The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 33

As Father Reilly set foot inside the police station, he felt less than sanguine about this latest assignment Vesta Muffin had given him. ‘Talk to the crooks, take their confessions and find out where they stashed the loot.’ It all sounded so simple, so easy, until you actually sat face to face with the miscreants and had to look them in the eye.

Frankly he didn’t know if he could do it. He was a man of God, of course, and accepted that all men are children of the same God. Then again, in his years as a humble servant of the Lord he’d often thought that some children of God were just that little bit nastier than others, and it just seemed to him that these Vale and Carew fellas were the sort of tough guys he didn’t like to associate with if he could help it.

If only he’d never accepted Vesta’s offer to become part of her neighborhood watch. Living in a clean crime-free town was all well and good, but that’s why they had cops.

He greeted Dolores Peltz with a warm smile.

“What brings you here, Father?” asked the receptionist. “Mugged, were you? Wallet stolen?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on these days. Crime is growing with leaps and bounds. Some call it a crime wave, and I’m starting to think they’re right.”

“I’m here to talk to Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale,” said Father Reilly, not really in the mood for small talk. The sooner this was over with the better.

But Dolores wasn’t one to let go of her prey so easily. She sat back and rasped in her gravelly voice, “And I can tell you exactly when it started. When Chief Lip got involved with the Mayor, that’s when. The big guy is blinded by love, or whatever they call it, and criminals are crawling out of the woodwork, sensing the cops are distracted and busy with other stuff. Mark my words—it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Father Reilly leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is it true they spend every afternoon in some love nest in town, their phones off the hook?”

He might be a man of the cloth, but he wasn’t immune to some idle gossip when the mood struck, and the mood struck often.

Dolores grinned. “Absolutely. He arrives at the office, and spends all morning on the phone with her. Then it’s off to lunch, and we don’t see him again until the next day!”

Father Reilly shook his head. “Dereliction of duty,” he said.

“You know what they say about old flames, Father. They burn the hottest.”

Father Reilly, who was about the same age as Alec Lip, gave Dolores a feeble smile. It was all fine and dandy to gossip, provided the gossip didn’t hit too close to home. “Is it true that they bribed Dan Goory so he wouldn’t write about their affair?”

Dolores nodded emphatically. “They were seen having lunch together: Alec, Charlene and Dan. Probably paying him off so he wouldn’t print any negative stories about the two lovebirds. A fat lot of good it will do them. You should read the comments online.”

“Where?” he asked immediately. “I mean, what website?”

“Facebook. Just join the Hampton Cove Facebook page and you’ll see that our beloved Chief and Mayor are the center of attention. Most of the comments are pretty hot, too!”

Father Reilly, as he walked on, wondered if he should talk to Alec. The Chief was, after all, a good friend of his, and if his reputation was hanging by a thread he probably should be told before it was too late.

He now arrived at the precinct proper, and saw that there were very few cops present. One of them noticed him and got up. “Father Reilly! They’re expecting you.”

“That’s wonderful,” he murmured, without much conviction.

He was led along a corridor, then to the cell block, where only a single cell was occupied. If Hampton Cove was in the grip of a crime wave, it didn’t show in cell occupancy, he thought.

Two men got up from their metal bunks when Father Reilly was led inside. He greeted them with a kind smile, and the distinct hope that the guard wouldn’t stray too far in case the convicts turned belligerent.

“Am I glad to see you, Father!” cried the biggest of the two, a real grizzly. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t hit him very hard. Only a light tap on the head. And I also want it stated for the record that I won’t do it again. But we’re innocent, see, so it’s only fair that we would try to escape, see?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, blinking at the man’s intensity and peculiar cadence.

“I want to talk to you, Father,” said the smallest of the two, and led him to his bunk and bade him to sit down. “My wife, or I should probably say ex-wife, she won’t return my calls. Can you call her and tell her she has got to come and visit. I’m innocent, and she has to understand that and, most importantly, she has to accept my apologies. I know I’ve been a lousy husband, and I also know I should do better. And I will do better, Father. You gotta believe me and tell her. If she decides to get back together with me, I can promise her now that I will be the best husband I can be.” He raised his eyes heavenward and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer. “With the good Lord as my witness, I’ll be a wonderful husband to Marlene. The best. Tell her that, will you?”

“Um… of course, my son, if you want. But I think your wife—or ex-wife—will be more amenable and convinced of your good intentions if you finally decide to cooperate with the police. For instance by telling them where you hid the proceeds of your crimes.”

“Huh?” said Jerry, giving him a look of confusion.

“The painting? The gold coins?”

“The loot, Jer,” said Johnny helpfully. “He wants to know where we stashed the loot.”

Jerry gave the priest a not-so-friendly look. “What did I just tell you? I’m innocent, Father. I didn’t steal no fricking painting, or no fricking gold coins. If I had don’t you think the cops would have found them by now? It’s not as if I’m some kind of fricking Houdini, capable of making gold coins and paintings disappear into thin air, am I?”

“No, of course, of course,” said father Reilly, adopting an appeasing tone of voice. “It’s just that the people that painting and those coins and those original works of art belong to, they’re suffering, Mr. Vale. They want to know what happened to their possessions.”

Jerry abruptly got up. “I don’t have their fricking paintings or works of fricking art! I’m innocent. Innocent, I tell you!” He poked a finger into the priest’s chest and dug in hard. “And you can tell Marlene that if she doesn’t believe me she can go to hell! Is that understood?”

“Jerry, I don’t think that’s the way to win your wife back,” said Johnny, interrupting the one-on-one between confessor and confessant once more.

“I don’t care!” yelled Jerry, gesticulating wildly. “If she doesn’t like it, she can lump it. You, too, Johnny,” he added. “And you, Father. You can all go to hell for all I care!”

“Now, Mr. Vale…”

“Get out—out of my sight!”

“Don’t you think a nice confession…”

“Out!”

And so out Father Reilly went. All in all, he felt, as he hurried along the corridor, preceded by a grinning cop, it hadn’t gone too badly. At least he’d escaped with his life, for that short crook had looked like a mass murderer, and the big one, too.

And so he exited the building with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t discovered the whereabouts of Ida’s Picasso, or Mort Hodge’s artwork, or even Charlene’s gold coins, but he was still breathing, and that was something to be thankful for.