Justifiable (26 page)

Biddy lifted his and killed a third of the brew on the first slug. “Okay.”

Not sure what that noncommittal answer meant, Riley chugged a swallow of his dark draft and set the thick glass mug on the table. “Hear anything at the station?”

“Might say that. Fucking Lehman stormed the newsroom when he heard I was in. Face got all high-blood-pressure red. Thought he was going to flatline right there. Said the crew he sent out couldn’t get close by the time they got there, but they saw you and your truck up at the front of the line.”

Shit. Riley hadn’t thought about Lehman’s crew in the back row. “What’d you give him?”

“Not a fucking thing.” 

Riley considered that a minute while he drank a swallow of his beer that rolled cold and brisk down his throat. Biddy could have cut a deal with the film and let someone else voice over. “Why not?”

Biddy licked the foam off his upper lip and studied his mug with the interest of a glass collector contemplating an auction bid. “We only need one ratings point to make the three for your contract. Might have gotten that with this story, but if I’d handed him the film, Lehman would have used it and left you out in the cold.”  Biddy turned to Riley. “Would you have called another cameraman this morning if I couldn’t have met you?”

“No.”

Biddy sat on the film even though he could have gotten his job back.

Riley took a look around. He’d  bet there wasn’t a man in here that wouldn’t follow Biddy out in the street to face an unknown threat. Biddy was the kind of man who lived by his word and expected Riley to live by his.

That had never been a problem for Riley. “Thanks.”

Biddy nodded. “What’s next?”

“We might pick up that last point for WNUZ with this killing if we can tie it to the Stanton one.”  Riley paused, calculating then seeing no way around his limited choices. “Except, I can’t break the story on Stanton yet, not if we want to keep any kind of relationship with the police.”  And Riley wouldn’t jeopardize Enrique’s life. He’d err on the side of caution this time.

“Same people that arrested you this morning?”

“Not J. T. It was all Massey, posturing to make a point, and her little show backfired on her.”

“How you figure that?”

“Now she knows we’re on the right track and she wants to talk. I’ll help J. T. and his men, but she’s crazy if she thinks I’m sharing one iota with her. She can’t take my phone, or she’ll risk the killer will call and not talk to anyone else. Screw her. I need J. T. to know I’m being straight with him, and that’s why I told him about Enrique’s blanket.”  Riley flashed on that scrap of bloody material and kept telling himself Enrique might still be alive. Had to be alive.

“Any news on the blood samples?” Biddy asked.

“No. Doubt I’ll get an answer from anyone but J. T., and he’s up to his neck in bodies and a lost kid.”  Riley leaned forward to keep his voice low and still be heard. “Still interested in working on this?”

Biddy leaned forward, too, crossing his thick forearms on the table in front of him. “Whatcha got?”

“The monsignor at St. Catherine’s is a crack shot with a .38 and he runs on ice water.”

“Never heard of a priest who shoots, but doesn’t take a crack shot to kill at point blank range if you’re thinking that way.”

Riley scoffed. “Even I’m not going to point a finger at a priest, especially one who shoots at the police range, but this Monsignor Dornan is tough. He gets pushed he’s going to push right back and probably harder. I asked about Sally’s murder, if he could shed any light on it. He blew me off. Said to pick up a press release from his office, so I did and tried to get something out of his chief of staff, but she’s evasive.”

“She?”  Biddy’s eyebrows perked up.

“Yeah, quick, sharp, protective. Too groomed to be new, but she doesn’t want me around. You’d think with them developing this outreach center they’d try to get some free publicity, but she couldn’t hustle me out fast enough when I asked about another Philomena House resident murdered a week ago.”

“Told you ‘bout the media shittin’ all over St. Catherine’s. Might just be gun shy.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I need information on any killings with a .38 shot to the head and the body moved. Want to focus on Philomena House and St. Catherine’s parishioners. Narrow it down to a ten-mile radius. They released the name on the victim from the cemetery. Bruno Parrick. We need to find out if he’s connected to Philomena House or St. Catherine’s.”

“If we drag St. Catherine’s into this mess and find out they didn’t need to be involved the WNUZ board will never put you back on as anchor. Might not get another anchor job. Anywhere.”

Riley met Biddy’s steely gaze straight on. “You don’t want to do this, that’s fine, I’ll understand, but I don’t care who goes down with a kid missing. And the only shot we have at getting our jobs back is breaking a major story. This case is all we’ve got.”

No more questions, no extra clarification, Biddy just said, “Okay. Let you know when I have something.”

There hadn’t been a lot of times in Riley’s life that he’d been given unconditional support, but he knew when he’d just received it. His cell phone chimed.

The caller ID was unknown. “Walker.”

“Kirsten Massey here. Don’t hang up.”

He hadn’t hung up on her today, but he
had
let her prior calls roll to voice mail. “What,
Investigator
Massey?”

Biddy eyed him with a this-should-be-interesting expression.

“I’ve got a deal for you.”  She let that hang between them without another word.

“Why should I care?”

“To help Enrique.”

Damn, she played her top card, first hand out. “What’s your deal?”  Riley heard a tone beep on his phone that indicated a text message being delivered.

“You agree to meet so we can talk and I share information.”

He ground his jaw, wanting to shut her out, but in the end he’d do a lot more than shove his temper and pride aside to help find Enrique and nail this murderer. “Okay, deal.”

“The blood on the blanket is
not
Enrique’s. It all belonged to the vic.”

That earned her a few points. “What else?” 

“The victim was killed at the location we found him. If you’ll meet me, I’ve got something else to share about the bodies, but not over the phone.”

She’d made Riley an offer he couldn’t pass up. “When?” 

“I can’t get away until this evening.”

“Meet me at the Alma de Cuba at seven.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

Riley ended the call, not quite sure what had just transpired, but curiosity had sent him into worse situations than dinner with a woman. He told Biddy, “The blood on the blanket all belonged to the vic. Massey’s willing to trade information tonight.”

“Guess it was worth getting my ass crawled by Lehman this morning if it means Massey’s gonna play ball.”

Nodding, Riley lifted his phone again. “Had a text message from Lilly. I asked her to let me know if we got any movement in ratings.”  If anyone at WNUZ knew the pulse of the station, Lilly would. He normally talked to the receptionist everyday and brought her coffee that was drop-shipped in from Chicago because she liked it as much as he did.

“She’d know.”  Biddy nodded. “But I doubt WNUZ got a decent hike today since the crew was shut out of filming.”

Riley read the text message. “Ah, shit! WNUZ dropped a point.” 

He’d felt pretty good about gaining one point in the next week, but
two
?

Not odds he’d put serious money on.

Chapter 34

“We need that done
now!
Why haven’t you – ”

Margo’s head jerked up at the angry words that jumbled into a mottle of garbled sniping. That had sounded like Icky’s snotty tone way down the hall. She quickly finished checking off electrical supplies being unloaded at the back door of St. Catherine’s, calling goodbye to the delivery guy.

Once she shut the door and hung up the inventory clipboard, she took a fortifying breath to find out what Icky had started this time.

She hurried down the hallway past all the offices, making a mental note when she caught a glimpse of Monsignor in his office. When had he come in? Didn’t matter. She had to see him, but not until she found out why Icky was on the rag again. She pulled up short at an eye-to-eye face-off, punctuated by Icky’s low-eyebrow scowl and Baylor’s defiant, jutted-out chin.

Baylor stood there holding two brand new five-gallon buckets of paint that had to be straining his arms. “Told you I called the company today. Can’t do a thing about them not showing up to get the roll-off Dumpster. Don’t know what’s the big deal. Nobody’s behind on the remodeling.
You
talk to them if you want to.”

“
I
don’t have time to deal with Dumpsters.”  Icky had probably perfected indignant by the age of five.

“My time’s important, too,” Baylor countered.

“What’s wrong?” Margo asked calmly then prepared herself for the reply. Icky was as apt to snap at her as give a civil answer.

Grizzle walked out of the men’s room. He was ghost-pale until he started coughing, then his face flushed more with each painful sounding draw of breath. 

“What’s
wrong
?” Icky asked, dragging out the last word. “What’s right?”

Margo didn’t know who to help first with Grizzle hacking so horribly he sounded as though he needed oxygen, but she couldn’t stand by and let Icky berate Baylor, who sort of reminded her of her da some days. She offered, “
I’ll
check on the Dumpster, but it’s after four so I may not be gettin’ them until the morning, Father Ickerson. Will that suit you?”

Icky turned his scowl on her.

“Probably be picked up by then.”  Baylor turned dismissively and walked toward the stairs. “You want to do God’s work? Come upstairs and get your hands dirty.”

“Can I help you with those?” she asked, worried about Baylor carrying so much up the stairs at one time.

“No.”  Baylor shook his head, waving off her question as insulting. “I got it.”  He disappeared into the stairwell.

Icky was getting all worked up. “This building is not going to be ready on time.” 

Grizzle started to speak, but Margo held up her hand. “Save your throat. It sounds raw.”  Then she turned to the walking hissy fit. “We’ll be fine, Father Ickerson. We have a good two weeks until you-know-who visits.” 

“This place is nowhere. Near. Ready.”  Icky stomped back and forth, pacing the short width of the room. His face turned red as the top of a thermometer. “The police are crawling all over Philomena House as if they expect to find a killer visiting someone and that guy from the media has been there asking questions. Why isn’t Monsignor dealing with that? I had Philomena House all cleaned up and now I have to send Valdez back over when we need him here.”  He stormed off.

Her anger flickered to life. Icky had no reason to take that tone or criticize Monsignor, who worked endless hours for this place. And Valdez might not be the best person to send to Philomena. The guy gave her the creeps some days and that was when she could find him.

Grizzle gave her a look of commiseration and strode down the hall, hacking behind Icky. Poor guy sounded worse by the day.

Margo followed until she reached her office and stepped inside to find Monsignor’s office door still open, but he was on a phone call.

She was not moving from her desk to do anything until she had a chance to speak with him. The stress of waiting to discuss her meeting with Riley Walker yesterday had ruined any chance of sleeping last night.

Monsignor had left St. Catherine’s right after finishing his late confession yesterday. She’d been upstairs going over a question the construction crew had on the remodeling, then returned to her desk to find a note in Monsignor’s script explaining that he had a dinner appointment. 

The press release had been yesterday’s crisis.

New day. New disaster. She went to her desk and scrolled through the online news stories once more. There was the headline again: Brutal Murder at Laurel Hill Cemetery.

She drummed her fingers. Riley Walker would be all over this the minute he figured out where Bruno and Lisa Parrick worshipped.

Margo had to tell Monsignor about Walker’s insinuations yesterday. Insinuations...or threats?

A deep chuckle floated from Monsignor’s office. He ended his phone conversation with, “I think we can work this out. See you tonight.” 

That was her opening. Margo grabbed the paper from her desk and scooted over to his office. “Could you spare a moment, Monsignor?”

He looked up, scratching his jaw. “Sure, if it’s not a confession.”

“Why?”  She smiled at his teasing tone.

“Seems Father Ickerson
was
in the building yesterday after all when Bruno came in, but no one knew he’d returned. He takes confessions too personally, as if Bruno Parrick had snubbed him by speaking to me.”