A Prayer for the Devil (13 page)

The two goons sat in front, singing along with the songs from the radio as they sped through downtown Boston. Luke wasn’t surprised when they reached the North End, also referred to as Little Italy. Pulling up to Dom’s Restaurant, Luke was surprised when a man appeared out of nowhere and moved two orange construction cones so that the limo could park directly in front.

THE RESTAURANT LOOKED MORE
like an old house than a place to eat. As Luke was ushered inside, he wasn’t surprised to see that the inside decor matched the outside appearance. He was led into a small dining room containing five tables with white linen tablecloths and red napkins. Sal had been looking out the small front window, awaiting Luke’s arrival. When he saw him, he quickly walked over and shook Luke’s hand.

“Thanks for coming.”

Luke thought to himself, Like I had a choice? But he said, “Thank you for inviting me.” Sal cut an imposing figure: tall, big boned, tan, and completely bald. When he looked up sharply, a waiter hurried over and pulled out two chairs, inviting them to sit down. Without a word, red wine was poured. Sal took a sip, nodded, and motioned for Luke to do the same. As Sal reached into his suit pocket, Luke saw a holstered gun. Retrieving a piece of paper, he placed it on the table and pushed it toward Luke, who picked it up. Upon opening it, he was immediately disappointed, saying out loud, “I should’ve known.”

The first name was exactly who he thought it would be: Brad Thompson. The second was his new friend from the cemetery: Lori
Simpson. Remembering that her husband was the lieutenant governor, he was irritated that he hadn’t figured this out himself, especially since now Deborah even had the same number stored in her phone. Looking up, Luke said, “Thank you very much.”

For the first time ever, Luke saw him smile. He took the red cloth napkin and tucked it into his shirt collar, creating a makeshift bib that protected his expensive suit and tie. Appetizers were served and little was said. Sal ate like a man who hadn’t eaten for days. His mouth was so busy chewing and drinking that there was no time to talk. After he had devoured everything in sight, he looked up at Luke and grinned again. Luke motioned to let him know that he had a piece of lettuce stuck between his fake front teeth. He quickly used one of his big fingers in an attempt to remove it. When Luke shook his head to indicate that it was still there, he looked at him and said, “You’re not screwing with me, are you Father?”

Luke smiled. “No, Sal, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Thanks. Most of these meatballs I have working for me would have let me walk around all day with that stuff stuck in my teeth and would have laughed about it behind my back.”

Luke was amazed that he actually said more than two words in a row. Sal said, “Rebecca insisted that I meet you for lunch. She has a great fondness for you.”

“As I do for her.”

“When you called, she made me promise that I would find the information on the phone numbers immediately, telling me to cancel any appointments and make sure I took care of you first.”

Luke smiled and Sal continued, “Father, God may have some issues with me, but Rebecca is an angel. She’s the best person I’ve ever met, and I would do anything to make her happy. Now tell me, why did you want those numbers?”

Figuring that he could trust Sal, Luke answered honestly. “I need to know who killed my brother.”

Sal pondered that statement for a moment. “Well, Luke, let me tell you what I know. The FBI is keeping tight wraps on all information regarding the investigation. But I have, let’s say, a connection, with a few federal judges. I’ve asked some questions and know that they have no solid leads. They’ve gone as far as working with that Internet company, Google, to review satellite images from the past three years. What’s it been, about a month since the bombing?”

Luke nodded.

“Well, from what I’m told, let’s just say they have nothing.”

Sal had probably used up a week’s worth of words at this point, but Luke decided to ask a few questions anyway. “Do you think this judge is telling you the truth?”

Sal smiled. “I know he is.”

Curious, Luke asked, “How do you know that?”

“Because he wouldn’t be a judge if it wasn’t for me.”

Luke tilted his head, not understanding. Sal elaborated. “Luke, when a judge is under consideration for a federal appointment, a complete background check is done on him. Well, most of these guys have been lawyers or local judges before their selection. Many times, we know something about their past that they don’t want anyone else to know. Capice?”

Seeing Luke’s puzzled look, he continued. “Let’s just say they owe me a favor. You never know when you’re going to need information. Father, there are things you’re better off not knowing, but remember, the federal courts prosecute counterfeiters, money launderers, and crimes having to do with interstate commerce.”

Shocked, Luke changed the topic. “How come they’ve only looked at three years of satellite pictures?”

“I think that’s all they store. Why, do you think they should look further back?”

“I don’t know.”

Sal looked at his Rolex and said, “I better get you home.”

They stood and shook hands and Luke thanked him. While escorting Luke toward the door, Sal said, “If you need anything else, call.”

Running out of clues, Luke decided to try a long shot. “Do you know who Steve Hinkley is?”

“No, that name doesn’t sound familiar. Who is he?”

“A local pro-choice guy that the FBI questioned about the bombing.”

“What did they find out?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sal wrote the name down and said, “I’ll have someone check it out.”

Luke thanked him and left.

Still deep in thought when they pulled up to the gates of Aaron’s house, Luke sat motionless until Bobby said, “You OK, Father?”

Luke looked up. “Yes.”

Bobby jumped out to open the door for him. As Luke climbed out of the car, Anthony said, “You seem a little down, Padre. We’re going to meet some babes at a club tonight. Maybe you want to come with us?”

Bobby laughed. “Yeah, Father, you need to live a little.”

Enjoying the moment, Anthony joked, “One night out with us and you’ll feel like you lived a complete life.”

Smiling, but annoyed, Luke leaned down and looked in the front window. “When you two rocket scientists get home, do me a favor and spell ‘live’ backwards. If you figure that one out, try spelling ‘lived’ backwards.”

As Luke walked toward the iron gates, he heard Bobby yell, “Good one, Father!”

Walking to the house, Luke felt defeated. If the feds didn’t have any leads, and they’d been looking at three years of satellite imagery, what chance did he have of ever figuring anything out? Detective Romo couldn’t help him. Now the unlisted phone numbers were a dead end. What the heck was he going to do? He decided he would follow up on his last lead, John Daly, the homeless man. If nothing came of it tonight, he was through.

AFTER DINNER, LUKE PACED
back and forth in his room, waiting impatiently for the time to pass before heading to the Common to find the homeless man who said he knew who killed Aaron. When the clock on his nightstand finally read 9:45, he couldn’t wait any longer. Remembering the incident with the cop the last time, he changed into his clerical outfit and purposely selected a coat that exposed his white priest collar.

Luke parked on a street near the Common. The night was frigid, and he walked quickly. Within a few minutes he was sitting on the same bench where he had distributed the coats two nights before. He saw people in the distance, but there was no sign of John Daly. After fifty minutes, he decided to get up and search for him.

Starting at the Brewer Fountain, Luke walked briskly around the outskirts of the park, oblivious to the danger of doing so. After passing Parkman Plaza and the Central Burying Ground, he remembered that the homeless often congregated with the drug dealers near the bandstand. So he changed direction, walking toward the center of the park. As he reached the bandstand, he was surprised at how dark it was. He heard a man laughing in the shadows. Feeling uneasy, he approached,
and a horrible stench filled the air. When their eyes met, the bearded man looked at Luke and said, “Faddah, can you help an old altar boy? I’m a Catholic.” Remembering that same line from
The Exorcist
, Luke felt involuntary chills run up his spine.

His pace quickened as he thought to himself, I should’ve brought the gun. Shocked at his own thoughts, he said the Our Father silently, until he said out loud, “Deliver me from evil,” without regard for who might hear. As he reached the Charles Street Gate, he frantically realized that his chances of finding John Daly were diminishing by the minute. By the time he passed the Shaw Memorial, he had asked almost twenty people if they had seen John Daly. Determined not to give up on his last lead, he turned around and backtracked, then headed toward the Public Garden, another park across the street. He kept repeating the same question over and over to anyone he passed, all with the same results. Not knowing what else to do, he continued roaming the surrounding streets for hours. Finally, tired, cold, and totally dejected, he punched the car door before reluctantly heading home.

When he entered the house through the kitchen door he was distraught, not only because he had bashed his knuckles but worse, because he had just exhausted his last lead. In an uncharacteristic desire to dull the excruciating pain, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of wine from the cooler. Not wanting to disturb anyone, he padded toward the front of the house and into the library, closing the double doors behind him. As he sat in a leather chair, he filled his glass, raised it, and said, “Aaron, I’m so sorry. I tried and failed.” He took huge gulps in between sobs, and it didn’t take long until the bottle was empty and Luke was passed out on the floor.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Deborah kneeling next to him with tears streaming down her face. After blinking several times, he
realized where he was and what had happened. Ashamed, he attempted to stand and saw the broken glass and spilled wine on the floor. She helped him to his feet, and he held his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked.