Private Eyes

shoes he’d had on the first time; one of the laces had come loose.

He frowned, stopped, made a sharp turn away from us, and pushed the cart between rows of slumping men. The cart’s wheels were loose and kept sticking. Andrus maintained a jerky, weaving progress until he was next to the television. Bending low, he whispered to one of the men- a young, wild-eyed white youth in too-small clothing that gave him the look of an overgrown feral child. Not much older than a child, actually- late teens, maybe twenty, still larded with baby fat and suburban softness under a patchy chin-beard. But any semblance of innocence was destroyed by matted hair and scabbed skin.

The priest talked to him slowly, with exquisite patience. The young man listened, rose slowly, and began unwrapping a cup stack with shaky fingers. Filling a cup from the urn’s spigot, he started to raise it to his lips. Andrus touched his wrist and the youth stopped, bewildered.

Andrus smiled, spoke again, guided the youth’s wrist so that the cup was held out to one of the seated men. The man took hold of it. The chin-bearded youth stared and released it. Andrus said something and gave him another cup that he began filling. Some of the men had left their seats; a loose queue formed in front of the urn.

Andrus motioned at a scrawny man the color of photo film, slumped in the front row. The man got up and limped over. He and the youth stood side by side, not looking at each other. The priest smiled and instructed, setting up a two-man assembly line. Guiding and praising until a rhythm of filling and distribution had been established and the queue began to shuffle forward. Then he came over to us.

“Please leave,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Just a few questions, please, Father,” said Milo.

“I’m sorry, Mr.- I don’t remember what your name is, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do for you and I’d really appreciate it if you left.”

“The name is Sturgis, Father, and you didn’t forget. I never gave it to you.”

“No,” said the priest, “you didn’t. But the police did. Just a while ago. They also informed me you weren’t the police.”

“Never said I was, Father.”

Andrus’s ears colored. He plucked at his wispy mustache. “No, I suppose you didn’t, but you did imply it. I deal with deception all day, Mr. Sturgis- part of the job. But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Sorry,” said Milo. “I was-”

“An apology isn’t necessary, Mr. Sturgis. You can demonstrate your remorse by leaving and letting me attend to my people.”

“Would it have made a difference, Father? If I’d have told you I was a cop on temporary leave?”

Surprise on the priest’s lean face.

“What’d they tell you, Father?” said Milo. “That I’d been kicked off the force? That I was some kind of heavy- duty sinner?”

Andrus’s pale face took on an angry blush. “I- There’s really no sense getting into… extraneous things, Mr. Sturgis. The main thing is there’s nothing I can do for you. Joel’s dead.”

“I know that, Father.”

“Along with any interest you might therefore have in the mission.”

“Any idea who’s responsible for his death?”

“Do you care, Mr. Sturgis?”

“Not one bit. But if it helps me understand why Mrs. Ramp died-”

“Why she- Oh…” Andrus shut his eyes and opened them rapidly. “Oh, my.” Sighing and putting a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Milo told him about Morris Dam. A longer but softer version than the one he’d given Lewis.

Andrus shook his head and crossed himself.

“Father,” said Milo, “when Joel was alive did he say anything to you that would indicate he’d resumed contact with Mrs. Ramp or any member of her family?”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry, I can’t take this any further, Mr. Sturgis.” The priest looked over at the coffee line. “Anything Joel may have told me was in confidentiality. It’s a theological issue- the fact that he’s dead doesn’t change that.”

“Of course not, Father. The only reason I came down here to talk to him again is that Mrs. Ramp’s daughter is really struggling to deal with her loss. She’s only a kid, Father. A total orphan now. And she’s coming to grips with being all alone. Nothing you can say or do will change that, I realize, but any light you might be able to shed on what happened to her mom could be helpful to her in terms of getting her life back together. At least that’s what I’ve been told by her therapist.”

“Yes,” said Andrus. “That makes sense… Poor child.” He thought for a moment. “But no, it can’t help her.”

“What can’t, Father?”

“Anything- nothing I know, Mr. Sturgis. What I mean is that I know nothing- Joel never told me anything that would ease the poor girl’s pain. Though even if he had, I couldn’t tell you, so perhaps it’s best that he didn’t. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

“Uh-huh,” said Milo.

Andrus shook his head and put the knuckles of a fist against his brow. “That wasn’t very clear, was it? It’s been a long day and I lose coherence after long days.” Another glance at the urn. “I could use some of that poison over there- plenty of chicory in it but we haven’t skimped on the caffeine. It helps the men deal with detox. You’re welcome to some, too.”

“No, thanks, Father. Just one more second of your time. Do you have any idea who might have done it?”

“The police seem to think it was just one of those things that happens down on Skid Row.”

“Do you agree with that?”

“There’s no reason not to, I guess. I’ve seen so many things that don’t make sense…”

“Is there something about McCloskey’s death that doesn’t make sense?”

“No, not really.” Another look at the urn.

“Was there any reason for McCloskey to be in the area where he was run down, Father?”

Andrus shook his head. “None that I know of. He wasn’t on an errand for the mission- I told the police that. The men do take walks- surprisingly long distances for their physical condition. It’s as if staying in motion reminds them they’re still alive. The illusion of purpose, even though they have nowhere to go.”

“The first time we were here, I got the impression that Joel rarely left the mission.”

“That’s true.”

“So he wasn’t one of your big walkers.”

“No, not really.”

“Did he take any other walks you’re aware of?”

“No, not really…” Andrus paused; his ears were flaming.

“What is it, Father?”

“This will sound very ugly, very judgmental, but my first impression upon hearing what had happened was that someone in the family- Mrs. Ramp’s family- decided finally to exact revenge. Lured him away somehow, then ambushed him.”

“Why’s that, Father?”

“They’d certainly have a reason. And using a car impressed me as a… nice middle-class way of doing it. No need to get close. To smell him or touch him.”

The priest stared away again. Upward. Toward the crucifix.

“Ugly thoughts, Mr. Sturgis. I’m not proud of them. I was angry- everything I’d put into him and now… Then I realized I was being thoughtless and cruel and thinking of myself. Suspecting innocent people who’d had their own share of suffering. I had no right to do that. Now that you tell me about Mrs. Ramp, I feel even more…”

Shaking his head.

Milo said, “Did you mention your suspicion to the detectives?”

“It wasn’t suspicion, just a momentary… thought. An uncharitable thought in the heat of… the shock of hearing about it. And no, I didn’t. But they brought it up- asked me if any member of Mrs. Ramp’s family had been by. I said only you had.”

“How’d they react when you told them I’d been here?”