“I’m sorry, gentlemen, the buck stops here on this sort of thing. I know from experience that you’ll get the same reply from anyone you might talk to above me.”
With that, she stood up, indicating the meeting was over.
“Listen, I feel bad for the family, and I will pray for them. I can tell you since Father Tony has been with us, no one has ever complained about him to any of us.”
Quinn shook her hand and thanked her for her time. Once he and Leroy were outside, he glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was close to ten. He saw a park bench across the street and motioned for Leroy to follow him. After they sat down, he dialed Louisa’s number.
“Hey, how are you two doing in Richmond?” she asked.
“Well, the sun is out, and the birds are chirping in the park. What wasn’t chirping at all was one Tami LePage, the esteemed director of human resources. She was as sweet as sweet tea, but that was it. We get nothing from her without a court order. She did say that one has ever complained about Father Tony since he’s been with the parish. Any suggestions on what to do?” he asked.
“OK, sit tight in Richmond for a bit. I’m going to make a call or two to see what we can shake out of the bushes. It should take an hour or two at most. You’ll hear from me or someone else as soon as I get something going. Just go out and have some fun with Leroy.”
He smiled as he hung up. “Well, Leroy, we have an hour or two on our hands while Louisa works a little magic. In the meantime, what do you know about The Pit and the Pendulum?”
Leroy thought for a moment. “Well, other than it was written by Edgar Allen Poe, not much.”
“Hey, that’s good. Did you know Mister Poe called Richmond home?
Let’s get in a little sightseeing before Louisa gets back to us,” Quinn suggested.
Quinn set his Garmin to find the Edgar Allen Poe Museum. The address on East Main Street soon popped up on the screen. The female voice with the English accent soon directed them to the museum. Quinn was tickled. He had always wanted to visit the museum, as Poe was one of his favorite writers.
They spent the next four hours there. Leroy seemed to be enjoying the museum as he took in all the offerings. While he knew of Poe and had read some of his works, he had no idea of the breadth and depth of Poe’s body of work.
Quinn had set his phone to vibrate so it wouldn’t make a lot of noise in the museum when it rang. He immediately felt the phone almost wiggle out of his pants as he and Leroy finished their tour. He glanced at the screen but didn’t recognize the number.
He stepped into a quiet corner and answered. The voice on the other end said, “Mister McSpain, I presume?”
Quinn smiled and answered, “You presume right. With whom do I have the pleasure?”
“Quinn, this is Father Jonathan Esposito. I am Bishop Taft’s chief of staff. I understand you are a connoisseur of fine wines. Is that the case?” he asked.
“Why, Father, I’ve been known to enjoy the fruit of the vine from time to time. Some see that as a weakness of the flesh. I see it as an enhancer of the fragile spirit.”
“Excellent! May I suggest that we meet at Old Bookbinders at, say, six o’clock to sample some fairly decent juice? I understand that you’re not travelling alone. Please do come together, but my conversation must be with you only. Will that be a problem?”
“It most certainly will not, Father. I have purchased a limited edition Poe novel for my friend. I’m sure he’ll dive into it while we meet.”
“Perfect. See you at six,” he said as he hung up.
Leroy had separated from the crowd and was standing next to Quinn.
“Jackpot, my friend. That was the bishop’s chief of staff, and he wants to meet us at six o’clock. I wonder what strings my dearest Louisa pulled to make this happen. She is just so darned good. Just don’t tell her I said that.”
They left the museum and drove the short distance to the restaurant. Old Bookbinders was a classic in downtown Richmond. The city’s elite dined there, and many a business transaction was made over an expensive dinner. It was rumored that many Philip Morris tobacco executives preferred to do business there than in their offices.
Since they were early, they parked and watched the entrance to see if they could determine who Father Esposito was. The clock ticked away as they watched the front door. While there was a steady stream of business customers arriving, they didn’t see anyone who vaguely resembled what they thought Father Esposito would look like.
They finally looked at each other and decided it was time to go in. Leroy locked the car. Quinn was happy that he was wearing his cashmere Armani sport coat and his alligator Allen Edmonds loafers. Leroy had already asked him if he was too cheap to wear socks or if it was simply a fashion statement. He assured Leroy that he would wear socks, but Louisa just hated to wash them and then have to match them up out of the dryer. Quinn knew that Leroy hadn’t bought that explanation and that Leroy thought he was somewhat of a closet sixty-year-old yuppie. Leroy was dressed very well for a warm, late summer night in Richmond. He assumed that Leroy packed his bag, anticipating that he would be profiling in downtown Richmond, which required a certain degree of sartorial splendor far removed from Hillsville.
They entered Old Bookbinders and approached the reception desk. A tall, slender gentleman wearing half-rimmed spectacles glanced at them.
“Mister McSpain, I presume,” he said drily.
Quinn was taken aback by the recognition.
“Good to have you with us tonight. Sergeant Jefferson, please let Leslie escort you to your table.”
Leroy smiled as a beautiful, young hostess with the fairest ebony skin smiled at Leroy and showed him to his table. Leroy smiled right back at her and winked at Quinn.
“Please follow me,” the maître d’ said.
Quinn’s eyes took in the business crowd around him as they snaked their way through the press of humanity to a secluded, private table where a man sat, watching Quinn approach his table. Quinn focused on the man. The maître d’ looked at Quinn and said, “May I introduce Father Jonathan Esposito to you.”
Father Esposito stood up and extended his hand. “Quinn, what a pleasure to meet you.”
“Father, the pleasure is all mine,” Quinn responded with a quick smile.
Father Esposito sat down and smiled at Quinn. “I was told you are quite the imposing man about town who understands the appropriate level of stylish attire. I guess I should have known that a man with your years of worldly travel and experiences would be dressed appropriately for our humble Southern village.”
“Father, you’re too kind. I am but a child of the world who has set roots in this gentile Southern soil and prefers the grand Commonwealth of Virginia, especially life in the western vicariate,” Quinn responded.
Father Esposito picked up the wine list. “Quinn, I also understand you’re a man who appreciates fine wine. Hervé the sommelier is a dear friend. He has an extensive wine list for the general public. He also has a private cellar for his very best customers. Shall I order?” he asked.
“By all means, please do, Father. I learned a long time ago that a wine aficionado should always bow to the desires of his local host, who knows a thing or two about great wines. Accordingly, I anxiously await your selection,” Quinn replied.
Father Esposito nodded to Hervé, who was hovering in the background.
“Father, have you decided on what you might share?” Hervé asked.
“Yes, Hervé, I have. Please bring out my favorite Chateau Lafite and let it decant for a bit.”
Quinn smiled. The priest already knew what his favorite Bordeaux was. He only wondered what year the sommelier would produce.
“Quinn, I understand you’ve had an illustrious career protecting some of the biggest names in global corporate sectors. Your successes with those very important corporate entities are very impressive, as well as what you recently accomplished in regard to the global food supply. I am certain that you are a prof
essional who understands what discretion is and how to use it wisely. I also know you understand the difference between public sector law enforcement professionals, who are governed by strict laws and reporting requirements, and those in the private sector, who are not encumbered by any such rules.
The point I’m making, Quinn, is that we in the Catholic Church hierarchy are not so shackled with reporting requirements that may or may not fit the actual circumstance at hand. We in many ways are like a substantial business that serves the people in a great many ways. We are not perfect. We strive to be good and just in all our ways, but at the end of the day only His Holiness is blessed by the Almighty. The rest of us are mere mortals who serve with great passion and devotion to our fellow human beings.
I say all of this to preface what you will learn of one of our brothers of the cloth. His imperfections were known by some. Yet his perceived desire to change and keep his demons at bay were also understood. The sum total of the man was considered whenever the risk factors of his behavior were considered.
You must understand, Quinn that we made decisions based on faith. We took a risk with this person and for a long time felt the risks were worthwhile and paid a good dividend to the people. His actions, we believed, justified our faith in him and our decisions. Nothing was done lightly and without due consideration.
But we are now in a new day, and we are forced to reconsider our decision. I am going to give you information today that will shed light on many of the mysteries that may have been troubling you. Many answers will now be in your hands. I pray and trust that you will use that information wisely.”
As he finished, the sommelier arrived, carrying a tray with a decanter full of wine, its bottle, and two glasses.
“Ah, yes, Hervé, the fruit of the vine has arrived. Très bien!”
The sommelier picked up the bottle and presented it to Quinn. Quinn took a quick look at it and said, “Mon Dieu, one of the world’s greatest is at our table. This is indeed very special.”
The priest smiled. “I thought you might understand the significance of having a nineteen eighty-two Chateau Lafite Rothschild to share between us today. Please do the honors.”
He nodded at the sommelier, who ever so gently poured a small sampling into Quinn’s goblet. Quinn swirled it around for a bit, then sniffed the delicate bouquet and took a sip. The wine gently seduced his taste buds as he slowly swallowed it.
“Oh, my, this is truly spectacular!” Quinn exclaimed.
The sommelier smiled as he poured some wine into Father Esposito’s glass. The priest’s eyes lit up as he tasted it.
“Father,” said Quinn, “we are blessed at this table with a bottle of arguably one of the greatest vintages ever produced in all of Bordeaux. The wine in this particular bottle is spectacular. Yet we know that from time to time there could be a single bottle that isn’t good—and with good reason.
Regardless of the tender, loving care at the Chateau or the quality measures put in place, there is always the possibility that a great wine could be victimized by a bad cork. And we know what that will do to any wine, good or bad. You and I understand that when we purchase any bottle of wine with a cork in it, the wine could end up being corked. That is simply the risk we understand and are willing to take when we buy the wine. The cork could be good or bad. A bad cork spoils the wine. We know that we must live with the results. We enjoy the good wine—and deal with the bad.”
Father Esposito smiled broadly as he leaned in closer to Quinn.
“You are a very intuitive man, Mister McSpain. I know I can trust you to deal with this matter and keep the greater good in mind as you go about what needs to be done. For that, I salute you and will pray that your efforts return the young girl to her parents.”
The sommelier emerged out of nowhere to fill their glasses, which they then lifted up to toast the moment. Both Quinn and the priest smiled as they sipped more of the wine. Father Esposito reached into his leather attaché case, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Quinn.
“Quinn, everything you need to know is inside. Only the bishop and I have read the contents. I trust you will be judicious with all of this. It is now in your hands, and may God guide you and protect you along your path.”
Quinn tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his sport coat and stood up from the table. Father Esposito stood up and hugged Quinn, and then followed the sommelier out a private back door.
No other words were spoken—or needed.
Quinn smiled as he walked through the restaurant, looking for Leroy, who was sitting in a booth, deeply engrossed in his new book and the tall glass of sweet tea he was drinking. He looked up as he saw Quinn approach.
“Ready to go, my friend, or do you need to finish that book now?” Quinn asked.
Leroy stood up. “Oh, no, I figure you can read it to me as we drive back home for the next three hours. I think I might just enjoy having you do that.”
Quinn slapped him on the back and they laughed on their way to the car. Leroy quickly merged into the flow of traffic heading out of Richmond.
“So, pray tell, how did your moment with the priest go? You were back there for quite some time. Did he hear your confession?”
“That’s funny, Leroy. Trust me, my friend; we’d still be there if he was listening to my sins. Leroy, Father Esposito is a true man of the cloth and one hell of a businessman. I can see why he’s the bishop’s chief of staff. He was as gentle as a shepherd with me, but I sensed that he could be a real prick if and when he has to be. He gave me this envelope, which I’m, sure, provides us with information on our Father Tony. So you drive, and let me get the details of the Father Tony story.”
Quinn lost all contact with his surroundings as he read page after page of what Father Esposito had given him. He was almost finished when his cell phone rang.
“Miss Hawke, the magic woman, I presume,” he said when he answered.
“So, let me guess: Your meeting with Father Esposito went well, and now you and Leroy are driving back to Carroll County. Am I correct?” she asked.
Quinn clicked on his cell speaker phone.
“Now, Louisa, be careful. You’re on speaker phone, and Leroy is listening.”
“Leroy, I do hope you enjoyed your trip to Richmond even though you had to listen to Quinn the whole time.”
“Louisa, he’s been unusually quiet on the way back. He’s been reading what the priest gave him. He hasn’t spilled the beans to me yet.”
“OK, enough of that, you two. First of all, Louisa, I need to know who you called to make that happen. How well do you know Father Esposito?”
“I don’t, Quinn, but I do know his boss. Years ago, at the height of the Catholic priest sex abuse scandal, the good bishop came to me for, well, let’s say professional guidance in how he should handle the challenges ahead of him. I gave him the best advice I could, and I guess it worked for him. He remains grateful for my assistance. Even his HR director has never seen what you now have in your possession. So let’s hear what you have to say, big man.”
“Well, I’ll give you both the Reader’s Digest condensed version of what I just read. Father Tony’s real name is Reginald Santa-Cruz. He was born in Woodland, California, which is a farming community just outside of Sacramento. He was the oldest of three children. Oddly enough, his parents and both siblings are all dead. It looks like cancer and leukemia were the cause.
He went to high school in Woodland and then on to college at UC-Davis, where he graduated with a degree in philosophy. He then entered St John’s Seminary near Los Angeles and completed all his training for the priesthood. He was ordained shortly thereafter.
There’s a gap in his story at that point, and there’s no record of him serving at any particular parish. But two years later, he was an army chaplain assigned to a variety of Special Forces units. The record shows that he completed all of the Special Forces training at Fort Bragg in North Carolina.
Now, this is where it starts to get in
teresting. It seems that in some distant Asian location—and the record doesn’t specify exactly where— Chaplin Santa-Cruz was accused by several local parents of abusing young boys. It looks like the army conducted some sort of investigation, but nothing ever came of it. However, it looks like he was discharged and returned to civilian life. He then showed up as the number two priest at St. Theresa’s Parish on the island of Kauai. He lived there for at least five years. Then he suddenly left and came back to the mainland.
There’s an annotation in the file that suggests there might have been an unhappy family or two in Hawaii who had issues with him there. Again, nothing ever surfaced that directly implicated him in any sex crimes.
OK, this is where it gets really interesting. The man showed up as a Franciscan at St. Francis Seminary in—get this—Bhagalpur Bihar, India. No joke, the man is now teaching young seminarians in India, of all places. He lasted eight years before he showed up in Fancy Gap five years ago.
Strange that there isn’t much about his stint at the seminary in India, because I would think that having young seminarians around him would just suit Father Santa-Cruz just fine. I’ll bet that a few judiciously placed phone calls to the right authorities in India might just lead to more interesting information about his activities there.
So there we have it, folks: the life and sordid times of one Father Tony or whatever you want to call him. I just knew that son of a bitch was dirty. Now, Louisa, I’m not bragging or anything like that. But I just knew.”
Leroy looked over and gave Quinn a thumbs up. There was silence on the other end for a moment.
“You were right, Quinn. I just wish you weren’t so spot on the money about him. I’m surprised but not shocked. He obviously is a very sick person who has the ability to fool everyone. And you do notice that I included myself as one of those fooled. OK, so how long before you get back?” Louisa asked.
Leroy looked at his watch. “Should be no more than half an hour or so.”
Louisa thought for a second. “Great. Let’s meet at the sheriff ’s office. I’ll brief him, and we’ll wait until you arrive to discuss our next steps.”
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