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“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. He lived so well, and long. Now he’s with the angels. But Father Flores . . .”
“You don’t think he’s with the angels?”
“I hope he is. But he didn’t live long, or die peacefully in his bed. I’ve never seen death like that.” She took a breath, and there was a shudder in it. “I should have acted more quickly, to preserve the scene. My cousin and I—Matthew is with Illegals—should have acted sooner. But I was closer. Matt was in the back of the church. I thought—we all thought—Father had had some sort of attack. Dr. Pasquale and my uncle, who is also a doctor, tried to help him. It happened very quickly. In minutes. Three, four, no more than that. So the body was moved, and the scene compromised. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Graciela relayed the events, set the scene as López had.
“Did you know Flores?”
“Yes, a little. He married my brother. I mean to say he officiated at the marriage of my brother. Father Flores also gave time to the youth center. I do the same, when I can, so I knew him from there.”
“Impressions?”
“Outgoing, interested. He seemed to relate to the street kids. I thought he’d probably been there and done that in his time.”
“Did he show any interest in any particular kid or kids?”
“Not that I noticed. But I didn’t run into him there often.”
“He ever move on you?”
“Move . . . No.” Graciela seemed shocked, then thoughtful. “No, no moves, no sense he considered it. And I never heard of him breaking that particular vow.”
“Would you have?”
“I don’t know, but my family—and there are a lot of them—is very involved in the church and this is our home parish. If he was going to move on someone, odds are the someone would’ve been related or connected to the Ortiz family. And family gossip runs pretty hot and strong. My aunt Rosa housekeeps for the rectory and not much gets by her.”
“Rosa Ortiz.”
“O’Donnell.” Graciela smiled. “We diversify. Is it homicide, Lieutenant?”
“Right now it’s suspicious death. You might talk to family members, get their impressions.”
“Nobody’s going to be talking about much else for days,” Graciela commented. “I’ll see what I can find out from those who knew him better than I did.”
“Okay. I’m going to have your great-grandfather released from the scene. You and your cousin should take that detail as soon as we’re clear.”
“We appreciate that.”
“Where’s your house?”
“I’m with the two-two-three, here in East Harlem.”
“How long on the job?”
“Almost two years. I thought I wanted to be a lawyer, changed my mind.”
Probably change it again, Eve thought. She just didn’t see a cop in those sizzling green eyes. “I’m going to get my partner, and we’ll clear the casket. If anything regarding Flores occurs to you, you can reach me at—”
“Cop Central,” Graciela finished. “I know.”
As Graciela clicked out on her funeral heels, Eve took one more scan of the crime scene. A lot of death for one small church, she mused. One in the coffin, one at the altar, and the one looking down on both from the really big cross.
One dies in his sleep after a long life, one dies fast—and the other gets spikes hammered through his hands and feet so they can hang him on a cross of wood.
