Gabriel's Revenge (The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic Book 2) (19 page)

Chapter 50

August 27, 1998

The man had been busy all evening…making preparations.

The floor of one corner of his quarters was filled with his needed supplies for tomorrow night. Looking over it now after his long efforts, he was pleased.

He had always enjoyed a challenge, and having never done anything like this before did not deter him for a minute. It was after all, needed for his work, his mission.

Thinking on it, he realized this was not actually his
first
foray into a jail escape. Twenty years before, he was instrumental in getting a few important men out of jail in South Africa, but this was on a different scale altogether.

There, if you couldn’t bribe a guard, you could just get a few men together with automatic weapons. A small man’s beliefs can be changed quickly when they were staring down the barrel of a gun.

Here, it was a different story. Security cameras, electronic locks and concrete walls made planning an escape from even the county jail a challenge. But he had started working on this plan for months off and on. Originally, he had thought to use this plan to deal with the meddling Frank Luther, but the pick of…
assistants
was limited at the time. Ultimately he had decided to take care of Mr. Luther himself, a job easily accomplished as it turned out.

He would have no hope to accomplishing the escape except for the
convert
he had made a few months before. Originally one of his clients, Jason Glad had been more than willing to work with the man on his mission, considering the alternative facing him that night as he sat bound and gagged in his own basement.

Appealing to his faith and the reality of what a lack of faith led to, Jason quickly jumped into the man’s camp, promising to help in any way possible when it was needed.

It was needed now.

The man had already been in communication with Mr. Glad, making sure that he could get himself assigned to duty tomorrow night. After an initial bout of whining about how hard that would be to accomplish, the man had convinced Jason rather quickly that it was a part of God’s plan, and that he couldn’t guarantee his continued mortal
health
if he backed out.

Faith is a wonderful thing!

The man crossed himself, kissing the cross on his chest before he gathered up an apple and tomato for his evening meal. Sitting down at the old table, he was smiling. His
mission
never ceased to give him pleasure.

The appearance of Mr. Leffler in the county jail was an even further sign of the sanctity of his work. How else could one explain the appearance of a man with these special talents appearing here at this moment!

The man smiled, thinking about their meeting earlier in the day. He had been sure that Pierce Leffler would remember him; their previous meeting years before a memorable one.

The man had been assigned to a little Parish in northern Indiana when a stranger to the church had entered the confessional. Not ordained himself, he had secretly installed a small microphone in the booth, an essential part of information gathering for his mission. Hearing the confession of the stranger, he was intrigued.

The man in the booth he later learned was Pierce Leffler, and he was confessing his sins as a lark, tempting the old priest with the information. Father Compton, a ninny of a priest and close to retirement, was sputtering as he tried to maintain his priestly role while confronted with the information of the murders being laid out before him. The man was surprised when Leffler mentioned a man that had been on his list, one of his clients that he had been preparing for.

The man had made his way to the exit, intercepting Mr. Leffler before he left. Innocently inviting him to his quarters for a meal, Pierce Leffler surprisingly accepted, an evil grin crossing his face as he did so.

As they entered the small room below the church, the man invited him to sit while he went to the kitchen area, pulling open a drawer as he talked. Turning quickly, the gun held steadily before him, he was pleased to see the grin disappear from Leffler’s face.

“Please put any weapons you have on the counter and then have a seat, Mr. ….”

The stranger stood stock still, gauging his chances of turning the situation around before finally relenting.

“Leffler…Pierce Leffler.”

Opening his coat to reveal a revolver, he slowly pulled it out and set in on the counter.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said as he took a seat, “what do I call you?”

“My name is unimportant,” the man said as he took a seat across from Leffler.

“I heard what you said in the confessional; it was…interesting.”

“That old priest is probably calling the cops right now.”

“He probably will,” the man told his visitor, “but he will mull it over for a couple of hours first. I’ll take care of him.”

Leffler let surprise show on his face.

“You surprise me! I figured everyone here would be following the same script.”

The man was quiet, considering his response. “No Mr. Leffler, not all of us. I recognized one of the names you gave Father Compton; he is a member of this parish. Coincidently, he was scheduled to meet his maker in a few days anyway, so you see, you were actually doing God’s work, at least in this one instance.”

Confused, Pierce nonetheless smiled, “Happy to be of service!”

“Because of your…
service
, I am going to let you go on your way. Besides, I may need a favor at some time in the future. I will handle the priest, so you are free to go, with my blessings.”

Grinning again, Pierce rose and started for the counter.

“The gun remains here,” his weapon still raised, “blessed though you may be, I see no reason to tempt you with a loaded weapon in your hand.”

Raising his hands in defeat, “Hey, whatever you say; I can get another piece.”

Turning quickly, he opened the door before looking back over his shoulder, “See you around Padre.”

Later that day, Father Compton left the Parish to meet his maker, retirement coming sooner than he had expected.

Chapter 51

August 27, 1998

I sat on the floor in front of the fire, mentally wrung out, not sure where the revelations of the day would lead me, or us. I was still trying to grasp the idea of Abby being my daughter.

After pointing out the religious connections of the three victims that I already knew of, Abby had left, saying she would be back in a bit. Returning an hour later, she had with her a small but thick white volume in her hand. Handing it to me, I saw it was a directory of the members of St. Linda’s, the local Catholic Church.

“I asked Mike Naples if he had a listing since he goes there. He sent me to his house and his wife got it for me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I had to tell him it was about the case, but I didn’t give him any particulars. He seemed a little worried at first, but he finally went along with it. I would have a hard time believing he was the leak anyway.”

“But, he could be,” I said, opening the alphabetized list, “he may not even be aware of it.”

“I know Gabe, but thinking about it, I still thought it was a better option than going to the church itself and asking for it.”

She was right of course, but I just didn’t know who to trust.

We worked through the afternoon, making connections. Not all of the victims were members of St. Linda’s, but when they weren’t, their spouses or ex-spouses were. The only person we couldn’t find a direct link to was Martha Jackson, who was neither listed as a member nor married.

Finally relenting to pressure from Abby, I agreed to let her call Michael Naples, who confirmed that she had been a member, and maybe she had just transferred her membership. A few more calls later, we confirmed that Martha had transferred her membership to St. Aloysius in Ripley County just days before her death.

So…now we knew.

We had our thread.

“What do we do now?” Abby questioned, “They were all members, or past members of St. Linda’s. There are still over, what, three hundred members of the parish, plus the priest and nuns. And maybe it’s not someone in the parish; maybe it’s someone that has a grudge against them, or Catholics in general.”

Her perplexed look equally reflected mine, but another thought entered my head at that moment.

The timeline!

“We know another fact Abby, or at least another place to look.”

I got out my notes, looking up the timeline of when the accidents started, at least as far as the suspected cases would indicate.

“Of the cases we know about, it would appear that this whole thing started…last May… May of 1997…”

The realization that I was shucking it all and leaving the country as this was all starting to unfold left me…drained. I was tired, the kind of tired where you feel that you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

We decided to go see the priest tomorrow morning, armed with the knowledge we now had. I then begged off any further work on the investigation, saying I wasn’t feeling myself. In truth, I felt I was feeling
exactly
myself, at least all that I deserved.

Abby seemed to understand; she had noticed the change in me when I had seen the dates. I’m sure she had gathered enough information about me to know what had happened in May of last year.

Saying she would call to make an appointment with the priest, she then gave me a hug, an extended hug. I did notice that it no longer felt as strange as it once had; in fact, it actually felt…comforting.

***

It is said that you write the tale of your own life. Sitting there as the fire died down, I was at a loss as to where I had went wrong with my story.

The love of my life, dead.

My best friend, also dead.

Now I had realized that not only had I left my partner alone, I had left at the same time as the start of this string of murders. All of those people dead, could I have stopped any of it? I’m sure that if Frank had lived, he would have stopped at least some of the deaths. If I had stayed, I liked to think that Frank wouldn’t have died either.

These thoughts and more raced through my mind in a never-ending cycle that gave me a headache. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes to rest.

***

The room welcomed me with its warmth and light. I had no worries here, a fact that I had never consciously noticed before.

I took my seat and quickly grabbed the mug of coffee. After emptying the mug, I let it refill before drinking in another half. Satiated for now, I moved to the board. My opponent had made a move…a really crappy move! Grade school children would know not to make such an amateur move. This was not like him at all; either someone else was playing the game, my opponent was getting senile, or…

Leaning back in my chair, I quickly mull over my reaction before loudly exclaiming, “You’re sandbagging aren’t you! What? You feeling sorry for me? You never would have done that when I was a kid!”

Turning back to the board, the
real
move had been made, putting me soundly in check.

Smiling, I had finally confirmed what I had come to believe about my opponent for as long as these games had existed.

It
was
my grandfather!

Now what? Could I ask him questions? Would the game change now that he had been revealed? I hoped not; for I truly enjoyed the battle of wits we had going.

I was getting tired again, and I decided to rest my eyes for a moment.

Opening them a few seconds later, I was surrounded by blackness, but the warm, comforting blackness. The feeling of embrace was there…and the buzzing.

The buzzing continued for a long while, and then… “Gabriel.”

“Betty? Is that you Betty?”

Silence.

Silence followed by more silence, but I felt the need to remain quiet myself, like there was something coming, and I would miss it if I wasn’t ready.

“Worry.”

Worry
? I thought to myself. Worry about what?

The silence ensued for a few more minutes, before I finally had to say something.

“Worry about what?” I asked hesitantly.

More silence, then a quiet, “Don’t…worry.”

I wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but the sound of Betty’s voice brought a tear to my eye. More minutes of the warm silence prompted me to continue.

“Ok, don’t worry…about what?”

If it was possible, it seemed to get even quieter. I was determined not to talk again, afraid that I may not be deemed worthy of whatever she was trying to tell me.

So I sat, still and silent. The ensuing minutes seemed to turn into hours as I held my tongue, waiting, hoping for more of the message.

Finally it came.

“Every…thing…is…as…it…should…be.”