In the Wrong Hands, стр. 30
“Okay, where?”
“No idea.”
Gomez put his sun visor down and cocked his head to one side.
“So Pascucci has it in for the Diocese, decides to kill Ryan and pin it on Samuel because Samuel’s a Godless twat. Samuel’s coat somehow falls out of the friggin’ sky and into the good Father’s hands, so he puts it on, speeds to the hotel after dinner, waits for Ryan to arrive, shoots him, gets back in his car, goes to the church doing about seventy miles per hour in zero traffic…mind you, this is 7:30 on a Saturday evening in a town notorious for speed traps…hitting all green lights. And he does all this to give himself an alibi by checking for a voice-mail message form a hotel security guard that he doesn’t even know he’s getting?”
Lynch picked up his sandwich before speaking.
“You’re not following the rules, Ernie.”
“Sorry. What if Pastor Karney did it?”
“I don’t know enough about him to play him.”
“Fellini?”
“Even less.”
Gomez grinned.
“What about Avery?”
“Good one. Motive?”
“Diocese and diddling acho. Same as the others. The jacket’s not a problem either, since he knew Samuel.”
“I’d buy it except that makes the killing an act of taking the moral high ground. That made sense with the other suspects, but Avery? Moral high ground?”
“Okay fair enough. What if Gordy did it?”
“Really?”
“Right. What if one of the UJ’s did it?”
“We can’t do them. They’re not eliminated yet.”
“Oh, come on acho. It’ll be fun.”
As they were merely killing time, Lynch partially complied.
“Just Arthur.”
“Okay, just Arthur. Fish in a barrel. The motive is easy. He hates the Diocese and all Catholics because their ideology clashes with his, plus he believes he’s entitled to do whatever he wants.”
“The jacket’s a problem though.”
“How is it a problem?”
“All of the UJ’s fingered the guy in the surveillance photo as Samuel. That means they had no reason to believe anyone else had his coat.”
“So, they lied.”
“All of them? Even Kelly? I don’t see it.”
“Some of them could have lied. It’s obvious that Arthur has his own little Gestapo within the ranks.”
Lynch pulled off a dangling piece of bacon and pointed it at Gomez thoughtfully.
“That I can see. Samuel sees the writing on the wall and decides to leave before he’s overthrown.”
“Assuming he was the leader, we could run with that.”
“But then why would he give Arthur his coat?”
“Passing the torch?”
“What torch? It’s a coat with a Theban ‘S’ on the back. What’s Arthur gonna do with it?”
“So, the jacket is still a problem.”
Lynch chucked the bacon into his mouth.
“It is.”
Gomez took a massive bite and chewed for a while. They were both losing steam on the sandwich front.
Gomez spoke. “Here’s a thought. What if this was a set-up from the get-go, and the jacket wasn’t Samuel’s?”
“I’m listening.”
“It wouldn’t take much to make one just like it.”
Lynch shook his head. Gomez wasn’t ready to give up.
“Come on. It takes the jacket problem out of the mix.”
“All the UJ’s positively identified it.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right. Still a problem then.”
“Still a problem.”
They stewed for a few minutes before wrapping up the better portions of their Barn Yards and dropping them back into the bag. Simultaneously, they tried to remember what they were thinking when they ordered them, but the majority of their blood had moved from their heads to their stomachs. Gomez started the car.
“So, if it winds up Samuel didn’t do it, what are we thinking? A garbageman?
“Sure. Why not?”
It was almost 3:30. Their shift was over in a couple of hours, so they decided to go back to the station and do some more research on Ryan.
“But Samuel did do it.”
“Of course he did.”
11. The Cardio Room at the “Y”
You could say what you wanted about the Potterford YMCA. It was still the best deal in town. It was built when “Happy Together” topped the Billboard Charts. A couple of the wings resembled (both in look and smell) those of a minimum-security prison, but it had a pool, an indoor running track, free weights, Nautilus machines, three cardio rooms, and aerobic dance classes up the wazoo all for around fifty bucks a month.
It was also the one place in town where Aiden O’rourke could take off his collar without being looked at sideways.
Even before Aiden left the meeting at St. Matthew’s, he knew who he was going to contact first. Pastor Carl Seymour of The Potterford First Baptist Church had the ear of the town’s young black community. More importantly, Aiden and he had two crucial things in common. They both graduated from Potterford High School in the same year, and they both preferred the elliptical machine to the treadmill.
Seymour thought nothing of it when he looked to his left and discovered the energetic priest on the machine next to his.
“Hi, Carl.”
“Aiden, how’ve you been man?”
Aiden chose his words carefully. Regardless of the moral fiber of his intentions, he was acutely aware of how he would come off if his wording was disjointed, or his tone was insincere. Carl had a very keen sense for when he was being hustled. At least the young priest didn’t have to worry about his old classmate seeing him sweat.
“Been better, Carl.”
“Oh, of course, what was I thinking? Thoughts and prayers to all of you, brother.”
A good guy.
“That means a lot, Pastor. Thanks.”
Aiden wasn’t lying.
They continued their cardio workouts in silence. Aiden’s assigned task was proving to be significantly more difficult than he had anticipated. At regular intervals, he lifted his head towards the pastor and inhaled as if preparing to speak, but nothing came out. Somehow the words weren’t traveling from his brain to his mouth with any kind of syntax. Aiden looked down at the timer on his machine. Three minutes had passed. He could have sworn it had been at least ten. The situation had officially turned awkward, and it was about to get worse. Pastor Seymour had been on the machine longer than Aiden realized.
“See you around, Father. Give my regards to