CHAPTER 66

 

Freitag reached Martini on the second ring. He told him to be outside his apartment in five minutes. Wolinski sounded tired, but also agreed to be ready.

When he called Valdez, the phone rang unanswered for five rings before the answering machine picked up. Boy, will she be pissed when she finds out we went without her, he thought. Oh well, that’s the way it goes. He started to hang up, and then changed his mind and decided to leave a message. “Hey, Rita,” he said. “It’s Chris. We’re heading over to St. Jude to pick up Father Richter. We’ll tell you all about it when we see you.” He hated talking to a machine. He hesitated, then added, “Hey, if you get this message, meet us over there as soon as you can.” Then, he hung up and headed out the door.

Foster sat alongside Matt in the seat usually reserved for Freitag, who sat crunched up in the backseat. Chris’s long legs nearly rested against his chest, but he knew better than to protest. Davis drove quickly toward Martini’s place; the magnetic police light affixed to the car’s roof flashed brightly against the dark of the night. They had agreed not to use the siren; no point in alerting Richter, who probably wasn’t even aware he was a suspect.

Martini was standing in front of his apartment building, wearing a puzzled expression when Davis pulled the cruiser to the curb.

“Just get in!” shouted Freitag, as he swung open the back door, and slid over to permit Martini to enter, all in one practiced move. Martini plopped down next to Chris, and slammed the door barely in time, as Davis wasted no time in powering the car out into traffic, tires screeching in protest. A few minutes later, they picked up Wolinski.

“So, what’s the story?” asked Martini. Freitag filled him on the details. Like everyone else, Martini expressed his disbelief, not bothering to spare the expletives.

“Holy shit! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’,” exclaimed Wolinski.

“Nope,” said Chris. “Richter’s the guy alright. I couldn’t believe it either, but it all fits.”

 

It was eight-thirty when Foster, armed with the faxed copy of the search warrant in his left hand, rang the doorbell of the rectory with the other. Davis, Freitag, Wolinski, and Martini stood in a row behind the Captain. In a moment, the darkness inside and outside the building was erased simultaneously, as a light within the foyer was turned on, along with one outside the front door. Davis and Foster stood side-by-side as the white-haired housekeeper answered the door.

“New York Police Department,” said Foster, flashing his shield. “We need to see Father Richter immediately.”

The woman began to respond, but before she could speak, a voice rang out behind her, “Who is it, Mrs. Flynn?” It was Father Anthony.

Davis and Freitag looked past the woman at the young priest. “Father Anthony, we’re looking for Father Richter. Do you know where he is?” asked Matt.

The priest appeared confused.

“Sir, it’s imperative that we speak with Father Richter.”

“But, why?” asked the priest, his voice filled with confusion.

“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to answer that,” replied Freitag.

“But, I don’t understand,” said Father Anthony.

“That’s not important,” said Matt. “Right now, what’s important is that we find Father Richter. Now, can you please tell me where he is?”

The young priest’s face turned red.

“You do know where he is, don’t you?” asked Freitag.

“Y-y-es, yes,” stammered Father Anthony, “well, not exactly.” He leaned close, and whispered into Matt’s ear. “I think he has a…well…a date. My God, this is all so…embarrassing.

He turned to the elderly housekeeper. “Mrs. Flynn, could you excuse us for a moment?”

The housekeeper started to leave, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath.

“What did you say?” asked Matt.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “It’s just that I knew this was going to happen some day.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Matt.

“Well, it’s all about that Internet stuff, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Freitag.

Mrs. Flynn looked furtively left and right, then, apparently satisfied that there were no hidden cameras, leaned close to Matt and whispered in his ear. “He goes in those—you know—chat rooms. He doesn’t know that I know, but one time he fell asleep and I saw—”

“Where does he have his computer?” asked Davis.

“Why it’s in his study,” replied Father Anthony, “but—”

“Don’t worry,” said Matt. “We have a search warrant permitting us to search the premises. I give you my word that he won’t know a thing.”

“Well, I hope not. I wouldn’t want him to think—”

“We just want to look around a bit. Chris, go to Richter’s study and get his computer. Look for any floppy disks or CD’s, or anything that might have to do with the Internet.” He turned back to Father Anthony. “Do you have any idea with whom – or where?”

Father Anthony shook his head. “I’m sorry. I would never have known, but I happened to be looking for something in his study, and saw—”

“Matt, you better get in here!” It was Freitag, calling out from Richter’s study.

Davis started for the study, then turned to Father Anthony. “You do understand, Father. It’s very important.”

Father Anthony nodded his permission.

“Thank you.”

When Matt entered the study, Freitag was holding the business card, with Rita’s Internet information on the back, in his hand. “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” he said, handing the card to Matt. “I’d have never given it to him if I realized it was this one,” he said. “Take a look at this.” He pointed to a slip of paper resting on Richter’s desk. On it were scrawled the words: “Rita—Friday night—Manny’s—Don’t forget to wear Yankee hat!”

“Son of a bitch!” said Matt. “Do you think she has any idea who she’s dealing with?” He was already starting out of the study, on his way out of St. Jude. Freitag followed behind.

“You know,” said Freitag. “She’s a lot smarter than any of us gives her credit for. Maybe she already had a hunch, and smoked him out on the ‘net.’”

“Let’s get over to Manny’s,” said Matt. “You know where it is, right?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “It’s over on Seventh Avenue, by 20^th.”

“I just hope we’re not too late,” said Matt.

Foster, Martini, and Wolinski were standing in the foyer, when Matt and Chris exited the study. “He’s meeting Rita at Manny’s—over on Seventh Avenue,” said Matt to Foster. “You, me, and Chris’ll ride together.” Foster nodded. “Martini, you and Wolinski gather up the computer and anything that looks important: discs, papers, notes—whatever. Take ‘em back to headquarters, then meet us at Manny’s.”