by Arno Joubert
“That is good to know, Chancellor,” Alexa said hesitantly.
The man nodded and wiggled his eyebrows, grunted and gave them each a firm handshake before promptly leaving. “Let me know if you need anything else, I’ll be happy to oblige,” he said before disappearing around a pillar.
CHAPTER TEN
“How old are you, Jeremy?” McGill asked, crunching into a slice of pizza.
“Fourteen,” the boy said slurping noisily on his cola.
McGill whistled softly. “Almost a man. What do you want to do with your life?”
The boy glanced up. “Haven’t really thought about it.”
“Is your mom an addict, Jeremy?”
The boy kept silent, his eyes on the pizza, chewing.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
Jeremy looked up, biting his lower lip. “How do you know?”
“Because we all have a free will to make our own choices. Your mom made the wrong choices in life, that’s all.”
Jeremy ground his jaw. “So why should it screw up my life?” he asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
McGill sighed and leaned back in the cubicle, staring out of the window.
The kid studied him for a moment, chewing. “You believe in God?”
McGill’s eyes locked onto the boy’s. “Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
“Of course I do.”
Jeremy’s face contorted into a pained grimace. “Then why is he so mean?” he sobbed.
McGill allowed the boy to cry. After a minute Jeremy wiped his eyes and looked up. “So?” he asked, sniffling.
“Sometimes God uses life to polish his most precious gems to a shiny sheen, Jeremy.” He grabbed the kid by the back of his head and pulled him forward. “Like a river creates those shiny, round stones. We have to endure some hardship to come out better in the end.” He ruffled the kid’s hair. “It’s God’s way of saying that he has something important for you to do.”
The kid blinked. “You think?”
Daniel McGill nodded firmly. The first bridge had been crossed. Now he had to figure out how he was going to deal with the mom. “I know so, Jeremy.” He motioned to the waitress and indicated that he wanted the bill. “Trust me, I know.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Get out of my house, now!” Eden Calloway screamed, tucking a strand of tasseled hair behind her ear. She turned to Jeremy, pointed a wavering finger. “Go to your room, now!” she ordered with a trembling voice.
McGill looked around warily. Neighbors and passersby on the street stopped to stare, murmuring amongst themselves.
She poked a finger into Daniel McGill’s face. “Look, mister. I don’t know who in God’s name gave you the right to come here and accuse me of abusing my boy.“
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Miss Calloway. I’m here to help—“
“We don’t need your help,” she screamed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Get out before I call the cops,” she shrieked.
McGill held the palms of his hands in front of his chest defensively. “Okay, I’m going.” He glanced over Eden’s shoulder. “We’ll talk soon, Jeremy. Okay?”
The boy nodded, chewing a lip.
“Get out, you sick pervert,” Eden shouted and slammed the door in McGill’s face.
Shit. He slapped a fist into his hand and turned around despondently. He honestly didn’t want to approach the authorities, a boy needed his mom. He needed to weigh his options. He fumbled in his pocket as his phone rang, pulled it out and checked the number. He didn’t recognize it. “Hello?”
“Bishop McGill?”
“Yes, who’s speaking?”
“My name is Captain Alexa Guerra from Interpol.”
“Yes, what is this about?”
“We believe you knew a girl called Mika Wattana.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Knew? What do you mean? Of course I know her.”
The Captain hesitated. “Look, Bishop, we need to talk.”
“What’s happened to her?” he exclaimed, louder than he meant to.
The Captain sighed. “She was murdered.”
He shivered as the icy chill gripped his backbone. “No, that can’t be.”
“I’m sorry Bishop.”
Bishop Daniel McGill lifted his eyes to the heaven as he dropped his hands to his sides. “Couldn’t you have graced me for a while longer?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daniel McGill tore open two packs of sugar and dumped it in his coffee. His hand trembled as he stirred the coffee and placed the spoon on a napkin. He glanced up at Alexa with red-rimmed eyelids. “How did she die?”
Alexa stirred her coffee, clinked the spoon on the rim, hesitated. “The autopsy found traces of rohypnol in her system.”
“She was raped?”
Alexa shook her head. Small mercies. She placed the spoon in a saucer. “No, she was suffocated.” She didn’t mention the fact that her body had been cut open and all of her organs removed.
The Bishop frowned. “Why?”
Neil shifted in his seat. “We were hoping that you could cast some light on the subject. How did you meet Mika?”
The older man pursed his lips, glanced up at Neil with a pained look, then sighed, shaking his head disbelievingly. After a while he said, “She was a volunteer at our church. Soup kitchen, cleaning, you know, that kind of stuff.”
Alexa placed her hand on his. “Mrs. Massey at Steinhardt said that she found a destitute boy who needed counseling.”
The older man nodded, sniffed. “Yes, I saw him today. Mika met him at one of the soup kitchens. He was arrested a couple of days ago for attempting to steal a car. He gave the cops Mika’s number, and Steinhardt in turn phoned me.”
“How old is he?” Alexa asked.
“Fourteen.”
“And the mom?”
McGill gingerly placed his elbows on the table and massaged his forehead. “I saw her today. She’s an addict, she doesn’t want me to see the boy, says I’m some kind of pervert for wanting to help.” He looked up. “She has some serious issues, and I don’t know if I should get social services involved.” He closed his eyes again, shaking his head. “The kid needs help. Both of them do.”
“Mind if I talk to her?” Alexa asked.
The man looked up, shoulders slumped. “Go ahead. Maybe she’ll open up towards a woman.”
“What’s her name?”
“Eden Calloway.”
“Do you have an address?”
McGill recited it from memory.
Alexa removed a card from her handbag and handed it to McGill as she slid out of the booth. “If you can think of anything that could help us solve the murder, please let me know.”
The man nodded, then bowed his head, his chin on folded hands, his lips moving as if he was talking to someone that they couldn’t see.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alexa rapped on Eden Calloway’s door, surveyed the area. Her house was a neat simplex with a small, well-tended garden and whitewashed walls. The other houses were similar, drab affairs.
The door opened an inch and Alexa flashed her badge at the woman behind the door. The door chain rattled and the door opened, revealing a young woman in her late twenties. She had lifeless brown hair which stood out to all sides, like she had just waken up. Her face was pretty, oval, with dimples in her cheeks and a pointy chin.
“How can I help you?” she asked, strain lining her features.
“Eden Calloway?”
She nodded.
“Is Jeremy home?”
Her eyes widened, a panicked look on her face. “Why?”
“He recently attempted to steal a car, right?” Neil asked.
She swallowed, then nodded again.
“I guess that’s reason enough, then,” Neil said impatiently.
Alexa turned to Neil and glared before turning back to face Eden. “Jeremy knew a girl who was recently murdered. We were hoping th
at he could give us some information, anything that could lead to solving the crime.”
“You think my boy was involved…“
Alexa touched her arm. “Not at all, Mrs. Calloway. We simply need to ask him some questions about the girl.”
She looked at them suspiciously for a couple of seconds, then stood back. “Well, okay, then. But I wanna sit in.”
Alexa nodded and smiled. “Sure. Thanks.”
They entered the house, Eden Calloway closing the door behind them. “Welcome to paradise.”
The place smelled of cigarette smoke and old french fries. A rickety sofa stood in the living area to the left, covered by a quilted blanket, the foam rubber sticking out from the armrests. A serving counter led to a small kitchen beyond. To the right was a cramped dining area filled with a round plastic table and a couple of stools.
“Jeremy, come here please, there are some people that want to talk to you,” Eden Calloway called down a dimly lit passageway.
A door opened and a young kid sauntered toward them. He ogled Alexa and Neil shyly. “Yes?”
Alexa leaned down, her hands on her knees. “Mind if we ask you a couple of questions, Jeremy?”
He glanced at his mom who nodded.
“Sure, I guess.”
Eden led them to the living room and waved them to the sofa. She pulled out a stool for Jeremy, but stood in the hall, leaning against the wall, arms and legs crossed.
“You knew a girl called Mika?” Alexa asked tentatively.
Jeremy nodded. “She served me at the soup kitchen up at Trinity.”
Eden stepped forward. “Soup kitchen? Why the hell did you go to the soup kitchen? There’s more than enough food here—”
“No, there’s not mom,” the boy said, fidgeting with the seam of his pants.
The woman pursed her lips, clutching the sleeve of her threadbare jersey, but she said nothing.
“Did you go there often?” Alexa asked.
“Almost every day.”
“And you saw Mika every day?”
He looked up at Alexa, chewed his lip. “Only on Mondays, that’s when she didn’t have any classes at Steinhardt.”
“You a member of the church?” Neil asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “Neither was she. Sure, they wanted us to attend the sermons, but they didn’t force us to.”
Alexa nodded, crouched next to the boy. “She referred you to a counselor.”
Eden Calloway threw her hands in the air. “A counselor? Why do you need a damn—“
“Mrs. Calloway, please,” Neil bellowed.
Eden Calloway closed her eyes and gripped the sleeves of her jersey in her hands. She folded her arms and nodded curtly.
Alexa turned to face Jeremy.
He looked up, a feint smile on the corners of his mouth. “Bishop McGill, he’s real cool.” He turned to his mom. “He killed someone,” he said excitedly.
His mom gaped. “What? You were talking to a murderer?”
Alexa interjected. “Why did you call her when the cops arrested you?”
“My mom didn’t answer…“
“I’m not allowed to answer calls when I’m working,” Eden said, looking at the floor.
“Even from your own kids?” Neil asked, casting her an accusing glare.
Eden Calloway’s eyes narrowed as she stuck out her finger. “Look, Mister. You don’t know anything about my life, so don’t start judging me.”
Neil’s eyes bore into her, but he said nothing.
“All the kids phone Mika when they’re in trouble,” Jeremy said. “Not just me.”
“Like who?” Alexa asked.
“I dunno, why don’t you ask Mika yourself?”
Neil and Alexa glanced at each other. “She died a couple of days ago, Jeremy.”
He looked up, then pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “I guess God came to fetch her then.” He smiled at Alexa. “Bishop McGill says God comes to fetch all his crown jewels sooner or later.”
Alexa cupped his chin, then stood up. “Thank you, Jeremy, you’ve been very helpful.”
Neil ruffled the boy’s hair on their way out, nodded at Eden Calloway. He stopped on the porch and turned around, pushing open the door that Eden was about to shut. “Look, Mrs. Calloway, I’m sorry for sounding judgmental in there.”
She narrowed her eyes and glared.
“If you need anything at all, money, food—“
“Screw you!” she sneered and slammed the door in Neil’s face.
Alexa watches as Neil sighed, resting his palms against the door. “Shit.”
Alexa took his hand, dragged him away. “C’mon baby, let’s go solve this case.”
He reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away, and she glanced over her shoulder as they left. In the window, a curtain parted an inch, but Alexa couldn’t see who was inside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ted Olson watched from his Chevy Impala as the two agents exited Eden’s home and greeted the boy and his addict mom. He punched a number on his cellphone, waited six rings before it was answered. “Boss, I think we have a problem.”
“I pay you to solve problems, Ted, not to tell me about them.”
“They’re cops, Boss. What do you want me to do?” He focused on the brawny guy and cute woman as they climbed into their car and accelerated past him.
“The longer they keep sniffing around up there, the more dangerous it’s going to get for both you and me. Deal with them.” The phone clicked and he heard an engaged tone.
Ted Olson cursed as he opened the door and slipped out of the car. He sauntered to Eden’s home. The door opened before he had had a chance to knock.
“They got nothing, Ted, believe me,” Eden Calloway said, her arms folded and her hand clutching her neck. Her face and neck were flushed.
“You better be right, Eden. Mr. Di Mardi won’t take too kindly on any traitors in our midst, you know?” He glanced over her shoulder. “This place is a pig sty. Don’t you respect other people’s property?”
She looked back, abruptly turned around and started picking up papers and clothes. “I’m sorry, Ted. I’ll clean it up.”
He nodded, poked a finger in her face. “You better get that damned kid of yours under control, or we’ll do it for you.”
She nodded. “I will, Ted. I’m sorry…“
He turned around and left without waiting for an answer. He punched a number into his phone. “Yeah, I have two targets, cops.”
“No problem,” the voice said. “Exterminate them or teach them a lesson?”
“Nah, kill them. They’ve got nothing on us.” He disconnected the call and swung into his car seat. Like the Boss had said, he was here to take care of problems.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Unit for Paranormal Investigations and Authentication
Vatican City, Rome
Father Timothy Casanellas stood up purposefully from behind his desk and strode around it, holding out his hand to Father Ed Watson. “Thank you so much for coming all this way to see me, Father.” He gave the older man an encouraging smile. “I will see what we can do about your, er, little problem.”
Father Watson looked perplexed. “It is a bit awkward, I must admit. Would you be performing the exorcism?”
Father Casanellas clapped his hands together and smiled, a vehement shake of the head. “Oh, no, no, no!” He chuckled, waving a hand at the man. “No, we have specialists for that.” He clasped his hands together, leaned toward Father Watson and whispered, “I’d probably piss in my pants.”
The man smiled uncertainly. “I know what you mean.”
He guided the man out of his office and greeted him with a “Good bye, Father, I will keep you updated.”
He closed the door and walked to the basin, unbuttoned his sleeves, and rolled them up. He proceeded to scrub his hands and arms for the next five minutes, glancing up in the mirror and muttering to himself. “Demons, eh? Oh sure, there are the odd case
s of possession or stigmata that couldn’t be explained away by scientific studies or logic, but ninety-nine point nine-five percent of the time there is a logical explanation for what is going on, my dear Father Watson.”
He rinsed his hands and shook the water from them, pulled a clean towel from a rack beneath the basin. He checked the mirror again while drying his hands, mopping his brow and neck. “No, Father Watson, I believe there is something much more sinister going on. Young boys with bruises on their torsos and legs, my ass.” He crumpled the towel up in a ball and tossed it into a basket beside the basin.
“Besides, you have a track record, don’t you?” he muttered, settling at his desk. He typed a search query into his PC, hit the enter key and scanned the results. As head of the Unit for Paranormal Investigations and Authentication, the team tasked with investigating phenomena that couldn’t be explained scientifically and which were somehow related to the Roman Catholic Church, he had unlimited access to all the church records. “Aha,” he mumbled and opened the case file. His hunch was right, as it so often was.
Twelve years ago, Father Ed Watson had been convicted of sexual abuse. The kid was six. The Church removed Watson from his parish and had brought him to Rome, placing him under house arrest with the other pedophiles. The Church liked to call it Pedagogical Rehabilitation, a bit of an insider joke. He smirked. It had been one hell of a PR campaign to keep the scandal under wraps.
He returned to the basin and washed his hands again. “You dirty, foul, abhorrent creature,” he muttered. He removed a beard trimmer from the rack and shaved his beard on the lowest setting. He did the same with his hair, one setting higher. He washed his head, face and neck, grabbed a new towel and dried and tossed it into the basket. He examined his reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, he exited his office and marched to his apostolic apartment.
A couple of months ago, he had sent his own investigator to check on Father Watson’s claims, and the man had come back with some bad news. The boys’ wounds weren’t from demons or somehow self-inflicted. Watson was at it again. He sighed as he unlocked and swung open the door to his luxurious apartment.