Deadly Blessings (34 page)

I chose my words. This almost hurt to say
aloud, not for fear of sullying old Bruno’s reputation, but for
what damage I was about to do to both Father Trip and Sophie’s
outlook on life. “I’m convinced Father Bruno is involved in the
prostitution organization. In a big way.”

There. It was out.

I worried for Sophie. I worried for Father
Trip. I hadn’t exactly been forthright with him about Sophie’s
profession when I asked him to shelter her here. He was definitely
getting an earful today.

Sophie stood up, rested her forehead against
the window facing the church. The little bit of light that came
into our small room from the doorway was enough to let me see the
reflection of her face in the glass. She personified misery.

Father Trip shifted in his chair. Looking
from Sophie to me again, he said, “I don’t think so, Alex. A man of
God wouldn’t ever get involved in such a scheme.”

“
You
wouldn’t,” I said. “But I believe
he
would.”

I explained Father Bruno’s “deal,” to let me
have a copy of my adoption folder in exchange for my silence on the
story. At that revelation, Father Trip got up. Hands behind his
back, he walked toward the doorway and stood, facing out.

Feeling icky and vulnerable, I stood,
too.

After a moment, Father Trip cleared his
throat. “I did find information about Emil.”

Trying to keep my voice neutral, I said,
“You did?”

I watched the back of his head nod.

“
His full name’s Emil
Schober. And he’s not the sort of individual I’d expect to find
working in the church,” he said, hesitation in his voice. “The few
people I talked to shied away from the subject. It seems he falls
in the ‘let’s not discuss it’ category.”

“
Isn’t that the attitude
that got the Church in trouble not so long ago?”

When he turned to look at me, I wished I’d
held my tongue. “Yes,” he said, “you’re absolutely right, and
precisely why I pushed further than I originally thought
necessary.”

“
I’m sorry,” I
said.

He didn’t acknowledge my apology as he sat
down once again. “I don’t know how to rationalize it,” he began.
“Father Bruno has everything going for him in his position at Saint
Dymphna’s. He’s the kind of priest the higher-ups point to and
suggest we emulate. Emil appeared on the scene a couple of years
ago.”

“
Who did you talk
to?”

“
Friends. Many of the
fellows I attended the seminary with have their own friends among
the higher-ups. As a grapevine, it’s pretty reliable. And it seems
our friend Emil has been in and out of jail a number of times, and
continues to fight a losing battle with alcohol.”

“
And yet Bruno keeps him
on?” I said.

Sophie waved a finger our direction. “Father
Bruno tell me. Emil was homeless man downtown, but Father save him.
Give him work and home. And he such a good priest, he won’t turn a
back on him now, even though he don’t work no good.”

Father Trip waited, took a breath, and then
continued. “That’s partially true, Sophie. Emil drinks. But the
story about Bruno saving him from a life on the streets is
not.”

I canted my head, waited.

“
I hate to give you this
information, Alex, because I know you’ll believe it feeds directly
into the conclusions you’ve drawn. I beg you to be objective and to
understand that connections don’t always exist even when it seems
like they must.”

Déjà vu. Didn’t Bruno use almost identical
logic on me yesterday?

“
I won’t jump to
off-the-wall conclusions,” I said. “I promise.”

Father Trip blew out a breath. “Emil is a
transplant. He worked on the west coast till the late 1990s before
he made his way here. While there he got in trouble with the law. A
lot.”

“
For?”

He hesitated, again.

“
Pandering.”

I jumped immediately to several conclusions,
even though I’d promised not to.

Sophie looked at me quizzically. I explained
in Polish.

“
No-oo,” she
said.

“
And you still believe
Father Bruno is utterly oblivious to the fact that Sophie and the
other girls he sponsored are …” about to say, “selling their
bodies,” I veered to the safer, but less expressive, “involved in
this organization?”

Father Trip averted his
gaze. “I don’t know
what
to think, anymore. And maybe it’s my own personal
prejudice. None of those involved in the pedophile scandal were
colleagues I knew personally. In some ways perhaps that’s how it
spiraled out of control the way it did; we didn’t see the problem.
It’s the fault of all of us who simply can’t conceive of one of our
own doing the unthinkable.”

“
So you’re telling me that
you now think it’s possible that Bruno is a major player in this
little drama?”

Sophie stood up, nearly knocking her chair
backward. It clanged against the empty one next to her. “No! I tell
you no!”

“
Then why would he want me
to silence the story?” I asked her. “Why would he try to buy me
off?”

She shook her head while I spoke. I was
certain she hadn’t heard a word, staying deaf with stubbornness.
“He help me. I believe in him. My family believe in him. Matthew
believe in him.”

It was the sound of the bereaved trying to
prove to themselves that their dead loved ones were alive, somehow.
Convincing no one, yet trying, till it hurt.

I was still digesting Father Trip’s words,
when he continued, “I have a meeting at the Cardinal’s residence a
week from tomorrow,” he said. “There will be several other people
there who might have a better grasp of the situation.”

“
Next week?” I said, too
sharply, betraying my frustration. Sophie, all set to move back to
her apartment, would fall under their control again. Maybe she
could give up, but I couldn’t. Plus my story was due in William’s
hands this Tuesday. I didn’t have time to wait.

“
I know,” Father Trip said,
“but it would be uncharacteristic of me, and call undue attention
to the situation if I were to contact any of these men
now.”

“
Listen,” I said, “I had an
idea last night, after everything went sour with
Katrina.”

Sophie, wary, watched me. I knew her
emotions were running high and it disconcerted me, momentarily.
“You no put Katrina on TV?” she asked.

I shook my head. “The key
here is to nail Father Bruno,” I said. Reacting to Father Trip’s
stern look, I added, “
If
he’s guilty, of course. There’s a chance he’s
not.”

Both waited, alert, for me to explain. The
tiny dark room gave me the sense of profound loss, like I’d stepped
into a morass with no lifeline. But I plunged in. “I’ve got one of
those little handheld tape recorders. All I have to do is get a
couple of key pieces of information on tape, and we’re in
business.”

I held my hand up to stop Sophie’s
protestation.

“
What I want to do is go
visit Father Bruno. I’m going to lay it all on the line. Ask him
directly about his involvement, talk about the adoption folder,
everything. I’m leaving nothing out this time. But this time, I’ll
set it up so that our friendly conversation is all on
tape.”

Sophie whimpered. “You no understand. He not
guilty. If he find out, he gonna talk to Lisa. Then, they know I
told you. Then they come for me. This time they find me.”

“
This time?” I
asked.

Her eyes widened, and a scarlet flush washed
over her face.

“
Were they here, looking
for you, Sophie?” Father Trip asked. “Why didn’t you tell
me?”

Like a cornered animal giving up the fight,
her entire body slumped. “I talk to Helena. Lisa come talk to her
to find me, and later she overhear some things, too. They wonder
where I am. She lie for me. She tell them that I feel sad about
Matthew and go visit relatives. Helena tell me that Lisa say that
okay, but they want to make sure.”

I prodded, “And … ?”

Sophie dropped her head. “Helena say that
someone break into your house, to check if I there.”

My jaw dropped, just a bit. Of course.
They’d been looking for Sophie. Thank God I hadn’t taken her there.
No wonder nothing was missing. They weren’t looking for TVs or
VCRs.

“
Now I safe. I am,” she
said, with emphasis. Perhaps responding to the look on my face.
“They don’t know I hiding.” Shiny wet wells pooled in her eyes. “I
frightened.”

“
Sophie,” I said, in as
gentle a voice I could muster, “Father Bruno knows. He as much
admitted that. I just need to get proof, now. And then this will
all be over.”

“
I talk with him, then,”
she said.

“
No!” I said.

“
He will listen to me. He
will tell me the truth.”

“
Don’t,” I said. “Let me
handle it.”

“
He not guilty. I know
it.”

“
I wish I could believe
that,” I said, “for your sake more than anyone else’s.”

Father Trip leaned forward. “If what you
suspect is true, Alex, I will support every effort to have him
brought to justice. But let me reiterate. I don’t know how to
explain all you’ve discovered, but I’m confident that Father Bruno
is not guilty. It just isn’t possible.”

I canted my head, silently expressing my
skepticism.

He set his mouth in a line. “But if Emil is
involved, then Father Bruno needs to be informed. From that
viewpoint, I understand that you’re doing what you have to do.”

“
I go back now,” Sophie
said, in a small voice. “I no feel good.”

She walked out, her shoulders slumped, her
feet making soft dragging noises on the floor.

Father Trip squeezed my shoulder as he stood
up. “I’ll be praying. For both of you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Back home, my attempts to reach Bass netted
me no more than opportunities to leave messages, which I did.
Twice. I tried William, both at home and on his cell. No answer, no
machine. “Damn,” I said after the third try, pacing my kitchen like
a caged animal. I wanted to pounce hard, on Bruno, scratch him till
he bled, and watch him cry out, begging for mercy.

Vindictive? Me? Nah, I was a pussycat.

A feral one.

A glance at my watch made me jumpier. Why
couldn’t I reach them? I needed someone to discuss this with, and
though I would have much preferred William over Bass, at this
point, I would take whomever I could get. The dead-end ringing on
William’s phone made me believe that he still harbored strong
feelings of unpleasantness from last night’s encounter. I was part
of that. An integral part. I wondered if he knew it was me and
simply chose to ignore the call. I probably shouldn’t blame him.
But I did, anyway.

Nearing noon. Father Bruno’s last Mass at
his parish ended soon. I’d been playing telephone wallflower for
the past hour and a half, using the time to send William an e-mail,
asking him to call as soon as possible. I gave him my home and cell
phone numbers, even though I’m sure he had them. Just for
expediency.

I dialed again. Waited again. Nothing.

“
For crying out loud,” I
shouted at the phone. Like that would help.

But watched pots and phones neither boil nor
ring, so I tapped out my frustration with piano fingers on my
countertop, with thoughts of a backup plan. I knew I had to move.
And I had to move today—before Sophie put herself back in harm’s
way, sitting like a clay pigeon in her apartment, content to let
Father Bruno and his friends take aim when they would.

As the second hand of my kitchen clock
marched with soft steps past the twelve, I decided not to wait any
longer. Pulling out the list of numbers from the night before, I
called Jeff on his cell phone, praying he had it turned on. He
picked up on the second ring.

“
Hello?”

Poor guy. So relieved to have reached him, I
launched immediately into an explanation of what I needed.

“
Whoa,” he said. “Who is
this? Alex?”

“
Sorry, Jeff.
Yeah.”

“
Slow down and tell me
again what you’re talking about.”

By this point, I’d moved onto the back porch
with the phone. Staring out the window, I caught a glimpse of the
sun, attempting to burn its way through the heavy cloud cover. A
good omen, I told myself. But the air on this cool porch after the
welcoming warmth of the kitchen made me shiver.

I plotted my idea out to Jeff, told him
about my plan to tape Father Bruno on my handheld recorder, and
asked him about the viability of the plan. If he had any
suggestions to help me get a quality recording, I’d be happy to
hear them. Even though I didn’t have a go-ahead from Bass, it
wouldn’t hurt to get all my technical ducks in a row.

“
So you’re going to go meet
this guy? This priest? And you want to get a quality tape from a
recorder you shove in your pocket?”

“
Not going to work?” I
asked.

“
Hard to tell, without
seeing the recorder,” he said. “But I’m guessing it’d be a long
shot. You’d get conversation. Maybe even most of it, but no chance
you’d have recognizable voices. What you want is something more
sophisticated.”

“
So what do I
do?”

“
Tell you what. I’ve got
some time before I have to be out at O’Hare airport. I could set
you up with some state-of-the-art stuff. When are you meeting
him?”