Alex Kava Bundle

by Alex Kava

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I told them I wouldn’t keep quiet this time.”

  “You told Archbishop Armstrong that?”

  “I told Monsignor O’Sullivan,” Tony said without emotion. “I’m sure O’Sullivan told the archbishop.”

  Nick could tell there was more to that story, but he was glad to be getting even an edited version. Still, he decided to push his luck. “Do you think the leather portfolio was stuffed with secret documents?”

  This time Tony turned to meet his eyes. “Just between you and me, not Christine, not the cops,” he said and waited for Nick to nod in agreement. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It wouldn’t be the first time. The Vatican has diplomatic immunity. Anything under its roof can’t be used or subpoenaed. Just like anyone under its roof can’t be extradited.”

  “Monsignor O’Sullivan wasn’t coming back?”

  “No. I confronted him that morning, before he left. He ended up admitting to me that he wouldn’t be returning.”

  “Wow!” Nick couldn’t believe it. Christine was right. “So is it possible one of the monsignor’s victims offed him before he could leave?”

  “Or someone wanted to put an end to the whole matter once and for all.”

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean by that?”

  But it was too late. Tony was looking out the window again.

  “They’re here,” he said, and Nick thought he actually sounded relieved.

  CHAPTER 49

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Maggie checked her cell phone for messages, contemplating whether or not to turn the phone off for their interview with Father Gallagher. Still no word from Gwen. She was starting to get worried. It wasn’t like Gwen. Something was going on with her. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was something more and it bugged Maggie that she couldn’t figure it out. No, what bugged her more was that Gwen wasn’t telling her. She wondered if she should try calling her again, but Pakula was already pointing out Our Lady of Sorrow High School up ahead.

  The school’s campus lived up to Maggie’s expectations of a small parochial high school. It was a series of old redbrick buildings in pristine condition despite being used since probably the early 1900s. The campus was located in central Omaha, but set off from busy intersections by huge maples that lined the property on one side and Memorial Park on the other.

  It surprised Maggie that Detective Carmichael didn’t accompany them. She had seemed to be chomping at the bit to question FatherTony Gallagher again. After all, it was her digging that created the new suspicions. When Maggie asked Pakula, he threw her a look as if it was a sore subject. Then he muttered something about needing to keep an open mind. She could tell that it didn’t help matters that he had to come out here to question the priest on his turf instead of on Pakula’s. Again the detective had muttered something about “that bastard attorney” Father Gallagher had watching out for him.

  But as Detective Pakula pulled in to the school parking lot, Maggie’s phone started ringing. From the caller ID she knew it was Racine. She had already missed two calls from the detective. This would be a third.

  “Do you mind if I get this?” she asked Pakula. “I’ll make it quick.”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Maggie O’Dell.”

  “O’Dell, it’s about time,” Racine said but she sounded relieved instead of pissed, which was what Maggie had expected.

  “I talked to Bonzado last night.” She thought she’d beat Racine to the punch. “He filled me in on the tattoo.”

  “We have another victim,” Racine said without preface.

  Maggie leaned back against the car seat. That wasn’t at all what she’d expected to hear. “It’s awfully soon.”

  “It gets worse. The victim was your friend’s assistant.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dr. Patterson. The victim worked for her.”

  “When did this happen? Is Gwen okay? I haven’t heard from her. Why didn’t she call me?”

  A look from Pakula told Maggie she needed to calm down. He had just shut off the ignition and now waved at the school’s front door.

  “I’ll wait outside for you,” he said.

  “I was hoping she had talked to you,” Racine was saying as Pakula left the car. “Because she didn’t have much to say to me.”

  “She was probably upset, Racine.”

  “I’m sure she was, but there was something strange going on. I don’t think your friend’s being totally up front with me. I’m not sure what it is she’s not telling us, but she’s definitely holding something back.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Gwen.” But Maggie already wondered if this had anything to do with Gwen’s recent demeanor. No, how could she predict something like this? That was crazy. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know her, so it’s difficult for me to tell, but I’d say she’s pretty upset. She was the one who found her.”

  “Gwen found Dena? She found her…her head?”

  “In the woman’s brownstone. Actually in the garbage can.”

  “Jesus, Racine! Why didn’t you tell me that in the beginning?”

  “She said Dena didn’t show up for work, didn’t answer any of her calls. Dr. Patterson said she went to check on her.”

  Maggie couldn’t imagine what Gwen must be going through.

  “This one is weird, O’Dell,” Racine said in almost a whisper. “He’s never just left them in their homes. Something doesn’t feel right about it.”

  “Look, Racine, I have an interview I need to get to. Can I call you back later?” She checked her watch.

  “Sure. I’ll fill you in then.”

  “And Racine?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you mind checking on Gwen for me? Please see if she’s okay.”

  “No problem. I planned to stop by her office, anyway. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Maggie stared out the windshield, waiting for the tension to subside. Poor Gwen. But why hadn’t she called? No matter how upset she was, she should have called. It wasn’t like Gwen not to call.

  Pakula was waiting for her, trying to pretend he didn’t mind. She locked the car door behind her. When his eyes met hers with that silent question that cops asked each other without really asking, she knew he would understand. She simply said, “A case in the District. A friend of mine just found her assistant’s decapitated head.”

  “Holy crap!” He winced, but didn’t look shocked as most people might. “You need some time? We can do this later.”

  “No, we’re here. Let’s do it now.”

  Her phone started ringing again and she grabbed it, quickly opening it without looking at the caller ID, expecting it to be Racine, hoping it was Gwen. It was neither.

  “Agent Maggie O’Dell?” asked a male voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Yes?” Maggie shrugged at Pakula. He waited with his hand on the school’s front door.

  “This is Father Michael Keller.”

  At first she thought it had to be a joke. She brought the phone down to glance at the caller ID. But nothing had registered. Instead it read Not Available.

  “Excuse me, who did you say this is?”

  “I know you remember me—Father Michael Keller. I want to make a deal with you.”

  Her stomach did a flip. For months after the Platte City murders she had unsuccessfully tried to track down Keller in South America. And here he was calling her as though they were old friends.

  “What makes you think I would ever want to make a deal with you?”

  “Because I can help you catch this priest killer.”

  “Really?” So their media coverage had reached all the way to Chile, if that was where he was still hiding. “What can you possibly have that would help?”

  “I’ll share that with you when I’m certain we have a deal. I’ll even bring what I have to you.”

  She couldn’t believe it. Keller was offering to come back to the States. After all these years. W
hy would he do that?

  “And why exactly are you able to help?” she asked him, keeping her voice even and calm as if she could care less that a child killer was offering to make a deal with her.

  There was a long silence, and for a moment she thought she might have lost him or that he had hung up.

  “Because I’m on the list.”

  “What list are you referring to?” So there was a list. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he would have made the list. But how had the killer found him when she hadn’t been able to? So it was fear that had pushed him into contacting her. She restrained her urge to smile. Of course, Keller was scared. If the killer had been able to find him, there would be nothing to stop him from being eliminated.

  At the mention of a list Pakula furrowed his brow, recognizing that this was about the case and stepping forward to jump in to her rescue.

  “You know what list. Unless you’re further behind on solving this case than I thought.”

  She could detect some anger in his voice.

  “I honestly don’t think you have anything that could help us. Sorry, I’m not willing to make a deal.” She tried not to enjoy envisioning him squirming on the other end of the phone.

  “So you’re not interested in who else might be on the list?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have a copy of it, of the whole list.”

  “How do I know you didn’t just make it up?”

  “How else would I know about Daniel Ellison? You forgot to mention him to the media.”

  Her knees threatened to buckle, even before he added, “He was on the list and he’s also dead, isn’t he?” He waited, as if knowing the effect it would have when it all sank in. “I’ll bring everything I have to you…only you.”

  “What is it that you want in return for your help, Father Keller?”

  “Protection. And an antidote. I think he may have already poisoned me.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Blackwater Bay Campground

  South of Bagdad, Florida

  Deputy Sheriff Wendall Galt pulled his cruiser off to the side of the road. A dozen Boy Scouts stood crowded on a mound of grass in the ditch. The barbed-wire fence kept them confined to the ditch. On the other side of the fence the trees and scrub weeds were thick. Two men waved him over. They were obviously the troop leaders although one looked like a slightly overgrown boy at best.

  “I thought it was a pile of rags at first,” the small guy said, coming up to Wendall so close he almost bumped into him. “We’ve been keeping the boys right here. No need for them to see something like that. My God! It was horrible. Just horrible.”

  Wendall didn’t say anything. Instead, he pushed up his sunglasses. He took a step back from the guy and looked over at the boys, slapping at their legs and arms, bored, but none of them wanting to leave. Despite their Scout leaders’ insistence to protect them, they were anxious to see a dead body. Although Wendall doubted that’s what had been found. Not that it wasn’t possible. But guys like this—and Wendall looked the guy over, noticing his designer khaki shorts and polo shirt with the teeny polo player embroidered on the pocket and leather loafers when some good hiking boots would be smarter—guys like this would fill their pants if they stumbled on a half-eaten deer carcass.

  “I can’t believe they sent only one of you,” the guy rattled on.

  “Ethan, enough already,” the other one said, but it didn’t matter.

  “No, I can’t believe it. There should be officers to seal off the area. And a crime scene mobile lab. The coroner. For Christ’s sake, there’s a dead guy in the swamp. He didn’t crawl off on his own to die there.”

  “You never know in these parts,” Wendall said, exaggerating his drawl for effect and enjoying the guy’s response, a slightly dropped jaw. People watched too damn much TV. “What makes you so sure it was a body?”

  The guy slapped a hand to his forehead to avoid the setting sun in his eyes. “Are you kidding? I think I’d know a dead body when I see one.”

  Wendall wanted to say, “Right, sure you do,” but he was already in trouble with Sheriff Poole for what was called a “disrespectful attitude.” In short, he seemed to piss off people too easily.

  “Let me take a look for myself,” he said instead. “Where is it?” Almost on cue they all pointed toward the trees on the other side of the barbed-wire fence.

  Wendall shook his head. Hell, there wasn’t even a path. A little bit of scrub weed trampled down a bit. He took his time, pretending to examine the area before he attempted to climb over the fence. Two boys volunteered to lead the way and he was just about to tell them he didn’t need them when the small guy with the big mouth yelled at the boys to stay put. Wendall told the boys to come on with him, and the look on the guy’s face made the impulsive decision worth it. Turned out, it paid off. The two boys, Corey and Kevin, were the ones who had actually stumbled on the pile.

  “I’ve never seen a dead person before today,” Kevin was telling him, keeping close to Wendall’s side and letting Corey lead the way. “Do you think somebody brought him out here and killed him? No way they could drag him in here after he was dead, right?”

  Wendall didn’t answer. He didn’t want to stimulate the kid’s imagination anymore than it already was.

  “It smells really bad,” Corey said over his shoulder. “Pretty soon—” and he started sniffing the air like a bloodhound “—you’ll smell it. I thought it was garbage or something like that.”

  Wendall still believed the boys just had active imaginations. One thing you learned quickly was that if something died in the July heat in these wetlands, it didn’t take long for it to stink to high heaven, whether it was a bird or a fox or an armadillo.

  He followed them anyway, not paying much attention except to the no-see-ums attacking his arms and the back of his neck. Even after you slapped them, their carcasses stuck to your sweat. He hated the humidity this time of year, with his shirt constantly stuck to his back. He was thinking how good it’d feel when he returned to his cruiser and blasted the A/C. The sudden stink of rotted meat stopped him in his tracks.

  “Right there,” Corey told him, pointing to what looked to Wendall like a pile of dirty old rags.

  He was still skeptical, thrusting a hand out for the boys to stay put while he stepped closer.

  “What the hell?” He pulled off his sunglasses and squatted over the mess. Then he jumped up and back when the realization hit him. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled. His surprise turned briefly to embarrassment when he remembered the boys. He made himself squat again.

  The flies were still buzzing around, but they were few compared to the maggots that swarmed so thick it was difficult to make out what was underneath. Wendall found a branch and poked at the writhing mass, knocking enough of them off to discover a face and a neck and a…that was weird. He prodded an area around the neck, clearing it until he was certain of what he was seeing.

  He could be mistaken, but Wendall thought it looked like the corpse was wearing a white collar around his neck. A collar like a priest would wear.

  CHAPTER 51

  Our Lady of Sorrow High School

  Omaha, Nebraska

  Maggie couldn’t go into it with Pakula. Not right now when they were here at the school and needed to do this interview. Not when her mind was racing over emotions and memories that were colliding and fogging up her better judgment. Would Cunningham explode when she told him what she had done, what she had agreed to? Or would he simply suspect that she had agreed with Keller for the sole intention of not keeping this promise? Could he read her that well that he would see through her transparent motive of simply getting him back to the States?

  “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 po
inted 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?”