Justifiable (27 page)

Icky had a temper tantrum over the smallest things.

Margo had no sympathy. Icky hadn’t had to face Riley Walker yesterday, which reminded her...

“About that, first I want to give you the press release.”  She handed him the document.

“I don’t have much time. I’ve got two appointments downtown and need to be gone in forty-five minutes to make the first one by five-thirty.”  Monsignor took the document and lowered his gaze to the page.

Margo should be used to so many meetings, but it seemed as though Monsignor had a lot of appointments lately, particularly in the evenings. Just like San Francisco. She’d arrived at the St. Peter Covenant House a week after he’d moved to the south side location. Inside a month, Monsignor had been booked with dinner appointments and late night meetings. He’d always been a night owl, which had been in his favor at that time, when he had to stay up all night for two weeks straight to deal with the pair of warring gangs.

When she’d expressed concern over his riding around with the gangs at night, he said he had no choice and in the end everyone would benefit. He’d said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”

Margo stifled a shudder at that memory. Bloody memory.

Members from both gangs had died in shootings at night during the time Monsignor rode with them.

He could have died, too.

Settling deeper in his leather chair, Monsignor read the press release.

She’d sat in that chair once. The leather swallowed her, reminding her no one could fill his chair or his shoes. He was St. Catherine’s best hope for rebuilding.

He lifted his gaze. “Okay, what else?”

“I think we may have a problem with the media.”  Margo tried for unconcerned and hit halfway between that and shaky.

Monsignor’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “The press release is fine. Well done, in fact.”

She’d like to enjoy the moment, to bathe in the pleasure of his comment, but couldn’t preen with a possible disaster on the horizon. “Thank you, but after meeting him I don’t think he’s going to be satisfied with just a press release.”

“He who?” 

“Riley Walker.”

“Was there a problem?”

“Walker’s got it in his mind that Clayton Howell – you know the Philomena House resident who was killed two weeks ago? – that his death is somehow connected to Sally’s.”

“What is it with this guy?”  Monsignor put the press release down slowly, perplexed at first, then the muscles in his face shifted. He showed irritation on occasion, such as yesterday with Bruno’s lashing out at Valdez, but Margo rarely saw Monsignor’s face turn to stone as it did now. “How does he think those deaths are connected?”

She ignored the frigid undercurrent since that hadn’t been directed at her, but the newsman. “Both were killed with a small caliber weapon and both bodies had been moved to a second location after death.”  Margo rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, buying a few seconds. “I told him to talk to the police, that we were more concerned with the families left behind. I got the impression he wants to do a story on St. Catherine’s and you.” 

On her, too, but she was so insignificant that would never happen so why mention it, right?

Monsignor sat back, arms resting at each side and palms together in front of his chest, contemplative. “If we push Walker away, he’ll work that much harder to get what he wants. He’s no rookie. He knows how to turn anything into a story.”  Monsignor cocked his head to the side, eyes distant as he sifted through information mentally. “Walker’s with WNUZ, the only station that didn’t rip the bishop to pieces last year. Based on that alone, I’m surprised he’s coming at us this way,” Monsignor mused absently.

“I didn’t realize one vulture missed the frenzy. Why did WNUZ hold back when the others attacked and, if that was the case, why would Walker come snooping around here now?”

“I recall the bishop telling me a board member at WNUZ had a personal interest in St. Catherine’s – something about having come here as a child – so he called his news hounds off the hunt. But Riley Walker wasn’t here when all that happened so he may not know the station’s position on causing us undue problems.”  Monsignor raised his eyes to Margo, a gleam of confidence twinkling. “He needs to be informed. I’ll contact Bishop Gautier as soon as I get a moment and find out who can enlighten Walker on showing the church respect.”

Margo’s chest relaxed like someone had opened a pressure valve. She smiled. “Great. But we have a new problem.”

Monsignor sat forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped, but the taut posture said
her
job was to solve problems. “What?”

“Bruno Parrick was found dead this morning. He was killed in Laurel Park Cemetery.”  She waited, but couldn’t read what was going on behind Monsignor’s closed mask.

“That’s awful. What do they know about the murder?” 

His undisturbed expression surprised her, but Monsignor had seen so much in over fifty years on earth than her mere twenty-nine, that she attributed his non-reaction to being better prepared at hearing of unexpected deaths.

She lifted her shoulders. “Nothing much other than his...hands had been cut off before he died.”  How gruesome. She didn’t think Bruno was redeemable, but she’d never wish for anyone to suffer that way. “I’m worried about what Walker will make of this once he realizes Bruno and Lisa worshipped here.” 

If the police weren’t holding the bodies for now there would be back-to-back funerals and that would draw every news station around like flies to syrup.

She wouldn’t want that, but the dead deserved a funeral.

Monsignor stood calmly. “You’re the computer whiz. Find whatever you can on Walker.” 

She wasn’t exactly a whiz, but Monsignor spent as little time on the computer as possible, using it more as a word processor than a communications tool for other than email. “I thought you said you knew him.”

“I know
of
him. Seems like there was something mentioned about his last job in Chicago or Detroit.”

“How does gathering information on his background help us?” 

“Because Walker’s too sharp to be at WNUZ, the lowest ranked television station in Philly.” 

“So?”

Monsignor cut his eyes at her with a calculating gaze, the trademark of his success. “Information is power. If he’s got any kind of negative media history, which I’ll bet he does to be with WNUZ, Walker’s name will be all over the Internet. Find out what you can and
you
field his questions when he contacts us. Don’t let him around anyone else here. In fact, if you don’t hear from him by tomorrow morning,
you
contact him.”

Me?
“Why?”  She probably shouldn’t have been quite so abrupt, but come on. What was he thinking?

“I want you to keep tabs on Walker, find out what he’s up to and what angle he’s playing for a story.
You
have to be proactive to keep a layer between St. Catherine’s and Walker to prevent him from blowing this all out of proportion and pointing an accusing finger at us. If he does, by the time the media circus dies down we will have missed our small window of opportunity.” 

“The pope’s visit.”

Monsignor nodded. “If Walker gets away with tying these killings together and connecting them to St. Catherine’s just to break a big story, the pope’s security will deem this site a risk and advise against visiting.” 

The coincidence played on her conscience. “You don’t think there’s an actual connection between these deaths, do you?”

He stood up and lifted his watch into view, checked it then told Margo, “To have three parishioners killed so close together in time and circumstances might seem unusual in some areas, but if you’ll recall we had two die violently in a similar socio-economic area of San Francisco within one week. This is more a matter of location than anything.”

She nodded, trusting in Monsignor’s evaluation.

He scratched his chin. “Talk to this reporter and make him see how unsupported claims will jeopardize St. Catherine’s future. If that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to him, but that’s exactly what he wants right now. If Walker wants a story, tell him to write one about how St. Catherine’s influence is cleaning up this area.”  

She’d rather be snowed in with only Icky to talk to than have to dodge Walker’s questions on another death related to St. Catherine’s. She had to pinch back a sinful thought that involved physically harming Riley Walker.

The newsman would assume the three deaths had something to do with St. Catherine’s.

And what if Walker
did
find a connection? Could there possibly be a killer targeting people in the parish?

Chapter 35

He paced his office, working on the plan for this evening. Mrs. Feldman still had to be dealt with before she put her hands on her teenage obsession, the young boy who shoveled her driveway. But that kid didn’t live in her house. Wasn’t in immediate danger.

Not like the two younger children who needed divine intervention now.

He only had time to save one tonight.

What was wrong with parents these days?

It was a mother’s job, her most important duty, to shield her child from danger. That made a mother as much at fault as those who would hurt her little one.

Dark encroached outside with each minute he deliberated.

Make a plan and stick to it
. But if he chose wrong tonight a child would suffer at the hands of a demon.

It was
his
duty to hand the children to God.

His duty to stop Satan’s rule.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled
.

Chapter 36

Riley searched the six o’clock dinner crowd packed into the Race Street Café. 

He spotted his target, who claimed to want media coverage even though he seriously doubted that excuse for the meeting. Wading through a mash of diners buzzing with conversation, he slowed his approach to Margo Cortese.

She sat alone, unfolding her napkin as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Auburn hair with an electric-charge curl hung to her shoulders, a top layer of damp ringlets indicating she hadn’t been here long enough for those to dry from the light drizzle outside. She wore a shamrock green sweater he bet would bring out the Irish in her eyes.

Riley sidled up silently to the table while she was distracted, placing her napkin in her lap. “I like green, reminds me of springtime.”

Her head snapped up. “Oh, you’re here.”  She smoothed the napkin again, then fiddled with her glass of water.

Was she on edge around all reporters or just him?

Or men in general?  That didn’t make sense, because she spent the day around primarily men.

Riley pointed at a chair. “May I?”  When she nodded, he slipped into the one across from her, giving her plenty of space. “So you want some media coverage?”

“Yes, we’d appreciate any help you can give us on the youth program at the outreach center. That’s what all the remodeling is about.”  Her demeanor segued easily into autopilot business mode. That gave him an insight into her comfort level, which meant her discomfort level would be personal. Interesting.

Especially since most people said too much when they were
not
comfortable.

“Be happy to come by and do a walk through to give me an idea of how to plan the video session.”  He used his most accommodating tone. Keeping things easy. Nothing confrontational at first, then he’d slide in a direct question when she wasn’t expecting it.

“Wonderful. Anything you want to know about it right now?” 

Her
wonderful
had been obligatory and her smile hid stress, covering what was really on her mind. He said, “Nothing that we can’t discuss when I come back to St. Catherine’s.”

That stumped her. She’d clearly planned on his supplying questions on a mundane topic she could safely answer.

He smiled again. “But since you’re here and we have a minute, I do have something I’d like to talk about.”

Suspicion fanned across her face. “Don’t you want to order?” 

“I’ve got dinner plans. Can’t stay.”  He caught relief in her half smile before she lifted her glass to take a drink so he added, “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a nice dinner with a pretty woman. Maybe we could do it another time.”

She choked on her water, set the glass down and jerked her napkin up to wipe her mouth. “Sorry. That went down the wrong pipe. I, uh, keep a very busy schedule, but thanks for askin’.”  She moved her hands to each side of her plate, wrists against the edge of the table, then shoved her hands in her lap as though she had no idea what to do with them.

Riley suffered a moment of sympathy for her anxiety, but she’d instigated this meeting and he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to catch her out of step. “Consider it an open invitation.”  When she didn’t respond, he changed direction. “Let’s talk about a missing child and who else at St. Catherine’s can help with information.”