Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7) Page 9

  “It worries me,” Bernard continued, “to see you so troubled.”

  “I’m working through it,” Nicolas said. “I think it was the shock, really. I suppose there’s no way to prepare for everything one might encounter.”

  “That’s true enough, but the only real preparation we need for all that we face is our faith. You’ve got the tools to get you through this, Father Nicolas. It’s up to you to rely on and trust in them.”

  Bernard reached over and lifted the Roman history text from Nicolas’s lap and leaned over to see the title of the book beneath. He frowned.

  “You won’t find the answers you seek here,” Bernard said.

  “Why not? Do you not believe in the study of the mind?”

  “Of course. But that is not our field. It is not our calling. We don’t heal minds. We heal hearts and protect souls.”

  “But surely understanding how people are motivated allows us to do a better job.”

  “Undoubtedly. But in this particular case, I fear that this book will not give you the relief you seek but will instead only cause you to be more troubled.”

  “I seek understanding. Not relief.”

  “There are a lot of things about the mind that doctors and scientists can’t explain, though they have often worked a subject for years. Even the best in their field couldn’t diagnose someone they had never met based on a whispered confession that they can’t even be sure is true. So if the experts in their field often can’t give you answers about the people they use for case studies, why do you think you can find those answers yourself?”

  Nicolas sighed. “I guess I was hoping. I’ve always found comfort in knowledge, and perhaps I was seeking to find it there again. I figured it couldn’t hurt and at least I’d feel that I was doing something.”

  “I felt the same way. With my brother’s addiction, I thought if I knew what made him the way he was, I could fix it. I thought I could somehow overcome all the hurt he’d built up inside that he drowned out with drugs. Our father’s death while we were young. All the struggles my mother had keeping food on the table. After all, I had overcome all of them. Why couldn’t he?”

  Bernard shook his head. “I was guilty of pride,” he said. “Of thinking I knew more than all those who’d spent decades studying the behavior. But nothing I did made a difference and eventually, I stopped trying. My conscience was clear when he died.”

  Nicolas felt his heart clench. Bernard’s brother had died of an overdose just a couple months before. The senior priest hadn’t seemed in the least bit surprised, but he’d been sad. Nicolas figured the sadness was mostly for their mother, whom his brother had lived with.

  “I suppose I could pray all day long,” Nicolas said, “but I’m not inclined to think it will make a difference.”

  “No. I’m not either. What we need to do is get your mind occupied with other things. I know I released you from most of your work duties, but perhaps that was a mistake.”

  Nicolas sucked in a breath.

  Bernard placed his hand on Nicolas’s arm. “I’m not asking you to return to the confessional. But the summer festival is coming up and I need someone to oversee the committees and make sure everything is organized. I think you should be that person. The festival is one of our major fund-raisers, so I’m entrusting you with one of the most important tasks we have set before us.”

  Nicolas was momentarily taken aback. Father Bernard wasn’t overstating the importance of the festival. A large percentage of the church’s operating and fixed improvement costs were derived from that one event. In the past, Bernard had always been in charge of the organizing. For him to pass that responsibility on to Nicolas was huge.

  “I’m honored that you think I’m capable,” Nicolas said. “Especially to follow in your footsteps. You’ve set a high bar.”

  Bernard nodded. “I’m sure you can scale it. I have faith in you, Father Nicolas, even when you’re not entirely sure of yourself. The first meeting is tonight at 8:00 p.m. It will be you and the five committee chairpersons.”

  “Will you also attend?”

  “Only to make an introduction and announce your position as lead. You will take over from there. I have a notebook with all the information I intended to cover tonight. Are you planning on sitting here for a while longer?”

  “I think so. I find the company of others comforting, even if they are going about their own business.”

  Bernard nodded. “Then I’ll retrieve the notebook and bring it to you here before I resume confessions. That way you have time to review my notes and cover any questions you might have with me.” He rose from the pew. “Take heart, Father Nicolas. This is merely a test. I have every confidence that you will pass it.”

  Nicolas watched as Bernard exited the cathedral, thinking about the senior priest’s words. Was this a test? Would God really send a murderer to his doorstep just to test his faith? He didn’t think so. The truth was, Nicolas didn’t believe God controlled any of man’s actions. He believed in free will. God was there if you sought him out, but he wouldn’t stop someone from committing a sin.

  Even murder.

  But Nicolas didn’t believe he sanctioned it, either. At least, not in recent times.

  He opened the book on sociopathy again and picked up reading where he’d left off. Father Bernard might be right in saying the book couldn’t help him, but he doubted that at this point it could hurt him, either. He’d covered two more chapters when he heard footsteps in the aisle.

  “Father?” A child’s voice sounded to his right and he turned to see a young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, standing at the end of the pew. He was dirty and his clothes too small and threadbare. His hair needed a cut months ago, but so many were choosing to look that way these days that the clothes and general cleanliness were often the only way Nicolas could differentiate the street kids from those with homes. That and the fact that the street kids usually avoided adults.

  “Can I help you?” Nicolas asked.

  “A man said to give you this.”

  The boy extended his hand. Nicolas took one look at the envelope he held and his stomach rolled. It was from the penitent. He knew it.

  “What did the man look like?” Nicolas asked.

  The boy appeared taken aback that Nicolas hadn’t simply taken the envelope. It was clear that he was uncomfortable being there and just wanted to leave. Nicolas expected him to drop the envelope on the pew and run but instead he studied Nicolas for several seconds, then frowned.

  “He was creepy,” the boy said quietly.

  “Can you describe him?”

  The boy shook his head. “That’s why he was creepy. He wore black pants and a black hoodie that was pulled over his head. It was pulled so far over his face, and he was looking down, so I couldn’t really see him. Not until he got close enough to give me the envelope.”

  Nicolas’s pulse shot into the stratosphere. “What did you see?”

  “He had no face.”

  “What do you mean? Everyone has a face.”

  “He was wearing this mask thing, except it didn’t look like nobody. It was just solid black. Like I said, creepy. I grabbed the envelope and the money and ran.”

  “What about his hands? Was he wearing a watch or a ring? Did his hands look like an old man or a young one?”

  “He was wearing gloves. Even though it’s hot outside.” The boy glanced back at the exit door. “I gotta go.”

  The boy dropped the envelope on the pew, spun around, and took off.

  “Wait!” Nicolas cried. He tried to rise, but even if he could have gotten out of the pew, there was no way he could have caught up with the boy.

  Frustrated, he forced his legs down the pew until he reached the end. He sat again and looked at the envelope lying on the shiny wood. It was wrinkled and had small dirty fingerprints on it. It didn’t look like something that should cause fear, but Nicolas could feel his heart pounding in his temples.

  He drew in a breath and slowly bl
ew it out, closing his eyes and saying a prayer for strength. When he opened his eyes, he grabbed the envelope and tore it open. He unfolded the piece of paper inside and choked back a cry at the single world it contained.

  Sinner.

  13

  Grayson hung up the phone and looked over at Jackson as he started the car. “That was Hudson Landry. He wants to talk to us in private. Now.”

  “Interesting. You think he’s ‘remembered’ something he didn’t bring up in front of his uncle?”

  “Maybe. Probably. You saw the kid. He definitely didn’t want to get on his uncle’s bad side. I know he’s legally an adult, but he didn’t seem all that mature.”

  “I don’t think he is, which is probably part of the reason he thinks Hailey is so grown-up. I’m kinda surprised he called, though. I didn’t think he was smart enough to hold anything back.”

  Grayson nodded. “He definitely isn’t the sharpest tool in the garage. Maybe it wasn’t anything he held back. Maybe he remembered something that Hailey said and thinks it could be important.”

  “You don’t think he’s heard from Hailey, do you?”

  “I doubt it. If he had, that would have been the first thing he blurted out, or he wouldn’t have called at all, assuming she wanted to stay hidden.”

  “Well, then it’s a mystery. Where are we meeting?”

  “A bar two blocks from the shop. Shouldn’t be busy this early.”

  Grayson was right. The bar held exactly one bartender and two patrons, one of them Hudson, who sat in the back corner of the room as far away from the bar as he could get. He had a glass of whiskey in front of him and Jackson noticed that his hand wasn’t steady when he lifted the glass. He caught sight of them as they made their way across the room and Jackson could see the nervousness and a slight bit of panic in his expression.

  Jackson’s senses went on high alert. Maybe this was going to be something important.

  They took seats at the table across from Hudson and the bartender popped over. He gave them a once-over and Jackson was certain he knew they were cops. They both ordered a soda and he glanced at Hudson before heading off to grab the drinks.

  “You said you had something to tell us?” Grayson asked.

  Hudson nodded and looked over his shoulder. A couple seconds later, the bartender sat the sodas on the table, then left. Hudson looked at them, indecision written all over his expression. Finally, he took a drink of his whiskey and slowly blew out a breath.

  “This is going to sound crazy and maybe you won’t believe me,” Hudson said. “But I don’t know how else to handle it. And I don’t want any more trouble.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong and we’ll figure out what to do about it,” Grayson said.

  Hudson stared down at the table and nodded. He was silent for so long that Jackson wondered if he was rethinking the entire meeting. Finally he looked back up and blurted out the entire exchange that had happened between him and Marcy Long.

  “She’s been coming around for months,” Hudson said. “But I swear I never gave her any reason to think I was interested. Just the opposite. Toward the end, I was rude. Really rude. But it only seemed to amuse her. I know this all sounds bad coming from me, but I swear it’s true.”

  Grayson looked over at Jackson, who gave him a slight nod. Jackson believed every word of Hudson’s story. Marcy Long had struck him as exactly the type of person who would do whatever it took to get what she wanted. And she wanted Hudson. Even worse, Hailey had attained what Marcy hadn’t managed, and that had probably pissed her all the way off.

  “You were smart to contact us,” Grayson said. “Going along with Marcy’s plans would have only led you to more trouble.”

  Hudson looked back and forth between them. “So you believe me?”

  “We do,” Grayson said.

  Hudson let out a huge rush of breath. “Oh my God. You have no idea. I couldn’t think…didn’t know what to do. That girl…”

  “Do you know why some policemen become detectives?” Grayson asked.

  Hudson shook his head.

  “Because we have a knack for understanding human motivation and for reading people. Some of us are better at it than others. Jackson is better than me, which is why I like partnering with him. He might pick up on something that I miss. But rest assured, both of us clued in on Marcy Long’s personality. Your story doesn’t surprise me in the least. But it disturbs me.”

  Hudson frowned. “Disturbs you? Why?”

  “Because I wonder just how far Marcy will go to get what she wants,” Grayson said.

  Hudson stared for a moment, then his eyes widened. “You think Marcy did something to Hailey?”

  “It’s possible,” Jackson said. “There’s just one thing that doesn’t align.”

  “What’s that?” Hudson asked.

  “You thought Marcy tipped us off about your and Hailey’s relationship,” Jackson said. “But it was actually Gina who saw you. Do you think Marcy knew?”

  Hudson shrugged. “I don’t know. When you showed up asking questions, I just assumed it was Marcy that knew because she was bugging me.”

  “There’s our dilemma,” Jackson said. “Either Marcy knew and said nothing to us because she was waiting to use that information to her advantage, or she didn’t know and found out, probably from Gina. Then she confronted you and decided to take advantage of the situation.”

  Grayson nodded. “We really need to know which one is the case.”

  Hudson ran his hand through his hair. “Because one means she’s an opportunist and the other means she might have done something to Hailey. Damn. I didn’t even think about all that. How do you figure out which one it is?”

  Jackson glanced at Grayson, who nodded. “You take Marcy to the movies,” Jackson said.

  Hudson’s eyes widened. “No way! I don’t want trouble, and that girl is nothing but trouble.”

  “She can’t make trouble for you if you’re working with us,” Grayson said.

  “Working with you?” Hudson asked.

  “You’ll wear a wire,” Jackson said. “We’ll be nearby. It’s a movie so there won’t be much talking during, but on the drive over and before it starts, you might be able to get something out of her.”

  “How?” Hudson asked. “I’m no detective. I don’t know how to make people confess to shit.”

  “My guess is if you bring up Hailey, it will make Marcy mad,” Jackson said. “When people get really angry, they sometimes blurt out things they never meant to say.”

  “Okay.” Hudson nodded. “So I just say stuff like how I’m worried about Hailey and miss her…stuff like that?”

  “Exactly like that,” Jackson said. “Make sure Marcy knows that you’re only there because she blackmailed you, but all of your thoughts are about Hailey.”

  Hudson stared down at the table and shook his head. Then he looked back up at them. “Do you really think Marcy could have done something to Hailey? Over me? Because I don’t know if I could live with that.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if it comes to that,” Jackson said. “The only thing you need to know is that you’ve done nothing wrong. And you did the right thing by calling us. It helps your credibility.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Hudson said. “I just want Hailey back. Even if I can’t see her anymore. I want her safe, you know?”

  Jackson’s heart went out to the young man. He clearly had feelings for Hailey and was struggling with how to deal with everything. Jackson understood more than most how it felt to worry about a woman you cared about who had run up against evil. It was a difficult thing for anyone to deal with, but for a man used to protecting people for a living, it was even harder.

  “We all want her back safe,” Grayson said. “Hailey’s case is our full-time job. We’re doing everything we can to locate her.”

  “I hope it’s enough,” Hudson said.

  Jackson nodded. He hoped so too.

  Shaye made her way into the building
that contained Robert Croft’s corporate offices. She hadn’t called ahead, hoping to get lucky and catch him by surprise. When certain types of people had time to prepare, they could convince almost anyone of their lies. And Robert Croft hadn’t made his many millions by telling the truth. His reputation was well known by the whispering at parties and charity events, but as was typical of society people, no one dared say anything to his face.

  The receptionist’s eyes widened as Shaye walked inside the office and she knew the young woman was well aware of who she was. “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Croft for a couple minutes. If he’s available.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  It was a useless question. The receptionist was already aware that she didn’t, but it was the sort of thing that managed to get rid of most people who thought they could drop by and interrupt people at their place of business. It wasn’t going to work on Shaye. Interruption was how she got some of her best information.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t,” Shaye said. “I was just in the area and thought I’d give it a try. I promise it won’t take long.”

  “Let me see if he’s available.” The receptionist lifted the phone and dialed. “Mr. Croft, Shaye Archer is here and would like to speak to you. She said it wouldn’t take— Oh, okay.”

  The receptionist hung up the phone. “He can see you now. Down the hall, all the way at the end.”

  “Thank you.” Shaye set out down the hall, noting the expensive paintings lining the hallway. If Croft purchased collectible art to hang in his hallways, the business of lying must be doing very well indeed.

  She knocked on his office door and he called out for her to enter. As she stepped inside, he rose from his desk and moved forward with a big smile. He kissed her cheek and motioned for her to sit in one of the two overstuffed leather chairs in front of a beautiful antique desk.

  “It’s good to see you,” Croft said. “It’s been a long time. I’m so sorry about…things. I’m not sure how to phrase it. I apologize. You’d think someone with a law degree could come up with words.”