Sacraments in Scarlet
Chapter 7
The Cathedral of the Most Holy Sacrament was open for business.
People had begun streaming into the cathedral at 6:30am. The yellow tape had come off the doors once Forensics had given the 24 hour all-clear, and various staff, from office women to gift shop merchants to altar boys preparing for mass all ushered past him as he sat in the same pew, taking it all in. He had deliberately missed the call for breakfast. The thought of being next to Alvarez on an empty stomach didn't sit well with him, and he wondered at his sudden rush of nerves.
It was unlike him.
It was the guilt, he told himself. This place just breathed guilt. Penance, contrition, confession, propitiation. He understood it too well. He lived there too. As he watched the people, the worshippers, the prayers, the sinners and the saints parade before him, placing candles, crossing themselves, touching statues and swinging rosaries, he could practically taste the guilt on them. All manner of sins were here, from lying and tax evasion to adultery and theft. There was all manner of addictions showcased here, drug and alcohol, sex and approval.
It would make him crazy to work here.
His cell phone rang and he picked up, not caring that people were glaring as they tried to pray. He had changed the ring-tone to "Devil With a Blue Dress," just for fun. It was Lisbon on the line.
"Good morning, my child."
"Can it, Jane. Grace found something last night."
"Oh?" He leaned backwards, stretching one arm out along the back of the pew, making certain no one would sit close. "Tell me."
"This wasn't in the files, but it was in a Criminal Records cross check she ran of the years, the city and the church…"
"Yes, yes, what? Go on."
He could hear her laugh softly. "Hold your horses, padre. Patience is a virtue. In 1974, a family was found murdered in their trailer park home in Santa Barbara. Eduardo and Melina Noriega. They had a 17 yr old daughter Adelia, and two sons, 15 yr old Celio and 8 yr old Cruz. They were sometime parishioners of Our Mother of the Holy Annunciation Church. They were found bound to their beds, and had died of blood loss and internal hemorrhaging. There was religious paraphernalia all around the trailer –"
"Such as?"
"Holy water, crucifixes, rosaries, but no prints were found. The case is still considered open, but since the Noriegas were illegal immigrants, there was never a push to close it."
An old woman was sitting next to him, scowling. He smiled at her. She made the sign of the cross at him and kept scowling. Jane stood up, began to pace up and down in front of the altar.
"And our boys have history in that place."
"Exactly. They were all apprenticing at that very church at the same time."
"Well, it's not exactly motive, but the connection is undeniable."
"And get this, guess who the senior priest in residence was at the time?"
Jane frowned. "Not Pius…"
"Better. Lino Silvaggio."
"Ooh, this is rich, Lisbon."
"The problem is that it's all circumstantial. There's nothing to tie them to those murders, and nothing to tie them to these murders…"
"Bah. We've closed cases on less." Another woman poked him in the shoulder, put her finger to her mouth, and shushed him loudly. Jane ignored her and kept pacing.
"And Jane, there's one more thing."
"This just gets better and better. Oh, wait --"
"Jane, this is important –"
There was a rush from the crowd, as all heads turned to the large triple doors. Sunlight streamed in, and a group of men entered, backlit and glowing. One led the way, stooped and shuffling, dressed in flowing white and scarlet.
"Jane!"
"Gotta go." He folded the phone over her voice, calling his name, but it had to be done. Lisbon could wait.
The Bishop was in the house.
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The man was old, round, silver and stooped. He swung his crosier staff like a cane, and Jane had no doubt that the man needed it. He had sharp dark eyes, hidden deep within soft folds, a prominent nose and small mouth, lips pursed tight. He looked as if he was marching somewhere with a purpose, no time to waste and dreading all the little inconveniences along the way.
People stood to watch, reached out hands as he passed, made the sign of the cross in his wake. All but Jane, who stood with hands clasped behind his back, marveling at the sight of human reverence. The small man's eyes seemed to be scanning the crowd, and when those same eyes spied Jane, they locked and he and his entire entourage changed course.
Jane rocked back on his heels. This was going to be interesting.
"You," sputtered the bishop as he lurched to a stop directly in front of the consultant. He poked a finger into Jane's chest. "You are the exorcist, yes?"
"That's not an Italian accent," said Jane. "It sounds Polish."
"There will be no exorcisms in my parish."
"Your name is very Italian. Where does the Pole come in?"
"We have no need of your Order here. Begone, demon."
Jane spread his hands wide. "I'm just here to find the killer of Timothy Andreacci and Angelino Ricci. I don't want to exorcise anyone. It's all phooey if you ask me."
The small eyes squinted. There was intelligence in there somewhere, Jane could tell, and the man reached up to pat his cheek, one, two, three times. They weren't gentle pats. They left a mark.
"Ah. The face of an angel doing the work of the devil. Come with me." And with that, Bishop Lino Silvaggio turned and lumbered towards the office wing, his entourage falling in behind him.
The devil in the pinstriped waistcoat followed, grinning wickedly all the way.
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"Sit."
"I'll stand."
"I said sit," the bishop growled.
"Nope. Standing. Free will. Original sin and all that."
"Pah. Demon-spawn." The old man shuffled around to sit with a huff in a large, over-stuffed leather chair by the fireplace in his sanctum. "It's cold in here. Turn on the fire, child of hell."
"Ah ah," Jane grinned. "Turn on the fire, please, child of hell.'"
The old man waved derisively. Jane reached up, switched the dial and an gas fire sprang up obediently.
The bishop narrowed his eyes to study the 'exorcist.' He shook his head. "Who sent you and what do you want?"
"You know very well who sent me. And as for what I want, I think I will pull up a chair. Fires make me feel chatty, cozy, you know, like family."
Naturally, a second over-stuffed leather chair was waiting nearby. Jane wondered how many of the bishop's fireside chats included the words demon-spawn and child of hell.
"You work for the police?"
"I consult. For the California Bureau of Investigations. Here…" He reached into his pocket, pulled out his ID. The bishop took it, studied, studied Jane's face, snorted, gave it back.
"I'm just helping out with the investigation."
"So how is it going, hell-son?" It wasn't question as much as cattle-prod.
"Well, your boys are not child molesters."
"I resent that!"
"Oh? You resent the fact that they are not child molesters?"
"Your mother was a whore. My priests are pure."
Jane shook his head. The bishop, the custodian... And Minelli had been worried about him?
"How was Santa Barbara?"
It was a guess, but judging by the resultant snarl, a good one.
"That is none of the devil's business."
"Oh really," Jane leaned back now, stretched his legs, laced his hands across his belly and waggled his feet by the fire. "I think it was all the devil's business, what happened 35 years ago in Santa Barbara, yeh? Why don't you confess, Lino? I hear it's good for the soul."
The old man puffed and grunted, but he made no defensive response. Interesting, thought Jane. Right to the chase.
"They were young and foolish. They thought they could do no wrong."
"Young, foolish men are like that."
"That horrible movie had just come out. Every priest thought he was God. I curse Hollywood and their demon films."
"What movie?"
"You should know."
"Ah," Jane grinned. "The Exorcist."
Silvaggio spat on the carpet, and Jane suddenly remembered the custodian. Like the bishop's gonna care if there's crap on the floor, or gum on the seats, or spit in the Holy Water…. If this weren't so horrific, it would have been hilarious.
"So they killed the Noriegas."
"They were trying to save them, to save their eternal souls."
"I thought only God could do that."
"As I said, they were foolish. It was that movie."
Jane gazed at the bishop. He had hidden this truth for over 30 years. He had known and he had kept silent. Horrific.
"Why did you protect them?"
"They confessed, demon, repented of their sins. Prayed for the souls of those they had slain, made penance, a lifetime of penance." The sharp old eyes were trained on him. "They have paid for their crimes, devil kin, they have paid."
Jane waved a hand in the air. "Oh, I don't really think so. They lived, had careers, made friends, ate dinners, watched TV, cyber-stalked celebrities. No, I don't think they paid at all. Until now."
He rose to his feet, strolled to the door, paused and looked back. The bishop looked small in the over-stuffed chair.
"I'll arrange to have Alvarez taken into protective custody immediately."
The old man looked up. "Alvarez? Why Alvarez?"
"Well he was the third, yeh? Angelino, Timothy and Jorge…"
"No, no, no. Jorge Alvarez had nothing to do with the deaths. Nothing at all."
"It was just the two of them?"
"Yes. Just the two."
Jane frowned. "Truly?"
"On my word as a man of God."
Jane thought that one over. He opened he door, but stopped yet again. "Oh, one more thing. What happened to the last custodian?"
"Ask Alvarez. He fired him."
"Hmm." He looked back, threw a glance at the suddenly small old man, waggled his fingers in the air. "I'll 'begone' now."
"Go to hell," the bishop grinned. "Where you belong."
Jane smiled and closed the door behind him.
End of Chapter 7