The 24th Letter

TWELVE

Father Callahan walked quickly down the long hospital corridor.

Turning the corner, he almost ran into the ER doctor he’d met earlier. The doctor was walking with another man, older, white hair, tired but compassionate eyes. Father Callahan said, “Congratulations on the successful surgery of Sam Spelling.”

The ER doctor nodded. “It was Dr. Strassberg here who performed the operation.”

Dr. Strassberg looked at the priest. A tiny speck of dried blood was in lower part of the doctor’s glasses. He said, “I always ask for a little help upstairs, Father.”

“Indeed. What is Mr. Spelling’s prognosis?”

“Bullet was a clean shot. Hit no major arteries. But the heart was long suffering from atherosclerosis. We did a triple by-pass. He’ll live. How long, though…Father you’re closer to that answer than me. But he’ll be okay. He’ll walk out of here”

“I’ll pray for his recovery.”

The doctors left, and Father Callahan started to dial his cell phone. He saw the tiny battery icon. It was down to the last bar. Two men approached. One was a uniformed officer. The other was African-American, tall, sports coat and tie. His jacket had a slight budge on the left. Callahan recognized him from the ER lobby area. “Excuse me, Father,” said the plainclothes man.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Grant, investigating the attempted murder of Sam Spelling.”

“It looks like the offender wasn’t successful. The doctor just told me Sam Spelling is going to pull through. He’s turned the corner with his life. And our Lord had a bit to do with it. ”

“Then we don’t have a homicide, only a shooting. A nurse said you were in his room earlier.”

“I was in the emergency room earlier, too. Not long after he’d been shot.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“You mean who tried to kill him?”

“That’s a good start.”

“No. He did ask for forgiveness. I listened to a private confession.”

“Might any of that confession lead us to the shooter?”

“I’m not a police investigator, but I highly doubt it. His concern was more of seeking God for strength, love, and ultimate forgiveness for his sins.”

“Did he suggest who might have shot him?”

“No.”

“Father, if you are approached by the media, there are still some TV trucks in the lot, please don’t say anything that will indicate Spelling is still alive.”

“Why?”

“We don’t want the shooter to know he failed.”

“I can’t lie.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“What are you suggesting, Detective?”

“Spelling’s testimony is crucial in a major trial. If his shooter believes Spelling did die, then he won’t try again. Spelling can heal in a safe area and be brought in to testify in a couple of weeks. Working with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and the FBI, we’ve indicated his recovery was not successful.”

Father Callahan was quiet for a moment. “I see.”

“Thank you, Father.”

As the detective and the officer turned to go back down the hall, Father Callahan said, “I was approached by one reporter in the ER earlier.”

“Oh, what’d he ask?”

“I think he saw Sam Spelling making a confession to me, and he wanted to know what he said. Of course, I told him that was confidential. The reporter is with the Sentinel. Said his name is Brian Cook.”

Detective Grant looked up at a security camera a second. He said, “The guy must be new. I know their crime reporters. Don’t recognize the name. Do you have a card?”

“I do. Here you go. My lips are sealed, Detective. Good night.” Father Callahan started to walk down the corridor. Then Grant asked, “Father, there was a Department of Corrections officer posted at Spelling’s door. He’s not there. Have you seen him?”

“Maybe he took a break. Sam Spelling will be in recovery for some time.”

“No doubt. It’s just that Deputy Gleason is here to relieve the guard.”

“If I see him, I’ll pass that along.”

As Callahan walked down the hall, Deputy Gleason noticed that the priest had a slight limp. The left foot. Almost undetectable, but it was there.