I rewrote Damien's story like a C.S.I. episode. I asked myself, "Why does he live withing walking distance of his married ex-girlfriend’s grave" Sorry for misappropriating your characters. I’m just new here. Did I do a bad thing? Is this against the rules?Inspector McGuffin of Scotland Yard pushed through the swinging silver double doors into the morgue.
"What do we have here?" he asked the medical examiner.
"Adult male, dark hair, dark eyes," the older man replied. "Name is Damien Marshall, a parish priest out in West London. Originally an American, oddly enough, but he’s been here for almost ten years."
"What happened?" Inspector McGuffin inquired.
"He was found by the groundskeeper in the cemetery between his parish house and the chapel," the M.E. explained. "Quite a shock for the old guy. The body was lying face-up in the rain."
"Any odd marks on the body?"
"Fresh small cuts and scratches on his hands and wrists; it looks like he was handling roses earlier this evening, and not very careful about the thorns. A fresh bruise on the left knee, it appears he ran into something in the dark, probably a table. Also dirt, bruising and abrasions on the knuckles of the right hand, which match an imprint in the grime on the window sill in his study. Looks like he hit it pretty hard; it doesn’t look like a fall; I think he was angry about something."
"What did you find on the body?"
"Wallet and keys in his pockets, and in is left hand, a framed photograph."
Inspector McGuffin took the proffered photo, sealed in an evidence bag.
"Pretty girl," the Inspector. "Who is she?"
"The detectives identified her as Rosemarie Smythe, Father Damien’s secretary up until last Friday. Apparently she resigned, then went off and got married on Saturday. She’d worked for him over five years."
"Went off and got married? She didn’t have her boss perform the wedding?"
"No, they went to a Justice of the Peace," the M.E. explained. "Makes you think there might have been some bad feeling between her and her employer."
"Did anyone talk to this Mrs. Smythe?"
"That would have been difficult. She was in here last weekend. Apparently hit by a taxicab, about 2 a.m. Sunday morning, on the road just outside Father Damien’s parish. She died on the way to the hospital."
"Sounds pretty strange, meeting with a priest after midnight on your wedding night," Inspector McGuffin mused. "You think there might have been something peculiar going on?"
"She was pregnant," the medical examiner revealed, "We didn’t do DNA tests on the baby at the time, but we assumed it was Mr. Smythe’s, what with the quick wedding and all."
"Any evidence Smythe might have been responsible for Father Damien’s death? Jealousy could be a motive."
"No, it’s certainly a suicide." The medical examiner held up the corpse’s right hand. "You see this cross-shaped bruising on the palm? That’s the imprint of the weapon."
He held up a small, plain wooden cross. The sharp end was encrusted with blood and dirt. "He pulled this out of the ground at the cemetery. It marked the grave of the Smythe fetus, buried right next to its mother. Stabbed himself straight in the left ventricle. Death was almost immediate."
"He suicided on the grave of he former secretary? That’s pretty strong evidence that there was more than a professional relationship there."
"True," the examiner agreed. "According to the detectives, many of the parishioners suspected something might have been going on. The circumstances surrounding his death being what they are, none of them are willing to take responsibility for his burial. He has no family in England, and none we can locate in the States."
"A pauper’s grave, then."
"It’s almost as though he was advertising the affair," the M.E. commented. "Remember, her name was Rosemarie. Rosemarie Rousseau, her maiden name. The grounds around the parish home were planted thick with rosebushes, and according to the parishioners, there were always fresh cut roses in the offices."
"Well, he chose how he wanted to live, and he chose how he died," Inspector McGuffin remarked. "Quick, I suppose. There wasn’t very much pain?"
"I don’t imagine so," replied the medical examiner. "The end of that little cross was awfully sharp, and it didn’t take much effort to force it in." He wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. "The heart was broken anyway."
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