Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

a seat across from the priest. “I didn’t come here to talk about a bunch of Keystone rag-heads, Father. I came here for the truth about Billy Pearce.” He took a sheaf of papers from a manila envelope and laid them on the table. “The state police have come up with a log of calls to and from Billy Pearce’s cell phone in the months before he was murdered. It seems like you and he had a lot to chat about.”

Gauss looked thoughtful. “You’re friendly with the authorities now? I’d heard you were something of a pariah where they were concerned.”

“We’re trading favors.”

Gauss waited.

“Gay clergy and Islamic terrorists?” Joe elaborated. “Hard to wrap the flag around that one. The powers that be are hoping that this is just a case of recreational fiddling and not some retro-radical priest thing. They’ve asked me to find out. Discreetly.”

Gauss hauled on the cigarette and stared out the Chancery window. “In exchange for what, I wonder?”

“I’ve got what your Bishop’s has. Plus what your housekeeper says she didn’t tell the Bishop’s gopher, Marchetti. Plus phone records that show you were one of the last people Billy Pearce spoke to before he was murdered. So talk, Father. What was it? Slumming? Or have you been building bio-weapons in the church basement?”

“I wasn’t referring to terrorists, Sheriff.”

“When?”

Gauss waved the back of his hand at the portrait of the wartime Pope. “The paralyzing effect of evil. I was referring to Billy Pearce.”

“I’m listening.”

“Good.” Gauss stubbed out a cigarette and lit another. “Do you believe in a personal God, Sheriff?”

Joe shrugged.

“The personification of evil?”

“The what?”

“Satan.”

“I’ve seen people do nasty enough without supernatural help.”

“Billy Pearce was evil,” said Gauss. “Pure evil.”

“I kind of doubt that, Father. His rag-head pals, maybe. Pearce was just screwed-up from being odd man out in a family of tight-assed geniuses.”

“You’re wrong, Sheriff. Dr. Hassad and his colleagues may be religious fanatics. Modern day Crusaders, if you will. That makes them misguided, not evil. But no one misguided Billy Pearce. His actions were entirely self-directed and his ambition was unequivocally evil.”

“What ambition was that?”

“To lead young men into temptation and to destroy their souls.”

“You want to be more specific?”

Gauss lit a cigarette from the stub in his hand. “Has your brother ever spoken to you of our association?”

“Are you going to tell me he’s a Marlboro man, too?” Joe snorted.

“I’m going to tell you that when I first met your brother he was poised on the same path that you seem to have taken. Smart boy. Fundamentally decent, but not particularly moral. Surrounded by the world’s temptations and with no inclination other than to go with the flow.”

“And you took him in hand…”

“Your brother took himself in hand. I encouraged him… showed him some tools… validated his instinct to be something more than what others expected of him.”

“And then he went to Wall Street and made a pile of money. Nice work, Father. He should give you a cut.”

“Then he took up with the Pearce family. And all his efforts and mine came undone.”

Joe laughed. “I kind of doubt he sees it that way, Father. But what’s the connection to Billy’s ‘leading young men into temptation? ’ or to bombs in the church basement?”

“Do you really think I had something to do with Billy Pearce’s death?”

“I’ve got photos, Father—letters, phone records and a gossipy housekeeper all pointing me in that direction. If you can turn me around, you ought to give it a try. I’m giving you a chance.”

Gauss stood and walked toward the Chancery window, flicking the stub of his cigarette into the courtyard below. “Miss Pearce led your brother down a familiar, hedonistic path. A spiritual dead end. Empty, but not evil. I’m sure she genuinely cared for him.

“Her brother on the other hand was a predator. He chose young men who had started on the path toward something better and did his best to turn them aside toward self-destruction. He enjoyed it.”

Joe clasped his hands behind his head. “What makes you think you know what made Billy tick?”

“There was a boy…”

“I might have guessed.”

“Much like your brother. Smart but unfocused. Parents self-absorbed in their own ambitions and not paying much attention to him. I took an interest and tried to help him find his direction. That’s what I do, Sheriff. My real vocation, you might say. Billy Pearce became aware of that vocation—probably through one of my failed efforts—and decided to make it his vocation to foil mine. The jealousy of evil in the presence of good, if you will. Sadly, evil won this time. It happens. The boy dropped out of school, got involved in drugs and disappeared. I heard about Pearce’s involvement from another of my vocational projects. Also that Pearce seemed to be using me as a sort of talent scout.

“I confronted him. Hence the phone calls. Threatened him with hell and damnation. That amused him. No, that’s too innocent. It inspired him.”

Joe folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “These phone records have calls going both ways, Father. Some of them go on for quite a while.”

“Pearce would call to gloat. To update me on his progress and conquests. I shouldn’t have listened, I suppose. But I told myself that I might get something from the contact that I could use. Know thy enemy and so forth. I didn’t help. I’m afraid I was just mesmerized by the hiss of the snake.”

“And the last call?”

“The boy I mentioned. There was a rumor that he had died. I’d been quite upset. But then Pearce called to say he was alive and claimed to know the address of some crack house in the city where the boy might be living. He told me to come over and that he would tell me where it was.”

“Well, well…”

“I knew he was lying. He sounded stoned. But how could I say no? It’s like the old joke about second marriages—‘the triumph of hope over experience. ’ In any event, Pearce was