He pulled off the road and turned to her. “You know about the flight, that he didn’t meet with anyone official? And you’re not satisfied by what you’ve seen so far? How long have you been investigating this case?”
“Not that long. But I’m nothing if not efficient,” she added coolly. “And I have the credentials to get answers from people who are not used to giving them so freely.”
“I guess so,” said Puller a bit enviously.
“So why did he come back early?” she asked.
Puller took the envelope from his pocket and handed it across to her. Then he pulled back onto the road.
She unfolded the letter inside and read it twice over.
“Did your father read this?”
“I don’t know for certain. I know he had it.”
“She wanted to work things out.”
“Which means he had no motive to kill her.”
“Well, we don’t know that for sure,” replied Knox. “And she says she wanted to go away for a bit with you and your brother. I bet your father was not happy about that.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t.”
“And there could have been another reason.”
“Like what?”
“The old story. Another woman?”
“My father did have a mistress.”
She jerked and shot him a look. “What!”
“It was called the United States Army. He barely had time for his family, much less another woman in his life. But it would be nice to know why he came back early and didn’t tell anyone.”
“We’ll have to dig into that. By the way, where are we going?”
“To see a priest.”
She looked startled. “For what?”
“I’m going to confess my sins.”
“Seriously, Puller.”
“He’s the something that might lead to something else.”
She settled back in her seat. “Okay.” She paused and then added, “I’m long overdue for a confession, actually.”
“You’re Catholic?”
She nodded. “But I won’t do it today.”
“Why not?”
“I doubt we have the time. It might take a few hours.”
He gave her a look and she added, “I never said I was an angel, Puller.”
20
FATHER O’NEIL WAS putting hymnals in the backs of the pews when Puller and Knox walked in. Knox crossed herself as they walked up the aisle.
O’Neil walked over to them still carrying a stack of the songbooks. Puller introduced Knox to the priest.
“Very nice to meet you,” said O’Neil.
He turned to Puller. “I made inquiries, and you’re in luck. Father Rooney is still alive and he’s in the area. He’s retired now and lives with relatives in Williamsburg.” He handed Puller a piece of paper. “Here’s the address and phone number. I didn’t call. I thought it better if you did so.”
Puller said, “I really appreciate this, Father. You’ve been a big help.”
“Well, one job of a priest is to help others.” He looked around the interior of the church. “A beautiful sanctuary. I truly love being here.” He glanced at Knox. “I saw you make the sign of the cross when you came in.”
“Born and raised Catholic,” said Knox.
“Where do you attend church?”
Knox hesitated. “Mostly in my head. I’m on the road a lot.”
“There are many Catholic churches in this country.”
“But not that many in the Middle East.”
O’Neil smiled. “To which I think ‘touché’ would be the appropriate response.”
Puller said, “On the drive over, Knox was talking about taking confession. Sounded like she had saved up a lot.”
O’Neil brightened and said, “Would you like to take confession, Ms. Knox? We don’t ordinarily do it at this time of day, but I’m always glad to make an exception for a world traveler in need of a sound Catholic ritual. We don’t have formal confessionals, but we do have a private space that we can use.”
Knox gave Puller a dark look and said, “I’ll take a rain check on that, Father. But thank you.”
O’Neil shook hands with them again and said to Puller, “I wish you luck in your search.”
Outside, Knox said, “Okay, why do I feel like I need to say a hundred Hail Marys?”
“Confession might’ve cleared your soul.”
She lightly punched him in the arm. “So, on to Williamsburg?”
“On to Williamsburg. But I need to call them first.”
Puller made the call as they sat in the front seat of the Malibu. “The Clarks know we’re coming, and Father Rooney will be ready to talk to us,” he said once he was finished.
“How old is he now?”
“They said eighty,” replied Puller.
“Is he in full possession of his faculties?”
“Apparently enough to talk to us.”
“Have you seen your dad lately?”
“I was seeing my dad when Hull and a colonel showed up with the letter from my father’s accuser.”
“That must have been tough,” she said.
“Not something I’d want to go through every day.”
“Does your dad-?”
“Thankfully, he doesn’t know anything. And for the first time I’m thinking that’s a good thing.”
“Did you speak to Lynda Demirjian?”
“First on my list. I spoke to her husband, Stan, too. He doesn’t agree with her.”
“But he served under your father.”
“I know. He’s not totally unbiased.”
“What are you hoping to get from Rooney?” Knox asked
“Whether my mother was going to see him that night. She was dressed like she would for Mass.”
“She might have been going out.”
“She might have been. But if so, she probably would have mentioned it to the babysitter, and she didn’t. I talked to her too.”
“You really haven’t been letting the grass grow under your feet.”
“Not the Army way.”
“Your mother might not have mentioned it if she was going somewhere she didn’t want anyone to know about.”
“Well, she walked wherever she was going all dressed up for everyone to see. How clandestine could it be?”
“I wasn’t necessarily implying that she was having an affair.”
“Sure you were. And trust me, I thought about that scenario, as much as I didn’t want to. But in the end, I don’t believe she would do that. A girlfriend would have known. It would have come out. None of the people I talked to mentioned anything like that. There would have been signs. And my mother was devoutly religious. Adultery is a mortal sin. I just don’t see it.”
“The way you state the case I think you’re right.”
They drove the rest of the way to Williamsburg in silence.
Kelly Adams was Father Rooney’s niece. She had taken him in two years ago. His sister-Adams’s mother-had lived with her daughter until she had died a few years back.
All of this Adams explained as she was leading Puller and Knox through the substantial footprint of her home not far from the historic area of Williamsburg.
“Very nice place,” noted Knox. “Your yard is beautiful, everything in bloom.”
“I love it here,” said Adams, a petite woman in her late forties with short dark hair. “I went to William and Mary, right down the street. And my daughter goes there now.”
“Great school,” said Puller.
“One of the best,” agreed Adams. “George is on the rear patio waiting for you.”
“George?” said Puller.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You probably just knew him as Father Rooney. His first name is George.”
She opened a French door and led them onto a rear deck made of stone pavers. There was a large wooden trellis overgrown with ivy that would give shade from the sun. Several comfortable seating areas were set up here. In the center of the space perched in a chair around a teak table was the retired priest. Adams led them over and made introductions.
Father Rooney’s hair was snowy white and carefully combed. He was smaller than Puller remembered, but then Puller was a lot bigger now than he had been then. The old priest was dressed in slacks, rubber-soled shoes, and a white polo shirt showing off a bit of paunch. His skin was pale and his eyebrows were bushy. He had on tinted glasses though the sun was setting.