“What about the situation with the priest you removed, the one who they say molested those boys on the field trip?”
The monsignor’s forehead gained a mild sheen, and a glance flicked between the two men. “Father Shea,” prompted Roland Jackson without necessity.
“These behaviors are the scourge of our holy church now. As you mentioned, we removed that priest immediately, and he is in a counseling program isolated from any parish, especially children.” Then Monsignor Lynch added, “He will probably face criminal charges—and should.”
Nikki said, “I hear one of the parents threatened Father Graf, accusing him of complicity.”
“You mean Mr. Hays.” He replaced his glasses. “Can you begin to imagine the pain a parent endures when his innocent child is molested?”
“Unimaginable,” she said. “I wanted to find out if you were privy to any specific threats against Father Graf made by Mr. Hays.”
Jackson shuffled his deck of pocket files and found a printout of an e-mail. “About a month and a half ago, Father Gerry received this.” He handed the page to Nikki. It was a full page, single-spaced rant laden with expletives and accusations. The last lines read, “You ever hear of a Tikrit Tune-up? I have, padre. You suffer until you pray to die and then you suffer some more. Lots more. The best part is when you call out to God for mercy and He looks down and spits upon your withered douche bag of a soul.”
“Monsignor Lynch,” said Heat, “this is not only direct and specific, but it’s very much like the way he was killed. Didn’t you take this seriously?”
“Of course, Detective, no threat would be dismissed out of hand. However, Mr. Hays was understandably agitated. Also, Father Graf wasn’t the only one he sent notes like this to, so we had no cause to focus on him alone.”
Roland Jackson backed him up. “Father Shea got one, of course, very similar.”
“Even I got one,” said the monsignor.
“Why didn’t you report this to the police?” she asked.
“We were hoping to handle this as an internal matter.”
Heat said, “And how has all that been working out for you fellas?”
Monsignor Lynch registered a weary sense of defeat. “Your point has been well made many times, Detective Heat, believe me. And, given the benefit of hindsight, well . . .” He lowered his eyes and then brought them back to her. “Do you have any idea what it is like to love an organization so much that it is like your family? But like any family, it has flaws that pain you, but you endure nonetheless because you trust in its greatness?”
“I think I have an idea,” she said.
* * *
The cold blast when she came out the revolving door onto First Avenue numbed Nikki’s face, and the wind was so strong that Heat had to shelter against the dark gray marble wall of the vestibule so she could make out Deputy Commissioner Yarborough over the scratchiness on her cell phone. “Is this a bad time, Nikki?”
“No, I’m just out here pounding the pavement.”
“Well, if what I hear is true, you won’t be doing that much longer. You’re the talk of the building this morning after your oral boards. I have a feeling you’re going to have bigger responsibilities than wearing down your Nine Wests in the cold.”
A fire truck rolled by with full siren and horn. Nikki plugged one ear and turned to the wall. When it had passed, she said, “That’s awesome. I have to admit, it felt like it went OK.”
Phyllis Yarborough laughed. “Love the understatement. Let me tell you how I read it. I think you’re not only going to get your gold bar, but with the sudden command void in your precinct, there’s talk they may fast-track you to a captaincy so you can assume Montrose’s job. Nothing’s firm, but this is your heads-up to hang loose on your calendar. You may get the call anytime, think you can do that?” In the brief pause when Nikki’s heart fluttered, the deputy commissioner said, “Don’t worry, Nikki. We both know you’re up for the task.”
* * *