and the sudden small twinges of dissatisfaction. “Maybe I need to be involved. Things have been pretty cut and dried for me up to now in my life, and my career. My part in this has shown me a different aspect of myself, and of the system.”
She took up her napkin, but only kneaded it in her hands. “The police aren’t interested in the workings of his mind, in his emotional motivation, yet they’ll use the knowledge to try to catch him, and to punish him. I’m not interested in seeing him punished, yet I’ll use what I can learn of his mind, his motivation, to try to have him stopped and helped. Which of us is right, Grandpa? Is justice punishment or is it treatment?”
“You’re talking to a lawyer of the old school, Tess. Every man, woman, and child in this country is entitled to representation and a fair trial. The lawyer might not believe in the client, but he has to believe in the law. The law says that this man has the right to be judged by the system. And usually the system works.”
“But does the system, the law, understand the diseased mind?” Shaking her head, she set the napkin down again, recognizing her kneading as nerves. “Not guilty by reason of insanity. Shouldn’t it be not responsible? Grandpa, he is guilty of murdering those women. But responsible, no.”
“He’s not one of your patients, Tess.”
“Yes, he is. He has been all along, but I didn’t understand that until last week-the last murder. He hasn’t asked me for help yet, but he will be asking for it. Grandpa, do you remember what you said to me the day I opened my office?”
He studied her, seeing that even with her intense and troubled eyes, the candlelight made her beautiful. She was his little girl. “Probably said too many things. I’ve been alive a long time.”
“You said that I’d chosen a profession that would allow me into people’s minds, and that I could never forget their hearts. I haven’t forgotten.”
“I was proud of you that day. I still am.”
She smiled and picked up her napkin. “You’ve got ketchup on your chin, Senator,” she murmured, and wiped it off.
Three and a half miles away Ben and Ed had had more than one drink. The club was decorated with wine bottles, had its fair share of regulars and a blind piano player who sang low-key rock. His tip jar was only half full, but the evening was young. Their table was roughly the size of a place mat squeezed in among a line of others. Ed worked his way through a pasta salad. Ben settled on the beer nuts.
“You eat enough of those,” Ben commented with a nod at Ed’s plate. “You turn into a yuppie.”
“Can’t be a yuppie if you don’t drink white wine.” Sure?
“Absolutely.”
Taking him at his word, Ben plucked up a rotini noodle.
“What was the word when you called in?”
Ben picked up his glass and watched a woman in a short leather skirt slide past their table. “Bigsby went by the drugstore where he bought the money order. Nothing. Who’s going to remember a guy buying a money order three months ago? Aren’t you going to put any salt on that?”
“Are you kidding?” Ed signaled for another round. Neither of them were drunk yet, but not for lack of trying.
“You going over to Kinikee’s Saturday to watch the game?”
“I’ve got to look at apartments. I’ve got to be out by the first of December.”
“You should forget an apartment,” Ben said as he switched to his fresh drink. “Rent money’s money down the tube. You ought to be thinking about buying your own place, investing your money.”
“Buying?” Ed picked up a spoon and stirred his drink. “You mean a house?”
“Sure. You’ve got to be crazy to toss money out the window every month on rent.”
“Buy? You thinking of buying a house?”
“On my salary?” Ben laughed and tipped the chair back the full inch he had.
“Last I looked, I was bringing home the same as you.”
“I tell you what you need to do, partner. You need to get married.” Ed said nothing, but drained half his drink. “I’m serious. You find a woman, make sure she has a good job-I mean, like a career, so she won’t be thinking about dumping it after. It would help if you found one you didn’t mind looking at for long periods of time. Then you combine your salaries, you buy a house, and you stop throwing away rent money.”
“They’re turning my apartment building into condos, so I have to get married?”
“That’s the system. Let’s ask an unbiased party.” Ben leaned over to the woman beside him. “Excuse me, but do you believe with today’s social and economic climate that two can live as cheaply as one? In fact, considering the buying power of a two-income family, that two can almost always live more cheaply than one?”
The woman set down her spritzer and gave Ben a considering look. “Is this a pickup?”
“No, this is a random poll. They’re turning my partners apartment into a condo.”
“The dirty bastards did the same thing to me. Now it takes me twenty minutes on the Metro to get to work.”
“You have a job?”
“Sure. I manage Women’s Better Dresses at Woodies.”
“Manage?”
“That’s right.”
“Here you go, Ed.” Ben leaned toward him. “Your future bride.”
“Have another drink, Ben.”
“You’re blowing a perfect opportunity. Why don’t we switch places so you can…” He trailed off as he spotted the man approaching their table. Instinctively he straightened in his chair. “Evening, Monsignor.”
Ed turned and saw Logan just behind him, wearing a gray sweater and slacks. “Nice to see you again, Monsignor. Want to squeeze in?”
“Yes, if I’m not interrupting.” Logan managed to draw a chair up to the corner of the table. “I called the station and they told me you’d be here. I hope you don’t mind.”
Ben ran a finger up and down the side of his glass. “What can we do for you, Monsignor?”
“You can call me Tim.” Logan signaled to the waitress. “I think that would make us all more comfortable. Bring me a St. Pauli Girl, and bring another round for my associates.” Logan glanced over as the piano player went into one of Billy Joel’s ballads. “I don’t have to ask if you two have had a hard day. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Court, and I had a brief discussion with your captain a couple of hours ago. You’re trying to pin down a Francis Moore.”
“Trying’s the word.” Ed pushed aside his empty plate so the waitress would clear it when she served the drinks.
“I knew a Frank Moore. Used to teach in seminary down here. Old school. Unshakable faith. The kind of priest I imagine you’re more accustomed to, Ben.”
“Where is he?”
“Oh, in God’s light, I’m sure.” He picked up a handful of nuts. “He died a couple of years ago. Bless you, child,” Logan said when his beer was in front of him. “Now old Frank wasn’t a raving fanatic, he simply wasn’t flexible. Today we have a lot of young priests who question and search, who debate such horny-you should forgive the pun- issues as celibacy and a woman’s right to give the sacraments. It was easier for Frank Moore, who saw things in black and white. A man of the cloth doesn’t lust for wine, women, or silk underwear. Cheers.” He lifted his glass and drained what was left of the beer. “I’m telling you this because I thought I might tug on a few connections, talk to some people who would remember Frank and some of the students under him. I did some counseling at the seminary myself, but that was nearly ten years ago.”
“We’ll take what we can get.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, I think I’ll have another beer.” He caught the waitress’s eye, then turned back to smile at Ben. “How many years of Catholic school?”
Ben dug for his cigarettes. “Twelve.”
“The whole route. I’m sure the good sisters gave you an admirable foundation.”
“And a few good shots across the knuckles.”
