"Dog hair on the back of his shirt and bread crumbs on the front?" Maggie wondered if the monsignor was a sloppy eater. Maybe his housekeeper owned the Pekingese. None of these things made much of an impression on her, except to note that Terese Medina was very good at her job.
Almost as if she sensed Maggie's skepticism, Martha Stofko looked at her and said, "O'Sullivan's stomach contents didn't include any bread. Looked pretty much like meat loaf and mashed potatoes."
"Yum," Pakula said and drew a few laughs. Then he turned to Carmichael. "So what goodies do you have in that pile?"
"I might just have us a suspect," Carmichael told him, pausing to finish a mouthful of peanut M amp;M's. "Remember our friend, Father Tony Gallagher? Seemed a bit… evasive, but oh so polite."
Carmichael reminded Maggie of a stand-up comic, her statements short punch lines all delivered with a poker face and an even tone. The pile was for show. She didn't refer to it or to notes. She didn't need to.
"I did some checking just because he kinda pissed me off. About seven years ago he was an associate pastor for a short time in Chicago at Saint Stephen of the Martyr. Just so happened he was replacing none other than a Father Gerald Kincaid who was being reassigned."
'That's interesting," Pakula said and sipped what Maggie thought had to be his third cup of coffee, not counting the airport brew.
"It gets even more interesting," Carmichael continued. "Father Gerald Kincaid recently went away for a while. The Catholic Church has a cute little term for it, 'in between assignments.' He spent six months at a treatment center in Jemez Springs, New Mexico."
"What was he being treated for?" Chief Ramsey asked. This information seemed to have caught the chief's attention. He sat forward, elbows on the table.
"A Father Quinn at the center told me they treat priests who suffer from a variety of conditions including what he referred to as 'challenges with alcohol' and, of course, any mental or emotional problems."
"And Father Kincaid's problem?" Maggie found herself sitting forward, too, anxious that her early gut reaction to this case might be true.
'That was a confidential matter," Carmichael said, but held up her hand to stop several groans. "However, I waited and called back a little later. This time I didn't ask for anyone of an official capacity. I Just chitchatted with the volunteer answering the phone. She had lots to tell me."
"Gossip," Pakula said and he didn't look happy. "Inadmissible gossip."
"Yep, you're right," Carmichael said as if that was exactly what she expected him to say, but it didn't break her routine or slow her down. "So do you wanna hear the inadmissible gossip or not?"
She looked to Chief Ramsey and he nodded, waiting. Unlike Pakula, he didn't seem to have a problem with it.
"Barbara told me that Father Gerald Kincaid had a little problem with what was officially being called 'inappropriate behavior with preadolescent boys.'"
"And so he was reassigned," Maggie said. "Did the Chicago PD have anything on record?" she asked even though she thought she already knew the answer. She had discovered in her short research that up until recently most of the cases had been settled out of court and under the radar of local law enforcement.
"Nothing," Carmichael said. "Absolutely nothing. Barbara, however, told me that Chicago hadn't been the first incident. There had been dozens of allegations. And you're right," she told Maggie. "Each time Father Kincaid had simply been 'reassigned.' In fact, he was reassigned to five different parishes. This last time the parents threatened to go to the cops, but his archbishop convinced them Kincaid would be sent away for treatment."
Carmichael paused and looked around the table. "About six weeks ago he was released and assigned to AH Saints Catholic Church. I talked to the church council president and the cleaning lady at the rectory __ a pretty good mix in the way of gossip, by the way __ and the funny thing is, nobody at All Saints in Columbia even knew Father Kincaid had been in a treatment center let alone what he was being treated for."
"Sounds familiar," Maggie couldn't help saying, and she met Pakula's eyes.
"Agent O'Dell thinks that could be the connection. That we might have an assassin on our hands."
Maggie felt all their eyes on her. Carmichael actually smiled… a little.
"What about Daniel Ellison?" Pakula wanted to know. "Agent Weston said Ellison left the priesthood to get married. Doesn't sound to me like someone who messed with little boys."
"I haven't found any allegations, but if Kincaid's case is any indication, I'd say the church is pretty good at keeping allegations under wraps. I was thinking we might ask our new friend, Father Tony Gallagher."
"Oh, really. Why is that?"
"Seems he and Ellison were in the same seminary class at Notre Dame."
"Holy crap!" Pakula said. "So Father Tony has a connection to both men?"
Maggie watched Carmichael finally grin as she seemed to relish the information she had just presented.
"Not only that," Carmichael said, looking as if she had saved the best for last, "but when our good Father Tony was in Chicago, he started and headed up an unofficial victims' rights advocacy group. I imagine he got to hear all kinds of the things __ or rather the allegations: __ that Father Kincaid was accused of doing."
"If the church was keeping it hush-hush, how did you find out about the advocacy group?" Ramsey asked.
"One thing I should probably tell you, Chief, is that for some reason people tell me all kinds of stuff. So I guess we should probably have Kasab bring the padre back in for more questioning, huh?" she asked Ramsey and Pakula, but was looking over at Pete Kasab who sat up for the first time at the mention of his name.
"Yeah, I suppose so," Pakula said and then added, "And you might just as well have him bring his quarterback attorney." He looked over at Chief Ramsey. "Speaking of attorneys and other bottom-feeders, Agent O'Dell thinks we might be able to manipulate the media into helping us find out a thing or two."
Ramsey sat back, arms crossed. One hand strayed to rub at his jaw. His eyes met Maggie's, gentle but tired blue-gray eyes outlined with pronounced wrinkles, what were once laugh lines. "Let us know how you want to work it. We'll make it happen."
"I think it should be today. We can go over what choice information we release. Maybe we even leave out Ellison for the time being and see if anyone comes forward, connecting him," she told both Ramsey and Pakula.
Pakula gave her a nod of agreement or perhaps it was admission. To the others he said, "Sounds like we better find out what rumors there may have been about Monsignor O'Sullivan. As much as I hate it, we probably should call in that nagging reporter from the Omaha World Herald and find out what the hell she thinks she knows."
CHAPTER 42
Omaha, Nebraska
Gibson tried to remember the last time he had invited someone over to his house. He did it all the time when his dad was alive. But then his dad was sort of like a magnet. Gibson could remember inviting a friend over after school once and his dad talked them into a game of H-O-R-S-E. Before they knew it there had to be like half a dozen neighborhood kids playing, taking their turns and laughing so hard nobody could hit the rim.
It was like that all the time whether they went sledding or to a ball game or even just washed the car in the driveway. Everyone wanted to be around his dad. Sometimes he wondered if he ever had any real friends or if they all just wanted to be around his "cool" dad. But this kid, this Timmy Hamilton was different.
They'd figured out that Gibson would turn sixteen a month before Timmy turned fifteen _ so he was more than a whole year older than Timmy __ which allowed Gibson to call him "kid." Timmy didn't care. He seemed in awe of Gibson and his knowledge, and not in awe like he couldn't believe how geeky Gibson was, but like he really was interested, like he really wanted to be Gibson's friend. Not an easy task. Gibson knew he didn't make it easy for people. He knew he was sort of odd, compared to other kids. He didn't care about the right things, or at least not the things his classmates cared about. Instead, Gibson loved playing chess. He listened to a strange combination of music, with the Stray Cats being one of his favorites. He collected old pop bottles and had every episode of The X-Files on DVD. He wore his hair longer than was the style and wore a baseball cap even during class until the teachers asked him to take it off. Except Sister Kate's class. He never made Sister Kate ask.