of the last verse, he faltered. People leaned forward. Choirmaster Nickelson looked sternly in his direction. Would he complete the two lines? the congregation silently wondered. Joey looked up from the hymnal he held in both hands. His gaze went from the men’s choir across the chancel to the congregation, to Bishop St. James, Father Merle, and Reverend Armstrong, then back to the congregation. His blue eyes were alight with fear. Hemanaged to sing the final words, quickly turned away, and crouched as the suppressed sounds of his vomiting nonetheless reached them and faded with the final notes of the organ.
St. James returned to the pulpit. Should he mention the unfortunate and untimely illness of the choirboy, who was slinking away in shame?
He drew a deep breath and said, “Father Paul Singletary devoted much of his life to serving his fellow man. He did this in the ghettos of this city, in the drug-rehabilitation centers, and in the kitchens where the homeless are nourished. Of course, he also served his country admirably. He was particularly fond of this prayer, often used on ship-board during storms or in times of war.” St. James adjusted his glasses and began to read: “O most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose command the winds blow and lift up the waves of the sea, and who stillest the rage thereof; we, thy creatures, but miserable sinners, do in this our great distress cry unto thee for help.…”
When St. James had finished the prayer, and preparations had begun for the closing portions of the service, Annabel whispered to Mac, “That poor boy.”
“I know. There’s lots of flu going around. Kid must be terribly embarrassed. Say, did you know that Paul was in the military?”
“No.”
“I gather from what George said that he might have served in the navy, maybe on board a ship. That’s a slice of his life I knew nothing about.”
Their attention returned to the altar. “Let us pray” was the call. Mac and Annabel sank to their knees. Their fingers found each other’s once again as they prayed along with the bishop for the salvation of Singletary’s soul.
Outside, Mac introduced Annabel to Terry Finnerty. He asked the detective, “Anything new?”
Finnerty shook his head.
“Nothing further in the autopsy findings?”
“Nah. Nothing under his nails, no fight.”
“Meaning he knew the person who killed him?” Annabel said.
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t know the person, but it happened so fast he didn’t have a chance to put up a fight.”
“The word is getting around, Terry, that the body might have been moved from another place.” Smith couldn’t be critical of such rumors. He’d helped to spread the word in his own law class. “Are you still leaning in that direction?”
Another shrug from Finnerty. “Yeah, I think it’s a good possibility. What I need now is that woman who found the body. We put out a composite on her based on the bishop’s wife’s description. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Smith. You must be a saint to put up with this guy.” He laughed to indicate he was kidding.
“I felt so sorry for Carolyn Armstrong,” Annabel said as she and Mac walked toward their car. “I didn’t think she’d make it.”
“Neither did I,” Smith said. “Did she know Paul pretty well?”
“I suppose so. They worked together. Everyone at the cathedral is broken up, except Father Merle, who is so controlled. She had trouble keeping from crying two days ago when we met about the art show. I still can’t believe it.”
Smith opened the door for Annabel. “As you said, she certainly is beautiful.”
As they waited in a line of traffic to turn onto Wisconsin Avenue, Mac said, “I can’t get that poor choirboy out of my mind. How embarrassing to throw up in the middle of your solo at the National Cathedral.”
“I know. Did you see the look on the child’s face justbefore it happened? He seemed to be searching every corner, every
St. James returned to the pulpit. Should he mention the unfortunate and untimely illness of the choirboy, who was slinking away in shame?
He drew a deep breath and said, “Father Paul Singletary devoted much of his life to serving his fellow man. He did this in the ghettos of this city, in the drug-rehabilitation centers, and in the kitchens where the homeless are nourished. Of course, he also served his country admirably. He was particularly fond of this prayer, often used on ship-board during storms or in times of war.” St. James adjusted his glasses and began to read: “O most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose command the winds blow and lift up the waves of the sea, and who stillest the rage thereof; we, thy creatures, but miserable sinners, do in this our great distress cry unto thee for help.…”
When St. James had finished the prayer, and preparations had begun for the closing portions of the service, Annabel whispered to Mac, “That poor boy.”
“I know. There’s lots of flu going around. Kid must be terribly embarrassed. Say, did you know that Paul was in the military?”
“No.”
“I gather from what George said that he might have served in the navy, maybe on board a ship. That’s a slice of his life I knew nothing about.”
Their attention returned to the altar. “Let us pray” was the call. Mac and Annabel sank to their knees. Their fingers found each other’s once again as they prayed along with the bishop for the salvation of Singletary’s soul.
Outside, Mac introduced Annabel to Terry Finnerty. He asked the detective, “Anything new?”
Finnerty shook his head.
“Nothing further in the autopsy findings?”
“Nah. Nothing under his nails, no fight.”
“Meaning he knew the person who killed him?” Annabel said.
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t know the person, but it happened so fast he didn’t have a chance to put up a fight.”
“The word is getting around, Terry, that the body might have been moved from another place.” Smith couldn’t be critical of such rumors. He’d helped to spread the word in his own law class. “Are you still leaning in that direction?”
Another shrug from Finnerty. “Yeah, I think it’s a good possibility. What I need now is that woman who found the body. We put out a composite on her based on the bishop’s wife’s description. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Smith. You must be a saint to put up with this guy.” He laughed to indicate he was kidding.
“I felt so sorry for Carolyn Armstrong,” Annabel said as she and Mac walked toward their car. “I didn’t think she’d make it.”
“Neither did I,” Smith said. “Did she know Paul pretty well?”
“I suppose so. They worked together. Everyone at the cathedral is broken up, except Father Merle, who is so controlled. She had trouble keeping from crying two days ago when we met about the art show. I still can’t believe it.”
Smith opened the door for Annabel. “As you said, she certainly is beautiful.”
As they waited in a line of traffic to turn onto Wisconsin Avenue, Mac said, “I can’t get that poor choirboy out of my mind. How embarrassing to throw up in the middle of your solo at the National Cathedral.”
“I know. Did you see the look on the child’s face justbefore it happened? He seemed to be searching every corner, every
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