if they’d been stolen, that’d be a robbery. But no, we’re to believe she plugged in her brand-new computer, hooked it up to a printer, a scanner, and a backup drive, then promptly never used them for anything more than browsing CNN. As much as I hate letting the bad guys win this round, I have a dozen other open cases clamoring for my attention.”
A feeling of calm came over Luis. He understood logically that getting the brush-off like this should have frustrated him. The calm, he decided, was from God. The course of action would follow.
The bailiff stepped out of the courtroom to call everyone back in.
“Are we done here?” Michael asked.
“It’s that easy for you to walk away?” Luis snapped.
Michael whirled around.
“Pardon me for saying so, Father, but you don’t know shit about me,” Michael snarled. “This case I’ve got going on in there right now? Should be a slam dunk. The defendant’s a repeat offender for the same crime, we’ve got cop witnesses, but the key witness—the victim—won’t testify because the defendant wrote her all these jailhouse letters swearing up and down that he was a changed man, that he’d go to church every day if she didn’t come to court.”
Luis said nothing. He knew the type.
“Without a witness,” Michael continued, “without somebody there to say, ‘This is what I saw, this is how it happened,’ the entire case hinges on the attention span of your jury when it comes to facts and figures. You want to guess how long that is? Not very fucking long.”
A few jury members glanced their way upon hearing this last expletive. Michael sighed and finished up.
“Annie Whittaker was my friend. I’m the one who had to drive up there and identify her corpse. So you’ll have to excuse me if less than twenty-four hours later I’m still conflicted about next steps on a case with zero leads.”
Luis nodded but then took Michael by the wrist, leaning in close.
“You said you couldn’t do anything without a witness. What if I went up there? What if got whatever they were going to bring you? Could you act on it?”
Michael fell silent. Luis waited to hear he’d be arrested for such a stunt. That he had no business involving himself in a criminal investigation. Him, a priest . Michael’s eyes trailed up to the ceiling, though his face remained unreadable.
“Two people are dead and a third missing and probably dead as well,” Michael finally said but then added, “You’d be on your own. I couldn’t help you or direct anyone else to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re serious about this?” Michael asked with genuine surprise.
“I am.”
Michael looked the priest over again, eyeing his wounds while trying to comprehend Luis’s angle.
“This isn’t some atoning thing, is it? You’re going it alone, putting yourself in mortal danger because this Odilia woman got stolen from under you.”
Luis wanted to punch him for saying that. Not because of the accusation itself but for fear Michael might be right. Still, that was the old Luis. The calm returned.
“If you could see things from this side of the collar, you’d understand,” Luis said. “And you’re wrong. I’m never on my own. That’s the point. You should understand that, lapsed or not.”
Michael held Luis’s gaze for a moment longer, then lowered his voice.
“All right,” he said, now in little more than a whisper. “You go up there, you find out why somebody would want these three people dead—and I don’t mean hearsay, I mean a clear, actionable motive—and I’ll come at them with everything I got. Cool?”
“Cool,” Luis answered.
“All right,” Michael said. “But be careful. Hard to think that anyone who’d murder one person in their own driveway and string up another in a way that incriminates the cartels would have any qualms about killing a priest.”
Luis didn’t need the warning but nodded anyway.
When Luis returned to St. Augustine’s, he
A feeling of calm came over Luis. He understood logically that getting the brush-off like this should have frustrated him. The calm, he decided, was from God. The course of action would follow.
The bailiff stepped out of the courtroom to call everyone back in.
“Are we done here?” Michael asked.
“It’s that easy for you to walk away?” Luis snapped.
Michael whirled around.
“Pardon me for saying so, Father, but you don’t know shit about me,” Michael snarled. “This case I’ve got going on in there right now? Should be a slam dunk. The defendant’s a repeat offender for the same crime, we’ve got cop witnesses, but the key witness—the victim—won’t testify because the defendant wrote her all these jailhouse letters swearing up and down that he was a changed man, that he’d go to church every day if she didn’t come to court.”
Luis said nothing. He knew the type.
“Without a witness,” Michael continued, “without somebody there to say, ‘This is what I saw, this is how it happened,’ the entire case hinges on the attention span of your jury when it comes to facts and figures. You want to guess how long that is? Not very fucking long.”
A few jury members glanced their way upon hearing this last expletive. Michael sighed and finished up.
“Annie Whittaker was my friend. I’m the one who had to drive up there and identify her corpse. So you’ll have to excuse me if less than twenty-four hours later I’m still conflicted about next steps on a case with zero leads.”
Luis nodded but then took Michael by the wrist, leaning in close.
“You said you couldn’t do anything without a witness. What if I went up there? What if got whatever they were going to bring you? Could you act on it?”
Michael fell silent. Luis waited to hear he’d be arrested for such a stunt. That he had no business involving himself in a criminal investigation. Him, a priest . Michael’s eyes trailed up to the ceiling, though his face remained unreadable.
“Two people are dead and a third missing and probably dead as well,” Michael finally said but then added, “You’d be on your own. I couldn’t help you or direct anyone else to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re serious about this?” Michael asked with genuine surprise.
“I am.”
Michael looked the priest over again, eyeing his wounds while trying to comprehend Luis’s angle.
“This isn’t some atoning thing, is it? You’re going it alone, putting yourself in mortal danger because this Odilia woman got stolen from under you.”
Luis wanted to punch him for saying that. Not because of the accusation itself but for fear Michael might be right. Still, that was the old Luis. The calm returned.
“If you could see things from this side of the collar, you’d understand,” Luis said. “And you’re wrong. I’m never on my own. That’s the point. You should understand that, lapsed or not.”
Michael held Luis’s gaze for a moment longer, then lowered his voice.
“All right,” he said, now in little more than a whisper. “You go up there, you find out why somebody would want these three people dead—and I don’t mean hearsay, I mean a clear, actionable motive—and I’ll come at them with everything I got. Cool?”
“Cool,” Luis answered.
“All right,” Michael said. “But be careful. Hard to think that anyone who’d murder one person in their own driveway and string up another in a way that incriminates the cartels would have any qualms about killing a priest.”
Luis didn’t need the warning but nodded anyway.
When Luis returned to St. Augustine’s, he
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