Judy walked along the road toward the restaurant, and now that she could see the lay of the land, it was easy to reconstruct how Father Keegan could have been killed. The restaurant was situated at the elbow of the curve, and a car driving past could have targeted someone walking toward its parking lot, with their back turned. There was neither a curb nor a shoulder, just some gravel, and nothing would have protected the priest from a driver cutting the corner, intentionally or not.
Judy hurried across the street to the perimeter, but noticed she had drawn the attention of the traffic cop, who lumbered toward her, waving his orange flashlight. She pretended not to see him, turned away, and hustled in the opposite direction along the perimeter. When she got closer to the opposite side of the street, she could see in the flickering of the flares that several bouquets of flowers had been left there, a sight that broke her heart.
“Miss, Miss, please don’t go back there!” the traffic cop called, catching up with her. “Miss, excuse me!”
“Officer, I just wanted to see.” Judy gestured at the flowers, and the chubby face of the traffic cop softened under his cap.
“Condolences, but you can’t be leaving your car where you did, Miss.” The traffic cop waved his flashlight toward her car. “Please, move it out.”
“Can’t I just take a minute and look around?”
“No, you may not. You’re creating a traffic hazard.” The traffic cop waved her off again. “You want to pay your respects, you’d be better advised to do that in the daytime, when it’s safer, or to head on over to the church tonight. I hear there’s plenty of folks there, doing the same thing.”
“Good idea. Thanks, Officer,” Judy said, meaning it. She turned around and jogged toward her car, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself.
Half an hour later, she was slipping into the back pew of the beautiful Madre de Dios Church, near where she had sat just yesterday morning, when she had come to Mass with her aunt. The lovely altar, with its simple crucifix and graceful marble statuary, was vacant now. It seemed impossible to fathom that Father Keegan had conducted that very Mass and shown such kindness to her and her aunt, as well as comfort to his congregation, and now, he was no longer here.
Tears came to Judy’s eyes, but she didn’t bother to blink them away, because she felt as if she belonged here, for the first time. It was emotion that connected her to the congregation, and it was her heart that connected her to all of the other hearts in the church. Grieving families filled the pews, their expressions stricken and their heads bowed, sniffling as they knelt with rosary beads hanging between their fingers, some praying silently and others whispering their prayers in Spanish or English. Women lit candles in front of a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe near the altar, and a young priest went from one parishioner to the next, putting an arm around them and engaging them in quiet conversation.
Judy watched him, wishing again that she had some sort of religion, because she could see before her eyes the power that the priest had to comfort people and to ease their pain. The only thing she believed in was love, and that came close to a spiritual belief, maybe as close as she would ever get. The second thing she knew that she believed in was the law, and she felt her emotions slip into default mode, anger at the injustice of a crime as heinous as murder, especially of Father Keegan, a man of goodwill and open heart. She couldn’t stay out of it, no matter what Detective Boone had said. She wouldn’t rest until she learned the truth.
Judy kept an eye on the young priest and wondered if he could have information about what Father Keegan had been up to today, or know something else that could help her. She worried briefly that this wasn’t the time or the place, but decided that there was no better time or place. She stood up, made her way out of the pew, and walked down the wide, tiled aisle of the church toward the priest.
He was speaking with an older woman near the altar and appeared to be finishing up, because he caught Judy’s eye with a sad smile. He was short and stocky, and the shine in his round brown eyes betrayed the grief he was undoubtedly keeping inside. He looked in his thirties, with a head of thick black hair and no wrinkles in his wide face, just a smattering of pitting in his cheeks. He was dressed in a simple black uniform with a collar, not the vestments of a formal Mass.
“Hello, welcome to our church,” the priest said, when he turned to Judy. His voice sounded soft with pain, and his English was perfect. “I’m Father Oscar Vega.”
“Thank you, I’m Judy Carrier, and please accept my deepest sympathies on the loss of Father Keegan. I didn’t know him well, but I can see that he was a remarkable man.”
“He was, he was, truly.” Father Vega winced, evidence of his grief. “I came to this parish two years ago, and he took me under his wing. He was old-school, but at the same time such an innovator, working hard with the outreach groups with parenting education, literacy education, and substance-abuse counseling. We won’t see another one like him.”
“I’m sure that’s right. I came just yesterday, for the first time. It’s so hard to believe that Father Keegan is gone, that quickly.”
“I understand how you feel.” Father Vega nodded, buckling his lower lip. “I feel the same way, and he mentioned to me that he had met you, Ms. Carrier.”
“Please, call me Judy. He did?”
“Yes, and your aunt Barb is a very kind person. My sympathies to you both on the loss of Iris. Your aunt must be very upset.”
“Thank you, she is.” Judy had to find a way to get to the point, because the women in line behind them kept glancing over, wanting their turn.
“We will have to endure these tragedies with prayer and supporting each other. We have to remember times like this that God doesn’t send us more than we can bear. He knows our strength more than we do ourselves.”
“That’s right.” Judy saw her opening in the conversation. “Did Father Keegan mention to you that he spoke with me about Iris?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Did you see him today, at all?”
“Yes, in the morning.”
“Where was that?”
“At the rectory.” Father Vega blinked, and Judy could see he didn’t understand why she was asking, so she lowered her voice, not to be heard by the women in the line to light candles.
“I know this seems inappropriate, but I wanted to take this chance to explore with you anything you know about Iris. I feel that her death was suspicious and even Father Keegan’s death, as well.”
“What?” Father Vega’s dark eyes flared with alarm. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Judy almost regretted bringing it up, but she didn’t want to wait. “Do you know what Father Keegan did today? If he met with anyone, visited anyone? Even called anyone?”
“As far as I know, he conducted a funeral mass in the morning.”
“Why do you say, ‘as far as I know’?”
“I wasn’t here. On Mondays I travel to another church in Octorara. There’s a shortage of priests, as you may know, and we’re spread thin.”
“So you wouldn’t know firsthand what he did today? For example, if he made any phone calls or had any visits with anyone?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t see him or talk with him before he went to dinner?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since this morning.”
“And it’s true that he eats dinner at Jamie’s, in the early evening?” Judy found herself lapsing into deposition mode.
“Yes, I told the police that, too. They came by earlier this evening. They’re the ones who notified me of his death.”
Judy could see that the women behind him were waiting to talk to him, so she didn’t mince words. “Father, I feel that Iris might have been involved with some kind of drug ring or some other illegal business that generated a lot of money. She hid cash in my aunt’s house, and her death seems very suspicious.”
“Drugs? Iris? No, not possible.” Father Vega shook his head. “I understoo
d she had a heart attack.”
“I just don’t believe it, and it seems too coincidental, now that Father Keegan was killed. It’s also very strange that Iris’s best friend Daniella suddenly decided to go back to Mexico—”
“What did you say?” Father Vega interrupted, a frown creasing his short forehead.
“Daniella went back to Mexico.”
“She did? How do you know that?”
“That’s what they told me at the mission yesterday. That’s why she wasn’t working there yesterday.”
“She didn’t tell me. Neither did anyone else.” Father Vega shook his head again. “You must be mistaken, Judy.”
“That’s what they said. How do you know so much about her? I had the impression she wasn’t a regular churchgoer.”
“She wasn’t but I was helping her, with counseling. Daniella is from my town at home. I heard about her from my mother and my sisters.” Father Vega permitted himself a tight smile. “There’s no Internet like Mexican family.”
“Would she have gone back?”
“No. I haven’t heard from her lately, but I’ll call her at my first opportunity. I can’t do it now, I’m busy.” Father Vega gestured behind him at the line, where an older woman behind him kept looking over, impatient to speak with him.
“Do you have her number? May I have it?”
“I wouldn’t do that without her permission. You understand.”
Judy let it go. “Father Vega, I’m surprised that Father Keegan didn’t tell me this when he found out that Daniella was gone, because I told him.”
“He wouldn’t know. I would.”
“Is Daniella’s family here? Do you think I could go speak with them?”
“The only ones in the country are in Newark, New Jersey.”
“Is she married?”
“No longer, but there’s a man she’s been seeing.” Father Vega’s lips flattened in a way that suggested he wasn’t a fan. “She met him at work.”
“At Mike’s Exotics?”
“Yes. I don’t know much about him, but Daniella brought him to Mass one time and introduced me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Carlos Ramiro,” Father Vega answered, and the older woman behind him stepped closer to him, hovering at his elbow.
“Where does he live?”
“In the barracks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of the mushroom growers house their workers in barracks. His are on Mallard Road, where it meets Ravine.”
“Thanks.” Judy made a mental note, beginning to feel like a GPS map of Chester County.
“Padre Vega?” said the old woman, teary-eyed. She placed a hand on the priest’s arm.
Father Vega turned to her, caught betwixt and between. “Sí, Guadalupe, uno momento, por favor.”
Judy knew it was time to go. “Father, I didn’t mean to monopolize you. Thank you so much.”
“Padre Vega,” the woman said again.
“Good night, Father.” Judy turned away, hurried down the aisle, and out of the church.
Chapter Thirty-one
Judy braked, hesitating before she turned onto the makeshift driveway, two dirt ruts that divided a black tangle of underbrush tall enough to obscure whatever lay on the other side. The only reason she knew it had to be the barracks was that she was at the intersection on Ravine Road, a single-lane backroad with neither houses, stores, nor streetlights, in a rural pocket of East Grove, about six miles from Kennett Square and civilization.
Judy was brave, but not crazy, so she put the car in neutral, reached for her phone, and pressed in the number for Detective Boone. She wanted to see if she could convince him to meet her. The phone rang, but her call went to voicemail and she left a message: “Detective, this is Judy, I’m at the barracks at Mallard and Ravine. I want to find Carlos Ramiro, Daniella’s boyfriend, and ask him a few questions about Iris’s death. Call me when you get this message please. Thanks so much.”
Judy hung up, only temporarily defeated. She listened to the efficient rumble of her VW engine and gazed through her windshield into the blackness and the thorny tangle of bramblebushes under her headlights. She didn’t love the idea of going to the barracks alone, but she didn’t see any option. She couldn’t justify calling 911 and she didn’t want to worry Mary. It struck her that she didn’t even consider calling Frank, but she didn’t have time now to ponder the reason. She couldn’t let it go and come back tomorrow, because she had to work.
She eyed the bramblebushes, which oddly reminded her of The Bramblebush, an old book about the philosophy of law that every law student hears about first year, which Judy had actually loved. The gist was that the law itself was a bramblebush, and that reminded Judy of her purpose at the barracks. Justice for Iris and Father Keegan. She couldn’t turn away, not when she’d come this far. She was here and she wanted to get it done now. She was strong and not completely unprepared, and if she kept her wits about her, she told herself she’d be fine.
She steered the wheel to the right, turned onto the driveway, and flicked on the high beams, traveling slowly. The driveway was unpaved and lined with more bramble and multiflora, and her headlights flashed on the blood-red eyes of something darting across her path. Spooked, she braked the car, her heart hammering until she realized it was just a fox, his bushy tail flying behind him as he disappeared into the underbrush.
She willed herself not to be afraid and cruised forward. Her headlights illuminated the dark outline of a building that lay ahead. There were no light fixtures to delineate its outline from the blackness of the night sky, but as she got closer, she could see that it was about fifty feet long, made of unpainted cinderblock, a flat roof, and a single front door, with only three small windows, each a lighted square, for its entire length. She thought she heard some sort of mechanical noise coming from the barracks, but wasn’t sure, so she lowered her window and confirmed it, hearing a loud thrumming from a machine she couldn’t identify.
Suddenly the engine noise cut out and the lights in the doorway and windows flickered off, plunging them all into darkness except for her headlights. Judy swallowed hard. She put the car in reverse, ready to get the hell out of there. In the stillness, she heard dogs barking and men laughing and shouting to each other in Spanish, with peppy music playing from a radio.
She told herself to stay calm. The stench of compost wafted through her open window. She didn’t know where the mushroom growers were, but they couldn’t be far. In the next moment, the engine noise started up again and the lights went back on abruptly.
She put the car in forward gear and cruised ahead. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and in the headlights she could see that a group of men were hanging out in front of the barracks, their white PVC chairs an unnaturally bright white. The engine noise was coming from a portable generator. The only illumination came from the open doorway, which was wide, like a barn door, and threw a warped square of light onto the hard ground, casting harsh shadows on the men. Their beer bottles glinted brown, and the ends of their cigarettes burned red.
They all stopped laughing and talking, and turned toward her, some getting out of chairs and others walking over. Judy’s mouth went dry. She realized there were probably ten or twelve of them, more than she’d reckoned for. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to reverse, but she was in no hurry to get out of the car. Two little mutts came running toward her, barking and jumping up on her door, their toenails clacking.
“Settle down, guys,” Judy said, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking to the dogs or the men. She told herself to remain calm as the first man approached her car, cocking his head to peer at her. His body made a short and wiry silhouette in the light coming from the doorway, and she could see he was wearing a grimy white tank top and floppy work pants, but she couldn’t tell what he looked like, or even if he was smiling or hostile, because he was backlighted. His odor reached her before he did, a strong mix of cigarettes, aftershave, an
d compost.
“Miss, are you lost?” he asked, with a light Spanish accent, coming over to her car door and shooing the barking dogs away.
“Uh, no.” Judy could see in the reflected light from her dashboard that he couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old, with handsome features and a friendly smile, so she relaxed. “My name is Judy Carrier and I’m looking for Carlos Ramiro. I was told he lives here, by Father Vega.”
The young man frowned. “Are you from the church? Or Mike’s? I never saw you there.”
“No, I’m just a lawyer from the city.”
“You look like you’re from a D.A. or federal, like.”
“No, not at all. I’m in general practice.”
“Is anybody with you? You came alone?”
“Yes, I don’t have anything to do with immigration or anything like that, I promise you. Hold on, I’ll show you.” Judy reached into her purse, grabbed her wallet, and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “This is me. I work at a law firm.”
“This looks nice, very nice.” The young man squinted at the card, though Judy doubted he had enough light to read it properly, and it gave her a moment to look at his face. He had fine features, with a small mouth, narrow nose, and brown eyes, with eyelashes to die for. His hair was a shaved fade that looked oiled, his long neck bore a tattooed crucifix, and his eyebrows were plucked.
“I’m not here in any official way. I just wanted to talk to Carlos about his girlfriend, Daniella. I’m a friend of her best friend, Iris.”
“Okay.” The young man smiled. “Wait here. You can get out if you want. The dogs don’t bite.”
“Sure, thanks.” Judy watched the young man jog back to the group, the dogs running to greet him, yapping at his heels. The men clustered around him, and there was more talking and a new wave of laughter, but Judy was beginning to find her bearings. She cut the engine, told herself not to be a chicken, and got out of the car.