Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7) Page 2

  Nicolas felt a bit of relief pass over him. He was afraid the senior priest would find fault with his fear. Would tell him that he should have faith that all things happened for a reason and not to question the way God worked. Both of which would have been a normal response, and neither of which would have done a thing to help Nicolas with his current mental state.

  “I sent a text to Father Malcolm telling him I had an emergency so that he would come straightaway,” Nicolas said. “The penitent asked for absolution. I didn’t—couldn’t—do it. And before I could find my voice they were gone.”

  “And you didn’t see this person when they exited?” Bernard asked.

  “I tried. But by the time I got to the doorway, the hallway was empty. It took me time to get to my chair and then to the exit. I saw only the landscapers outside and when I opened the door to the cathedral, Father Malcolm was just on the other side, responding to my text.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone other than Father Malcolm and the landscapers?”

  “I didn’t see anyone else in the courtyard, but someone could have slipped behind the hedges. For that matter, they could have been behind a statue in the cathedral or simply sat down and pretended to be praying with the others. There were several people inside.”

  Bernard nodded. “I suppose one of those is the likely answer.”

  “What do I do, Father?”

  “You take the rest of the afternoon off to collect yourself, devoting a significant amount of time to prayer. Next week, I will split your confessional duties between myself and Father Malcolm. After that, we’ll talk about whether or not you’re ready to resume.”

  Nicolas drew in a breath and slowly let it out. “I meant what do I do about the confession. This person did something horrible. I’m as certain of that as I am my own name. I can’t tell you why, but I simply know.”

  “And your instincts may be right, but you know your duties.”

  “But if a crime has been committed—”

  “Your duties are the same.”

  Nicolas knew the senior priest was right. He had known about the sanctity of the confessional since he was a child. But during all of his preparation, he’d never once imagined that he’d be in this position. Even when he’d thought about the possibility of hearing more than he ever wanted to know about one of his congregants, he’d always imagined his faith and prayer would allow him to maintain control of his emotions. Would allow him to separate his base human instinct of revulsion from his duty as a priest.

  He’d been wrong.

  “You understand what I’m telling you?” Bernard said.

  Nicolas nodded, unable to speak lest his voice betray his true feelings.

  Bernard narrowed his gaze. “Consider this, Father Nicolas. Even if you were willing to break your vows and risk excommunication by telling the police what you heard, what could you offer them? You saw no one. You didn’t recognize the voice. You have no information other than someone confessed to a crime they may or may not have performed. If a serious crime has been committed, it is likely the police are already aware. If they are not, then you must have faith that they will become so and investigate.”

  Bernard was right. Nicolas didn’t have anything to offer the police but wild speculation. And without a name for the police to follow up on, they would probably dismiss Nicolas’s report as the act of a crazy person or someone simply looking to rile up the young priest. It wouldn’t be the first or last time that pranksters had targeted the church with their play. All Nicolas had was his belief that the confession was not a joke. That it was truth.

  It wasn’t enough.

  3

  Tuesday, May 17, 2016

  French Quarter, New Orleans

  Shaye Archer poured herself another cup of coffee and headed back to her office to tackle invoices once more. She’d spent the past three days catching up on paperwork, and despite the fact that she was an introvert, she was beginning to get a little stir-crazy. At some point today, she had to venture out of her apartment. Unfortunately, the internet, cell phones, Amazon Prime, and food delivery had made it super easy to stay locked inside one’s home for long periods of time without the necessity of venturing out. And when she was in between jobs, the reasons to leave her apartment all but disappeared.

  Except, apparently, for her sanity.

  But then, the overwhelming need to escape was probably due to the stack of paperwork on her desk and not the burning desire to interact with the public at large. Of course, she could avoid the public entirely by visiting her mother, and if she didn’t show up soon, Corrine would take it as a sign that she needed to drop by Shaye’s apartment and drag her out to a new trendy restaurant, or even worse, a boutique. Despite Shaye’s overwhelming lack of interest in all things fashionable, Corrine still wasn’t ready to entirely give up hope. That tenacity made her who she was, so a couple times a year, Shaye indulged her and actually purchased a dress that would languish in the back of her closet until she was obligated to attend a charity event.

  She picked up the next file in the stack and accessed her accounting software, ready to break out the hours she’d spent on an insurance case into the billable bits that the company wanted to see. It had been almost three months since she’d had a case that wasn’t insurance-based. She had known when she started her agency that it would be a slow build, especially as she had no interest in getting in the middle of divorce proceedings, which is where many private investigators made their living. So she worked for the insurance companies and took the occasional oddball case that fell into her lap, hoping that her reputation would build to the point that the more interesting cases would increase and the insurance work would be shoved completely out.

  She just had to be patient. Which wasn’t really in her wheelhouse.

  As she began to type in a description of the surveillance hours, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “Archer Investigations,” she said when she answered.

  “Is this Shaye Archer?” a man asked.

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “I need your services. I think I do, anyway. I’m not sure. Can we talk?”

  The level of anxiety in the man’s voice was palpable.

  “I’d be happy to talk,” she said. “Would you like to schedule a time to meet at my office?”

  “I was…I hoped that we could meet now. I know it’s sudden, but I can’t get away easily.”

  Shaye’s interest was piqued. Whatever had caused the man’s stress was apparently something he needed immediate attention for.

  “Now is fine,” she said. “Let me give you my address.”

  “I was hoping you could meet me at a café. It’s more accessible for me. I’m in a wheelchair, you see.”

  “Yes, of course. Just tell me where.”

  The man named a café in the French Quarter that Shaye was familiar with and said he’d be there within twenty minutes. Shaye changed from her wrinkled yoga pants and tee into jeans and a non-wrinkled tee, grabbed her laptop, and headed out. The café was only five blocks away, but Shaye didn’t feel like jogging in jeans, so she hopped in her SUV and headed that direction. Given that it was lunchtime, she had to circle the block twice, playing the parking game, but finally managed to nab a spot right across the street from the café.

  She headed inside, figuring her client should be easy enough to spot, but gave a slight pause when she spotted the man in the wheelchair at a table in the back of the café. He hadn’t mentioned he was a priest.

  Her curiosity spiked into overdrive.

  He’d spotted her as soon as she entered and lifted a hand to wave. She made her way through the mostly empty tables and took a seat next to him, then extended her hand. He was young and had a pleasant face, but the dark circles under his eyes and pinched, weary expression let her know that whatever was worrying him had been present for a while.

  “Shaye Archer,” she said.

  “Nicolas Chatry,” he said.
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

  “No problem. Should I call you Father Nicolas?”

  He gave her a small smile and shook his head. “Nicolas is fine. Truthfully, the Father thing still throws me off a bit.”

  “How long ago did you take your vows?”

  “Twelve months.”

  She nodded. He looked awfully young to be wearing a collar. “How can I help you?”

  Before he could answer, an older woman stepped up to the table with a pad. “What can I get you, Father?” she asked.

  “Coffee, please,” he said.

  Shaye ordered the same and the server headed into the kitchen. Nicolas waited until the swinging door had closed behind her before turning his attention back to Shaye.

  “I have a problem, but it’s an extremely delicate matter,” he said. “The truth is, if anyone finds out I talked to you, I could be excommunicated from the church. I need your word that you won’t repeat what I tell you. Ever.”

  Shaye hesitated a couple seconds before answering. On the one hand, if Nicolas wanted to hire her, an investigation would be tough without divulging what she was seeking answers to. On the other hand, she was fairly certain Nicolas would thank her politely and leave if she didn’t agree to keep his secret. Finally, she nodded. If maintaining secrecy would prevent her from doing the job, then she’d simply tell him that. Then the ball would be in his court.

  “My clients have full confidentiality,” she said. “I will never share information that I’ve been asked to withhold. But you need to be aware that not being able to broach certain subjects could make an investigation difficult.”

  “I understand. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I doubt you’ll be able to help me, but I can’t ignore the burden of this knowledge any longer. I haven’t slept more than twenty minutes in one stretch for the past three days. I can’t eat properly. The tension in my back and neck has me reaching for pain medication that I haven’t used in well over a year. In short, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He was so clearly distraught that Shaye immediately felt sorry for him. Whatever was bothering the young priest was clearly a huge burden on his conscience, especially if he was taking action that could force him out of the life he had chosen.

  “I will do whatever I can,” she said. “And if I don’t think I can help you, I’ll let you know that as well.”

  The server returned with the coffee, then hurried off to attend to a table of four up front. Nicolas picked up a packet of sugar and added it to his coffee, his hand shaking as he completed the task. He lifted the cup with one hand, then grasped it on the side with his other hand to steady it before he sloshed the coffee outside the mug.

  He took a sip, then sat the mug back down. “Three days ago, I was assigned to confession.”

  Shaye stiffened a little. She’d thought this might be where the problem stemmed and was anxious to hear what had made him willing to break his vows.

  Nicolas stared at her for several seconds, then told her what had happened, including explaining the extent of his injuries and the limitations they placed on him. Shaye listened intently, horrified at what the priest had endured. The amount of fear he’d experienced was enough to have produced his haggard appearance, but the content of the confession was what had burdened his conscience.

  When he was done, he took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. He reached for the coffee, which was cool by now, and took another drink. When he sat the mug back down, Shaye placed her hand on his.

  “First,” she said, “I want to say that I’m sorry that happened to you. It was both frightening and horrifying, I’m sure.”

  Nicolas nodded. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “I honestly don’t know. You feel certain that the penitent was truthful, but we can’t be 100 percent sure of that. It’s possible that no crime was committed. If we assume that a crime was committed, we have no idea of the identity of the perpetrator, not even the most basic of information to go on, like sex. Therefore, there’s no way to narrow down the suspect list from that angle.”

  She stared across the café for a bit, then continued. “The other side of things, of course, is the victim. If we knew who the victim was, it might be possible to track her killer that way. But I haven’t seen anything on the news about a recent strangulation death. At least, not in the city.”

  “I know,” Nicolas said. “I’ve been haunting the news. Every station. It’s been like an addiction, but there’s nothing. I even tried searching the internet in case the crime wasn’t committed in this area.”

  “It’s possible there is a victim but it hasn’t made the news yet. Or won’t. Not all do. It’s also possible it happened some time ago, which makes things even more difficult.”

  Nicolas stared at Shaye, his expression bleak. “Yes, it does. Do you have any idea how many women are strangled every week in this country? The statistics were overwhelming. I know more than most that evil exists in the hearts of men, but I never thought…”

  He blushed. “I’m so sorry. You know all too well, and I didn’t think—”

  “Don’t worry about it. And yes, I do know all too well, but I’ve had a lot of help in finding ways to keep it in perspective. I doubt you’ll have many instances like this one, and maybe never again one this severe, but you need to find a way to handle exposure to the ugly side of humanity. I’m afraid this isn’t the first or last time you’ll be upset by something someone has said or done.”

  “I am not sure what it would take to top this. Is there nothing you can think of to do about it?”

  “That depends. You said there were people working in the courtyard when you exited. It’s possible they saw this person leaving. Or it’s possible the penitent exited through the cathedral and someone praying inside or entering from the sidewalk or parking area saw them. Did you recognize anyone inside the cathedral?”

  “No. When I opened the door, Father Malcolm was there. When he saw I couldn’t breathe properly, he pushed me outside, so I didn’t get a good look inside although I did see several people in the pews.”

  “What about Father Malcolm? Did he see anything?”

  “I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure how to without having to explain. But I doubt it would have done any good anyway. The electrical room doesn’t have direct access to the cathedral or a view into it, so this person could have already been gone by the time Malcolm got there. And it didn’t occur to me at first, but they could have easily entered the cathedral and simply taken a seat before Father Malcolm arrived and left when we exited. It’s a horrifying thought. That they could have sat pleasantly in God’s house…”

  “Evil is often very clever,” Shaye said quietly. “But it’s also egotistical. That’s usually its downfall.”

  “It’s small comfort, but at this point, I’ll take any that I can get.”

  “You said there were workers in the courtyard, right?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see how you can do anything with that information. You’ll need to provide a reason for questioning people in order to gain their cooperation, and you can’t give them that.” He sighed. “I understand now what you meant about the limitations. Everything circles back to my doing something I am not supposed to do, and in asking you to keep my secret, I’ve tied your hands as effectively as mine are.”

  “There is another way. But it requires me to be less than honest.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I could present myself as working for a congregant who left her purse in the cathedral but didn’t find it when she returned later to retrieve it. If it contained an item of great personal value, then it wouldn’t be unheard of to hire a private investigator to see if it could be recovered. Even if it’s a long shot.”

  “So you would lie to the people you interview about why you’re asking the questions?”

  “It’s the only way I know to get the information I need without divulging the truth.”
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br />   “And you have no problem doing this?”

  “No. The greater good is my concern. Not the white lie that might help catch a murderer. Do you think we’re judged on action or intent?”

  Nicolas smiled. “I think God has a special place reserved for you already. Okay then. Go ahead with your plan. Do I need to sign a contract? I know I need to pay you a retainer.”

  “No contract. I don’t want anything on record between the two of us…for your sake.”

  “I can pay you cash.”

  “That’s not necessary. I know the church doesn’t pay high wages.”

  “It doesn’t,” he agreed. “But I was a millionaire before I took my vow of poverty. Successful parents, you see. My father passed when I was in high school of a heart attack. My mother died of cancer when I was in seminary. She knew I would be compelled to give away my inheritance, so she planned ahead. It’s all in a trust and I am allocated a monthly allowance and allowed to draw more for certain expenses, like my medical care. I am free to donate my allowance, of course, but she didn’t want me to be able to give it all away at one time.”

  “She thought you would change your mind?”

  “Probably. Many do. More importantly, I don’t think she felt the church had the means to take care of me in the way I needed after the car accident that caused my injuries. My therapy has been extensive, and I’ve learned the best of medical care is rarely covered by health insurance. I am thankful that my mother didn’t take my lifelong vows as seriously as I do. Without the ability to cover those costs myself, I would not have progressed as far as I have.”

  “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman and a good mother.”

  He nodded. “You would know about that, wouldn’t you? I’ve met your mother at fund-raisers. She’s a special lady.”

  “She is.”

  “Okay, then. So it’s settled. Will two thousand get you started?”