Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [629]
Nick leaned against the doorjamb. Tony didn’t seem too concerned. Christine had probably blown it out of proportion. Of course, someone had to go through the monsignor’s stuff, box it up. He had never paid much attention to Tony’s office before, but suddenly he was taking it all in with new eyes, thinking of his own office back in Boston and what someone might find if they had to clean it out for him. Tony’s was a little neater, but not much. Stacks of magazines lined the far corner. Books and computer games were piled together on two shelves of the bookcase. They were an odd combination. The books were mostly English-lit stuff, poetry and Shakespeare. The computer games appeared to be about warriors and crusaders. A bulletin board had layers tacked over each other—anything from class changes and teachers’ phone numbers to Nebraska football ticket stubs, dry-cleaning receipts and take-out menus. A duffel bag had been thrown under his desk, the zippers undone with a dirty towel halfway out and a pair of muddy running shoes beside it. He’d forgotten how small Tony’s feet were. They looked like kids’ tennis shoes.
Nick glanced out into the hall. Then he came in and sat in the recliner Tony kept in the corner. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Christine seems to think the archbishop has a few secrets he’d like to have die with Monsignor O’Sullivan. Don’t worry, I know if something’s going on you probably can’t talk about it.”
He studied Tony while he hoped for a response, but didn’t expect one. There was a heavy sigh and Tony sat back, setting the wood creaking and the rollers squealing as he slid the chair so that they were facing each other. But then Tony crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t say anything. It was almost as if he wanted to hear what Nick thought he knew. Okay, Nick could play that game.
“I have to tell you,” Nick said, this time in almost a whisper. “I didn’t even know Monsignor O’Sullivan was gay.”
“What? Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me, but if he was messing with boys—”
“Pedophiles are rarely homosexuals, Nick.” Tony shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he needed to explain this.
“But I thought that was part of the church’s solution to the mess, to screen candidates better.”
“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time they ignored science and professional research. I guess you haven’t worked on any pedophile cases in Boston, because you’d know that if you had.”
“I’ve been lucky. Since I left Nebraska I haven’t had to work on any other cases involving kids. So how do you happen to know so much about pedophiles?”
“I was a victims’ advocate when I was at Saint Stephen of the Martyr in Chicago,” Tony said, but he was staring out of his window now. “It was an unofficial post, since officially the archdiocese didn’t have a problem to begin with.”
“That had to be tough,” Nick said, watching him. “How could you work with those kids and know the guys who abused them were probably just being reassigned?”
“I didn’t know that. Not at the time. You have to understand, Nick—” and for this Tony met his eyes “—we were told things were being taken care of.”
“It didn’t clue you in when there were no charges brought against them?”
“That’s not the way it works,” Tony answered, but his eyes were away from Nick’s again, darting around the room, out the window and back to Nick. He scraped a hand over his jaw, as if looking for the right words. “The church didn’t look to the county or the state to handle things,” he said carefully, slowly, as if explaining it to a child, but there was nothing condescending in his tone. If Nick didn’t know better, his friend sounded almost remorseful. “Priests are to be held to a higher standard and should be judged as such. They answer to a higher authority.”
“Sure, I know,” Nick said. “You mean a higher authority as in the archbishop?”
“No. I mean a higher authority as in God.”
CHAPTER 39
Eppley Airport
Omaha, Nebraska
Tommy Pakula forked over five bucks for a Krispy Kreme