The Alto Wore Tweed (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer

Author:Mark Schweizer [Schweizer, Mark]
Format: mobi
Publisher: St. James Music Press
Published: 2010-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

• • •

After I got back to the office, I phoned Kent Murphee at the coroner’s office.

“Hi, Kent, this is Hayden Konig.”

“Hayden! How’re you doing?”

“I’m just fine. Listen, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“You remember Willie Boyd?”

“The oleander poisoning? Sure, I remember.”

“Did he have anything in his pockets when he was brought in?”

“I don’t remember. Hang on a sec.”

I heard the rustling of papers and hoped that Dr. Murphee was a little more organized in his professional life than I was.

“Got it,” he said, coming back on the phone. “Let’s see...here it is. A bottle cap from a Red Dog beer, a ring of keys, a wallet with various business cards, three dollars, a library card and his driver’s license, forty-three cents in change and a wooden cross on a chain.”

“No kidding? A library card?” I was surprised. “What happened to all that stuff?”

“We sent it back with Mr. Boyd.”

“To the funeral home?”

“Yeah. No one claimed it.”

“Thanks, Kent. You have a fine day. Oh, and if I don’t see you again before the Yuletide season begins, have a Merry Christmas.”

“You do the same. Bye.”

My next call was to Swallow’s Mortuary in Boone, the outfit that had seen to Willie’s burial.

“Mr. Swallow, please.”

“Speaking,” came back a low, gravelly bass voice straight out of a Dickens novel.

“Mr. Swallow, this is Detective Konig from St. Germaine.”

“Yes sir, how may I help you?”

“You made the arrangements to have a Willie Boyd interred here in St. Germaine about six weeks ago.”

“I remember.”

“When he was sent over to the mortuary from the coroner’s office, were his effects sent with him?” I asked.

“That is usually the case.”

“I need to look at those personal effects.”

“Well,” said Mr. Swallow. “Let me check my records.” He must have had them close at hand because it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he was back on the phone.

“We sent Mr. Boyd’s effects to St. Barnabas Church in St. Germaine.”

“St. Barnabas?” I asked.

“The church was paying for the funeral and there was no next-of-kin. It seemed the prudent thing to do.”

“Thanks for your help, That should take care of it.”

“One more thing,” Mr. Swallow added before he hung up the phone. “He had a wooden cross.”

“Yes?”

“I placed it in his hands myself before we sealed the coffin. I thought it would be a comfort to him.”

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