Bishop as Pawn Page 0,87
inside the door, almost leaning against it in an at-ease stance.
Wayne stopped several feet short of Tully. “It’s Lieutenant Tully now, isn’t it?”
“The department would be embarrassed if I was still a patrolman.”
There was that enigmatic look again. Did Wayne see the humor in Tully’s statement?
“Come, sit down.” Wayne gestured toward a padded straight-back chair in front of the desk. Tully seated himself, and Wayne returned to his high-back chair. “It’s been a long while.…” Wayne paused. “Twenty-five years.”
Tully nodded. “Twenty-five years. You remember?”
“Like it was yesterday. Even now there’s an emptiness in my heart. Freddie was a good boy.” Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose. To forestall a tear?
Yes, a good boy, thought Tully. If his son had lived, Mad Anthony probably would be considering retirement so that Freddie could take over “the business.”
“I remember too,” Wayne said, “you performed a service for me then.”
“It wasn’t that much,” Tully stated in all honesty. “I did my job.”
“True. But we didn’t expect it. Hell, we thought the cops’d be glad to get rid of us.” Was there a hint of emotion on his face? “You almost make a guy respect the law.” He gazed at Tully thoughtfully. “Anyway, you treated Freddie with dignity … like a person who’d been wronged. I don’t forget that.”
“That’s why I’ve come.”
“I thought as much.”
Tully shifted in his chair and inched forward. “Twenty-five years ago you offered me a favor.”
Wayne waved his hand. “It’s been an uncashed check all these years. Is this the time?”
“You know of the murder of the Mexican bishop?”
“He was a fool.”
“A fool?”
“All that money … there for the taking.”
“You knew?”
“Hell, everyone knew. It was just a matter of time.”
“The street’s hard to read. Something seems to be going on, but we can’t break the silence.”
Was that amusement ever so briefly on Wayne’s face? “What do you think?”
“My best guess would be … it’s not a heavyweight. That wasn’t enough bread for anybody to risk his reputation and a lucky collar. It just wasn’t enough.
“On the other hand, it wasn’t a drifter or a street punk. A guy like that would get coughed up. We’ve got some pretty reliable snitches, but they’re not talking. They’d give the guy to us if he meant nothing to anybody.”
“So …”
“So I figure somebody important is protecting the guy.”
Wayne leaned forward. “You have an excellent suspect under arrest.”
“The priest? Maybe. But I’ve got a feeling.”
“And you want the guy from the street.”
Tully nodded.
“This will clear the table for us,”
Again Tully nodded.
“You’re sure you want to spend your marker on this?” It was obvious he thought that Tully was wasting a valuable coupon.
“Yes,” Tully said firmly.
Wayne nodded curtly. “By tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll contact me?”
“Yes.” Wayne stood. Tully, taking the cue, also stood.
“Albert will show you out.”
Tully followed the giant out the door. There was no conversation. There was no intimation of any conversation.
Had he been asked, Tully would have guessed the bodyguard’s name to be Tiny. But … Albert? Not even Big Al?
The journey back to the outside world was as confusing as the trek in. However Wayne had managed it, it was a damned clever maze.
As he left the Millender, Tully glanced at the directory. Whatever business Metro Development was in, Tully knew of one product. It would be whoever the street delivered to the police tomorrow through the good offices of Metro Development.
Tully felt satisfied with his transaction. But deep down he wondered if he might have squandered a most valuable marker, as Wayne had implied.
Whatever. The die was cast. More than likely he would soon slap cuffs on the killer of Bishop Diego.
CHAPTER
TWENTY - TWO
Tuesday was drawing to a close. A fatigued Father Koesler drove over to Ste. Anne’s for the vigil service for Bishop Diego. The funeral, or Mass of Resurrection, would be held tomorrow morning. The vigil, as well as the Mass, essentially was a prayerful expression of faith in a life after death in the heaven promised by Jesus Christ.
The church was fully lighted. It had been a long time since the old structure had held so large a congregation. Special police detachments were handling crowd control. Officers were stationed throughout the church for security purposes.
Also in the church, making a nuisance of itself, was the camera crew from Los Angeles. In an unguarded moment, Father McCauley had signed a document giving permission for the filming on parish property.
Near the sanctuary, before the altar, Bishop Diego’s coffin lay on a bier. The corpse was dressed in Mass vestments. The vestments