A Necessary Evil (34 page)

CHAPTER 89

The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

M
aggie stared at the glow-in-the-dark alarm clock __ three o'clock in the morning. She pulled the covers up and turned onto her other side. She should give up. She should have known she would never be able to sleep. She was too keyed up despite the anticlimactic end to the evening. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Timmy was safe. Nick was happy and grateful. Christine had a Pulitzer Prize-winning story. And Father Michael Keller was free.

She had hoped that Timmy's adding Keller's name to the list meant the boy had remembered something new, anything that would connect Keller to his kidnapping four years ago. But what Timmy remembered were only small details. They were enough to solidify her and Christine's belief that Keller was, indeed, Timmy's kidnapper four years ago, but not enough to arrest Keller as a suspect then or now. And tonight even Timmy said that he may have misunderstood Keller when he told him he was working with the Omaha Police Department. Although the boy insisted Keller had shown him a police badge, it wasn't enough for Pakula to rally for a search warrant.

So in a couple of days she would have no choice but to live up to her end of the bargain and allow Keller to leave, allow him to crawl back into the rain forest somewhere in South America. The problem was she remained convinced, now more than ever, that he was still killing little boys, and no matter what Detective Pakula said, she knew he would have killed Timmy had she not intervened.

Only now did Maggie realize how grateful she should be to Pakula, not for talking her down from blowing away Keller __ she still almost wished he hadn't intervened __ but later for handling it like it wasn't worth discussing. After they had left Timmy with Christine, Nick and Gibson, Pakula walked her back to her suite. She had expected a lecture or at least a scolding. Instead, he told her that if he believed as strongly as she did that Keller was still killing little boys, someone may have had to pull him off the bastard, too. Then he reminded her that they still didn't have anything to go on. That even Timmy's description about the night's events didn't indicate that Keller had committed any crimes. Timmy had gone with him willingly and despite whatever story Keller may have made up, he hadn't harmed the boy.

Pakula seemed more interested in Brother Sebastian's threats and his possible role __ if any __ in the computer game the boys had been playing. Maggie could understand if Pakula was thinking Brother Sebastian might be The Sin Eater. Although according to Timmy and Gibson, the master of their game __ The Sin Eater __ had been trying to protect them, not hurt them. Even their invitations to play the game had come after they had been surfing the Net, checking out Web sites and chatrooms that might help them if they were being abused by a priest. The invitation promised help. All they had to do was submit the name of their abuser. They believed the name was submitted to become a character in the game, a character that they could pretend to execute. They never ever dreamed that someone would actually execute the real priests.

Maggie had left several messages for Racine and Gwen. She was anxious to test out her theory and needed to know if Gwen's patient could possibly be playing the game, too. It seemed a bit far-fetched, but Father Paul Conley's death didn't fit The Sin Eater's M.O. Maggie wondered if the D.C. killer could have taken the game into his own hands. It was possible that if he was playing the game and had read about or heard about the other priests being killed, he may have decided to execute his own submitted priest. Whatever the connection, there was definitely one. Maggie didn't believe in coincidences.

She rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow with an irritated sigh. And there was Nick Morrelli. He had hugged her when she brought back Timmy. She didn't want to remember how good his arms felt around her. Besides, he was getting married in a month.

Her cell phone startled her, and she practically jumped out of bed. She stumbled trying to find her way in the dim light from the bathroom. When she stayed in hotels she always kept the bathroom light on and the door half closed to provide a night-light. Finally she found the phone where she had left it in her jacket pocket.

"Maggie O'Dell."

"O'Dell, it's Racine."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Actually Maggie was glad to have the detective finally getting back to her.

"Look, O'Dell, I'm not great at delivering bad news, so give me a break. Okay?"

"What happened? Is Gwen all right?" Racine didn't answer. She was quiet, too quiet. It was Gwen. Maggie found the edge of the bed with her left hand, dropping down onto it, feeling the lead weight in the pit of her stomach.

"She's not all right," Racine finally said in a soft conciliatory voice. "One of her patients shot her last night."

"Oh my God."

"Then he shot himself."

Seconds then minutes ticked by as Maggie tried to breathe and stop shaking. Suddenly she was freezing cold again.

"She's still in surgery," Racine said and for a moment Maggie thought she hadn't heard her correctly.

"She's alive?"

"She's very lucky. Her briefcase slowed the bullet down. Otherwise it might have gone through her heart."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"Yes, I think so. She's lost a lot of blood, but the doctors sound pretty positive."

Maggie wiped at her tears and took a deep breath.

"This patient," Racine continued, "his name was James Campion. We're pretty sure he killed that priest up in Boston. And probably the four women here in D.C. We're checking more prints to confirm. Which means the doc was right. It was one of her patients. She just guessed wrong as to which one."

But Maggie couldn't listen, couldn't concentrate on anything else other than Gwen.

"Hey, Racine," Maggie said, relieved enough to lie back on the bed. "You're right. You aren't very good at delivering bad news. You scared the crap out of me."

"I think I'll consider us even, O'Dell, because your friend scared the fuck out of me."

CHAPTER 90

Friday, July 9
Omaha Archdiocese Office

T
ommy Pakula knew he was enjoying this just a little too much. He sat in the same hardback chair across from Archbishop Armstrong's desk and he was waiting for him, again. But this time he didn't mind. He was finally putting to rest another chapter of the toughest case in his career. Oh sure, there was more to figure out, but it was looking like James Campion may have been their priest killer. In the last several weeks his job had taken him to Saint Louis and Tallahassee, Florida. From Saint Louis he could have easily driven to Columbia and Omaha. And Pensacola was only about a three- or four-hour drive from Tallahassee.

Maybe he wanted it to be Campion so badly that he was willing to overlook Minneapolis. He had Carmichael checking to see if there could be a connection between Campion and Brother Sebastian. If the two men might know each other. He hadn't ruled out O'Dell's hunch that there may have been two killers working together. Sebastian could easily have taken care of Monsignor O'Sullivan in Omaha and Daniel Ellison in Minneapolis while Campion killed the other three.

Something still nagged at him, though. Agent O'Dell agreed that James Campion could have been the killer after discovering that Father Paul Conley had raped Campion as a young altar boy. That, according to O'Dell, would explain his rage during that murder. Unfortunately with Campion gone there were some things they might never know.

In the back of his mind he still didn't let Father Tony Gallagher off the hook. Nor had Carmichael. She had reminded him again before he left the station that Father Tony's past experience as a victims' rights advocate fit O'Dell's profile of The Sin Eater, a tragic hero killing and taking on the sins of the boys that the system may have failed to previously win justice for. Carmichael also pointed out that Father Tony would have had access to lists of victims as well as lists of the abusing priests.

The side door opened, interrupting his analysis. The archbishop strolled in, nodding at him as he took his place behind the desk.

"Mr. Pakula," he said, still substituting mister for detective, "I understand you have some important information on Monsignor O'Sullivan's case. Is it possible you already have a suspect?"

"Possibly." Pakula sat back. The uncomfortable chair made his back ache but he didn't mind. He glanced at his watch. "We're picking up one of our suspects right about now for questioning." And he imagined Kasab and Carmichael escorting Brother Sebastian to the station.

"I'm glad to hear that," the archbishop said, folding his hands together on the desk's surface and sitting forward in his ridiculously large throne. "Perhaps we can finally put all of this behind us."

"Well, I'm not too sure it'll be any time soon."

"Of course not," Archbishop Armstrong agreed. "I realize these things take some time with all the details and a trial. I was simply speaking rhetorically about all of us having some closure."

"I'm sure there're quite a few people who'd be glad to hear that you're anxious and willing to provide some much-needed closure."

"Excuse me?"

Pakula reached down to his feet, alongside the chair leg, and brought up the leather portfolio, tossing it on top of the archbishop's pristine desktop.

"We finally found this," Pakula told him and watched all the color leave the man's face.

"Well, my goodness. Is that __ "

"Monsignor O' Sullivan's leather portfolio stashed full of interesting reports and memos and letters and therapists' analyses. Quite interesting stuff. I can see why you wanted him to deliver it personally to the Vatican for safe storage. Yeah, it would be against the law to destroy all these, but since the Vatican has diplomatic immunity it would have made sense to just go ahead and store them over there. Isn't that right, Archbishop?"

"I have no idea what you think you found, Mr. Pakula" he told him, sitting forward again and regaining his composure much too quickly. "I would think you should know by now that it would be better to close this case once and for all, especially now that poor Monsignor O' Sullivan isn't here to defend himself."

"You're right about that." Pakula stood, ready to leave and the archbishop looked surprised, glancing back at the portfolio as if ready to snatch it if Pakula insisted on taking it back. 'There's not much we can do in the poor monsignor's case. Unfortunately it won't come to an end very soon. You'll never guess who ended up with this old portfolio and handed it in to me." He waited for the archbishop to squirm just a little before he said, "Of all the people to get their hands on it, wouldn't you know it'd be a reporter."

And there it was __ the look, the dropped jaw, the wide eyes. That was the look Pakula had been waiting for. He turned to leave, now satisfied, but stopped and glanced back.

"Oh and by the way, I thought you might be interested to know that Creighton University called, apologizing that a huge mistake had been made regarding my daughter's scholarship. Seems a letter went out without their approval." He shook his head and said, "Wonder how that could have happened."

He didn't need an answer nor did he expect one. He had gotten more than he had come for. He left the archbishop with the coveted leather portfolio stashed with copies of incriminating documents. All of the originals were currently on their way to the Douglas County prosecutor's office.

CHAPTER 91

The Omaha World Herald
Downtown Omaha

N
ick Morrelli watched his sister boss around the newspaper's top photographer and the petite blonde who wrote the front-page headlines. When she headed back in his direction he caught her smiling. She was definitely in her element, or as Timmy and Gibson would say, her zone.

"I can't believe you don't write your own headlines," he said to her, feigning disgust.

"I've told you that before," she said, swatting him on the arm. "You just don't remember anything I tell you."

"Maybe I'll listen better after you win the Pulitzer."

"Yeah, right," she said, but he could see her smile again. She liked that idea even if she knew it was a stretch.

"What time are we picking up the guys for lunch?"

She checked her watch. "They get out of Explorers early today. Let me finish up one more thing, then we can leave." She pulled several pages out of a folder and started scratching notes in the margins.

"Maybe we shouldn't be rewarding them with things like lunch."

She glanced up and smiled but continued writing. She didn't think he was serious.

"I'm not joking," Nick said and this time he waited for her eyes and for her full attention. 'The other night scared the hell out of me. It was like four years ago all over again."

"But he's okay. And I really can't think of the what-ifs."

"I've been thinking maybe I should try to spend more time with him. You know, be there more often for him."

"Yeah, right." She laughed and went back to her notes. "I don't think Jill will appreciate you flying from Boston to Omaha all the time just to see Timmy."

"If I were to stick around here I wouldn't need to fly."

"Jill's not going to move back here, Nicky. I know your Jill Campbell. She might be having a lot of fun with her old girlfriends but that's wedding-preparation fun. Afterward she's going to be ready to get back to her life and her life is being a high-powered attorney in Boston at Foster, Campbell and whoever that other bigwig lawyer is."

"McDermont," Nick said, filling in the blank.

Suddenly she looked up at him as if it only now hit her. "Oh geez, are you calling off the wedding?"

"I didn't say that,"

"But that's what you're thinking?"

"I didn't say that, either."

"Is it because of Maggie?"

"Christine, all I said __ " and he put up his hands in mock surrender " __ was that maybe I should spend more time with my only nephew."

But now she was smiling at him. No, not smiling, grinning.

"Well, since you've definitely convinced me that it won't matter one way or another whether I tell you this or not, I'm gonna go ahead and tell you." She stood and leaned in close to him, glancing around the noisy newsroom even though no one had been paying attention to their conversation.

And then Christine said to him as though they were back in grade school, "Maggie told me that she didn't dump you. As a matter of fact, little brother, this whole time you've been mooning and feeling sorry for yourself, Maggie O'Dell has been thinking you were the one who dumped her."

Nick felt as if she had dropped a ton of bricks on him.

"Not that it matters who dumped who, right?" she added.