Blood Contest

by P. K. Abbot

“Never heard of him,” Ryan answered.

  Mueller said, “I don’t think that is his real name.”

  “Why do you say that?” Goldberg asked.

  “First, the guy is paying for his suite in cash every week. Secondly, I think that Michael Caffrey is the name of a character in a musical. Michael Caffrey is the guy’s alias.”

  Goldberg turned toward the manager. “Do you think we could look at your security videos? Maybe we can isolate a close-up of this guy’s face and identify him through facial recognition.”

  “Of course.” The manager led them to a video monitor in the back office.

  Within thirty minutes they found what they needed. They were looking at a video that was time-stamped 2:40 AM on the morning of December 23rd. They were looking from the end of the sixth floor corridor toward the elevator.

  When the elevator doors opened, they could see Brandon Rush in his bright, cobalt blue jacket standing against the back wall of the elevator car. He got out of the elevator with a man who was wearing a long, camel hair topcoat. They were still too far away to see their faces clearly, but the detectives could hear Brandon and his friend singing. The man in the topcoat was walking backwards down the hall so that he could face Brandon while they were singing to each other.

  The detectives could make out the song now, as Brandon and his friend came closer to the camera. Brandon was wearing a pair of felt reindeer antlers on his head, and he was prancing down the hall like a reindeer. “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” they sang.

  When the song ended, the man in the topcoat suddenly grabbed Brandon and kissed him — bending him backwards and pivoting back toward the camera. When the man in the top coat stood up again, he was looking directly into the camera.

  The man kissing Brandon Rush was Trey Jamieson.

  Chapter 23

  Sunday, January 3

  Ryan and Mueller said goodbye to Goldberg and drove back to New Jersey. At 8 AM, Ryan called his uncle, Mike Kieran, to let him know that they needed to speak with him about a major development in the Trey Jamieson case. Mike told him that they could meet after the 12 o’clock mass at Saint Philomena’s. Ryan said that they would be there. They had just enough time to take a short nap and to dress, before driving over to the church.

  When Ryan and Mueller drove into the parking lot at Saint Philomena’s, they saw that Mike’s car was already there. They parked their car next to Mike’s and went inside to find him.

  Inside the vestibule, they saw Ves Heinz. He was standing next to his news stand in the corner of the vestibule. He was dressed for Sunday. His bulky body was straining against the buttons of a shiny, brown, double-breasted suit, and, out of respect for the church, his cigar was missing from between his teeth.

  Ves had spread out his selection of newspapers along the edge of the broad stairway leading up to the church. Behind him were the baked goods – glazed donuts and crumb cakes, already packaged in waxed bakery bags, six to a bag, sitting on the shelves of the rolling bakery racks behind him.

  Ves had designed his business plan with the simplicity and speed that would produce maximum profit. He charged $2 for a newspaper, $4 for a half-dozen baked goods, and $6 for a dozen. No sales tax, no dimes, no nickels, and no pennies were ever involved.

  Ves was already doing a brisk business at the news stand that morning. Many of the parishioners preferred to avoid the crush of customers at the news stand after mass by making their purchases before the service. Ves was making change for a lady – pulling out singles from a wad of bills in his hand – when Ryan and Mueller caught his eye. He nodded to them, and they smiled and waved at him as they proceeded up the stairway into the church.

  When they walked into the church, they saw Mike Kieran on the center aisle near the front of the congregation. They sat beside him in the pew and greeted him.

  The candles on the altar were lit for a High Mass, which was not good news to Ryan. With a High Mass, the congregation could count on at least a half-hour of added ritual – Gregorian chant throughout the mass, and an entry and exit procession complete with holy water, incense, and a processional cross. Some of the parishioners appreciated the ritual, but many, like Ryan, viewed it as the price to be paid for sleeping late on Sunday.

  At the end of the service, Father Fred took the thurible, the portable brass container which held the burning charcoal and incense, from one of the altar boys. He then followed the altar boy with the processional cross down the center aisle to the back of the church. He swung the thurible in the air, and clouds of incense wafted over the congregation on both sides of the center aisle.

  Mike had to speak with Father Fred for a few minutes. He was worried about Burton’s psychological state. Mike asked Ryan and Mueller if they would wait for him in the vestibule.

  As Mike approached Father Fred, the priest handed the thurible to the altar boy holding the processional cross. He said, “Thomas, will you take the thurible outside and extinguish the charcoal? You can leave the cross in this last pew and come back for it later.”

  When the altar boy went outside, Ryan and Mueller left Mike alone with the priest and walked down the stairs into the vestibule.

  Ves Heinz was very busy at his newsstand. He was collecting money at what seemed like a record pace to Ryan and Mueller. They walked over to him and started to help him. They handed out bags of baked goods to the parishioners while Ves collected their money. After fifteen minutes, the crowd was gone. The bags of baked goods were now completely gone. The newspapers were nearly gone as well. Saint Philomena’s had had a very profitable day.

  “What do you do with all of this money?” Ryan asked Ves.

  “Oh, I put the money into a canvas sack and take it upstairs. There I pick up the money from the collection plate and then give the two sacks to Father Fred in the sacristy. After the last mass, he takes them to the rectory and locks them in the office safe. In the morning, the parish’s bookkeeper prepares a deposit and takes it to the bank. It is the same as any business.”

  “It just seems like a lot of money for what I thought was a little side business.”

  “Well, Fred does a lot of good with the money, and it seems there is always a need for funds.”

  As Ves stuffed his cash and receipts into the canvas sack, Mike appeared at the top of the stairway.

  “There is your uncle, Billy,” Ves said.

  “Yeah, we had better get going. We have business to discuss with him.”

  Mike came down the stairway and joined Ryan and Mueller. They walked out the door toward Mike’s car.

  Ves watched them go. He tied a knot in the neck of the canvas sack as he walked up the stairs to the church. Inside the church, he took the second sack from the ushers there, and he thanked them.

  Ves looked up to see Sister Ben moving rapidly through the pews. She was putting the hymnals and missals in their proper place and picking up any loose papers that had been left behind by the parishioners.

  The altar boy who had been the cross bearer came rushing down the main aisle toward the exit. He was carrying his cassock and surplice in a rumpled ball under his arm. He was clearly in a hurry.

  “Have a nice day, Sister,” he called as he rushed past the nun.

  “Thank you, Thomas. I hope you have a nice day as well.”

  He stopped suddenly. “Dang,” he said. He saw the processional cross in the last pew where he had left it. He tossed his cassock and surplice into the last pew and started to pick up the cross.

  “Thomas, leave the cross there. I can take it back to the sacristy for you.”

  “Really, Sister?”

  “Yes. You are late. Now get out of here.”

  “Thanks, Sister. You are the best.”

  The nun chuckled. “Well, Our Lord is the best, but I like to think that I am pretty good.”

  “Whatever,” he said. Then he laughed, picked up his cassock and surplice, and ran out the door.

  Ves was walking toward the nun and smiling at her.
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  “Sister Ben, you never seem to have enough jobs for yourself, do you?” he asked.

  “Oh, I do not mind.”

  “The boy was right the first time, Sister. You are the best.”

  Before the nun could reply, Ves winked at her and walked by.

  Ves walked to the front of the church and then turned to walk toward the sacristy’s entrance in the far right corner of the room. Ves nodded to a tall, thin man who was kneeling in the first pew, very close to the sacristy door. The man had stayed long after the end of the service, but he kept looking at his watch. The man nodded back at Ves, but he did not smile.

  Ves moved the two canvas sacks into his left hand and opened the sacristy door with his right. As he stepped through the door, he felt the hard steel of a gun barrel in his ribs, and he heard the tall, thin man from the first pew whisper in his ear, “Don’t make any noise, chubby. It is time for you to introduce me to the Padre. Let’s go.”

  When they walked into the priest’s room of the sacristy, Father Fred had already taken off his vestments. He was hanging the alb in a closet when he turned around and saw the cold sweat on Ves’s brow.

  “I am sorry, Father,” Ves began.

  Father Fred saw the fear in Ves’s face and looked at the gun in the thin man’s hand.

  “It is fine, Ves,” Fred said. “There is nothing you could have done. There is nothing to worry about. Okay?”

  Ves nodded to Father Fred, and then Fred addressed the man with the gun.

  “What can we do for you, Sir?”

  The man rubbed the side of his face while his eyes flitted about the room.

  “No one needs to get hurt today, Padre. I just need money,” the man said. “Is there any other money here?”

  “No,” the priest replied. “The collection money from all the masses is in one sack, and the sales from the newsstand are in the other.”

  Ves nodded in agreement.

  “Dump it all on the floor,” the man said.

  Ves did what the man said. Cash, coins, checks, and tithing envelopes soon covered the floor.

  “Now, you two get on your knees,” the man said. “Open all of those envelopes. Put all of the paper money into one of the sacks and leave the checks, coins, and emptied envelopes on the floor. And do it quick. The faster you get this done, the healthier you will be.”

  Ves and Father Fred winced as they knelt on the floor, but they worked as quickly as they could. They wanted to get this madman out of the church as quickly as possible.

  Then they heard the hinges of the sacristy door creak.

  “Father, I am just returning the processional cross for Thomas.”

  It was Sister Ben. She was pushing the sacristy door open with her back, because she was holding the processional cross reverently, with both hands grasping its staff.

  When she saw Father Fred and Ves on their knees, the color drained from her face. She became numb when she saw the stranger holding his gun against Father Fred’s head.

  “Be quiet, lady,” the man said. “Put that cross down and get on the floor and help them.”

  Sister Ben did not move. She was shocked by what she was seeing.

  “Did you hear me, lady? Get on the floor now,” the man shouted. He turned away from Father Fred and Ves, and he waved his pistol at the nun.

  This was enough to bring her back to reality. With one sudden fluid motion, with the speed of a Gretzky slapshot, she connected the bottom of the staff with the man’s chin and lifted him off his feet. By the time he hit the floor, he was unconscious.

  Ves picked up the cincture from the table where Father Fred had placed his vestments after Mass, and he tied the man’s hands securely with the cord.

  “Sister Ben,” Father Fred said, “I saw Billy and Pete in the congregation today. See if you can catch them before they leave and bring them back here.

  Chapter 24

  After Mike Kieran joined Ryan and Mueller in the church’s vestibule, the three men walked together toward Mike’s car.

  It was cold as they walked across the churchyard. They were not pelted with ice crystals today, but raw weather still punished them. The frigid air burned their lungs after a time, and their exhaled breath hung in clouds around them.

  “We had better sit in the car,” Mike said as he fumbled for his keys. Mueller sat in the back seat while Ryan joined Mike in the front. Mike started the car and turned on the heater. Then he turned to Ryan.

  “So, why did you guys decide to leave JR’s funeral?” Mike asked.

  Ryan answered him.

  “After the mass yesterday, I received a call from an NYPD detective. He was investigating a hit-and-run. It took place on Saturday night, a week ago, in New York.”

  “How does that affect you?”

  “On that night, I had gone to New York to meet a guy who allegedly had information about Trey’s case, but the guy never showed for our meeting. I was in New York that night.”

  “Were you involved in his hit-and-run?”

  “Not really. He was trying to locate a William Ryan who was an apparent friend of the victim.”

  “Did you know his victim?”

  “No. I told the detective that I never met his victim, and that there must be hundreds of William Ryans in New York, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But then the detective told me that his victim was to meet his William Ryan in the club where I was to meet my appointment. His dead victim was my informant.”

  “Is that why you decided to leave JR’s funeral?”

  “Yes. We drove directly to New York then.”

  “What did you and Pete learn in New York?”

  “At first we did not learn very much, but then Pete uncovered an anomaly in the victim’s financial records.”

  “What was this anomaly?”

  “For months the hit-and-run victim had been renting a hotel suite every week. What was peculiar was that the hotel was only a few blocks from the victim’s residence in New York. When we went to the hotel, we eventually discovered that the hit-and-run victim was having a homosexual affair.”

  “What does that have to do with your case?”

  “He was having a homosexual affair with Trey Jamieson.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, he was. And that gives us the motive for Trey’s murder.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If Trey’s affair became public knowledge, it would sink Jamie’s campaign in the Bible Belt and in the Plains States. There is the motive.”

  “First of all, Billy, it is only a possible motive at this stage. And, secondly, are you accusing the Governor of murdering his own son?”

  “No. I am not accusing the Governor, but Pete and I were discussing this and we realized that there is someone in his campaign who is capable of doing this.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone who is unscrupulous. Someone who lost his medical license after a series of unconscionable acts.”

  “Black? You are accusing Doctor Lucien Black?”

  “Yes. Doctor Lucien Black is capable of murdering Trey Jamieson, and I have no doubt that he would do it to make Jamie President.”

  “But this is only conjecture, Billy. You have no evidence. You have no evidence that Trey’s affair was the reason for his murder. And you have no more than a gut feeling that Lucien Black is involved with the murder. You have no evidence, do you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, then you and Pete had better just sit on this information for now. Whether Doctor Black is involved in Trey’s murder or not, if he suspects that you are investigating him, you two will be out of the CSU and writing traffic tickets in an out-of-the-way corner of the state – if you are still on the force.”

  “Are you telling us to ignore this information?”

  “No. I am telling you to be discreet. I am telling you to be careful. Be very careful. Since you have to present whatever evidence you have to your unit commander and Frank Bu
rton will not be back to work until Tuesday, I advise you to find some hard evidence connected with your new lead before Tuesday. If you have no real evidence by Tuesday, put that line of investigation on the back burner and approach the case from a different angle. It would be dangerous for you to do otherwise. Do you agree with me?”

  “Yes. We agree,” they replied.

  “Okay. Now let me go. I have to check on Frank Burton today. Good luck, guys.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” they said.

  They got out of Mike’s car and watched him drive away.

  They started to get into their squad car when they turned toward the sound coming from the church. They first noticed the blur of her black and white habit. The nun was running toward them and frantically waving her arms. She was shouting their names. They could hear the desperation in her voice.

  Chapter 25

  When Sister Ben brought Ryan and Mueller into the sacristy, the floor was still littered with checks, cash, and coins. Ves was on his knees, refilling the canvas sacks with the money.

  Ryan saw the gun on the floor where it had fallen. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up and wrap the gun as evidence.

  “Pete,” Ryan said, “put your cuffs on him.”

  “Do you recognize him then?” the priest asked.

  “I do,” Mueller replied.

  The man was not fully conscious yet, but he started to groan as Mueller snapped the handcuffs on him.

  “I first met him in Iraq,” Mueller said. “This man is Roshan Roshni, also known as ’the Roach’ to his acquaintances. He is a suspect in the murder of Trey Jamieson. You folks did amazing work in apprehending him.”

  “It was all Sister Ben,” Ves said.

  Mueller turned toward the nun and said, “Thank you, Sister.”

  The nun nodded and blushed.

  Ryan walked over to Roshni, seized him by the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him into a sitting position. Roshni was still groggy but becoming aware of his surroundings.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Ryan said to Mueller.

  Ryan and Mueller grabbed Roshni by each arm and hauled him to his feet. They thanked the other three for their help again and walked Roshni out of the church.