I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [92]
He remembered how chilled Zan Moreland’s elegant hands had felt when he closed his own over them.
Her hands. What was it that was nagging him about those hands? There was something, and it was important, but try as he might he simply could not remember it.
After lunch in the Friary, Fr. Aiden was barely back in his office when he received a call from Detective Billy Collins, requesting to pay him a visit. “My partner and I would like to ask you a few questions, Father. Would it be possible for us to come down immediately? We could be there in twenty minutes at the most.”
“Yes, of course. May I ask what this is about?”
“It concerns Alexandra Moreland. We’re on our way, Father.”
Exactly twenty minutes later Billy Collins and Jennifer Dean were in his office. After the introductions, sitting at his desk facing them, Fr. Aiden waited for one of them to open the conversation.
It was Billy Collins who spoke first. “Father, Alexandra Moreland paid a visit to this church on Monday evening, did she not?” he asked.
Fr. Aiden chose his words carefully. “Alvirah Meehan identified her on our security tape as having been here on Monday evening.”
“Did Ms. Moreland go to confession, Father?”
“Detective Collins, your name suggests that you are Irish, which means there is a good chance that you are Catholic or, at least, were raised as one.”
“I was raised as one and I still am one,” Billy said. “Not that I make it to Mass every Sunday, but pretty regularly.”
“That’s good to hear.” Fr. Aiden smiled. “But then, as you must know, I cannot discuss anything about the confessional — not only what may have been said within it, but also who was or wasn’t there.”
“I see. But you did meet Zan Moreland at Alvirah Meehan’s home the other evening,” Jennifer Dean asked quietly.
“Yes, I did. Very briefly.”
“Anything she said to you then wouldn’t be under the seal of the confessional, would it, Father?” Dean persisted.
“It wouldn’t necessarily be. She asked me to pray for her son.”
“She didn’t happen to mention that she just had cleaned out her bank account and bought a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires for next Wednesday, did she?” Billy Collins asked.
Fr. Aiden tried not to show how startled he was. “No, she did not. I repeat, we spoke for less than fifteen seconds.”
“And it was the first time you were face-to-face with her?” Jennifer Dean shot the question at him.
“Please don’t try to trick me, Detective Dean,” Fr. Aiden replied sternly.
“We’re not trying to trick you, Father,” Billy Collins said. “But you might also be interested to know that after several hours of questioning, Ms. Moreland didn’t share with us the fact that she’s planning to leave the country. We just found it out ourselves. Well, Father, if you don’t mind we’ll take a look at those security tapes that show Ms. Moreland coming into the church and leaving it.”
“Of course. I’ll have Neil, our man for all seasons, show them to you.” Fr. Aiden reached for the phone. “Oh, I forgot. Neil isn’t here today. I’ll ask Paul from our bookstore to help you out.”
While they waited, Billy Collins asked, “Father, Alvirah Meehan was worried because she thought somebody was observing you too carefully the other night. Are you aware of anyone who might be antagonistic to you?”
“No one, absolutely no one,” Fr. Aiden replied emphatically.
After Paul escorted the detectives to show them the tapes, Fr. Aiden put his head in his hands. She must be guilty, he thought. She was planning to escape.
But what is it about Zan Moreland’s hands that I can’t remember?
Two hours later, Fr. Aiden was at his desk when Zan called him again. Still holding out hope that he might be able to prevent the murder she had told him would happen, he said, “I was hoping to hear from you, Zan. Do you want to come in and talk with me? Maybe there is some way I can really help you?” Fr. Aiden said.
“No, I don’t think so, Father. My lawyer just called. I’m going to be arrested. I have to go with him to the police precinct at five o’clock