Crisscross. Part 65

"Symbols molded into the concrete column have been identified as similar to those found throughout the world in temples of the Dormentalist Church, and the mold for the pillar was discovered hidden in a New Jersey concrete company owned by a member of the church's High Council.

"Ms. Grant was a respected journalist and a fearless critic of the Dormentalist Church. Her murder has sent Shockwaves throughout the world of journalism. We mourn her pa.s.sing."

"Wait a minute," Gia said, straightening and looking at Jack. "Wait just a minute. Didn't you say that the son you were looking for was a Dormentalist?"

Jack continued to stare at the screen. "Did I say that?"

"Yes, you did. I remem-"

He tightened his bear hug. "Just a sec. Look who's doing a perp walk."

She turned back in time to see a vaguely familiar-looking man being led from a doorway to a police car.

"In a related story that may or may not be coincidence, Luther Brady, head of the Dormentalist Church, is a suspect in the murder of an ex-cop in the Bronx. He has been denied bail."

Gia swiveled to face Jack. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

It was the first time all morning she'd seen him smile.

4.

"More bad news, I'm afraid," Fineman said.

Luther Brady lifted his head from where he'd been resting it on his arms, which were folded on the table. He was numb.

They'd found Grant's body. How? The news story said the Pennsylvania authorities had acted on a tip. From whom?

It had to be an insider, but that didn't make sense. Everyone high enough up to have known will be under investigation now.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Luther looked at Fineman, dapper as ever. "How could things get worse: "Mr. Petrovich is not available, it seems. My investigator learned he drove off in his van and never came back. The van was found abandoned in Lower Manhattan. The police report mentions bloodstains on the front seat. Petrovich appears to have vanished."

Luther lowered his head again. What else could go wrong?

Petrovich had been a long shot anyway. A guy with his record probably didn't want to get within a mile of a police station, let alone walk in to swear to a statement.

"I've had feelers about a plea bargain," Fineman said.

"I will not-"

"Don't reject it out of hand, Mr. Brady. Give it careful consideration. You know what's going on outside. Your church is getting heat from all sides. It looks for all the world like someone in your organization killed that reporter to shut her up. That's not going to help you one bit."

He wanted to grab Fineman's silk tie and tell him that yes, he was part of the Grant b.i.t.c.h's death, a big part, and part of a host of others too, but he had nothing to do with this one. On this count he was innocent.

But he said nothing.

Fineman wasn't through, however. "Plus you've got to realize that if the DA should go public and announce that he's seeking the death penalty, your chance for a deal will be gone. He'll be locked into that position and won't be able to let you plead down without suffering serious political fallout."

Luther didn't see that he had a choice. Making a deal meant losing his freedom but keeping his life. No deal gave him a shot at freedom, but the downside was death. Luther had decided he'd rather be dead than spend the rest of his life behind bars.

"No deals." He raised his head and looked Fineman square in the eyes. "An innocent man doesn't make deals."

At least the photos were still under wraps. He prayed to whatever power had guided him thus far that they'd stay that way.

WEDNESDAY.

1.

"Gevalt!" Abe said as he studied the hot-off-the-press copy of The Light The Light.

Jack had hung around the newsstand down the street, waiting for it to be delivered. He bought a copy as soon as the string on the bale was cut and walked directly to Abe's, reading it along the way.

Four words took up the whole front page.

SPECIAL.

JAMIE.

GRANT.

ISSUE.

The first five pages were filled with loving tributes to a fallen colleague. But starting on page six, the paper tore into Luther Brady, saying that even if he personally had nothing to do with Jamie Grant's death, he'd fostered the tactic of ruthless retaliation against any and all critics of the Dormentalist Church, creating an atmosphere of disregard for the rights and well-being of anyone considered an enemy of his church.

And then the piece de resistance: censored photos of an unidentified man-obviously Brady on closer examination-with the two boys. The paper said that it had received these photos the day before, with a note purportedly from the man Brady was accused of killing. The photos and the note had been forwarded to the police.

Abe looked up from the paper. "You're involved in this, aren't you?"

Jack tried for a guileless look. "Who, me?"

"You think I'm going to buy that Fm-so-innocent punim? I'm not. You promised me when I found you that Beretta that you-wait a minute. Wait just a minute." He narrowed his eyes and pointed a stubby finger at Jack. "Brady's supposed victim wouldn't happen to have been shot with a nine millimeter, would he?"

"That's what I hear."

"And that nine millimeter wouldn't happen to have come from a Beretta, would it?" Abe turned his palms up as his fingers did a come-here waggle. "So tell me. Tell-me-tell-me-tell-me."

Jack told him, giving him a Reader's Digest Reader's Digest version of Sunday night and Monday morning. version of Sunday night and Monday morning.

When Jack was done, Abe sat back on his stool and waved a hand at the spread-out pages of The Light The Light. His voice was hushed.

"You did this? By yourself you brought down a global cult?"

"I wouldn't say 'brought down.' It hasn't gone away. I can't see it ever going away completely."

"But you kneecapped it."

"Yeah, but it's still got more than enough members and resources to go on burying their pillars."

All Dormentalism might be reeling and in disarray, but Brady's machinery still existed. Before too long a new insertion site would be chosen, and another Dormentalist High Council fanatic would be preparing another column... and setting up another victim.

"A moratorium they'll call. Too many eyes looking at them. And without their guiding light..."

"Yeah, he's out of the picture for good, I hope."

"If not, it won't be for lack of trying on your part. But whatever, the Dormentalist Church is-"

"Hang on," Jack said. "Turn up your radio a sec." Jack thought he'd heard Brady's name.

Abe always had a radio going and, natch, always tuned to an all-news station.

Sure enough, the newsreader was saying that the Bronx DA had announced he was seeking the death penalty in the Cordova murder case. She also mentioned that Luther Brady had been denied bond and would be transferred to Riker's Island later this morning.

"Mazel tov," Abe said, beaming. "You should tell your lady friend."

"I'll bet she knows."

But giving Herta a call wasn't such a bad idea. Jack whipped out his cell phone and dialed her number.

No answer.

Probably out shopping... but a hint of warning put him into motion. "I think I'll tell her in person."

He gave Abe a wave and headed for the door. When he hit the sidewalk he broke into a loping run toward Columbus Avenue, looking for a cab.

2.

"She's gone!" Esteban looked upset.

Jack tried to keep his cool as unease writhed through him.

"What do you mean, gone? When did she go out?"

"She didn't just go out, she left. Men came and packed up all her things, and she left. Her apartment is empty."

"You sure she left on her own? Could she have been kidnapped or something?"

Esteban shook his head. "Oh, no. She left me a nice note and a very generous gift. I will miss her."

"Then where'd she go?"

A shrug. "She did not say. I know she was not jumping her rent because she is paid up until the end of the year."

Had she been frightened off, or was this one of those my-work-here-is-done things?

Jack ground his teeth. He still had so many unanswered questions.

"She was a nice lady," Esteban said.

"Yeah, she was." He clapped him on the arm. "And you were a good friend to her. I know she appreciated it."

Jack left a beaming doorman behind and headed for First Avenue. He needed another taxi to take him to his rental car. He had two more stops to make before he returned it.

3.

As Jack walked away from Sister Maggie's flower-smothered grave, he heard someone call his name.