“So when the media calls and asks about the dead priest, what do we say?” Lymon asked.
“
Mouse shifted in his chair. “You say we’re investigating, and we’ll keep them abreast of events as they develop. They need anything more detailed, they should get ahold of me.”
“But you’re in federal court all week in St. Paul,” Lymon said.
“Exactly,” Mouse said.
“Okay, c’mon, guys.” John made a hurry-up gesture with his hands. “You know why we’re here. Broker is going to get us a read on Moros’s background, but mainly he’s going to take Harry off the table, so ah-well, Mouse, where is he?”
Mouse folded his arms across his chest. “Got me. He don’t answer his phone. But he’s probably home sacked out, sleeping off a hangover. I reckon he’s been hitting the bottle steady since you took his badge. If he’s not home, you could try Annie Mortenson’s; she’s his on-and-off lady friend, but she won’t give him the time of day if he’s been drinking, so he probably ain’t there. I’d check every bar and casino within a one-hundred-mile radius.”
“Great,” Broker said.
“You asked.” Mouse shrugged, took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Broker. “I’ll check around and put the word out. All the other poop’s there; addresses, phone numbers, the witness next to the church, the secretary who found the body. You can reach Mortenson at home or try the library; she’s part-time there.”
Lymon squared his shoulders, came forward in his chair. “Harry had contact with the priest. Why not turtle up, go out to his place, and bring him in for questioning?”
John waved his hand in a downward motion. “Don’t provoke him if he’s drinking; he could bounce weird. The last thing you want is to play guns with Harry. You got that, Lymon?”
“What did I say?” Lymon said.
Mouse scowled. “We don’t know he had contact with Moros. We know he asked around and cleared an anonymous tip.”
Lymon smiled, shook his head. “You guys all stick together, the over-forty club.”
“C’mon, Lymon; you gonna arrest him because he called you a name? Where’s your probable cause?” Mouse said.
“At least we should test his hands for nitrates, to see if he fired a gun in the last twenty-four hours,” Lymon said.
“Enough,” John said sharply. He turned to Broker. “See why I need a certain touch? None of these guys can think straight about Harry.”
“Aw, bullshit,” Mouse said.
John sighed. “Okay, Mouse; get it off your chest.”
Mouse shrugged. “We’re running scared. Bringing Broker in on Harry is too much gun. Sends a bad message.”
John smiled tightly. “Says
Mouse shook his head. “Fuck that!”
“So that’s it. Stonewall until I get back in town,” John said. They all stood up.
Mouse said, “We’ll keep it low profile, talk to the congregation. .”
“All six of them,” Lymon quipped.
Broker nodded. “I’ll touch base later this morning after I call on Harry.”
Lymon stepped closer. “You know, you might need backup going out to Harry’s. I could. .”
“Take off,” John said sharply to Lymon as he took the young detective by the arm and walked him to the door. Then he turned to Mouse. “When it gets right down to it, Broker is going to need a hand with Harry.”
Mouse shook his head. “Sure, but I’ll do it under protest. I don’t go for strong-arming him into the hospital.”
“See what it’s like here?” John said to Broker. “I got a mutiny.”
“So hang me,” Mouse said. “Harry breaks the law, I’ll put him down. But all Harry did was mouth off to Lymon. I ain’t defending it, what he said, but all he did was say some words.” Mouse paused and said to Broker, “What you and him have in the past is your business.” Mouse turned and left the room.
“I’m going to be real popular around here,” Broker said. “And what’s Lymon’s story? The dude is barely housebroken.”
“It’s a brave new world, buddy. Lymon is pretty typical of the new breed. Smarter than most. He went straight from high school in the suburbs to college to patrol in Park Rapids. You remember in St. Paul, the first thing they had us do at rookie school?”
Broker shrugged. “Sober up?”
“You know what they do now? They put gloves on them and stick them in the ring. Most of these kids have never been hit in their life. Then they take them to the morgue to see their first dead body.”
“Fuck me dead,” Broker said. When he and John went through rookie school, 90 percent of their class was ex-marine and army grunts back from a shooting war.
“And you gotta watch what you say these days. There’s age discrimination, there’s sexual discrimination. .” John wagged an admonishing finger and raised his eyebrows for emphasis. “There’s racial discrimination. And there’s a need to be generally sensitive. For instance, Lymon is pretty serious about his family and going to church.”
“Gosh,” Broker said.
“That’s better. Now, here’s my cell; I’ll be monitoring it full-time in Seattle.” John handed Broker two cards. “Give your cell on the second one.” Broker scribbled the number and handed the card back. Then John asked, “Who are you going to approach at the archdiocese about Moros?”
“I thought Jack Malloy,” Broker said.
“He’d be my choice,” John said.
“I’ll call him right now,” Broker said and reached across the desk, picked up John’s receiver and dialed information, got the number for Holy Redeemer in St. Paul, called it, and asked for Jack Malloy. He told the secretary it was urgent. The voice on the line said that Father Malloy was not available this morning. Broker covered the receiver with his hand and said, “Playing golf.” He requested a sit-down with Malloy as soon as possible. He used the word
When he hung up, John said, “Make nice to Mouse; he’ll come around and fill you in.”
“Yeah, right,” Broker said. “Sounds like Lymon was part of the scene that got Harry in trouble.”
“Harry comes into the unit stinking of booze, and somehow Lymon picked up the Mr. Coffee before he did, so Harry yells, ‘Who gave this nigger cuts to the front of the line?’ Bigger than shit in front of half the squad.”
Broker shook his head. “Vintage Harry.”
John pointed a no-nonsense finger. “I’m thinking when Harry sees I sent you after him, he’s going to blow his top. Everything’s going to come out. You push him hard on the Saint. But then he goes inside, in-patient, four weeks at the CD ward at St. Joseph’s. No treatment, no badge, no gun. You got it?”
“I got it,” Broker said.
“I mean, you get Mouse to help you, and you walk him into the hospital to the admitting desk, and you don’t leave till he has a little white plastic patient ID strapped on his wrist. And be careful; I don’t think Harry’s a threat to the public safety in general. .”
“Just to me,” Broker said.
“Well, yeah.”
Chapter Seven
Broker had never been to Harry’s home, but he knew roughly where it was and he had Mouse’s instructions. It was the only house on a small unnamed lake in the middle of eighty acres of fallow farmland off the Manning Trail
