The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [414]
Ramsey said, “I can’t imagine that Shaker would ever want to see this guy again, unless it was to have a little talk with him. No way Shaker knew he was a child molester when he hired him to kidnap Emma.”
“So what Father Sonny did in San Francisco was all on his own.” Savich paused a moment, then added, “He took a hell of a risk taking Emma right from under your nose. That’s really out of control.”
“Yeah, that’s close to obsession. I’d say, bottom line, he’s left common sense way behind.”
Savich cursed, something rare for him. “Fixation, obsession, whatever the shrinks want to call it, Father Sonny’s there. Our shrinks who deal with child molesters say it’s common. A guy can come to believe that a certain child will save him. In this case, since the guy’s an ex-priest, he might even believe that Emma can save his soul and cleanse him, heal him, maybe even make him acceptable to God again. Usually, though, after they’re done with the child, they’ll carefully select another child and believe the same thing all over again. Why does he want Emma back? Was it because she managed to escape him and so he wasn’t the one who got to decide? He wants the control, the power? His can be the only voice?”
“Or maybe,” Ramsey said, “he still believes that only Emma can save him, that she wasn’t through cleansing him, so he’s got to have her back. She said that he needed her more than God needed him, something to that effect. You know what? I want to kill the fucker.”
“Yeah, you and about a zillion other people. We’ve got everyone countrywide clued into Father Sonny. That’s what most of the other prisoners called him. He’ll surface sooner or later. Someone will see him, recognize him. We’ll get him. Your cop friend in the SFPD, Virginia Trolley, she’s heading things up out there. How is Emma doing? She love Ireland?”
“Oh yeah. She’s big into feeding the ducks here at Dromoland Lake and into visiting castles. She hasn’t had any nightmares since we’ve been here. You know, I was getting worried since she was always so quiet, so well behaved. Today she was a real kid, Savich. She finally whined this afternoon, didn’t want to do something her mother told her to do. It warmed me to hear that fretful, obnoxious little voice. Molly says it’s tough not to spoil her because of all that’s happened to her. But we’re trying.” He paused, then said, “I saw Molly shooting photos of her this morning. Emma was feeding ducks, laughing, the sun bright, the ducks carrying on madly.”
“And?”
“I don’t know,” Ramsey said. “I really don’t know why I was telling you that.” He saw Emma’s beautiful face in his mind’s eye, then, suddenly, saw her lying on her face in the forest, saw the marks on her small body, the blood on her legs. Vicious deep rage nearly overwhelmed him. It drummed all the way into his bones. He was clutching the receiver so tightly his knuckles showed white. “It’s not right, Savich. This shouldn’t have happened. Not to Emma, not to any little kid.”
“You know how common it is, Ramsey. God knows you saw enough of it in your time in the U.S. Attorney’s office, and probably some when you were a trial lawyer. And now as a judge.”
“Some people in the San Francisco area think I’ve been too tough on crimes like this, but I don’t agree. There isn’t a cure or rehabilitation for child molesters, as the Church finally discovered, so it behooves us to keep them well away from children for the rest of their lives.”
They spoke of Paris, of Sherlock’s continuing reaction to the word pregnant. Savich was laughing as he said, “I accidentally said the accursed word in a three-star restaurant on the Isle St. Louis. She nearly puked in her fancy French mushrooms stuffed with something I can’t begin to pronounce. I’ll bet it means something like ‘greasy tourist innards’ but I could be wrong. In any case, our waiter was wild-eyed, flapping his white waiter’s towel around, but he got her to the women’s room just in the nick