Betrayal of Justice Page 13

  “The church wouldn’t publish these, would they?”

  “Who knows, Romeo? I doubt it. Why embarrass the lovely lady? What would that accomplish? I only showed them to you, so you’d be aware you are being followed and to be careful,” he warned.

  “Thanks, pal. I knew there was a reason I once liked you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Now, what do you want from my life?”

  “I want you to work on the case.” He implored.

  “I charge five hundred dollars per day, plus mileage and expenses. A case this size requires a fifteen-thousand-dollar retainer.”

  “What happened to the ‘friendship’ discount?” Zack pleaded.

  “What friendship? I never see you unless you need something. You never call. You never write, not even a birthday card. I feel so . . . used!” Micah burst into fake sobs.

  “But I still love you,” Zack played along.

  “But do you respect me?” Micah removed a hanky from his pocket, blew his nose, and pretended to dry his eyes.

  “I respect you, Micah,” Zack rolled his eyes.

  “Good,” Micah chirped, suddenly brightening. “Then I know you don’t expect me to do this for nothing.”

  “The thought never entered my mind, just nothing down,” Zack begged.

  “You have got to be fucking nuts. How much money do you already owe me?”

  “Not that much. I haven’t used you in two years or more,” reasoned Zack.

  “That’s because I cut you off for nonpayment. Shall I get the ledger?” Micah grumbled. He enjoyed making Zack miserable.

  “No, that’s not necessary. Look, man, this is different, important, not the usual nickel-and-dime stuff. This is the biggest case of my life. This can jump-start my trashed career.

  “These boys were raped, Micah. This priest is the smuggest scum-sucking pig I have ever encountered. I need this. I’ll pay you more than your regular rate out of case proceeds if you do this. Please,” Zack pleaded. “I’m begging you.”

  “Begging? You must really be hot for this broad.” Micah softened.

  “I like her, Micah,” Zack conceded. “Are you satisfied? But not in the way you think and, besides, that’s not the reason why I need you to say ‘yes.’ It’s this case, these kids, this priest, and the way the church handles these matters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A guy like Gerry is transferred into town, endears himself to the community and befriends some kids, usually kids from a broken home or the victims of some tragedy. He uses the rectory or a local campground. He abuses the kids. He gets caught or doesn’t. If he’s caught, the church steps in—victims and cops are paid off, pleas are taken, criminal files and records are sealed, and the priest is transferred to the next parish where this asshole sets up shop all over again.”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Micah cringed.

  “I wish I was. But that’s the pattern. I don’t have enough evidence yet to prove it, but there’s some kind of cover-up operation, within the church hierarchy. These people bug offices, homes, and churches. They snap photos like the ones you have. I need you to dig around. Visit this priest’s previous placements. Ask questions. See what you can discover. Something happened somewhere, and the church covered the whole thing up. Who’s responsible for these cover-up operations, and how do we get to them? I want to expose all of them,” Zack hissed.

  “The first will be easier than the second. This is un-fucking-believable,” Micah huffed.

  “Then, you’ll do it?”

  “Did I say that?” Micah hardened. “Ask me nicely and promise to pay me whether you win or lose. Where am I going, by the way?”

  “Will you please help me? Berea, Ohio,” Zack pleaded.

  “Of course, I will. All you had to do was ask.”

  “Thanks, Micah. Thanks a million,” Zack sighed, genuinely relieved to have Micah on board.

  “From your mouth to God’s ears. Let’s get these bastards.”

  Zack pulled out his already thick case file and spent the next three hours bringing Micah up to snuff. The more Micah heard, the more wrathful he became.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Micah Love dove full throttle into the Tracey investigation. He reassigned all the files he was personally handling to an associate investigator. Two days after his meeting with Blake, Love was driving his Lincoln MKZ down I-75 toward Toledo, one hour south of Detroit. Berea was a small town situated near the Michigan-Ohio border, off Route 2, the route a traveler took to Ohio from Michigan, before the interstate system. Berea was a typical Midwest industrial town, with a quaint downtown area.

  Micah was seeking St. Patrick’s Church and School, apparently, the only church in the downtown district. He pulled into the church parking lot and wandered inside. He found the pastor’s office and knocked on the door. There was no answer. It didn’t matter. He didn’t expect the pastor’s cooperation anyway. He wandered down the hall toward the sanctuary and noticed a janitor mopping the lobby floor. The janitor, an older man with one eye noticeably higher than the other, heard the sound of footsteps. Startled, he glanced in Micah’s direction.

  “Hi,” Micah chimed. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” the janitor hesitated.

  “Is the pastor in?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m the only one here.” He advised.

  Perfect, janitors know everything that goes on. Or, they at least hear all the appropriate rumors and gossip. There’s no one here to keep him in check. This was an investigator’s wet dream. “Do you mind if I wait for him?” Micah cajoled.

  “Suit yourself. Can I get you some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

  “Coffee would be great. Thanks a lot.”

  The janitor left the lobby area and returned shortly with a cup of steaming coffee.

  “I forgot to ask how you take it.”

  “Black is fine, thanks. Did the pastor say when he was coming back?”

  “I’m not sure. He went to make a condolence call. One of our longtime members and supporters passed away over the weekend. The funeral was yesterday.” He explained. His suspicion radar was weakening. He became more relaxed and forthcoming.

  “How old a man was he?” Micah feigned interest.

  “Ninety-seven years young, God bless him, and rest his soul,” he mourned.

  “Amen to that,” Micah sighed. It seemed an appropriate response. “May I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “What about?” the janitor wondered.

  “About six months ago, a priest named Gerry Bartholomew was the assistant pastor of this parish, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. What’s this about? Has he done something wrong?”

  “What makes you think he did something wrong?” Micah demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he lied. “Man I’ve never seen or heard of comes around asking questions, makes me think something’s wrong. What’s your name anyway?”

  “My name is Micah Love. Here’s my card.” Micah handed him the card.

  “I’m Gus.” Gus looked at the card. “Love Investigations. Are you a private eye? Man, I never met a private eye before. Are you investigating Father Gerry? Why? What’s he done now?” Gus slipped.

  “What do you mean ‘now’?”

  “Whaddaya mean whado I mean?”

  “You said ‘now’ after asking ‘what’s he done.’ What did the ‘now’ mean?”

  “Nothing. You just took me by surprise, is all.” Gus was panicked. Micah could see it in his eyes.

  “Has he done something before?” Micah softened.

  “I don’t know what you mean. What kind of something?” he grunted.

  “Something he did here he would not be proud of, members of your church would not be proud of, and both would want kept secret. Something like that,” Micah persisted, trying to appease the old man but still needing the answers.

  “I don’t know nothin’ like that, and I sh
ouldn’t even be talkin’ to you. Please, excuse me. I got work to do. You can wait over there,” Gus pointed to an old wooden bench against the wall.

  Micah walked over to the bench and sat down. Gus obviously knows something. I need to talk to the pastor before Gus does. Micah fell asleep on the bench. Two hours later, Father William Foley, pastor of the parish for the past thirty years, gently shook Micah awake.

  Father Foley had oily white hair, streaked with yellow. Micah didn’t know whether priests were permitted to smoke, but this guy was a chain smoker. Not only was his hair yellow, but Foley also reeked of cigarette smoke. He had a reddish, pockmarked complexion and the wrinkles of an outdoorsman whom the sun prematurely aged. Micah guessed him to be about sixty-five years old, medium build, not heavy but not thin either. The only thing that seemed old about him was his weather-beaten face. Other than that, Micah was confident Father Foley was in better shape than he was, although that didn’t take much.

  “Gus says you’re looking for information about Father Gerry. Is there something I can help you with? Is he okay?” Micah detected slight defensiveness, but Foley was far better at concealment than Gus.

  “Physically, he’s fine. Father, I’ll come right to the point,” Micah rose and willed the cobwebs of sleep away. “Father Gerry was transferred from your parish to one in Michigan.”

  “I know. I approved his transfer,” Foley looked confused.

  “What do you mean approved?” Micah inquired.

  “The church transfers him, and it’s my job, symbolically at least, to let him go. It’s more or less a rubber stamp.”

  “Did you have second thoughts about letting this one go?”

  “No. As I mentioned, it’s mostly symbolic. Assistant pastors never stay longer than three years unless they are being groomed for a position as pastor,” Foley explained.

  “Can you describe his three years here? Were they successful? Did he connect with your parishioners?”

  “Yes, they were quite successful. The parishioners loved him.” Foley crossed his arms and assumed a defensive posture. He glared at Micah with cold eyes. “I don’t understand all of these questions. What’s going on? What is your name, and why are you here, asking all these questions?”

  “My name is Micah Love. I’m a private investigator,” Micah grumbled. The best defense is a good offense. “I’ve been hired by the mother of two teenage boys to investigate allegations of sexual abuse by Father Gerry Bartholomew. I understand this was his previous parish.”

  Father Foley was either a great actor or legitimately didn’t know anything. He looked shocked.

  “I can’t believe this!” exclaimed Foley, stunned at Micah’s disclosure. “Gerry would never do anything like that. Hurt a kid? No way!”

  “The boys identified him. He did unspeakable things, Father. If you know anything, please tell me. It’s your duty,” Micah demanded.

  “How dare you profess to tell me my duty,” Foley challenged, clearly offended.

  Micah struck a nerve. Foley’s eyes were blazing.

  “I want you to leave now. I’ve known Gerry for almost four years, and I’ve never known a finer man. He’d never do anything like this. He is a fine priest and a good friend. Please leave.” He gestured toward the door.

  “One more request: May I have a copy of your parishioner list?” Micah requested.

  “Absolutely not,” Foley rambled, now in full combat mode. “I will not have you running from parishioner to parishioner, asking these questions and making these horrid accusations. Please leave, now. ”

  Micah refused to back down. “Okay, Father, I’ll go, but I’m not leaving town, not until I get answers that make sense. A sexual predator doesn’t spend three years in one place without incident, and then move and immediately commit offenses. Something happened here. I know it, and so do you. I will find out what, when, and to whom. Apparently, I’ll have to find out the hard way, but I’ll find out. Good day, Father,” he scowled. He turned and began to walk away.

  “Good day to you too, sir, and I wouldn’t waste too much time in Berea. We have no secrets. These boys in Michigan ought to be investigated first,” Foley spouted.

  Micah left the church the same way he entered. As he walked down the front steps and across to the parking lot, he sensed someone staring at him. Micah turned to the church and searched its windows. He caught some movement on an upper floor and saw the janitor staring out at him. When Gus realized Micah saw him, he turned away.

  He knows something about Bartholomew. Something happened here. I feel it in my bones. Micah determined he would find out exactly what happened and to whom. His determination kept him in Berea for three days. He went to the public library and reviewed local newspapers on the internet for the three years Gerry was at St. Pat’s. There were articles about church functions, weddings, and so on. Gerry was present or officiated at some of these. He was mentioned several times over his three-year stay. All the articles were positive, not a single word in any article was remotely negative. The final piece announced his transfer to Michigan. At a party in Gerry’s honor, Pastor Foley and several prominent parishioners were quoted praising the wonderful job Gerry had done and how much he would be missed. Micah copied the names of every person named in every article.

  He left the library and borrowed a local shopkeeper’s telephone directory. He began looking for the names he’d copied from the newspaper articles. There were fifteen names. He found each one, still listed, still living in Berea. He visited each of the homes and found someone home in all but two. Everyone was cooperative and friendly, all were parishioners of St. Pat’s, and all had glowing things to say about Father Gerry. There wasn’t one suspicious comment in the bunch. Micah began to doubt the boys.

  The thirteen parishioners he talked to mentioned the names of at least twenty more. Micah duplicated his telephone directory search and was amazed to find all twenty were still listed and living in Berea. Stable town.

  He visited the homes of each of these residents to put faces and voices to them. They were good, honest, and hardworking folks, and no one had a bad word to say about Father Gerry Bartholomew. Weird—no one is this popular. There wasn’t a single negative comment, which made Micah even more suspicious. Some sort of parishioner conspiracy of silence? Could the church organize everyone’s silence on a grand scale? Can all church members be this loyal? Were they paid off? What the fuck is going on here?

  The questions were entering his consciousness in rapid-fire succession. Not a single negative? It was too convenient to be true. Somehow, he’d locate a parishioner list and visit them all if necessary. There were previous placements to visit and the seminary where Gerry received his training. Perhaps his fellow seminarians, wherever they were now, knew something. Micah would continue to question people, review local newspapers, and probe until he developed a positive lead. Something was out there somewhere. He’d find it. He was Micah Love, after all, and he was, simply, the best.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The phone rang at the secret office of the Coalition. The call was transferred to the Voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Father William Foley, Pastor of St.—”

  “I know who you are. What can I do for you, Father?”

  “My church received a visit from a private investigator.”

  “Oh? When?”

  “Today.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He asked our custodian and me several questions about Father Gerry and his behavior while he was an assistant pastor here at St. Pat’s. He seemed to know all about his conduct. He advised that Gerry is being accused of sexually molesting two boys in Michigan. That same behavior got him into trouble here. In light of his situation in Berea, I was assured any new placement would be away from children. I’d like an explanation. What the hell happened?” Father Foley demanded.

  “To be honest, we’re not sure. Someone botched the placement or didn’t review Gerry’s record. W
e’re still reviewing this placement and others to fix the glitch and correct it in the future,” the Voice conceded.

  “This is a horrible mistake,” Foley ranted. “Thanks to those loyal to the church, this creep escaped with a slap on the wrist in Ohio’s criminal court system. We arranged a quiet surrender, with no embarrassment to the church, and complete secrecy regarding his conviction. Quite a miracle, if you ask me. One would think the church would have praised the Lord and been very careful with his next placement.”

  “You are absolutely correct, Father, but, as I indicated, the system failed. We are trying to deal with the consequences, and we need your help.” The Voice appeased. He owed Foley no explanation but wanted to keep him in line.

  “What can I possibly do?” Father Foley calmed.

  “Tell me everything you, the custodian, and the investigator discussed. Don’t leave anything out.” The Voice implored.

  Foley repeated his conversations with Micah and the janitor, almost verbatim. He also read Micah’s name and business address from the business card Micah provided.

  “From what you’ve told me, the church has not been compromised. Is there any possibility a parishioner would talk to Love?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. The affected families have all been relocated. The few that know anything have been well compensated for their silence. They wouldn’t breach pledges of silence and risk forfeiting that compensation.”

  “What about the local police?”

  “Complete confidentiality, a gag order, so to speak, was a promise of the plea bargain. The department is liable for damages if it breaches the gag order. I suppose a rogue cop is a possibility, but a remote one.”

  “What about the janitor? What does he know?” The Voice inquired, concerned about loose lips.

  “Nothing. He wasn’t questioned or involved in Gerry’s criminal case, subsequent plea or transfer. He knows nothing of Gerry’s proclivities or this situation,” Foley ventured, aspiring to reassure his superior while protecting a treasured employee.