15: Donnie

Mary leaned in to an open door and handed a green file to a chubby nun with large glasses.  Maggie overheard them discuss moving some rooms around to accommodate a schedule change.  Mary was her sweet self, but the flicker of her exuberance shined a little less brightly now.  “Why don’t I take you on a quick tour of the campus?” she offered.

“You know what I am really interested in seeing is where you keep those baptismal robes.  I’m beginning to wonder if you all keep a lock on that door at all.”

“Absolutely.  I think it would be a good idea to introduce you to Donnie, too.  Nobody knows the campus like him, and if I’m not around, he could probably be very useful.” Mary guided Maggie past the Youth Building, clamoring with clutches of children frolicking noisily - through the Sanctuary, as still and holy as a funeral - and down a secluded stair to the belly of the building.  As they made their way down a rudely lit corridor, Mary had one admonishment, “You should know, Maggie, you should watch out for Paul.”

“Paul?  Gomez?  I thought you said he was good people.”

“He is.  His heart is in the right place.  It’s just that thing, you know,” she made a distasteful face and motioned her hand in a small orbit about her groin, “That thing that makes men need to spread their seed everywhere.”  She said this last bit as if she had just tasted something rancid.

“I’m listening.”

Mary looked at Maggie with big-sister eyes as she explained, “Paul really does care about people, he does.  And I’ll even say that he is good at what he does.  But he teaches thirteen steps whenever he gets the chance, if you know what I mean.” Somewhere a choir was practicing. 

“I don’t.”

“Sometimes, folks swap one vice for another, specifically sex – a crutch.  There are twelve steps in all of the Anonymous programs.  But a lot of times, folks use the ‘thirteenth step’ to try to sex themselves sober.  It’s not healthy.  And Paul, bless his heart,” Mary bit down hard on the sarcasm of her bitter blessing, “if you notice, always has a student staying after class.”

“I see.”

“I know you’re a big girl, but you’re a pretty girl, too, and you should know what you’re walking in to.  I’m just saying keep your eyes open, that’s all.”

“I appreciate that.  I really do.”

One of the doors in the hall was open and the blue light of a tv glowed from within.  Mary stepped inside.  She had apparently recovered her typical scintillating demeanor; she waved her hands in the air as she entered the small room and sang out, “Donnie-e-e!”  The man who was apparently Donnie jumped with a start, as Mary threw he arms around his shoulders.  “Aw geez!  Mary.  Aw, it’s you.  Scared the tar out of me.”  Donnie secreted whatever he was reading under a one of the newspaper sections scattered about his messy destop. 

The office was small and dirty.  Around the room was a desk, a locker, a stack of newspapers as tall as a shotgun is long, and a painted square of plywood, upon which dozens of keychains hung from hooks.  At the opposite wall was a door secured with a padlock.  In one corner, an underweight Boxer crouched in a tiny cage.  On the table, besides the day’s news, were a small tv and an ashtray, piled with stinking butts as high and round as a cantaloupe half.  The smells of the dog and the cigarettes and Donnie melded together to form an evil potpourri. 

Mary introduced Maggie to the man in the office, “Maggie, this is Donnie Gomez, plant manager. He knows the campus inside and out.  He takes care of everything: the HVAC, plumbing, lighting, landscaping - he keeps us running.   He’s our angel.  Isn’t that right, Donnie? - Maggie here is new to Sacred Heart and is interested in seeing the baptism gowns.  We were hoping that you could let us in to the store room.”

Not a semblance of anything one would call lovely could be ascribed to Donnie’s physical, intellectual or spiritual forms.  He was soft in shape and dull in thought, and his hygiene was suspect.   

The Boxer in the corner began to bark at what she took to be two intruders.  The barking embarrassed Donnie before his two regal guests.  He did not often receive company, and when he did, it was even less often from beautiful people.  Donnie rolled a newspaper up and repeatedly brought it to bear without reserve upon the dog’s wire pen.  He raged at the rust-chocolate colored dog, “Shut up, Dixie!  These are guests!  Shut up!”   The cage rattled from the violence.  To Dixie it was the inescapable clamor of God’s own wrath.  She ceased barking and in her panic scrambled wildly about her pen, searching futilely for an escape from the box.

“That’s a girl.”  The dog silenced, Donnie instantaneously became his version of charming again.  “Sure thing, ladies.”  He grabbed a set of keys form the board, hanging above the letter G, “Here we go.  Right this way.”  As Donnie led the troupe into the hallway, Detective Kennedy stole a glance at the small black-and-white screen.  It was not a television at all, but apparently a security camera.  At the moment it was framed in on a group of four young women, somewhere here at Sacred Heart.

Donnie led them through the labyrinth beneath the church, whistling as he went.  Detective Kennedy made small talk, “So how long have you been here, Donnie?”

“Oh, I been here – let’s see, the Senior Center was being built when I came on, and that was, oh – I been here about 17 years.  It’s changed a lot, I’ll tell you.  It’s grown.  A lot o’ buildings been built.  A lot more people are here now.  It’s nice.  I like it.”

“Yeah?  How big is it?”

“We got five buildings plus Automotive and Plant Services.  Over 60,000 square foot heated.”

“That’s a lot of space,” the detective noted.

“Yeah, it keeps me jumping all the time.  We got a whole crew, two crews even.  Usually I’m up in the main building or running around.  I just come down here to get my head together sometimes.  It’s my private office.  And of course, I keep my baby down here, Dixie.”

One camera, the detective thought to herself.

The trio reached a long straight run of hall, lined both sides with doors spaced evenly 20 feet apart down the length.  Each door was labeled with a large red letter of the alphabet, painted crudely by Donnie’s own hand.  “Let’s see,” Donnie said as they passed each one, “J is choir and communion, I is office supplies, H is lightbulbs and housekeeping, and . . . G, sporting goods, linens and eveningwear.”  Donnie unlocked the door, swung it open and flipped on the light.  The room was populated with cardboard boxes and metal shelves that housed all manner of ecclesiastical tools. 

“Well, at least it was in fact locked,” Maggie said.

“What’s that?” Donnie asked.

Mary gave Donnie a friendly squeeze, “Don-Juan, thank you so much for your help.  We can lock it up on our way out.”

Don allowed himself to be dismissed, “Any time Miss Mary.  You just call.”

Once Donnie was gone, Maggie thanked Mary for covering her near slip, “So where are the robes?  I thought they would be hung up.”

“Look here,” Mary opened a box.  Inside were probably 20 of the linen garments that they were looking for. 

Maggie took out one of the robes and examined it.  “Someone could have easily taken a whole box.”

“Maggie, you have got to find out who killed that girl.  This should have been stopped already.  I thought it was over.”

She looked Mary in the eyes.  “I promise,” she earnestly pledged, “I’m going to need to take one of these back to Evidence?”

“Of course.”

Mary locked the storage room behind them and led Maggie a different way out than the way they had come in.  The two women, the beautiful doppelgangers, the new compatriots, were all out of words as they made their way down the hall, past all of the doors marked with scrawled letters: past door D, past door C, past door B, and up the stairs, past a locked door painted with a large letter A.