The Good Father

By N.J. Matthews

The “Good Father” is the fifth and latest in the “Dave Harris” Murder Mystery Series. A young girl is brutally murdered and her body mutilated. A fifteen year old boy is arrested and charged with the murder. Harris's old friend, Father Alfonso becomes involved in the case and is soon convinced of the boy’s innocence. Chief of Detectives, Dave Harris discovers important documents are missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.J. Matthews
• Release date: Sep 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9780986802256

N.J. Matthews

Having always being an avid reader, particularly of murder mysteries, I decided that I would try my hand at writing one. The first one, Singularity, turned into a series of three others, The Sophia, The Sign of Nun and Wee Johnnie Norrie. All feature Dave Harris, who rises to Chief of Detectives through the course of the series. After I had written the four crime novels, my youngest grandson asked me why I didn't write anything suitable for his age group. This was a challenge I couldn't resist, Perusia followed along with the sequel Kush. Both are aimed at young adults and are historical fiction set in a time just after Julius Caesar is assasinated. I must admit to being somewhat eclectic. What's next? Who knows.

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The Good Father

By

N.J. Matthews

Published by N.J. Matthews at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 N.J. Matthews

ISBN 978-0978-9868022-5-6

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my good friend Reg

In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge. The young they keep out of mischief; to the old they are a comfort and aid in their weakness, and those in the prime of life they incite to noble deeds.

Aristotle

Other Books by NJ Matthews

Dave Harris Murder Mysteries

Singularity

The Sophia

The Sign of Nun

Wee Johnnie Norrie

Young Adult Series

Perusia

Kush

Speculative Fiction

The Helios

CHAPTER 1

The old man awoke with a start. The book he was reading had slipped to the floor. He looked at the clock on the mantel. It was 11:45. As he leaned forward to get up from his easy chair, he noticed the dried egg on his sweater. He scraped at it with his thumb nail and without thinking, sucked it into his mouth.

He sighed as he struggled to his feet. He reckoned that he had slept for almost two hours. A blessing he thought. At least it was two hours without the oppressive boredom that seemed ever present in his old age. He stood, trying to regain the circulation in his legs, before attempting to head for his bedroom. He reached behind his neck to unfasten the Roman Collar. It irritated him more than ever, yet he couldn't bring himself to dispense with it. More than fifty years as a priest meant that old habits die hard.

Not much of a priest he thought, they didn't even consider him a spare man anymore to fill in for someone on short notice. No doubt, the conditions of his retirement placed upon him played a part in that. Not allowed to preach a sermon or to say Mass; the only sacraments permitted now were Confessions, Absolutions and Extreme Unction, how depressing he thought.

He looked up at the clock again. Almost midnight, I must say my Offices before the new day arrives. But what have I done with my breviary? There was a time when I could recite the prayers from memory without ever referring to the text but now my mind is a blank.

Where is it?

He lifted the cushion in his chair and felt down the side of both arms. Then he checked in his kitchen and found nothing there. It has to be here, I never take it out of the apartment. My brain is turning to mush. I don't seem able to remember anything anymore.

He went into his bedroom and pulled the covers back on his bed and found nothing there. Nothing on his nightstand, nothing on his dresser; an unreasoned panic rose within him. What is it I'm looking for?

It was then he heard it. Or at least he thought he did.

Wait, yes, someone's knocking at my door. Who can it be at this time of night?

He made his way to the front-door and nervously peered through the peep hole. He couldn't see anyone. Is someone trying to play a game with me? The neighbourhood was a different place at night. He knew it was unsafe he never ventured out alone. He wasn't about to open the door without identifying who was on the other side.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Who is there? What do you want? There was no response.

He looked through the peep hole but he still saw no one.

Now instead of a knock, whoever was on the other side, kicked at his door.

Stop that! Who are you? What do you want?

There was still no answer. The old man made sure that the security chain was in place, then he cracked open the door slightly. As he peered out, he heard a voice.

I know'd you was in there.

The priest looked down into the face of a small black boy. He couldn't have been four feet tall, which was why he couldn't see him through the peep hole.

What is it you want? And why are you out so late? He asked.

If you let me in I can tell you.

I don't want you in here. Go away.

Are you a Christian? Cuz that don't sound very Christian to me.

The old priest had no response. Instead, he asked, Why aren't you home with your mother?

Ain't got no momma. All I got is a heap of trouble. Ain't you Church folks supposed to help people with a heap of trouble?

What kind of trouble?

I can't tell ya standin' out here. Let me in and I'll tell ya.

The priest slipped the security chain and opened the door slightly, so he could see more clearly into the hallway. The boy was alone. He motioned him in and quickly locked the door again. He looked down at the small thin boy. He guessed that he would be no more than eight years old, perhaps even less.

The child moved with an easy confidence past the priest and into the living room. He sat on the sofa across from the easy chair and waited for the old man.

Before he could sit down the boy said, My name is Jamal, what's yours?

You can call me Father Alfonso.

Why would I do that, you ain't my father?

You aren't a Catholic are you?

What, you only let Catholics in here?

Despite the way the boy's eyes darted nervously around the apartment, the hard edge of arrogance was evident. Alfonso ignored it.

I only meant that if you were a Catholic you might understand why people refer to me as 'Father'.

Jamal seemed disinterested in any explanation as he said, Whatever. Are you going to help me? People I know say you're a good man.

What people?

Does it matter?

No.

Then you'll help me?

How can I answer that, when I have no idea of your problem? I need to know something of you as well before I can answer that.

Alfonso was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the boy's presence. An underage child alone in his apartment late at night could be a dangerous situation. Perhaps even a set up.

What do you want to know about me?

Where do you live? Where are your parents? Can't they help you?

Jamal seemed to be considering just how much tell the old man, then he spoke.

I don't know who my father is. I haven't seen my mamma since I was five. People say she's a crack-head anyway. What else do you want from me?

Where do you live? Why aren't you in 'care'?

The boy snorted. Oh we been in 'care' all right, and we escaped from it as quick as we could. They were evil people, bad people.

Alfonso could feel his compassion overtaking his caution as he said, Tell me what this 'trouble' is you spoke of.

The boy’s eyes widened and Alfonso thought he saw tears forming but they never materialized.

It's about my brother, his name is Arthur, he's fifteen and much bigger'n me. He's not just my brother, he's my best friend too, and we look out for each other.

Where is Arthur now?

That's the 'heap of trouble' I told you about. Arthur's in jail and I gotta get him out.

Why is he in jail Jamal?

They say he killed a girl.

What!

It ain't true. He wouldn't hurt a fly, he ain't like that.

When was he arrested?

Yesterday, I was away trying to get us some food and when I came back they said the cops took him.

Who are 'they'?

Other street kids, we hang together, we're friends.

Are you talking about a 'street gang'?

No. I said we are friends.

When did this murder occur, Jamal?

She went missing a month ago but they didn't find her body until about two weeks later, the boy sighed and then said, Poor Lila.

Wait, Jamal, are you saying that you knew the victim?

Yeah, she was in our group. She was nice, kinda pretty too. But she was a 'sniffer', when she did that, she got kinda spacey.

How many of you are there? In this group I mean? asked Alfonso.

There's ten now since Arthur got picked up.

And where do you all live? Who looks after you?

With some impatience, the boy answered. I told you we look after each other. We sleep where we can; under a bridge; in empty houses; whatever.

Jamal's stomach growled. Alfonso asked, When did you last eat?

Yesterday.

I don't have much here Jamal but I could make you a cheese sandwich. Would you like that?

Yeah; that’d be nice.

Alfonso moved into his small kitchen to prepare the sandwich. He opened the fridge door and as he reached inside for the cheese slices, he saw his small leather covered breviary on a shelf.

He had no memory of putting it there. He slipped it into his pocket and went about preparing the food. The event unnerved him but he took a deep breath and returned to the living room handing the sandwich and a glass of milk to the boy.

You OK? asked Jamal.

I'm fine, just a little out of breath. But Jamal, as bad as all of this is. I'm not sure of what it is you think I can do to help. Your brother needs a lawyer more than he needs me.

Look, Father, he's got nobody on his side. He needs someone to help him. I can't do it because if I try to see him I'll end up at Children’s Aid and I'll never see him again. I know he didn't do this and I can help you prove it.

What is it you know?

I can't tell you. I swore to Arthur that I wouldn't tell anyone.

You present me with an impossible task. I can't help your brother if you keep secrets from me.

So you'll help me then?

Alfonso rubbed his head. What is it you think I can do?

Go see him. Go see Arthur, find out what he has to say. If he agrees to let you help him, ask him if I can tell you what I know.

I don't know Jamal. I don't even know if the authorities will let me see him.

They have to; you're a righteous man, right?

Alfonso could see the desperation in the boy's face. He smiled and said, I'll see what I can do in the morning but I can promise nothing.

Jamal jumped up, grasped Alfonso’s hand, and shook it.

Oh thank you Father. he turned and headed for the door.

Where are you going Jamal? It's late; you can stay here tonight if you like.

No, thank you, I'm going back to my friends. Don't worry about me.

But how will I find you?

Father, I know where you are, I'll find you. And with that, he closed the door behind him.

Alfonso sank back in his chair he put his hand in his pocket and touched the breviary. As he did so, the words of the prayers flooded into his mind, unbidden. Weary, but unable to sleep, Alfonso pondered why it was that he had been singled out by Jamal. He thought, perhaps nothing will come of all this. However, in his heart he hoped that would not prove to be true.

Alfonso retired to his bed after saying the prayers. It was just as he pulled the blankets up that the thought struck him .I don't even know the boy's last name. What's the matter with me? I forgot to ask him, how stupid.

He tossed and turned unable to sleep. Finally, he arose and went back into his living room.

I must get to see Dave Harris; he'll know what suspects are charged. From what Jamal said, it will be a high profile case. Yes, he'll know.

The old man paced the floor. Why did Jamal come to me? What made him think that I could do anything to help his brother? For that matter, what makes me think that I can, I'm just an old fool.

As he walked, he thought. Perhaps I'm being tested; maybe I deserve to be tested. After all, what have I achieved with my life? Seventy-five years old and I've accomplished nothing. Perhaps this occurrence is an opportunity, an opportunity to save a human life.

But, how will I do this thing? Am I a liability with what's going on with my memory?

He sat in his chair and picked up his breviary, and thought back to the moment in time when he had received it. His mother had given it to him on the day of his ordination. She was so proud of him. He wondered if she were still alive, would she feel the same way today.

He touched the worn cover and the thoughts of that day flooded back. He remembered the elation he felt. He knew, unequivocally, that he would go forth into the world to do God's great work. That work would be its own reward. He knew he could face any challenge, for he was girded in the armour of the Lord.

However, he wasn't destined for parish life. Instead, he was called to academia where he taught comparative religion. He protested his appointment to the Bishop, albeit mildly. But the die was cast; this was to become his life's work.

Then two things happened to change his life course. The first one involved a woman, an actress. She was beautiful, talented and somewhat famous. He was love struck, he left his church to pursue her and a tumultuous four month affair followed.

It ended badly and only the intervention of a benevolent Bishop returned him to his university position. The second event flowed directly from that act.

In his preparation for his lectures and as he researched a scholarly book he intended to write. He was appalled by the actions of his Church in the persecution of heretics during the thirteenth century.

In his lectures, he took issue with the official position of the Vatican regarding the murder of so many, ostensibly under the direction of the clergy. Needless to say, his position disturbed the hierarchy, and since he was fast approaching the age of retirement, they made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Take early retirement, maintain his religious designation, receive a modest pension and best of all; they made him a gift of his library.

He had lovingly assembled the library over the more than the forty years he had taught at the University. He relished the thought of freedom, freedom to pursue his book, freedom to express his opinions and best of all, to be free of both University and Theological politics. Of course, his euphoria didn't last, no one showed interest in his book, he had no intercourse with students, and he was alone and seemed friendless. But then he met Dave Harris.

* * *

The old man laboured on the stairs of the Metro Police Headquarters. He regretted his decision not to wait for the next elevator. It was only on the second floor after all. He came to a landing and had to rest to catch his breath. What was it that Bette Davis used to say? Oh yes, 'Getting old ain't for sissies', he thought.

He gripped the handrail and continued his upward journey. When he reached the second floor, nothing was as he remembered it. They've completely remodelled the place but thank goodness, they haven't done away with a human presence at the reception desk. And quite an attractive one I might say.

May I help you sir? she said, smiling brightly.

Yes, you may. I have an appointment with Chief Harris.

May I give him your name?

Father Alfonso.

He turned as he waited for Harris and surveyed the floor of desks and cubicles. No one seemed idle. Crime seems to be a growing activity. Somehow, I don't remember anything of this scope. Then he heard a voice behind him.

Hello Father.

He swung around and faced his old friend. He couldn't remember when they had last met. Harris looked older somehow. But surely, it hasn't been all that long.

David, it's good to see you again. How long has it been?

Not all that long Father, maybe six, eight months.

Alfonso couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the day or time or the why of the last meeting. Alfonso shrugged and followed Harris to his office. Once inside, Harris closed the door and asked.

Can I get you something, coffee, tea?

No thank you David, I do appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.

You did say it was important.

Yes, I believe it is, extremely important.

Alfonso sat back as though trying to decide just how to begin the discussion. Finally, Harris asked.

What's the problem Father, you look distressed.

Yes, I am, and embarrassed to boot.

We're friends Father, just spit it out.

Alfonso began, hesitantly at first, then it was like a dam broke and he reiterated everything he had experienced the night before. Harris listened quietly and said nothing until Alfonso said, My embarrassment comes from the fact that I completely forgot to ask his last name.

Harris rubbed his chin and said, His last name is Taylor.

Then you know the case?

I take it Alfonso that you still don't subscribe to a newspaper. If you did, you wouldn't have had to come to me to find out the young man's name. What I don't understand is why you want get involved in this case. I must tell you that there is virtually no doubt that Arthur Taylor is guilty of murder.

I can't explain it but I feel that I must. If you could have seen his brother Jamal, when he said that he knows his brother couldn't have done it, I believed him.

Father, you need to understand that these street kids are expert cons, they can make the unsuspecting believe almost anything.

I believe that Jamal may be the exception.

Then perhaps I should give you some insight regarding the evidence against Arthur.

He picked up his phone and said, Bring me the Arthur Taylor file please.

As they waited Harris said, You're a good friend Alfonso and I don't want to see get involved in this. Go back to your library and finish your book.

No one is interested in my book, it can wait. Arthur Taylor can't.

A clerk dropped the file on Harris's desk. He hesitated before opening the file. Then he asked, Are you sure about this Alfonso? This is grisly stuff.

Please go ahead.

OK, let's begin by talking about the victim. Her name was Lila; people we interviewed who claimed to know her said her last name was 'Otterclaw'.

Otterclaw? What kind of name is that?

Harris looked and said, She could have been aboriginal.

But you don't sound sure of her name. Didn't someone in her family come forward? Surely they would know her name.

In spite of the fact we published her picture in virtually every newspaper and on every TV channel, no one ever came forward. It's like she never existed.

How sad, said Alfonso.

Yes, are you sure you want me to go on? It only gets worse from here.

Yes, you must.

As near as the coroner could determine she was about fifteen years of age. There were no drugs in her system but the lungs showed evidence of her having inhaled toxic substances on a regular basis. Her general nutrition seemed marginal indicating she had often gone hungry.

Harris turned the page exposing some crime scene photographs which he quickly flipped over. He was about to continue when Alfonso interrupted.

I must see those David.

Father, there's nothing in those photos that will be of any help to you. They are shocking for even experienced police to look at.

Nevertheless, I must see them. I want a complete overview.

Harris shrugged and pushed the first one towards Alfonso. What the old man saw made him nauseous, he gasped for breath.

The body lay in a ravine. It was naked. But the greatest shock was when Alfonso realized the victim's head was severed from the torso. Alfonso felt his stomach heave. Harris placed a hand on the old man's shoulder, afraid that he might collapse.

Alfonso took a deep breath, steadied himself to look at the picture again, and asked Harris, The body is lying stomach down but the head is facing backwards. It looks ritualistic.

That was my thought when I first saw the crime scene and this didn't help, Harris said as he flipped another photograph.

You can see that the right hand has been cut off at the wrist and is positioned in the same relative position as the head.

David, do you truly believe that a fifteen year old boy would be capable of such violence?

"In this job you expect the unexpected. However, we should discuss just what we know about Arthur Taylor. He too is fifteen years old and is part of a group of street kids that has been in trouble with the police over the last two years. In fact, Arthur has a record but the facts of previous convictions are sealed because of his age.

As a minor he was committed to a juvenile facility, his record was not one that would fill you with hope for anything resembling a normal future life."

What forensic evidence do you have that would lead you to believe that he committed this atrocity? asked Alfonso.

Harris turned another page.

Here it is. A DNA test conducted on tissue samples taken from under the victim's nails is an exact match to Arthur Taylor. We believe that the tissue was under the nails of the victim as she tried to defend herself from the attack.

Alfonso pushed back in his chair. Harris asked, Is that enough Father?

You have not told me of the motive.

Not always is there a clear cut reason for acts like this to occur. The irrationality of the act makes trying to find a motive pointless. We have interviewed witnesses that have stated that the victim and the accused were both members of a loose knit street group of underage kids that might be considered a gang. It is also known that there was animosity of some sort between the two.

But all of what you say is circumstantial.

"Not the DNA.

But might there not be other explanations?

I can't speculate. I can only deal with facts.

David, is it possible that I might meet with Arthur Taylor?

I don't see how Father, you have no standing in this case. You're not a relative, you're not his lawyer.

"What if I were his priest?

But you aren't are you?

Not yet, but if we could meet, I might be.

Harris thought for a moment before saying, I'll tell you what I will do. I will talk to him and see if he wants a priest. If he does, I will make the necessary arrangements. However, if he refuses, you drop this and get on with the rest of your life.

"If that's the best you can do I'll live with it. Just one thing, when you talk to him, tell him Jamal has asked me to help.

CHAPTER 2

Alfonso responded to a knock at his door by peering through the peep hole. Perhaps Jamal has returned, he thought. But to his surprise, it was Dave Harris. He quickly opened the door and said, David this is wonderful, unexpected, but wonderful. Please come in.

Harris handed a brown paper bag to the old man and asked, What are you cooking up Alfonso? It smells incredible.

Just leftovers I'm afraid. Some lasagna I made yesterday. He looked in the bag and exclaimed, Courvoisier! You remembered. Come let us sample it.

He grabbed two snifters from the sideboard and made his way into the living room. He poured two generous portions and returned, handing one to Harris.

Alfonso rolled his eyes as he took a generous swallow of the cognac and then said, Marvellous, simply marvellous, but not affordable to me now on my miserable stipend.

On mine too Alfonso, however, I thought it might buy me a little forgiveness for not being in touch sooner.

Nonsense David, I know you're a busy man. Let me go and turn off the lasagna before it burns. We must talk, we can eat later.

When Alfonso returned he sat down and leaned forward expectantly. You have news for me I hope, he said.

Before we get to that there are a few things that I need to say concerning our meeting yesterday. First, I need to impress upon you, that the discussion that we had and the information I shared with you must be held in absolute confidence.

Of course David, I understand completely.

I had no right to let you see that file. Nor did I have any right to act on your request that you see the accused.

I know that, and I truly appreciate your actions.

"Frankly Alfonso, if I could dissuade you from getting involved,