“Bastard!”
What little air he was able to take in was coming out as a laugh.
“That’s right, asshole. Laugh it up…and if you think you’re getting laid this morning…”
The intruder closed his eyes to cough twice. When he opened them, Kelly was almost at her bedroom door, and her t-shirt was slung over a lamp shade.
“…you’re absolutely right. Now, quit coughing like a little bitch and get naked.”
3. Father Leo’s Office
A good night’s sleep had done Aiden well; not so for Leo. The time spent at the police station the day before, along with Aiden’s guilt-induced breakdown, had drummed up memories of the Eric Bell trial. Leo knew he would have to retell his part of it sometime before the investigation was over. Lynch would explore all possibilities before giving into the notion that Bishop Ryan’s murder was a random act. The detective had put the revenge killing scenario on the back burner for the time being, but it was only a matter of time before he and Gomez would return to it out of necessity. That would mean going back to all of the diocese trials, opening up transcripts, and re-interviewing every witness, character witnesses included.
One thought led to another, and he found himself looking around his office. He’d only been in it a few months, but he’d miss it. He liked to think it was similar to the old church offices in Vatican City, more so than the one he’d be moving into at least.
Despite the events of the previous five days, he was happy; happier than he felt he deserved. After all, what had he done to earn his position at St. Al’s? He sat in a witness box and answered a few questions before a grand jury. It wasn’t even a real trial.
Maybe that’s the point.
He couldn’t even completely remember what he said. He could, however, remember what he left out.
Dammit.
How many times had he promised himself that he wouldn’t let his thoughts wander back to that dreary place? He didn’t lie on the stand. He was instructed by the judge to answer the prosecution’s questions truthfully and directly without embellishment. To his own satisfaction, Leo did that.
The D.A. asked him a total of ten questions. Three were about his years in seminary. Of the three, only one really mattered.
“Based on your years at school with the defendant, do you think he could have done what he is being accused of?”
Leo answered with an unhesitant “no.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Rationally, after sharing four years of seminary with the accused priest, Leo’s honest general impression was that the man wouldn’t hurt a fly.
But the D.A. didn’t ask the question correctly. If the question had been worded something like “Did anything specific happen while you attended school with the defendant to make you think for even a second that he would be capable of that which he is being accused?” Leo’s answer would have been different. It may have changed the outcome…or not. He’d drive himself crazy if he thought about it too much.
Son of a bitch! Stop it, Leo. Stop it!
Too late.
He’d worked himself into the middle of the argument that he’d had with himself countless times since he was asked to testify. Once, a few weeks before the trial, he raised the subject during his weekly confession but found that his confessor, Bishop Haas, had little to offer in the way of objective advice. It was a fair assumption that it would be the same story all over the diocese, so he chose, with God’s help, to deal with it on his own.
He prayed and prayed, to no avail, for some water in the face.
A test…it was a test…I was being tested…God was testing me.
The day of his testimony, Archbishop Fellini met Leo in the courthouse to offer some last-minute support. It was the last thing he needed. Regardless, the single sentence of advice offered by the Archbishop became forever embedded in his memory.
“Just do what you think is right, Father.”
The phone on Leo’s desk rang. The Archbishop’s ears must have been burning.
“Hi, Leo. How goes it with Father O’Rourke?”
“Better, but I still think you…”
“I’m happy to do it. I’m just calling to let you know I’m running late.”
“Anything wrong, Your Grace?”
“No, just had an early meeting run over. Pastor Karney asked me to pass on his regards. Oh, and they’re making me bring a security detail. It’s just two guys. Where should I tell them to stand?”
Leo answered quickly. The church’s vulnerability had entered his thoughts many times since Saturday.
“The front door and the entrance to the courtyard.”
“Excellent. See you soon.”
Comforted, Leo went into his bathroom to wash the sweat off his hands and face. The old porcelain tap squeaked as water dribbled out painfully. The sound startled a squirrel in the tree outside the window. It was still stuck open an about six inches, due to the swollen pane.
“The water doesn’t work. The window won’t close. The bathroom door doesn’t lock…”
He spun the little handle and the dribble stopped.
“…I’m still going to miss this place.”
Leo shook his hands dry and looked out the window. He remembered seeing Pastor Karney pruning the rose bushes and tried again to recall why he found that so strange.
4. The Galleria
Kelly was late again. Two lattes sat on the café table just as they had Sunday afternoon. Lynch rubbed his eyes. His book of logic puzzles, like most others, increased in difficulty as it progressed, and he was closing in on the back cover. The first half of the puzzle he’d reached went quickly. The second half was pissing him off.
If Mrs. Elverson bought her poodle on Tuesday, and Mr. Gadd (whose first name wasn’t Edward) didn’t buy his schnauzer on Friday, then…
“Hello, detective.”
His tablemate had snuck
