“Whoah, whoah…where are you running off to there, buddy?”
“I’ve got to get home, sir. My mom is…”
“Hold on. Look. Badge…no uniform. You know what that means?”
“You’re a NARC?”
“It means I’m a detective, which means that I spent more years than you’ve been alive working so that I wouldn’t have to worry about busting kids for loitering.”
The skateboard-carrying boy’s eyes were not visible through his jet-black bangs, but Lynch could tell he still didn’t get it. He pulled out his copy of the printout.
“What’s your name?”
“Declan.”
“I’m Sergeant Lynch. Ever seen this, Declan?”
“No.”
“Give it some thought, and consider we got it from the back of a black trench coat.”
“A what? Oh. Yeah. Gordy wears one of those.”
“Who’s Gordy?”
“A kid from school. He doesn’t hang with us though. He doesn’t skate. He rides his bike all over the place…dork.”
“Does his jacket have this on the back of it?”
“No, he’s got something else. I can’t really describe it, but it’s not that.”
“You know where he lives?”
The boy whipped his hair to the side and stared sheepishly at his own Chuck Taylors.
“Okay, Declan. If I throw in a six of Red Bull, do you know where he lives?”
The boy re-whipped his hair and raised his head just enough to make eye contact. That was enough for Lynch. He turned to Gomez, who was questioning another fine young chap by the propane tanks.
“Ernie. Whaddayagot?”
“Word has it there’s a fella named Gordy who might be able to help us out. My new amigo here is shaky as to a location though.”
“Mine too.”
Lynch turned and gave Declan a wink. There wasn’t any real need for secrecy, but he knew the kid would get a kick out of it. They can cut their hair anyway they want, paint their nails any color they want. Boys are boys. They’ve all seen “Toy Story,” and Declan had just been deputized.
4. St. Aloysius Rectory
The St. Aloysius rectory was conveniently on the same property as the church. Its small inhouse chapel was in the back of the building and flanked by trees. At night the lights could be on without attracting attention from the street. Father Leo was barely out of the hotel parking lot before he was on his cell phone to Pastor Karney. Forty-five minutes later, all three parish priests were in the chapel with the door closed. The prayers were short. Father Leo gave a detailed account of everything that happened, starting with Mass and ending with the security tapes. After that, it didn’t take long for things to go from somber to borderline-hostile.
“Can we please forget about out our collars for one minute!? A man was killed tonight!”
“Lower your voice, Aiden. No one wants to be cold about this, but we all know what is going to happen tomorrow.”
Father William Karney, the church’s Pastor, fancied himself the most articulate of the three. When he spoke at Mass, he educated but rarely inspired. This had been his role so long that he found it difficult to switch it off. His pragmatism was irritatingly instinctual, especially in times of crisis. During the scandals, even with his title, no one let him near the press.
Conversely, the passion of Father Aiden O’Rourke lit up the sanctuary like a Christmas tree. Many of the confirmed would find out when he was leading Mass and work their weekend plans accordingly. They never knew what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. He was the only one of the three priests who’d grown up in Potterford. He was 26. Most of the neighbors still thought of him as a kid.
“What, Pastor? What’s going to happen tomorrow!?”
“The same thing that always happens.”
Pastor Karney was on his way home from St Joseph’s University when he received Leo’s call. Using the Bluetooth interface on his car, he was able to call the Archdiocese (hands-free) en route. The conversation lasted the full length of the drive.
“But surely we’re not going to be seen as the bad guys this time.”
“We shouldn’t, Aiden, but…”
“But what!? I don’t understand!”
Father O’Rourke had only been allowed 15 minutes to let the news sink in.
Father Leo spoke.
“What did the Archdiocese have to say?”
Pastor Karney took off his glasses and, as was his habit, let them dangle from his teeth as he talked.
“First I want to make sure I didn’t lie to them. Leo, you’re positive you’ve seen that jacket in the neighborhood?”
“I couldn’t swear to seeing that exact jacket, but I’ve seen the gang. We all have. It’s the same bunch that accosted Sister Edwina.”
Father O’Rourke fidgeted uncomfortably.
Pastor Karney continued.
“Then, at least for starters, the diocese wants to keep the investigation local.”
Both Leo and Aiden responded with expressions of skepticism.
“Involving the State or County Police or the FBI will intensify the media frenzy exponentially. Monsignor Edwards has already spoken with the Chief of the Potterford PD. The Chief wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea either, but he and the department will go along with the request, for now at least.”
Aiden spoke.
“So where does that leave us?”
Pastor Karney put his glasses back on and directed his thought at Father Leo.
“Like I said, we have to talk about tomorrow.”
Leo was familiar with the regular game plan…too familiar.
“What does the Archdiocese want to do about a public statement?”
Karney smiled at Leo sympathetically.
“Funny you should ask…”
There was a pounding on the rectory’s front door. Whoever it was had to be using serious muscle in order for it to be heard from the chapel. Pastor Karney turned flush.
“Oh no. Not already.”
Father O’Rourke stood, realizing the discussion had gone to a place that didn’t include him.
“I’ll get it.”
The two priests continued to talk while Aiden jogged down the hall to the door. He did a quick inhale-exhale before he reached for the
