The Priest's Graveyard Page 13

  Then I settled down a little and told him everything.

  I told him about the money I’d stuffed into the pajama bottoms. I told him about climbing into the trunk and escaping to the warehouse. I told him about renting the room at the Staybridge hotel in Long Beach.

  I told him much more than I had intended, but I was speaking for myself and I couldn’t stop. The whole time, he just listened.

  When I finished I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and we both sat in silence for a moment.

  “I have to kill him, Danny. Is that so evil?”

  “I’m so sorry for your pain, but it’s not your place to decide,” he said.

  “Who then? Will God decide? I think God wants him dead!”

  “Then he will see to Bourque’s death, either here or in hell. But believe me, you won’t survive that kind of confrontation with a man like Bourque. He’ll crush you.”

  Danny said it calmly, without any passion or deep conviction, but he said it, and I immediately pounced on his admission.

  “So you agree Bourque is a ruthless man.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did! And you said as much last night before you even knew my story. Why else would you be so adamant that I get out of town?”

  He hesitated, and I embraced the pause as a statement of affirmation.

  “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” he asked.

  I hardly heard his denial. “I don’t think you were there by accident. In fact, I think you have a problem with Bourque. You followed that man down into the basement. Who in his right mind would look for the bathroom through an employees’ door? And how did you know to tell me to hide in the other closet—unless you’d already checked it out?”

  I’d caught him flat-footed.

  “Will you help me?” I asked.

  It was getting dark, but I was sure I saw his face go a shade lighter. He didn’t know what to say. I was right about him.

  “This is absurd,” he said in a soft voice. Then, with a little more intensity: “Listen to yourself. It’s true, Bourque has a reputation and I wouldn’t put foul play past him. I’ve seen my share of ordinary people doing horrible things. But I’m not above the law. I’m a priest! I’m so sorry for your loss, I really am. Injustice infuriates me to no end. But if you think I’m in any position to actually help you get your revenge, you’re terribly mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you’re the only one who can help me. Tell me where you learned to pick locks.”

  “What?”

  “I saw the way you handled yourself, and you’re not like any priest I’ve ever heard of. Tell me, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

  He stared at me, mouth parted.

  “Go on,” I said. “Tell me.”

  Danny closed his mouth, leaned back, and stared off at the horizon again. It seemed to be his escape. He sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

  I noticed that his hand was trembling, only a tiny bit, but it was on the table right in front of me and there was a tremor in his bones. I suddenly felt a deep empathy for him, maybe because I thought he might have suffered as much as I had. Maybe that’s why he was a priest.

  I reached out and put my hand on his. “It’s okay, Danny,” I said. “You can tell me.”

  He glanced at my hand, but I didn’t remove it. I couldn’t help thinking Danny needed me, and I was desperate to be needed. Also, I can’t say I wasn’t pleased with the small amount of power I felt in taking control of the situation. It was as if we’d switched roles. And I had done that!

  “Tell you what?” he asked.

  “Tell me how you were so deeply wounded,” I said.

  For a long time neither of us spoke. I realized that my hand on his was making him uncomfortable, and I suddenly felt awkward, so I removed it and folded my hands in my lap.

  “I suppose we’ve all been deeply wounded at one time or another,” he said. He shrugged. “I grew up in Bosnia. I saw some things there that left an impression on me. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Bosnian war, 1992?”

  “No.”

  He gave me a strange look. “They say it was an ethnic war between Croats and Serbs, but it was just as much a religious war. Bosnian Serbs, mainly Bosnian Orthodox Christians, adopted a policy of ethnic and religious cleansing—the relocation and slaughter of Roman Catholic Croats and Muslims. It escalated into the systematic rape of women and the mass killing of non-Serbs, all done in the name of Christianity. They came into the small valley my family and I lived in. We were Croats.”

  Croats? The Catholics who were cleansed? My breathing stalled.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “Because I want to know,” I said. “Because you need to tell someone. Because maybe we are the same.”

  He chuckled, but it was a nervous reaction. I didn’t let him off the hook.

  “So tell me,” I said.

  The muscles along his jaw firmed up. “My mother and my two sisters were raped and killed by Christian Serbs because they were Catholic. I was fifteen.”

  “Oh no!”

  “As you can imagine, my life was shattered. I joined the militia and learned how to fight. After the war I came to the United States, determined to honor the death of my family by being a good Catholic priest. And here I am.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt such a bond with him in that moment, because he’d faced what I had faced. Worse! Much worse!

  “So you see, Renee, I do know what it means to suffer and lose something precious.”

  “But you became a priest? Serving God, who let you down?”

  Danny nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, then unfolded his legs and stood. “Would you like to come inside for a moment? Have some hot tea?”

  “Tea?”

  He slid the door open and stepped into his house. I stopped at the entrance and looked around. His house was furnished simply: a kitchen table, one leather couch, one stuffed leather chair, two floor lamps, and an armoire, which held a big-screen Toshiba television. The floors were covered with wood and tile—no carpet.

  It was clean. Not as clean as I would have liked it, but cleaner than I expected.

  “Coming?”

  He was at the stove, heating a pot of water.

  “You’re clean!” I said.

  Danny grinned. “I am? Tea?”

  “Tea. Yes, I can have tea as long as it’s a fresh bag with boiled water.”

  Three minutes later we sat around a small oak table with steaming cups in front of us.

  He looked down at his tea. “So. I became a priest. To do God’s work—true religion. Cleansing the world of evil and serving orphans and widows. If people knew my story, they might question my occupation. Even I do sometimes.” He lifted his eyes. “I’m not a typical priest, I assure you. And I could leave it all if I felt so compelled. I’m sure that day will come. But for now, serving God suits me.”

  I thought I understood and I said so.

  “Then maybe you can also understand why I spot the evil in people like Jonathan Bourque so easily. Faith isn’t about a list of rules and regulations, it’s about love.”

  I wasn’t sure where he was headed, but I let him talk because he had done the same for me.

  “But I am deeply offended by injustice, if by your actions you abuse the rights of another. This is what I learned in Bosnia as a teenager. Innocent men, women, and children lost their right to life, in the name of God.”

  “Lamont was innocent. Jonathan Bourque killed him,” I said.

  “God will be his judge.”

  “Do you believe in the death penalty?”

  He answered slowly. “Yes.”

  “Then why can’t you help me? I’m an orphan and a widow. I need help. I need to kill the pig who killed Lamont.”

  “That is not for us to do. You and I should concern ourselves with loving others, not extracting revenge.”

  “Surely God uses people to carry out h
is will. Would you kill the butchers who killed your mother if you had the chance?”

  “I believe I did.”

  “Really? When you were fifteen?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “And did God approve?”

  “I believe he did.”

  “But you won’t help me—”

  “Please, Renee! You’re trying to convince a priest to help you kill someone. I might have an obligation to turn you in to the authorities.”

  “You won’t. If you wanted to involve the police, you would have done it last night.”

  “You’re missing the point. You are on a dangerous path that will end badly for you. These are youthful fantasies, and however much I might empathize, you have to forget them! Look at you!”

  “Maybe I should be God’s servant, too,” I said. “If you killed the men who killed your mother, why shouldn’t I do the same for Lamont?”

  “Because you’ll only be killed yourself!”

  He had a good point. What if Danny did turn me in?

  “You’re young, naive, and inexperienced. Bourque will crush you with one blow.”

  I took a sip of tea, feeling deflated. But even then I didn’t waver in my resolve to end Bourque’s life. My convictions ran too deep. I suddenly wanted to leave.

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Renee,” Danny said softly. “And I won’t betray you to the authorities. I won’t need to, because you’re going to leave the state.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must. I’ve seen enough people around me die.”

  Now he was telling me I was going to die and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—help me stay alive. I felt terrible and small. What had I been thinking, coming to a priest to help me kill a man?

  It only showed how ridiculous I was. Maybe the heroin had wiped out more of my mind than I’d realized.

  “You’re right.” I stood. “I should be going.”

  “I’m sorry, Renee,” he said, standing. “I’m begging you, forget this.”

  “Yes. Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s stupid.”

  “I can still help you. I can put you in touch with good people who will take you in.”

  “No. No, I’m good. I can leave town on my own. I’m not that stupid.”

  “No. I’m sure you’re not.”

  We stood like that for a moment.

  “Can you call me a cab?”

  “Nonsense, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No, you’ve done too much already. I’d like to take a cab.”

  “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a problem. It’s the least I can do.”

  “No. I like cabs.”

  He watched me.

  “Okay. But promise me you’ll forget all this nonsense about Bourque. Let God deal with him.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  I was lying through my teeth.

  14

  THE WORLD’S ORBIT, once in a constant rotation that could not be altered by anything even as cataclysmic as an encounter with a massive comet, had faltered. Perhaps even stalled. A young bleached-blond woman who couldn’t weigh more than Danny’s left leg had smashed into it and forever altered its course.

  At first Danny couldn’t understand why Renee’s visit made such a devastating impact on him. After the Yellow Cab took her away, he’d gone about his business, determined to shrug off their meeting. He washed the cups and wiped down the counter and prepared himself a Cobb salad and watched some news.

  But after thirty futile minutes of not hearing what was said on the tube, he gave up. The matter was fairly simple. Renee had managed to enter his mind and was refusing to leave.

  In a matter of minutes they’d bonded. She’d simply walked through the barriers he’d carefully built around himself as if she were a ghost who could walk through walls.

  He’d sat listening to her talk about her husband, but his mind was preoccupied with fending off an insane desire to grab her hand and tell her everything.

  You’re right, Renee. I know you’re right because I’m just like you. You’re like me. We’re the same, you and I. Your life has been ruined by a beast who will only ruin more lives if we let him live.

  At least three others in Bourque’s organization had gone missing that very month.

  Now one more had come to light. Lamont Myers, who was evidently farther up the food chain. Bourque would have cloaked his disappearance with special care, but he hadn’t taken into consideration the widow left behind. Renee.

  Danny’s and Renee’s paths were already inseparably linked.

  She was idealistic enough to believe, truly believe, that she was meant to destroy Jonathan Bourque. Even more, she believed that she was morally obligated to kill him. Looking into her eyes, Danny had known beyond the slightest doubt that she would not be dissuaded from that conviction.

  In this way, she was his twin.

  He lay awake trying to remember precisely what he’d said to her, what words he had chosen, and whether those words would betray him in any way.

  He’d said too much, far too much. Without meaning to, he’d given her all the moral reasoning she needed to feed her obsession. Though he’d insisted she was foolish for even thinking of going after Bourque, was it enough?

  That depended on how intelligent Renee was. Where at first he had seen only naïveté and idealism, he understood she possessed a simple logic that cut through all the fog that kept most people scratching their heads.

  It was no secret that most people were like sheep, content to eat the grass at their feet and join the herd at a shepherd’s beck and call. This was why whole nations followed the smooth tongue of a dictator. This was why good men and women massed to salute Hitler as he rode by in his motorcade. This was why decent people had raped and slaughtered their neighbors in Bosnia.

  Danny managed to fall asleep sometime shortly after two in the morning, but his rest was fitful. When he rose at eight, the matter seemed even more dire than it had during the night.

  He could not just dismiss his encounter with Renee.

  He slipped on his clerical collar, studied his image in the mirror, then grabbed an apple from the kitchen before heading to his first appointment, a dreaded budget meeting with the administrative staff.

  He had a clear choice, one fraught with moral implications.

  Consider: Renee was like him in too many ways for him to ignore.

  Consider: She was directly involved with Jonathan Bourque, his own target, and could prove to be an invaluable source of information.

  Consider: He liked her. In fact, in some ways he liked her very much, in the same way he imagined he might like a soul mate. This sentiment surprised him, because he hardly knew her.

  Granny Smith apple in hand, Danny climbed into his white Chevy Malibu and backed it out of the garage.

  Consider: Renee was in danger. The thought of harm coming to her disturbed him considerably.

  Consider: She might have an insight into him that could undermine his objectives.

  Consider: The mystery that surrounded her had become a serious distraction to him.

  The moral implication was quite clear. He had to know more both for her sake and for his.

  Danny stopped his car at the end of his driveway and made a decision. He picked up his cell phone, selected the church’s number from the list of contacts, and called Regina. She answered on the second ring.

  “Good morning, Regina.”

  “Well, good morning, Danny. You’re on your way in?”

  “Actually, no. I’ve had an emergency come up and can’t attend the budget meeting. I’m needed. Please extend my apologies and tell them to go on without me.”

  “Oh? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes of course. A personal matter, actually.”

  “No problem. I’ll let them know.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pulled back into the garage, hurried to his bedroom, and reemerged wearing jeans and a black polo s
hirt. It took only a few minutes to find the address of the only Staybridge hotel in Long Beach. He left the house and headed south, objective clear.

  He called the hotel and asked for Renee Gilmore’s room. From what he’d learned the night before, she left her room only to shop or to conduct surveillance, however ill advised and amateurish, on the Bourque Foundation. He had to give her credit, though; she had more of a backbone than she might realize.

  She picked up on the tenth ring.

  “Hello?”

  Danny disconnected. She was home as expected. He would have to wait, but waiting was a task with which he was well acquainted. At least he knew where she was. He doubted her enemies did. The fact that she lived in a hotel was to her advantage.

  Twenty minutes later, he parked his car in the strip mall across from the Staybridge and settled down with a full view of the front entrance. A quick drive around the property had revealed two other exits, but when she emerged it would be to take a cab, her preferred means of transportation, and she would meet it at the front.

  No doubt the money she’d spent on cabs these past few months could have purchased her a car. He didn’t know how much cash she’d packed into the pajama bottoms before escaping Lamont Myers’s house, but she obviously wasn’t concerned with small details like money. She existed solely to bring justice to Jonathan Bourque’s doorstep.

  His wait lasted three hours.

  She stepped out dressed in a pink T-shirt, her shoulder-length bleached hair blowing in the wind, and walked toward a Yellow Cab that had pulled up five minutes earlier.

  He had to admire her nerve, so great for such a tiny thing. Renee might step on a ladybug and not have the weight to crush it. She seemed to float more than walk.

  The cab door shut with her safely inside and motored away.

  Danny exited his car and hurried across the street. There were a number of ways to learn the room number of a hotel guest, and though all were quite simple, none was easy. It often took more than one attempt.

  He approached the front desk, relieved that the man on duty was young with black hair that flopped over his left eye. It was always easier to convince a rebellious spirit to bend the rules. Older people who’d grown comfortable in their boxes were the worst.