"Sin duda," Ramon said.
Kristin Lund looked exactly like her name. Blonde hair and blue eyes, a full tempestuous mouth, and a figure that reminded Hawes of the gently sloping hills of Sweden, where he'd never been. Kristin Lund. Krissie sounded closer to home and just as beautiful. Krissie Lund. It rolled off the tongue like a balalaika riff. On this fine spring morning, she was wearing a pastel blue skirt, high-heeled pumps of the same subtle shade, and lemon-colored pantyhose that matched her lemon-colored sweater. Krissie.
She looked very much like spring. She smelled a lot like spring, too. If Hawes was not mistaken, she was wearing Poison.
She was not surprised to find two detectives on her doorstep so early in the morning; she had heard about Father Michael's murder late last night, on on. In fact, she had called 911 at once, to ask she could get in touch with whoever would be investigating the case. The woman who'd the phone said, "What is the emergency, Miss. When Krissie told her there was no emergency, woman asked, "Do you wish to report a crime'.
Krissie told her No, she didn't wish to report a but she worked for the man whose murder she'd heard reported on television and she wanted to who'd be handling the case so she could them. The woman on the other end said, moment, please, I'll give you my supervisor." supervisor came on and immediately said, " understand you witnessed a murder," Krissie hung up, even if she was not a native of city.
"But I did try to contact you," she said, and so dazzlingly that Hawes almost swooned.
"When was this?" Carella asked.
"When?”
"When you tried to contact us.”
"Oh. Right after the Eleven O'Clock News. I going to call the church, but I called 911 And then, after I spoke to that supervisor, I know what to do. So I went to sleep. I figured get to me sooner or later.”
“Yes,” Hawes said.
"So here you are," she said, and smiled again.
"Miss. Lund," Carella said, "Father housekeeper...”
"Yes, Martha Hennessy.”
"Yes, told us that the last time she saw him alive was when he was saying good night to you.”
"That's the last time I saw him, too.”
"At about five o'clock yesterday.”
"Yes.”
"Where did you go after that?”
"I came straight here.”
They were in the kitchen of her small apartment on the fourth floor of a building downtown in The Quarter, far from the precinct territory.
Coffee was brewing in a pot plugged into an outlet above a butcher block counter. Krissie leaned against the counter, her arms folded, waiting for the coffee to perk. She had set out three cups and saucers near the coffeepot. The detectives stood by the open window.
A mild breeze fluttered the sheer white curtains on the window. Sunshine danced on the counter top, setting the bone white cups and saucers aglitter.
Krissie lifted the pot and poured the three cups full.
She carried them one at a time to a small round table near the window.
The table was already set with teaspoons, paper napkins, a creamer, and a small bowl containing pink packets of a sugar substitute.
"Did you see anyone suspicious-looking outside the church?" Carella asked. "When you left last "Well, what do you mean by suspicious-looking? mean... I guess you know that's a pretty rotten . I mean, no offense, I know you guys do a good job. But to me, everyone up there looks suspicious.”
"I was referring to anyone lurking about...”
Those words always made him feel foolish. "... anyone who seemed out of place...”
Those words, too.
"... anyone who just didn't belong there," he said.
"Just the usual," Krissie said, and shrugged.
Hawes loved the way she shrugged. "Milk?" she asked. "It's skim.”
"By the usual... ?" Hawes asked.
"The usual," she said, and shrugged again. "I'm sure you know what's up there. The usual street mix.
Crack dealers and buyers, hookers, hoodlums, the mix." She lifted her cup, sipped at the coffee.
"And last night, when you left.., nothing but the mix.”
"Just the mix.”
"How about inside the church?" Carella asked.
"See anything strange there? Anything out of the normal?”
"No.”
"When you left the, office.., this was at five, you say?”
"Five, a little bit after.”
"Were any of the file cabinets open?”
"They're never locked. We have keys, but...”
"No, I mean, were any of the drawers standing open?”
"Any papers on the floor?”
"No. Of course not.”
"Everything neat and orderly.”
"Yes.”
"Miss. Lund," Hawes said, "Father Michael's housekeeper mentioned that in recent weeks he'd been taking a strong church stand against...”
"Well, you don't think that had anything to do with his murder, do you?”
"What are you referring to?”
"The tithe.”
"The tide?" Carella asked, puzzled.
"Tithe," she said, "tithe. The congregation is supposed to contribute ten percent of its earnings to the church. As a tithe. Aren't you familiar with that word? Tithe.”
"Well, yes, it's just...”
He was thinking the word sounded medieval. He was thinking it did not sound like a word that should be lurking about in the here and now, a word that seemed out of place, a word that just didn't belong in this day and age. Tithe. Altogether archaic. Like a chastity belt. But he did not say this.
"What about this.., tithe?" he asked.
"Well, she probably meant the sermons.”
"What sermons?”
"Some pretty stiff sermons about shortchanging the church.”
"Shortchanging?”
"I see. How many of these sermons were there' "Three. I know because I'm the one who them. All hellfire and brimstone. Unusual for Michael. He was normally...”
She hesitated.
"A very gentle man," she said at last.
"But not in these sermons," Hawes said.
"No. I suppose.., well, the church really is in of repair, hardly anything's been done to it in And, you know, the neighborhood around church may be falling apart, but a lot of parishioners come from five, six blocks away, things are much better. Well, you know this you'll have a slum right next door to buildings doormen. So he really was within his rights to ask the proper tithe. Because, honestly, I think neighborhood would be even worse by now if wasn't for the work Father Michael does there. there," she said, correcting herself.
"What sort of work?" Carella asked.
"Well, trying to promote harmony," she "especially among the kids. The neighborhood there is a mix of Italian, Irish, Hispanic and well, what am I telling, you? Father Michael wonders with those kids. I'm sure you know happened there on Easter Sunday...”
Carella shook his head.
So did Hawes.
"Well, it's your precinct," Krissie said, "I don't you know what happened there? On Easter Sunday?”
"No, what happened there?" Carella asked, and tried to remember whether he'd had the duty on Easter Sunday.
"Tiffs was late in the afternoon," Krissie said, "tiffs black kid came running into the church with his head all bloody. Half a dozen white kids were chasing him with stickball bats and garbage can covers, chased him fight into the church, fight up the center aisle to the altar.
Father Michael stood his ground. Told them to get out of his church.
Walked them fight up the aisle to the door, escorted them out, told them not to come back until they knew how to behave in the house of God. I don't know who the kids were, neighborhood kids, I'm sure the incident is in your records, just look up Easter Sunday.