A Necessary Evil

  “Are you sure you’re still up for this?” Pakula asked again.

  She insisted they continue with their morning plans and promised to give him all the details later. Then she motioned for him to lead the way. Pakula seemed to know where they needed to go, down one hallway and past another until he pointed to a staircase. “His office is on the second floor.”

  She tried to focus, observing and noticing everything around them almost as if challenging herself to avoid the thought of Keller boarding a United flight in the next few hours and arriving right here in Omaha. She didn’t want to start calculating how many hours, how many connections it would take. How many opportunities he would have to change his mind, to realize she wouldn’t possibly honor this deal. She tried to push it all out of her mind and concentrate, instead, on this small high school with shining wooden floors and elaborate stair railings and cornices over the classroom doors.

  Now she noticed that most of the classrooms appeared empty, despite Pakula telling her earlier that the summer session had begun and that was why Father Tony Gallagher insisted they come to the school. In fact, they passed only one classroom with about a dozen kids. The room’s decor caught Maggie’s eye—ancient artifacts and medieval relics including a sword or two lined the shelves and walls.

  Maggie glanced up at Pakula and saw that he had noticed, too. He shook his head and said, “The stuff they teach kids these days.”

  Father Tony Gallagher was standing outside the doorway to his office, waiting for them; he waved across the vast lobby between classrooms. Maggie couldn’t help thinking he didn’t look like a priest—a perfect smile, handsome, perhaps in his late thirties, maybe forty at the most, his dark hair peppered with gray at the temples. And although he looked athletic, she noted that he was small-framed. She tried to imagine him with a baseball cap on and if he might be mistaken for a young boy.

  “Father Gallagher, we appreciate your cooperation,” Pakula said as the priest led them into his office. “This is Special Agent—”

  But before Pakula could get out the introduction she heard, “Maggie?”

  Both she and Pakula stopped in the office doorway. Nick Morrelli rose from the easy chair in the corner.

  “Maggie O’Dell, what the hell are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 52

  Our Lady of Sorrow High School

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Nick couldn’t believe it. Just when things were settling down in his life and coming together…well, other than this colossal mess with Tony. Just when Nick was finally getting his life on track, in walks Maggie O’Dell. It didn’t help that she looked better than ever. He tried to remember how long ago it had been since they had seen each other. All he knew at the moment was that it was long enough ago that he shouldn’t have a knot in his stomach and weak knees like some high-school kid.

  “Is there a problem here?” Pakula wanted to know, looking from Nick to Maggie.

  “No problem,” she answered as if it were true. “Nick and I worked a case about four years ago out in Platte City.” Then she turned to Tony and put out her right hand, “Father Gallagher, I’m Maggie O’Dell, with the FBI.”

  “Welcome to Our Lady of Sorrow High School,” Tony said as he shook her hand, but he glanced over at Nick with a knowing look as if to say “so this is Maggie.” And though Tony didn’t say it out loud Nick could almost feel the tips of his ears start to burn.

  “Four years ago in Platte City?” Pakula was scratching his shaved head as if it would help him remember. “Ah, I remember. Gillick and Howard murdering those little boys.”

  Yeah, that one, Nick wanted to say, but only nodded, waiting to see if Maggie would try to correct the record. She never did believe that Eddie Gillick and Ray Howard were murderers even though both men had been convicted and were serving life sentences. Maggie believed that Father Michael Keller, a handsome young priest who everyone in the community loved and adored, had chosen the boys because he thought they were being abused by their parents. She was convinced that Keller had been on a mission to save them and grant them eternal rest. It sounded as crazy now as it did then.

  “Yes, that’s the case, Gillick and Howard,” Maggie said, her eyes meeting Nick’s.

  But it wasn’t just the case, he wanted to tell her. There had been more between them, much more. Or at least there could have been if she had let it. But then she had made that decision all on her own without letting him have a say.

  “Nick was the county sheriff at the time,” Tony added.

  “Really? Maybe that’s where I remembered your name from,” Pakula said to Nick. “I’m usually pretty good with names. That was one helluva case.” Then Nick thought the detective’s eyes softened a bit. For a moment, perhaps, he was seeing Nick as a fellow lawman.

  “I have four girls,” Pakula continued, “but it doesn’t matter when it’s kids. Every parent gets the jitters when something like that happens. One of my girls was about the age of those boys. She had a paper route, too. For weeks my wife and I took turns running her route with her. It was a scary time. Wasn’t there a little boy who got away?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “My nephew, Timmy Hamilton.”

  “Holy crap! How’s he doing?”

  “He’s doing great,” Nick told Pakula, but he was still looking to Maggie as if his answer was for her, since she hadn’t even bothered to ask about Timmy. She seemed distracted, not even interested. “He’s starting here at Our Lady of Sorrow in the fall as a freshman.”

  “That’s good. That’s great,” Pakula said, hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

  Nick could tell Pakula was sincere, but not so good at chitchat.

  “Wow! Timmy’s going to be a freshman,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “How’s Christine?” she asked Nick.

  “She’s good.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, too, following Pakula’s example, suddenly uncomfortable with Maggie asking personal questions about his sister, his family, his life, even though just seconds ago he was pissed that she hadn’t thought to ask about Timmy. “Why don’t we get started with your questions?” he suggested to Pakula, but looked at Tony as if to say, This is it. Let’s get it over with.

  Nick offered Maggie the easy chair in the corner by the window and she slipped by him to take it without as much as a glance. He tried not to notice her scent, something fresh and exotic like coconut and lime. Probably her shampoo. He shook the thought away and retreated to the other side of the room to be close to Tony as his friend sat down behind his desk.

  Pakula leaned against the doorjamb, filling it. Nick couldn’t help thinking how much the detective looked like a linebacker, flexing his shoulder blades, getting ready for his first tackle of the day. All that sincere crap already left behind. In an instant they had gone from fellow cops talking about a gruesome case to adversaries ready to outwit each other. Such is life. Nick was used to it, dealt with it every day as a deputy prosecutor. This shouldn’t be any different. This shouldn’t be personal. And yet, he glanced at Maggie, wondering what role she’d take.

  “I saw the news this morning,” Tony said. “Sounds like you think Monsignor O’Sullivan’s murder could be connected to the one in Columbia, Missouri.”

  “Possibly,” Pakula told him.

  “What possible connection could there be?” Nick asked.

  “That’s what we’re hoping Father Gallagher might be able to tell us.”

  Nick thought that Pakula had definitely slipped back into his tough-detective role.

  “I don’t know what you think Tony might be able to tell you,” Nick said, glancing at Tony, still wondering what Tony had omitted earlier.

  “We actually have three victims, even though we only released two of them to the media. All three were stabbed to death in very public settings. Two were priests. One was an ex-priest,” Pakula said, crossing his arms, watching Tony. “I can’t tell you any of the details, but there are similarities. Now, if there is a connection betwe
en these three victims, we’re hoping Father Gallagher might tell us what that might be. Especially since he’s one of the few people who knew all three of them.”

  “What?” Nick shot a look at Tony. “Is that true?”

  “Surely you’re not saying I’m a suspect, Detective Pakula.” Tony avoided Nick’s question and his eyes. “If you are, I’m sure my friend and lawyer would advise me not to answer any of your questions.”

  “Actually, Father Gallagher, no disrespect,” Maggie said from the corner, “but if you do need an attorney, Mr. Morrelli can’t represent you as long as he’s still a deputy prosecutor for the state of Massachusetts.”

  “Is that right?” Pakula asked while Nick stood speechless, staring at his friend.

  And then it occurred to Nick exactly why Maggie had come to this so-called interview. She was here to observe Tony. Was she already calculating whether or not he matched her profile? Did they really believe Tony could murder someone?

  He looked over at Tony who was now sitting on the corner of his desk, appearing cool and calm and unfazed by Pakula’s questions. And despite confiding to Nick earlier that he had told Monsignor O’Sullivan he wouldn’t keep quiet this time if the allegations were true—despite that warning, here he was remaining quiet and evasive. And Nick couldn’t figure out why in the world he would do that.

  CHAPTER 53

  Reagan National Airport

  Washington, D.C.

  He was fidgety today, more so than usual. His eyes darted around the crowded airport as he waited for his flight to start boarding. He had another hour to wait, if the digital bulletin board was correct. Why did he feel as if he was constantly waiting?

  He readjusted his laptop computer, stretching his legs before settling down again. His wireless connection allowed him Internet access anywhere. It was the best investment he had made. He continued to surf for news articles, anything and everything about the murdered priests, two of them over the holiday weekend. The first had been over the Memorial weekend.

  Was that how it worked? Did it have to be a holiday weekend? If that was the case, the next holiday was…what? Labor Day? That was September. He couldn’t wait until September. He wouldn’t wait. He had waited long enough, more than fourteen years.

  His foot tapped out his nervous energy. He was annoyed by his restlessness. It hadn’t stopped. Why wouldn’t it stop? There had been no reprieve like there usually was right after one of his outbursts. At least, there used to be a reprieve for a month or two. The rage would retreat for a time. Oh sure, he knew it was just beneath the surface, but still he felt that it was manageable.

  He thought he had learned how to channel his anger into other activities. And that’s what he had done with the game. Playing it, coming up with the characters and taking out his rage in a make-believe scenario had actually worked…or at least it had worked for a while. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had moved beyond the game. Sometimes he had trouble remembering what was real and what was imaginary. Only his rage seemed real.

  All he knew now was that it had been only a couple of days, and the twitch, the throbbing, the restlessness had not gone away. It was with him constantly. He just wanted it to go away. And he knew exactly what it would take to make that happen.

  On his laptop he clicked over to weather.com. It was raining in Boston, eighty-four degrees and ninety-five percent humidity. He had already decided he’d take the subway when he got there, as he always did when he was a kid. He had only one bag, an oversize computer case, large enough for everything he would need along with a change of clothing. He had confirmed everything, planned out every single detail. By nine o’clock this evening it would be all over with and he would be catching another flight home. And the twitching, the throbbing, the restlessness would be gone.

  CHAPTER 54

  Washington, D.C.

  Gwen Patterson stood at her office window staring out at the Potomac River. Harvey lay next to her desk. Every move she made alerted him, his head up, those watchful brown eyes searching her out, checking on her. Maggie usually complained about his overprotective behavior, but Gwen continued to find it rather endearing and comforting. She wasn’t sure how she would have managed any of this without him.

  She had canceled all of her appointments for the day and had already hired a temp who would be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning when she could resume her business and get on with her life. Tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

  Nothing would ever be normal again. Why did she bother trying to fool herself?

  A knock at her office door startled her.

  “Sorry,” Julia Racine said, staying in the doorway, apologetic enough that Gwen realized she must still look as bad as she felt. “No one was out front.” She stated the obvious as her excuse.

  “I decided to close for business today,” Gwen said without leaving her perch at the window. “It seemed the least I could do, considering my office assistant was recently decapitated.” She knew her morbid sense of humor was simply a coping mechanism. She wasn’t sure if Racine would see it that way.

  “I talked to Maggie earlier. She asked me to check on you.”

  “Did she? I didn’t realize that was a service the District police department provided.” Morbid sense of humor followed by flippant remarks. Was she losing it? Surely she should be able to tell. She was a medical professional, after all.

  “Also, I had a few more questions,” Racine said, inching her way farther into the office, but keeping her distance.

  “Of course you have more questions.”

  “You mind?”

  “Would it matter if I did?”

  “I could certainly come back later,” Racine told her, still patient, to the point that Gwen might have to call it polite as well. And Gwen wondered what else Maggie may have told the young detective to eke out such patience. Or was this simply some new interrogation tactic Racine was testing out on her?

  “Now or later, nothing will have changed.” She turned from the window and came into the room, continuing to stand, but waved at a chair, inviting Racine to sit.

  Racine took time to pat Harvey, giving him a rub behind the ears before she chose the chair next to him. By now he recognized Racine and had started to identify her as one of the good guys. Gwen wasn’t convinced that that was such a good idea. But maybe she should trust Harvey’s instincts. The dog hadn’t been wrong yet.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Racine said, but it didn’t look as if she was going to try to force it out of Gwen. She sat back, and instead of waiting for some explanation or confirmation she went on. “At first I thought maybe it was something about your assistant. Maybe something you were afraid would damage her good name, her reputation. You know, embarrass her family.” Racine paused and Gwen could feel the detective studying her, perhaps searching to see if she had struck a chord or gotten anywhere close to the truth. “Finding her in her own home was very different from all the others. It didn’t feel right.”

  Gwen leaned against her desk, suddenly very tired again. “Dena wasn’t like the others,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “No,” Racine agreed with a knowing calm. “With Dena he knew he could leave her in her home because he knew someone would come looking for her. With the other three victims we had to wait until he told us where to find them. I kept thinking that was the big difference, and yet, it wasn’t really all that different.”

  Another pause, as if Racine was testing her. Gwen crossed her arms and held the young detective’s stare without flinching as Racine continued. “The owner of a construction company told us where we could find the first victim. Funny, I called him this morning and asked how he had found her, but he said he hadn’t. He told me that a woman had called and tipped him off. Ironically a woman and her dog found the second victim in the park while out walking.”

  Racine glanced down at Harvey. “But she declined to come in and file a report. Then last week when we
found Libby Hopper on the banks of the Potomac it was because a woman had called in the exact location, but she used a stolen cell phone and we couldn’t trace it. Dena Wayne was left in her own home. I thought that seemed totally out of character for this killer until I realized that it was actually a woman…a woman and her dog who had, again, found the victim.”

  Racine sat quietly now, holding Gwen’s eyes as if she could see the truth within them and didn’t need anything more to corroborate her wild theory.

  “Sounds like you think you have it all figured out,” Gwen finally said without any sort of admission. “Too bad things aren’t ever as simple as they seem.”

  “No, they usually aren’t.”

  “His instructions also came with subtle threats.” Gwen said it in such a whispered tone she hardly recognized her own voice.

  “I wondered if it might be something like that. You were afraid he’d hurt you.” Racine nodded but her eyes never left Gwen’s.

  “No. Not me. Always someone else. Someone close to me. It would have been easier if it were me.” Gwen had been threatened before. She considered taking those risks just part of the job. “I thought I might be able to outwit him,” she added.

  “But in the meantime he was making you an accessory to his murders.”

  “Yes, I suppose he was,” Gwen said. “But not anymore.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Maggie excused herself from Father Gallagher’s office, explaining that she had some phone calls she needed to make. Cunningham was at the top of her list. She desperately wanted to hear how Gwen was and besides, she needed a break from the testosterone battle between Pakula and Nick. She had heard enough of Father Gallagher’s clever evasiveness to know their interview would provide little new information. But she wondered why the priest didn’t realize that every time he answered one of Pakula’s questions with a question it only stretched out the process?