The Third Rail (17 page)

"I understand the logic behind your query. All too well. Do you have a suspect?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"Maybe."

"And you think this spate of violence might be specifically tied to the abuse scandal?"

"At this point, Father, it's just a theory."

"I see." The cardinal sat back and fixed up his coffee with cream and sugar. Then he took a sip and continued. "As you know, our policy is clear. None of the archdiocese files are to be made public, save that which has already been revealed pursuant to a court order or negotiated agreement. If we feel there's an ongoing danger, we will contact the authorities with information. If the police have an identified suspect, we will also cooperate with respect to that specific person. Unfortunately, what you are suggesting is more like a fishing expedition.
And, if I understand your request, might involve revealing the names of possible victims."

"You asked if I was Catholic before. At least that's what I got out of it."

"Yes."

"I haven't willingly stepped foot inside a church for ten-plus years. Want to know why?"

The cardinal's features tightened and the fingers of one hand rolled against the rub on the arm of his chair.

"Certainly, Mr. Kelly."

"I don't believe in your church. What was once my church. I think it's more an institution than a church. One that is out of touch with its people. One that likes to make up rules and hide behind them."

"Those rules, as you call them, are the bedrock upon which the church is founded. Without them, we would have no anchor to keep us steady, no foundation upon which to build. As the waters got deeper, the currents faster, as the ground beneath us began to shift its shape, we would find that, without those rules, we would have no faith at all."

As Gianni spoke, I felt the familiar sting of childhood, the lash of Catholic arrogance. It was palpable in the soft flow of words and dismissive tone. This was not a discussion between equals. It was a lecture. One steeped in beneficence and understanding, but a lecture all the same. Except I wasn't ten years old anymore, and I wasn't in the mood.

"All due respect, Your Eminence, but if those are the same rules that tell a woman she doesn't have what it takes to be a priest, or asks men who have never been married to counsel a couple considering the same, I have a problem with that."

"Those are doctrinal matters, Mr. Kelly."

"And the inherent evils of the condom, Your Eminence?"

The cardinal started to get up. "I suspect we have taken this as far as is practical, Mr. Kelly."

An image floated through my mind--Rodriguez counting the many ways I could be an asshole. I needed to play another card, and quickly.

"You know, Father, when I was a kid, I remember learning about something called the seamless garment of life."

The reference bought me a moment's pause. His Eminence lowered himself back into his seat. I kept talking.

"The idea was to accord life the highest value in any moral argument, in determining what is fundamentally right and wrong. If you made life the trump card in ordering your priorities, you would find it to be an unerring compass, one that would always lead you down the right path."

Gianni's dark lashes fluttered. "I'm familiar with the concept, Mr. Kelly."

"You helped to champion it, Your Eminence. It was the first major plank in your career as a theologian."

Gianni waited.

"Life is what's at stake here, Father. We're talking about real people dying. Potentially, a lot of people. But the number isn't even important, is it? If there's even one life at risk, that life must be weighed against your rules concerning the privacy of any records. And that life must prevail. Isn't that the calculus I'm asking you to make?"

Gianni tilted his head and looked at me as if I'd just walked into the room. "You studied under the Jesuits?"

"Maybe."

The cardinal laughed. "I knew it. Very well, Mr. Kelly. The church will help if it can. But we must use tremendous discretion in handling these records."

"Discretion's my middle name, Father."

Gianni made a gesture I assumed to be hopeful. We both stood up and began to walk.

"Maybe we can talk specifics once we have a handle on the threat?" I said.

"And when might that be?"

"I'd hope by day's end."

The cardinal stopped. "But you suspect this man
is
targeting the archdiocese because of the abuse scandal?"

"I said the scandal was a logical avenue to pursue, Father."

"But not a theory you necessarily subscribe to?"

"I don't subscribe to any single theory right now. This man is attacking the entire city, not just the church. And I think there is more at play here than we know. Maybe a lot more."

Gianni looked at me closely, but didn't respond. I glanced out the window. There were now three news vans and two live trucks parked outside the mansion.

"Maybe I could sneak out a side entrance?" I said.

The cardinal raised his eyebrows. "If only we all had it so easy, Mr. Kelly."

He led me to a service door that backed out onto an alley. I walked around to the front and found my car a half block down the street. My cell phone buzzed just as I slipped inside.

"Hubert, what do you have?"

"Where are you?" The kid seemed a little breathless.

"Just left the cardinal's residence. Why?"

"I took a closer look at the maps and letter you sent me. Then I talked to Detective Rodriguez and got a little more information on the originals."

"What's up, Hubert?"

"The street map this guy sent to the reporter. It was downloaded from MapQuest."

"So what?"

"I got a couple of pals who do a lot of work with them. MapQuest logs all its location requests, keeps records of all the computer IP addresses."

"In English?"

"The map sent to the
Daily Herald
was requested by a computer located at 1555 North State Parkway."

I glanced up as the massive front door to the mansion creaked open and stopped.

"You're telling me that map came from the cardinal's residence?"

"I'm telling you that's what MapQuest's records show."

"What do you think?"

"The guy we're dealing with is too sharp to make that mistake. I think it's a setup. Someone routed their request through the cardinal's IP address."

"Which means someone's sending us a message. I gotta go, Hubert."

I clicked off and scanned the block, looking for a shooter. The door to the residence swung open the rest of the way. Giovanni Cardinal Gianni stepped out onto a small portico and spread his arms wide. Cameras jockeyed for position and the elite of Chicago's media boiled at Gianni's feet.

I scanned a second time. Then I reached for the door handle. That's when the cell phone rang, except this time it wasn't my phone. And the ringing was coming from underneath my front seat.

I
found a prepaid unit taped under the driver's seat. It lit up red and blue in my hand every time it buzzed, almost like the thing was laughing at me, which it probably was.

"Yeah."

"Funny how things work, isn't it?"

I felt a ball of ice form in my stomach and a flicker somewhere deep inside my brain. "What do you want?"

"Look at the cardinal. Bloody great fucking hypocrite."

My eyes slid over to the mansion. Gianni was still on the front stoop, trying to hold the media hounds at bay. I thought the cardinal looked a bit chagrined. I wondered if he had any divine inkling as to just how bad his day might become.

"Want to see him executed, Kelly?" The electronic voice purred over the line. "Just say the word."

I searched one more time. Lawns, tree line, cars. Then I opened the car door.

"No," the voice said.

I froze, eased the door shut, and leaned back against the seat.

"Cardinal doesn't die today, Kelly. So let's drive. West
toward the Kennedy. And no fucking around. That is, unless you do want to see a bullet in him."

I turned the engine over, gripped the wheel, and headed toward the highway.

"I was worried you might not find the phone."

"My lucky day," I said.

"The camera is taped to your door seam, by the floor on the passenger's side."

I glanced over and saw the thin run of wire and a pinhole lens staring at me. I pulled the camera free and threw it into the backseat.

"Know what life's about, Kelly?"

"Why don't we cut the bullshit and boil this thing down."

"Is that the way you want it?"

"That's exactly how I want it. Leave everyone else out. City, church, feds, everyone."

"Underneath the other seat you'll find a flash drive. Play it and then see how you feel."

The line disconnected. I pulled down a dead-end street, popped my flashers, and reached under the passenger's seat. The flash drive was black with a piece of masking tape on it. A single word was written on the tape:
RACHEL
.

S
omeone is going to die.

I sat in my car and felt that certainty pump through my veins. I took a minute to distill the violence into a more refined form and tucked it away until I needed it. Then I watched the video recorded on the flash drive a second time. Then a third. I picked up my cell phone and tried to call Jim Doherty. No answer. I clicked off and called Hubert. His voice mail picked up. My phone indicated a second call was coming in. It was Rodriguez.

"You done with Gianni?"

"He's got Rachel."

"Hold on a second." There was a pause and Rodriguez came back on the line. "Go ahead."

"He planted a cell phone in my car. Called to tell me about a flash drive he had planted there as well. She's on it, Vince. Some sort of video. Looks like she's beat up pretty bad."

"You never talked to her this morning?"

"No. She was reading from a script this guy wrote. Said I needed to do exactly as he instructed. Then she read off two addresses. One was Hubert's. The other was Jim Doherty's."

"The cop who gave you the old files?"

"Yeah. Said I should pick one and not worry about the other."

"You get hold of the kid?"

"No. Hold on, I got another call." I clicked over to the other line.

"Mr. Kelly, you called me?"

"Hubert, fuck yes, I called you."

"Sorry, I was just hashing through the rest of this material on the crash."

"Hubert, I need you to listen to me."

The kid shut up.

"I just got a message from this guy. He dropped two addresses we should assume are targets. One was yours."

I waited. "Hubert, you there?"

"You told me to listen."

"I'm gonna have them send a team over to your apartment, but it might be a while. For right now, I need you to lock your door, and don't let anyone in. No one. Unless it's me or someone with a badge. You got it?"

"Yes."

"You have a weapon in the house?"

"What does that mean?"

"Just what I said."

"I have a steak knife."

"Get it. Lock the door and get the knife. Stay in the house and you'll be fine."

"This guy is probably playing us, Mr. Kelly. He likes to do that."

"Stay in the house, Hubert. Wait for the cops."

"Right. But, listen, I dug up some more interesting stuff ..."

"I can't right now. Put it all on a disk or something and send
it to me. But stay in the house until the badge gets there. Okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Kelly."

"Good kid. I'll talk to you ..."

I clicked off and got back on the line with Rodriguez.

"Vince, that was Hubert. He's okay."

"I'll get someone over there."

"Not yet. This guy realizes I'm headed to the cops and maybe he starts killing people."

"He's already killing people, Kelly."

"There's a way to play this. But it's gotta be just me and you."

"What are we gonna do?"

"We're gonna find Rachel."

I
fidgeted in the back booth of a carryout place called China Doll while Rodriguez watched images flash across my laptop. Rachel, bruised and beaten, staring into the camera, her eyes telling me where she was, her heart wondering when I was going to come get her.

"What are you thinking?" the detective said after he'd finished.

"I told Hubert to lock his doors and sit tight."

"What about Doherty?"

"Tried his cell and home. No answer."

"You thinking he's the target?"

I nodded.

"I can get a squad down there in ten minutes," Rodriguez said.

"If Jim's not dead already, anything other than me showing up alone will likely kill him. And Rachel along with it." I nodded to the video. "On the other hand, our guy's not expecting this."

"What are you talking about?"

I cued up the footage and played it from the top. Rachel's
face came into focus, her hands cupping her chin and partially obscuring her face.

"See that," I said and stopped the video.

"See what?"

"She doesn't start speaking right away."

"So what?"

"Listen to what's going on in the background."

I hit
PLAY.
First there was nothing but her breathing. Then the echo of a church bell tolling.

"Now look at her hands," I said. "She's showing us the face of her watch."

Rodriguez took a closer look at the digital readout. "Seven a.m. I'll be damned."

"Smart girl," I said. "And that's not all."

I hit
PLAY
again. Rachel started to speak. Underneath her words, a siren ebbed and flowed, sometimes getting closer, then moving away, then coming very close so she had to raise her voice to be heard. Rodriguez glanced across the table.

"That's a fire engine," he said. I nodded.

Rodriguez got on his cell phone. Five minutes later, he had a list. And we had some options.