“Oh, elders.” Molly reached them. “Wrong flat.”
“We were just —”
“Early.” Molly led the elders to her flat, but they didn’t cross her threshold.
Now what had she done? She stood just inside the door. “Are you not comin’ in, so?”
“We’re not allowed to be alone with sisters,” Elder Ehrisman said. “Have to wait for Brian.”
“Oh.” Was that why he insisted on coming? Odd as the practice sounded, perhaps it was wise. If Father Tim had that rule, maybe they wouldn’t have had anything to worry about.
Well, they’d still have one thing. She resisted the urge to peer into the hallway to see if the Lonegans had answered the door.
“Did you get a chance to pray?” Elder Franklin ventured.
“I did.”
“That’s great!” He grew more serious. “Did He answer you?”
“He didn’t appear to me, if that’s your meanin’.”
“That’d be a great story, wouldn’t it?” Elder Ehrisman laughed.
Elder Franklin didn’t. “But do you feel like He answered your prayer?”
Molly fiddled with the doorknob and considered the question. At least she didn’t have to discuss this in front of Brian, even if they had to stand in full view of Murphy’s pack until he arrived. “Didn’t hear a voice or anythin’. But . . . I had the same feelin’ from readin’ your book.”
“And what feeling was that?”
“I don’t know — a deep calm. Something I’ve needed lately,” she added in a lower tone.
“God can speak to us with a feeling of peace, definitely.” Elder Ehrisman nodded.
Elder Franklin picked up where he’d left off. “Heavenly Father often answers our prayers through the Spirit, and we sometimes call the Holy Ghost the Comforter.”
Before they could speak further, Brian’s voice rang out down the hall. “Hey, guys! Hey, Moll!” Somehow, that nickname was endearing from Tim but annoying from Brian. He pushed past the missionaries to throw an arm around her shoulders. She automatically tensed. “Shall we?”
She should have been relieved to let the missionaries in, and stop worrying that the Lonegans would find them. But being around Brian was just another kind of uncomfortable.
Lucy arrived five minutes into the lesson on Jesus Christ. Molly was somewhat familiar with this topic — although when she’d said that, Elder Franklin and Elder Ehrisman had been alarmed instead of amused. After that, though, the lesson was lovely — hard to go wrong on that topic, though a few points were once again not quite what she’d always learned.
“Molly,” Elder Ehrisman concluded, “will you follow Jesus’ example and be baptized by someone with God’s priesthood authority? We’re having a baptism service two weeks from Friday. That’s December fifth.”
Had she heard that correctly? She shook her head to clear the shock at the invitation — and the warm peace filling her chest. “Oh, I — I just can’t — and I’ve already been baptized.” She glanced at Lucy; her friend avoided her gaze, focused on a strand of her blond ponytail.
“Well,” Elder Ehrisman said, “we believe priesthood authority is restored in the LDS church, and it’s really important to be baptized with the right authority.”
“Of course it is, but this is all just — I’m busy that night.”
“What are we doing?” Brian interrupted.
“Parish talent show.” Molly barely acknowledged him.
“Ooh, a dog sledding demonstration?”
What — oh, Susan’s made-up interests for her. Molly exchanged an amused glance with Lucy. “Can we stick to the lesson, Brian?” Lucy shot him a censuring look.
“Is there a reason you don’t want to be baptized?” Elder Franklin refocused the conversation on Molly. He wasn’t letting her off easy.
“Elders.” Lucy stepped in as though treading on ice. “We don’t want to rush anyone.”
“No, no,” Elder Franklin agreed. “But earlier, Molly was telling us how she felt when she prayed about the Book of Mormon. Right, Molly?”
She nodded again, careful not to look at Brian’s or Lucy’s reactions.
“That peace is a gift of the Spirit, and being baptized and receiving the Holy Ghost can give you that gift all the time. Isn’t that something you’d want?”
Molly held onto both her elbows. Weren’t there some sort of prerequisites for this? Like actually believing in . . . anything? “I can’t make a decision like that on the spot. You do realize what you’re askin’. My family’s been Catholic since they learned the Trinity on a shamrock.”
“It’s a big change, but you can do it with Christ. Think about it,” Elder Franklin said. “We still good for another lesson next week?”
She hesitated a moment. “I suppose.”
When the missionaries left, Molly watched to make sure they didn’t go canvassing her neighbors. Suddenly she wasn’t sure learning about Lucy’s church was so harmless — for any of them.
Zach hung up the parish house phone Thursday. For the fifth day in a row, nobody at the Lonegans’ would answer his calls. Now he’d have to go back to Molly. This wasn’t the way to keep her safe.
But as soon as he walked into the office, he regretted whiling away Wednesday watching Robert Ludlum movies. Molly’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her mascara smudged. He checked if they were alone — Kathleen was there. She’d been crying, too.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You haven’t heard?”
Zach glanced at each of them for another clue. “About what?”
“Father Patrick.” Kathleen cut off a sob with the back of her hand.
Molly motioned Zach closer, then turned her monitor toward him. She brought up the WGNtv homepage and clicked on a headline under Breaking News: “Second Alleged Victim of Slain Priest.” The photo captured his attention first: Doyle Murphy, his son Ian, and Lonegan’s son Brandon, on limestone steps. Zach tried to skim the article but was quickly drawn in.
When St. Adelaide Catholic Church buried their slain priest, Father Colin Patrick, the suburban Chicago parish thought the worst was behind them. That was until this week, when two teenagers in the parish came forward with allegations the late priest molested them.
“We regret Father Patrick’s death, but people need to know there was way more to this tragedy,” said Doyle Murphy, father of the first victim. “No matter how much you want to trust someone, if something’s wrong, follow your gut.”
Zach straightened, deadweight settling on his chest. Could this be the real reason Patrick was murdered? Molesting a mobster’s child had to be a quick route to certain death.
But coming forward with these accusations in an unsolved murder case was a lot dumber than Sellars said these guys were. Then what was going on?
“It can’t be true.” Kathleen’s declaration carried the finality of a death sentence. “They weren’t altar boys.”
He folded his arms. “I don’t like it either, but we can’t go blaming the victims.”
“She’s not speakin’ metaphorically,” Molly said. “They weren’t altar boys. I’ve never even seen them at services. I suppose they do go to the school, though.”
“You just . . .” Kathleen sighed. “You think you’d know something like this was going on. If he was capable of this.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can never tell what people are capable of.” Zach watched Molly for a long moment. Her gaze wandered over her desk, lost. Was there something he could do, something he could say to help her?
No, anything to comfort her might distress her more coming from him. He shook his head sadly and left for the parish house.
Had Cally Lonegan lied to him? He couldn’t have known Father Patrick abused his son and not been in on a plot to kill the priest. And the first time they’d met, Lonegan said it had something to do with Father Patrick.
Or mayb
e Brandon didn’t go to his own father, telling Murphy instead. Might explain why Lonegan wasn’t in the photo. But — for once — Kathleen was right. Wouldn’t somebody have had some idea this was going on before it escalated to the level of murder?
Zach found Father Fitzgerald sitting at the parish house’s breakfast bar, pondering a bowl of soup in solemn silence. Fitzgerald knew. Apparently the parish rumor mill was running like clockwork.
“Have you heard?” Zach asked, though he knew the answer.
Fitzgerald nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was there to tell? Colin made some terrible choices; I hoped you could make better ones without making an example of him.”
Fitzgerald fixated on his bowl, but his eyes remained unfocused. The slump in his back, the hollow stare — far from shocked or even surprised, he was resigned to the facts about Father Patrick.
“How long have you known?”
Fitzgerald stirred his soup in silence for a minute. “Ian told me in September.”
“After Colin died?”
He shrugged. “It’s all a haze.”
“But when he was alive, you didn’t have any idea —”
“No. None whatsoever.”
So this was that terrible secret Fitzgerald was keeping. Zach waited for Fitzgerald to look at him. “You’ve known for two months and you haven’t said anything?”
“I tried counseling the boy and his family, but what good would it do to tarnish the memory of the dead for everyone else?” Fitzgerald rubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, Colin. How could you — how could anyone —?”
Zach sank onto the stool next to Fitzgerald. How could he have missed this?
Zach flipped on the TV at noon Friday, but he couldn’t bring himself to see if local networks picked up the press conference Fitzgerald and the archbishop were holding.
This just didn’t make sense. How had he not seen this? Had Murphy found out about the abuse and forced Father Patrick to make the deal with the mob? Or maybe Ian or Brandon had murdered him, and the mob was covering.
A knock at the door jolted Zach from his thoughts. Maybe it was Molly with the news — and he could see how she was holding up. He hurried to answer.
Doyle Murphy jerked his chin in greeting.
Like this was his fault, a shard of guilt lodged between Zach’s ribs. “Doyle, I’m so sorry. Father Fitzgerald’s still downtown —”
“No, I want to talk to you. Walk?”
“Sure.” Zach grabbed his coat. What was Murphy doing here while the archdiocese was apologizing to his family? Or were they done already? “Were you at the press conference?”
“Yep.”
Zach shut the door behind him. Unsure how to continue, he let the conversation lapse as they walked to the end of the block. At the corner, Murphy stared straight ahead. What could he want to say? They crossed the street in silence.
At the end of the second block, Zach shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. Was he going to have to start this conversation? Murphy concentrated on the crosswalk signal. What did he expect Zach to do?
By the end of the third block, Zach wished he’d sat in on a course in grief counseling at the seminary. No words could help Murphy, who still wasn’t looking at him.
“Got something I want to talk to you about,” Murphy finally began on the fourth block. “A business transaction.”
Zach slowly turned to stare at Murphy. Was he completely out of his mind? Business, now?
Murphy took in his shock. “Obviously you’ve been following the news.”
“And obviously business should be the furthest thing from your mind.”
“Business is always on my mind.”
The hairs on the back of Zach’s neck stood at attention, and not because of the cold. Zach silently berated himself. How could he have relaxed his guard with Murphy? He’d forgotten who he was dealing with. He kept his eyes on Murphy and mentally reviewed the lay of the land. A cluster of older women strolled half a block behind them. A man and a woman passed each other on the opposite side of the street.
Murphy gestured to his black Audi. Zach’s mind jumped to full alert. An ankle holster wasn’t accessible enough to do much good, but he kept his right hand free. While Murphy rounded the car, Zach scrutinized the backseat for any hint of movement. He could only see his reflection in the tinted glass, bewildered and wary.
He braced himself and yanked open the door. The backseat was empty. Murphy was already waiting in the driver’s seat. Zach quickly sat and pulled the door shut. The gray interior smelled of stale cigarette smoke, but he pretended he didn’t notice. “What about your business is so important that you’re coming to me now?” Zach asked.
“You’re the one in charge of the school, right?”
Zach nodded, though it was only partially true.
“The kids need their lunches.”
What was Murphy getting at? “Why don’t you just say what you mean?”
“I supply the food for the school, but my contract is up for renewal.”
The contracts in the filing cabinet. “Well, Doyle, we have to check out our options, of course, but if you’re the best deal —”
“That won’t be necessary, Father.”
Zach feigned curiosity. “Oh?”
“It’s not our prices that make us your best option.”
“What, your competitors are selling tainted food?” After a pause, Zach tried again. “Hey, I want to help our parishioners out, but we can’t bankrupt the school to do it.”
Murphy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’ve heard about Ian and Brandon.”
“Again, I’m sorry.” But he was growing less sympathetic every second he sat in the mobster’s car talking “business.”
“You wouldn’t want to be in Father Patrick’s position if he were alive, would you?”
“No.” At the hooded look Murphy shot him, Zach chose to play dumb. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Just something you might want to consider before you go trying to change things.”
Then the full implications hit him — it was all a lie. A perverted power play to show Father Tim what they were capable of. Killing a priest, getting their sons to lie about him molesting them — what weren’t they capable of?
He could feel the indignation rising in his chest, but Zach took a long moment to gather his composure. “The archdiocese would have to be pretty stupid or pretty desperate to ordain someone so degenerate he’d start abusing his parishioners’ kids in two months. And it might seem a little suspicious if that priest happened to target the same families as their last one — who ended up murdered.”
“You think that’s the only way it could go?” Murphy laughed derisively. “No, Father, for you, I have something else in mind. You know Molly Malone?”
He pursed his lips. He’d played right into Murphy’s hands. “Rings a bell.”
“Now, what’s the penance for breaking a vow of celibacy?”
Zach’s fingers tightened on the edge of his seat to fight back a rising tide of anger. He was trained to keep his cool. Not let things get personal. “She’d deny it.”
“What wouldn’t she do for you? She’s in love with you.”
Zach stilled his tapping foot and rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Murphy couldn’t possibly know that, no matter what Kathleen told him. He was baiting him.
It was working.
“But,” Murphy continued, “I saw the two of you together. So did Jay Gallaher. You can’t refute eyewitnesses.”
“Just like you can’t refute boys who say they’ve been molested by their priest.”
“We understand each other?”
Nerves gnawed at Zach’s stomach. He willed his fingers to release the gray upholstery. He’d flirted with Molly so she’d target him, not so the mob would target her.
Was he thinking like an FBI agent or a m
an trying to protect Molly?
“Or do we have to air all the parish’s dirty laundry? Because believe me —” Murphy leaned forward and lowered his voice to just an edge of danger. “ — it’ll get a lot worse. We’d hate for something to happen to her.”
Zach chewed his lower lip. Much as he hated going along with anything a mobster proposed, maybe if he gave Murphy enough rope . . . “Send me the paperwork.”
“Knew you’d see it our way.” Murphy offered him a piece of paper with a dollar figure and an account number — 277135847. Father Patrick’s private account. “Transfer this account into your name. Things’ll go smoother.”
“Father Patrick’s, I take it?” He didn’t need clarification, but Murphy didn’t know that.
He nodded. “You’ll have the contract on your desk Monday. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“Rather walk.” Zach opened the car door, but before he stood, Murphy offered his hand. Zach ignored it and got out of the car. He was a block away before the tension in his back muscles began to dissolve — and he realized what he’d just gotten.
Father Patrick had been extorted. Father Tim was soon to follow in his footsteps. And Zach didn’t only have evidence. He was a witness. Heck, he was practically a victim — and so was Patrick.
He had to talk to Sellars.
“Not enough,” Sellars said once Zach related the threat from Murphy Saturday night.
“What do you mean, not enough?” Despite Zach’s efforts to keep his voice down, there was still a hushed echo through the frigid shadows of the ASAC’s favorite underpass. “You’ve got your witness — me.”
Sellars stuck his fingers under the brim of his worn out cap to massage his temple. “Great. We go to trial, Murphy argues entrapment and gets off.”
“This is obviously not entrapment.”
He snorted. “I know that and you know that, but you just try making a jury see it with lawyers like his. Best case, we get Doyle Murphy for a few years.”
Saints & Spies Page 22
