At my office I read over the reports again and made a few notes. The best notes.
My phone rang.
“Your boy, Padre Louis?” said Manny Martinez. “He’s getting coffee at Sweet Donkey. Sitting outside on the patio with some kid.”
“Kid?”
“Young hombre. Or younger than us. Maybe thirty years old? It’s hard to tell with you white people.”
“Handsome guy in a boyish way?” I said.
“Ay caramba, I don’t know.”
“Hang on.” I surfed to the church’s website, took a screen shot of Nicholas McBride, and texted it to Manny. “I sent you a photo. Is that the young handsome guy?”
“Sí, that’s him.”
“That’s the clergyman to whom Louis is applying sexual pressure. What are they talking about?” I said.
“I can’t get close, so I’m reading lips. Or trying. They were talking about the Bible, then about Jeremy Cameron, and now I think it’s retirement.”
“Retirement.”
“Or maybe he’s saying free firemen? Re-tire-ment. Free-fire-men. Hard to tell.”
“Keep at it,” I said and we hung up.
As I debated driving to the coffee shop and tailing Nicholas McBride with the intention of ambushing him when he was alone, my inbox pinged. New email.
The letter was from Jeremy Cameron. There were no words, only a link. I clicked and was taken to Louis Lindsey’s website. It’d been updated this morning with an announcement. Dr. Louis Lindsey had a new book coming out, Staying Spiritual in an Unspiritual World, and he was going on a nationwide speaking tour in the fall. How to stay healthy and holy, with or without the church, when the world turns against you.
Written specifically for milquetoast, I thought.
Was Louis making exit plans? An escape hatch?
I grabbed my keys and stood, prepared to follow Nicholas McBride, but Hugh Pratt called me first. I’m soooo popular.
“I call with big news, Mr. August,” he said over my speaker phone.
“What’s that.” I sat down and eyed my computer monitor, Louis’s website still on screen.
“Father Louis is going to retire.”
“That so.”
“That’s so. He spoke with the bishop last night about that damn video and he met with me early this morning. The agreement is unanimous; it’s time he moved on. His lawyer helped him draft a letter with his reasons for making the decision, and we’ll release the letter—”
“What are his reasons?”
“Ah…well…I suppose I can read it to you. I have the first draft on my screen,” he said and I heard a keyboard clicking. “Okay, let’s see…here we go…” More clicking and he cleared his throat. “…My dearest friends helped me realize the clerical responsibilities are weighing heavier than they should. Years of tending to diocesan duties and ignoring my own soul’s need for renewal have taken their toll. I suffer in unexpected ways, such as anger issues, anxiety, trouble sleeping. Wine may make the heart glad, but I’ve grown too comfortable with an occasional second glass. After prayerful introspection, I’ve decided it’s in the best interest of All Saints and the best interest of my family to step down after my replacement has been found… Blah, blah, you get the idea, Mr. August.”
My grip on the armrest tightened.
“The purpose of this letter is to drum up public sympathy and get ahead of the damaging video. If it’s ever released, it’ll be old news,” I said.
“Of course. Nothing wrong with good business decisions. Father Louis was reluctant. Not ready to retire, but the church is giving him a fat severance package, enough to keep him and his wife comfortable a couple years. They should be fine; he’s got a book coming out, and he’s not far from retirement age, so he—”
“It is not Louis we should worry about, Hugh.”
“What do you mean?”
“What about the men he victimized?”
“Allegedly victimized. This is great news for them.”
“How so.”
“Because he’s retiring.” Hugh said it with a half snort, like I was an idiot.
“Is he moving?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“What about the men he’ll victimize in the future?” I said.
“Oh Christ, August. What do you want me—”
“Your plan is to pay him off. To handsomely reward him and take away his responsibilities so he has free time to pursue his hobbies. Or his obsessions, I should say. This is not good news for the men he harasses. This will accelerate and intensify his efforts.”
“No, I don’t—”
“When does he retire?”
A pause. “This time next year. These things take time. He’ll need to train his replacement and the church—”
I was grinding my teeth. “What about Alec Ward?”
“The missing kid? He’ll show up. The police will—”
“You’re a coward, Hugh.”
“Enough! Listen, August, I know what you think of me. That I don’t care about the victims. That I just want this thing over and done with. That my focus is too narrow, that I’m a hypocrite. You might be right about some of that. But here’s the thing, Mr. August. Who said I’m any good at this? Who said I have a clue what to do when a junior clergy is making accusations against the senior? Because I don’t. Not a clue. I don’t know how to solve this thing, and I don’t know how to help the victims. Alleged victims. I was put on vestry and charged with preserving and growing the church, and so that’s what I’m doing. Is my focus too narrow? Am I potentially ignoring the pain of others? Yes, maybe so. But I don’t know how to save everyone. I’m doing what I can. And in this case, preserving the church means getting Father Louis to retire peacefully so that All Saints doesn’t split and dissolve. These things have a way of wrecking a community, wrecking lives. And it appears as though we are skirting that disaster. So, no, I’m not perfect. I wish I had the answers, I wish I could solve every problem. But this is the best I can do.”
I took a deep breath. Let it out in a blast at the ceiling.
“I can respect that.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“You keep doing what you do. Preserve the church. And I’ll do what I do—find enough evidence to haul Louis before a judge.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Hugh.
“Oh it’s necessary.”
“I’m writing you another check, Mr. August. Right now as we speak. This is from the church, not from me. It’s a thank you. You were a big help.”
“Predators don’t stop. Louis will stalk other men,” I said.
“You are released from your obligations to All Saints with our sincerest gratitude. You’ll find that you’ve been more than fairly recompensed for your time and tipped well on top. With the financial obligations fulfilled, we immediately terminate our professional relationship with you.”
“He needs to pay. And he needs to be stopped, Hugh.”
I could hear him breathing. He started and stalled a defense twice before getting his footing.
“This church is important to me. Saved my life in a lot of ways,” he said at last. “It’s even more important to Rob Wallace. We’ll do anything to keep it intact. We love Father Louis. And now we’re sending him away—prematurely, in my opinion—and it’s hard and it’s awful and I hate it. But at least the church will survive. And that’s enough.”
“Comes with a high cost,” I said. “Too high.”
“I think I’ll retire too. From vestry.” His voice sounded soft and elegiac. “This is too hard.”
Unceremoniously he hung up.