After the dust settled, Adam returned to his seat with Noah perched on his lap. He was hyperaware of the others’ heavy stares. The only one not watching him was Adam’s father, Thomas, who was not at all what Noah expected. He’d seen photos of the man in newspaper clippings and magazines, but they somehow failed to show just how young and hot Adam’s dad actually was.
He certainly didn’t look old enough to have children in their early thirties, but Noah supposed it was because he hadn’t actually created any of them, just raised them. Raised them to be killers.
Noah watched as he pushed a button on a strange boomerang shaped object in the center of the table. Noah half-expected a strange futuristic 3D model to appear over it, but it was just a speaker.
“This is your friendly neighborhood oracle speaking, how may I service you today?” a voice chirped in surround sound.
“Hi, Calliope,” Asa and Avi said in unison.
“Hello, boys. I see Adam didn’t leave you at the airport. I’m assuming you’re all calling from the Batcave.”
Noah’s lips twitched. This was much nicer than the Batcave. In addition to their shiny white wall that allowed for scribbling, there was another wall of computer screens and a bar that ran along the length of another. They clearly spent a lot of time down there in their secret room.
“We need some real time information. Can you help?” Thomas asked.
“How dare you question my abilities in front of mere mortals?” she asked with mock offense.
Noah’s eyes widened, looking to Thomas, relieved when he only chuckled. “My mistake. We need some information.”
There was the distinct sound of a chair spinning. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
“Noah was able to identify Paul Anderson and a priest, whose name he can’t remember. Can you cross-reference Paul Anderson and Wayne Holt along with Gary and see if there’s any overlap? There has to be something. A baseball team. A prayer group. A men’s league.”
There was a series of clicks, and then she said, “Uh-uh. Nothing. But if it’s something like an AA meeting, there would be no record of it.”
Thomas’s disappointment was palpable. “I just sent you a photo of the priest. Run it against yearbooks from the Catholic school Wayne Holt used to teach at. My guess is that’s where you’ll find him.”
“Hold please,” Calliope said, though she didn’t actually put them on hold. They all sat silently while nails tapped over a keyboard. The only other sound was K-pop music playing in the background. Maybe Calliope’s kids liked BTS? Or maybe Calliope herself did. The only person who would truly know is Thomas.
Noah had thought he’d be more affected by this after his meltdown yesterday, but, somehow, sitting in a group of murderers made him feel safer than he’d ever felt before. Safe enough to tentatively search his memories for anything else that might help them put the pieces together, but there was nothing concrete. A cop and a priest were easy to remember; they had uniforms that stuck out and jobs that were supposed to protect children like Noah.
But the others… Gary had never done a good thing before in his entire life. He wasn’t likely to be running in the same circles as Paul Anderson and a priest. Of course, his father had been a respected school teacher and he and Gary were best friends. I guess videotaping each other in repulsive acts of violence against children guaranteed mutually assured destruction should one of them get caught. Or maybe they just enjoyed reliving the moment.
“Got him,” Calliope cried out, triumphant. “Father Patrick O’Hara… Jesus, Thomas. He was the school principal.”
“Of course, he was,” August said. “These guys somehow always rise to the top.
“I bet they’d all say he’s a respected member of the community,” Atticus added.
“His victims wouldn’t,” Noah muttered, bitter.
“Who’s that?” Calliope asked. “I don’t recognize that voice.”
Asa snickered. “It’s Noah. We have a guest in the Batcave.”
“Yeah, apparently that’s a thing we do now,” Avi said.
“Hi, Noah!” Calliope exclaimed, like she was meeting a celebrity and not just plain old Noah, who lived in a rotted out trailer.
“Hi,” Noah said, face hot.
“Noah made an excellent point,” Thomas said.
Had he? Noah couldn’t imagine how but it was nice to think that might be the case. Thomas perched his hip on the large conference room table, close to the twins.
“Calliope, look for any lawsuits where O’Hara was named as a defendant. They’ll most likely be sealed. The church is really big on keeping those things under wraps and paying to make problems go away. If you don’t find that, search for cases against Holt’s school and any previous schools O’Hara worked at.”
Once more, they all listened to Calliope’s frantic tapping. “Nothing for O’Hara specifically, but there was a case against the city’s archdiocese. Records sealed. But the complainant was an adult. Not a child.”
“Gotta name?” Thomas asked.
“Josiah Smithfield.”
“What can you tell us about him?”
“Twenty years old, high school dropout, arrested twice for narcotics and once for petty theft. He has been in rehab twice. Oh!” she cried. “Josiah’s rehab facility? St. Anthony’s, run by the same church that runs Holt’s school. Guess who’s listed as the social worker? O’Hara. He has a doctorate in child psychology and a bachelor’s degree in education. This fucker literally dedicated years to putting himself in the lives of vulnerable children.” Calliope’s voice was shaking.
Noah didn’t blame her. His insides were shaking, too. What kind of monster spent his entire life trying to find new ways to victimize little kids? The same kind of monster who would videotape it and share it with others.