The crime scene officer’s name was Kelly Truesdell.
“Hey, fellas.”
Lynch dug for his pad and pen while Ernie met with forensics by the body.
“Evenin’, Kelly. Priest?”
“Bishop.”
“Oh boy. Please tell me this one got caught with his pants up.”
“Pants are up, Jim.”
“Witnesses?”
“No eyewitnesses, but a couple guests heard the shot and…”
“Shot? As in singular?”
“Yup, just one shot as far as we know.”
“Who’s on this? State? County? Fed?”
“No one yet. Just you guys.”
Over Truesdell’s shoulder, Lynch got his first look at Father Leonardo Pascucci. He had arrived a good 20 minutes before Lynch and Gomez. The priest was pulling what appeared to be a receipt out of his wallet to show Truesdell’s partner. Lynch could see it quivering in the shadow of the squad car’s head lights.
“Who’s that guy?”
“Now, that is a priest.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“You’d have to ask Brian. The security guy called Saint Al’s when he found the body. Left a message. That’s all I know.”
“Left a message? Christ!”
“Seriously?”
Lynch put on the necessary gear as to not contaminate the scene, and walked over to Doc Callahan while Gomez did likewise and disappeared into the hotel. The sheet-covered body lay close.
“Hiya, Doc. How we lookin’?”
“Clean shot to the front of the head. Looks like he pivoted on his left foot right before it happened. Never saw it coming.”
“Yay.”
“Yeah, Jim. Sorry. I’m afraid the ‘how’ is going to be easier than the ‘why’ and ‘who’ on this one.”
Ernie called over from the side entrance.
“Looks like we have a couple cameras, partner!”
“Well, that’s good news. Kelly! Where’s the guard? The one that found the body?”
“Inside with the medic.”
Ernie headed for the lobby while Lynch and Callahan knelt by the body of Bishop Ryan. The doctor pulled the sheet back. The bullet hole was small. The gun couldn’t have been larger than a ten-millimeter. The shot was deliberate but probably not the result of a professional hit. Assassins run silent. Anyone with a game system knows this. Lynch jotted down a few more minor observations before Callahan replaced the sheet. Ernie returned.
“We got lucky on the surveillance. Well…sorta lucky. Want to take a look?”
“I do.”
“Sorta lucky” was an apt description. After viewing the material twice, Lynch left the security room and reluctantly returned to the parking lot. There was someone he needed to talk to.
“Father Pascucci?”
The priest nodded wearily.
“I’m Sergeant Lynch. I’m sorry you had to find out about this the way you did. Has anyone gotten you anything to drink? There’s a soda machine…”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I’m fine. Do you know anything yet?”
“I’m afraid I just got here.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I suppose this is when I’m supposed to say ‘who would do something like this’, but when, statistically, every fifth person you meet thinks you’re a charlatan or a child molester …”
The statement abutted self-pity which the good priest detested, but he’d been bottling it for an hour.
“One of the officers took your statement, right?”
“Yes. I told him everything I could think of. I didn’t know Bishop Ryan very well.”
“Maybe you can help us then.”
“Sure. Anything”
Father Leo was a fourth generation Italian-American in his mid-50s. He was a tall man in good shape with a full head of peppered grey hair and straight white teeth. When he was younger, he wore his nationality on his sleeve. Not so much anymore. He didn’t really have to since the other two priests in his parish were Irish.
“One of the security cameras caught the shooting. If you’re up for it, you might…”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Up for it. I’m okay. I’ll look.”
For Lynch, this was a first. Not the response itself, but the quickness of it.
“Okay then. Follow me.”
Father Pascucci was asked three times if he was ready to see the tape. When Lynch and everyone else involved was assured, the security guard was asked to push [PLAY]. The priest squinted slightly as the dark colored Malibu came into view. Bishop Ryan exited the car, put his hands on his hips, and stretched his back. Then he went to the back seat to get his briefcase and vestments. He fiddled with them for a bit and realized that he didn’t have enough hands to take everything in at once, so he closed the door. He was rummaging for his key card, so he could get in the side entrance of the hotel when…
“Pause it, Henry.”
Lynch had the tape stopped just as a figure in a black trench coat over a lighter colored hoodie came into frame.
“Father Pascucci, we don’t have the gear here to enhance the picture, but does this mean anything to you?”
The priest squinted tighter and leaned in to see what Lynch was pointing at. The killer’s trench coat had some sort of symbol on the back. It was white, about 8 inches in diameter, and right between the shoulder blades.
“I don’t know the symbol specifically, but it’s probably Satanic or, at least, Pagan.”
“Really?”
The priest stood straight.
“I know of a group of young people that hang around the church’s neighborhood now and then. I don’t know much about them. They keep in the shadows mostly as far as I can tell, but they all wear those jackets.”
“A Satanist group you say?”
“I never heard them say it, but they act like it. It’s doubtful that they really know what they are. Troubled, yes, but if that is one of them, it’s strange. They’ve never been in the church. I don’t know how they’d even recognize Bishop Ryan.”
“But the jacket makes you think he’s one of the kids from this group you’re talking about?”
Father Pascucci chose his words carefully, realizing his answer could sic the police on an innocent.
“Maybe. A lot of kids in town dress that way, and
