Even Dannyâs death took second chair to an almost hopeless concern for little Erin.
I busied myself with phone calls and coffee breaks. There was a brief due in a week in another case, but I couldnât focus enough gray cells to put it together.
Just before Julie left for the day, she took a phone call. She came to the door of my office to say it directly.
âHe didnât give his name. He didnât want to talk to you. He just wanted me to give you a message.â
âAnd the message was?â
âMichael, I donât like this. I got chills just listening to that voice. I think you should ignore it.â
âJulie, I canât ignore it if I donât hear it. Whatâs the message?â
âHe just said, âTell the lawyer. Last pew, right side, Saint Anthony Shrine, Arch Street. Tonight, six thirty.ââ
âThatâs it? Did he mention the name, Erin?â
âThatâs all of it. He hung up. If you want my advice, which you donât, donât go there.â
âNo Problem, Julie. I know who it is. Heâs harmless.â
I never lie to my secretary, except when itâs necessary to subdue her mothering instincts. This time, it took a bit of method acting. I was sure it was Scully, and no one had called him âharmlessâ since he left the crib.
By six thirty, the sun was well down. The Franciscan Friars who administer what is locally know as the Church on Arch Street a few blocks from our office had said the last Mass for the day. The back of the church was in a hushed darkness and empty except for a few late drop-ins and homeless dozers.
I welcomed the comforting peace that pervades that church. It was an antidote to the sense of personal dread I felt for both myself and Erin. I took a seat a couple of pews from the rear on the right side and settled into an internal communication with the Lord to whom I prayed for something to break the standstill.
Five minutes into the first rest Iâd felt in days, a low voice behind me that sounded like gravel and sandpaper brought me straight up.
âSit down, lawyer. Keep lookinâ straight.â
I did. âWhat is it, Scully? Are you going to kill me here in church?â
âYouâll probably be dead before this ends, but not at my hand.â
Since my question had not been rhetorical, the answer unclenched my fingers a bit on the front of the pew.
âThen what do you want? Like you said, youâre holding the cards.â
âNot me. Iâm not your problem. I want out.â
I went from the last prayer I thought Iâd say on this earth to a state of total confusion.
âOut of what? And what have I got to do with it?â
âJust listen. Iâm no choirboy. Iâve done things that might shock the father over there in the confessional. But Iâve got my limits.â
âSuch as.â
I could hear him shifting around on the pew behind me. He leaned forward until I could feel his breath.
âI had no part in kidnapping the girl.â
âReally. Wasnât that you staking out the Ryanâs house the day I came there?â
âI followed orders. I was told to watch the woman to see if she went to the police. Thatâs all.â
âWhose orders? Boyle didnât even recognize the Ryan name. I thought you worked for him.â
âIâll say what Iâve got to say, and no more. Boyle had no part in the girl either.â
âThen who did? Who am I dealing with?â
âI donât know all of it. And thatâs the truth. I can give you a name. Thatâs my part of the deal.â
âWhat deal? Why the change? The last time we met you nearly decapitated me.â
âI want no part of the doinâs with the little girl. But you with your nosinâ around. Youâll suck me into the whole business till you brand me a kidnapper and worse. Like I said, I want out of the whole
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