Cardinal Ryan spoke of the integrity of the Church at a time when there had been much scrutiny and scandal. “I alone shall bear this cross.”
Pallone found the cardinal’s words poetic and ironic.
Having said his peace, the cardinal moved the conversation on to more mundane Church matters, and Pallone welcomed the change. As Cardinal Ryan poured the last of the tea into his cup, he attempted to stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry. It seems that our meeting has been a bit taxing.” The cardinal smiled as he spoke.
Pallone offered a smile in return and set his cup on the table. “Well, I should let you get to your other matters. I enjoyed our visit. Thank you.”
Cardinal Ryan did not protest at Pallone’s departure.
*
Elizabeth lifted the metal tags dangling from a silver chain from the jar of cleaning solution and wiped. Layers of dirt and rust had enveloped the necklace from years of exposure to the elements, and she scraped at the lingering crust with her nail, removing the last of the crud. The front side of both tags bore a picture of a red cross. The backside of the first tag listed a name, David Collins, with an address and phone number, and the second tag advised that David was allergic to bee stings.
She turned the necklace over in her hands. Who are you, David Collins? It would have to wait because she was running late. She tucked the piece of jewelry into her bag and headed down the stairs. She heard the sounds of a television and found Raymond sitting on the couch watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal in his lap. She shook her head. She would have never gotten away with eating anywhere but at the table. She waved good-bye to Raymond, who nearly spilled his milk as he eagerly waved back. She walked to the place where her car should have been parked, but then she remembered the prior evening’s events. She blew out a breath and jogged back to the house for the keys to her parents’ “spare” car.
She spent a tedious morning drafting motions on Dan’s orders that were not due for several weeks, assuming this was her penance for disobeying him. Fortunately for her, she had templates that sped up the process, leaving her time to research the origins of the mysterious tags from the tree. Several hits came up on the computer for the name, none of which appeared relevant, at least she didn’t think so, unless the David Collins she was looking for was a Facebook devotee or an aspiring bodybuilder, both of whom were born after the school closed. She Googled the address on the tag to gauge its location, figuring another road trip was in order. She escaped the clinic after lunch to file one of her motions, and with the task complete, punched the address into her GPS. She was led to a quiet middle-class suburban area a few towns away and parked in front of a single-story stucco home. As she walked to the porch, she could hear barking from inside the house and decided there was no going back. She knocked on the door, and a small girl answered.
“Hi, is your mom home?”
The girl stood staring up at her and nodded, her pigtails bouncing in rhythm with her head.
“May I speak with her?”
The girl turned her head and yelled, “Mom! Someone’s at the door!”
Elizabeth flinched at the girl’s volume.
A woman she guessed to be only a few years younger than her came to the door. “Can I help you?”
Elizabeth lied and stated that she was preparing a genealogy report and was looking for the Collins family, who she believed might have lived in the home. The woman was interested, but was unable to help. As she turned to leave, the woman stopped her. “Wait. Mrs. Becker might be able to help you.” The woman pointed to the house next door. “She’s lived here forever.”
Elizabeth thanked her and trekked next door. An elderly woman she calculated to be in her seventies pulled open the door. She quickly explained her mission regarding the genealogy report and the missing information of the Collins family. She was surprised at how easily it had become for her to fabricate stories, whether it was outright lies or lies of omission.
The woman seemed grateful for the company and invited Elizabeth inside. She sat at a white laminate table with gray specks throughout, with matching faux white leather chairs completing the set. The woman offered coffee and started pouring her a cup before she could answer.
Elizabeth spent the better part of an hour with Mrs. Becker, who talked about her deceased husband, her children who visited infrequently, and the old neighborhood. She learned that the Collins family purchased the home in the early seventies. Mrs. Becker characterized them as a lovely family with one child, a son named David.
Elizabeth perked up at the name. “Where is David now?”
The woman shook her head, and a grim expression overtook her. Mrs. Becker explained that the parents were killed in a car accident in 1981, and with no other family, David ended up in foster care.
“I never knew what became of that boy. I prayed for him. I wanted to take him in, but we had three children of our own,” she said.
Elizabeth expressed her understanding, and with a bit of effort, finally made her exit with a promise that she would come back and visit. It was a pledge she fully intended to keep.
Elizabeth reasoned that David would have been placed into foster care by the local children’s social services office, so she looked up the information on her phone and weighed her options, go there now and try it alone or wait until tomorrow and go with a particular priest. She figured she would have better luck getting information with Father Parker accompanying her. She might find someone willing to talk to the man of the cloth.
*
Patrick Sullivan stumbled out of the pub, and good-natured shouts from his fellow drinkers could be heard through the doors. A green neon light depicting a four-leaf clover illuminated the sidewalk that seemed to sway slightly as Sullivan studied it. He moved his feet forward, trying to negotiate the course to his car. He reached his silver compact across the parking lot and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He attempted to fit the key into the lock but lacked the dexterity for this maneuver, and the keys clanked to the ground.
“Goddamn it,” Sullivan slurred out. He bent to retrieve the keys and banged his head into the car door as the ground began to sway again.
“Here, let me help you,” a man said, standing over him.
Sullivan stood erect and rocked on his feet as he let the stranger pick up his keys.
“I’m not so sure you’re up to this,” the stranger said. “How about a lift?”
Sullivan rebuffed the offer. “Give me the damn keys.” He attempted to snatch the keys from his hand but missed and fell against the car. The stranger grabbed at him before he fell and propped him up.
“You’re coming with me.” The stranger wrapped his arms around Sullivan’s waist and half dragged him to his car.
Chapter Twenty-two
Elizabeth entered her office earlier than usual to make up for her early departure the day before, and only one of the clerks had beat her in. With David Collins on her mind, she picked up her phone. “Morning, Mary, this is Elizabeth Campbell. Is Father Parker available?”
“Hi, Elizabeth, I’ll go check. He was in the rectory last I knew.”
She looked over her schedule as she waited and reviewed her possibilities of schedule changes should the father agree to go with her.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. What can I do for you this fine morning? Perhaps we can plan a bank heist or maybe smuggle some aliens across the border?” The father greeted her in an upbeat tone.
Elizabeth laughed. “Now that was actually funny. I was planning on something more subdued.”
“Such as?” he responded suspiciously.
She updated Father Parker on what she had learned about David Collins the previous day.
“How may I help you with social services?”
“Well,” she drew out, “I think that if a Catholic priest is with me, someone might be more apt to give me some information.”
When Father Parker didn’t respond, she asked, “Father, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m just shaking m
y head, which I seem to be doing a lot lately.”
“So are you in?”
“In?”
“Yeah, come on, take a ride with me. No tunnels, I promise.”
He blew out a breath. “Why do I feel like you’re using me for my collar?”
“Because I am. It looks better on you than me.”
“Fine,” he said. “But I have a matter to take care of this morning. How about after lunch?”
“I’ll see you then.” She disconnected and started clicking on her calendar, freeing up her afternoon. Moving an interview with a homebound client up to the late morning gave her an alibi with Dan when she left.
She closed out her calendar and opened her browser and stiffened when she read the news headline, Cardinal Ryan in Critical Condition. She clicked on the story and learned that the cardinal had suffered ricin poisoning, along with Bishop Pallone, the day before. An elderly staff member who had worked with the cardinal for many years was suspected of lacing the cardinal’s tea. A picture of a white-haired, innocuous-looking man was prominently posted next to a photo of the cardinal.
A chill ran down Elizabeth’s spine as she remembered the congenial man. She couldn’t help but wonder if his poisoning wasn’t a coincidence to her earlier visit, but shook it off. “Now I’m paranoid,” she scolded herself, but it didn’t give her relief from the pit that formed in her stomach.
*
Sullivan awoke with an intense throbbing in his skull. “Cheap beer,” he muttered without opening his eyes, fearing what the light would do to the pain. He attempted to lift his head, but the pain only increased with the movement. His stomached grumbled in protest, and sour acid pushed up his esophagus. He moved his hand to cover his mouth but found it held tight out to his side. He yanked on his other arm and found it the same. A panic rose in him that trumped the pain, and he lifted his head to look at his arms. He was secured at his wrists and ankles, with his arms and legs spread apart.
“Holy shit! What the fuck is this?” He surveyed the rest of his body and found himself naked with dried vomit on his chest and stomach. The rank of the puke hit his nostrils, causing his stomach to roll and lurch, and the acid that had been contained in his throat erupted and flew out of his mouth.
“I should make you clean this up,” said a man dressed in a dark cloak, who calmly sat in a chair a safe distance in front of him.
After regaining his voice, Sullivan scratched out, “Who the fuck are you? Release me, you asshole.”
“What language from a good Catholic boy. I’ll tell you how this works.” The cloaked man crossed to a hook hanging on the wall and pulled down a coiled rawhide whip.
Sullivan urinated on himself as he watched the man thoughtfully unfurl the leather and run his hand along the length of it.
“No, no, please,” Sullivan begged. Without knowing a name, he understood who the man was and what he was capable of doing. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me,” he sobbed.
“You can never give me back what you took. You laughed at the suffering. You are the monster.” Without warning, the cloaked man violently jerked and turned to the corner, which caused Sullivan to whimper. “I wish you would stop sneaking up on me,” he said to the empty corner with a tremor in his voice.
Sullivan stared at the man with the whip, confused, searching for an answer to give him. The cloaked man nodded vigorously before he turned back around and lifted the whip over his head. He brought it down, and Sullivan screamed out before it touched his skin.
*
Elizabeth greeted Father Parker with a wave as she drove up. The father settled himself in the car and fastened his seat belt as she watched him.
“What, you’re not going to cross yourself or say a prayer?”
He chuckled. “No, considering the other adventures we’ve had recently, driving with you pales in comparison. I’ll save my prayers for the big stuff, like a cave-in or getting arrested.”
She pulled out of the parking lot and momentarily debated whether to mention the story she read about the cardinal. “Father Parker, did you hear about Cardinal Ryan?”
“Yes, it’s rather shocking.”
“I met him and the bishop.” She explained her trip to the cathedral and chance meeting with the cardinal. “He was very nice. The bishop, I’m not so sure about.”
The father offered a small smile but didn’t reply. She assumed he needed space in his own head to process the tragic event, and they fell into a comfortable silence as Elizabeth let the GPS guide her to the social services office.
After pulling into a concrete parking structure across from the building, she turned to him, “Okay, let me lead in there.”
“No problem there.”
Father Parker pulled open the glass door for Elizabeth and then followed behind her. A gray counter ran the length of the room with several people at computer terminals behind it. A line neatly curved through metal chains connected to posts that marked the path. They took their place at the end, and Elizabeth reminisced about her visit to the police station where she first met Grace. That felt like a lifetime ago, before she became so entangled in the Raymond Miller case.
Elizabeth and Father Parker made their way to the top of the line, but she held the father’s arm when they were summoned to the counter by a woman with an extreme fondness for eye makeup. Elizabeth turned to the man behind her. “You go ahead. I’m not quite ready. I have to find something.”
The man didn’t need to be told twice as he moved past her to the counter.
“Why did you do that?” asked the father.
“Because we want him.” She subtly pointed to a Hispanic man behind the counter at the end.
“Why?”
“See the cross he’s wearing?”
“You’re exploiting his religious beliefs?”
“You say exploiting, I say being observant.”
The clerk that Elizabeth was waiting for became free and beckoned them. The clerk straightened at the sight of Father Parker, who stayed silent as Elizabeth spoke. She explained the information she needed, but the clerk shook his head.
“I can’t give out that kind of information,” he said apologetically, looking at the father.
“But David Collins isn’t a minor anymore,” she said. “We need to know what happened to him. It seems he disappeared after he was placed by your agency. We only need to know where he was placed.”
The clerk sat quietly and absently played with the cross around his neck.
She watched the clerk debate with himself. “We’re investigating a murder where an innocent man is being accused. We believe that whatever happened to David Collins is a key. We need to know where he was placed after his parents died.”
The clerk started typing. “When did you say he was placed?”
“In nineteen eighty-one.”
“I’m not sure I’ll have those records on the computer. The county didn’t go fully digital until two thousand and five.” The clerk typed furiously, and Elizabeth held her breath during the silent waiting.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing here. My system just doesn’t go back that far.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Well, thank you for looking.”
The clerk looked at Father Parker, who gave him a grateful nod, and began once again playing with his cross. “I’ll tell you what, my boss can access that information. He’s linked to the archives. I can ask him for you. Do you want to hold on?”
Elizabeth grasped the man’s hand with both of hers. “Yes, thank you.” She released her hold, and the clerk gave an awkward smile and stumbled as he walked away.
Father Parker finally spoke. “I think that young man was smitten.”
“By whom, you or me?” she answered back with a little smile.
Father Parker’s sole response was the usual shake of his head.
Elizabeth began idly spinning a pen that rested on the counter until it pointed toward the father. “Truth or dare?”
“I live my life by truth and have had as much dare as I care to since I met you, so I’m good, thanks.”
For once, Father Parker stumped her, and she stared at him with no comeback.
“My boss will see you. I explained how important this is,” the clerk proudly announced as he returned.
“Thank you so much.” Elizabeth again grabbed his hand and shook it, causing a prominent blush to form on the clerk’s face.
After being buzzed through a nondescript beige door, Elizabeth and Father Parker were escorted past several rows of cubicles, until they stopped in front of a small office. A man with a crooked toupee sat behind the desk with a telephone to his ear. With some time to contemplate the hairpiece, Elizabeth decided it looked more like a dead animal sprawled across his head, and it deserved a name. Mr. Sparkles. Named in honor of the hamster that she had in third grade. While they continued to stand in the doorway, she observed the utilitarian office, which contained a gray metal government-issue desk with a matching gray metal bookshelf off to the side. Several bound manuals were neatly aligned on the shelves. Behind the desk stood a bank of windows that looked out to the neighboring building. Elizabeth acknowledged that, despite the bleakness of the office, it was a step up from her own.
The man finally disconnected his call and gestured for them to enter. “Have a seat. I’m Frank Barns. What can I do for you?”
She reiterated her story as Frank sat listening, bobbing his head from time to time, and Mr. Sparkles held on for dear life.
“Well, I’m not sure I can help you. Let me see.” He began pecking at his computer with two fingers in a slow rhythm, inputting the limited information that Elizabeth gave him.
She stared intently at Frank’s fingers as he typed, wondering how he could be in the computer age and type like that. After a very long silence, he completed his pecking and sat back to await the results, before finally making a sound. “Hmm.”
She sat up in her chair. “Did you find something?”
Sins of Our Fathers Page 16