“Three things are necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.”

--St. Thomas Aquinas

Michael held the door open for Murdoch and they both entered the room as she flashed him a sarcastic thank you smile. The smile was appreciated, not only for the thank you but for the levity which helped break the tension.

This was the third interview in the last two hours. The first two had not gone well. The people involved had seen nothing but had been more than willing to present their emotionally based theories as facts. Sorting facts from theories had elicited nothing but anger from the subjects, so much so that a Mrs Erma Kline had proclaimed that they, the police, were not interested in finding the truth. Michael had smiled politely as prudence dictated and refuted the claim with a series of inane platitudes. Murdoch had excused herself from the room for decorum’s sake, her patience worn thin. Thus they found themselves in the room now with a Miss Jenni Talvert. Miss Talvert was a thin woman with a hawkish face. Though her appearance was austere it would not have been altogether unpleasing but for the blood red eyes and smeared mascara that gave evidence to a litany of tears. Her dark hair was unkempt and loose strands of it hung haphazardly from the remains of a bun held loosely in place by a worn scrunchie of blue terrycloth. The fingers of her furiously clenched hands were proportionally as long as her face and the knuckles were white with exertion as she clung firmly to a prayer book encircled by a plain strand of sterling silver links adorned with a simple crucifix of the same material.

Murdoch sat down as Domenicalli reached into his coat poacket and took out a cigarette and his lighter, "You mind if I smoke Miss Talvert?"

"No...I guess not," Talvert replied timidly. It was evident that she probably preferred he didn’t smoke by the sideways looks she gave Domenicalli but he was not about to turn down a cigarette unless it was absolutely necessary. "Good." The lighter flared briefly as Michael took a languid drag on his cigarette and sat himself down.. He reached for an ashtray and remembered that they had been taken out of the interview rooms 4 months before.. Nonchalantly he downed the remains of his coffee, now cold, and balanced the cigarette on the lip of the styrofoam cup. "I’m Detective Michael Domenicalli and this is Sergeant Renee Murdoch, we’d like to ask you a few questions if we may. You’re not in any trouble. We are trying to determine the facts about what happened this afternoon. We’d also like to determine why it happened. Do you think you can help us with that?"

Jenni Talvert nodded slowly and then shakily added, "I was so scared. It all happened so fast."

Murdoch reached across the table and laid her hand on Talvert’s with a gentle squeeze, "We realize that. We know this may be difficult and we’re willing to work with you to figure this out. But if you know or saw anything we need to know. Is that fair?"

Jenni nodded again and Murdoch released her hand before sitting back in her chair. Domenicalli leaned back as well, crossing his hands across his chest. He’d let Murdoch take the lead on this one since the subject was obviously responding to her. Murdoch picked up on the unspoken signal and tapped a pencil on the desk as she opened one of the folders she had brought in with her.

"Full name is Jennifer Desiree Talvert, Brookhurst Building Apt 2E Queens; is that correct?" Talvert nodded and Murdoch put a tick next to the information.

"Age 28?" Talvert nodded again, one more tick. Murdoch nodded as she went down her list,

"Good, one final personal question; You are currently empolyed at Rossolini’s Grocery Store as a clerk correct?" Talvert nodded one final time and Murdoch closed the folder and took out a notepad while Domenicalli put a digital recorder on the table.

Renee looked slowly and deliberately into Jenni’s eyes, "Why were you in front of the Queens Women’s Health Center this afternoon?"

Jenni took a deep breath, steeling herself for the memories she would have to conjure up. "I’m a member of Golden Apple church and we had partnered with St. Stephens to protest there this afternoon. We were supposed to protest for a couple of hours and then march to a rally in front of St. Stephens." Jenni took a deep breath and continued on. "As soon as we got there we found ourselves being yelled at by a larger group of people"

"Who were they?" Murdoch interjected.

"I don’t know for sure except that they were there to protest against us and in favor of abortion rights. Did I forget to mention we were there to protest against expanding abortion rights?" Talvert asked quizically.

"We figured but it helps us that you clarified the issue" Murdoch rejoined. "Was anyone from either of the two groups violent at that point?" Murdoch asked pointedly.

"No...no they weren’t. Their were discussions, arguments, maybe even heated words but nothing violent. Then...oh God then!" Jenni sobbed suddenly and put her face in her hands.

Murdoch reached across the table again "Okay, we’ll get back to that in a moment. Did you know either of the two women who lost their lives this afternoon?"

Jenni nodded.

"Who?" Murdoch asked softly.

Jenni replied with a hoarse, "Rita."

"You two were friends?" Murdoch asked.

Jenni Talvert shook her head slowly, her hair swaying softly amongst the smoke of Domenicalli’s cigarette. "Not really. We volunteered together and we talked some but we were never that close. Sometimes she seemed sad and I figured she was homesick. Pastor MJ spent a lot of time helping her through it though."

"Pastor MJ? I don’t remember seeing that name on the list of people present." Murdoch asked quizically her pencil stopping on the notepad in front of her.

Jenni Talvert smiled for the first time that evening, "Matt Jacobs. He had to leave early to meet a couple back at Golden Apple. He’s a wonderful person. So full of life and love."

The words hung in the smoke for a moment as if everyone present realized it was time to get to the subject Jenni Talvert had been hoping to avoid.

Michael leaned forward, "Miss Talvert, what happened this afternoon to make everything go so wrong?"

Jenni stared blankly into space for a long moment. So long in fact that Murdoch and Domenicalli feared she wasn’t going to speak. Jenni then rubbed her temples before catapulting them into her nightmare with the simplest of sentences, "The sun was so bright."

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For late fall the sun was supernaturally bright, beating down upon the assembled crowd with an intense air of oppressiveness. Though the air itself was pleasant and cool, any one of the people lining the sidewalk of the Poplar Street entrance to the Queens Women’s Health Clinic would have sworn that it was the height of summer. Perhaps the frayed tempers and charged emotions were more to blame than the late autumn sun but nevertheless Jenni Talvert struggled to pull her blue knit sweater over her head as it got tangled in the simple silver chain she wore around her neck. She finally freed herself from the sweater, dropping the sign she held between her knees. The sign was hand painted with the message "Give Life A Chance" and an enlarged sonogram picture of a fetus sucking it’s thumb was plastered to the signboard below the message.

Seeing his chance, a young man darted forward from the group of people opposite her and snatched the fallen sign from the ground. His face seemed a mix of excitement and disgust as he began to dash back across the imaginary no man’s land dividing the two sides. Another young man dashed out from behind Jenni to intercept the sign and the two squared off. Quickly leaders from both sides emerged and defused the situation and an older lady wearing a shirt stating "My Body My Choice" handed the sign back to her. Two bored police officers looked on and satisfied that their was no threat of violence went back to observing the crowd. The atmosphere was tense but controlled.

Jenni held her sign and glared in the intense sunlight, looking for her friend who had driven her to the rally. She gazed around hopelessly for a few moment before spotting her pastor consoling another young lady. She smiled to herself as she watched Pastor MJ put his hand gently around her shoulders and whisper consoling words into her ear. She recognized the girl of course, a college transplant from somewhere in the midwest who had a kind soul and a ready willingness to help those in need. They had crossed paths a few times in the past couple of months.

. Pastor MJ was the one who held her attention though. Tall and thin he had sandy blond hair that he tied back into a neat ponytail at the base of his skull. Even in this heat he wore an immaculate suit and polished shoes and his smile and kind words lent him a glow that could be felt if not seen. She would be lying if she didn’t admit that many of the young women of the congregation, including herself, held a secret crush for the charming young pastor. For a moment it crossed her mind that she was glad she was not a Catholic as Pastor MJ could someday marry while the middle aged priest on the far side of the protest would never know that joy.

Jenni watched as the pastor finished talking to the woman and made his way to the edge of the crowd before getting a waiting taxicab. She frowned slightly in disappointment. She had hoped to talk to him about the annual bachelor auction that was coming up before he left. She was the coordinator and needed to finalize some details. She had also hoped to talk him into putting his name on the bachelor list.

Jenni hefted her sign again and continued walking back and forth; praying to herself as she repeated the chants and sang the songs which were part of the protest. This went on for about an hour before she noticed a small disturbance coming from the street. The police were pushing the priest out of the way of a young girl and escorting her through the crowd. The priest was desperately trying to talk to her, a concerned look of love and desperation on his face. He continued to follow her as the small group made their way toward the entrance and Jenni. The young girl was crying and looked back at the priest occasionally while putting her hands to her abdomen. She mouthed something to the priest and continued walking, tears streaming down her face.

A sudden shove from behind made Jenni drop her sign and she looked to her left to see the girl, Rita she thought her name was, moving past her. In that moment Jenni saw a rage and a hatred she had never known and she physically flinched at the raw emotion etched on that face. That face too had tears streaming down it. However, the eyes spoke of a sorrow that had been burned away by something else.

From that moment time slowed and blurred for Jenni Talvert. The blurriness punctured by sudden moments of clarity and terrifying focus.

A revolver in a shaky hand rising slowly, so slowly in a a deadly arc of purpose. To no avail, Jenni’s soul reached out in desperation to stop the shining implement of death in it’s inexorable march. Inch by inch it rose, sapping hope from Jenni as it reveled in her powerlessness. A deafening explosion and a horizontal pillar of flame emerged and sought to embrace the young girl making her way from the street. Vainly Jenni waited for the girl to move, to react. The fire was so slow, so deliberate. Why didn’t she move?

A fountain of blood and the first screams. Oh God the horrible screams! Screams of fear, screams of anger, screams of terror, screams of revenge. They surrounded and punctured her with a Furie’s vengeance born on waves of sound.

The middle aged priest tackled by the young man who had stolen her sign. His white collar suddenly crimson as his nose erupted under the onslaught of an angry fist.

Another young man tackling the priest’s assailant. They rolled in the dirt, their bodies intertwined in some perverse parody of lovemaking filled with rage and anger.

A young woman kicking the priest in the ribs. The ribs protesting with an audible crack somehow discernable over the din of the carnage surrounding them.

Jenni’s sign, the only visible word being “Life”, held in the hands of an older woman. The fetus’ eyes closed in sleep as it descended over and over to violently kiss a young woman mirroring it’s fetal position on the ground.

Then finally, the wielder of the gun falling before a multi-limbed beast of hatred and revenge. The last sight of the shooter was her hand as it lost its grip on the revolver and fell limply to the ground. Then all was blackness as Jenni covered her face with her hands. The only sound the sound of her screams. For Jenni the sunlight was gone.

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Jenni Talvert was sobbing, her hands covering her face as Murdoch reached out to stroke her hair. Michael reached for his digital recorder and pressed the off button with a steady act of deliberation. The action gave Domenicalli peace as his calm demeanor masked the roil of emotions he hid inside. He coughed quietly and looked softly at Jenni Talvert, "Is there anything else you’d like to add Miss Talvert?"

Jenni shook her head, her hands still covering her face. Murdoch slowly helped her out of her chair and ushered her to the door. She flashed a look at Domenicalli that communicated she might be a while and left the room, girl in tow. Michael picked up his cigarette and took one last drag. The smoke hung languidly in the room, peaceful and all encompassing while oblivious to the tortured tale relayed over the last half hour. Shaking his head he extinguished the cigarette. "Put out the light, and then put out the light." He flipped off the light switch of the interrogation room and moved sadly into the hall.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4