Read Online The Christmas Night Murder by Lee Harris - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lee Harris
Ads: Link
was Hudson’s car. There was some luggage inside but no blood or signs of a struggle.”
“And no sign of Hudson.”
“None. What was most remarkable, if that’s the word, is where the car was parked. It was right in front of the house the Farraguts lived in when Julia was a novice.”
8
I slept in an empty nun’s room in the Mother House. It was two doors down from the room I had occupied for many of the years I had lived at St. Stephen’s. It was as simple and bare as the others, even barer because it wasn’t permanently occupied. I had brought my own sheets and towels, a bar of soap, and a mug in case I had afternoon or evening coffee with the nuns.
Jack had said not to worry; he had plenty of studying he could do in advance of the coming semester. I hated to leave him. We had planned for so long to have these days together when both of us were free of work and study. Now there was the rest of the winter ahead of us before we could manage a few carefree days together again.
But after hearing Joseph’s tale, I was convinced that someone had to dedicate full time to finding Hudson, and although I hoped and prayed he was being held somewhere, I added “dead or alive” to my thoughts. The significance of the location of the car could not be denied. The same possibilities still existed, that someone who hated Hudson because of his alleged abuse of Julia Farragut had somehow learned he was coming east, followed him or met him by appointment at the rest stop, waylaid him there, and left his car in front of the Farragut house as a symbol, or that he himself, finally coming to terms with a terrible chapter in his life, had left the car there to indicate his remorse. I could not believe the latter. But I had to accept, difficult as it was, the possibility that he was already dead, that he had been dead since Christmas Night, his body buried where it might never be found.
As tired as I was, I lay awake for some time trying to plan a strategy. Jack always says investigations have a flow:known facts, information gathering, analysis, conclusions, and results. I still didn’t have all the facts. Joseph didn’t know whether Julia Farragut’s father was still alive or where he might be living. Someone near the old house might know, or perhaps he had had a lawyer who handled the sale of the house and who would have a forwarding address. If Julia had been eighteen seven years ago, her friends from high school would now be in their mid-twenties. Old friends might be married but still living in the area. After what had happened to Julia, it was unlikely any of them would have forgotten her. But there were possible sources of information much closer to home. Now that Joseph had released the nuns of St. Stephen’s to discuss whatever they knew with me, one of them might remember a conversation with Julia, a rumor, a piece of gossip that she had kept secret. I would get started first thing in the morning with step two, information gathering.
—
I arose at five with the nuns and joined them for morning prayers, mass, and then breakfast. Joseph spoke to them in my presence, instructing them and encouraging them to be open with me. She didn’t have to add the word
honest
; that went without saying.
Angela came over to me as I left breakfast. She and I had been friends—and still are—when I was at the convent. She had come as a novice when she was eighteen, the age at which I would have entered if my family situation had been more normal. We were about the same age—she might have been a year older than I—and we had liked each other from the start. Because convents discourage close friendships—that is, exclusively close friendships, between nuns, we were perhaps on less intimate terms than I was with Melanie Gross, but secular society has fewer fears of close female friendships than a religious one has.
“Talk to me first,” she said as we walked into the large room that held the drawers assigned to each nun.
“And no sign of Hudson.”
“None. What was most remarkable, if that’s the word, is where the car was parked. It was right in front of the house the Farraguts lived in when Julia was a novice.”
8
I slept in an empty nun’s room in the Mother House. It was two doors down from the room I had occupied for many of the years I had lived at St. Stephen’s. It was as simple and bare as the others, even barer because it wasn’t permanently occupied. I had brought my own sheets and towels, a bar of soap, and a mug in case I had afternoon or evening coffee with the nuns.
Jack had said not to worry; he had plenty of studying he could do in advance of the coming semester. I hated to leave him. We had planned for so long to have these days together when both of us were free of work and study. Now there was the rest of the winter ahead of us before we could manage a few carefree days together again.
But after hearing Joseph’s tale, I was convinced that someone had to dedicate full time to finding Hudson, and although I hoped and prayed he was being held somewhere, I added “dead or alive” to my thoughts. The significance of the location of the car could not be denied. The same possibilities still existed, that someone who hated Hudson because of his alleged abuse of Julia Farragut had somehow learned he was coming east, followed him or met him by appointment at the rest stop, waylaid him there, and left his car in front of the Farragut house as a symbol, or that he himself, finally coming to terms with a terrible chapter in his life, had left the car there to indicate his remorse. I could not believe the latter. But I had to accept, difficult as it was, the possibility that he was already dead, that he had been dead since Christmas Night, his body buried where it might never be found.
As tired as I was, I lay awake for some time trying to plan a strategy. Jack always says investigations have a flow:known facts, information gathering, analysis, conclusions, and results. I still didn’t have all the facts. Joseph didn’t know whether Julia Farragut’s father was still alive or where he might be living. Someone near the old house might know, or perhaps he had had a lawyer who handled the sale of the house and who would have a forwarding address. If Julia had been eighteen seven years ago, her friends from high school would now be in their mid-twenties. Old friends might be married but still living in the area. After what had happened to Julia, it was unlikely any of them would have forgotten her. But there were possible sources of information much closer to home. Now that Joseph had released the nuns of St. Stephen’s to discuss whatever they knew with me, one of them might remember a conversation with Julia, a rumor, a piece of gossip that she had kept secret. I would get started first thing in the morning with step two, information gathering.
—
I arose at five with the nuns and joined them for morning prayers, mass, and then breakfast. Joseph spoke to them in my presence, instructing them and encouraging them to be open with me. She didn’t have to add the word
honest
; that went without saying.
Angela came over to me as I left breakfast. She and I had been friends—and still are—when I was at the convent. She had come as a novice when she was eighteen, the age at which I would have entered if my family situation had been more normal. We were about the same age—she might have been a year older than I—and we had liked each other from the start. Because convents discourage close friendships—that is, exclusively close friendships, between nuns, we were perhaps on less intimate terms than I was with Melanie Gross, but secular society has fewer fears of close female friendships than a religious one has.
“Talk to me first,” she said as we walked into the large room that held the drawers assigned to each nun.
Similar Books
