Reckoning (Wolfes of Manhattan 5)

“I’m here,” I said into the phone. “What have you got?”

He cleared his throat. “Father Jim Wilkins is dead.”

Was I supposed to care? Maybe. I wouldn’t be able to pummel him for information. “What happened?”

“A few hours after I left him, an air bubble somehow got into his IV. Stroked him out.”

“After you left him?”

“Yeah. But I got some intel. Unfortunately, now that he’s gone, it’ll be hearsay.”

“Whatever, man. What did he say?”

“I didn’t even have to threaten him. He sang like a fucking bluebird. Said he was sorry for everything. Of course I made him tell me what everything was. Whether he’s telling the truth or not, who’s to say?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get to the good stuff, man. Did you record it?”

“Of course I did. I’m no novice. You want me to play it for you?”

“How long is it?” I looked back at the jeep. “I want to hear it, but I’ve got some shit to do.”

“What the hell is more important than this?”

He had a point. “Give me a minute.”

I walked swiftly back to the jeep. “Hey, this is going to take a while. I need some privacy. Can we do this tour thing later?”

“Sure enough,” Remy said. “I’ll take Diamond back in.

Back in. Shit. “Could you give my brother and his wife some privacy, please? Maybe stay out here?”

“It’s a big house,” Diamond said. “We won’t disturb them.”

“For Christ’s sake. All right.” I walked back to the secluded area. I was glad to be outside, where there was no chance of surveillance. “You there?” I asked Buck.

“Yup.”

“Have you made copies of the recording?”

“Of course I have. All are in safe places.”

“Ten-four. All right. Play the damned thing.”

The recording cracked through the line.

Father Jim: Who wants to know?

Buck: I already know. I’ve seen your chart.

Jim: Who are you?

Buck: Never mind that.

Pause.

Jim: How’d you get that in here?

Buck: Never mind how. It’s here, and I know how to use it and to use it quietly. I need some answers, Padre.

A sigh.

Jim: Okay.

Buck: Did you try to off yourself or did someone do it for you?

Jim: Both, I guess.

Buck: What the fuck does that mean?

Jim: It means I considered it, was ready to do it, when someone else came and helped me along.

Buck: Who?

Jim: I honestly don’t know. It was two people. Masked.

Buck: Male? Female? Big? Small?

Jim: Male. I assumed, anyway. They didn’t talk. One held me down and the other cut me.

Buck: Cut your wrists.

Jim: Yeah.

Buck: Is that how you were planning to off yourself?

Jim: Nah. I hate blood. I was going to hang myself.

Buck: You hate blood?

A sarcastic laugh.

Jim: Yeah, hate the stuff.

Buck: Yet you watched your pal Derek Wolfe cut a young lady’s breasts open.

No response.

Buck: And a hanging? Funny. I don’t recall seeing any rope at your place.

Jim: I was going to use a belt. A leather belt.

Buck: What’s a priest doing with a leather belt?

Jim: We have to keep our pants up the same as the next guy.

A loud scoff.

Buck: Whatever. Tell me about Derek Wolfe.

Silence for a few seconds.

Jim: He’s dead.

Buck: I know that, genius. Tell me about you and him. Your hunting games.

Silence again. Finally,

Jim: I regret all of that.

Buck: Too little too late, Padre.

Jim: Why do you think I wanted to end my life? Now that Derek’s gone, I no longer have to do any of his shit.

Buck: So it was his idea, you’re saying?

Jim: Of course it was. I’m just a lowly priest. He had all the money and all the pull. How’d you get in here anyway? I’m not supposed to—

Buck: Shut up. I’m asking the questions. Me and my friend, here.

Another pause. Mostly likely he gestured to his gun.

Jim: Derek wasn’t always so messed up. He was a good guy before.

Buck: Before what?

Jim: Before Connie. And her money.

Buck: Yeah? Tell me about Irene Lucent.

Jim: You know about her?

Buck: You left their marriage certificate in that underground playroom of yours. Stop trying to fuck with me. I know you wanted us to find it, along with all that shit implicating Lacey Wolfe.

Another pause.

Buck: Save the innocent act, Padre. I’m not buying.

Jim: I’m not messing with you. I didn’t put any of that there. I haven’t even been down there since…

Buck: Since when? Since Derek was killed?

Jim: Well. Yeah. A couple weeks before. And we’d just cleaned it out.

Buck: Right. Moved the bodies.

Jim: What bodies?

Buck: Save it again. I know the lingering stench of human flesh when I smell it.

Another pause. A long one this time. I began to wonder if the conversation was over, when—

Jim: I think I want a lawyer.

Buck: Do you?

Jim: I have that right.

Buck: You do. If a cop is questioning you. I’m not a fucking cop.

Jim: I’m done talking.

Buck: Are you now?

Jim: Okay, okay. Put that thing away.

Buck: I think you’re more apt to talk with it pointed at you.