“Trust me. You are much better utilized doing what you’re doing. Good job with the diocese, partner.”
“No problem. Son mis hombres hombre. Ay, my desk phone’s ringing. Later, bro. You know what to do if things get dicey. I can be there in three minutes.”
“I truly doubt it will be necessary.”
Father Leo met Lynch outside the Pastor’s Office with a smile and a friendly hand. The hand was acknowledged; the smile was not.
Leo spoke.
“We’ll talk in here, if that’s okay. My office in use.”
Lynch said nothing, breezed past the priest, and disappeared into the room. A confused Father Leo followed and closed the door behind them.
“Won’t you take a seat?”
The detective answered with a confrontational tone.
“I’m alright.”
Leo, as was his nature, gave Lynch the benefit of the doubt and would remain pleasant until given a reason not to be.
“Jim, what’s going on?”
It took a lot for Lynch to censor his language.
“A freaking murder investigation, in case you haven’t been paying attention.”
“I’m sorry Jim. I don’t…”
“I am going to start with some basic facts…no inference…no detective work…just freaking facts! Day one of the investigation, I gave you one simple instruction. Don’t discuss the case with anyone.”
“I know… and I did. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry!? Freaking sorry!? Do you know now why I gave you that simple instruction?”
Leo opened his mouth but was denied the chance to speak.
“Because word travels like wildfire in a crap little burb like Potterford…quite often to the wrong ears! Ever heard the legal term proximate cause?”
Over the past two years, he’d become extremely familiar with the term, but saying so would have been pointless.
“The long and short of it is that you…not Father O’Rourke…are second on the list of people responsible for Jeremy Sokol’s death after the guy that actually slammed the bat into his head! YOU, FATHER!”
It wasn’t entirely true. The tactic may have worked on someone else, but after twenty years of sitting in a confessional, Father Leo knew smoke and mirrors when he heard it. He kept his mouth shut and continued waiting for a question that wasn’t rhetorical.
“Why did you do it?”
The answer came with neither stutter nor apology.
“Because we needed to get ahead of the press.”
The floor creaked as the detective shifted his weight.
“You know, Leo, I just noticed something. This office has no private bathroom. Yours does. This wasn’t the Pastor’s office, originally. Was it? Yours was. In fact, I’m betting the diocese made the Pastor move in here when you came on board.”
“That is true. I would have fought it had I known. It was all set up before I got here.”
He was telling the truth.
“Well, father, there would have been no point. The diocese insisted. Fellini insisted. You did them a solid during the Bell trial. It was only fair. I get why you never brought it up. It had no real relevance to the case. It would have been nice to know for some back drop though…for the big picture.”
He was playing to the good priest’s sense of guilt. It wasn’t working.
“Believe me, Jim. If I thought the Bell trial had any…”
“I’m just saying that I’d understand if there was anything else you failed to tell me at the insisting of your superiors.”
Leo was taken aback by the implication.
“My superiors had nothing to do with any of my actions.”
“Or lack thereof? The thing is…now I find out that Samuel’s trench coat…the only solid piece of evidence we have…was left on a pew in your church. If you were me, what would you conclude?”
Leo was sick of being interrupted. He answered without fully realizing what he was saying.
“That someone here picked it up, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
The look on Lynch’s face brought forth a rumble of South Philly in the priest’s gut.
“Wait a minute, Jim. You don’t think I had anything to do with Bishop Ryan’s death, do you?”
“In my experience, when someone holds back information, it’s because they’re either guilty or covering for someone.”
“Yes or no, do you think I had anything to do with it?”
“Bring it down, father. I’m the one…”
There was a knock on the office door.
“Come in!”
It was Father O’Rourke. He realized he was interrupting something and stood poised to either enter or exit the room. He spoke quickly.
“Father Leo. We’re done. You can have your office back.”
“How are you feeling?”
“The man’s good at his job. There’s a reason he is who he is. I’m ready to pick up where I left off. I figured I’d try to set something up with Reverend Beech over at Xavier Lutheran. Does that sound okay?”
“Sounds perfect. Nice to have you back, Aiden.”
Aiden started to exit.
Lynch had a thought. He was probably way off base, but he didn’t care. This was about posture, not accuracy. He pointed at the young priest and spoke to Leo.
“Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
“Are you covering for Father O’Rourke?”
Aiden’s face turned white. Leo’s turned red. The time for manners had passed.
“Have you completely lost your mind, Jim?”
“You have an alibi…sort of…for the night of the murder. Does he?”
“I’m not even entertaining this.”
“He’s the only person that we know was in the room with the jacket after Samuel left. He dimed the UJ to Reilly. Maybe that was to throw him off the scent. Makes sense.”
“No, it does not. If you spent any time with this young man, you’d know that what you’re saying is absurd!”
Lynch turned to O’Rourke.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Father?”
“Don’t say anything, Aiden!”
Lynch was ready to put the last nail in the coffin. He pulled his jacket back, and reached for his handcuffs.
“Still obstructing, Leo? Fine. Turn around.”
“You have got to me shitting me.”
“Wow…mouthy. And here I was trying to censor myself. If I’m wrong, I’ll fucking apologize. Turn around.”
Lynch approached. Leo instinctively put up his fists.
“It’s like that, is it, Leo?”
“Aiden, go get the Archbishop.”
“Aiden, don’t move.”
The young priest turned to stone in the doorway. Follow his mentor? Follow the law? He whispered a prayer for guidance, but there wasn’t time to wait for
