Nikki caught his use of the present tense. “What was he asking about?”
“It was the video. Somehow this Montrose had traced it to Alan after all these years. Can you believe it? He said he had just talked to a security guard who saw Alan the night he made the video. He denied it and sent him away, but my Alan, dear Alan, he freaked. He was so upset. We went to bed, and a half hour later I have to call 911 because of his heart. It was bad. In the hospital they gave him last rites.”
“Father Graf?”
He nodded. “That is when he made a confession about his sin of hiding the video. But the priest, he said, ‘No, no, Alan, you must absolve yourself by coming forward with this to the police.’ But Alan refused. I know they argued about this many times after he got out of the hospital. I guess the priest contacted the police detective to hypothetically explore delivering something to him on behalf of Alan, but my boyfriend refused to turn it over. He also refused to release Father Graf from his… what is it called…”
“Seal of confession?” said Rook.
“That, ja. The church law that makes a priest keep confession an absolute secret, no matter what. But when Alan was dying from his second heart failure, he told me to pass the video along to Father Graf to do as he wished.”
Rook said, “Why didn’t Father Graf just hand it over to Montrose?”
“That was the plan. But I had to get it to him first. I hesitated a few days because I, too, was scared. Finally, I met him at my agent’s office and handed it to him then, thinking it was all done.”
So now Nikki understood the phone calls between Montrose and Father Graf. And why the captain had searched the rectory. Once Graf told Montrose he was going to get the video from Meuller at the agent’s office, the Cap was looking for it like everyone else. “After you gave Father Graf the video that morning, where did he go?”
“That I do not know. I was paranoid about my safety and boogied, you know?” His accent made it sound like “boo-geet.”
“They found you, though, didn’t they?” said Rook.
“I made the mistake of going back to the old apartment, the one Alan and I shared. I thought now that the video was finally gone, I could chance it. I had some photos of him I wanted not to leave behind. I miss him so.” Nikki offered some more water, but he waved it off. “They were waiting.”
“Are these the men who attacked you?” She held up the photos of Torres and Steljess.
“I cannot be sure. Both of them wore ski masks. They turned up my stereo and lashed me to my bed. There was a metal wand they used to torture me that shocked me and burned. You have to understand, it was a terrible pain. Terrible.”
“Horst? How did you manage to get away?”
“When they left me to call someone in the next room, I slipped my restraints. You see, in Hamburg I was once a magician’s assistant for Zalman der Ausgezeichnet. I used the fire escape out the window and ran for my life.”
“Why did they stop the torture to make a call?” She closed her notebook and studied him. He grew uncomfortable under her gaze and said, “That electricity, it was the most awful thing in my life, ever. You can see, I still have scars.”
Horst was still selling the pain. Nikki knew why. She didn’t judge him, but she wasn’t going to say it for him, either, so she waited.
“It hurt through and through, you see.” Tears pooled in his eye sockets and Meuller slurped back mucus. “I am so very sorry but I.. . I told them. I told them I gave the video away… To Father Graf.”
Then he sobbed in shame.
Heat and Rook had a sober, contemplative ride across town to Tribeca. Halfway to his loft, Rook said, “Father Graf on his conscience. That’s a big load to carry.”
“I feel sorry for him. Truly, Rook, who knows what any of us would do under those circumstances.” They rode in silence again. A block later her cell phone buzzed. “Raley,” she reported when she did a screen check. “Hey, Rales, what’s up?”
“Coupla things I know you’ll be interested in. First, your man DeWayne did call. Forensics is draining and sieving the tank on top of the Graestone as we speak. Ochoa’s there supervising.”
“That’s great. Let’s hope there’s a bullet in there somewhere.”
“Now, I’ve got one more item in the breaking news category. In my spare time, when not focusing on maintaining an orderly work area, I ran a financial on Father Graf.” God, thought Heat, how much she loved working with Roach. “Guess what kicked out. Remember that folder for Emma on his computer? I discovered that an Emma Carroll and Graf had a joint bank account. It’s only got a few hundred in it now, but it’s fluctuated as high as twenty, thirty grand over the past year.”
“Rales, you’re the best. At least you will be if you also have an address for Emma Carroll.” Raley gave it to her, and when they hung up, Nikki leaned forward to the cabdriver. “Change of plans, if you don’t mind. Park Avenue at Sixty-sixth.”
From a high floor in any building in Manhattan you can scan the sur rounding apartment rooftops and find a sunroom or two. Emma Carroll met them in hers, and Nikki was amazed at how warm and brilliant it was in there, even though it was near zero outside. The light did little to brighten the woman’s face, however. Emma Carroll was quite attractive in what some would call a cougarish way, but the skin was swollen around her eyes, which had a dullness from medication or despondency, or both. “I’m still reeling,” she told them as soon as they sat. “Father Gerry was a great priest and a great man.”
“Were you close?” Heat surveyed her, wondering if there was any forbidden romance lurking, but she couldn’t tell, which usually meant there wasn’t any. Nikki prided herself on having finely tuned lay-dar.
“Yes but not like that, oh, please. What the father and I had was a shared vision for doing work through the church to foster human rights and social justice.” She took a sip of whatever she had on ice on the coffee table. “Why spoil the fun with something tawdry?”
“I do see that you and Father Graf shared a bank account. An occasionally large bank account,” said Nikki.
“Of course we did. I am not only a contributor, but also the treasurer of the account we held for donations to fund a human rights organization we believed in passionately.”
Rook asked, “And that would be Justicia a Garda?”
Emma Collins perked up for the first time. “Why, yes. I’m so glad you know of them.”
“Not so well, really.” More for Heat’s benefit, he said, “We have what I believe is more of an e-mail relationship.”
Nikki ignored Rook’s suspicions about Pascual Guzman and asked Collins, “So you would do both the fund- raising and banking for this cause?”
“Well, it began that way. But more recently, I do less administration and more of the development of new donors. I don’t even use the bank account much anymore, but steer our patrons to give directly to the liaison for Justicia. They seem to enjoy the sense of hands-on funding and their capital administrator is a very charming man.”
Nikki opened her notebook. “May I ask you his name?”
“Sure. It’s Alejandro Martinez. Do you need me to spell that?”
“No,” said Heat, “I’ve got it.”
SEVENTEEN
Rook fortified his first cup of coffee of the morning with a shot of espresso and said, “Mother, are you sure you are up for this?”
“Up for playing the role of a wealthy socialite? Up for it isn’t the phrase. Born to it would be more accurate, kiddo.”
Nikki plucked the mug shot of Alejandro Martinez from Murder Board South and said, “Think it over, Margaret, this is the man you’d be meeting. He’s a notorious drug dealer who’s done prison time. He claims he’s reformed, but
