TWENTY-EIGHT
All the way back to the precinct house, they discussed their separate impressions of Father Frank Aguilar, each unsure as they replayed the meeting in their heads. “If he went to Lawrence with this when Mootry was killed after Palmer, then Lawrence has known all along, and he refused to listen to me anyway. What does that make him?” she asked. “Is he somehow involved?”
“Don't jump to conclusions.”
“But-”
“He may just've been respecting the rights of Pardee and Amelford to conduct their investigation without interference.”
“Maybe, but I'm not so sure.”
“Frankly, I'm more interested in finding out more about Father Frank. Think about it. You see your beautiful fiancee brutally killed, and your wealth, as in Wesley Palmer's big bucks, could do nothing to ease the guilt and pain and horror, so what might you do in your grief-stricken state?”
'Turn to my friends? And maybe the church?”
“Exactly. And Father Aguilar happens to be in the neighborhood when Palmer gets the news, and he's Johnny-on-the-spot.”
“God, but you're a cynical cop,” she told him.
He winced at the accusation, but replied, “It's kept me alive. Now, stay with me on this,” he continued. “You're an aging trial judge and you've seen all of man's inhumanity to man, and maybe you learn you haven't got too many more years left on this planet because your doctor tells you so. Who do you turn to if you're a lonely old man without family?”
“Mootry turns to Aguilar and Aguilar works out a brilliant plan for his legacy to be self-perpetuating, to save his soul?”
“After all, in his early years he was something of a Satanist, enough so that the FBI was keeping tabs on him.”
“If this is true, then all the ancient motives apply: vengeance, passion, greed, avarice…”
“But avarice in the name of God; a holier-than-thou avarice, which takes us directly back to Father Frank.”
Lucas Stonecoat worked his way around to the rear of the monastery of the Jesuit-like brothers, Frank Aguilar's kingdom. He wondered how much like David Koresh Aguilar ran his operation.
It was an overcast night, a threat of rain in the air after a sweltering Houston day that had set new record highs for heat. The sidewalks were cooling down so rapidly, a hazy fog was pushed about by Lucas's feet. The alleyway was relatively clean, making him wonder if the brothers were sent out here periodically to humbly go about picking up trash. There was a soup kitchen operated out back of the church, and a lone bulb shone in the night, indicating this was the place.
Lucas believed it might lead to the bowels of the building, and since Father Aguilar was anxious for them not to see the inner workings of his monastic order, Lucas was doubly anxious to do so. To this end, he wore his worst rags and most dilapidated shoes.
There were a number of homeless people waiting at the door, and as they filed in, Lucas followed. He was inside a dark room filled with the odors of chicken broth and baked bread. Maybe the pottery kiln was also used to bake bread, he told himself.
He knew he must record every sight and sensation for later, so he could tell Meredyth about his adventure in detail. She'd be upset with him, but he could smooth that over somehow.
His size might draw some attention, so he crouched and hung his head low. He gathered up his soup and bread and was locating a table when one of the brothers began a prayer. Someone nudged him from behind and whispered in a feminine voice, “Sit with me, brother.”
He turned to see Meredyth's face hidden in the cowl of a monastic cloak. “What the… where did you get the disguise? And what're you doing here?”
“Same as you, only smarter. Now sit before you draw attention to us, and I'll minister to your spiritual needs.”
“I thought you were seeing Conrad tonight.”
“He, well, we had a difference of opinion.”
“A fight?”
“A discussion.”
“Spirited one, I imagine.”
“I knew you would be trying to get in here, and this time,
I meant to be along. I've got a costume for you on the bench. Come with me.”
“Where'd you get the robes?”
“I have a friend in the theater.”
They got to the back table she directed him to. There she pointed out the men's room and instructed he change inside. “And then what?” he asked.
“That door through the kitchen takes us into the monastery.”
“Are you sure?”
“I've seen it open and close each time one of the brothers comes and goes. It must take them somewhere.”
He nodded, waited for an opportune moment and disappeared with the robe into the men's room, where he did a quick transformation, becoming one of them. Outside, he saw that Meredyth was playing her part well, speaking soothingly to the sick and aged and decrepit who came to visit the kitchen. On the surface, it appeared that Father Aguilar was interested far more in souls than in coin, and perhaps he was.
When Lucas returned to Meredyth, she said to him, “I can't imagine these men exchanging their robes for commando gear and black gloves to become assassins. What do we hope to find here, anyway?”
“I don't know,” he confessed.
'Then what do we look for?”
“We'll know it when we see it. You didn't happen to bring Randy Oglesby along with you, did you?”
“No, of course not.”
“I'd sure like a look into Father Aguilar's computer files.”
'That's called breaking and entering nowadays.”
“So's what we're about to do. You ready?”
She nodded, and each of them began a circuitous, lazy route toward the door behind the soup kitchen counter. The other brothers were busy dispensing food and advice, not paying them any particular attention as first Meredyth, then Lucas slipped through the door.
They stood in a long, drab corridor which felt for all the world like an underground cavern. It went in two directions, one toward the offices, the library, and the church itself, the other likely to the dormitories and perhaps the classrooms and the kiln area.
“Which way?” she asked.
“Let's see about that computer of his,” suggested Lucas.
“All right, but I'm not sure how much luck we're going to have breaking any codes protected by God.”
He led the way, despite her skepticism. “Have you considered the possibility that Father Aguilar is exactly what he purports to be?”
“Randy gave us his name. Who do you trust, Meredyth? Aguilar or Randy?”
“All right, lead on.”
But in the darkness ahead, they heard heavy footsteps, more than one pair, coming directly toward them. There was no place to hide or divert to, so they were forced to return the way they had come, passing the soup kitchen doorway on their trek. The footsteps continued, thrumming toward them like a locomotive now, and voices, some raised, echoed through the chamber. It was impossible to tell what the men were saying, but the tone was one of anger.
“Sounds like a little disharmony among the brothers,”
Lucas suggested in a whisper.
