A Necessary Evil

by Kava, Alex

“Yeah, well, it’s pretty freaky,” Pakula said just as Carmichael came waltzing in.

  “You’ve got to be talking about this one,” Carmichael said, dropping the copies in the middle of the table. “This guy’s either lost it or else this isn’t our guy.”

  Maggie and Pakula came up on either side of Carmichael to take a look. Maggie grabbed the top page, staring at the first crime scene photo with yet another decapitated head sitting on a church altar. Maggie couldn’t believe it. This one resembled the D.C. killer more than their priest killer.

  “Boston detective I talked to said the killer practically ripped the head off,” Carmichael told them

  “I hate to tell both of you this,” Maggie said and Pakula and Carmichael stopped to look at her. “I think we’ve got more than one killer.”

  CHAPTER 70

  Omaha Police Department

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Tommy Pakula couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What the hell do you mean we’ve got more than one killer?”

  “I was working on a serial killer case back in D.C. before I came out here. All the victims have been decapitated,” O’Dell started to explain.

  “But they’ve been all women so far, haven’t they?” Pakula remembered seeing bits and pieces on TV.

  “Yes, as far as we know.”

  “And in the D.C. area. Not Boston.”

  “Look,” O’Dell said, “I’m not sure about this, but I don’t think a killer who hides a victim in the Florida wetlands would turn around a week later and decapitate another, displaying that victim’s head on a church altar.”

  “Isn’t it possible he’s starting to lose it?” Carmichael asked, taking several steps back as if to get out from between Pakula and O’Dell.

  “Anything’s possible,” O’Dell said, but she didn’t sound as if she meant it. “I’m just saying there’s usually a pattern with this type of killer even when he starts to accelerate.”

  “But yesterday you told me never to underestimate who’s capable of murder.” Pakula was losing his patience. Today they seemed even farther away from finding a suspect. Now O’Dell was telling him she couldn’t even come up with a profile.

  “And yesterday you told me you weren’t convinced one killer could pull off all these murders. That was when we had three instead of five,” she reminded him.

  “You’re right,” Pakula said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s say there’re two killers. Makes sense that one might be taking the Midwest and another takes the East and Southeast. But how are they working together?”

  Pakula shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall as O’Dell started to pace again. He sensed a nervous energy to her today that was a bit unsettling. Was it that she had no answers or could it be her anticipation in making this deal with Keller? Either way, he hoped that by hunkering down and not moving around he might be able to calm her down. Carmichael wasn’t any help. She was pacing along the length of the room on the other side.

  “They might have something set up over the Internet,” O’Dell offered.

  “Next you’re gonna tell me it’s a couple of teenagers playing Dungeons and Dragons over the Internet.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Carmichael said, stopping in her tracks and looking from Pakula to O’Dell.

  “Agent O’Dell has a theory that the killer…or killers could be teenagers who have been abused by priests. Correct me if I’m not getting this quite right,” he said to O’Dell, unable to contain the sarcasm and to his own surprise a little bit of anger. “That they could be taking things into their own hands, spurred on by one of those Internet crusader games that are popular right now.”

  When Carmichael didn’t laugh or roll her eyes Pakula knew he was in trouble. He was the odd man out. He knew it before she even opened her mouth.

  “Could be why this Boston one doesn’t follow any pattern,” Carmichael suggested, adding her own spin. “Teenagers are unpredictable anyway. I imagine that’s true when you’re dealing with teenage killers, right? A kid might not be able to keep it all together.”

  There was a knock at the conference-room door and a uniformed officer poked his head in. “Kasab’s ready for you. Said to tell you they’re at the Embassy Suites. Your special guest refused to come down to the police station.”

  “Thanks, Bernie,” Pakula told him. When he glanced at O’Dell he had to do a double take. All the color had drained from her face and she was staring at him.

  “You have Keller at the same hotel I’m staying at?” O’Dell was incredulous.

  “Not my idea. Chief Ramsey and Assistant Director Cunningham set this up. I was told to treat him as a guest of the Omaha Police Department.”

  “And how do you treat a guest of the Omaha Police Department?” O’Dell wanted to know.

  “Not sure,” Pakula said, scratching his jaw. “We’ve never had one before. But I would think the first rule is to make him nice and comfy so he tells us lots of stuff. And since it sounds like your Father Michael Keller doesn’t trust us, we should start by accommodating his request to meet on neutral territory. Suppose he’s afraid we might consider arresting him?”

  “I’d like to do more than arrest him,” O’Dell muttered, surprising both Pakula and Carmichael.

  “We should get going.” Pakula grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair but threw it over his arm. It had already been eighty degrees this morning when he came in. He hated to see what it was by now. “We certainly don’t want to keep our special guest waiting. I hope to hell he has something we can use.”

  “I just can’t believe Cunningham put him in my hotel.”

  “Probably the chief’s doing,” Pakula told her. “They give the police department a pretty decent discount.”

  The look O’Dell shot him said exactly what she thought of their discount.

  CHAPTER 71

  Omaha, Nebraska

  After Timmy’s mom left for work Gibson had convinced Timmy they couldn’t go to Explorers. Actually it didn’t take much convincing when he told him about Brother Sebastian grabbing him at school and then coming to his frickin’ house. They sat in the living room in front of the TV with their bowls of cereal. They left it on the Ellen De-Generes Show, hoping it’d make them laugh, but even the audience dancing segment didn’t get either of them going.

  “How do you suppose he found me?”

  “The school,” Timmy said. “I bet he asked Father Tony or Sister Kate.”

  “It had to be Father Tony. Sister Kate would never give him my address. I know she wouldn’t.”

  “So what’s in the leather thing? How do you know that’s what he wants?”

  Gibson hesitated, taking another mouthful of cereal and pretending that’s what was keeping him from answering Timmy’s questions. He needed to trust someone and Timmy already knew about the game.

  “I think there’re all sorts of papers about Monsignor O’Sullivan.”

  “Papers?”

  “Yeah, you know, like reports of some kind. Complaints.”

  “Did you file a report against the guy?” Timmy asked.

  Gibson looked at him, wiping his bangs out of his eyes, his fingers lingering over his forehead in search of pimples.

  “No,” he finally said. “Did you file one against your guy?”

  “No,” Timmy answered, sticking his index fingernail between his teeth, his own nervous habit. Gibson could see there weren’t many fingernails left to chew on, most of them down to the quick. “Nobody believed me, except my mom. And they wouldn’t even listen to her because two other guys had already been arrested.”

  “Two other guys?” Gibson asked. They hadn’t shared any details with each other. Gibson figured Timmy would be as embarrassed as he was to talk about it. Now he realized that Timmy might have had a worse thing happen to him. “Did the two guys do anything to you?”

  “I really don’t know for sure. The guy who kidnapped me always wore a Halloween ma
sk. It was one of those dead presidents. So I never saw his face.”

  “You were kidnapped?”

  Timmy stopped chewing his fingernail and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Yeah. I try not to think about it much.”

  “Sorry.” Gibson didn’t know what else to say.

  “No, it’s okay. I used to have nightmares. It was weird though, ’ cause it wasn’t about being taken, you know. It was like I was always trying to see behind the mask or pull it off. Like I needed to see who it was for sure.”

  “How come you think it was a priest?”

  “Little things. Probably stupid things. The cops told me they weren’t proof.” Now Timmy pulled his feet up under him, almost curling into a ball. “Father Keller used to always trade baseball cards with us altar boys, and the masked guy brought me some. Other stuff, too. Like his tennis shoes. Father Keller always wore the cleanest, brightest tennis shoes I think I ever saw. And the masked guy did, too.”

  “How about the guys they arrested?”

  “One never wore tennis shoes. The other wore really dirty ones.”

  Gibson smiled. “Not exactly CSI stuff, huh?”

  “No, I guess not.” Timmy smiled, too, finally uncurling himself, maybe feeling safe again. He reached for his cereal bowl. “But Father Keller’s someplace down in South America, so I guess I don’t have anything to worry about. I just thought putting his name into the game would help me sort of eliminate him in my mind, you know? Stop the dreams from happening and it sorta did. I haven’t had one in a long time.”

  Gibson nodded like he understood, but it hadn’t really worked that way for him. He hadn’t had a nightmare until Monsignor O’Sullivan was dead.

  Then Timmy added, “Do you think we should tell somebody about the leather thing?”

  “I think it’s called a portfolio. Who would we tell that would believe us? They wouldn’t even believe you and your mom.” Gibson had already tried to think who he could tell and hadn’t come up with anyone. He had thought about Sister Kate, but he didn’t want to get her in trouble, too. He got the feeling that anyone who knew about this portfolio might be in trouble.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Timmy said and slurped down the milk from his bowl, putting it back on the coffee table. There was a silence while the two boys seemed to think about it then Timmy continued, “My mom says there’ve been other priests killed. Do you think they were part of the game? Maybe names other players submitted when they were invited to play?”

  This time Gibson shrugged. He set his cereal bowl down next to Timmy’s one on the coffee table. He sat back into the soft couch.

  “I think every time we played the game and the Holy Man was terminated…” Gibson paused, watching Timmy’s face “…I think maybe a real priest might have been offed.”

  “But who’s doing it?” Timmy asked and Gibson couldn’t help noticing that Timmy didn’t seem shocked or even surprised by his theory.

  “The Sin Eater had to be at the airport when Monsignor O’Sullivan was killed. Otherwise how did he know I was there? He knows about the portfolio. He could’ve been the one who put it in my backpack.” It felt good to Gibson to finally be saying it all out loud, instead of going over it again and again in his mind.

  “And The Sin Eater’s the only one who knows all the names.”

  They stared at each other. Gibson still couldn’t believe this was real. It was supposed to be a game. It was supposed to be a way for them to take out their anger and frustration, to help them feel in control and free. It was supposed to be a way to deal with the stuff that they had gone through, the abuse or inappropriate touching or whatever the hell they wanted or needed to call it. The Sin Eater was the master of the game.

  “The Sin Eater’s last message said that as long as I had the portfolio I was safe and that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” Gibson told Timmy.

  “Do you believe him?’

  Gibson had to think about this before he answered. The game had made him feel in control, strong. Each time he signed on he felt like he had friends in the other players and their characters. He couldn’t think of a single thing about the game that was meant to hurt him or take advantage of him or make him feel stupid.

  “Yeah, I think I do,” he finally said.

  “Do you think The Sin Eater’s someone we know?” Timmy asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. I would have recognized him at the airport.”

  “Maybe he wore a disguise,” Timmy suggested, inserting another fingernail between his teeth.

  “I guess that’s possible. There were an awful lot of people.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Timmy sat forward in his chair, hands now in his lap.

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Whadya mean?”

  “Why were you at the airport on Friday?”

  Gibson felt his face get hot and he avoided Timmy’s eyes, looking at the TV as if suddenly interested in Ellen’s next guest though he didn’t have a clue who the guy was. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed. At least not with Timmy who certainly knew where he was coming from. Geez, Timmy had been through even worse…

  Finally he said, “I went by the school that morning to see if Sister Kate needed any help setting up for the Explorers’ Program, but she wasn’t there. When I went by Monsignor O’Sullivan’s office he and Father Tony were sort of arguing. They didn’t see me. I’ve gotten really good at sneaking by ’ cause I don’t like running into the monsignor.” He paused and Timmy nodded.

  “I overheard him tell Father Tony he was leaving, flying to Rome that afternoon and not coming back. I know it probably sounds pretty lame, but I wanted to make sure he really was leaving. So I checked on the Internet what flights there were and went to the airport. I wanted to see him get on that plane. Only he went to the bathroom and he didn’t come out.”

  Gibson didn’t like remembering the blood. It looked so red on that bathroom floor. He could even remember the smell. And that look on the monsignor’s face. He shook his head, trying to get the image out.

  “I wanted him to leave. I wanted him gone.” He heard his voice crack with anger and he glanced away again. “I didn’t mean for him to get killed,” he added, wiping at the threat of a tear with the back of his hand.

  Now he looked at Timmy and dared to meet his eyes. He had shared this much. Why not go ahead and get it all out? “But you know what? I’m not sorry he’s dead. He was a real bastard.”

  That’s when they heard the front door of the duplex unlock and click open. Gibson jumped and so did Timmy. They waited, both twisting around to try and see into the entranceway. Was it Timmy’s mom? Would she be pissed they skipped Explorers? Gibson knew his mom would be, except she wouldn’t say she was pissed. She’d say she was disappointed in him. That was worse.

  A man came around the corner and Gibson jerked back. He wasn’t sure if they should run. His eyes darted between Timmy and the man. Timmy looked surprised and so did the man, which made Gibson push himself back into the sofa. He cringed, ready for an attack when it looked like the guy’s surprise was shifting to anger. Yeah, the guy was definitely angry.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  CHAPTER 72

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Nick hadn’t meant to scare Timmy and his friend. He was just in a lousy mood. He hadn’t slept much last night. And then instead of checking out of the hotel he found himself asking if the suite was available for another night. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he seriously trying to screw up his engagement?

  “Don’t you have your Explorers’ thing today?” he asked when it looked like both boys were too guilty to offer an explanation on their own.

  “Um…we, uh…” Timmy gave it his best shot, glancing over at his friend, expecting help. Nick didn’t think his friend would be capable of offering any help. The kid looked like he was about ready to jump out of his skin.

  “Your mo
m doesn’t know you skipped, huh?”

  Timmy finally gave up and nodded. “We have a good reason.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you do and you’ll need it when you tell her.”

  “You’re gonna make me tell her? Ah, come on, Uncle Nick.”

  “Hey, I don’t make the rules in this house. So who’s your friend?”

  “Sorry. Gibson, this is my uncle Nick.” Timmy waved his hand between the two of them as if that made the introduction official and complete. “So where’ve you been the last couple of nights? I thought you were staying here.”

  “I had a suite at the Embassy Suites.”

  “The one down in the Market?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sweet. Does it have one of those minibars in the room with the five-dollar M&Ms and six-dollar Cokes?”

  “Yeah, it does. So, Gibson, are you in the Explorers’ Program, too?” Nick was beginning to wonder if the kid talked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nick wanted to laugh. Instead, he smiled and shook his head. “You can call me Nick, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So what’s the deal? You two skipped just to sit around the house eating cereal and watching talk shows? Doesn’t sound very exciting.”

  He glanced from one to the other, watching them exchange guilty looks that seemed to include a scuffed-up backpack. They were hiding something. Didn’t much matter what it was. Christine would be royally pissed when she found out Timmy was wasting her five hundred dollars, sitting around the house chewing the fat with his friend instead gobbling up all that explorer trivia.

  Before either one answered there was a knock at the front door. Both boys scrunched down in their seats. Nick shook his head at them. Something was definitely up. This wasn’t just about skipping school.

  “Don’t run out on me,” he whispered, pointing a finger at the two of them. Then he went back down the hall to the foyer. Kids! It was probably a delivery person and they’re practically pissing their pants for nothing.