Downtown Police Station
Omaha, Nebraska

“This is ridiculous,” Nick Morrelli told the detectives who introduced themselves as Detectives Carmichael and Pakula. They were an odd pair, a short, chubby Asian woman and a middle-aged linebacker with a shaved head. Hardly Hollywood’s version of the good cop/bad cop. “You’re treating him like he’s a suspect.”

“Who exactly did you say you are?” Carmichael asked.

“His friend, Nick Morrelli.”

“Who happens to be an attorney,” Tony added.

Nick could see it wouldn’t matter. Detective Carmichael already had that I-don’t-give-a-shit look that he recognized. He had even used it himself a time or two as a deputy prosecutor when he had to convince some lowlife that the deal he was offering was final.

“Morrelli?” Pakula was scratching his shaved head. “Do I know you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Nick was growing impatient. Carmichael may have noticed. She uncrossed her arms, but that was all.

“My apologies if the officers may have given you the impression that you’re a suspect,” she told Tony. “And that they dragged you all the way down here. We only want to ask you a few questions. Is there a reason why you wouldn’t want to answer our questions?” Her voice was a little softer suddenly. Nick wondered if she wasn’t used to playing the role of bad cop. Or was she simply changing her route of manipulation?

Tony looked to Nick as if he expected Nick to answer for him again. Nick gave him a nod that it was okay, but at the same time, he didn’t like how nervous Tony seemed. Did he have something to hide?

“Go ahead,” Tony told the detective. “Of course I don’t mind answering your questions.”

“We understand that the monsignor called you from the airport,” Detective Pakula said as he started pacing the length of the room. Carmichael remained sitting, but Nick noticed her foot tapping out her nervous energy under the table.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You may have been the last person to talk to him. That he knew, that is. You mind sharing the contents of that conversation?”

“We had spoken earlier in the day about the schedule. I was going to fill in for him while he was gone. He couldn’t remember if he had told me about the church board meeting and where he kept his notes.” Tony crossed his legs, his right ankle rested on his left knee. To Nick he looked perfectly calm and natural. Almost too much so.

“Where were you when you got the call?”

“In the rectory,” Tony said without skipping a beat and Nick thought this should be easy. No big deal.

“Really?” Pakula asked.

Nick recognized that look. He had used it himself, a look that wobbled between surprise and sarcasm, but Tony didn’t flinch.

“You sure you were at the rectory?”

“Yes, of course. I usually do paperwork on Fridays.”

“Uh-huh. So Monsignor O’Sullivan would know this, right?” Pakula kept up his pacing, nodding.

“Of course.”

“Why do you suppose he called you on your cell phone instead of the phone at the rectory?”

“I have no idea,” Tony said.

It was a little like watching a tennis match, only Nick couldn’t tell what Pakula would do with that lame lob.

“What a minute,” Pakula said, spinning around to look at Nick and surprising them all. “Morrelli. Nick Morrelli. Now I remember you. You quarterbacked for the Huskers 1982, ’83.”

It took Nick a second or two to register the switch of subject. Earlier, when the detective thought he knew him, he had thought it might be from his stint as sheriff for Platte City, Nebraska, several years ago. After the media circus, it was difficult for anyone in the area to forget the murder of two little boys and the investigation that Nick almost flubbed up. Two men were serving life sentences and yet Nick wasn’t convinced he had caught the killer. Now he found he was relieved that Detective Pakula recognized him, instead, from another era, a more successful time in his life.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nick said.

“I knew I recognized that name.” But as quickly as the detective had been distracted he returned to his questions. “So, Father Gallagher, how long have you worked with Monsignor O’Sullivan at Our Lady of Sorrow?”

“I’ve been the associate pastor there for almost three years.”

“Do you like him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you like him? Did the two of you get along? Were you buddies?”

“I wouldn’t use the term buddies. We were colleagues.”

Nick noticed that Tony uncrossed his legs. Both hands were on his knees. Suddenly he didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Does he travel quite a bit?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘quite a bit.’”

“Why was Monsignor O’Sullivan going to Rome?”

“I believe the archbishop asked him to go. The monsignor had never been to the Vatican.”

“So he was excited about going?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Was he delivering anything important for the archbishop?”

“Like what?” Tony asked, and Nick wanted to grab Tony by the collar and tell him to just answer the fucking questions. But instead he shifted in his chair, trying to catch Tony’s eyes, maybe give him a warning glare.

He saw Detectives Pakula and Carmichael exchange a glance. They might be pretending these were only fact-finding questions, but they were fishing for something. What exactly did they know and what did they think Tony wasn’t telling them?

“We were just wondering.” This time Carmichael took over while Pakula leaned against the wall as if taking a break. Carmichael braced her elbows up on the table, but she, too, looked calm, a bit too nonchalant, and Nick wondered what they were hoping to get out of this interview.

“The archbishop,” she continued, “asks the monsignor to go to the Vatican. Doesn’t it make sense that he’d want to make the most of the trip?”

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

Tony was good at this. Nick wasn’t sure why he was so surprised.

“Did Monsignor O’Sullivan carry a brown leather portfolio with him?” Carmichael moved on. Maybe he was wrong about them knowing what they were doing.

“Yes, I think I do remember a portfolio,” Tony finally answered.

“Did he have it with him yesterday?”

“I didn’t see him leave for the airport.”

“But you saw him right before?”

“Yes.”

Carmichael stared at Tony, waiting for more. Nick found himself staring and waiting, too. Tony, however, just shrugged and said, “If I didn’t see him leave for the airport how would I know for sure what he took with him?”

This time there was a sigh from Carmichael. Nothing from Pakula except a slight shift in his leaning.

“Last question…for now,” she emphasized. “Any idea why someone might want to kill Monsignor O’Sullivan?”

“Life is the ultimate gift from God. I can’t even imagine who would do such a thing,” Tony said with too much of a reverent whisper. Nick watched for Carmichael’s reaction, looking to see if she had noticed that Tony had managed to not answer yet another one of her questions.

Carmichael nodded without looking up from the notes she jotted. She glanced back at Pakula, then looked directly at Nick when she said, “If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

And immediately Nick figured that she and Pakula probably did know more. They hadn’t been interested in his presence the entire time. But now all of a sudden they were telling him they’d have more questions. They were telling Tony’s friend, the attorney.