Deadly Blessings (35 page)

“
I haven’t set it up, yet.
It might not even materialize, but if it does, I want to be
ready.”

Silence for several long moments on his end.
Then, “And you say that Bass has no idea that you’re planning
this?”

“
I can’t get a hold of him.
I left him messages.”

“
Sticky,” he said, then
added, “I don’t know the law all that well, but I think if you get
caught wearing a wire without him knowing, it’s your ass on the
line, not the station’s. It’d be better for you if Bass gave his
blessing. Hang on one.”

I did, but I listened, even as it came clear
that he’d cupped his hand over the receiver. Another voice in the
background, male. Brief conversation, none of which I could make
out. Then Jeff returned.

“
Sorry.”

“
Okay, so I don’t
officially have Bass’s approval,” I began. Jeff could be a stickler
about things. I knew that. He treated every piece of the station’s
equipment as though it was his own. Good for the station, but bad
for me if he was going to be a rule-monger about this. “But I need
to do this. And if I can get it arranged for today, will you help
me?”

He heaved what sounded like a thoughtful
sigh. “Yeah. I got a couple of ideas. Call me back when you get
your time squared away.”

* * * * *

The next call went to Father Bruno. The
surprised pleasure in his voice took me aback.

“
I’m so happy to hear from
you. I didn’t get the chance to thank you for the delightful lunch
yesterday.”

I frowned at the phone. What? Did he think
we were buddies now?

“
I’m glad you enjoyed it,”
I said, blandly. “The reason for my call has to do with our
discussion, as a matter of fact.”

“
Oh?” I heard the flick of
a lighter. The Sacred Heart of Jesus one, no doubt. Then a long
pull of breath.

“
I’ve had a chance to think
over your offer,” I said.

He exhaled. “Have you, now?”

I couldn’t make out anything from his reply.
Inscrutable, at least over the phone. He might have been expecting
it. But my call could just as easily have knocked him for a loop. A
careful man, he let none of his reaction show.

“
I did,” I said, trying to
project just the right balance of hesitation and eagerness. “I
think I’d like to have a look at that folder. That is, if the
option is still available?”

“
As a matter of fact, I
have it on my desk right here,” he said. “A complete copy, which
I’ll be delighted to give to you. To keep. Assuming we both
understand that my goal here is to protect my charges from
malicious scandal.”

“
That’s exactly what I want
to discuss with you,” I said.

“
Excellent.”

He inhaled again, and exhaled, as I chose my
words. “Would you have time this afternoon?”

“
This afternoon?” he
chuckled. “A bit eager, are you Alex?”

I smiled. “A bit,” I said.

If he only knew.

* * * * *

Tight time frame. Jeff needed to be on his
way to O’Hare Airport by four o’clock and it was already nearing
one. Father Bruno had several meetings scheduled for the day;
though he agreed to fit me in between appointments, I needed to
meet him at a church on the north side.

When Jeff answered his cell phone, I jumped
right in again. This time, at least, he was prepared for my
call.

“
Okay,” he said, slowly,
after I outlined the plan. “I won’t have time to get down to the
office, but I have equipment here that we can use. My own stuff.
Actually, that’ll work out better. If you get the proof and we use
it, it’s my property and somebody’ll have to cough up some big
bucks for it.”

If Jeff could make a few extra dollars on
this one, I was all for it, as long as I got my story. I remembered
Bass saying how perfect the recording with Candy had come out. I
wanted that kind of clarity. “Will we get clear reception?”

“
Listen,” he said, with a
tiny bit of pride in his voice, “this isn’t just my job, this is
what I do. The stuff I’ve got here will kick ass.”

His confidence encouraged me. We agreed on a
meeting place and I hustled to get a few things done before I
left.

Still no answer on Bass or William’s phones.
Annoyed the hell out of me. With limited time, I wrote them both
quick, but explicit e-mails, explaining the plan and hoping neither
would take offense that I moved forward without them. I tried
calling Sophie too. Sister Mary Mildred told me that Sophie went
back to her apartment to clean up, but she’d be back soon.

I called her there, but nothing. She could
be en route, or she could just as easily be spending some time with
Casimir and Mabel upstairs, getting herself settled again. And I
didn’t have time to waste tracking her down.

I knew I should wait until I talked with
Bass, or William. But even if everything went perfectly, I needed
to get this story finished. Pronto. Tuesday’s deadline loomed. Even
if I could corner Bruno, get him to admit to his guilt on tape, I
still needed to follow up with my cop friend Maria, to wind up our
story with a triumphant arrest. That all took time. Lots of
time.

Ignoring the doubts dancing around in my
head, I set off to meet Jeff.

* * * * *

Fullerton Avenue buzzed with activity. I
exited northbound Lake Shore Drive to head west, passing
nineteenth-century brownstones interspersed with brand-spanking new
loft homes on both sides of the street. Traffic crawled, doing its
peculiar city movement. Coasting forward while the distant traffic
light was red, and coming to a complete stop whenever it turned
green.

I pulled into the parking lot of a bustling
Starbucks Coffee shop, lucky that a motorcycle pulled out, opening
a spot for me. Jeff was there, waiting for me outside the glass
doors, sipping from a steaming cup.

“
Wow. Nice neighborhood,” I
said, as I got out of my car.

“
Yeah,” he answered,
looking around as he nodded. “Moved up here about five years ago.
My kid went off to college and I finally talked the wife into
living somewhere with a little night life.”

Not particularly interested, I still strove
for polite. After all, the guy was helping me out on his day off.
And without getting Bass’s approval first. “And how does she like
it up here?”

He grinned, half of his
mouth turning up. “She doesn’t. Which is why she spends so much
time visiting her sister in Atlanta. She prefers a ‘normal’ life,
whatever that is. And, hey, the weather ain’t bad down there,
either. ‘
Course, I can’t really complain
today. Nice day for October, isn’t it?”

It was. A warm air front had washed over the
city in the wee hours of the morning, and I’d taken off the winter
jacket, getting along with an open, zippered sweatshirt over a
casual T-shirt. A gentle breeze kicked up my hair, and I noticed
gray clouds in the distant southerly horizon. It would cool off
again, soon enough. “So, what do I need to do?” I asked, prodding a
bit.

“
C’mon, I’ve got it all
over here.”

We walked about fifteen steps to a blood red
convertible. One of those cars that wears only a logo, no name, so
that you have to know cars to figure out the brand. I was pretty
sure it was a Mercedes. But it could have just as easily been a
Beemer. Whatever. “Nice car,” I said. Geez, maybe we were paying
this guy too much. North side homes in this area didn’t come cheap
and neither did cars like this one.

“
Belongs to a friend of
mine,” he said, using a handheld control to beep the trunk open.
“He let me borrow it this morning. Here.” He reached into a duffel
bag and grabbed a slim plastic case. It reminded me of the kind of
pencil pouches I used as a kid. Clear on one side, silver on the
other. Reaching his narrow fingers into the top opening, he plucked
at the device inside with a pinching motion and extracted a thin
wire, with a tiny silver button at the top. Like a very long,
flexible straight pin, it wobbled in the breeze as Jeff handled
it.

“
You’re sure you’re going
to get this guy to admit to prostitution in the Catholic church?”
he asked, skepticism abundant. “Seems unlikely that a priest is in
charge of something like this.”

“
He’s not in charge,” I
said. “A woman named Lisa runs the show. But I know that Bruno is
involved. If I can just get him to admit to a few key things …” I
had no doubt about being able to get Bruno to admit to the bribery
and to his complicity in the prostitution ring. Feeling like
Scarlett O’Hara, I swore to myself that if I had to lie, cheat,
steal … I’d figure out a way to make Bruno’s admission work for me.
To nail the bastard. Because it wasn’t going to be over until the
fat priest sang.

“
Okay then,” he said, “and
like I said, this is my own personal equipment. It’s actually
superior to the stuff we have at the station. We used some
high-quality stuff last night, but I have a few extras here.
State-of-the-art.”

“
That’s great.”

“
I mean,” he said, blinking
as he continued, “I like to keep up with the newest products. Guys
my age are nosed out of the tech fields if we don’t keep up. Okay,
here, let me explain how this works.”

Digging back into the duffel, he pulled out
a roll of medical tape, the cross-hatched white kind that’s almost
clear. His eyes raked over my chest. “Good size,” he said.

“
What’s a good
size?”

“
Your breasts.”

He wasn’t leering or making a joke, from
what I could tell, but I didn’t understand his comment, either. It
rendered me momentarily speechless.

Squinting at my chest again now, he added,
“I’d suggest you lose a layer … Too much fabric could interfere
with the signal.”

“
What does the size of my
chest have to do with anything?”

“
Cleavage,” he said,
turning back toward the trunk for more pieces. “God’s perfect
invention for the eavesdropping trade. We hide the microphone in
there, you’ll get great reception.”

His assessment of my build had been
forthright, almost clinical, but the “we” part of setting up the
microphone made me apprehensive. Producing a small metal box, about
half the size of a pack of cigarettes, he explained the controls
that took up its top. “This is the actual transmitter.” He pointed.
Turning the device over in his hand, he continued. “It’ll pick up
everything from the microphone—totally wireless. But you have to
keep the transmitter within, say, arm’s reach. You smoke?”

“
No.”

“
You do, now,” he said,
pulling out a fake cigarette pack. “Isn’t this sweet? Tuck the
transmitter in here …” he opened the bottom of the open pack to
demonstrate, then closed it again, “and see, it looks like ordinary
cigs.” He pointed the top toward me. Open, it looked like an
almost-full pack of smokes. All half-cigarettes, they must have
been glued in place because they didn’t fall out when he gestured.
“Stick this in your purse, keep the flap open. It’s powerful enough
to grab whatever you get and send it out to me. No one will ever
know.”

A steady stream of people walked by, some
openly curious about our intense concentration directed at my
chest. Others ignored us completely.

I looked skeptically at the long needle-y
contraption. “I just tape this in place.”

“
Yeah,” he said. “Try not
to let the tip touch any fabric, or your bra or anything. Scratchy
noises will interfere with your reception. And I’m assuming you
won’t have to shave your chest before you affix the tape.” He
grinned at his own joke. “I’m telling you … cleavage is the perfect
hiding spot.”

He taught me how to test the system myself
before I left. I paid close attention and made him run through it
twice, just to be sure. “This is a lot different than the
mini-tapey device I was going to use.”

He made me pull it out and show him.

“
You know,” he said, “this
is a nice little recorder. Not great, but not bad.” He made a so-so
movement with his head. “It’s your call, but I like redundancy. It
wouldn’t hurt to keep this running during your interview too. You
never know when you need a backup.”

I raised my eyebrows. Hadn’t considered that
idea. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Sounds good.”

“
Where’re we going
anyway?”

I told him.

Making a face, he looked at the blood-red
car again. “I don’t think I want to take this baby into that
neighborhood. My friend has a van that’ll be perfect though; I’ll
get that and meet you up there. Keep an eye out. It’s white and a
little beat up, with a blue company logo on the side. ‘Cable
Partners.’ It’ll blend right in.”

“
Okay,” I said, checking my
watch. Time would be tight.

“
When you get what we need,
I’ll take off. I’ve got that stopoff at O’Hare when we’re done, but
then I’ll head back to the office. Start making copies for you.
Don’t let any of the other techs at the station in on this,
okay?”

“
Why not?” I
asked.

The question apparently took him by
surprise. He answered, flustered. “I don’t want anyone messing with
my stuff,” he said. Looking at his watch, he added. “Time to
move.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

What must have been a magnificent church at
one time, now sat like a dethroned queen in the midst of the
unwashed masses. Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow had the architectural
lines of those built in the very early part of the twentieth
century. Heavy European influence. I spotted the massive structure
when I was still four blocks away, its tall spire a majestic
presence above the half-bare trees. I didn’t notice its shabby
condition till I got close; the façade looked like a jigsaw puzzle
with scattered pieces missing, the cement steps sloping so far down
and to the left that they reminded me of a funhouse attraction.