comes after years of service. You'd be a priest first, then probably an auxiliary bishop, then a full bishop and then an archbishop--which is also a position appointed by the Pope. Cardinals are then chosen from the archbishops.
'The cardinal electors are the most powerful individuals in the Catholic Church other than the Pope himself. They appoint the new Pope when the old one dies. There are usually about a hundred twenty of them, which is a very, very small per capita when you consider the overall size of the Catholic Church. Roughly one or two cardinals per eight or nine million Catholics.'
'I'd imagine they have a direct line to the Pope?' I ask.
'Yes.'
This gives me a better picture of the man who's on his way up in the elevator to see me. He'll be smart, hard-nosed, and used to the accoutrement of power and command. Most important, for our purposes, he'll be someone who can make decisions and issue orders that others will listen to.
Hopefully he's not an asshole.
'Do you think they wear anything under those robes?' Callie asks.
'Slacks, dear, we wear slacks.'
We turn to the voice, which is as rich and baritone as any of us could have imagined coming from a cardinal.
Cardinal Ross is very tall, nearly six foot four. He's got silver hair and is thin, though not unhealthily so. He has a long face to go with his height, and while it's not unattractive, it has recorded the years. I estimate his age at just over sixty. He has dark eyes that sweep over us with a certain weight, a definite gravitas. He's dressed in simple clerical black; slacks, shirt, jacket, and the white collar with a large silver cross hanging down. The simplicity of his garments don't lessen his presence; the man fills the room.
He's come alone, it seems, which surprises me.
I hold out my hand. 'Welcome, Cardinal.'
He takes the hand and shakes it, smiling down at me as he does. He holds the grip for a little longer than needed, letting his eyes take in my scars.
'Thank you for having me.'
I introduce him to the rest of my team. He looks around the office with some interest.
'So you catch murderers here.'
'We try, yes.'
He walks over to the dry-erase board, examines the names. Paces around the desks, nodding in what seems like approval.
'The most important jobs always seem to get done in the humblest surroundings.' He glances our way and smiles. 'Before anyone takes offense, I'm not knocking your offices. I mean it as a compliment.'
'We're a simple folk,' Callie drawls.
'Somehow I think that statement is both true and false, Agent Thorne. You have a narrowness of focus and a terrible simplicity of purpose, but you understand complexities of evil that are beyond me.'
Callie grins. 'You can certainly lay it on thick.'
He laughs. It's a nice laugh. Rich and unself-conscious. 'Occupational hazard. I'm not being dishonest with my praise, I assure you.'
'That's nice, but can we cut to the chase?' James asks. He's put my own words to voice, though with more hostility than I'd have liked. Cardinal Ross takes it in stride, unruffled.
'Indeed. Your Director called me. He briefed me on your suspicions regarding this man bugging our confessionals. I'm sorry to ask, but can you please explain how you came to this conclusion?'
I tell him about the Preacher, still holding back on the matter of the crosses in the wounds. I mention the conversation with Father Yates, his unspoken confirmation regarding Rosemary Sonnenfeld. Cardinal Ross rubs his forehead when I am done, and looks very, very troubled.
'Do you mind if I sit down?'
Alan gives him a chair.
'I understand. And agree, of course. There's no other way he could have known. This is terrible, terrible, terrible. If this got out it would shake the faithful badly.'
'You sure you're not just worried about more lawsuits?' James sneers. 'Your church did a fine job of hiding pedophiles for many years.'
'James!' I snap.
The cardinal holds up a hand. 'No, Agent Barrett. I've come to accept that I deserve any chastisement about that matter sent my way. I never personally hid a pedophile priest, but members of my church did, and it was shameful. My concern isn't with public relations, in spite of what you might think. This is a matter of faith. Have any of you ever given confession?'
'I have,' I say. 'But not since I was younger.'
Alan keeps his face bland at my little white lie.
'Not me,' Callie says. 'A good thing too. I'd have made some poor priest blush.'
James doesn't reply.
'Can you imagine how you'd feel if you found out someone besides your priest and God was listening in? It goes beyond scandal--it is a violation of one of the most basic, beautiful, and trusted bastions of Catholicism. Priests have died rather than break the seal of confession.'
'Cardinal,' I say, 'we're not on a crusade here. We don't need to make this public. What we do need is cooperation and access.'
'You'll get it, of course. You'd get it regardless. But I do appreciate the reassurances. The truth is, it will come out sooner or later. I'm sure someone else will consider the facts as you did and come to the same conclusion. What you will be giving me is time.'
'It wouldn't hurt if the man responsible was captured either,' I point out.
'I can't deny the truth of that. What do you need from me?'
'We've made a list of all the victims and have cross-referenced their geographical locations with nearby churches. I need to reach every one of these churches, and I need to find out if these victims were parishioners. Once we confirm they were, we need to speak to the priest in charge and see if they remember our man.'
'I can provide you with three members of my staff immediately. They can make the call and tell each priest to cooperate fully, and then pass the phone to you.'
I blink, taken aback.
'That'd be perfect.'
'I'll arrange it the moment I leave.'
35
JEZEBEL, CALLIE, ALAN, AND JAMES ARE IN THE PHONE ROOM with the three priests the cardinal provided us. I observed for a little while. The cardinal's men are all business, no questions; serious men, used to serious tasks. They are there to do what they've been told to do.
There's a definite 'when I say jump . . .' phenomenon within the church hierarchy, apparently. The cardinal's men would call and get someone on the phone without much delay. They'd relay in terse words that they were passing the phone to a member of the FBI and that the priest at the other end was to answer any and all questions. One of my guys would take the phone and do the interview. They'd pass it back to the cardinal's man, who'd make it clear that not a word was to be spoken about this, ever. Then they'd hang up. Simple, no muss, fuss, or complaints.
I've left them to it and taken a moment for myself inside the now empty Death Central. So much change has happened in the last few days. I've flown apart and come back together again. The Preacher let the world know he existed and I've followed his trail to the dark of the confessional booths.
I need a moment to step back, to look at the forest, not the trees. I need to try and see the man we're after.
He is smart. His ideas are not new, but his take on them has depth, care, a certain reverence. He's not hiding another motive behind the words he's saying. He believes them, they are what drives him. So what are those words?
They come down to truth, lies, and sin, and they are wrapped in religious significance. He hasn't taken a
