Unholy Order

by William Heffernan

  “Make sure the doorman knows he should keep his trap shut,” Devlin said.

  “I already told him,” Ollie said. “It’s not a problem. He’s an old hairbag, used to be on the job.”

  “Stay with Meyerson, Ollie. See where he goes next. And keep me posted.”

  Devlin returned to the large sitting area where Phillipa and Adrianna remained, equally silent.

  He took a chair next to his daughter. “I want to talk to you about Adrianna not being your parent,” he began softly. “I want to talk to you about how she feels about that. Especially when she helps you get all the stuff you need—like your clothing for school, your meals—all the time she spends with you talking about your problems, the sports programs and dance classes, all the stuff she’s helped you do all these years. You think when she does all that stuff she sits around saying: ‘Well this isn’t really my kid’?”

  Phillipa continued to stare into her lap. In a tiny voice she whispered the word “No.”

  “I don’t think so either,” Devlin said. “I think she does all that stuff because, to her, you are her kid, and she loves you. We both love you. And that’s the reason you can’t go to this concert without an adult along. We don’t think it’s a safe thing to do. And you don’t let people you love do things that aren’t safe. Even if it makes them mad at you.”

  He knelt in front of her and covered her hand with his. “If Joslyn’s parents think it’s safe for her, that’s their decision. But we don’t feel that way, and we love you enough to let you be mad at us about that.”

  Phillipa licked her lips and looked up at her father. “Joslyn hasn’t told her parents about the tickets yet,” she said. “She was going to tell them tonight.”

  Devlin fought to keep a smile from his lips. “I see,” he said. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s hearing the same thing you are, right about now.”

  Phillipa nodded, rose slowly from her chair, walked to the sofa where Adrianna was sitting, and gave her a hug.

  “Your fears are unwarranted. Emilio will say nothing about our arrangement. Not to the police, not to anyone.” Estaves held out his hands and let them fall away, as though the gesture itself gave validity to his words.

  They were seated in a garishly decorated living room, couch and chairs upholstered in faux leopard, every side table etched with gold leaf. A sweeping window offered the room its only saving grace, a long southward view down the East River.

  “How can you be certain?” Charles asked. “They will offer him things. Promise him his freedom if he tells them what they want to know.”

  “Still, he will not tell them,” Estaves said. “Just as I would not tell them. He knows the kind of death that will be his if he talks. No man would want to die that way. It would not be quick, and that is what Emilio will want.”

  “You intend to kill him?” Charles seemed genuinely shocked by the thought. He had hoped Estaves would provide a lawyer who would thwart the police.

  Estaves laughed, almost contemptuously, Charles thought.

  “Of course,” Estaves said. He spoke the words as though discussing some mundane matter that was of little concern. “We would never take the chance that we are wrong. Emilio understands that. He also understands that it will be done quickly and mercifully. And he knows how it would be done if he talked to the police. He will die because of his failure and his clumsiness. It is the way we do business, and he knows this.”

  “Then he has nothing to lose by talking to them,” Charles insisted.

  Estaves’s lips formed into an all-knowing smile. “Oh, yes, my friend. Yes, he does.”

  “How will you do it?” Charles asked. “When they bring him back he’ll be heavily guarded, won’t he?”

  Estaves shook his head and let out a long breath. “You have no need to know how it will be done.” His eyes hardened, then softened again almost immediately. “But I will tell you enough to put your mind at rest.” He shifted in his leopard-spotted chair, the movement lending him an air of self-assurance. “We already know he is to be housed in the hospital ward of the Brooklyn House of Detention. The policeman in charge of this matter has insisted on it. It is a very secure facility, the same place, I believe, where they first kept your famous serial killer, the Son of Sam.” He let out a low baritone laugh. “You have such strange names for killers in this country.”

  Charles ignored the digression. “And you can get to him there, despite the security?”

  “My friend, you can get to anyone, anywhere—providing you are willing to pay the price asked.”

  “And our arrangement?” Charles asked. “The other priests?”

  Again, Estaves raised his hands and let them fall back. “It will take a few days, but Emilio will be replaced and the work we have agreed upon will continue.”

  Charles shook his head, still uncertain. “You said you could get to the police too,” he said. “But today I had this Devlin in my office asking questions.”

  Estaves smiled. “I have already gotten to him,” he said. “He simply does not know it yet.” The smile broadened, as he explained.

  “But … but what good is it if he doesn’t know?” Charles demanded.

  Estaves raised a finger. “But now he will. Would you like to take a small walk to a secure telephone booth and listen while I tell him?”

  Devlin had just finished dinner when the call came. Phillipa answered the phone and told him it was for him.

  “Your daughter sounds most lovely,” a man’s voice said. The words were spoken in a heavy Hispanic accent.

  Devlin hesitated, not liking the tone he detected. “Thank you,” he said, his words filled with caution. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” the voice said.

  “And how’s that?”

  A small laugh. “Your detectives are currently investigating a matter that is causing concern to some friends of mine. It would be most helpful if you softened their efforts just a bit.”

  Devlin gave him his own laugh now, but with a harder edge to it. “Now, why would I do that?” he asked.

  “Why, if for no other reason than you realize we are serious people.” He hurried on before Devlin could answer. “You also realize, of course, that I am calling you at home on a number that is not available to the public.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. So you’re telling me you know where I live. I’m impressed. But not all that impressed.”

  “Perhaps your daughter would be more impressed,” the voice said.

  “What? Now you listen to me, you sonofabitch, and you listen good—”

  “I have no time to listen, my friend,” the voice said. “But, please, do me one small favor. Tell your daughter I hope she enjoys her concert at Madison Square Garden.”

  The dial tone assaulted Devlin’s ears and became a dull bleating repetition he barely heard. He replaced the receiver and turned to his daughter, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Where did your friend get those concert tickets?” he asked.

  Phillipa’s face paled. “Um …”

  “I need to know,” he said. “It’s important.”

  Phillipa studied her shoes. “Someone gave them to us,” she said.

  “Did you know the person?” Devlin asked.

  Phillipa shook her head.

  “Where were you when he gave them to you?” he asked.

  Phillipa refused to raise her eyes. “We were standing in front of school,” she said. Now she looked up quickly. “But he wasn’t a stranger, Dad. He said he was there to pick up his daughter but had just missed her. He was somebody’s father.”

  “Did he tell you who his kid was?”

  Phillipa lowered her eyes again and shook her head. “We kinda forgot to ask. He just said he had these tickets to the concert that he couldn’t use, and we could have them if we wanted. Joslyn just grabbed them and showed them to me. So you see it was really Joslyn who got them, not me. And then we were so excited all we could do was stare at the tickets, and when we remembe
red we should thank him … well … he was just gone.”

  Devlin fought for control. “What did he look like?” he asked.

  “Well, he was old … I mean, at least forty … and he was kinda fat.”

  “Do you remember the color of his hair, his eyes, anything like that?”

  Phillipa shrugged. “They were both dark, I think. I guess I was so excited about the tickets I really didn’t look. Then … then it’s like what I said. He was just gone.”

  “Did he have an accent?”

  Phillipa seemed to think about it. “Yeah … maybe. I think maybe he did.”

  “What kind?”

  Phillipa shrugged. “I dunno … Spanish, maybe. At least it sounded like maybe it was Spanish.”

  “God, Paul, what’s this all about?” It was Adrianna. She had come up behind Phillipa and had her hands protectively on her shoulders.

  Devlin debated what he should say in his daughter’s presence and opted for the truth. The more she knew, he decided, the safer she’d be. “The person who gave Phillipa those tickets just called me. He told me he’d like my detectives to ease up on our investigation. He made it very clear that he knew where I lived. Then he told me he hoped Phillipa enjoyed the concert.”

  “He threatened her?”

  “Not in so many words. But, yes, it was a threat.” He looked back at his daughter. “You and Joslyn did something very stupid,” he said. “You’ve known about taking things from strangers—or even talking to them—since you were three years old.” Phillipa started to speak, but Devlin held up a hand, cutting off any reply. “Now, I’m not sure if there’s any real danger, or not. This … person … would have to be crazy to try anything with a police inspector’s kid. But there are crazy people out there. So here’s what’s going to happen. Within the next hour there’s going to be a patrol car parked in front of our building twenty-four hours a day, and it’s going to stay there until this case I’m working on is over. There are also going to be two plainclothes detectives here in the morning. They are going to be with you everywhere you go. If you see this man again, you will tell them. Understood?”

  He waited until Phillipa had nodded her head. “You will go nowhere without them. Do you understand?” Another nod. “Good. Now you can get yourself to bed and try and figure out some way to be a little smarter by morning.”

  As Phillipa headed for her bedroom, Adrianna came to him. “Paul …?”

  He placed his hands on her arms. “It’ll be all right,” he said. He glanced toward Phillipa’s retreating back. “Maybe you better go with her,” he said. “I came down pretty hard. She’s probably a little shaky.”

  “Maybe we both should,” Adrianna said. She said the words gently, knowing Phillipa was not the only one who was shaken.

  Devlin lowered his eyes. He knew he hadn’t handled the situation as he would have liked. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I have to make some phone calls to set things up.”

  Boom Boom called on his cell phone just before ten. Devlin answered, afraid it was yet another call from the Hispanic man.

  “Bingo,” Boom Boom said, when Devlin answered.

  “I take it that means you found something,” Devlin said. His heartbeat and respiration had slowed when he heard Boom Boom’s voice, then increased again as he realized the possible meaning of the young detective’s single word. It was not unlike a hunter who felt his quarry was about to walk into a clearing.

  “It was just like you thought,” Boom Boom said. “There was a very big and very secure file on Meyerson.” He let out a little chuckle. “At least these humps thought it was very secure. Anyway, it gives all kinds of background about his affiliation with Opus Christi and the ties they have to the bank he works for. The bank, by the way, financed the deal when they bought that land up in Westchester. It was done the same way they financed their headquarters building here on Second Avenue; the bank made loans to companies that the order controlled. But the money eventually came home to Momma. All of it’s made Meyerson a big cheese around here, no doubt about it.”

  “What else?” Devlin snapped.

  “Oh, you want the good stuff too,” Boom Boom teased.

  “Don’t play with me,” Devlin warned. “Not tonight. Not unless you like the idea of dusting off your blue bag and working Staten Island for a long, long time.” He quickly told Boom Boom about the phone call he had received.

  “Jeez, I’m sorry, boss. But we got this bastard, I promise. Hey, you’re gonna give me a medal, Inspector. Believe me, you will.”

  “Tell me, dammit.”

  “Okay, okay. Well, you were right about a tie-in to Meyerson’s computer at the bank. It looks like he set it up about a year ago so he could access stuff from here without anybody at the bank knowing he was doing it. It was a bitch to crack into, but he forgot one little security step—”

  “Get to the damned point,” Devlin snapped.

  “Okay, sorry, boss. There’s a list of names in Meyerson’s computer. And every priest who’s been killed is on it. Plus the names of the other priests that you got from the archdiocese. Plus a couple of others we don’t have on that list.”

  Devlin’s heart was racing now. “Are there any priests on that list whose names come alphabetically before Father Janis, the one we’re guarding now?”

  “No,” Boom Boom said. “He’s the next guy on the list. Right before him is Father Halloran, the one we missed.”

  “I want all the names, fast. I want to set up a watch on all of them, just in case.”

  “No problem,” Boom Boom said. “I’ll download it on the office computer as soon as I hang up.” He paused a few seconds, as if savoring his next words. “You wanna know how Meyerson found out about these priests?” he finally asked.

  “That was going to be my next question.”

  Again, Boom Boom let out a soft chuckle. “Seems like Sharon was right about this central medical database that insurance companies use. It’s sort of hush-hush. At least they don’t talk about it a lot, like maybe they think the public wouldn’t like it. But anyway, all the doctors and clinics who work for HMOs are required to feed in medical information about their patients. Then all the insurance companies can use it to help them decide if they wanna take a risk on covering somebody. Even when you get insurance for your car, you get checked to see if you’ve ever had any treatment for drugs or alcohol, or any kind of psychological problem that might increase the risk. Thing is, they sell that information to anybody who wants it: banks, credit card companies, whatever—anybody who wants to know just how healthy or reliable somebody is before they decide to lend them money, or cover his mortgage, or offer him a job, or whatever. It’s fucking Big Brother with a stethoscope. And guess whose bank is a subscriber to this service?”

  “Meyerson’s.”

  “Big-time,” Boom Boom said.

  “And Meyerson used this outfit himself?” Devlin asked.

  “You bet he did. He fed in the names of every priest in the archdiocese about six months ago. Got medical reports on each and every one of them. Must’ve cost him a nice piece of change. But he got what he wanted. Enough medical information to put together one very complete list of every priest who was ever treated for AIDS.”

  “You cross-checked the names?”

  “From one list to the other,” Boom Boom said. “Meyerson’s our boy, boss. Maybe we can’t prove he ordered the hits yet. But we sure as hell can prove he had the list.”

  “Download that, too,” Devlin said.

  “You got it.” He paused a beat. “There’s one other thing, too—another list that I can’t make heads or tails out of.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, maybe it’s real bank stuff, I dunno. It’s a list of names and addresses, and next to each one is a date—pretty far back, like ten or even twenty years. And next to that is a dollar amount. Each amount is pretty heavy—the lowest is about twenty Gs, the highest over a hundred. It’s like a list of people who owe money or
are maybe getting it. There’s nothing to say exactly what. But there’s also nothing to indicate it’s strictly bank business either, and I don’t think it is.”

  “Why?” Devlin asked.

  “It’s just that it was hidden like the other list was—you know, like, to be sure nobody could stumble across it without the right password or codes. It just smells bad to me.”

  “You better send that too. We’ll have Stan check it out.” Devlin hesitated. “You still wearing that wire?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Then Stan already knows. He’s monitoring you tonight.”

  There was no immediate response. Then Boom Boom pushed ahead. “Hey, Inspector, speaking of that, can I get outa this place now? These people are driving me nuts.” He paused. “I mean, I really gotta get laid.”

  Devlin fought down a smile. “Give it another day. Just in case. I’ll try my best to have you out of there by tomorrow night.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Just think about how restful it’s going to be.”

  “Hey, boss, my pecker don’t need the rest. This is an Olympian I got here.”

  “I’ll try for tomorrow,” Devlin said. “I promise.”

  Devlin was in bed when Ollie called an hour later. He sat up as soon as he heard Ollie’s voice.

  “Our boy’s home,” Ollie said, “but he just got himself a visitor.”

  “Who?” Devlin asked.

  Ollie started to laugh. Devlin marveled at how much his men seemed to enjoy their work.

  “Stop laughing and tell me,” he snapped.

  “A certain high-class hooker by the name of Ginger. I know her from another case I worked a few years back.”

  “You sure she went to visit Meyerson?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ollie said. “Doorman told me she’s a regular. Comes by at least once or twice a week.” He chuckled again, seemed to realize it, and stopped. “I think our boy is trying to ease the tension by getting his goose drained. You want me to pick her up?”

  “As soon as she walks out the door,” Devlin said. “Then call me and I’ll meet you at the office. I want to have a little talk with Ginger.”