Unholy Order

by William Heffernan

  “I … I …” Father George stuttered again.

  Devlin jumped on him immediately. “What I want now,” he said, “is the ability to protect Sister Margaret from another attempt on her life. Because these people won’t stop. She’s a threat to them, and in their minds that means only one thing: She has to be eliminated.”

  Father Arpie had been silent, avoiding Devlin’s onslaught. Now a small sneer came to his lips. “You haven’t done much of a job protecting the priests who are being murdered,” he snapped. “Or have you placed a spy in the archdiocese as well to accomplish that end?” He turned to the mayor. “The inspector has a very facile tongue, but his tactics are still inexcusable. I think you know what we want, Howie.”

  Devlin turned to the cardinal’s secretary before the mayor could answer. He kept his voice almost unnaturally soft. “The answer to your second question is no, Father. None of my men have been placed in the archdiocese. The answer to the first is that I expect to have those murders solved within days. Providing you continue to cooperate.”

  Arpie stared at him; he too was now flustered. “What are you asking?” he said at length.

  “I’ll contact you about that in the next forty-eight hours,” Devlin said. “If you agree to do as I ask, we’ll have the person behind those killings as well.”

  When the priests left, Howie Silver let out a long ragged breath. “You’re a good tap dancer, Paul. I’m just hoping it’s not all flash and no substance. If it is I can’t back you.” He gave Devlin a regretful look. “They want you off this case—the archdiocese and Opus Christi both. That’s what they expected to get when they came here.”

  Devlin held his eyes. “I’m not walking away from the case, Howie, and I’ll fight any attempt to force me out.”

  The mayor stared at him. “Don’t threaten me, Paul. If I decide you’re out, you’re out. I can’t excuse what you’ve done. It was a stupid move, and now it’s coming back on me.”

  “It was the only option I had, Howie. You closed off everything else.” He continued to hold Silver’s eyes. “This case has become personal to me. I won’t leave it without a fight.”

  The anger seemed to flow off Silver in waves. “Personal how?” he snapped.

  Devlin told him.

  “They threatened your daughter?” he said, when Devlin had finished.

  “That’s right, Howie.” Devlin paused briefly, giving the mayor time to digest the information. “And I’m going to nail the sonofabitch who called me. It’s the only way I can be sure my kid is safe. I intend to get them all, every last sonofabitch who’s involved.” He paused again, wanting his final words to weigh heavily on the mayor. “I’m going to do it, Howie, even if I have to fight you.”

  Devlin could see the political wheels turning in the mayor’s head. It wasn’t that Silver lacked concern for Phillipa. Devlin knew him better than that. It was just the way his mind worked. Like any politician, he was a survivor first and foremost, and this case was a time bomb. The mayor knew it, and Devlin knew it. If that bomb exploded it would tarnish everyone—especially a mayor who was publicly fighting with the cop he had put in charge of the investigation.

  Silver sat back and let out a long breath. “All right, Paul. You’ve got forty-eight hours to make good on the promise you made to Arpie. Don’t push it beyond that.” He gave Devlin another hard, cold stare. “And don’t ever threaten me again.”

  Devlin remained silent. He took no pleasure in the small victory. He also knew there still might be a price to pay down the road. He decided to give the mayor something to smooth his ruffled feathers and to keep his courage up. “There’s something you should know,” he said, “but what I’m going to tell you can’t leave this room.”

  The mayor raised his eyebrows. “This better be good news, Paul. I’m not a very happy man right now.”

  Devlin held his eyes. “Valdez also killed the priests.”

  The mayor’s jaw dropped. “You’re sure?”

  “We have his prints at the scene of the last murder, the one in Flushing. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure, when we start showing his photograph around, we’re going to be able to place him at some of the others, too.”

  “Then it’s wrapped up,” the mayor said, A large smile creased his face, “We can tell the press we’ve got it locked up and get the archdiocese off our backs. How soon can we do that?”

  Devlin raised a cautioning hand. “We can’t. Not yet, at least. You’ve got to give me at least forty-eight hours before we say anything.”

  “Why?” Silver demanded. Like all politicians he wanted the heat off and the good news spread fast. And he couldn’t wait to take his bows before the public.

  “Because whoever sent Valdez to kill these priests is still out there. And we’ve got to nail him before he sends anyone else.” Devlin had a plan for that, but it was something the mayor didn’t need to know.

  The mayor pondered what he’d been told. “So the killings are all connected,” he said at length. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Devlin had hoped he would not be asked that question. “It means a lot of bad news, at least as far as Opus Christi and the archdiocese are concerned.”

  The mayor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is there a way out of that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Devlin said. “We’ll have to see how it shakes out. Here’s what I think has happened.”

  He drew a long breath. “Somebody—I’m not sure who yet, but I’m getting close—made a deal with a Colombian drug cartel. The deal involved smuggling junk into the country in religious artifacts. The payment for that service was bumping off gay priests.” Devlin shrugged. “Maybe this somebody was getting part of the profits from the drug shipments as well, but I don’t know. It’s something we’re still looking into. It could have been a strictly service-for-service deal.”

  “But why, for chrissake?” the mayor demanded.

  Devlin shook his head. “Opus Christi is supremely homophobic, from what I gather. They’re fanatical about it. I think—at least for some person or group within their organization—that fanaticism simply went over the top.”

  The mayor closed his eyes, as if severe pain were suddenly coursing through his brain. “So how do you get to this person?” he finally asked.

  Devlin told him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Silver said. “That’s pretty goddamned Byzantine.”

  “It’s complicated,” Devlin conceded, “but if everything goes right, I think it will work.”

  “No deal,” Devlin said. “I can’t believe this guy. He shoots two of my people, and now he’s looking for a deal.”

  Devlin was seated in a small office at the Brooklyn House of Detention with the assistant district attorney in charge of Sister Manuela’s murder. William Gray was a sparrow-thin thirty-something man, and everything about him matched his name, right down to his perception of proper legal ethics.

  Gray toyed with his thinning gray hair. He was dressed in a light-gray summer suit that seemed to have wilted on his way to work. His necktie was a mix of gray and white stripes. “Slow down, Paul,” he said. “Let’s not close this door too fast. Look, I’m not going to try to ride roughshod over you on this. It’s too politically hot. But why not listen and see if what he has to say is worth anything?” Gray suggested. “At least then we know. If we don’t get something we want, we tell him what he has to offer is shit. Thanks but no thanks.”

  “Uh-uh,” Devlin said. “I want to talk to him, sure, but I don’t want to offer him a thing. This guy killed a nun, period. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure he killed four priests. And when we nailed him he was trying to kill another nun. He also shot two of my cops. What kind of reduced charge could we talk about with this guy, being naughty? The press and the public would have us both for lunch, and they’d be right.” He shook his head. “Besides, I like to be able to sleep at night.”

  Gray raised his hands. “All right. Have it your way. But I’m telling you right now, somewhere
down the road we are going to plea-bargain this case.” Gray jabbed a finger against the office desk. “I do not want to go to trial and present evidence about a nun swallowing fucking condoms filled with heroin. And I do not want to go to trial and present testimony about a priest who picked up AIDS in a Greenwich Village bathhouse.” Gray tapped the side of his long nose. “And I’ll tell you a little secret, Paul. The DAs in Brooklyn and Queens are not going to want to present that kind of evidence about the priests who got bumped off in their jurisdictions. We’d all like to have some kind of future, thank you very much.”

  Devlin grinned at him. “What, were you scared by some nun when you were a kid?”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny,” Gray said. “Like the boys up at the archdiocese don’t scare a big bad police inspector like Paul Devlin. Like Paul Devlin thinks they only call those boys the Powerhouse because they’re trying to be clever. I tell you, my friend, those people eat their young. Fuck with them at your peril.”

  Devlin raised his hands. “I’ve already had a run-in with them. I also had a run-in with them a few years back. I’m not a novice at having my ass handed to me by fat old men in dresses. That’s part of the reason I’ve been tiptoeing around them ever since this mess got dumped in my lap. I knew how they play the game. And I knew if I didn’t watch my step I’d be out, and the case would get handed to one of the hear-no-evil see-no-evil clowns at the Puzzle Palace, because Howie Silver has been shitting bricks ever since he heard the word archdiocese.”

  “Howie Silver’s a smart man,” Gray said. “I hope you are too.”

  Devlin nodded. “Let’s go talk to this little prick and see how smart I am.”

  Emilio Valdez lay in a bed in the hospital wing. His lawyer, a public defender named Walter Shultz, sat in a chair at his bedside. This surprised Devlin. He had expected a high-priced narco attorney who would shut the door in the DA’s face and then pull out his bag of expensive and time-consuming tricks. What Valdez had instead was a tired middle-aged guy in a rumpled suit, who looked like he hadn’t slept in a year. He also looked like a lawyer who was very used to losing in court. On the surface, at least, it appeared as though the Colombians had kissed Emilio Valdez goodbye.

  “So what have you got for us?” Gray began.

  The public defender gave Gray a weary look, as though he knew he was wasting time he didn’t have. “Mr. Valdez is fearful for his life,” Shultz began. “He would like an opportunity to enter the witness protection program in exchange for information about Colombian drug dealers.”

  Gray smiled at the idea. “That’s a nice thought. But your client is forgetting something, isn’t he? We’re here to talk about the murder of a nun, the attempted murder of two police officers, the attempted murder of a second nun”—he paused for effect—“and, according to what I’ve just learned from Inspector Devlin, the murder of four Catholic priests. All of which we believe Mr. Valdez was involved in. We’re not even talking drugs here, except how they might relate to the murder of Sister Manuela.”

  Shultz turned to the bed and had a whispered conversation with his client. When he turned back the weary look had not improved. “Mr. Valdez says he’s willing to talk about those things, but only after he’s guaranteed immunity and has a written guarantee that he’ll be placed in witness protection. He insists he has a lot to offer.”

  Devlin folded his hands across his chest. “Like what?” he asked. His eyes remained fixed on Valdez. “Are you going to tell us about Charles Meyerson?” He watched a twitch come to Valdez’s eye. “Or maybe you’re going to tell us about his little deal with your friend Estaves?” A second twitch. Devlin smiled at him. “But we already know those things. So what have you got to offer?”

  Valdez stared at him. Devlin noticed his hands were now balled into fists. “I can testify,” Valdez finally said.

  Shultz turned to him, ready to warn his client not to speak—to let the attorneys do all the talking. Valdez held up a hand and waved him off.

  “You’ll testify against Meyerson?” Devlin asked. “That he set up the drug deal that got Sister Manuela killed?”

  Valdez nodded.

  “You’ll testify that, as part of the deal, he wanted certain priests dead because they were homosexuals?” Devlin saw William Gray wince at the suggestion.

  Another nod from Valdez. “I’ll also testify that he got some of the profits and it wasn’t no chump change.”

  Devlin nodded, storing away that unexpected bit of information. “You’ll testify that you killed the priests—all of them—on his orders?”

  Valdez shook his head. “I’m not gonna admit I killed nobody unless you promise I’m gonna walk,” he said. “And until I walk I wanna be protected.” He waved his hand, taking in the hospital cell. “Not like this shit here.”

  Devlin looked around the hospital cell. “This is the best we’ve got,” he said. “You were supposed to go to the prison ward at Bellevue, but I vetoed that. The place is like a sieve. Here you’re inside a secure prison.” He inclined his head toward the door behind him. “You’ve got a solid steel door between you and the corridor, and two barred doors locking down both ends of that.”

  “It’s shit,” Valdez snapped. “Hey, I give you what you want, you give me what I want. It’s simple.”

  Devlin smiled at him. “There is one thing I want. Maybe you can buy yourself something if you give me that. It involves my daughter.” He waited, offering Valdez nothing more.

  Valdez’s face broke into a broad grin. “She got the tickets, huh?” he said.

  Devlin stared at him, his eyes ice. “Tell me all of it.”

  Valdez shrugged, still grinning. “Hey, man, I don’t know no more. I was supposed to do it—like, give the tickets to her, you know? But you busted me before I could.”

  “Who told you to give her the tickets?” Devlin asked.

  “Hey, a little bird.” He was smirking now.

  Devlin turned to the door. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Gray.

  “Okay, okay,” Valdez called, stopping him. “It was Estaves. He’s the one who told me to give them to her. All right?”

  Devlin looked back over his shoulder. “You gave me what I want, Emilio. We’ll be back when I check it out.”

  Shultz joined Devlin and Gray out in the corridor. He was a soft, slovenly man who gave off the aroma of someone who knew he had chosen the wrong career. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I told him it wouldn’t fly, but he wouldn’t listen. I do think he’s desperate enough to give you whatever you want. He’s convinced if he stays in prison, he’s dead. What’s this about your daughter?” he asked.

  “Nothing you need to know,” Devlin said. “It doesn’t relate to any of the charges.”

  Gray put his arm around Shultz’s shoulders and shook his head. “Look, I’m not going to kid you. The guy tells what he knows, he’s a good witness. Maybe a perfect witness.” He glanced at Devlin. “I’m just not sure we’re going to need him.” He shrugged. “But don’t close the door. Maybe we’ll be back.”

  Shultz seemed to sense a glimmer of weakness, something he was obviously not used to in his practice. He puffed himself up slightly. “I can’t guarantee his offer will hold past today,” he said.

  Gray stepped away. “Listen to me, counselor. Your client is a first-class scumbag. I wouldn’t count on his testimony until he gave it in court and then repeated it four times. And then I’d be worried he’d recant. So let’s not even go near any so-called one-time offers, okay?”

  As they drove back to Manhattan in Devlin’s car, Gray was still shaking his head. “Okay, now tell me what this stuff is about your daughter,” he said.

  Devlin told him.

  Gray stared at him, incredulous. “This guy Estaves threatened a police inspector’s kid? Who the fuck does this cowboy think he is?”

  “He’ll know who he is when I get my hands on him,” Devlin said. He gave Gray a long look. “You still looking to make a deal with Valdez?” He tried not to laugh as
he asked the question.

  “Yeah, sure,” Gray said. “I just can’t wait to put that little shit on the witness stand. I can’t wait to hear him tell a jury how he turned a little twenty-something nun into a fucking drug mule and then gutted her to get his product back. Or how he hooked up with some lunatic who hates priests who take it up the ass and how he offed them too. It’ll make all the newspapers and all the networks; especially the part about how I gave him immunity. I’ll have the biggest win of my career. Then, when it’s over, I can start applying to dental schools.”

  “You should have listened to your mother and become a dentist years ago,” Devlin said.

  Gray turned to him, sneering at the suggestion. “And what did your mother want you to be, Paul?”

  Devlin grinned back. “She wanted me to go to law school,” Devlin said.

  “;So where do we go from here?” Sharon asked.

  They were in Devlin’s office, together with Ollie, Stan Samuels, and Boom Boom. Red Cunningham was gone for the duration, nursing his leg wound.

  “First,” Devlin said, “we need to find out everything we can about Charles Meyerson. Everything about his past, his present circumstances, right down to the type of toothpaste he uses.” He turned to Samuels, “the mole.” “I’m going to lay most of this on you, Stan. Use everything Boom Boom downloaded—everything about Meyerson that Opus Christi has on its computer and everything we found on Meyerson’s computer—including that new list of people we don’t know anything about yet. In the meantime, Boom Boom will keep searching both computers until they change the passwords.” He turned to Boom Boom. “We need everything the bank has in its personnel records, no matter how insignificant it seems. In the meantime, Stan, use your connections at the newspapers and see what they have on Meyerson, then find some people who know him, both personally and from a business standpoint. See what they can tell us. We need to get a lot on him fast. We need to know what makes this guy tick, what buttons he has we can push.” He smiled at his own language. “You got enough metaphors there to get an idea of what I want?”