"Thanks, Bernie," Pakula told him. When he glanced at O'Dell he had to do a double take. All the color had drained from her face and she was staring at him.
"You have Keller at the same hotel I'm staying at?" O'Dell was incredulous.
"Not my idea. Chief Ramsey and Assistant Director Cunningham set this up. I was told to treat him as a guest of the Omaha Police Department."
"And how do you treat a guest of the Omaha Police Department?" O'Dell wanted to know.
"Not sure," Pakula said, scratching his jaw. "We've never had one before. But I would think the first rule is to make him nice and comfy so he tells us lots of stuff. And since it sounds like your Father Michael Keller doesn't trust us, we should start by accommodating his request to meet on neutral territory. Suppose he's afraid we might consider arresting him?"
"I'd like to do more than arrest him," O'Dell muttered, surprising both Pakula and Carmichael.
"We should get going." Pakula grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair but threw it over his arm. It had already been eighty degrees this morning when he came in. He hated to see what it was by now. "We certainly don't want to keep our special guest waiting. I hope to hell he has something we can use."
"I just can't believe Cunningham put him in my hotel."
"Probably the chief's doing," Pakula told her. "They give the police department a pretty decent discount."
The look O'Dell shot him said exactly what she thought of their discount.
CHAPTER 71
Omaha, Nebraska
After Timmy's mom left for work Gibson had convinced Timmy they couldn't go to Explorers, Actually it didn't take much convincing when he told him about Brother Sebastian grabbing him at school and then coming to his frickin' house. They sat in the living room in front of the TV with their bowls of cereal. They left it on the Ellen DeGeneres Show, hoping it'd make them laugh, but even the audience dancing segment didn't get either of them going.
"How do you suppose he found me?"
"The school," Timmy said. "I bet he asked Father Tony or Sister Kate."
"It had to be Father Tony. Sister Kate would never give him my address. I know she wouldn't."
"So what's in the leather thing? How do you know that's what he wants?"
Gibson hesitated, taking another mouthful of cereal and pretending that's what was keeping him from answering Timmy's questions. He needed to trust someone and Timmy already knew about the game.
"I think there're all sorts of papers about Monsignor O'Sullivan."
"Papers?"
"Yeah, you know, like reports of some kind. Complaints."
"Did you file a report against the guy?" Timmy asked.
Gibson looked at him, wiping his bangs out of his eyes, his fingers lingering over his forehead in search of pimples.
"No," he finally said. "Did you file one against your guy?"
"No," Timmy answered, sticking his index fingernail between his teeth, his own nervous habit. Gibson could see there weren't many fingernails left to chew on, most of them down to the quick. "Nobody believed me, except my mom. And they wouldn't even listen to her because two other guys had already been arrested."
'Two other guys?" Gibson asked. They hadn't shared any details with each other. Gibson figured Timmy would be as embarrassed as he was to talk about it. Now he realized that Timmy might have had a worse thing happen to him. "Did the two guys do anything to you?"
"I really don't know for sure. The guy who kidnapped me always wore a Halloween mask. It was one of those dead presidents. So I never saw his face."
"You were kidnapped?"
Timmy stopped chewing his fingernail and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yeah. I try not to think about it much."
"Sorry." Gibson didn't know what else to say.
"No, it's okay. I used to have nightmares. It was weird though,' cause it wasn't about being taken, you know. It was like I was always trying to see behind the mask or pull it off. Like I needed to see who it was for sure."
"How come you think it was a priest?"
"Little things. Probably stupid things. The cops told me they weren't proof." Now Timmy pulled his feet up under him, almost curling into a ball. "Father Keller used to always trade baseball cards with us altar boys, and the masked guy brought me some. Other stuff, too. Like his tennis shoes. Father Keller always wore the cleanest, brightest tennis shoes I think I ever saw. And the masked guy did, too."
"How about the guys they arrested?"
"One never wore tennis shoes. The other wore really dirty ones."
Gibson smiled. "Not exactly CSI stuff, huh?"
"No, I guess not." Timmy smiled, too, finally uncurling himself, maybe feeling safe again. He reached for his cereal bowl. "But Father Keller's someplace down in South America, so I guess I don't have anything to worry about. I just thought putting his name into the game would help me sort of eliminate him in my mind, you know? Stop the dreams from happening and it sorta did. I haven't had one in a long time."
Gibson nodded like he understood, but it hadn't really worked that way for him. He hadn't had a nightmare until Monsignor O'Sullivan was dead.
Then Timmy added, "Do you think we should tell somebody about the leather thing?"
"I think it's called a portfolio. Who would we tell that would believe us? They wouldn't even believe you and your mom." Gibson had already tried to think who he could tell and hadn't come up with anyone. He had thought about Sister Kate, but he didn't want to get her in trouble, too. He got the feeling that anyone who knew about this portfolio might be in trouble.
"Yeah, you're right," Timmy said and slurped down the milk from his bowl, putting it back on the coffee table. There was a silence while the two boys seemed to think about it then Timmy continued, "My mom says there've been other priests killed. Do you think they were part of the game? Maybe names other players submitted when they were invited to play?"
This time Gibson shrugged. He set his cereal bowl down next to Timmy's one on the coffee table. He sat back into the soft couch.
"I think every time we played the game and the Holy Man was terminated… " Gibson paused, watching Timmy's face "… I think maybe a real priest might have been offed."
"But who's doing it?" Timmy asked and Gibson couldn't help noticing that Timmy didn't seem shocked or even surprised by his theory.
"The Sin Eater had to be at the airport when Monsignor O'Sullivan was killed. Otherwise how did he know I was there? He knows about the portfolio. He could've been the one who put it in my backpack." It felt good to Gibson to finally be saying it all out loud, instead of going over it again and again in his mind.
"And The Sin Eater's the only one who knows all the names."
They stared at each other. Gibson still couldn't believe this was real. It was supposed to be a game. It was supposed to be a way for them to take out their anger and frustration, to help them feel in control and free. It was supposed to be a way to deal with the stuff that they had gone through, the abuse or inappropriate touching or whatever the hell they wanted or needed to call it. The Sin Eater was the master of the game.
"The Sin Eater's last message said that as long as I had the portfolio I was safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to me," Gibson told Timmy.
"Do you believe him?'
Gibson had to think about this before he answered. The game had made him feel in control, strong. Each time he signed on he felt like he had friends in the other players and their characters. He couldn't think of a single thing about the game that was meant to hurt him or take advantage of him or make him feel stupid.
"Yeah, I think I do," he finally said.