There was a sigh from her end of the line. “I wanted to trash it, but Wayne kept it. He said he had given it to Tommy when he was fifteen, and he wanted to keep it. Why? What does the gun have to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Humboldt. Thank you for all your help.”
“You let me know if you get that priest. That man should rot in hell.”
“I’ll let you know, ma'am.”
Matt disconnected and turned to Chloe, who was waiting expectantly. “Bingo.”
“We need to get a photo of him,” Chloe said. “Of Wayne Humboldt. I’ll get Dianna to try to get one from the wife.”
“And I’m going to have my people start calling all the hotels in town. Maybe we can track him down. Check the incoming flight passenger manifests over the past week.”
“That'll take a lot of time.” Chloe frowned. “It sounds like he's our man, though, especially that mention of Lance. It's got to be Lance Brucon.”
“But who the hell is
he?
” Matt started to pace the parlor. “And who the hell is he connected with … if anyone.”
“That stegnography thing …”
Their eyes met, and each of them knew what the other was thinking.
“Let me make some calls,” Matt said. “Get the ball rolling.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll call Dianna.”
Dianna was on her way to the Humboldt residence when Chloe reached her. “We need a photo of Wayne Humboldt, the father. I need it faxed to me PDQ.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.”
“And find out if the wife knows when he left town on his current business trip. Also, see if she can find the gun.”
“If she talks to me, sure. By the way, I faxed the ballistics report to you early this morning and overnighted a copy to your detective friend. He'll have it in the morning.”
“Thanks, Dianna. I have a feeling time is running very short.”
“I hear you.” She sighed. “I shoulda been a cop.”
“I pay you better. Which fax did you send the stuff to?”
“Your office. The machine is better, remember? It was the best way to send the ballistics photos.”
“Thanks, Dianna. When do you think you're going to reach the Humboldt place?”
“I’m in town already. It's just a matter of finding their street. Say twenty minutes.”
“Call me after you talk to her.”
“On your cell?”
“Yes.”
“You got it.”
When Chloe disconnected she found Matt waiting. “She's almost at the Humboldt house. And the faxed ballistics report is at my office.”
“Can we get it?”
“Sure. You wanna pick it up, or have it messengered to the station?”
“I’ll pick it up.”
“Let's go then.”
They stopped in the office on their way out to remind Brendan to stay put in the rectory.
“It seems,” Matt told him, “that the guy who wants you dead is in town.”
Brendan nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
“Good,” said Lucy. “Because if you don't, I’m going to nail your shoes to the floor.”
Matt looked past them to the computer tech. “Anything?”
“Yeah. The e-mail originated in Virginia, but it was a forward of an e-mail sent from a dot-gov address.”
“Dot gov?”
“Government.”
“Shit,” Chloe murmured.
“Which part of the government?” Matt asked.
“Damned if I know. I don't recognize the domain. But I’m working on it. Oh … and Kyle Birdsong called. He hacked the password on that laptop you gave him.”
“And?”
“The files are encrypted — 256-bit encryption.”
“Which means?”
“It could be a long time before we break the code.”
“Hell.” Matt hesitated, then turned to Chloe. “Let's go. Jim? Call me on my cell if you find anything else.”
“Sure thing.”
At Matt's suggestion, they went in his car. That was probably a good thing, because the usually impervious Chloe was feeling rattled.
“I don't believe this,” she said, more than once. “I can't believe … Matt, I’m getting really uneasy about this.”
“So am I. Black ops is something I only enjoy in novels and movies. Real life is another matter altogether.”
“But why would they be after Father Brendan? He doesn't know anything.”
“That,” Matt said heavily, “is where I think you might be wrong.”
“How so?”
“I think he knows more than he remembers, and the right key might jog his memory.”
“Maybe.”
“Or it may just be that someone fears he knows more than he really does. And is afraid his memory might be jogged.”
“But what could they be up to that would have them worried about one parish priest?”
“Damned if I know. But considering the amount of effort that's going into this, it must be something worth killing to keep secret.”
“How does Humboldt fit into that? Is he part of the conspiracy?”
“I don't know. From what his wife said, it would be my guess that he's being used.”
She looked at him. “Used to do what?”
“Remove Father Brendan in a way that can't be traced back to them.”
Chloe looked out the window, but she barely saw the passing houses and businesses. “That's ugly, Matt. That's very, very ugly, to play on someone's grief that way.”
“I agree. And it makes me
very
worried about what these invisible people are up to.”
“I don't like to think my government does such things.”
“Maybe it's not the government at all.”
She twisted on her seat to look straight at him. “Meaning?”
“Well,” he hedged uncomfortably. “Oh, hell, in for a penny and all that. If I’m going to dive headlong into conspiracy theories, I might as well go all the way. This might not be the government, per se. It might be some kind of cabal.”
“Uglier and uglier.”
“It was pretty ugly from the outset, babe,” Matt reminded her. “Crucifixions aren't pretty.”
“But why would they do that? Why not just leave the body?”
“It beats the hell out of me.”
“And why would they kill Steve to begin with, if it's Brendan they want?”
“I think,” Matt said slowly, “that Humboldt has his own agenda. I don't think Steve was supposed to be on the hit list. And maybe they moved the body to cover his tracks.”
“Well, it seems insane, if you want to keep a secret, to crucify the victim.”
“I agree. But something's out of sync here. Maybe things aren't going the way they're supposed to. I can't tell how exactly, because I don't know what the plan is. But my feeling is — and this worries me — that the cabal is not in full control.”
“So anything could happen.”
He glanced her way as he braked at a stoplight. “Yeah. And I don't like that one tiny bit.”
Brendan went into the church to pray. He didn't have the solitude he wanted, because Lucy made sure one of the off-duty cops followed him, but at least the man was respectful enough to stand a few pews away.
Brendan loved the silence of an empty church. The faint odor of incense still clung from Easter, a scent that reminded him of his childhood, when being in church had filled him with such awe.
Some of that awe still lingered. It sometimes seemed to him that in the absolute silence of an empty church, he could feel the touch of God.
Looking up at the red sanctuary light, the reminder of Christ's presence in the tabernacle, Brendan had not the least doubt that his Savior was here in the silence with him. Here they could have an uninterrupted conversation, and if he could still his own hammering thoughts enough, sometimes he could even hear the answers. Or feel them in his heart.
Right now, he had a lot of questions and petitions. He prayed for the repose of Steve's soul, prayed that the young man was safely in God's arms. He prayed for those around them, that none of them would be harmed as they tried to protect him from the man who wanted to kill him.
And he prayed for his own weakness in accepting the strictures placed on him. Asked Christ to forgive him. Thought about all the apostles and other martyrs who had faced ugly deaths bravely rather than sacrifice their beliefs, rather than stop preaching and practicing their faith.
So what was he doing, hiding out like this? Was he being wise, or was he being cowardly? He had to admit, though, that he had little desire to worry Lucy or the others. Nor did it seem right to make it harder for others to do their jobs by refusing to cooperate.
But he thought about that man who had been denied confession the day before, and he felt sick at heart. Sometimes it wasn't enough for people that another priest was available. Sometimes it was essential to them that it be the
right
priest, a particular priest whom they felt they could trust.
Despite Lucy's attitude, not everyone would have been comfortable speaking to Dominic rather than him, or vice versa. He saw it all the time. People would approach him to hear their confessions, and wait until he was available. Others would approach Dominic.
Nothing wrong with that.
That man might have a soul in mortal peril, and Lucy had stood between him and absolution. Worse, he himself had not run after the man when Lucy forbade him to.
He was failing in his duty. And he vowed he would not continue to do so. No matter what the cost. He'd allowed himself to be browbeaten into submission, but he couldn't allow that any longer.
When he walked out of here, he was going to resume his duties.
All
of them.
With that decision, a deep peace filled him.
Wayne Humboldt was long past caring what happened to him, as long as he got rid of that priest. So he sat in an expensive hotel room, under an assumed name, and considered the possible ways he could cut the priest out from the herd.
The man was evil and needed to die. Of that he had not the least doubt. He'd read enough about the Catholic Church and the way it covered up the misdeeds of priests to know that he couldn't really expect help from anywhere else. He could make that priest's life uncomfortable for a brief while, but already they were planning to move him someplace where no one would know about his past. Where Wayne couldn't find him. Where he might ruin the life of another young man.
Of course, even as he told himself these things, he knew they were a thin veneer of an excuse for what he really wanted: vengeance. Vengeance was the reason he'd killed that young man. Vengeance pure and simple. He'd wanted the priest to feel some of the pain that he had felt himself over his son's death.
Now he wanted to confront the man, to make him realize that at least one person knew of his perfidy, and that someone was willing to see that he paid for it.
But he still had to find a way to get the man alone. A way to confront him before killing him. Only then would his own grief ease enough. Only then would he feel satisfied.
Tomorrow. He had to do it tomorrow.
Somehow. Some way.
“Well, well, well,” said Naomi, when she saw Chloe enter the law office with Matt. “You
didn't
fall off the edge of the planet.”
“No, I’m still around. Naomi, this is Detective Matt Diel. Matt, my law partner, Naomi.”
The two shook hands, and Naomi eyed him from head to foot. “I guess you're as good a reason as any for her to abandon our law practice.”
Matt felt a flush creep into his cheeks. “She's helping me on a case.”
“Right,” said Naomi.
“Oh, cut it out,” Chloe said impatiently. “I told you what I’m doing, Naomi. I think a fax came for me this morning?”
“It's on your desk. And don't forget to buy me those cruise tickets.”
“Cruise tickets?” Matt asked, when they were alone in Chloe's office. The room was well-appointed, looking prosperous and long-established, the way a law office should. Only the computer and printer suggested that the room hadn't been decorated eighty years ago. One wall was lined with law books, everything from the US Code to Florida Statutes.
“You guys still read books?” Matt asked.
“That's for appearance. All my case law I get on-line. It's faster.”
“I thought so.”
Chloe picked up the papers on her desk and flipped through them quickly. “This is it.” She passed them to Matt.
He flipped through them too, and was relieved to see that the photos of the scores on the bullet casing were probably clear enough to do a comparison immediately.
He looked up. “Wanna call your friend Agnes again?”
Chloe almost smiled, an expression that made her eyes seem suddenly warm. “You have no idea just how many favors I’m going to owe people.”
“I’ll help buy Naomi's cruise tickets.”
“How about you just pay for Agnes's two weeks in Nepal?”
Matt shook his head. “You know the weirdest people.”
“You among them. Well …
you
can take
me
to Hawaii.”
For once in his life, Matt Diel didn't have a word to say.
In the end, though, they didn't call Agnes. Matt called the lab himself, explained the situation and asked if he could bring the fax over immediately. Much to his amazement and relief, they agreed.
“Well,” said Chloe as they sped across town again, “ballistics are different from DNA. All somebody needs to do is compare two photos. Why wouldn't they be willing to take a quick look at it?”
“It's the phase of the moon,” he explained mock-seriously.
“So today they howl?”
“I guess.” But after a moment, he said, “I need to be fair about this. These folks work their butts off, and they're not uncooperative. They just don't like to be hurried.”
“They especially don't want to hear a theory of the case.”
“Well, I didn't ask them that. I just asked them to look at the ballistics and compare them.”
When they arrived at the lab, they were ushered immediately to the ballistics section, an area that consisted of one man and his office.
“Today's your lucky day,” Brett Hallwood said as he greeted them and shook their hands.
“How so?” Matt asked.
“You didn't get my assistant. He prefers dithering to decision. Now what have you got?”
Matt passed over the fax. “I know it's just a fax, but I honestly can't afford to wait. This casing could be the clue to a murder, and to the person who is now stalking a second victim.”
“Now that's exciting,” Hallwood said. “Most of my job consists of proving that a particular bullet came out of a particular gun.”