Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(67)

“Can you explain to me how it happened?”

Detective Boone hesitated. “I’ll tell you what’s public record. He was struck from behind, along the curve, walking to his car. It’s very dangerous there, there’s no sidewalk. It happened at about five fifteen, and it was dark. The car was driving north, so it couldn’t have seen him when it turned the corner.”

Judy tried to visualize the scene, though she had never been there, and it tugged at her heart to imagine the priest in the last minutes of his life, not knowing that a deadly car was bearing down on him. Still she reminded herself not to be emotional. If she really wanted to convince the detective of anything, she had to keep her wits about her. She asked, “What was he doing there, by the side of the road?”

“There’s a little restaurant, called Jamie’s. He was walking from the restaurant to his car, which was parked in the side lot.”

“Where’s the restaurant?”

“On Warm Spring Road, number 870, I believe. It’s at the curve.”

Judy made a mental note. “What’s the cross street?”

“Closest one is Buck and Doe.”

“That’s a street name?”

“Yes, city girl.” Detective Boone almost smiled.

“Did anybody see anything, like in any of the surrounding stores or houses?”

“There aren’t any. It’s on the outskirts of town.”

“Another remote stretch? Why am I not surprised?” Judy felt more convinced than ever, now that she was getting the facts. “Was he alone?”

“Yes. He eats there every night, the early-bird special, soup and sandwich.”

Judy thought a minute. “How do you know that? From asking around?”

“Of course, yes.”

“So it was generally known?”

“Everybody knew about it, in the parish. He even used to meet with parishioners there. They would seek him out. I heard that from more than one person.”

“It was that well-established a routine?”

“Most of us are creatures of habit. That doesn’t mean anything.” Detective Boone cocked his head. “We figure it was a drunk driver. We get a lot of that out here. Country life can be boring, for kids and the like. And if they’re undocumented, they’re going to keep driving. Either way, they won’t get away with it. We’re all over it.” He gestured toward the waiting room. “But let’s go back a moment. When was Iris’s apartment burglarized?”

“Last night at about six o’clock, right before I was attacked at my aunt’s house. I think the bad guys, whoever they are, are looking for the money. They went to her apartment, then they went to my aunt’s.”

“The address we have? On Point Breeze?”

“Yes.”

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Not that I know of, but you have to follow up with that.”

“We will, but it’s going through the motions. They’re not going to tell us anything, just like they didn’t report it.”

“But you will try anyway, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“What about Iris’s phone? Did you follow up with that, about that call she got?”

“Yes, but we can’t find a phone. The police at the scene didn’t bag one, neither did the coroner.”

Judy blinked. “She had one, I saw it.”

“Do you know for a fact that she had it on her?”

“No, but why wouldn’t she?” Judy thought about it. “Whoever killed her took it.”

“I’ll keep investigating.” Detective Boone returned to his note-taking. “What about the money? What did you decide to do with it?”

“It’s safely in a bank right now.” Judy had to get back on track. “I called the coroner to find out the autopsy results on Iris, but I couldn’t because they were all working on the Father Keegan case. But if it turns out that she died of unnatural causes—”

“Excuse me, I’m not following.” Detective Boone held up a hammy hand, with the pen. “What does Father Keegan have to do with Iris? I’m assuming she was a parishioner, but what of it? Most of the Mexicans in the county belong to that church, or St. Agnes.”

“When I spoke to him this morning, I told him about the cash in my aunt’s house and that I thought that Iris was in a drug ring. He knew her very well, and he refused to believe that she would be involved with anything illegal.” Judy felt her chest tighten, and another wave of guilt washed over her, but she tried to stay on point. “I’m betting that after he hung up, he tried to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he started asking questions about her death, or about drug dealing in the community, and whoever is selling the drugs, or whatever, got wind of it and killed him to silence him.”

“This is speculation,” Detective Boone said, but his wrinkled forehead showed that he was mulling it over.

“It’s not speculation, it’s circumstantial, and there’s a difference.” Judy found her bearings, now that she’d learned the facts about how the priest had died. “If Father Keegan had a routine of going to this restaurant and the bad guys heard that he was digging around, then they could very easily predict where he’d be, right?”