by Susan Rohrer
Adele Stedler gazed at the historic cathedral. This was Saint So-and-So’s, at least according to Clay Hardisty. It was where Clay’s story began, well over two decades ago.
Hard to believe it, but all those years of paying her dues had come to a close. This wasn’t some puff piece she’d been tossed—this or the Fischer murder story. These were real, hard-hitting news pieces with larger-than-life characters in stranger-than-fiction situations. These were the kinds of stories that careers were built upon. Told well, they could catapult her from Kickerton Press to the Times.
Sure the church had declined her request for a meeting. But after that bombshell of an alert they’d just posted on their website, how could she let herself be so easily deterred? True journalists knew no such boundaries. And Adele Stedler was a true journalist. The sign on the grounds announced that the cathedral was open to the public. She certainly qualified as part of that great number.
Adele studied the lofty bell tower. Looking up from below, it was dizzying, really. What must it have been like, to suffer the abuse that Clay had there? She could hardly imagine it. And what seemed even more unthinkable was the parish’s most recent hire.
Tom Zoring.
Their own defrocked priest.
Clay’s abuser.
Zoring must have felt so high and mighty, so powerful, before his hypocrisy found him out years ago. Now, he was just a pathetic old man, huddled over a bucket and brush, scrubbing the courtyard steps. Part of his penance, no doubt.
As far as Adele was concerned, it was a debt the man could never repay. How could anyone begin to put a fair price on those lives he had damaged? Zoring would keep scrubbing from now to kingdom come if she ever had a say in the matter. Still, he would make a good subject for her story, if she could manage to get a statement. No time like the present to give that a go.
Zoring cowered as she neared him. Soapy water sloshed as he scrambled to gather up his cleaning supplies. He was like a scared animal—trembling at the sight of her—not even knowing who she was.
“Mr. Zoring,” she called. “Adele Stedler, Kickerton Press. May I have just a moment of your time?”
It was no use. Like the rodent that he was, Zoring scurried away. Ah, well. It had been worth a shot. Adele turned. She startled to find herself facing a man in a clerical collar. His hands were clasped at his waist. Maybe this wouldn’t be a dry run after all.
“Ms. Stedler, I’m Father Via,” the priest said. “As my staff informed you when you called here earlier, Mr. Zoring is not available for interviews. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Adele studied the priest. He appeared to be in his late forties. Quite a bit younger than Zoring, but surely this priest had heard all about the scandal years ago. What role had this man played in the decision to employ Zoring now that Oliverio’s had given him the boot? There must have been some heated discussion about that within these hallowed halls. Perhaps a statement from the good Father Via would be the next best thing.
She made sure he noticed when she started her recorder. “So, you’re really asking me to leave,” Adele echoed. “Tell me, Father Via. Has the church taken to turning people away these days?”
The priest bowed ever so slightly with a genteel air. “I’ll remind you that the last time you approached Mr. Zoring, he lost his job.”
Unintimidated, Adele stretched her hands out to her sides. “He’s a known predator. There are school-aged children on these premises.”
“I assure you, the situation is being monitored quite vigilantly. Mr. Zoring wears an electronic device round the clock. He can’t get anywhere near the children without triggering an alarm. In addition to the public alert on our website, the entire staff, as well as all the students’ guardians, have been fully informed and advised.”
All Adele could do was stare, agape. This was beyond preposterous.
Father Via unclasped his hands. “We may not see eye-to-eye on this, Ms. Stedler, but you may quote me. This cathedral remains a haven for the needy. And no matter how vile, if a sincerely penitent sinner can’t come to this place for help—well, that’s when these doors should be closed.”
Joe scanned the area as he walked with Laurel. There was no sign of a photographer, but after the picture in this morning’s paper, he couldn’t be completely sure. Was this how it felt to be on the other side of a story, like the kind Kickerton printed?
“So, what do you think you’re going to do about work now?” Laurel asked.
He mulled it over. “I don’t know. Not like the Times is beating down my door.”
“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Fairly foul job at Kickerton anyway.” Joe ducked under a low tree limb. “Maybe I’ll...who knows, just get in my car. See where it takes me.”
“I feel like that sometimes, too.” Laurel’s face brightened.
Joe cocked his head to the side. “I wouldn’t have thought that...with Grace and all.”
“Especially with Gracie,” she said. “Do you know how tempting it is to me to just grab her, just disappear? Totally wrong, but tempting.”
“I guess.” Joe nodded wryly. “Forget the job. Who needs money? Forget hassling with my boss, my brother and just...open road.”
Laurel took it in, a contemplative look on her face. “Joe...” She slowed to a stop. “Joe, I’m not trying to freak you or anything, but... I’m really getting concerned, about your brother, Clay.”
“So am I.” Joe sighed. When had he not been concerned about his brother, over the past twenty-some years? The problem was, as much as he thought about Clay, as many times as he’d tried to help him, Clay insisted upon living life his own way. There seemed no way to change a person who didn’t want to be changed.
Worry flashed in Laurel’s eyes. “It’s just that... I keep seeing him and... Joe, there’s blood on him.”
Inside, Joe staggered. “Clay, he... He got beaten up last night, pretty badly. But it’s okay...it’ll heal.”
Pain flitted across her face. “He just seems so knotted up...really confused and scared...he hides it, but that’s what I see.”
Joe took it in. It was all so unnerving. “You’re saying you got all this in a vision.”
She nodded. “It’s like a flash. Just a quick picture. But repeated.” She gazed at him, her eyes filled with compassion. “I’m afraid... You could lose him, Joe.”
Joe looked straight into Laurel’s eyes. “You’ve never seen Clay, never met him, read about him, heard anything from any natural sources?”
“No.” Laurel held his gaze. “Just what comes to me.” Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. “That, and the name Marilyn, for some reason.”
The bottom fell out of Joe’s logic.
“Does that make any sense to you, Joe?”
“Yeah, that...tracks.” He scratched his hairline. “Pardon me, but this whole gift of yours, it takes some getting used to.” His eyes fell on a child in the distance, over Laurel’s shoulder. It seemed so incongruous in this neighborhood, but a little girl in a crisp dress sat waiting on the steps leading to Laurel’s building. “Isn’t that...?”
Laurel’s gaze followed his. “Gracie!”
At the sound of her name, the little girl rose. She ran as fast as those Sunday shoes on her feet would carry her. “Mommy!” Grace threw herself into her mother’s waiting arms.
Laurel squeezed her daughter tight. “Sweetie, what are you doing here all by yourself?”
“I waited inside for a while, but I put the key back where you hide it.”
Laurel held Grace out at arm’s length. “That’s fine, but...the court says we have to set up these visits.”
Grace took her mother’s hand. “I heard you were calling and they wouldn’t let you come, so I came here instead. I rode the bus and everything. That nice man helped me.” Grace pointed across the street. “He said he’d stay till you got home.”
There, under a shady tree, was Lou, his trusty camera raised. Had to
be out there somewhere, Joe guessed. Joe didn’t know how Lou did it, but somehow, the guy managed to be everywhere. Lou continued to fire off shot after shot of the reunion.
“Oh, Gracie...” Laurel stooped down to Grace’s level. “Sweetheart, I’m so glad to see you. I wanted to see you so much, but we can’t...” Laurel ran a hand over Grace’s curls. “Honey, we’ve got to go in and call right now. They must be worried sick. We need to tell them you’re safe.”
Grace clung to Laurel, desperation filling her young eyes. “Not yet, Mommy. Please just wait.”
Laurel turned to Joe. “I’m sorry. Looks like I need to say goodbye for now.”
Joe backed away. “It’s okay. I get it. Of course.”
Tires squealed as a squad car swerved into view. It skidded to a stop at the curb beside Laurel.
Joe blanched. This was going to look bad. Really bad.
Detective McTier popped out of the squad car. He strode over toward Laurel. “This works out well. I was itching to call you anyway. Although I think I’d rather sit down with you back at the station house.”
An officer guided Grace toward the squad car. She looked back at Laurel with alarm. “Mommy, no.”
Laurel’s voice was so steady. “We need to go with them, Gracie. Go ahead and get into the car. I’ll be right there.”
There was nothing Joe could do, except to watch as, obediently, Grace got into the car.
Laurel turned to the detective. “I’m going to want my lawyer present.”
McTier tapped on his chin. “Would that be about the homicide or the abduction? I’ve lost track.”
Fire kindled in Joe’s chest. “She had nothing whatsoever to do with Frank’s death. And there was no abduction. We just found the girl here. Ask my photographer.” Joe glanced back across the street.
Lou was nowhere to be seen.
McTier smirked. “Yeah, right.”
Squarely, Laurel regarded McTier. “Detective, I’ll go with you to accompany my daughter. I’ll answer your questions about how we found her. But when it comes to your speculations about my involvement in either this or Frank’s death—I’m telling you—there’s nothing to it. You haven’t arrested me because you have no evidence against me, and you won’t find any because there isn’t any.”
McTier scratched at his ear. “Oh, I don’t know. I read all about how you dreamed Frank had another woman. I think that woman was you.”
The smell of the police precinct always took some getting used to for Joe. The dank mix of coffee dregs and stale perspiration did nothing for the place. The sooner he could get Laurel out of that pit, the better.
Joe rose as Detective McTier emerged.
“So, Mr. Hardisty...” He set an elbow on the desk sergeant’s counter. “Know anything about Ms. Fischer being diabetic?”
Joe nodded. “Yes. She told me she was.”
McTier’s expression soured. “She says God talks at her, too. You believe that?” He turned to the desk sergeant. “I need Laurel Fischer’s bag. She claims it has her medication.”
“I’m telling you,” Joe said, “she knew nothing about Grace being there.”
McTier pivoted back around. “You know, Hardisty, you’d be a lot more credible if you weren’t doing her.”
Joe’s temperature skyrocketed. “What, are you on crack? Where do you get this?” He followed McTier’s gaze to the entrance.
Shana Fischer stepped into the precinct. Her attorney, Howard Berg, held the door.
“Jail, Jail. The gang’s all here.” McTier guffawed.
Shana approached the P.A.A.’s desk. “I’m Shana Fischer. You have my daughter, Grace.”
Something about that woman on grated Joe. For starters, Grace wasn’t her daughter. Not yet.
The P.A.A. rose. “Yes, right this way.”
Shana fired a steely glance at Joe as she and Berg were escorted past. No doubt, they’d seen his picture in the morning’s edition of Kickerton Press. Suddenly, Joe was infamous. Thanks to Debra.
Lou hustled in, his camera bag in tow. Joe rubbed his face in his hands. It was a regular Grand Central, this place.
The desk sergeant handed Laurel’s purse to McTier. Joe watched as the detective zipped it open and started to root through it.
“You got a warrant for that search?” Joe asked.
McTier thrust the bag in Joe’s direction. “Fine. You pull it. All I can say is it better really be insulin.”
Joe took the bag to a row of wooden chairs. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s planning to get loaded here in the station house.”
Joe shot a glance at Lou as he looked through Laurel’s bag. “Still tailing me?”
There was a penitent slump to Lou’s shoulders. “You know I got a family to feed, Joe. Two kids in college.”
“So, you sold me out.” Joe pulled the insulin pouch out. “Fact that I got you hired in the first place doesn’t mean squat. I get that.”
Lou opened the back of his camera. He took out the memory card and waved it in front of McTier. “She didn’t snatch the girl. I shot the whole thing.”
“Just a sec.” Joe raised his hand between the memory card and McTier. “She gets this first.” He handed over the insulin pouch.
Visibly annoyed, McTier snatched the pouch. “You stay put, now. I’ll be right back.”
Joe shook his head as McTier harrumphed himself away. It was so odd. What ever happened to the presumption of innocence? If there were any benefit of the doubt being given in this case, Laurel sure wasn’t getting it.
thirteen
Night had long fallen. Laurel brushed a hand through her hair as Joe turned his SUV onto her street. What an eventful Sunday it had been. Joe glided to a stop right outside her building. She couldn’t help but marvel. “Wow. A parking place, right in front, no less.”
Joe cast a wary eye at her. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who prays for these things.”
Laurel stifled her amusement. “Sometimes, I guess. Not tonight.” She retrieved her handbag off the floorboard. “Thanks so much, Joe. I really appreciate everything you did.”
Joe shrugged a shoulder. “Glad to help.”
“You’re a good person, Joe. You’re always there for your brother. And you were there for me this afternoon.”
“Never underestimate the power of guilt.”
Laurel lingered in her seat. There was so much that she had held in confidence, those whispers that had come to her in the night, as she’d interceded for Joe. He wouldn’t broach this conversation on his own. She would have to raise the subject. And now, it was time. She knew it in the depths of her spirit. “Your brother, Clay. He was abused, wasn’t he?”
Joe blew out a breath. “You know, it still kind of wigs me when you do that.”
“Sorry.”
“But, yeah.” Joe picked at the leather on the steering wheel. “Yeah, he was. Ugly stuff.”
Laurel looked out into the night. “And you blame God for what a man did.”
He released his hold on the wheel. “I don’t know about blame. Blame demands an object and...” The look in Joe’s eyes drifted so far away. “It’s not that I never wanted something, someone to be there.” A bemused smile flickered across his face. “I mean, where are the lightning bolts when you need them?”
Joe’s eyes dropped. Something like grief rolled over him. “And you’d think...if there were a God and some little kid’s getting raped in His house, well... That’d be the time to show up.”
Laurel searched her soul. He was already in such a sensitive place about this whole thing. Could he bear to hear more? It was almost as hard to know what she knew as it was to tell him. But it was something that had to come out. Once and for all. “Clay, he... He wasn’t the only one, was he?”
Joe propped his elbow in the window frame. “There were a couple of other boys that spoke up after Clay, enough to put the guy away on three counts.”
She regarded him gently. “Actually, I was talking about you.”
Tenderly, she took his free hand. “Joe, I know. I know, and it’s okay.”
“No, really,” he said. “I’m fine.” With that, he got out of the car. When she stayed put, he leaned down through the open door, a teasing grin on his face. “You’re not always right, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Kind of takes the pressure off.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been wrong about what she’d thought she’d heard. Maybe it had just been the voice of her own worry for him, searching for the secret of his brokenness. Maybe it was just as he’d said it was. He’d lost his parents at such a young age. In many ways he’d lost his brother, too. He had a heart that didn’t know how to rest, an echoing cavern inside him, waiting to be filled.
Wordlessly, he led her up the walk to her building. When they reached her stoop, Joe gazed at her long and hard. Yearning hung in his eyes.
A shimmer raced through her as he drew her close. He leaned down to kiss her, but she couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not with things the way they were. Somewhere, she found the strength to pull away.
Disappointment flickered across his face.
She took his hand in hers. “Maybe we’ve given your paper enough photo ops for the day.”
Joe returned a wry grin. “I’m pretty sure Lou knocked off for the night already.”
“Still...” She listed to one side.
Joe looked up to her window. “No chance I can come in?”
The idea was so tempting. She rolled it over in her head. “I’m not sure I’d trust myself.”
“Hey,” he said. “Everybody already assumes what they assume. Might as well make it true.”
She took a deep breath. It had been so long since she’d been held in that way. So long since she’d known that kind of passion. There was that old impulse, begging her to indulge its allures. But, just as quickly, there was that gentle nudge she’d grown to depend upon, encouraging her to wait. This, too, was a subject she couldn’t avoid any longer. Oh, for the right words.