“Jeremy Sokol’s death is my fault.”
The words shot from Aiden’s mouth like a champagne cork. Leo grabbed the young priest’s shoulder harder than intended and spoke with nervous laughter.
“No, it isn’t, Father. We talked about this. Jim, is there somewhere the three of us can go?”
Lynch recalibrated. The day started with learning how to loin a cow, and it was just getting weirder.
“Yeah, sure. The interview rooms are down the hall. I’ll have to get Sergeant Warner.”
Leo released his grip, leaving Father O’Rourke wincing and rubbing his own shoulder.
“Is that necessary, Jim?”
“Yes, it is. It’s her case.”
“It’s just that…Father O'Rourke…I just think it’s best if we make him as comfortable as possible, and I don’t think talking to a stranger would…”
“What do you mean? He doesn’t know me.”
“No, but I do, and I kind of vouched for you.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, but this is a police station, not the Elks Club. There are protocols.”
Lynch started around the side of his desk bound for the donut cart. Earlier, Warner said she needed to put some things in her car, but she was most likely pouring herself a dark roast by now. Leo squeezed around Aiden and stood in Lynch’s way. The detective spoke calmly.
“Leo, I’m sorry. Like I said, it’s her case.”
He shuffled to his left. Leo shuffled right with him.
“Look, Jim, what if he made an unofficial statement to you first? Let him wade in and get the words out. Then he can talk officially to whomever you want.”
“What are you worried about?”
Leo practically mouthed his response.
“Good lord, Jim. Look at him. The guy is thirty seconds away from confessing to the beating himself. How does that help your investigation?”
“I don’t know. Did he do it?”
Leo didn’t bat an eyelash.
“No, he did not.”
In the anxious pause that followed, Lynch heard a woman having harsh words with the desk sergeant. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it entirely.
“Fine.”
He motioned the two men toward the back hallway and got in Leo’s ear as he walked past.
“This will not be friendly if it comes out that anyone at St. Al’s suppressed evidence.”
“I’m not sure what that entails.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out together.”
Lynch opened the door to the interview room and quickly made sure that Reilly had gotten all of his crap off of the table before letting Leo and Aiden enter. The faint odor of mint tea remained.
He was distracted. He was in a hurry. And, unfortunately, this was the one time in ten he failed to notice that the latch didn’t click when he closed the door. Had he not gone straight from his car to the donut cart to his desk, he might have removed his trench coat. But he did, so he didn’t.
They took their places at the table.
Leo was apprehensive. Aiden was nauseous. Lynch was downright confused.
Father O’Rourke spoke.
“I grew up here, Sergeant. Did I tell you that?”
Lynch glanced over at Father Leo, who non-verbally pled for some leeway. Of course, Aiden hadn’t told Lynch anything of the sort. The young priest was on the verge of losing it. It was obvious that the guilt had taken him, and Lynch had to figure out a way to let the air out slowly if he was to make any sense of the man’s story.
“You didn’t tell me that, but that’s okay, Father. Start from the beginning.”
Leo spoke up.
“No. I’ll start from the beginning.”
Without pulling any punches, Leo told Lynch about the meeting that took place in St. Al’s chapel the night of the murder. He ran through everything that was talked about, including the security disc footage.
Lynch added it to the list of things to discuss with the good father…loudly…once he got him alone. Now was not the time. He turned to Aiden.
“So how does this make you responsible for the beating? It sounds like Father Leo here…
Fucked up
…made the mistake.”
Aiden processed for a moment and answered.
“Well, like I said. I grew up here.”
The statement had even less relevance than before. Lynch took a not-so-subtle look at his watch and braced his feet on the floor to stand and leave. Leo reached out to stop him, but Aiden continued before either man left his seat.
“The Reillys grew up here, too. Their family moved here at the turn of the last century. They’ve got a lot of roots in this town…a lot of clout. Especially Kevin, you know, being a cop and all. Not that that’s the reason I told him. The Reillys are family friends. They’re all our parishioners.”
Now Lynch was listening.
“Told him what?”
“Everything that Father Leo told us at the meeting…”
The young priest’s shoulders broadened, and his spine straightened as the torturous guilt left his body.
“…plus, I told him where he could find the Unjudged.”
He spared wide-eyed Sergeant Lynch the trouble of asking the obvious question by telling the story of sister Edwina and the Clean Streets Project.
Sister Edwina, as Aiden put it, stood out. She had an infectious smile, a flawless complexion, and a pair of big blue eyes that sparkled nonstop, especially when she was doing the Lord’s work. She loved the Clean Streets Project. It never ceased to amaze her how the waters would part when a parade of nuns marched down a street. It didn’t matter how sordid the neighborhood. When she and the other habit-clad women came into view, people often stared, sometimes giggled, but always got the hell out of the way. Picking up trash and painting over graffiti along the way made the experience all the more satisfying.
Aiden’s anecdote started with Edwina entering the church after an afternoon of planting flowers. That day’s task took the sisters one block away from the Iron Wall Tavern.
“She was flustered, and she doesn’t fluster easily. She’d been accosted, you see, by a boy from the Unjudged named Gub or Dubby or something.”
“Bubbs perhaps?”
“Sure…sounds right. He really got under her skin. He started off acting about as you’d expect…juvenile comments, lewd gestures, and so forth. That garbage she could
