The nurse outside Jeremy Cameron’s door didn’t want me to go in. But she was young and new and fragile, and I was tall and scary, and I showed my detective credentials and she didn’t bother scrutinizing them.
I said, “Won’t take long. Just a few minutes.”
And I smiled. The kind of smile that set off heart rate monitors and caused young and fragile nurses to swoon and float.
“I’m coming back in a few minutes, sir, and you need to leave then,” she said. Poor thing, must be near-sighted.
I entered. Closed the door. His room was quiet, like a sepulcher. Out his window I saw an air vent and a brick wall. The television was on but muted.
Victims never look good the first day after. The contusions are purple and green, and swelling is at full tide. Jeremy Cameron looked like an extra on The Walking Dead.
I told him so. He smiled but it caused his upper lip to ooze. A wound in his lower lip had been stitched. His left eye was nearly closed.
“They’d let me go home today,” he said in a croak. “Except they’re monitoring for internal bleeding.”
“They stick a spear in your side, see if blood and water come out.”
“Hah.”
I held the insulated cup of water to his face and he sipped from a straw.
“No idea who did it?” I said.
“Two bigger guys. Never saw a face. They didn’t say anything. Or if they did, I forgot. Believe it or not, I think it only took twenty seconds to make me look this way.”
“I believe it. Looks like four to the face and a few to the abdomen.”
“How do you know that?” he said.
“Beneath my beautiful exterior, I am a sum’bitch with a nasty history. I made guys look like you once upon a time. But with boxing gloves.”
“Doesn’t really hurt.”
“It will. I think you should stay at my place after discharge. My roommate never uses his bed,” I said.
“My mother is on her way. She’s a nurse, so I’m in good hands. But thank you.”
“I’m sorry about this, Jeremy.”
He tried to sit up. Winced and quit the effort.
“You think Father Louis did it?”
I nodded. Stared at the air vent through the window, feeling rotten. “Someone else, on his behalf.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’d do it again. Doesn’t this confirm he needs to be fired? He’ll do anything to protect his job. I can’t believe I worked with him for two years without seeing what a maniac he is.”
“He’s a very skilled predator, which means he can act and he’s patient. He’s narcissistic and delusional and desperate and hedonistic. We all are, but his power and influence have given his vices a blank check.”
“He’s an asshole,” Jeremy muttered.
“Can you say that?”
“I can say that. Eventually I’ll forgive him and accept that he’s broken and wandered from the faith. But not today.”
“I’ll get him. I’ll pin this stuff on him sooner or later. He’s going down, Jeremy. Okay?”
“I trust you,” he said. “Hey. That video you sent me, of him and George Saunders. I forwarded it to our bishop. Like, believe me now? He called yesterday afternoon. Finally. We prayed on the phone and he’s going to speak with Father Louis soon. So that should help.”
I watched him lying there, in pain, purple, staring at the ceiling, relieved someone finally believed him, that help might arrive soon.
And Alec Ward. Where was he? His nightmare wouldn’t end soon.
Jon Young had only been given a month.
We sat without speaking a few minutes. He faded but his eyelids snapped open every time he drifted to sleep, maybe reliving the ordeal.
The door opened. The young nurse had brought reinforcements—a not-young nurse at her back.
I stood and patted Jeremy’s foot under the blanket.
“I have to go. Horrible women are here.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said and then his face changed. He pointed over my head. “Look.”
On the silent television, WDBJ7 news was reporting Alec Ward’s disappearance. A big picture of his face over the anchor’s shoulder. Kids vanished all the time, but they inevitably surfaced at a friend’s house within forty-eight hours. Alec had been missing a week—finally newsworthy.
“It’s weird,” said Jeremy.
“What’s that.”
“Why did Father Louis kidnap Alec but only rough me up? Assuming it was actually him. Between me and Alec, seems like I’d be the better person to remove.”
“You know what, Jeremy…”
“What?”
“That is a great question.”
“Sir,” said the young nurse. She stuck her chin at me. “This man needs rest.”
“Want to feel my muscles?”
The mean nurse behind her said, “Maybe later. Right now? Out.”
In the parking garage, on the way to my Honda, I noticed Jeremy Cameron’s car. The bumper bore a Vanderbilt sticker, and the window had a cross.
The kid must’ve driven himself to the hospital after the hell was kicked out of him. He hadn’t called an ambulance.
I admired the guy.
Something on the door got my attention. I slid between cars for a closer look.
Big ragged letters had been keyed into the paint. Sending a message to the young clergyman…
LIAR!