Read Online Under the Color of Law by Michael McGarrity - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael McGarrity
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furniture consisted of a twin bed, a bedside table, a student-size writing desk, and an almost empty bookcase-all obviously postwar items bought at surplus. In one corner a built-in shelf and rod served as a clothes closet.
"We've searched the room, photographed, and vacuumed," Sloan said.
"The techs are dusting every door to the building for prints," Sloan said.
"There are no tool marks on the doors or windows suggesting forced entry. The ground froze last night, but we've found no footprints outside the window."
"What was on the bookcase?" Kerney asked.
"Before he left for his office, Brother Jerome said it was mostly empty.
But you know, Chief, with two computers you'd think there would be a box or two of floppy disks around. There weren't any in the room."
"Any personal items?" Kerney asked.
"Nothing in his clothes. But we did find some letters from his mother in Houston. He had a Louisiana driver's license with a New Orleans address that checked out to be a Catholic seminary. New Orleans PD is making contact."
Only a few investigators from Kerney's earlier tenure as chief of detectives still remained with the department, and Sloan was one of them. From past experience Kerney knew him to be reliable, hardworking, and a straight talker.
Somewhat older than Kerney, Sloan had a missing tooth near the front of his mouth and an unconscious habit of probing it with his tongue.
Through the window Kerney saw Officer Herrera lounging against the fender of his squad car, smoking a cigarette, watching the ambulance drive away.
"Tell me about Herrera, Bobby," Kerney said.
Sloan snorted.
"As a cop he's worthless, Chief, and as a person he's piss-poor company.
The last chief didn't have the balls to can him. His uncle is on the city council. Serves on the finance committee."
"I see."
"You need anything else from me?" Sloan asked.
"Continue with the crime-scene work-up," Kerney replied.
"I'll help Catanach take the witness statements."
"That's a big help," Sloan said.
"How do you like being back with the department, Chief?"
"I'm glad to be back, Bobby."
Sloan grinned.
"Just don't sweat the small stuff, Chief. Most of us know what we're doing."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Along with the clerics in residence two women employees worked as housekeepers and cooks. Sergeant Catanach had rounded them up with the brothers and was in the dining room conducting interviews. Kerney took over the lounge, a large room with a stone fireplace, comfortable easy chairs, and an overflowing wall of hook shelves, and began taking statements.
Kerney learned very little about Father Mitchell from the people he interviewed.
An historian working on a compendium of late twentieth-century military aid to South American countries, Father Mitchell had been in residence slightly less than a year. He rarely discussed his work and when engaged in conversation about it responded very vaguely. The brothers knew Mitchell had served as an army chaplain, had taught for a spell at a Midwest Catholic college, and held an advanced degree from an Ivy League university. He'd been murdered a week short of his fifty-ninth birthday.
Brother Jerome, chair of the social science department, was the last faculty member to return from his office. A tall, reserved, intelligent-looking man in his early sixties, dressed in a clerical robe, he sat across from Kerney with his hands folded in his lap. Only the rapid blinking of his eyes gave a hint of his dismay and shock about Father Mitchell's murder.
"You found Father Joseph," Kerney said.
"Yes. He'd missed morning prayers and didn't appear for breakfast. I thought he might be sick."
"What time was that?"
"About seven o'clock," Brother Jerome said, "There was so much blood I knew he was dead as soon as I stepped into the room."
"The door was unlocked?"
"Yes, and all his personal possessions were missing. I gave a list of what I knew he kept in his room to the sergeant."
"How long was it before you called
"We've searched the room, photographed, and vacuumed," Sloan said.
"The techs are dusting every door to the building for prints," Sloan said.
"There are no tool marks on the doors or windows suggesting forced entry. The ground froze last night, but we've found no footprints outside the window."
"What was on the bookcase?" Kerney asked.
"Before he left for his office, Brother Jerome said it was mostly empty.
But you know, Chief, with two computers you'd think there would be a box or two of floppy disks around. There weren't any in the room."
"Any personal items?" Kerney asked.
"Nothing in his clothes. But we did find some letters from his mother in Houston. He had a Louisiana driver's license with a New Orleans address that checked out to be a Catholic seminary. New Orleans PD is making contact."
Only a few investigators from Kerney's earlier tenure as chief of detectives still remained with the department, and Sloan was one of them. From past experience Kerney knew him to be reliable, hardworking, and a straight talker.
Somewhat older than Kerney, Sloan had a missing tooth near the front of his mouth and an unconscious habit of probing it with his tongue.
Through the window Kerney saw Officer Herrera lounging against the fender of his squad car, smoking a cigarette, watching the ambulance drive away.
"Tell me about Herrera, Bobby," Kerney said.
Sloan snorted.
"As a cop he's worthless, Chief, and as a person he's piss-poor company.
The last chief didn't have the balls to can him. His uncle is on the city council. Serves on the finance committee."
"I see."
"You need anything else from me?" Sloan asked.
"Continue with the crime-scene work-up," Kerney replied.
"I'll help Catanach take the witness statements."
"That's a big help," Sloan said.
"How do you like being back with the department, Chief?"
"I'm glad to be back, Bobby."
Sloan grinned.
"Just don't sweat the small stuff, Chief. Most of us know what we're doing."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Along with the clerics in residence two women employees worked as housekeepers and cooks. Sergeant Catanach had rounded them up with the brothers and was in the dining room conducting interviews. Kerney took over the lounge, a large room with a stone fireplace, comfortable easy chairs, and an overflowing wall of hook shelves, and began taking statements.
Kerney learned very little about Father Mitchell from the people he interviewed.
An historian working on a compendium of late twentieth-century military aid to South American countries, Father Mitchell had been in residence slightly less than a year. He rarely discussed his work and when engaged in conversation about it responded very vaguely. The brothers knew Mitchell had served as an army chaplain, had taught for a spell at a Midwest Catholic college, and held an advanced degree from an Ivy League university. He'd been murdered a week short of his fifty-ninth birthday.
Brother Jerome, chair of the social science department, was the last faculty member to return from his office. A tall, reserved, intelligent-looking man in his early sixties, dressed in a clerical robe, he sat across from Kerney with his hands folded in his lap. Only the rapid blinking of his eyes gave a hint of his dismay and shock about Father Mitchell's murder.
"You found Father Joseph," Kerney said.
"Yes. He'd missed morning prayers and didn't appear for breakfast. I thought he might be sick."
"What time was that?"
"About seven o'clock," Brother Jerome said, "There was so much blood I knew he was dead as soon as I stepped into the room."
"The door was unlocked?"
"Yes, and all his personal possessions were missing. I gave a list of what I knew he kept in his room to the sergeant."
"How long was it before you called
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