Judy pecked at the keyboard, clicked her mouse and shook her head. "Hudson used Road Runner, Walker used Comcast."
"So you can't compare them to my ISP?"
"Cox Cable turned over their records quicker than the others, but I think I can run some comparative scans. It'll just take some time."
"How long?"
She glanced up at the wall clock and clicked the mouse a few more times. "A couple of hours, unless I find a match early on."
"Okay, do what you can." Anita felt the effect of all the coffee heading south again and went the ladies room. A couple of minutes later, she returned to the lab to find Judy typing away at a breakneck speed.
"Judy, did you—?"
She held a finger up. One final bang on the enter key and Judy said, "Yes!"
"What?"
She waved Anita over. "Have a look." The detective leaned over her shoulder and examined the data. It was so neatly compiled, the conclusion was overwhelming. This MrFoXxX was in fact the same person that had contacted Hudson and Walker. Though he used different variations on the screen name, and though over the course of the past few years he had spoofed the IP addresses from sixteen different ISP's world wide, he had not anticipated the powerful detection programs available to the state's computer forensics lab.
Anita gasped. Waves of revulsion tossed like a storm in her belly as she scanned the billing information connected to this freak. She was going to be sick all over the computer. Her cyberlover was not from Omaha. He was from San Diego. The spreadsheet displayed his real name. Anita grabbed the back of Judy's chair to keep from falling.
Chapter Fifty-Five
He'd kept so many steps ahead of the authorities that he never had to think twice about getting caught. He lived by rules and principals—his own, of course, and devised all the contingencies. Forget about Plan B, he had everything up to plan X in line.
Intellectual superiority was a lonesome burden. But it afforded him the right to go forth and take what was his. If a tree fell and nobody heard him dismember it, did it really fall? Had it ever existed? Better still, if someone else was caught with the chainsaw, then that person might as well be given the credit for the fallen oak.
But he was now experiencing something entirely alien. Anxiety. How could he have possibly misstepped like this? He'd taken every precaution: IP spoofing, a cryptic screen names. And yet, they had connected the dots!
"Stupid!" He slammed his fist on the computer desk. Coffee splattered onto the morning paper. No, not stupidity. Hubris. He could have easily plugged this hole a long time ago.
Forget it. Don't question past choices. Where would the challenge be if there was no risk of getting caught? "All right, breathe." He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his eyebrows. Why had Anita signed off so abruptly? Wasn't like her. In the three years they'd been having cybersex, she would always say something, even if she had to sign off suddenly.
Maybe it was that little Asian lawyer, Rachel Cheng.
No. Anita could not have learned anything from her. Especially since he'd run the little upstart off the road last night at 85 miles per hour.
Unless...
Think.
THINK!
He picked up the phone and dialed Sharp Memorial.
Swore at the recorded menu.
He drummed his fingers on the desk, feeling the morning rays toast the back of his hand. Finally, he punched in the correct selection. "Yes, I'm calling about Rachel Cheng."
"Please hold." More infernal elevator Muzak.
Finally she picked up again. "Sir, may I ask who this is?"
"I'm her brother," he lied. "Just got into town when I heard. Did she survive?" A pause on the other end. "I'll speak slow-ly so you can understand," he said. "Did...she...make...it?"
"No need for sarcasm, sir. Yes, she did. She's in the ICU right now."
"Can anyone visit her?"
"Only next of kin and police authorized—"
"Hello? I said I was her brother."
"I know that."
"Okay, look. I apologize. I'm just...worried."
"Of course you are, Mister Cheng."
"When are visiting hours?"
"Between now and—"
He clicked the end button, smirked and tossed the phone onto the sofa and bounded over to his closet where he rifled through the clothes, past all his different uniforms, past his formal attire. Outfoxing the authorities would be a piece of cake.
Ah, this one was perfect. A doctor's scrubs and lab coat.
Time to pay Rachel Cheng a visit.
Chapter Fifty-Six
As far as Mack was concerned, this case was about as abundant in clues as hair on Kojak's head. That is, until Rachel's lucky break from the bowels of the Salton Sea State Penitentiary.
Lucky, right.
Poor kid. Some bozo pulls a hit and run and now she's in the ICU, hanging by a thread. He stayed by her side as long as he could, but eventually had to lie down on the sofa in the waiting room.
"Mister Mackey?" A young female doctor approached the waiting area.
"That'd be me." He stopped pacing and ran his hand over his whiskery mug. Covering morning breath with his hand, he said, "How is she?"
"She ought to be dead."
"But she's not, right?"
"And with her injuries—"
Mack took a deep breath, began silently counted to five. Doctor Janet Wells smiled and shrugged. "She's going to be okay."
"Can I see her?"
"As a matter of fact, she sent me to come get you."
Mack double-timed down the hallway.
___________________
Rachel sat slightly elevated, tubes running from her nose and arms. "You look like hell, kid," Mack said.
"Nice to see you too," she answered, with a weak smile.
"Still the prettiest face I know."
"I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"All this trouble." Rachel tried to sit up, but grimaced and settled back. "All I wanted was to talk to you before we brought those files to the police."
"I already sent them to Pearson."
"Oh no, come on, Mack!" Her eyebrows crinkled. "I thought we'd agreed to discuss it first."
"Look, Pearson's my only real connection."
"Not exactly the first person on my list."
So naive. Mack loved her like a daughter, but this girl had a few too many stars in her eyes. He couldn't blame her though, not after the way they had gone head to head like a Mongoose and a Cobra—Pearson being the snake—during Hudson's trial. "You're getting way ahead of yourself, Ray."
"Maybe so. But I don't believe in coincidence. There's a reason we got this info. I just know it." Her eyes lit up with urgency. "Wait! What about Aaron?"
"Oh yeah. Well, Alan called me this morning."
"And?"
"Well, seems there was a little commotion last night in the hospital, some unauthorized visit—"
Rachel's mouth fell open. "Did something happen to him?"
"Nah. But a couple of police officers got some egg on their face, real good."
"What about Aaron?"
"Tell you what, this is a day for miracles. Not only did the kid make it, his fever broke and his breathing's getting stronger."
"Oh, thank God," Rachel said.
"Uh... yeah, whatever. I'm going to play the lotto today."
Just then a bear-like growl erupted from Rachel's stomach. Her cheeks turned crimson. She smiled and patted her stomach. "Excuse me."
"You gotta be starved."
"I'll live."
"Why don't I go and bring up some breakfast? We'll talk about what we're gonna say to The Ice Prin—-I mean, Detective Pearson."
"Thanks, Mack."
As he stepped out into the hallway, he nearly collided with a doctor with a stethoscope dangling from his neck and a clipboard in hand. "Sorry, bud." Mack stepped aside and allowed him to pass.
"No worries." The doc smiled and did a double take. "He
y, aren't you that personal injury attorney on TV?"
"Uh, no," Mack said. "Not me."
"Funny, you look just like him."
"Besides," Mack said, hiking a thumb towards Rachel's room, "she can represent herself just fine."
"So many ambulance chasers these days preying on accident victims."
"Nah." Mack shook his head. "I'm just a friend."
"I'm Doctor Reynolds," He said and stuck out his hand. "We're going to take a quick look at her vitals. Can you give us a few minutes?"
"Sure, I'm just going out to get her something to eat. She can eat, right?"
"Of course." If the doc's smile grew any wider, Mack could drive a Hummer through it.
"Back in ten, kiddo, " Mack called back to Rachel.
"Perfect," the doc said, patting Mack on the back. "She'll be finished by then."
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I once read that Baboons in South Africa could be found on the roadside in the hills. Friendly looking creatures, but they have the strength to rip a man's arm right out of its socket or eviscerate him, whichever it fancied most. Far be it from me to call Bishop a primate, but I was about to learn what those unfortunate tourists in Capetown had. The hard way. Bishop twisted my arm and I fell to my knees.
"You're starting to get on my nerves, Hudson!"
"I'm sorry about the tray, okay? Just...let go!"
Luther stood a couple of yards back, his arms folded over his chest.
"Okay, I get it," I said. "You're working with Butch now, right? Finishing me off for him because he hasn't got the—"
"Shut up! I don't do anything for that little turd!" The dull pain in my wrist turned white hot as he twisted harder. He threw me to the floor and grabbed my throat, bearing down with formidable weight. All because I spilled cereal on his pants?
"It was an accident," I sputtered.
Luther huffed. "You disrespected The Bishop! And for that, you gonna have to pay. Just like everyone before you, just like everyone after you. That's just the way it works, ain't that right, Bish?"
"Damned straight." He released my neck and then struck my face with a cast iron fist. The ferrous taste of blood filled my mouth. My first day as a believer and I was about to meet my maker. The vision replayed my mind. Bishop as a younger man, holding a dying woman's hand. "It must have really hurt to see her die," I said.
He pulled his next punch and blinked. "What?"
"Was she your mother? Because I know how it feels to lose someone you love." He yanked me to my feet. Shoved me and backed away as if I had suddenly grown a third eye. "We need to talk," I said, wiping the blood from my busted lip. Something within me rose up, stronger than anger, stronger than self-preservation or vengeance.
Compassion.
It made no sense, he was about to beat the living daylights out of me. One sharp look from Bishop and everyone near the pay phone scattered like cockroaches. Luther lingered, but when Bishop nodded at him, he too left. We were alone.
"What do you think you're pulling?" Bishop said.
"Can we just talk? That's all I'm asking." It felt like an ice pick in my jaw when I spoke. Flecks of light danced about my eyes. I was going to pass out.
Bishop straightened up and shook his head as if by doing so he could clear it. "Chapel in ten minutes. That's all you get."
"See you there." Every beat from my heart drummed in my ears and eyes. Finally, I picked myself up and leaned on the pay phone. I still had to call Rachel to ask about Aaron.
A gruff male voice answered her cell phone. "Yeah?"
"This is Sam Hudson. I'm looking for Rachel Cheng. Who's this?"
"Sam! It's me, Mack." He was speaking with his mouth full, stopped, swallowed and continued. "I've got her cell phone. She's been in an accident."
"What? When?"
"On the freeway last night. Someone ran her off the road. CHP's don't have any suspects yet."
"How is she?"
"She pulled through." So many questions. Where she was being treated, what kind of injuries had she sustained? I almost forgot to ask about my son. "Do you know anything about Aaron?"
"Well, I spoke with Alan this morning."
"What did he say?" I was about to crawl out of my skin.
"You hear about that weirdo who snuck into Aaron's room?"
"No," my ears started to burn. "How's my son?"
"Out of the woods."
I shut my eyes and exhaled long and slow. Thank you, God. For a moment, nothing else mattered. It's going to be fine.
"You there, Sam? He's out of danger."
"Yeah, I heard you. Thanks, Mack."
"Still in a coma, but he's a helluva fighter, your boy."
"Yeah." Someone was looking out for him.
"Hey listen, I'm bringing some juice and bagels up to Rachel. I'll have her call you when I get back to her room, okay?"
"Okay, thanks." Astounding. And yet, strangely inevitable. What was happening? I had to speak with Bishop about the vision about him and the dying woman. His reaction told me it rang true with him. There had been a reason it was revealed to me. With the chapel just twenty yards away, I was about to find out.
___________________
As per Father Speedy's preference, the blinds were drawn. And since there was no service in progress, the overheads were left off. Bishop sat alone in a wooden chair that gave off a scent of expiring varnish. He didn't turn around when I arrived.
"Hey, Bishop." Not so much as a lifted eyebrow, so fixed was he on the cross in the front of the chapel. I took a seat next to him. Would I walk out alive? "I don't know what it was that I saw, or why I saw it."
"Just spit it out already," he grunted.
Trying hard to remember, I shut my eyes and. A moment later, the vision returned but with so much more detail than before. "You're kneeling at her bedside. Her hair is white, but she doesn't seem that old. A quilt— patchwork—red, brown, tan. Her eyes are shut. I think she's dying. And you. It's you, but... I don't know, maybe twenty years ago. You're by her side, holding her hands, pressing them to your lips. It's clear you love her very much. And this is the oddest thing, she's given you something. Something small. It's an ivory locket, I can't read the inscription on the inside but... somehow I know what is says. It's a verse from the Bible."
"Impossible," Bishop said shaking his head. "No one knows about that. No one could, possibly know." He turned to face me. Cautiously, I backed away slightly.
"So it's true?" I said.
He didn't answer.
"Besides this vision, I've recently experienced other things I simply can't explain. So, you being a priest, I thought I'd ask."
"I'm not a priest anymore. Anything but. I'm so far from that life now, you couldn't possibly hope to get anything useful from me."
"You must still believe."
"I must?"
"So, am I going crazy? Am I going to end up in PSU, thinking God is talking and end up hanging myself? Like Walker?" Bishop pressed his face into his hands resting on the back of the pew before him. His large frame rumbled. "What's the matter?
"I thought I could escape," he said.
"What, from Salton? I don't think anyone's ever managed that."
"Not what I mean."
"Escape from what, then?"
"Not what. Who."
"All right. Who are you trying to escape from?"
"God." To my great discomfort, he pulled a shiv out of his pants and began sharpening it against a rock, which he pulled from his shirt pocket.
Bishop had begun the long process of euthanizing his faith years ago, he just didn't realized it. First with the untimely death of his mother, then with the scandal that put him on death row. "I served Him, dedicated my life! I was a good priest."
"How did it happen?"
"There's a reason I've never told anyone." He held up the business end of the shiv and examined it as if he were a jeweler. Then went back to sharpening it.
"Right. Your image: Big, ruthless killer.
"
"Not just that."
"Then why?"
"Because," he lifted his head and sniffed—snorted actually. "You'd never believe me if I told you."
"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't kill my wife, rape my daughter and bludgeon my son into a coma?"
"Who cares?" He squinted at me. Put the shiv in front of my face. "Whadya think?"
"Looks fairly deadly."
He nodded, and lowered it. Relieved, I leaned in closer. "Seriously though, how does a Jesuit priest get convicted of murder?"
"I was framed." He scrutinized my face in anticipation of a snort, a chuckle, anything indicative of incredulity. I knew better.
"I believe you."
"You would."
"I believe you because I was framed too."
His eyebrow cocked upwards. Glad I could amuse him.
"Anyway," he continued, pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, "there was an investigation of my Parish for sexual abuse by priests. I was clean, but one of the other priests had been accused. I didn't know one way or another if he'd done it. But when they started pressuring me for a statement against him, I refused. The victim was Janice D'Amati."
"Wasn't her father—?"
"Tony D'Amati."
" Tony D'Amati, the mafia kingpin?"
Bishop picked his teeth with the point of his shiv. Spat on the floor. "Yeah. His whole damned family attended St. Ignatius regularly. I took confession from him more than once. And you should know, that I used to work for the bastard, years before I cleaned up my act and joined the Jesuits."
Wasn't this supposed to be privileged? Bishop lit his cigarette, puffed a cloud away from our conversation. He coughed, cleared his throat and went on. "D'Amati was working with the D.A., you believe that? He wanted to bring Father Connor to justice." Bishop took another drag. "D.A. wanted me to cook up some testimony against a fellow priest."
I rubbed my eyes which were beginning to water. I could hardly believe my ears.
"You know," he said. "If I had even an inkling that Father Phil had even touched Tony's girl, forget about taking the stand, I woulda' castrated him myself! I got no patience for scum like that." He let the thought trail off, then flicked the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. "But I didn't know for sure. So I refused to bear false witness. Hell, I had someone a lot bigger to answer to."
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