“I’ll try.”
Most of his predictions would fail.
There would be no hangover, the UJ would not kick anyone’s ass, and his mother would never make it to Frankie and Jimmy’s.
But Ian Reilly would regret going out…oh so much.
14. The Sanctuary
One would have thought the single piece of yellow paper to be a holy relic. Lynch was able to snag a brief look at it before it disappeared into one of the FBI vans for at least three kinds of digital scrubbing. Someone doodled a pipe bomb on one of the Confirmation prayer supplements. Anyone looking over the shoulder of the artist wouldn’t have been able to tell what it was. It was a bare, narrow rectangle surrounded by arrows, measurements, and chemical symbols.
The analysis would reveal nothing useful. The paper had been sitting in a box with several hundred others like it. The agents may as well have found the thing on the floor of a men’s restroom for the worthless hodgepodge of DNA it yielded. There were fingerprints from five to seven different sources, but no matches in the system.
The entire congregation would need to be fingerprinted and swabbed, but that decision wouldn’t be made for several more hours. In the meantime, both the church and Cardinal Romero High School needed to be swept for explosives.
Lynch and Gomez helped unload and unpack an array of high-tech gadgets. Leo and Aiden allowed themselves to be peacefully escorted to the street as instructed. Pastor Karney, in contrast, circled his wagons around the ciborium. If that area of the church was going to be swept for a bomb, the feds would be handheld through the entire process. He’d see himself face-down in handcuffs before allowing the Body and Blood of Christ to be desecrated.
Finding choice moments amidst the chaos, Lynch, bit by bit, told Gomez about his meeting with Samuel. The conversation wound up next to the confessional.
“What did Beck say about the painting party?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
“Man. You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“The jacket’s not connected with the UJ anymore. I’m not sending the fibbies out to Springfield on a flimsy …”
Special Agent Beck appeared, shaking her cell as a visual aid.
“I just got done with a very frustrating conversation with the archdiocese. Saint Aloysius is proceeding with all Masses as usual this weekend. They’re even making arrangements for Cardinal Romero to lead them. The guy is in Batswana! They’re bringing him back to lead Mass in Potterford!? For real!?”
Neither detective knew what to say.
Agent Beck took some deep breaths and continued with a tone that showed she was at least trying to understand the words coming out of her own mouth.
“They think canceling services will make the church look weak. They feel like they’d be giving into a terrorist…as if the shooter did all this to stop the Masses from taking place! You and I know damned well this maniac didn’t commit murder to stop a Mass! He doesn’t want the clergy to hide. He wants them out in the open! I have to sit down.”
Beck gathered herself on a nearby bench. Finding the moment humorous was vastly inappropriate, but neither Lynch nor Gomez could help it. They were desperate for some levity, and watching a superior blow a gasket was always entertaining.
Gomez spoke, interrupting the agent’s mumblings about “what the diocese wants the diocese gets.”
“Can I get you a paper bag?”
She looked up to see if he was serious. He wasn’t. She turned her head and coughed out a laugh before responding.
“No thank you, detective. I’m fine.”
Lynch spoke next.
“For what it’s worth, we’ve never had any trouble getting extra help from the surrounding counties. I can ask the chief to make some calls.”
She smiled appreciatively.
“I may take you up on that. In the meantime, we do have a game plan. It’s not terribly creative, but it’ll keep Cardinal Romero from being served up on a platter. Tomorrow the diocese is going to make a general announcement to St. Al’s parishioners that services will not be held at either the church or the school. They’ll wait until Friday afternoon to select a location, and they’ll keep it a secret as long as they can. When they make a decision, they’ll let us know first, and we’ll lock it down until show time. Assuming a pipe bomb hasn’t been put in every building in Potterford, we should be okay.”
She wasn’t looking for a response but got one anyway in the form of some quickfire repartee.
Lynch went first.
“Doubtful.”
“You might find a fridge full of sauerkraut in every building.”
“Or a NASCAR T-shirt.”
“Or a stack of lottery tickets.”
“Or an indoor thermometer.”
“A neglected fish tank maybe, but not a bomb.”
Beck had worked cases all over southeastern Pennsylvania. Her experience with local law enforcement was wide and varied. She liked these guys.
She stood.
“Okay fellas. Here’s the deal. We’ve got a rough … and I mean rough … sketch of a pipe bomb on a piece of yellow paper. It could mean nothing, or it could mean we’re dealing with a separatist freak with a warhead in his basement. It doesn’t matter. That piece of yellow paper changes everything. We’ve gotta ramp up. We’ve gotta revisit every dead end. Everything we were planning on taking a week now has to take a couple of hours.”
She eyeballed Lynch. The look said “we don’t have time for another screw-up.”
“We’re the FB-friggin-I. Not much scares us; Bombs scare us. Now, what can you tell me about these Unjudged assholes?”
Lynch thought about all the possible answers he could give and followed them through to conclusion. It took him about six seconds.
“I think I know where most of them will be at midnight, and arrests won’t be a problem”
15. Philip’s Home Office
Philip would have sat placidly under his uncle’s tree all afternoon were it not for the inconvenience of having to earn a living. He worked from home, and made his own hours. As long as he hit his deadlines, his employer usually let him be.
This left him with time on his hands…too
