“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” the sergeant said softly as Anne sank onto the edge of the sofa. “Kip was involved in a—” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “There was an altercation last night.”
“What kind of ‘altercation?’” Gordy challenged, his voice hard.
“The investigation isn’t quite finished,” Chapman went on, “but it appears your son was fatally shot by officers while in the act of—” Again he fell silent, and Gordy Adamson’s eyes bored into him.
“In the act of
Chapman took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he was in the middle of killing someone,” he said. “A fifty-year-old woman who was out walking her dog.”
“Killing someone?” Anne breathed. “Kip? No — you must have the wrong boy. Kip would never—”
“I’m afraid it’s not a mistake, ma’am,” Chapman said gently. “Your son wasn’t carrying any identification, but his fingerprints are in the system and there really isn’t any question about the match. But we do need one of you to come down to the morgue and make a positive identification.”
Now Anne reached for Gordy’s hand, but his arms were tight across his chest, his face a mask of fury. “I’m gonna sue that damn school,” he said, his voice trembling with fury.
The two officers glanced uncertainly at each other. “School?” Officer Haskins asked. “What school?”
“St. Isaac’s,” Gordy spat. “They were supposed to keep Kip under control. What was he doing prowling the streets at night instead of sleeping in his dorm room? I ask you.”
“It’s got to be a mistake, honey,” Anne said, not wanting — not
“It was him, all right,” Gordy said, his voice sounding oddly flat. “I can feel it.” He shook his head tiredly. “Let me get my clothes on, and I’ll go with you.”
As her husband disappeared up the stairs Anne sat quietly with the two policemen, too stunned by what she’d been told to say anything more at all.
“I’m so sorry,” Officer Haskins said, but Ann shook her head distractedly, as if by rejecting his sympathy she could deny the reason for it.
A few silent moments later, Gordy came back down, carrying his shoes. He dropped into a chair and put them on. “I swear, I really am suing that damned school,” he muttered as he tied his laces. “You give a kid to a bunch of priests and nuns and he’s supposed to be safe. But no.” His voice began to crack. He tied the last knot, stood up, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”
A moment later, alone in the silent house, Anne stared for a long time at the framed photograph on the mantel of Kip in his Little League uniform.
Hanging over the corner of the frame was his first rosary.
As the truth of what had happened slowly began to sink in, she rose from the chair and moved to the fireplace.
She picked up the rosary and held it to her cheek.
Silently, her eyes streaming with tears, she began to pray.
CHAPTER 11
FATHER SEBASTIAN SLOANE HURRIED along the corridor toward Father Laughlin’s office, still wiping toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. Sister Margaret’s tone alone had been enough to tell him that whatever Father Laughlin wanted to see him about was very serious. Which, Father Sebastian was certain, meant two things: it had to do with Kip Adamson, and it wasn’t good.
He paused at the door to the headmaster’s office only long enough to rap softly, then turned the knob.
Father Laughlin sat behind his desk, his lined face looking even older and more worn than usual. Sister Mary David, Brother Francis, and Sister Margaret all looked up when he came in, but none of them smiled.
The two nuns and the monk were even paler than the priest. Father Sebastian quietly took the single remaining empty chair.
Father Laughlin took a deep breath, spread his hands flat on the top of his desk, and looked straight at Father Sebastian. “Kip Adamson murdered a woman last night,” he said, his voice as flat as his hands. Before Father Sebastian could even react, he spoke again. “He himself was killed by the police.”
A cold numbness spread through Father Sebastian’s body and he felt all the energy his body had generated during the night drain out of him. Questions tumbled through his mind, but before he could find the right words for even one of them, Father Laughlin spoke again.
“That’s all we know,” the old priest sighed, making the words sound like a personal defeat. “They’re investigating, of course.”
“Drugs?” Sebastian suggested, his eyes flitting over the little group.
Brother Francis spread his hands helplessly. “I suppose it’s possible, but…”
As his words trailed off into helplessness, Father Sebastian remembered Anne and Gordy Adamson. She, he was certain, would be devastated at the news. But what about Kip’s father? Would he even feign sorrow at his loss? Probably. But even more probably, he would start looking around for someone to blame, and St. Isaac’s would undoubtedly be at the top of his list. “Has anyone spoken with Kip’s parents?”
“I called their parish priest,” Brother Francis said. “Kip’s mother called him an hour ago, and he was already there.”
Sebastian frowned. “Shouldn’t Father Laughlin or I go, too?”
“That’s what I thought,” Brother Francis interjected. “But Father Laughlin feels it’s best if their own priest handles it.”
“It’s just so hard to believe,” Sister Mary David said, her lips compressing into a thin line as if the boy’s death were a personal affront to her. “It’s not as if he was doing badly here. In fact, he was doing well — his grades were up and—”
“The police will be here today,” Father Laughlin cut in, garnering a dark look from Sister Mary David, who obviously had a lot more to say. “They will want to know if anyone has noticed anything about Kip. Anything unusual.” His eyes roved tiredly from one face to another. “Has anyone?”
Father Sebastian glanced at the other three, none of whom seemed certain of even how to respond to Father Laughlin, let alone the police. “Nothing that I have noticed. I agree with Sister Mary David — Kip was doing well. The usual sins of a boy his age, of course.” He suppressed a smile as Sister Margaret blushed and Sister Mary David scowled disapprovingly. “But I heard his confession and gave him a penance. Actually, I thought we were succeeding very well with him. At least up until yesterday.”
Father Laughlin took another deep breath, and seemed to pull himself together slightly. “Very well. If any of you should remember anything odd about Kip’s behavior, please bring it here first. At this point there’s nothing that can be done either for the Adamson boy or for the poor woman he attacked.” He paused, then spoke again, his voice taking on a slight edge. “I’m sure you all understand that we don’t need any publicity that will reflect badly either on the school or on the Church. I think the Church has had as much of that as it can stand for the foreseeable future.” His eyes moved from one face to the next. “Do I make myself clear?”
“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Sister Mary David said. “Some parents are likely to remove their children, and recruitment will be difficult for a year or so.” She turned to Sister Margaret. “We ought to have a statement ready for the press.”
Father Laughlin pressed his fingertips to his temples and rubbed them in small circles as if he could massage away the trouble that he was certain was about to rain down on his head.
“We’d better cancel classes for today,” Father Sebastian said as Father Laughlin’s silence stretched on. “We’ll hold a mass for Kip, and then arrange to be in our offices and available for any of the students who want to talk about it. As for the police, the best thing we can do is answer all their questions as completely and honestly as possible.”
As the two nuns nodded their agreement, Brother Francis raised his hand, and Father Sebastian was
