Monday 9:15 P.M.
It took some time for their ring to be answered. This time an elderly woman housekeeper answered the door. “The Fathers are not home.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Turner asked as he took out his ID and showed it to her.
“Agnes Drabble.” She clutched onto the doorjamb and glanced over her shoulder.
Turner said, “Mrs. Drabble, we think Father Dere may need some help.”
“I don’t like those two. The one who calls himself Bishop Pelagius. He’s not nice. I’ve seen the other one. That Vern Drake on television. He’s too young and too pretty. I don’t like him.”
“We need to see them.”
“Father Dere is very sick. You make them go away.”
Turner reassured her. “We’ll take care of everything.”
She stepped aside.
The detectives stopped outside the open door of the same room they’d interviewed Dere in minutes before. They could see him in the chair he’d been in. He didn’t turn to them. The other two must be in the chairs the detectives vacated minutes before. They listened to the three.
“What did you tell them?” Turner recognized Pelagius’s slight accent.
“Truth, something you wouldn’t know about.”
Dere began to cough. He lurched forward and fell to his knees.
Turner took out his cell phone, moved down the hallway a few steps, summoned paramedics, and backup.
When he returned, he heard Dere mutter, “I told them what you told me to tell them.”
“And how can we be sure of that?” Drake was screaming at the old man.
Dere’s railing cough echoed in the room.
“I’ve had enough,” Turner said. He rushed into the room. Fenwick followed.
Dere was on the floor gasping. Drake was on his feet. Pelagius was sipping from a large drink.
Turner knelt next to Dere. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He coughed a long, agonizing cough and passed out.
Drake screamed, “Get out.”
Fenwick inserted himself between the priest and the commissioner.
Turner said, “Paramedics are on the way.”
Pelagius looked at the priest on the floor as if he was a cockroach that might need to be stepped on. Drake waved his fist in Fenwick’s face. From Turner’s spot on the floor where he cradled the head of the still-breathing old priest, he could see Fenwick’s implacable visage.
Drake got up to within three inches of Fenwick’s nose and bellowed, “This is what I knew you would do.”
Fenwick murmured, “Back up or I will arrest you right here and right now.”
Vern Drake tried to shove himself forward.
In his calmest tone, Turner said, “Aren’t you worried about Father Dere?”
Drake waved his fist and screamed at Turner, “You are a pawn of Satan.” The commissioner turned back to Fenwick and waved a finger in his face. “You are also a pawn of Satan. You are doing the devil’s work.”
Fenwick said, “Someone has to.”
Pelagius said, “None of this is very constructive. We should all calm down.”
Turner could hear car doors slamming and moments later the doorbell rang. Seconds later paramedics and blue-clad beat cops entered the room.
The paramedics hurried to the recumbent priest and ministered to him.
Drake pointed to Pelagius. “We’re leaving.”
Fenwick stood in his way. His ocean of calm met Drake’s volcano of anger. His voice was even softer than Turner’s had been. “If you try to leave, I will arrest your ass.”
Drake screamed, “You can’t do this to us.”
Several of the beat cops took up positions next to the commissioner and the bishop.
While the paramedics worked on the Fr. Dere, the others in the room remained silent. Mrs. Drabble rushed in and knelt next to the priest on the floor. In twelve minutes they left with him on a stretcher. Mrs. Drabble, the housekeeper, accompanied them out.
Molton strolled in a few moments after they left. He looked at his detectives and then Drake and Pelagius. He stood in front of his detectives and faced the interlopers. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
“We need to talk,” Drake said.
“I’d love to,” Molton said. “You can come with me to Area Ten headquarters, or we can arrest you.”
Pelagius stood up. “We’d be happy to help any way we can.”
“Excellent,” Molton said. He motioned to several beat cops. “My men will help you along.”
They left. Molton looked at Turner and Fenwick.
Fenwick said, “We got nothing.”
“We can’t arrest them?” Molton said.
“Not yet,” Fenwick said.
“Pity.” At the door Molton turned back. “I’ll let you know all the nothing they don’t tell me.”