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 sautéed 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?”
CHAPTER 82
The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska
Nick walked past the door to Maggie’s suite and found himself hesitating. Ever since last night he wanted to knock. He dared himself to knock, coming close a couple of times. His hands were filled this time with junk food he had loaded up on from the hotel-lobby gift shop. So he had an excuse.
“Coward,” he muttered to himself then remembered for the third or fourth time how ridiculous he was being. He hated that Maggie O’Dell still managed to push his buttons. After all this time he was so certain he was over her, that the only remaining feeling was anger. And he was still angry. But everything seemed to melt away when he looked into those dark brown eyes, everything including his knees. He was embarrassed to admit it, but no woman had ever knocked him so out of whack as Maggie O’Dell. And he hated that she seemed to be able to do that even without trying.
He knocked, instead, on the door to his own suite with his elbow since he had no free hand to knock, let alone dig out his key card.
Gibson opened the
door so quickly it startled Nick, and he juggled the bags of chips and candy bars before everything became an avalanche.
“Here, let me get some of that,” Gibson said, reaching out to help.
As soon as he had a free hand, Nick punched the volume down a couple notches as he passed by the TV. The room-service menu was still on the bed. All the pillows had been pulled out from under the covers and were stacked for TV-viewing comfort.
“They’ve got a couple of cool movies on later,” Gibson said, unpacking the stash and lining it up neatly on the desk.
“Where’s Timmy?” Nick asked, glancing around and noticing that the bathroom door was open.
“Didn’t you meet him in the lobby?”
“No, I was down in the gift shop getting all this stuff.”
Gibson looked genuinely confused. “The desk clerk called just a few minutes ago. He said that you wanted Timmy to meet you in the lobby to help carry some stuff up.”
“I never asked the desk clerk to—” Suddenly Nick’s stomach took a nosedive. “Did you talk to the guy or did Timmy?”
“Timmy did. He just left. I thought he was with you.”
Nick could see Gibson getting worried now and he didn’t want him to see the panic that was beginning to crawl up the back of his neck.
“I’m going back down to the lobby to see if I missed him, okay?”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Nick practically shouted and saw Gibson flinch. “You stay here in case he comes back. I don’t want us all wandering around the hotel looking for each other.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.” He stopped himself and put a hand on Gibson’s shoulder. “Hey, everything’s okay. We probably just missed each other. I’ll be right back.”
But as soon as the door closed behind him, Nick sprinted for the elevators. He hadn’t asked any desk clerk to call for him. If Brother Sebastian was into playing games like this then Nick hated to see what else he was capable of doing. What the hell did the guy want?
CHAPTER 83
The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska
Keller knew Timmy Hamilton didn’t recognize him at all. Four years of living in the rain forest had given him a weathered disguise he didn’t even expect.
Keller had made the phone call to their room all the while watching Nick Morrelli fill his arms with junk from the gift shop. When Timmy got to the lobby he greeted the boy, telling him that he was working with the Omaha Police Department. It wasn’t a lie. After all, he was working with the department. However, the boy seemed to misunderstand, perhaps thinking he was a plainclothes detective, especially after Keller showed him Detective Kasab’s badge. The young detective really should have been more careful earlier when he left his jacket over a chair while he used the restroom in Keller’s hotel room.
Besides, it was better for Timmy if he didn’t know the truth. Even though the boy had betrayed him, he would make this as painless as possible. It had become a necessity, unfortunately, to take care of such things in order to survive. But some missions were worth the collateral damage that occurred along the way.
He told Timmy that he had already talked to his uncle, Nick Morrelli, in the gift shop, and that they agreed to meet in a suite the police department had reserved. That his uncle had gone back up to their room to get Timmy and his friend.
“But he had the desk clerk already call me to come down and help him carry stuff,” Timmy said, hanging back, looking a bit suspicious but clearly not wanting to upset a police detective.
Keller shrugged as if he didn’t know anything about it. “That must have been before I talked to him.” Then to pretend that he was just as confused, he added, “I wondered why you came down to the lobby alone.”
“Couldn’t we just wait for my uncle down here?” Timmy asked.
“We agreed to meet in the suite. I don’t think he’s coming back down here.” Again, for good measure, he added, “Do you want to call him?”
Just the offer seemed to satisfy the boy, and he shook his head.
He led him back to his suite. At one point he even let the boy go first, past a housekeeping cart, and he slipped Detective Kasab’s badge between the piles of towels. All the while he kept reassuring the boy that they would talk about everything once his uncle and friend arrived.
At the door to the suite when Timmy seemed to hesitate, Keller told him that he could wait in the hall if he wanted. But as he opened the door he added that they needed to be careful because earlier he had seen someone following them. It was enough to draw Timmy into the room and looking over his shoulder instead of looking or expecting any danger from inside. It was as if Timmy had finally accepted him as an ally.
All he had ever tried to do was help Timmy. All of the boys, he had only wanted to help them, save them from the abuse he believed they were suffering at home. At the time, Timmy had claimed he bruised easily, but wasn’t that what they all said to cover up for their parents? Timmy looked okay now, a bit scrawny but healthy. Although from his own experience he knew the mental scars never healed. Perhaps that was true for Timmy, too.
“You can sit down if you want,” he told Timmy.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll wait until Uncle Nick and Gibson get here.”
The boy remained standing, watching the door and fidgeting, shifting from one foot to the other. Keller hated fidgeting.
That’s when the phone rang as if on perfect cue.
“Hello?” he said, making it sound like he wasn’t expecting the call.
“Good evening, Mr. Keller. This is the front desk calling just as you requested.”
“Yes, Timmy’s here with me. Where did you say you were?” He glanced at Timmy still standing by the door. He was far enough away he would never hear the desk clerk on the other end.
“The front desk, sir,” the caller repeated.
“How long will that take?”
“Excuse me? How long will what take?”
Keller ignored the poor clerk’s confusion. “Well, okay. We’ll wait here for you.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea what—”
He hung up on him in midsentence, finished and pleased with his side of the conversation. Then to Timmy he said, “They’re going to be a few minutes late. Something your uncle has to take care of.”
He needed to come up with something, anything that would relax the boy, that would stop his goddamn fidgeting.
“In the meantime, why don’t you help yourself to the minibar.”
That got his attention.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, go ahead. Grab me a Coke, too.”
That was it. Evidently sharing his minibar was like opening a whole new avenue of trust. Suddenly Timmy was grinning and down on his knees, opening the fridge and evaluating the treasure inside.
Yes, this would be easy. Almost too easy.
CHAPTER 84
Washington, D.C.
In her mind Gwen tried to assess her escape route. Her instincts told her to make a mad dash. What was she waiting for? Why did she dare try and talk sense into him? Was that even possible? The last time she had been in a room with a madman, Eric Pratt had attempted to drive a freshly sharpened lead pencil into her throat.
This was different. There was no uniformed officer right outside the door ready to come running to her rescue. R. J. Tully wouldn’t be racing in to protect her either. Not this time. She’d never make it to the door let alone the hallway or the elevator without Campion overpowering her. Her only available weapon was talk. She needed to control him with her voice and her words. She glanced around the room one more time in search of anything else. No, there wasn’t anything else. At least not until she settled him down. Maybe then she had a chance of catching him off guard.
James Campion’s rage came in bursts then quieted almost as quickly. He stood between Gwen and the doorway, quiet now but glaring at her with a new distrust that she was attempting t
o dismantle. She had to convince him she was on his side, that she wasn’t the enemy.
“I’m on your side, James. Father Paul Conley abused you in a way no boy should experience. He deserved to be punished,” she said, stopping herself from adding that ripping his head off and placing it on his own altar may have been a bit much. She needed to win his trust. He needed to believe she understood. “He won’t be able to hurt any more boys ever again.”
“That’s right,” he said, nodding. “Playing the game and pretending to kill him wasn’t enough. It didn’t stop him.”
“But, James, what about the others?”
“The others? The other priests?”
“No, the young women. There were four of them, weren’t there? Tell me about them. Why did you hurt them?”
“Oh, you mean the whores.”
“Excuse me?”
“I met them over the Internet. We talked, got to know each other. You told me that I needed to try to have normal relationships with women. Remember? You told me.” He was getting anxious again.
“Yes, that’s right. I did tell you that.” And she had.
It had been a major concern to him that he couldn’t have an ordinary relationship with a woman. She remembered their conversations. She knew his abuse had left him with an immature attitude about sex. He always seemed anxious and concerned about it but never angry. He had talked about it all so calmly. How he wanted to take it slow and get to know and trust a woman before it turned to sex. It was the sex that seemed to worry him, to almost frighten him. Of course it did. It all made sense to her now even before he started to explain.
“We would talk on the Internet. It was comfortable, enjoyable.” Campion’s eyes were somewhere else as if remembering. This was good. Get his mind on something else so she would be able to catch him off guard.