Friday, July 9
Omaha Archdiocese Office

Tommy Pakula knew he was enjoying this just a little too much. He sat in the same hardback chair across from Archbishop Armstrong’s desk and he was waiting for him, again. But this time he didn’t mind. He was finally putting to rest another chapter of the toughest case in his career. Oh sure, there was more to figure out, but it was looking like James Campion may have been their priest killer. In the last several weeks his job had taken him to Saint Louis and Tallahassee, Florida. From Saint Louis he could have easily driven to Columbia and Omaha. And Pensacola was only about a three-or four-hour drive from Tallahassee.

Maybe he wanted it to be Campion so badly that he was willing to overlook Minneapolis. He had Carmichael checking to see if there could be a connection between Campion and Brother Sebastian. If the two men might know each other. He hadn’t ruled out O’Dell’s hunch that there may have been two killers working together. Sebastian could easily have taken care of Monsignor O’Sullivan in Omaha and Daniel Ellison in Minneapolis while Campion killed the other three.

Something still nagged at him, though. Agent O’Dell agreed that James Campion could have been the killer after discovering that Father Paul Conley had raped Campion as a young altar boy. That, according to O’Dell, would explain his rage during that murder. Unfortunately with Campion gone there were some things they might never know.

In the back of his mind he still didn’t let Father Tony Gallagher off the hook. Nor had Carmichael. She had reminded him again before he left the station that Father Tony’s past experience as a victims’ rights advocate fit O’Dell’s profile of The Sin Eater, a tragic hero killing and taking on the sins of the boys that the system may have failed to previously win justice for. Carmichael also pointed out that Father Tony would have had access to lists of victims as well as lists of the abusing priests.

The side door opened, interrupting his analysis. The archbishop strolled in, nodding at him as he took his place behind the desk.

“Mr. Pakula,” he said, still substituting mister for detective, “I understand you have some important information on Monsignor O’Sullivan’s case. Is it possible you already have a suspect?”

“Possibly.” Pakula sat back. The uncomfortable chair made his back ache but he didn’t mind. He glanced at his watch. “We’re picking up one of our suspects right about now for questioning.” And he imagined Kasab and Carmichael escorting Brother Sebastian to the station.

“I’m glad to hear that,” the archbishop said, folding his hands together on the desk’s surface and sitting forward in his ridiculously large throne. “Perhaps we can finally put all of this behind us.”

“Well, I’m not too sure it’ll be any time soon.”

“Of course not,” Archbishop Armstrong agreed. “I realize these things take some time with all the details and a trial. I was simply speaking rhetorically about all of us having some closure.”

“I’m sure there’re quite a few people who’d be glad to hear that you’re anxious and willing to provide some much-needed closure.”

“Excuse me?”

Pakula reached down to his feet, alongside the chair leg, and brought up the leather portfolio, tossing it on top of the archbishop’s pristine desktop.

“We finally found this,” Pakula told him and watched all the color leave the man’s face.

“Well, my goodness. Is that—”

“Monsignor O’Sullivan’s leather portfolio stashed full of interesting reports and memos and letters and therapists’ analyses. Quite interesting stuff. I can see why you wanted him to deliver it personally to the Vatican for safe storage. Yeah, it would be against the law to destroy all these, but since the Vatican has diplomatic immunity it would have made sense to just go ahead and store them over there. Isn’t that right, Archbishop?”

“I have no idea what you think you found, Mr. Pakula,” he told him, sitting forward again and regaining his composure much too quickly. “I would think you should know by now that it would be better to close this case once and for all, especially now that poor Monsignor O’Sullivan isn’t here to defend himself.”

“You’re right about that.” Pakula stood, ready to leave and the archbishop looked surprised, glancing back at the portfolio as if ready to snatch it if Pakula insisted on taking it back. “There’s not much we can do in the poor monsignor’s case. Unfortunately it won’t come to an end very soon. You’ll never guess who ended up with this old portfolio and handed it in to me.” He waited for the archbishop to squirm just a little before he said, “Of all the people to get their hands on it, wouldn’t you know it’d be a reporter.”

And there it was—the look, the dropped jaw, the wide eyes. That was the look Pakula had been waiting for. He turned to leave, now satisfied, but stopped and glanced back.

“Oh and by the way, I thought you might be interested to know that Creighton University called, apologizing that a huge mistake had been made regarding my daughter’s scholarship. Seems a letter went out without their approval.” He shook his head and said, “Wonder how that could have happened.”

He didn’t need an answer nor did he expect one. He had gotten more than he had come for. He left the archbishop with the coveted leather portfolio stashed with copies of incriminating documents. All of the originals were currently on their way to the Douglas County prosecutor’s office.