Part 3 (1/2)
CHAPTER THREE.
SKYE LISTENED TO DETECTIVE JUAN Martinez as she drove from the mission back to town.
”While you were talking to Zaccardi in the courtyard, I spoke to the delivery boy,” Juan said, glancing briefly at his notes. ”Brian Adamson. He delivers every Monday morning between nine and noon.”
”Did he have anything to add?”
”He confirmed what Zaccardi said about Cooper being a recent transplant. Came here a month ago. The interesting thing is that Cooper recently fired the housekeeper, a Ms. Corrine Davies.”
”Do you have an address?”
”Ten Seaview Lane. North of town.”
”Let's go pay her a visit.”
Juan flipped through his notes and said to Skye, ”According to the property manager, Corinne Davies and her daughter, Lisa, moved into the house nearly two years ago when the mother took a job as cook and housekeeper at the mission. They've never been late on the rent, no complaints, not even a call for repairs. Ideal tenants.”
”How old is the daughter?”
”Twenty. A college student.”
”Background?”
”No warrants, no arrests. I have Ms. Davies's credit application. A widow, her last address was in Salem, Oregon, where she worked for the Catholic diocese. Her references included the bishop.”
”Who hired her in Santa Louisa?”
”Bishop Carlin.”
Martinez had spoken with the bishop earlier in the day to inform him of the murders and ask questions about Rafe Cooper. Skye had met the bishop only once before, when he presided over the funeral for one of her deputies. She was more comfortable with Juan handling the religious contacts. She didn't need religion, didn't understand people who sacrificed everything for something they couldn't see. People who abandoned their family, their homes, everything, for a promise only good when you were dead.
Skye pushed that all from her mind. Already, this case was eating at her and memories of her mother threatened to return. She was as done with her mother as the last criminal she'd locked behind bars.
”Why is Cooper here?” she asked.
”Raphael 'Rafe' Cooper is a seminary student up in Menlo Park,” Martinez said. ”The bishop doesn't have any personal information on him.”
”How does he just move to the mission without the diocese knowing his history? Isn't there some sort of background check, employment verification, anything? I need Cooper's background, ASAP. But what I really want to know is, why is he here?”
”Bishop Carlin didn't know. The mission, though technically part of the diocese, isn't under his control.”
”So who controls it?”
”The Vatican.”
”As in Vatican, do you mean like the Pope and the Catholic Church Vatican?”
”Apparently. Someone in Rome, Francis Cardinal DeLucca, sent the bishop an introductory letter a month ago stating that Cooper was being sent to evaluate the priests for service. Cooper is a psychologist, perhaps he was giving them a mental health update, I don't know.”
”And?”
”And that's it. That's all he knew.”
Switching gears, she asked, ”Why did the diocese fire the housekeeper?”
”They didn't. Cooper did. Ms. Davies is still on the payroll,” Martinez said. ”Bishop Carlin told her to take a couple weeks and he'd find her a different position. He seemed angry with Cooper for firing her without consulting him.”
”Maybe I should talk to the bishop.”
”Are you questioning my investigative abilities?”
Skye bristled at the accusation in Martinez's voice. ”No, and you shouldn't think that I would. But you're Catholic, you have respect for the office, maybe you didn't ask the right questions.”
”I asked the right questions.”
Skye changed the subject as she turned off the highway. ”Do you know why Davies left Salem?”
”No, but her daughter is a student at UC Santa Barbara.”
”She's commuting an hour to college?”
”We do what we can when we're broke,” Martinez said with a half grin.
”Let's go.”
The coastal cottage on Seaview Lane had an exquisite view of the ocean, almost identical to Skye's own property three miles down the sh.o.r.eline. The cottage rested on a bluff with a sheer drop to the Pacific Ocean beyond.
Skye surveyed the rental house. Small, neat, functional. The perfect place for a recluse or lovers, separated from nearby homes by nature. Craggy, wind-sculpted cypress trees lined the property, and with the smell of salt water and sound of cras.h.i.+ng waves below, the entire setting was picturesque.
She opened the door of her police-issue Bronco and they walked up the cobblestone path to the porch. The cottage looked well lived in with lots of plants, herbs, and flowers growing in pots resting on every available inch. Skye rapped on the door.
A moment later a young woman answered. She had long dark hair and large pale brown eyes. To say she was beautiful would be an understatement.
”May I help you?”
”Sheriff Skye McPherson and Detective Juan Martinez,” Skye said. ”We'd like to speak with Corinne Davies, if she's home.”