The door to the tiny office where we kept the old laptop that recorded the security footage was also unlocked. “I suspect someone’s been here before us,” I said grimly.
Teo nodded. “Seems like.”
I logged into the computer, but just as I thought, the cameras had been turned off yesterday before the attack, and the footage erased up to an hour before. “Wasthiswhere that man was waiting yesterday?” I wondered.
“Safe bet.”
“But the door downstairs is kept locked. He must have had a key,” I said, and heard my voice wavering.
“Or picked the lock,” Teo said. “Locks around this place ain’t exactly state of the art. You all should see about that.”
Our Lady was a beautiful church, but it certainly wasn’t one of the richest in Manhattan, despite appearances. And the only cash left on the premises was the donation box for votive candles, which would be a few dollars at most—a big sign out the front and back advised any would-be thieves that no large amounts of money were kept overnight. For that reason, security tended to be lax. In fact, when I’d raised the issue with Father Benedict on my first arrival at Our Lady, he’d laughed me off, told me no one would ever dare break into the church and steal from us. “We have protection,” he’d told me smugly.
I’d thought at the time he meant we were protected by God. I knew better now. He’d been referring to Sam Fuscone and his crew, along with the Clemenza Family, more mobsters with whom Father Benedict had associated.
“You got anything else you need to do here?” Teo was asking.
I turned the cameras back on and ensured they were recording again. “I should probably call the police,” I said hesitantly. “Maybe.”
“Don’t know if the Boss would like that,” Teo said delicately.
“I don’t work for your Boss,” I snapped, irritation getting the better of me. It had been a long night.
“No,” Teo agreed, and said nothing more.
I sighed. I didn’t see much point in reporting the attack to the police if I had no proof it had happened in the first place. Nothing seemed to have been taken from the church. The cut on my face could have been a shaving mishap for all they knew, and the cameras could have been turned off accidentally by one of any number of people who had access to the administration area. I should ask around first before calling in law enforcement, I decided.
Downstairs, I could hear the clear voices of children rising in song. Choir practice had begun.
“I want to make sure the choir and Mrs. O’Reilly keep the side and back doors locked while they’re here,” I said to Teo. “And I’ll ask security to come around and check to see if there’s any sign of damage to the exterior—broken windows and the like. But for now, we should probably keep this quiet until we figure out a few things.” And then it occurred to me again that Teo had heard at least part of what Luca had said last night during our private discussions. “Teo…”
“Aidan?”
“You’ll keep all this quiet, won’t you? About what happened to me. You wouldn’t, you know…mention it to anyone else?”
His lips curved up at one side, the slightest hint of condescension.
“It’s just that there might be more things at play here than we know,” I tried to explain.
He held up a hand. “You got nothing to worry about. Now, after you talk to all them downstairs, how about we get you home?”
It sounded like agreatidea. I’d showered and I’d borrowed some rather inappropriate underwear from Finch—there was a rude word across my backside at that very moment—but I still wanted to get back to my own apartment. Back into my own underwear.
Teo waited with me while I called security, checked on Mrs. O’Reilly and the choir, and waited for the guards to arrive. I felt uneasy the whole time we were there until I stopped in front of Saint Jude’s shrine and asked for his protection. I was almost surprised when Teo bowed his head with me.
“He’s helped me out a few times,” he explained when he saw me sneaking a look at him.
Saint Jude was the patron saint of lost causes and desperate situations. The latter was why I’d called on him; I wondered if the former was why Teo favored him.
When the security guards arrived, I told them about a vagrant who had made some trouble the night before. After that, Teo drove me back to my humble walk-up, many blocks away from the wealth and ostentation of Fifth Avenue.
I said very little to Teo along the way. My mind had turned back to my upcoming ordination, which was to be undertaken back in Boston, and to Finch’s reaction that morning when I’d told him I didn’t want to play cards for money anymore. Tonight I would be in discussion with Father Raphael once again, and I had no doubt that he would press me again about the nature of my friendship with Finch and the other Morellis, encourage me to break it off.
I understood his point. The Church had undergone so many scandals that it was our duty to not onlybe, butseemto be pure in our intentions and motivations. Especially given the issues with Father Benedict, who had been head priest at Our Lady before his suspension on suspicion of corruption and involvement with organized crime. It was because of the upheaval in the New York archdiocese that Father Raphael had agreed I could go back to my hometown, Boston, and take my vows there.
Yes, I could see how important it was that my own reputation remain unstained in the minds of the parish members. But I also believed it was important to do as Jesus had done: to go to the unloved, the unwanted, the disadvantaged.
The criminal.
