The Christmas Night Murder (2 page)

I turned and saw Arnold standing alone. Joseph was bending over the chair where Jack was sitting as he was struggling to stand up and she was obviously telling him to stay where he was. I glanced at my watch and was surprised to find that an hour had passed since I had begun talking to the nuns.

Jack was standing now. I walked toward them, vaguely aware of an uneasiness in the air.

“Don't worry,” I heard Jack say as he walked away. Joseph did indeed look worried.

“He should have been here by now,” she said as I approached.

“Hudson?”

“It's a long time since he called, too long. Even allowing for traffic—and this is Christmas Day; there isn't much to speak of—he should have been here a long time ago.”

“Is Jack checking with the state police?”

“He's calling them now. If there are any traffic tie-ups, the local troop will know about them and any other road conditions.”

We stood around rather awkwardly, waiting for him to come back. Joseph looked at her watch. “We should be sitting down for Christmas dinner,” she said. “It smells so good, it must be about done.”

As she said it Sister Dolores came out of the dining room. “Is he here yet?” she said, looking at Joseph. “Everything's ready.”

“Another few minutes.” Joseph looked as worried as I had ever seen her. A woman whose face rarely showed any of the burdens she shouldered, today she could hide nothing. She looked at her watch again, as though another reading of the time would bring Hudson safely to the door. Then, abruptly, she walked away from us. Without a coat, she went out the front door.

“He's a good driver,” Father Kramer said to me. “I don't believe he's had an accident. Knowing Hudson, he probably stopped to help someone else. We'll be hearing from him any minute.”

I surveyed the large room. The Christmas cheer of earlier in the afternoon had been replaced by tense faces. The nuns, a Franciscan order, all wore the obligatory brown habit, the skirt at about midcalf, a simple brown veil with a plain white crown at the hairline. I looked from one to the other, then to Arnold and Harriet.

Joseph came in, a gust of cold air sweeping across the room. “It's very clear out,” she said. “No snow. Maybe he lost his way. It's been a long time.”

Jack came back and Joseph and I went to find out what he had learned.

“No report of any accidents on the thruway from Albany down almost to New York.”

“What about secondary roads?” Joseph asked. “He might have taken those.”

“Nothing reported. Road conditions everywhere are excellent. The weather's fine the length of the thruway. I left the phone number for them in case something turns up.”

“Then I think we should have dinner,” Joseph said decisively, and we all went into the dining room.

Like the room we had left, the dining room had been decorated festively. The guests were asked to spread out among the nuns and I watched Harriet go to one table and Arnold to another. I sat with Angela and Jack sat with Joseph. One nun at each table served us and the meal was splendid. It had been cooked by the nuns in the villa, the youngest of whom was past seventy. Father Kramer offered a prayer and included Hudson. I thought the amen was a little stronger than usual.

At my table we talked about everything except Hudson, and when dessert was finished, we sat around the tree and Joseph distributed the gifts. Arnold shook his finger at me when his name was called, but when he saw the shape of the package, he grinned with pleasure. As we all opened our gifts I glanced over at the tree. A group of beautifully wrapped packages was still there, awaiting the absent guest. I am generally a very up person, but the sight of those unclaimed packages made my heart sink. I had lost count of how long it had been since Hudson had telephoned from “this side of Albany.” It was hours, long enough for him to have reached New York and turned back.

My gift was a whistling teakettle, something I had wanted for a long time but hadn't asked for. Not only would it boil water quickly for my frequent afternoon cup of tea, it would look smashing on my kitchen stove. I started around to thank everyone as everyone was also making the rounds.

Then the telephone rang.

Jack and Joseph got up and ran to answer it. I restrained myself from joining them. Since leaving St. Stephen's, I have relied less and less on prayer, but as I stood there, watching the doorway through which they would return, I found myself praying for Hudson's safe passage.

They were gone a long time. Arnold came over and put his arm around my shoulders. “Think positive,” he said. “I've never believed in miracles, but I've seen some happen.”

“How could he have driven all the way from Wyoming to Albany without a problem and then gotten into trouble a few miles from here?” I didn't expect an answer; I just needed to say it out loud.

“We don't know that he has.”

Joseph appeared in the doorway and everyone turned to look at her. “Something's happened,” she began. “No one seems to know what. A black clerical suit was found a little while ago near a rest stop along the thruway. There's no identification with it, his car isn't there, and there's no sign of Hudson. The state police are combing the area, looking for anything at all that can tell them what happened.” She looked at Jack.

“That's about it,” he said. “We don't know if that's where he called from or even if the clothing belongs to him, but the state police are taking this very seriously and they're not waiting the usual twenty-four hours to start a search for a missing person. Sister Joseph just called Buffalo and it's certain he was dressed in a clerical suit at Christmas mass this morning, but no one is sure whether he changed before he got into the car. We'll just have to wait and see what happens.”

“I think it's time for evening prayers,” Joseph said, and there was a murmur of agreement. Everyone went for a coat.

As Jack offered me mine, Arnold and Harriet joined us. “I don't like the sound of it,” Arnold said.

“Me neither.” Jack put his coat on and we followed the nuns to the door.

“Want to drive over to the scene and take a look? After prayers?”

“Good idea.”

It gave me some comfort to know that Arnold was personally interested in Hudson's fate. We walked out into the darkness together, the nuns in a long line making their way to the chapel.

If anything brought back memories, that did. How many evening prayers does one attend in fifteen years? Thousands of them, and thousands of morning prayers. The nuns were singing now, their voices drifting back to us on the cold breeze as the line curved along the path, a gracefully moving silhouette. It was Christmas Night and the joy of the day had been rent from us, torn from our hands and hearts. The sharp cold of the wind brought tears to my eyes; the anguish of the situation clutched at my throat.

We entered the chapel and I heard Harriet say softly, “How lovely.” The four of us sat in the last row, Harriet beside me. She patted my hand and told me not to worry. Then I listened to the service, once again becoming part of the convent family.

The nuns filed out first, looking peaceful, but I knew they felt as unsettled as I. We drove in Jack's car, getting on the thruway at the first opportunity. The rest stop, when we reached it, looked like any other with a large gas station at one end and a low building with food and other conveniences alongside a parking lot at the other end. What made this one different was the police presence. There were several marked state-police cars and numerous tall state-police officers wearing the distinctive campaign hats. Jack introduced himself to one of them and there was a brief exchange of confidences, Jack opening the scuffed leather case, a flash of the gold badge, and the trooper responded
by leading us to the place where the clothing had been found. It was behind the buildings and over a small rise. A dog walker had found the jacket and collar.

A state policeman was standing guard at the taped-off area, but inside the yellow plastic tape there was nothing to see except trampled snow. The small, roughly square space was illuminated by four hand lanterns at the corners.

“Any sign of a struggle?” Jack asked.

“Nothing we could see. Maybe a little dancing around in the snow back here.”

“Find his car in the parking lot?”

“ 'Fraid not. We were told to look for Wyoming plates and there weren't any. Checked with the gas station, too. No one from Wyoming charged gas today and none of the attendants remember any Wyoming plates.”

“You mind if we look around?”

“Don't mind at all. I don't think you'll find anything. We've had so many boots over the area, if anything dropped you'll have to wait for the spring thaw to find it.”

“Any estimate on the size of the man from the suit of clothes?”

“Tall,” the officer said. “Thin. Got a waist smaller'n mine, I can tell you that.” ' He grinned. He was in great shape.

The sketchy description fitted Hudson to a tee. Tall and lanky, he had never shown an ounce of fat during the years I knew him.

“I guess you guys have been all over the area,” Jack said.

“Up and down the hill, up the road, down the road. We were told his name and we've called it hundreds of times. Even used the car's loudspeaker system. If he's alive and out there, he heard us.”

“Thanks, Officer.”

“From the look of the snow,” Arnold said as we walked away, “they've covered every inch.”

“I agree,” Jack said. “I don't think we'd gain anything from sliding over the snow ourselves. I want to look at the license plates in the parking lot.”

We walked back and started going down rows. “What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I don't know. Something that doesn't fit. When I see it, I'll know. Any chance he was driving a spanking-new car that a car jacker would want to get his hands on?”

“Very little. It would have luggage in it, though.”

“They've all got luggage. Tons of it.”

He was right. In one car it was piled so high I couldn't imagine how the driver could see out the rear window.

The license plates were mostly from New York. There were a few from Ohio, Ontario, Massachusetts, and Michigan, and one each from Illinois and Vermont. There wasn't a single car from the west.

We looked at every car and I sensed that Jack hadn't found anything remarkable. We walked toward the building and found the Golds talking to two state policemen. When Arnold saw us, he said, “They're bringing bloodhounds in. Since they've got the suit, they're going to try to follow the scent while it's still fresh—if there's anything left in the snow to go on.”

“Here they are,” the officer said.

A state-police van had just pulled into the lot. Two police officers got out of the front and came around to the back, where they let out two large, beautiful dark-haired dogs. Jack went over and talked to the handlers and then waved the Golds and me over. I watched with fascination as the articles of Hudson's clothing were produced for the dogs to sniff. They were then taken to the taped-off area in the snow, where they sniffed the ground, then moved out from under the tape, looking for a lead.

They found it almost immediately and bounded toward the parking lot, their handlers running along to keep up with them. It didn't take long for the chase to end. They ran down the aisle between the second and third rows of cars, now pausing, now barking as they picked up the scent again. Then both dogs stopped at a parked car, barked, pawed the ground, and sat down.

The car had a Pennsylvania license plate and was empty. As we stood there a family with two young children came toward us.

“Is anything wrong?” the woman said. She was short and a little plump. An unhappy child was hanging on to her hand, telling her he was hungry.

“No, ma'am,” the officer in charge said. “Can you tell me when you parked here?”

Her husband looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago. We just stopped to take the kids to the bathroom. We're late for Christmas dinner.”

The officer asked to see his driver's license and registration, then wrote something in his notebook. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Drive safely.”

The man unlocked the car and they piled in. Just as the motor turned over, the dog nearer the front of the car started yelping and pulling away. I watched as man and dog started toward the building with the restaurant. But before the dog reached the building, he turned right and headed back toward the snowy area where the clothing had been found.

The Pennsylvania car drove out of its slot and the handler of the second dog gave him a piece of Hudson's clothing to sniff again. The dog sniffed the ground, turning around, until suddenly he seemed to pick up the scent the other dog had. Revitalized, he barked once and took off toward the building, following the identical path. I watched him turn at the same point and make for the snowy rise behind the parking lot.

Jack had followed the first dog. Now he came back to where I stood with the Golds between the first row of parked cars and the building. “Looks like he got out of his car, walked toward the building, then back to the snow, then cut diagonally back to his car. The dogs can't seem to find any other direction that he moved. He probably never got into the building.”

“Then he didn't call from here,” I said. “There are no phones outside.”

“He could have called from the rest stop north of here. It's also south of Albany. Maybe he wanted to wait till the last minute to change his clothes.”

“So what we've got,” Arnold said, “is that he walked over to the taped area—and we don't know which route he took there and which back—dropped some articles of clothing, and took the other route back to his car.”

“With or without someone who was forcing him with a weapon,” I said.

“And then they—or he—drove away.” Jack summed it up.

“If it was the car they were after, they would've left Hudson behind.”

“It couldn't have been the car, Arnold. He would never have spent a lot of money on a car. Even if he'd had the money, and he probably didn't, he would have given it away before he'd spend it on a car.”

“It seems to me that leaves two possibilities. One is that someone was after him, for reasons currently unknown. The other is that something happened to make him decide not to keep his date with St. Stephen's.”

“That's just what I've been thinking,” Jack said.

We threw hypothetical scenarios at each other all the way back to St. Stephen's but came up with nothing workable. By the time we got to the convent, the state police had called Joseph and told her about as much as we knew. They assured her they would keep looking for Hudson, but she sensed a resignation in what the officer said. The bloodhounds, which had been led up and down the strip along the thruway after we left, had found nothing, and all the police were convinced of was that Hudson—or whoever the owner of the clothing was—had left his car, walked back to the snowy area, and returned to the car, completing a circle that was more like a triangle. The snow had been so trampled that any footprints Hudson might have left were completely obliterated.

Most of the nuns had gone off to bed. The fire had also gone to sleep, but we got it going again and Joseph and I made coffee and cut some cake that had been on the long table in the afternoon. Then the five of us sat around the fire and talked.

“Tell me what you feel, Sister Joseph,” Arnold said.

Joseph put her cup down and sat with her hands in her lap. “I feel something terrible has happened to him. I
know
something terrible has happened. We've been corresponding for months to set this day up. You didn't have to read between the lines to sense his joy at coming back here. It was in every word.”

“Do you have the letters?”

“All of them.”

“Tell me why he left, Sister.”

“It was something he always wanted to do, something he had to work out with church authorities because he would no longer be under the direction of one diocese. He wanted to go to communities where there weren't many Catholics and there wasn't a priest, except now and then. He wanted to become part of those communities, to make a difference, to bring the people together, give a religious meaning to their lives, so that when he left, they would remember, they would be stronger. He never moved on until he was sure there was leadership, till he knew they could make it without him.”

“If I asked you to describe his personality, what kind of person he seemed to you, what would you say?”

“Carefree and serious,” Joseph said without a pause. “He's a friendly, outgoing man, loves a party, laughs a lot. And he's deeply religious, deeply committed. He cares. He cares about everyone and everything. He listens; he has time for people.” She turned to look at me.

“I second everything.”

Arnold leaned forward. He was still looking at Joseph as though she were the only one there. “Assume someone wanted to harm him. You knew him well and you knew him a long time. Tell me who and tell me why.”

She turned her face toward the fire. For a long time she sat looking at it, not a muscle in her face moving. Finally she turned back to face Arnold and shook her head.

Harriet stood up. “Tomorrow's a workday, dear.”

“Right.” It was one of those years when Christmas hit the middle of the week. For Arnold, Thursday and Friday would be spent in the office. He stood and shook hands.

We walked the Golds to the door and Jack went out to the parking lot with them while I collected cups and saucers and took them to the kitchen, where I made fast work of washing them up.

Joseph handed me a key and said, “This will let you into the dormitory. I've left the door of 102 open. The key is on the dresser. There's only enough heat to keep the pipes from freezing, so we've put a very adequate electric heater
in the room. The water's hot, so your shower shouldn't be too bad.”

“It'll be fine.”