The Sacrifice (36 page)

“Yeah, I know,” Mangiapane commiserated. “The guys found an arsenal in his basement … but no bomb fixings. Plus a pile of magazines and newspapers he cut up for the letters he sent your brother.”

The two men looked at each other, silently sharing the identical thought: Whoever had set off that bomb was still out there.

T
WENTY-ONE

Stan Rybicki turned off his radio. He had a lot of news to digest.

What was that man's name? Leon Harkins. Yeah, that was it.

Stan wondered had he ever met this Harkins guy. At a political or religious rally, maybe? Maybe. He certainly wasn't one who came to mind at mention of his name. Stan would have to wait till Harkins's photo was shown on TV. Or until a fuller account of the incident appeared in the newspaper.

Whoever he was, this Harkins guy had balls. Imagine taking on the brother of a cop!

On top of which, he'd gone after the wrong guy. Of course this Tully priest had been making a shambles of the divine service what with his guitar Masses and encouraging extreme Liturgies discouraged by the Pope and the whole Vatican hierarchy. While that was certainly bad enough, at least he wasn't destroying the core of the things that the Church had always taught.

But this Wheatley guy! He was the one who was going to give vestments and altar breads and chalices to females and pretend that they could do the most sacred thing in all of Catholicism!

And as if that wasn't more than enough, this guy Wheatley, this—oh, there were no words for it!—he was going to trot headlong into the rectory, where he would live right out in the open with his wife and kids.

As the Church has always taught, the law doesn't demand that men remain single. Only those who want to be priests:
They
have to be celibate.

So there's nothing to the argument that the Church forces priests to live single lives. The Church doesn't force anybody not to marry. But if you want to be a priest, the rules are the rules.

Bottom line: Harkins went after the wrong guy. And that blunder had been a total foul-up: He'd failed to off the guy. And even if he
had
shot and killed Father Tully he most likely would've gotten killed himself. It didn't take an atomic scientist to figure that the cop would surround his own brother with protection.

The radio said that the cop—Lieutenant Tully—actually was the one who killed Harkins.

So what has the poor schlemiel got to show for his efforts? One guy—the guy he should've gotten—not even injured. And that poor innocent priest … what had he ever done to deserve being blown half to bits? Rybicki shook his head. So then he goes after the other guy—the wrong guy—-who walks away without even a bruise.

Rybicki rocked back and forth in his easy chair until he got enough momentum to swing his large body up into a standing position. He walked to the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. He twisted the bottle cap off.

Still, he reasoned, Harkins ought not to be ridiculed. At least he'd had the gumption to do
something.
And something certainly needed to be done. Mainly, the right thing needed to be done. Somebody had to turn this stuff around and take effective steps to make people know what was going on. The common people were going to let all this happen and it'd be over—an accomplished fact before they even knew what had happened to their dear religion.

Rybicki thought of all those noble men who had ridden his elevator, doing their jobs way back when. The good old days.

Most of those guys were gone now. But they'd be spinning in their graves if they could see women up there on the altar! If they could know that some priest was fooling with his wife before getting up to say Mass!

He could see the religious hippies who'd barged onto his elevator and tried to get off on the sacrosanct second floor to confront the archbishop. No—no way! Rybicki tossed his head. They never got past him, by God!

They'd argue that St. Peter was married 'cause it said in the Bible that Jesus cured Peter's mother-in-law. But they never considered that once Peter got serious about following the Lord, the Bible never mentioned her again—and certainly never mentioned any wife. Peter just got called to celibacy a little late.

Well, you big lug, Rybicki reasoned with himself, what are you going to do about it?

He didn't want to die. He liked living. Of course, life wasn't perfect. And, of course, he did want to go to heaven. And getting rid of Wheatley was certainly a ticket to heaven.

But not just yet.

Maybe there was a way of doing this without a personally fatal confrontation. There had to be some way of getting rid of Wheatley without risking his own life.

Movement—that was the ticket.

Wheatley was scheduled to hold a news conference in the Gabriel Richard Building. According to the paper, that was set for tomorrow morning. There had to be a way of parlaying his intimate knowledge of the chancery and the Gabriel Richard Building into a plan that would get rid of Wheatley once and for all.

Movement … something involving movement.

“You never told me about this!”

“There was never any need … until now.”

Alonzo Tully and his wife, Anne Marie, sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Each had a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Anne Marie and her coffee were steaming. “For the kind of thing you did today, they should have given you a commendation, a medal … something!”

“They did. They gave me some days off.”

“They're not days off!”

“Restricted duty. It's just a term … another name for time off.”

“You could've been killed!”

That stopped Zoo. He'd been making a conscious effort to forget what had happened just hours ago. Yes, he could have been killed. And he would have been had Harkins remembered to release the safety. That mistake was all that had stood between a live Lieutenant Tully and his body on a slab in the morgue. “Honey, we've been over this. You know there's danger in my work. I carry a lethal weapon. So do the bad guys.”

“I know. And I know we've talked about it. But it never was for real until now. And it scares me.”

“To be honest, it scares me, too. It didn't when it was going down. Then, the adrenaline was pumping. Now, it's time to cool down. That's what I'm doing here at home with you.”

Anne Marie wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “Tell me again, sweetheart, what you have to do now. Can't they give you a break and overlook some of the red tape?”

Zoo shook his head. “Honey, you gotta remember this procedure has been built up over years of trial and error. And besides, I already got one break.”

“And that is?”

“The procedure is, I was supposed to be taken immediately to headquarters. That's so nobody—mainly the media—could throw any questions at me, or ask for a statement. My guys gave me a couple of minutes with Zack.”

“Then what?”

“They took my gun. It's part of the investigation. They'll test it and identify it as the weapon that killed Harkins. Then they gave me the Garrity Warning—”

“That something like the Miranda Warning?”

“It's sort of the Miranda Warning for cops. I have to make out a PCR—that's the Preliminary Complaint Report. Nothing said in that can be used against me—because I am ordered to make the report.

“The rest of it is pretty routine. The Board of Review investigates, and the department psychiatrist examines me. I even get to be interviewed by a department chaplain—” He noted her lifted eyebrow. “No, I didn't request it; it's compulsory in these situations.

“Then I get to confer with our union representative, and our lawyer.

“Bottom line: Once I get clearance from the Board of Review and the psychiatrist, I can resume normal duties.”

“And until then?”

“Tomorrow, I stay home. The next day, I'll go on desk duty. But it'll probably be three or four days before I'm allowed back out on the street.” He paused momentarily. “Honey … see, odds are strong—very strong—that there'll be litigation. There almost always is …”

“But what can anybody sue you—or the department—for? What you did seems like a classic case of self-defense.”

“They'll argue that Harkins's weapon was locked … so that, in effect, I killed an unarmed man.”

“But you couldn't know the gun was locked!”

“Baby, I said they'd sue … I didn't say they'd win.”

Both had been sipping their coffee. What remained in the cups was cooling. Anne Marie hotted up their cups.

“All this is by the book,” Zoo said, “so it doesn't trouble me.”

“Then what
is
troubling you?”

“I'm going to be off the streets just when I most need to be on active duty.”

“How come?”

“Harkins wasn't involved in the church bombing. That we know. That means the bomber is still out there. He's frustrated: Not only did he fail but the guy who followed in his steps also failed. This can get to be like a shark's feeding frenzy.

“Today's surveillance was mostly a personal favor to me. Realistically, we can't afford that kind of bodyguarding indefinitely.

“I could do it. With a few people from my squad we could give Zack and Wheatley pretty good protection. But not only am I off the street, I am not allowed to participate in any investigation of this case. And that prohibition is the strongest of all: I'm off this case … period!”

Anne Marie reflected on this. “I can understand why the department is cautious about the possibility—”

“Probability,” Zoo corrected.

“All right,
probability
of a lawsuit. And I can see why the department is supercautious about protecting you … and itself. But giving you desk duty and keeping you from this case? That sounds as if you're being punished. And I don't think it's fair.”

“Experience,” Zoo said firmly. “The school of hard knocks. The department wants to be supercertain there are no loopholes. We want to be prepared for the worst. But”—he smiled—“here you've got me defending the department. You're clever: You're supposed to be on the department's side: keeping me out of action … and out of danger.”

“I do feel that way, hon. It's just that I know how this tears you up. I do want Father Wheatley to come out of this alive. And especially I want Zack to be safe. It's just that I know that you're the best officer to bring them through this alive and well. I guess … I'm just torn …”

“So am I. But I know me. I'm going to be a bear for a few days. I just hope I don't make life miserable for you …”

“You won't. I'm on your team. I guess,” she concluded, “the only thing we can do is pray.”

“That's your department, babe.” He grinned. “I'll just count on your prayers.” He stood. “Why don't you finish making supper while I watch some TV? Maybe I can find some mindless violence on the tube. Nothing I want more now than watching some TV cops blowing away an infinite number of bad guys.”

She patted his hand, and turned to her task. She put a prepared dinner in the oven. Ordinarily, she would've put together a superior meal. But tonight she neither had the time, nor was she in the mood.

About prayer? She loved her husband. She loved everything about him. With him she felt protected and loved in return.

If there was one thing she could add to their lives it would be faith—faith enough for both of them. Faith in God, and communication with Him through prayer.

She would continue to work at that for as long as either of them lived.

Zoo was too good a person not to know Love Himself.

Nan Wheatley sat quietly in the comfortable living room. She, like her husband, was grateful to the Episcopal Church for giving them leave to remain in their old rectory until … until what? Until the Wheatleys would move into St. Joseph's rectory, leaving behind—but no, she mustn't dwell on that.