The Framed Father by J. R. Mathis

Author:J. R. Mathis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mercy and Justice Mysteries
Published: 2020-09-01T00:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

“OKAY,” HELEN SAYS, “let’s go over this again, Father McCoy.”

We’re sitting in the interrogation room at the Myerton Police station. Helen is across the table from Father McCoy and Angela Jenkins. I’m in a chair off to the side. She let me sit in as long as I was quiet. We have been here for about an hour, Helen asking questions, Father McCoy giving brief answers when he answered at all, his lawyer making notes on her legal pad and occasionally interjecting.

“My client,” Jenkins is saying, “has already answered your questions, Detective. I don’t see why you keep going over the same ground.”

“Because, Ms. Jenkins, your client isn’t telling the truth,” Helen says.

“And you know that how?”

Helen hadn’t mentioned the text messages up to this point. I notice her take a file folder from the bottom of the stack in front of her. She opens it and takes out a small stack of stapled pages.

“Because of these,” she says, handing the papers to Father Leonard. He doesn’t take them, but stares at a point behind Helen, staring at his reflection in the mirror. From where I’m sitting, I see his face. Anguish, pain, guilt—all etched in his expression.

“What’s this?” Jenkins says, taking the papers and flipping through them.

“These are text messages your client sent the victim the afternoon before her murder,” Helen says. “He sent dozens of messages and talked to her on the phone for about twenty minutes.”

“He’s already told you he talked to her,” she said, tossing the papers on the table. “He told you he went to the apartment where he was attacked, was rendered unconscious, and woke up next to the body of the victim. He doesn’t deny that. I’m wondering why you’re still questioning my client when you should look for the person who was there before he was.”

“We’re looking into it, I assure you,” Helen says, “but I want to know why he sent these messages.”

“She was leaving,” Father Leonard blurts, almost a whisper, his eyes still fixed on the mirror. “She told me she was leaving. I got an email saying she was leaving, I didn’t get it right away, I didn’t get access to my email until that afternoon.”

“Father McCoy, don’t—” Jenkins says, touching his arm.

“I tried to call,” Leonard continues, ignoring her counsel. “She wouldn’t answer. So I texted, and I said . . . well, you see what I said.”

“What did you say to her on the phone?”

“I just wanted to see her, to talk to her, to have a chance to . . .” Father Leonard trails off.

“To have a chance to what?” Helen presses.

“To persuade her to, to ask her to . . .” Father Leonard slumps in his chair, staring at his folded hands, but says nothing else.

“If you have nothing else, Detective,” Jenkins says, gathering her papers, “unless you will charge my client, then I think we’re done here.”

“Not quite, Ms. Jenkins, there is just one more thing,” Helen says. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye.

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