The Priest's Graveyard (24 page)

He laughed. “We’ll see. Just promise me, no Bourque.”

She held up two fingers pressed together. “Scout’s honor. No Bourque.”

“Good. We’ll let it rest for a few days.”

“We’ll let it rest.”

Danny smiled and sighed with relief.

He had no intention of letting it rest.

There was a
time to be discreet; there was a time to be direct. The time for the latter had arrived. This, Danny reasoned, was because
the more he thought about Renee’s fixation on Jonathan Bourque, the more he became convinced that she could not deal with
the man without a significant probability of failure,
failure
being defined as her getting caught or being killed, neither of which he could live with.

Furthermore, he was no longer convinced that killing Bourque was a wise course of action, not even on his part. He still had
no irrefutable evidence the man had ordered a hit on Lamont, and Renee’s safety was now far more important to Danny than his
personal missions.

Two days had passed since Renee’s breakdown in the park. She’d moved, resecuring her anonymity as Mary Wilcox. Danny had met
Renee for lunch on both days, and he’d done his best to keep the discussion on them and off Bourque. He’d otherwise kept his
schedule stacked, knowing that his first opportunity to deal with Bourque would be today, when the man returned from a trip
to Northern California.

The Wells Fargo bank building that housed the Bourque Foundation stood tall against a blue afternoon sky. Danny parked his
car, checked his collar in the rearview mirror, and strode toward the elevators as a priest.

Given more time, he would have chosen a more cautious approach, but under the circumstances his need for information outweighed
his need for caution.

Consider:
He had to know if Bourque had tied him to Renee.

Consider:
He had to know if Bourque suspected him or Renee in the deaths of Redding or Darby Gordon.

Consider:
He had to determine if Bourque’s connections to Lamont’s disappearance were as real as Renee assumed.

Conclusion:
It was time for a direct approach. If Danny’s discoveries turned out to be negative, he would insist they abandon interest
in the man either forever or until a later date. Damage control was as important a part of warfare as any confrontation.

He rode the elevator to the top floor with a carefully groomed man who was dressed in a blue Armani suit—not the kind one
typically associated with nonprofit charities. But that was no longer Danny’s concern.

The reception area was occupied by only one other patron and the receptionist, who was on the phone. Stacked blond hair, crisply
pressed suit, all business and alert. Naturally. The big man was in town.

Smiling as any good priest comfortable with his calling might, Danny approached the desk and waited for her to clear the line.

“May I help you?”

“I hope so.” He put his hand on the counter. “I know this is unexpected and I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping
to see Jonathan Bourque.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s tied up in meetings at the moment.”

“No problem, I can wait.”

“Actually, he’ll be tied up the rest of the day. Would you like to make an appointment?”

“No, no appointment necessary. I’m sure he’ll want to see me. If you just—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Bourque’s a very busy man and doesn’t see guests without appointments.”

“It’s Father, not sir,” he said. “And if Mr. Bourque learns that you turned me away, he will undoubtedly fire you. I suggest
you interrupt whatever meeting has him so occupied and tell him that Father Danny Hansen is here regarding Simon Redding.
I suggest you do it now, before you lose your nerve.”

The receptionist blinked, clearly unaccustomed to such a bold demand.

“Please, darling, it’s for the best.” He smiled again, offering her an olive branch as such. “Make the call.”

She finally stood and excused herself. “One moment please.”

Two minutes later, Danny was ushered into a corner office with walls made of glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean. “Please
have a seat. Mr. Bourque will be right with you.”

“Thank you, my dear. Thank you so much.”

But Danny did not sit. The room had a similar decorative feel to Bourque’s home office, favoring rich woods, antiques, and
exotics over the contemporary decor found in so many high-rise work spaces. If there was a single piece of incriminating evidence
to be found here, Bourque would never have allowed any guest to be left alone. The gesture confirmed Danny’s estimation of
the man’s lofty criminal intelligence.

He glanced at his image in a large, ornate, gold-framed mirror that hung over a credenza. Black shirt, black pants, white
clerical collar. His wavy hair could use a bit of tidying, but it was short enough to pass as free-spirited rather than shaggy.
Still, he raked his fingers through it to smooth a few loose ends.

“Father.”

Danny turned to see that Bourque stood in the doorway to his office. “Mr. Bourque.” He extended his hand, which the man took.
Warm, very large hands. “Thank you for interrupting your day for me.”

Bourque closed the door, walked to his desk, and eased himself into the leather chair. “So, Father Hansen. Tell me what this
is about.”

“She didn’t tell you? It’s about your thug Redding.”

The man watched Danny with eyes set deep in a chiseled face sharpened further by his mustache and goatee. His dark hair was
greased back, cut short in the back above a starched white collar. He wore a black suit with a burgundy tie that screamed
of dominance.

“She did mention Redding, yes. Please, have a seat, Father.”

Danny sat and folded one leg over the other, hands clasped in his lap, eyes on his host. “I know you’re busy. Let me get straight
to the point. I mention Redding only because I assumed that would gain me an audience, but I’m not really concerned with how
you conduct your security. Good people sometimes need to flex their muscles to achieve their objectives. Even the Vatican
has its guards.”

Bourque’s left brow arched. “And what concern is so pressing that you insisted I break from a meeting?”

“It’s the girl I set free. This Renee Gilmore, whom your man Redding had handcuffed to a chair in the hotel’s basement.”

“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” Bourque said.

“Yes. But you should know that it’s my job to work with the disadvantaged. Young misguided women like Renee. I asked her to
pay me a visit at the church, which she did, the next day.”

“Good. I trust she’s doing well?”

“Actually, no. In fact, she seemed quite distraught over the disappearance of her husband three months ago. A Mr. Lamont Myers.
She claimed that he worked for you and vanished after a run-in with you. This, she claimed, was why Redding had detained her.
And she seemed quite concerned for her own safety.”

“I believe she was detained because she was making threats.” He waved his hand. “But that’s behind us. No harm, no foul. Like
I said, a misunderstanding.”

“Yes. But now Renee has gone missing. She was supposed to meet me a week later and failed to make our appointment.” The misdirection
was a critical element in removing suspicion from himself. It was important that Bourque not feel threatened by Danny. “So
I tried to get in contact with Simon Redding, thinking he might know something. It’s what I do, you understand, chasing down
the wayward so that I can offer them my help.”

“Of course. Not so different from what we do here.”

“When I failed to reach Redding, who has evidently left your employment, I tried to track the young woman down at her hotel,
then through the cab company. I used every means at my disposal, but she’s vanished.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father. I’m not sure what this has to do with the Bourque Foundation.”

“Nothing necessarily. But before I closed the book on the matter I felt obligated to look into the disappearance of her husband,
Mr. Lamont Myers. I learned that he had indeed worked as an attorney for you before disappearing three months ago. So you
see, all this disappearing makes me nervous. I need to clear my head of any inappropriate suggestions.”

Enough of the truth to do the job.

Bourque watched him for a few long beats, then sat back, crossed his legs, and sighed. “I appreciate your concern here, Father,
though I can’t quite understand why you made such a play to see me today. This could just as easily have been handled over
the phone.”

“Exactly, but I prefer to look people in the eyes. I need to know, Mr. Bourque: Do you have any idea what might have happened
to the young woman?”

“Believe me, if I did, I would have no reason not to tell you. Having been a priest myself once, I know exactly where you’re
coming from. I support your work like few can.” He folded his hands.

“And why did you leave the priesthood?”

“There is only so much one can do in the church,” Bourque said. “I felt I could do more out here. I imagine you know what
I mean.”

Danny thought silence would be the wisest reply.

“Now, as far as Lamont Myers is concerned, I’ll tell you what I know. He worked for me, as you say. He was an attorney who
oversaw the foundation’s international legal affairs. At least that was what I was led to believe until I learned the truth.”

“Which was?”

“That Lamont Myers wasn’t as he appeared to those of us who knew him.”

Danny’s interest was piqued. He hadn’t expected to hear details about who Lamont was. In fact, he’d never had more than a
passing interest in understanding the man beyond his role as Renee’s so-called husband, her soul mate for whom she would willingly
die.

“In what way?” he asked.

Jonathan Bourque shifted his gaze out the window toward the horizon. “I can assume your confidentiality, yes? It’s a rather
sensitive subject. Lamont Myers is missing, as you say, but if he were to surface and learn that I’ve been saying things…”
Bourque turned and drilled Danny with a stare. “Well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t put anything beyond that man.”

“Of course. But please don’t feel like you have to share anything that might break a confidence between you.”

The man offered him a shallow grin. “I think I can trust you, Father.”

Quid pro quo. They both played their games with casual mastery, Danny thought, dipping his head.
Go on…

Jonathan Bourque’s mouth flattened. “Lamont Myers—we’ll call him that although he had several aliases—was one of the best
lawyers who ever worked for me. But he was unscrupulous. Vicious even. I began an investigation into him when complaints of
certain brutalities in an operation in Kenya came to my attention.”

In part true, perhaps, but if so, those brutalities were ordered by a brute named Jonathan Bourque,
Danny thought.

“What I learned made me sick,” Bourque continued. “To say that the man led a double life would be an understatement. He had
more than one house, and while he was perhaps the consummate attorney here, he was the devil everywhere else. The web of lies
he wove to protect himself would astound you.”

Danny wasn’t prepared for this. This characterization of the man Renee had loved so dearly had to be Bourque’s own fabrication.
Even so, he pronounced it with surprising authority.

“This is Lamont Myers?” Danny said.

“Lamont Myers. And you’ll have to forgive me, Father, but if he hadn’t gone missing when he did, I might have been tempted
to deal with him myself. I can’t tell you what happened to him, only that when I sent my men to check on him, he was gone.
Not a sign of him since, not even at his home in Malibu, which has since gone into foreclosure. He just vanished.”

A warning bell went off in Danny’s head, but he wasn’t able to trace its source. Something wasn’t right. The man Bourque was
describing was nothing like the Lamont that Renee admired. Was it possible she’d been wrong about him?

No, not that wrong. Not unless—

“He had his own sex slave,” Bourque said. “A woman stashed away in his glass house by the sea. The man was sick.”

“That’s not possible.” Danny said it, but he hardly heard his own words. “How…?” He lost track of his question.

“But it’s true. She wasn’t an actual slave, of course, but a young woman he kept locked in the house to serve his every need.
He kept a secret room in the basement—whips and chains, the whole bit.”

If the words were a sledgehammer to Danny’s stomach, he might have felt less pain. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.
He could only see Renee hanging from the wall in a secret basement room. Nausea swept through his gut.

A strange light had come on in Bourque’s eyes, taunting.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice anything amiss in your dealings with her, Father. It is my understanding that this young
woman, Renee Gilmore, is likely the woman in question.”

The room faded, and for a moment Danny thought he might throw up, faint, or both. He’d been here before, when he was fifteen
in Bosnia, with his mother and his sisters.

It couldn’t be! Renee was naive and impulsive, fun loving and eager. She wasn’t a battered woman staggering through life under
the burden of horrific abuse.

But even as Danny denied the possibility, he knew he could have misread all the signals. She was obsessive-compulsive. She’d
suffered a psychotic break. She was irrationally committed to protecting her image of Lamont and erasing any mark against
him in her loving memory.

What if this behavior was a powerful subconscious device to protect herself from cruel memories?

He had to go to her. He had to hold her. It was all that mattered now! He had to hold her and tell her that he loved her,
and that nothing that had happened to her changed his love for her.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Father,” Bourque said, but his words were laced with irony.

“Thank you for your time.”

Danny pushed himself to his feet, no longer concerned with the Bourque Foundation or the man who ran it. Assuming what he’d
just heard proved to be true, he could only be glad that Lamont Myers had vanished—with any luck, into hell itself.

Assuming…

He’s lying to you, Danny. He’s playing with your mind
.

“You can check the evidence for yourself, Father. It’s all still there.”