Blazer: Return of the Troubles: A Cop Thriller

by G. C. Harmon

  Steve led him to where his team was gathering behind the church. “You know that and I know that. And yeah, I’d like to have my forty bucks back. But they had at least a little information for us. I know I did not help their situation one iota. But maybe I gave them a little comfort for one night, and maybe I bought a little good will.”

  The cops gathered. He caught the looks from his teammates, but no one spoke up to ask about the stranger among them. “Everyone, this is my Father, Drew Blazer. Dad, this is my team, and my Captain. I’m sure we’ll all have the chance to get to know each other.” There was an exchange of nods and curious smiles.

  Before this powwow could be hijacked by a lengthy introduction, Stanson drew Blazer aside. “I get that the old man surprised you, but we’re working a strange case here, and a crime scene is no place for a family reunion.”

  “You’re right,” Steve nodded. “Just a little blindsided. I’ll take care of it.”

  Steve walked back to the group where his men were starting to introduce themselves. Steve draped an arm over his Dad’s shoulder. “Let’s have a quick chat.” He walked his Dad toward the nearby yellow tape. “I’ve now heard from my Captain. His word is, unfortunately I can’t have you here at the crime scene. I’m guessing you don’t have a place to stay, so you can bunk with me. Suzy is off duty, so she can give you a ride to my apartment.” He made a show of pulling his apartment key off his keyring. He wasn’t ready to disclose that Suzy had a key to his home yet. “Why don’t you hang out there until I go off duty, and then we can visit? I know it might be kind of a wait…”

  “Actually, son, I have something else in mind. I think I’ll take myself on a tour of the city for a while, maybe visit some of my old haunts. I used to have the run of this town, you know.”

  “You hated this town and couldn’t wait to get us out of here. You don’t have a car. How do you propose to get around?”

  “I’m becoming quite proficient at the whole rideshare phenomenon.” He grinned as he held up his cell phone.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my father?” Steve stared him down for a moment, his concern evident, as well as the obvious question, was he going to regret letting his old man go off on his own?

  In an attempt to ease that very fear, Drew said to him, “I am a grown man, son.”

  With a sigh, Steve handed over his apartment key. “In case you get home before I do. You should have my address in that phone, yes? Just have your rideshare driver drop you there when you’re done being a tourist. And since you’re on your own, it might be nice if you would check in once in a while.”

  “Aye, Da,” Drew said out of a good humor and a little exasperation. He stepped in and gave his son a quick hug, then slipped away under the crime scene tape.

  Steve watched as his Dad disappeared up the street, knowing something was strange about him being here.

  He turned and rejoined the gathering of cops. He caught the looks among his team, all of them curious about his Dad being there. He waved it off, saying, “It’s hard raising parents these days.” This brought some smiles, and that became the end of it for the moment.

  “Are we absolutely sure this priest is not a child molester?” Steve asked the group.

  “We checked his room pretty thoroughly,” Scot said, “and we found zero evidence to suggest he is. But it doesn’t exclude the possibility.”

  “Not that I’m hoping that’s what we have here,” Steve said. “I’m tempted to start questioning parishioners, but I have a feeling that will cause a problem with his ‘eminence’.” Steve’s mouth twisted the word. “I’m curious what the ballistics will tell us, but I’m guessing it will reveal nothing. Bottom line, we have a priest missing under mysterious circumstances, and not much to go on.”

  Behind him, Father James had been lurking. Steve hadn’t seen him, and no one else thought anything of a priest at a Cathedral who happened to be walking by. James had stopped nearby for a moment, straining to listen. He now hurried away.

  “I have another call in to the Judge,” Stanson said. “I asked the Archbishop for access to Father Fitzhugh’s personnel file, but he was less than cooperative on that as well. I’m pushing for a warrant for that file as well.”

  “Maybe you and I should take one more run at questioning the Bishop,” Steve said, “Maybe ask for that file again.

  “Let’s try.”

  Blazer and Stanson made their way back inside the Cathedral. They paused inside to scope their surroundings and see if the Archbishop was still there. Steve then led the Captain up the aisle alongside the Nave to search for him. Along the way, they passed places where CSI had already concluded their work. The altar was now blocked off by yellow caution tape—not crime scene tape. CSI Swope had managed to pull the bullet from the wall, but it appeared the church staff had blocked it off until repairs could be made to the hole in the wall.

  It was here that they found Bishop Tobin. He stood off to the side of the altar, seeming to glare at the eyesore of the Caution tape. Father James stood with him, and the younger priest was whispering in the Bishop’s ear. As the cops approached, James pulled away and retreated to the background.

  “Will this intrusion never cease?” The Archbishop demanded when he saw the cops approach.

  “Sir,” Stanson began, “I understand your hesitance to assist us, given the church scandals. But one of your priests is missing, and the circumstances appear to be quite violent. I would think you’d be eager to assist in finding him, before the worst happens.”

  Tobin took on a smug look. “You claim to be understanding of church scandals, yet you seem so eager to perpetuate them. Father Fitzhugh was not a child molester.”

  “Bishop, I have to follow the leads wherever they take me,” Steve said. “That being said, you should know we have not as yet found any evidence of inappropriateness. However, we really have few leads.”

  This seemed to ease his anger a bit. “Logically, does that mean you intend to start questioning members of this church about their interactions with Fitzhugh?” Before either cop could answer, he continued, “I must demand that you not do this. While there is no scandal now, doing this would invite a panic among those who worship here, and tarnish Father Fitzhugh, as well as the entire church. I cannot allow this.”

  Blazer and Stanson shared a glance. “This is understandable,” the Captain said. “If it becomes necessary, we might be able to find some middle ground that helps everyone. I have some ideas. In the meantime, I wonder if you’ve reconsidered letting us look at Father Fitzhugh’s personnel file.” The Bishop huffed, and Stanson went on, “I am working on getting a warrant, but if we’re now working on a spirit of cooperation, I was hoping the warrant would not be necessary.”

  The Bishop huffed again. “Get your warrant. I’ve brought this matter to the attention of a higher power.”

  “God?” Steve said, before he could stop himself, or the hint of sarcasm in the question.

  This drew only a sardonic look from Tobin. “I actually have contacts in the Vatican. I called them early this morning to ask their guidance in this entire matter. I will inquire with them again whether they will agree to release the file to you.”

  Stanson considered this. “Fair enough.”

  “In the meantime,” Steve said no one, “We really have nothing to go on.”

  Stanson nodded to him, then said to Tobin, “Thank you for your time.” They walked away.

  “Do we really want to start harassing every person that walks in here to worship?” Steve asked.

  “No, I agree with him, it would freak everyone out. I’m thinking more along the lines of putting out word that we need the public’s help and maybe have the leads come to us. In the meantime, maybe we’ll get something from Ballistics.”

  Behind them, Archbishop Tobin had fished out a cell phone and quickly dialed a number. “Your Eminence,” he said quietly, “The Police here are becoming a demonic intrusion. They are demanding to see Father Fitzhugh�
��s personnel file, and threatening to interrogate parishioners. I don’t need to tell you that this would cause a panic that could destroy this church.”

  A mysterious voice on the other end spoke. “The assistance you asked for landed in San Francisco just a short time ago. This cross will be lifted from your shoulder.”

  4

  Steve spent the entire trip back to the Hall of Justice in silence, contemplating everything. The case was turning into a dead end, and he would have to brainstorm on how else to search for this missing priest. For now, it seemed the man was alive. In addition, the thought occasionally popped into his mind: Why was his Dad paying him a surprise visit?

  The members of Special Forces entered their office, a converted conference room just down the hall from the Homicide Squad room. As he sat down at his desk, Steve’s cell phone rang, and he fished it out. “Blazer.”

  “Steve, it’s Ray O’Connor, how you doing?”

  Ray was the department’s ballistics expert, and a good friend. He worked out of a separate facility, a ballistics lab down in Hunter’s Point. Every once in a while, Steve would pay him a visit to run a case by him, and generally shoot the breeze, so to speak.

  “Ray, how are you?”

  “Just trying to make some headway on this bullet you guys sent me. It’s a .45 Caliber. Beyond that, I can’t really tell you much about it. I checked the markings, and it does not match to anything we have in the database. It has not apparently been used in a crime.”

  Another dead end, Steve thought. He exchanged a few pleasantries with O’Connor, and Ray ended the call with a promise to keep digging.

  Steve turned his chair around. Dave and A.J. had adjacent desks behind his, and he wheeled his chair up to them. “I don’t mean to assume, but…are either of you guys Catholic?”

  “Lapsed,” A.J. shrugged.

  “Very lapsed,” Dave said. “I haven’t been to a church in ten years. I wasn’t anxious to go back, which is part of the reason I was late this morning. Sorry, Sarge.”

  Steve shook his head, waving it off.

  “I go to mass once in a while,” A.J. said. “My Mom is always on me about going to church. My Dad…he’s not around.”

  Steve didn’t press for further details. “Can you guys make any sense of this situation? Even the molestation angle doesn’t fit. According to our witness, the priest made it out, so he is now supposedly on the run. If he was kidnapped, it could fit the molestation issue. Maybe a past victim took him to inflict a little payback. But he wasn’t kidnapped. Unless we find a body, or he walks into his next mass, we don’t have anything to go on.”

  “We’re all hoping it wasn’t molestation,” A.J. said.

  “And that we don’t find him dead,” Dave added.

  “I have to admit,” Steve said, “I have my own personal issues with the Catholic Church. They have a history of trying to oppress their people, to everyone’s detriment. You met my Dad, he’s taught me a lot of their history. But beyond that, I’m not real familiar with the way this church operates. As we progress on this, I want you guys to keep your eyes and ears open for anything related to the Church that you think might be relevant.”

  Castillo and Miano exchanged a look, and both nodded.

  Steve turned back to his desk. His cell phone vibrated, and he grabbed it from his desk. The screen said the call was “Restricted,” no number visible. He answered it, “Blazer.”

  “Sergeant Blazer of the San Francisco Police?” the voice was unfamiliar and had a heavy accent, possibly Italian.

  “That’s right. Who am I speaking with?”

  “My name is Father Gilotti, I’m a priest. I understand you are in charge of this mystery of the missing Father Fitzhugh. I have some information which may be of interest to you.”

  Our first real lead? Steve asked himself. He grabbed a pen from his desk. “OK, go ahead.”

  “Oh, not over the phone. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to meet me at the hotel room from which I am working?”

  This roused his suspicion. Something about this struck him as strange. He checked his watch. It was approaching noon. “When should we meet?”

  “Whenever you can get here. I’m at the Westin St. Francis, Room 3113.”

  His mind racing, Steve said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Steve stood and glanced around the room a moment, contemplating if he should take a partner for this. He finally elected to go alone. As he grabbed his jacket and stuffed his phone in his pocket, he said to his team, “I have a possible lead, I should be back soon. You guys…try to look busy.”

  Steve Blazer knew the Westin St. Francis well. The hotel fronted Union Square in downtown San Francisco and was famous for glass elevator cars that rode up and down the outside of the building. Tourists in the square could watch the lift cars bob up and down independent of each other, while those that rode the elevator could look down at the city landmark. Just months prior, SFPD and Special Forces had dealt with an incident at the hotel, involving a sniper attempting to assassinate a political candidate. That candidate was a former SFPD cop who had actually commanded the previous incarnation of Special Forces decades before. Since then, he and Steve had become good friends.

  Steve parked his black unmarked SUV in the parking garage beneath Union Square and made his way back to the surface. Outside, he took a moment to gaze up at the hotel. The section overlooking the park was only about twelve stories tall. The famous elevators rode up and down the thirty-two story Tower Building, which stood behind the shorter Landmark Building by the square.

  Steve entered the hotel and didn’t bother going to the front desk. He already knew the room number he sought. Judging by that number, the priest’s room was in the tower. He found his way to the tower elevators. In moments, he was staring down over the city as he rode up to the thirty-first floor. He stepped off and wandered the halls for a minute until he found rooms in subsequent order. When he found number 3113, he took a moment to pull the chain with his police star out from under his shirt. With his star visible, he knocked on the door.

  The man who opened the door was significantly shorter than him, maybe five and a half feet tall with olive skin and dark hair. He was clean shaven but his face was dark with a beard that could easily get out of hand if he let it. His dark hair was short and well kept, but his bushy eyebrows were not. He wore a pair of thick glasses. Steve’s eyes were drawn to the Roman collar around his neck.

  “Father Gilotti?” Steve asked, believing the man’s darkened features to be Italian. The man nodded. “I’m Sergeant Steve Blazer, we spoke on the phone?”

  The man still said nothing but waved him inside.

  Steve stepped into a room that reflected simultaneously the tackiness and charm of the 1930s. The room was spacious, almost a penthouse, with a wide open main room, and two double beds side by side. The beds were draped with a comforter that appeared almost velvet, a maroon color. Steve noted a handful of suitcases next to the beds, and a briefcase sitting on a desk in a far corner. He also noted a bar set up to his left. He figured there would be small bottles of alcohol in a cupboard behind the bar, along with various types of glasses and mugs on shelves there. In fact, he observed two glasses sitting on the bar already. He also heard running water in a bathroom next to the beds. The priest was not alone.

  “Forgive me,” the swarthy man said, and Steve instead detected a French accent. “I am Father Richard. Father Gilotti, my traveling companion, is the one who summoned you. He will be with us momentarily.”

  As he said this, a second man emerged from the bathroom, dressed the same as Richard. He was older, maybe sixty, with a wiry build. He had unkempt white hair wrapped around the sides and back of his head that stuck out, making his head look like a spaceship. He broke into a smile that revealed teeth that needed some work.

  “You must be Sergeant…Blazer, isn’t it?” He gave Steve a limp handshake. “I’m Father Gilotti. Please, come in, sit down. Would you like something to dr
ink?”

  “No, thank you,” Steve said. He was more than just “not a drinker.” “You mentioned over the phone that you may have some information about this case.”

  Blazer remained standing. Gilotti seated himself in a padded chair that he pulled from a small meeting table near the window. “Actually, I’m curious about your theories about what happened to this priest.”

  Steve became more wary as Gilotti avoided his question. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t discuss a theory of a case. But currently, we have no theories. This whole thing is a mystery so far.”

  “I’ve spoken with Bishop Tobin,” Gilotti said. “He filled me in on your line of reasoning about child sexual abuse. I must say, that is a most disgraceful theory.”

  Major players moving behind the scenes. “May I ask, do you serve here in San Francisco?”

  Gilotti smiled his rotting-teeth smile. “Heavens, no. I am a special emissary from the Vatican. I was on other business in Los Angeles when I was ordered to fly here immediately.”

  Now the Vatican was directly interested in the missing priest? Steve thought. What kind of scandals were the trying to cover up?

  “As I told Bishop Tobin, I intend to follow every lead I find, and the case will take whatever direction it takes.”

  “Sergeant, I’m sure you know that in several cities around this country, the church has been forced to set up millions of dollars to victims of abuse, some of which may be unwarranted. Certain priests have tarnished the cloth and holy church irreparably. The Vatican will not stand to let another such scandal put her under attack.”

  A loud thump behind him sent Steve whirling to face a possible threat. His hand streaked to shoulder holster under his jacket, but he froze without drawing his duty pistol.