going to call the detective we know in Little Rock as soon as Jackson does his search. The more information we have the better because otherwise the cops there will continue to dismiss our concerns.”

  Edna and Camille left the conference room explaining they would go to Edna’s office where she kept the contact information for the diocese. She said she’d bring Fr. Borger with her if he was done with his call. That left Harper and Jackson working alone in the conference room.

  As soon as the two women left, Jackson turned to Harper. He asked suspiciously, “What was with your head a little while ago?”

  Harper swallowed. “When Fr. Borger was explaining the trip Fr. McNally took with his brother, I had a sharp pain that ran from the back of my head to the front, and then I had vivid images of Fr. McNally being struck in the head. Something like that has never happened to me before. Do you think it means anything?”

  “I don’t know, but if you were anyone else, I’d probably say no. Given Hattie’s gifts, don’t discount it,” Jackson said seriously. He reached out and rubbed the top of Harper’s head affectionately. “Does it still hurt?”

  “It’s okay, throbs a little,” Harper said honestly. She got back to searching the files. On the second to last page, she got a name. She tapped Jackson on the shoulder frantically. “It’s here,” she said, shaking the page at him. “His name is Paul Davidson. He’s two years younger than Fr. McNally so that would put him right at fifty-one. Fr. McNally found a birthdate, city o
f Chicago address, and full name.”

  Jackson typed the information into the search engine, and within seconds he pulled up a few articles. He read each one as Harper watched in anticipation. Then Jackson turned to her with a mix of fear and understanding. “This is all starting to make sense.”

  Jackson turned the laptop to Harper. She was looking at a photo of Paul Davidson in a federal court in Chicago. He was being arraigned for a slew of charges related to fencing millions of dollars in precious gemstones and high-end jewelry. Subsequent articles showed that Paul had fled the country before trial. One of the articles indicated that although they had taken the man’s passport, they believed he had used a forgery and had left for an unknown location in South America. The articles were dated nearly a year before Fr. McNally started his search for his family.

  In another article, they indicated that Paul’s brother Evan was getting out of federal prison in Arkansas for his part in some money laundering scheme. Harper looked at Jackson. “You think that’s where Evan and Drew met?”

  “I think you were right about Drew needing a fence for that jewelry and who better than someone who already has a network. What do you want to bet that Evan and Drew cooked up this burglary scheme using Lizzie’s connections and then Paul fenced the jewelry?”

  Harper let out a long, slow breath. “I’d say you’re about right. It was the perfect storm. We need to call Det. Granger.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Hattie woke in a darkened room. She sat up slowly, but her head was throbbing. Her vision was blurry. As Hattie looked around the room, she slowly took in her surroundings. She was in a small square room made of gray cinderblock. The room was sparse. It had a simple cot with a blanket and a thin pillow, and that was it. There were no windows, and the door was closed.

  Hattie stood up, felt dizzy and immediately sat back down. She rubbed a bump on the back of her head, which felt wet. Hattie brought her hand around to her face and was alarmed to see blood on her fingers. She looked down at the bed and there was a small circle of blood on the pillow. She tried to recall the last memory she had before waking in the room. Hattie remembered seeing Tucker. He was yelling, but she couldn’t remember what he had said.

  Fr. McNally, or at least the man who had pretended to be him, had been behind her. What did he say to call him? She couldn’t remember. She tried to focus. The memory of waking up from sleep with him in her home struck her. He must have taken her. Hattie’s breathing quickened and her pulse raced. She had to get out of there. But no one even knew she was gone. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been missing.

  Hattie tried standing again. She inched herself off the cot slowly and steadied herself as she stood, taking a slow deep breath to fight off the nauseated feeling that overcame her. She walked to the door and pounded her fist against it. “Hello, anyone out there? Let me out of here!” Hattie yelled once, twice, then three times, her voice growing stronger with each. Nothing in response.

  Hattie shivered against the cold. Looking down, she was reminded she only had on her cotton pajamas. Pressing her ear up to the door, Hattie heard voices. There were three distinct – two men and a woman – coming closer. Hattie stepped back into the room as someone approached the door.

  The door opened and there was a woman standing there. She was very pregnant. She barked, “He wants to talk to you. Let’s go.”

  “Who wants to talk to me? Who are you? Where are we?” Hattie demanded to no avail. The woman didn’t say another word. She led Hattie down dark corridors, one leading to another. Hattie was lost already. It was like a maze. Dark hall after another finally opened to a large room. Hattie recognized it as the storm shelter below the St. Joseph’s school and church grounds. This was the only room Hattie had ever been in. During a storm a few years ago, she had taken shelter in this room with people in her neighborhood. Hattie had no idea until now what the rest looked like.

  Waiting for her in the open room was Paul. Hattie remembered his name as soon as she saw his face. As Hattie came into the open space, he pointed to a chair in the middle of the room. “Sit there.” Talking to the woman, Paul ordered, “Go get her that blanket. I need her comfortable.”

  “You care about my comfort?” Hattie mocked. “If you really did, you wouldn’t have hit me in the head or dragged me down here.”

  “You wouldn’t have come willingly,” Paul countered. “And yes, for what I need, you should be comfortable.”

  “And what is it you need?” Hattie asked cautiously.

  “I need you to do that thing you do. The magic. Talk to the dead,” Paul demanded, pacing around the room. He kept rubbing and scratching at his head. Hattie assumed it was a nervous tic she had only now just noticed about him.

  Hattie shook her head. “I don’t talk to the dead. I told you that.”

  Paul stopped and pulled the gun from his waistband. He pointed it at her. “I’ve seen you in your window talking to no one. I’ve seen you in the yard. I know you can. Now do it for me.”

  Hattie swallowed. “I’m an old woman. I talk to myself a lot.”

  “You’re lying,” Paul said, gun aimed at her.

  Hattie took a big deep breath. “I don’t have control over it,” she said honestly. “I’ll see what I can do. Who do you want to connect with?”

  “The dead guy.”

  “Tucker Reese, the man who was murdered in my yard? Why?”

  “Yeah him,” Paul said nervously. “I need to know what he knows about me.”

  The pregnant woman whose name Hattie still didn’t know came back into the room with the blanket. She dumped it on Hattie’s lap and left. Hattie pulled it around her shoulders for warmth.

  Hattie looked at Paul and conceded the truth. “I’ve spoken to him. He doesn’t remember anything about that night or the events leading up to it. He just shows up. I don’t know how to make him appear.”

  Paul started pacing again. He muttered to himself, “I have to know what they know. I have to know how close they are.”

  “How close who is?” Hattie asked. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve done, and I don’t care…”

  Hattie was interrupted. The metal door at the top of the stairs that led to the small interior of the building that accessed the storm sheltered opened. She saw the man who Harper had called Fr. McNally’s brother come down the steps. Hattie recalled his name was Evan.

  He yelled to Paul, “They got Drew for the murder of that attorney. You think he’s going to give us up?”

  Hattie looked between the both of them. She daringly asked, “Are you saying it wasn’t you who killed Tucker Reese?”

  Paul looked to her. She saw fear in his eyes for the first time. “No, that’s what I’ve been trying to say. We didn’t kill him, and I don’t know who did. But Drew knows things.”

  Turning to Evan, “Can you get to him? Shut him up?”

  “No, no,” Evan repeated. “They have him in the cell. Can’t see him or get a message to him.”

  Paul cursed loud enough for Hattie to hear it. Turning back to her, Paul pointed the gun. “Get Tucker here now. I need to know.”

  “I told you it doesn’t work like that,” Hattie started to say, but then she was distracted. Suddenly standing right behind Paul was a man that Hattie assumed only she could see. She looked carefully at his face and suspected it was the real Fr. McNally.

  The man looked to Hattie. He said with fear in his voice, “You’re not safe with him. He killed me.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Harper and Jackson waited for Edna, Camille and Fr. Borger to come back to the conference room before they called Det. Granger. Edna confirmed she reached someone at the Catholic Diocese of Dallas who took the report and was going to act immediately. She said they may follow up for more information as needed. Fr. Borger also confirmed he at least got a detective on the phone in Rio de Janeiro, now whether they did anything about it was another story.

  “Let’s call Det. Granger in Little
Rock,” Harper encouraged. “He’s at least in close distance to Paul to bring him in for questioning. We just need him to take us seriously.”

  It was later in the evening, nearing eight o’clock at night. Harper wondered if Det. Granger would still be at the office. She tried his office phone to no avail and then tried his cellphone. He picked up. Harper said hello and explained where she and Jackson were. Then Harper told Det. Granger she was putting him on speakerphone.

  Placing her cellphone in the middle of the table, she hit speakerphone and turned up the volume. She made quick introductions of everyone around the table. Harper said, “You told me not to come back to you until I had proof, and I do. That man is not Fr. McNally.”

  “I’m listening,” Det. Granger said with skepticism in his voice.

  Harper detailed, “His real name is Paul Davidson. He’s from Chicago and has a number of pending federal charges related to fencing millions of dollars in gemstones and jewelry.”

  Harper then spent the next twenty minutes going over in detail how they came to learn his real identity, what they know of the real Fr. McNally and what they suspect happened to him. She gave Edna and Fr. Borger a chance to speak. Then Harper turned it over to Camille who made a passionate plea for justice for Fr. McNally. Harper raised her eyebrows in a question to Jackson and he shook his head. He had nothing to add.

  When the group finished, Harper took a deep breath and asked, “Is that enough now for you to look into this? At the very least call Chicago and talk to the prosecutor handling the case. They will tell you all about him.”

  “You’ve made your case, Harper,” Det. Granger conceded. “This is going to be messy and complicated, but I’m on it. I want to call Chicago and do a little research and see what they need before I bring him in. What’s the contact in Brazil and at the Dallas Catholic Diocese?”