A Necessary Evil (31 page)

CHAPTER 78

The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

N
ick actually looked forward to the evening. After some persuasion, he had gotten Christine to agree that Timmy could spend the night with him in his suite. He had even gotten Christine to call Mrs. McCutty and convince her that Gibson could spend the night, too. Of course, it hadn't been easy. At first Christine didn't like the idea.

"I can't believe you want to reward them for skipping school," she yelled at him over the phone. "You know how much I spent on that Explorers class?"

When he told her about Brother Sebastian coming to the house, looking for the two boys, she went silent.

"I don't know what's going on," Nick told her, "but you have to admit, this Sebastian guy is pretty creepy."

"He's the archbishop's henchman," Christine said. "If there's something going on it involves Archbishop Armstrong. You don't think he's trying to get at Timmy because I've been working on this article, do you?"

"Are you kidding?" Sometimes he couldn't believe how naive his big sister could be. "You're trying to pin a cover-up on him and you don't think he might try to stop you?"

""Maybe it would be a good idea for the boys to be someplace else. I'll call Mrs. McCutty and tell her."

His powers of persuasion worked on Jill, too, though he hated to admit there was little persuading. Jill seemed more than willing to forfeit an evening with him for another opportunity to check out flower arrangements, and oh by the way, the caterer was bringing by some samples so if he wasn't going to be around she'd invite her bridesmaids over.

He was beginning to wonder if she was more excited about the getting-married part than she was about marrying him. What was it about wedding planning that seemed to turn an intelligent, sophisticated, professional woman into a magazine-flipping, mall-hunting, shop-till-you-drop addict? Even when they did manage to get together their conversation invariably turned to mini-quiches versus miniature watercress sandwiches and whether or not one groom's cake would be sufficient. Surely they had talked about other things once upon a time, though at the moment he couldn't remember a regular conversation in quite a while.

Right now he didn't want to think about any of that. He just wanted to enjoy watching Timmy and Gibson gawk at everything in the hotel as if they were traveling through some futuristic world. They had stopped at Target on the way with the intention of buying Gibson a change of clothes, especially after the kid visibly cringed at the thought of stopping at his own house. Although they had bought pretty much only the basics, their miniature shopping spree ended up being a lot of fun. He hadn't laughed that hard in a very long time. Of course, it wasn't anything quite as elaborate as Jill and her friends would consider, but the boys seemed pleased and insisted on keeping their new shades on even as they walked the lobby and hallways of the hotel.

"Can we go to Ted and Wally's for ice cream later?" Timmy wanted to know.

"I think we'd better stay in tonight and stick to room service," Nick told him. "I don't think your new friend would think to look here or in the Old Market for you, but let's not take any chances, okay?"

But Gibson and Timmy were smiling at each other about the room service and already forgetting about their fear of Brother Sebastian. Nick was glad he could make them feel safe, but in the back of his mind he kept remembering what Tony had said about Brother Sebastian, that the man would do anything for Archbishop Armstrong. Already the guy had ransacked Monsignor O'Sullivan's office, roughed up Gibson in the school hallway and lied to the boy's mother, making up a story about him selling drugs. Nick was beginning to wonder what else Brother Sebastian was capable of. Did it include murder?

Timmy and Gibson weren't telling him everything either. First Tony and now these two. They knew something but remained tight-lipped every time he asked. He'd ply them with junk food and try again later. His first priority tonight was to keep them safe from the archbishop's henchman, as Christine had called him.

Nick was so focused on looking for Brother Sebastian that he didn't notice another tall man watching from one of the sofas in the hotel lobby;

CHAPTER 79

The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

F
ather Michael Keller could feel the digitalis starting to work. He knew it was probably only his imagination. There was no guarantee that the antidote would help, let alone work this quickly. But the cold sweats had stopped. His stomach had settled down and despite being empty it no longer churned. However, he wasn't too sure if his eyesight had returned to normal.

He sat in the hotel lobby enjoying the piped-in music __ a commercial attempt at Pachelbel's Canon in D Minor __ and taking in all the sights outside: tourists in the Old Market strolling up and down the cobblestones, cars and buses and even Olley the Trolley zooming along. He watched it all, enjoying what in his previous life had annoyed and irritated him. His eyesight seemed fine until he saw a man and two teenage boys come through the revolving hotel door, then he wondered if he was seeing things again.

Was he mistaken or did he know the man? He couldn't place him. More importantly, the boy in the bright orange T-shirt and baggie cargo shorts looked very familiar. It was possible that they had been parishioners when he was at Saint Margaret's in Platte City,

He pretended not to watch as he sipped another glorious cup of hot tea. This place was like a dream __ paradise on earth. He wished he could stay forever, but now that he had handed over everything to Maggie O'Dell and Detective Pakula his mission would soon come to an end.

On the long flight here he had reaffirmed his decisions. He wasn't going back. He'd get on the flight just as he had promised Agent O'Dell. But there was no reason to punish himself any longer. With everything he had given them, surely they would find The Sin Eater. It was only a matter of time. And in the meantime he needed to find somewhere else safe. Why not a small rural parish where no one knew him? Maybe someplace outside of Chicago.

He'd tell them the archdiocese had sent him, just as he had each time in the past four years. It might take months, maybe even a year, before anyone would find out differently. And if they did, he'd simply pick up and go somewhere else. There was no reason it couldn't work just as well here.

But there was one thing that still bothered him. Maggie O'Dell's question nagged at him. "Why do you suppose you're on this list, Father Keller?"

Until she had asked that simple question he had believed he could stay and be safe and free. But that one single question made him realize that there could still be someone else out there other than Agent O'Dell and The Sin Eater who could hurt him, who could continue to make his life miserable if he didn't stop them.

He was distracted again and heard the man with the boys speaking to the desk clerk. He couldn't make out the words.

He listened. Still no recognition.

The man toned and pointed out something to the boys and called out to the one in the orange T-shirt. He called him Timmy, and then it all came back to him as if it had happened only yesterday. He remembered and immediately he knew that must have been how he had gotten on the list. His one regret was the one little boy he hadn't been able to save. Timmy Hamilton had submitted his name to The Sin Eater.

CHAPTER 80

Washington, D. C.

G
wen tried to calm him but he went from babbling like a small boy to a raging anger that she had never seen James Campion exhibit. Over and over he told her he had broken the rules. She had no idea what rules he was talking about.

"The rules of the game," he screamed at her. "The Sin Eater must have put some sort of spell on me. Is that possible?" he wanted to know.

She had finally gotten him to sit on the sofa, though his hands and arms still flayed about. Nothing in her past experience with him would indicate a violent manner and yet she found herself checking the door, making sure she had an escape route if it became necessary. AH of their previous sessions had been more than civil. He'd always been polite, gracious and respectful. She couldn't remember him raising his voice even when confessing the most heinous of events from his childhood

His childhood.

Why had it taken this long to hit her?

James Campion had been abused and raped by a parish priest, a man he deeply respected and trusted. Had James ever spoken of him by name?

Now her mind raced, trying to pull pieces of information from his file by memory. Where? Why couldn't she remember where he had grown up? Not here. She was certain of that. Boston? Was it Boston? Or was she simply being paranoid again, conveniently pushing puzzle pieces into empty slots?

"James, slow down. Tell me about the game. You haven't mentioned it before." She spoke softly, the same tone that had worked for so many past sessions. "You must tell me about the game before I can help you. Do you understand?"

He nodded and she tried to hold eye contact. If she could get him to remember how comfortable, how safe he had felt here before __ safe enough to confess things he hadn't shared with anyone __ perhaps she could get him to tell her what had happened. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his hands in his lap, wringing the hem of his shirt. His fists balled up, the skin turning white. Suddenly she wondered if maybe she didn't want to know what had happened, what he had done.

"It helped for a little while," he said, his voice calm despite the violent wringing of his shirt. She could hear him ripping it now. She held his gaze, resisting the urge to look down. "You helped for a while. You really did. But you made me talk about it too much. It wouldn't go away when you made me talk about it. Instead it just brought out more anger. And then the game wasn't enough. Our sessions weren't enough. You __ " He lifted a hand away from his shirt to point a ringer at her. "You weren't enough."

He stood slowly, his eyes still holding hers as if having some sort of revelation.

"It's your fault," he said, only this time it was almost a hiss. "You made me dredge it all up again. You made me talk about it and remember. You made me remember all the disgusting details all over again. You made me do it."

And suddenly Gwen knew for certain that she had been wrong. The killer leaving her notes and maps and crying out for her attention was not Rubin Nash. It was James Campion. She had made a mistake and now she was about to pay for that mistake.

CHAPTER 81

The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

M
aggie allowed Pakula to talk her into staying at the hotel, going back to her suite and as he put it, "taking a load off." He also gave her strict instructions to stay away from Father Keller, probably regretting now that they were staying in the same hotel, separated only by two floors. It was late and she was meeting Sister Kate for dinner. Otherwise she would have insisted she join him and his team to do some of the leg-work. There was a lot to do. Each of the items would need to be dusted for fingerprints and the prints run through the system for matches. Both she and Pakula agreed that The Sin Eater's e-mail address would surely be a dead end, but he'd have their computer whiz back in the crime-analysis lab give it his best shot.

She hated to admit it but there was a sense of relief __ though slight __ in being able to watch Pakula and Kasab leave with all the so-called goodies Keller had finally handed over. She felt exhausted, drained of energy. She felt she had lost the battle. Maybe Pakula would track down The Sin Eater, but Father Keller was free to go. And Pakula was right. The mere thought of Keller possibly continuing to kill boys, and her being helpless to stop him, was driving her crazy.

Had she really believed she might be able to trip him up somehow? Get him to admit, to confess his sins? Why should he? There were two men already in prison because Keller had planted enough evidence against them to convict them. He had manipulated and tricked law enforcement, the justice system and the Catholic Church __ all of them so he could remain free to continue his twisted mission of "saving little boys." And the worst part was that she had just contributed to his power. Now more than ever, because of their deal, because of his so-called help, he would feel even more powerful, more vindicated. And if he had, indeed, killed poor Arturo, then he had no intention of going back to Venezuela.

When she returned to her suite she checked her messages but there were none. Not that she expected any from Racine or Gwen, but she had hoped one of them would keep in touch just to let her know what the hell was happening with the D.C. case. Though she was convinced that Father Paul Conley's death and decapitation were connected to this case __ Father Conley was on The Sin Eater's list, after all she was also convinced the same person who killed the Boston priest had not killed the other priests. So how did the decapitations of the three __ no, four __ women in the D.C. area fit into The Sin Eater's scenario. Or did they? Were there two killers working together but with two different agendas?

She exchanged her trousers for jeans but decided to keep the blazer so she could wear her weapon. Once outside of the hotel, she breathed in the warm summer air, savoring the combination of scents as she wandered along the cobblestone streets of the Old Market, passing by the various shops and restaurants and horse-drawn carriages. As she walked, the smells and sounds changed from chocolate pastry to cigar smoke to garlic to sweaty horse and from horns to clip-pety-clop to a harmonica and guitar. Pakula had told her the brick four- and five-story buildings had once been warehouses built sometime around the 1900s next to the Missouri River and the Union Pacific Railroad for the convenience of shipping. Now tiny white lights lined the tops and the awnings. Street vendors and musicians drew small groups on the corners, giving the area a magical feeling.

She hurried in front of a horse-mounted police officer and followed a crowd across the busy intersection. Almost too quickly she found M's Pub. Sister Kate had already secured a table on the patio. She stood and waved as soon as Maggie saw her.

"Would you rather we eat inside?" she asked, still standing and ready to move if Maggie requested it.

"No, the breeze feels wonderful. This is perfect."

Maggie thought Sister Kate looked even less like a nun this evening, dressed in linen shorts, a black knit blouse and sandals. As they sat Sister Kate brushed at her black blouse, looking a bit embarrassed.

"My roommate's dog," she explained. "I love him but he ends up shedding all over me."

"Your roommate or the dog?" As soon as Maggie said it she wished she hadn't. She'd been spending too much time with male police detectives and FBI agents, but much to her surprise and relief Sister Kate burst out laughing. Maggie joined her.

They both ordered a glass of wine and Sister Kate insisted they have the scallops sauteed in garlic and capped with mozzarella cheese for an appetizer.

"If you don't mind my asking, is your roommate a nun, too?"

"Yes. Actually I have two roommates, both nuns. We share a house in the Dundee area. It's the neighborhood just a few blocks east of Our Lady of Sorrow."

"Where do your roommates teach?"

"I'm the only teacher," she said, smiling at Maggie's surprise. "We are allowed to
do
other things, have other careers, as long as they benefit and promote the order's mission." She paused as the waitress brought their wine. "Sister Loretta manages several low-income apartment complexes that our religious order owns. We call her our resident slumlord."

Maggie laughed again, relieved to feel some of the tension of the afternoon slipping away.

"And your other roommate?" Maggie asked.

"Ah, Sister Danielle creates computer programs."

"Really?"

"She's done a variety for hospital medical records departments and secure data systems for women's centers using all that complicated encrypted stuff. She's certainly taught me a lot, and she also finds incredible rates for me on airline flights. I have a presentation in Chicago this weekend and she's found a round-trip ticket for under a hundred dollars."

"Well, you've definitely given me a whole new perception about nuns."

"I imagine the same goes for FBI agents."

"Excuse me?"

"You're definitely not what I imagined an FBI agent to be like."

Maggie raised her wineglass. "Touché."

"I suppose this case has given you a whole new perception of priests as well?"

Maggie looked across the table at her, studying her in the fading sunlight. Her warm brown eyes were serious now where they had been playful just seconds before.

"It seems this priest scandal has touched every part of the country " Maggie said, trying to keep from going into her earlier tirade. "Why do you suppose it got so out of hand?"

Sister Kate sipped her wine. "I used to joke that if women were allowed to be priests it would have never have happened, at least not to the degree that it has. But at the same time I do believe some things should be taken care of from within. These priests haven't just broken man's laws, they've broken God's laws and should be held to an even higher standard. Unfortunately, in the name of protecting the church some bishops and cardinals completely forgot about protecting the children." She paused as though thinking about something or someone and then added, "The good news is that there are many more good priests than there are bad."

Maggie wondered if she was thinking of Father Tony Gallagher. Did she consider him one of the good guys? And if he was involved, if he was helping teenagers carry on some game of execution __ a game of good versus evil or perhaps more appropriately evil versus a necessary evil __ would Sister Kate suspect it? Would she go so far as to perhaps even protect Father Tony if he was The Sin Eater?

"Justice can certainly be elusive sometimes," Maggie said, looking for clues in the nun's eyes and seeing instead only concern.

"I'm sure you grapple with that constantly," Sister Kate said, and suddenly Maggie realized that she was being studied, too. "How do you deal with it? You seem to have a solid moral core that I'm guessing doesn't always coincide with the FBI's moral code of justice."

Yes, and today had been the perfect example, she wanted to say. Making a deal with Keller, who murdered children, in order to catch a killer, who avenged children, certainly seemed to be one of those instances.

"That's very true," Maggie admitted. "There are times when I have to do things I don't agree with. As I suppose you do, too?"

Sister Kate's smile disappeared and Maggie thought she could see a sadness in her eyes. "Yes. And there are times when it's necessary to break a rule or two."

"Perhaps bend, not break," Maggie clarified and managed to get Sister Kate to smile again.

"My grandfather used to say that sometimes the end justified the means. At the time I never understood what he meant."

"Your grandfather in Michigan? The one who instilled your love of all things medieval, including knights in shining armor coming to the rescue?"

"You have a very good memory," Sister Kate said. "He taught me so many wonderful things about justice, about life. He was one of a kind."

"You were lucky to have him."

"And what about you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Were you lucky enough to have anyone to come to your rescue?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Maggie said.

"Maybe it's a gift. Or a curse." Sister Kate shrugged as her eyes wandered away to watch the summer tourists strolling across the street. "I can sense those of us who have suffered some sort of abuse as children. There's always a tough outer shell, but for some reason I can see beyond that."

She turned back to Maggie and met her eyes. "You were abused as a child, weren't you?"