 
# Gabriel's Rage

### A Daryl Richardson Crime Mystery Novel

### J.W. Lucas

Gabriel's Rage

ISBN 978-1-64606-093-1

Copyright © 2019 by John W. Lucas

All rights reserved.

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Cover Artwork by Tatiana Vila, viladesign.com

Gabriel's Rage is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or intended only to provide local ambiance to the story setting.

Other Books by J.W. Lucas: Daryl Richardson Crime Mysteries

2017 The Secrets of Ethan Falls

2018 Hands That Heal – Hands That Kill

**Author Contact:** jwlucasbooks1@gmail.com

# Chapter 1

Two years ago, my life changed overnight when my Great Aunt passed away. She had raised me after my parents died in a car accident when I was a child, and it took months of meetings and an army of lawyers and accountants to settle her estate. As her sole heir I became a multi-millionaire, entrusted to continue the philanthropy she had made her life's work. My name is Daryl Richardson. At the time I was forty-two years old, single, a former police detective with a law degree and was enjoying prominence as a successful Assistant US Attorney in Boston.

In hindsight, I came to realize my success as a Federal prosecutor was because my detective skills outweighed my legal prowess. I preferred to work side-by-side with the police on their investigations rather than spend my days inside courtrooms. I was drifting along, dodging the occasional bullets that found their way in my direction when our casework threatened the freedom of miscreants who had chosen crime and violence as their vocation. In mid-summer I stepped back from work to see what road my life would next take and agreed to work as a major crime's legal consultant.

I don't know if it was divine intervention, karma, or fate when it happened. I walked into a hotel lounge one afternoon and there she was tending bar; Ms. Mandy Simmons. It was kismet from the first moment.

Fast forward to this morning, my now fiancee Mandy is sitting at the kitchen island in the Berkshire's home I inherited; a handsome Frank Lloyd Wright design style estate on seventy acres, locally known as 'Stonegarden.'

She looked up at me from her tablet computer and asked, "Did you see this? In Pennsylvania there's a big investigation of priests who sexually abused children; boys and girls. It says in the past seventy years there's been more than a thousand cases covered up by the Church. How can that happen Daryl?"

As I stood at the kitchen counter and fixed my coffee, I tried to think of a response to her out of the blue comment. Every day is a new adventure I thought to myself as the strong aroma of fresh-brewed coffee from the Keurig wafted into my nostrils and helped clear the fog that remained in my brain from last night's sleep.

"Daryl? Did you hear what I said? These priests sexually abused children, and it says the Church shuffled them around from parish to parish. They didn't treat this as crimes. How sick is that?"

"I heard you, Hon. Yeah, that's awful. I guess that's one reason so many people have dropped out of organized religion. You know, it's not just the Church; every other day we read or hear about a teacher or a coach, or a relative who has molested a kid."

"Daryl, this is horrible! These are priests! They're supposed to be men of God! That makes me so mad. Those poor kids, how do they ever get over that?"

"I don't know, Hon," I answered hoping she'd drop the subject.

The memory of a human-trafficking investigation I had led in Boston two years earlier flashed into my mind as I walked over and slid onto a stool next to her. I had seen victim kids before; most would be forever haunted. Later in life some would turn to alcohol or drugs to ease their pain. Others would take their lives to end the shame they suffered. I sat down next to her and reached over to take a donut from the plate she had set out. She grabbed my wrist just as I captured my prey.

"Just one, Little Boy!" she admonished. "Remember? I put you on a diet. I've been feeding you too well and you're showing it. You need to exercise before you have a heart attack," she said as she released her grip and I guided the baker's masterpiece to my mouth.

I thought to myself if being shot at twice in the past six months hadn't brought on cardiac arrest, I doubted a lemon-filled chocolate topped donut would be the Grim Reaper's successful invitation for me to join him in eternity.

As she got up to clear the donut plate away, I snatched another treat. I exaggerated a sad face as a defense, she paused her hand mid-slap as I took one quick bite and smiled shamelessly. She shook her head in resignation as she went over to the kitchen counter.

"You know? I was thinking, maybe we should build a home gym for the both of us," she said looking over her shoulder toward me as she covered the plate with foil. Her change of topic threw me, but she was right; I said I would think about it. She wiped down the kitchen counter and went into her adjacent home office. I reached over and turned her tablet toward me to look at the story she had been reading.

The Pennsylvania Attorney General had released to the public a Grand Jury report documenting the findings of a two-year probe of allegations the Catholic Church had covered up sexual abuse of minors by priests in many of the dioceses.

Quickly scanning through the article, I was sickened as I read an excerpt from the Attorney General's report of the abuses: a priest who raped a young girl in the hospital after she had her tonsils out; a victim tied up and whipped with leather straps by a priest; and another priest who was permitted to stay in ministry after impregnating a young girl and arranging for her to have an abortion.

Where the hell were the parents? The police? The Church leaders? How could this happen?

I Googled the phrase 'Pennsylvania church abuse' and saw a recent news article reporting the Illinois Attorney General had also made public a grand jury investigation report, after issuing subpoenas to Church leaders for more information on sexual abuse claims in that State. More horrors, more shattered lives

As I was reading, my cellphone beeped; I saw it was an incoming call from my friend and former boss, US Attorney Damian Costigan in Boston. Whenever he called it wasn't to ask about the weather. I answered with hesitation.

"Hello, my friend. How's everything going for the rich and famous down there?" he asked.

I gave him a quick rundown, reporting we were resting after a tough six months of work and asked him a few questions about the status of prosecutions in a mass murder and drug trafficking investigation I had recently led for his office. He reported the case was making its way through the pre-trial hearings and he was pleased with the progress.

"Daryl, the reason I'm calling is I need a favor," he said changing the subject with noticeable reluctance in his voice. Here it comes, I thought to myself.

"You made it clear you needed to take a few months off from your work, and I hope the time you and Mandy have had together has helped her get over Barden trying to kill you." His reference to the incident when the mass murderer showed up at our house and shot at me was the memory Mandy and I were trying to put to rest. I explained Mandy was doing much better, we were staying close to home to avoid the onslaught of curious neighbors we'd been suffering when out around town. All in all, she seemed stronger after the experience. I didn't know why he had called, but his tone sounded troubled. He said he wanted my help with something. I knew I couldn't allow any favor to a US Attorney erase the progress Mandy and I had made to return our lives to normality, but I had to hear him out.

"Daryl, I'm in a bind. I'm getting ready to wrap up a major mortgage fraud case we've been working on for months and I'm short on staff. The US Attorney General's office called me and asked me to contact you for some investigative help with a series of church fires."

"Boss, I told you before, I'm taking a break. The last thing I need is to do is go down South and deal with feuding religious fanatics who can't tolerate the beliefs of others," I said firmly.

"Not down South, Daryl. Right here. Eastern New York, Vermont, and last week the Massachusetts nursing home for priests that burned and killed three clergy."

"I saw the story about the nursing home fire on the news," I informed

him. "Do they know the cause yet?"

"There's evidence all the fires were arsons," he answered. "Daryl, some psychotic claiming his name is Gabriel has sent bizarre letters taking credit for the fires and threatening more will happen."

I wasn't expecting Damian to brief me on a murder mystery. "Arson isn't my field, Boss," I responded. "I'm sure there're skilled investigators who are experts and will help you."

"We don't need help with the arson investigations, Daryl; we need your insight on the arsonist. He's been sending tokens with his letters; scapulars. Do you know what a scapular is?" he asked.

I had to think for a minute. "Yeah, isn't that a cloth religious necklace that Catholic kids receive when they make their first communion?" I asked.

"You're partly correct," he answered. "That used to be the custom when I was growing up, but the practice seems to have faded out. This Gabriel has been creating handmade scapulars that depict the Archangel Gabriel surrounded by flames and sending them and handwritten letters to the police departments and Church leaders in the different dioceses where the fires have occurred."

"Okay, that tells me Gabriel is psychotic with fixations on religion and fires," I offered as a theory.

"No Daryl, the letters tell us the fixation is pedophile priests."

Karma, I thought to myself. Mandy's comments this morning about the Pennsylvania priest sex abuse cases and now Damian's call both were too coincidental. I believe in God, but I'm not an overly religious sort of person. I had an eerie feeling I couldn't rationalize; a shiver ran down my spine. Is this how God talks to you, I wondered?

"Boss, what help do you want from me?" I asked, my curiosity aroused.

"The elderly priest home fire is in Washburn Mass. I looked at a map and that's about thirty-five miles northwest of you, right on the New York-Massachusetts border," he said. "Washburn is a little village and doesn't have their own PD, they fall under State Police coverage. I thought maybe your friendship with that State Police Major we worked with a few weeks ago could help me get more information without drawing too much attention."

"Major Rich Prince, yeah, he was great to work with," I said. "I can give hm a call if you'd like."

"It might take more than a phone call, Daryl. The PDs have been keeping the letters under wraps trying to avoid a serial arsonist scare. I need more info from them; more details but discretely if you get where I'm going with this."

"You're dealing with a psychotic, Damian, and you're saying he's; what did you say? Killed three elderly priests?"

"Exactly Daryl. That's why I called you. We need to find this guy before he kills again."

"Okay, Boss, I'll contact Rich Prince and see what I can do. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what he thinks," I said and ended our call. So much for my planned rest I thought to myself. I wasn't looking forward to telling Mandy about Damian's request, knowing I was breaking my promise to her I'd take time off from my work. I went out to the kitchen and saw she was at the computer in her office. I went in to talk with her.

"What's up?" she asked as she stood, crossed the room, and took some paperwork from the printer. My mind raced to come up with the right words to avoid setting off her anger. We had been together for almost nine months, and I couldn't recall one harsh word between us. I didn't want our winning streak to end this morning.

"I read through that article about the Pennsylvania churches you were talking about. Did you know recently there've been two church fires near us? And a fire at a retired priest's nursing home that had three fatalities?" I asked.

She slowly sat down, put her papers into a manila folder and swiveled in her chair to face me. The look on her face was serious.

"I didn't see that about a nursing home fire," she quietly answered. The look on her face gave away her first thoughts of suspicion. "Does that have anything to do with those degenerate priests? Did God send the Devil to take them to Hell?"

"Apparently, someone has been setting the fires and sending letters claiming they were punishing the Church for covering up the sex abuse," I calmly answered as I shifted my weight on the couch

"Now you're sounding like a detective again. What's really going on Daryl?" she asked bluntly as she stiffened her back and leaned forward. Her posture had confrontation written all over it.

"Damian just called me, Hon. He asked me to help him do some background work on the nursing home fire."

As I started to explain what Damian had said, she held her palm up to stop me. "Wait a minute, I want to say something, and you need to hear this," she commanded with authority in her voice. "A few weeks ago, some psycho murderer came to our house and tried to kill you. Thank God we got through that and you promised me we would get our lives back to normal." I listened and started to respond, but she cut me short.

"Now, once again, Damian Costigan barges into our lives and you become Daryl Richardson, Federal Officer. Do you even know what normal is anymore?" she asked. Her voice was raised, but there wasn't anger in her tone; it was a plea for me to slow down my life.

I stood up, tucked my hands deep into my pockets, went over to the office windows and stared at the back meadow. After a minute Mandy walked over and pressed her body against my arm. "I'm sorry Daryl, I mean it, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I came so close to losing you a few weeks ago, I don't want to go through that nightmare again."

I turned and gave her a hug, brushing her hair from the side of her neck I gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. "I get it, Hon," I said as I took her hand and led her back to the office couch. We both sat down.

"Mandy, I felt sick to my stomach when I read that article about the priests you told me about. I hadn't realized the abuse was so pervasive. The word repulsive doesn't even come close to the depraved things they're accused of."

"Damian said the Department of Justice is reviewing the Pennsylvania Grand Jury report on how the Church has handled the abuse complaints and he's been asked to discretely get some background information on the rest home fire to see if there's a possibility it's connected to the abuse investigation. Since it's close to us, he asked me to help him."

She nodded her understanding, got up and went back over to her desk and sat down. I could see she was thinking about what I had told her. I watched in silence as she took a deep breath, glanced out the window for a few seconds before looking over at me. "This isn't what I wanted for us, but, okay, help Damian," she said with obvious resignation. "Where do you start?"

A sense of relief washed over me. I explained Damian had suggested I contact State Police Major Rich Prince because his department was working the nursing home investigation.

"Oh! I remember him coming to the house the night you got shot at; he was nice, and seemed level-headed and very professional," she said. I agreed with her assessment of him, adding I would call him.

She turned back to her computer and began typing. Her Master's degree in finance gave her the background to manage the charitable foundation we had set up with funds from my inheritance. She had turned managing the fund investments into a job she worked at several hours each day. For the moment, her work was the distraction I needed

I left her to finish whatever it was she had been working on before I had interrupted and walked out to the kitchen. Over the past few months, she had done some case research for me and I quickly learned she had a talent for it. My hope was the more she understood about how I made a living despite my inherited wealth, the happier our home life would be. Now, if I could avoid getting shot at again, my plan would work.

# Chapter 2

I called State Police Major Rich Prince, he was surprised to hear from me and asked how Mandy was doing after our recent brush with death. I told him we were doing well; he had a fit of almost uncontrollable laughter when I explained Mandy referred to the event as "The Great Stonegarden Estate Snowplow Incident."

For you readers who may want to know the full backstory, a psychotic rogue FBI agent who had committed five murders stormed our property intending to shoot me. Mandy was out plowing the driveway with our Bobcat machine and stopped the agent cold in his tracks when she dumped a bucket of snow and ice onto him after he fired a shot at me. All that was missing to make this story truly historic would have been the love of my life looking back to me and remarking, "Hold my wineglass, I've got this," as the intruder made his move.

I explained to Rich that Damian Costigan had asked me to gather some information about the recent nearby priest rest home fire. "Man, you can't catch a break, can you?" he commented expressing sympathy.

I downplayed his question, saying that Damian was only asking me to develop background information on the fire.

He responded by asking me if I knew that there was already talk that this fire was related to two other church fires in recent months. I told him yes, Damian had briefed me on the other fires.

"This fire was bad Daryl. The State Fire Marshals working on the case have found evidence of arson. Their preliminary report says the back of the house was doused with an accelerant and it's theorized an explosive device was the ignitor. The blast weakened the structure holding up the second floor, it collapsed quickly. They're still working the crime scene collecting evidence."

The Major provided me with the background facts: It was a large wood frame colonial manor style house, ten rooms for elderly and impaired clergy, with two staff personnel providing assisted living services on-duty around the clock. There were eleven occupants at the time of the fire, eight escaped with minor injuries, three of the priests were in their rooms and trapped. They burned to death.

"Rich, that's horrible. Weren't the staff on duty?" I asked when he finished.

"Yeah, the two aides, a man and woman but they aren't spring chickens themselves. They helped the other priests get out, but the fire at the back of the house spread too quickly to save the three that died."

"You said an explosive is suspected as the ignition source. Isn't that high-tech for an arsonist?" I asked.

"Daryl, everything is high-tech these days. Did Damian tell you about the letter?"

"He did, Rich. Have you seen it?"

"Yeah, I have a copy of the one my department received three days after the fire. We're dealing with one sick son-of-a-bitch. It's handwritten in pencil, the words he uses, his grammar, the way he constructs the sentences, and with what we've learned of his method of setting the fire, everything makes us suspect he's highly educated. He refers to several priest sex abuse incidents that we've never known about. He accuses the Church hierarchy of covering up the abuse and writes that the hour of God's retribution is upon us. This is no rambling nutcase we're dealing with Daryl; this person is psychotic. I've seen nothing like this in my entire career."

"Rich, Damian said the writer is signing their name as Gabriel, and he or she encloses a scapular with each letter. Is that the case here?" I asked.

"It sure is. Hell, I'm Presbyterian and I had to look up what a scapular is. I also learned the Church calls Gabriel an Archangel. I had to look that up too."

"Damian told me the scapular looks handmade," I said. "What do you think?

"It is, I've seen it and I can send you a photo. The necklace part looks like a common brown shoelace, both the tab panels as I call them are small rectangular pieces of thin woven twine with a picture of an angel being engulfed in hand painted flames."

"Rich would you mind if I took a drive up to Washburn to look at the burned rest home. I'd like to get a feel for the location, see how someone could get onto the property unnoticed and set the place up for a fire."

"Sure, we can use all the help we can get on this one. Let me know when you can come up and I'll meet you there."

I told him I'd meet him tomorrow at ten AM., he agreed, and we ended the call. In our home office Mandy was putting the finishing touches on the Foundation's quarterly tax package for the accountants. I asked if she would have any time for some research to help me, she stopped everything, and sat down at her desk, pencil in hand.

I asked her to print out anything she could find on recent church fires, specifically Catholic churches within a hundred miles of us, and articles about the priest rest home fire. She went right to work despite my caveat there was no rush. As she typed away at her keyboard ignoring me, I took the hint and left the room, taking my laptop with me. Mandy could handle research on the fires with no problem, I thought. What I needed now was to learn about the Archangel Gabriel. Once again, my friends at Google were a step ahead of me.

I learned Gabriel is the angel of revelation or announcement and is symbolic not only in Christianity but also Islam, Judaism and several other faiths. In Christianity, he's viewed as God's messenger. The thought of a human assuming a divine persona speaking for God by burning down churches deeply troubled me.

I read about scapulars, their origin and evolution through the ages. After a few minutes of reading complex religious interpretations of the symbol I realized divinity studies would remain in my knowledge deficit and I gave up. What I filed in my memory, though, was that in a religious context, Gabriel's scapulars were white with a rainbow of colors emanating from the angel image. A rainbow; not flames.

My cellphone beeped signaling an incoming text message. I opened it and saw Major Prince had sent me a photo of Gabriel's rendition of the scapular. I enlarged the image; the level of detail was incredible; the rainbow of colors had been changed to flames. The text message instructed me to check my email for Gabriel's letter. I opened the attachment, within two minutes of reading it was obvious the police had a big problem.

Gabriel's letter was more like a manifesto, meticulously crafted to condemn the Catholic Church for committing in his words, _"The most depraved mortal sins the earthly world has suffered, for which there may be no hope of salvation for the evil ones, may they burn for eternity in the fires of Hell."_

Leaning over to set my phone on the coffee table I suddenly felt weak. I don't scare easily but admit, Gabriel's words frightened me. His letter was telling us he had set the fire, and the phrase alluding to the evil ones being doomed to the fires of Hell suggested to me he would strike again. There was nothing I could do about it today; it took effort, but I got through the rest of the day with only a few lapses of my mind wandering back to Gabriel and his letter.

The next morning after I cleaned up and dressed, I went out to the kitchen as Mandy was getting ready to head out for her business appointments. She had said the night before she was having brunch with Lindsey Moran, our friend and Foundation attorney, before they met with our accountants.

"I left printouts for you on your desk," she explained, pointing to the. office. "I found there've been three church fires within a hundred miles of us, not two, and some articles about the priest nursing home fire."

"I also printed out some social media posts I came across. They're all attacks against the Church, the Bishops, and the Pope, accusing them of mishandling priest sex abuse complaints When I come home, you can tell me what you want me to research next."

I kissed her goodbye, thanked her for her work, and watched as she went out to the garage. I brewed myself another cup of coffee and looked at what her research had found.

The first church fire was this past January at St. Anthony's, a small rural parish near Rhinebeck, New York. The local fire marshal initially had ruled the fire accidental, caused by a boiler malfunction in the hundred-year-old building. The wooden structure was a total loss. Three days later, when the police and Bishop's office received Gabriel's letters taking credit for the fire, it was ruled an arson.

The second fire was in February at Our Lady of Perpetual Light in South Prescott, Vermont, west of Rutland. The parish served three communities and included a small parochial elementary school. The news article described neighboring residents hearing a loud explosion in the middle of the night and seeing the old wooden church was on fire. It was damaged heavily, as was the school. A follow-up article Mandy had found, written two weeks after the fire, stated the cause was still under investigation.

A third church, St. Michaels, near Kingston New York, suffered a fire in late March. A quick response by fire-fighters saved the historic building, which suffered some structural damage. Follow-up news articles reported that evidence at the scene found the cause to have been arson.

The last articles Mandy printed were about the priest nursing home fire and included brief obituaries of the deceased victims. As I read through them, I saw two were elderly, in their mid-eighties. The article briefly described St. Dymphna as providing assisted living and hospice care.

To my surprise, the news reported the third victim, Father Albert Rastone, was only fifty-eight years old. I wondered if perhaps he was infirm from cancer or another serious illness. His obituary was noticeably vague compared to the others, saying only he had served at several parishes in Pennsylvania.

The various social media comments Mandy had printed out from reads reacting to the news articles shocked me with their vicious attacks against the Church. I agreed with the position they took that child sex abuse was horrifying, but I was taken aback by the words they used to condemn the priests and was amazed by the length of their comments. Two writers caught my attention by their posts in which they had copied and pasted lengthy newspaper articles reporting the abuse cases. Judging by the number of their posts, they weren't just passionately opposed to the Church; they were rabid. I wondered, who would take the time to write all this? Defenders of the clergy were far and few between and were viciously attacked with raging name calling and insults for their replies to others' comments. I could understand why there were so few who sided with the Church. What type of mind would sit in front of a computer and comment as if it were their life's work to criticize and condemn others who dared oppose their views? After reading Mandy's findings I realized there were many potential Gabriels out there.

I put the printouts in a folder, locked up the house, and set out for my forty-five-minute drive up to Washburn to meet Major Rich Prince. The early April sunshine and mild temperature made for a pleasant ride as I crossed over into New York State and picked up Route 22 North until I crossed back into Massachusetts.

Within the shadow of the Jiminy Peak ski resort, Washburn was as Damian described it; a small village. I dropped my speed down to a crawl as I entered the half mile stretch of commercial buildings lining what I generously suspected was Main Street. It was classic New England; a gas station, deli market, a real estate office and a bed-and-breakfast lodge.

Up ahead visible just above the tree line, I saw the top of a construction crane and headed in that direction. Two minutes later I pulled into the driveway of the Saint Dymphna Manor Care Center.

The Manor had been a stately home in its day; now, it was a charred shell. I parked and as I got out of the car, I immediately smelled the odor of burned wood still lingering in the air.

I walked around to the side yard where I saw Major Rich Prince standing amongst a group of construction workers who were clearing fire debris. A few yards away from him I saw an older man in a wheelchair, being attended to by a woman dressed in dark clothing, a shawl covering her head.

As I neared them, Rich nodded at me but suddenly turned to look over at the workmen as one of them called out, "We've found it." The shawl woman helped the older man from his chair; as he stood, I saw he was a priest. They slowly walked over to the huddled group of workers who had stepped back from their work.

As the priest approached, two workers and the aide assisted him closer to the debris. Rich walked over to me and we shook hands. Pointing to the priest and workers he said, "That's Monsignor Thomas Hennessey. He survived the fire and every day he's been insisting to come back and retrieve his chalice; he was the resident chaplain here. The construction company owner agreed to help him by removing debris to get access to the altar and tabernacle."

We watched as a worker carefully lifted a charred square box from the rubble and placed it on a sawhorse in front of the Monsignor. His aide handed him a small satchel from which he took items and he appeared to bless the box, his aide's hand on his left arm to steady him.

I watched in silence as the huddled group of workers all took a knee and removed their safety helmets as one of them pried open the box door and stepped back. Msgr. Hennessey reached inside, lifted the undamaged gold colored chalice to his lips and kissed it. He clutched the chalice to his breast, slowly turning to the workers blessing them with the sign of the cross. The emotional moment humbled the workers, and admittedly also me. It was if we were in the presence of the Holy Grail.

The aide helped the priest back to the wheelchair and pushed him toward us. As they passed, he looked at us and smiled, his grip firmly clutching his treasure. I turned and watched as they made it to a waiting wheelchair van parked in front. "They don't make priests like that anymore," Rich observed as he nodded toward the van.

"Do you know him well?" I asked.

"A few years ago, he gave the invocation and keynote speech at a police awards dinner I attended," Rich explained." During dinner he was seated next to me. He's old school Irish Catholic, born, raised and ordained over there. He came to the US as a young priest. He told me in his youth he was a boxer, and he had our table laughing all night with his stories."

Rich continued, "He's well educated too. He has a Doctorate degree in Psychology and taught for years at a seminary outside of Albany. From what we've learned he's been here at the Manor for three years, as Chaplain and counsellor to the priests who've been sent here for respite."

"What do you mean, sent here for respite?" I asked.

Rich looked around as if checking to see that no one would hear him.

"Daryl, the Manor wasn't just an old priests' retirement home. We learned that some residents were sent here by their Diocese when they were going through troubling times; to get counselling, or rehab from alcohol abuse, or moral issues."

"Moral issues?" I asked

'Yeah. As I understand it, sometimes a priest will develop personal relationships with parishioners that will cause them to re-think their calling," he explained. "I'm sure you've heard stories over the years of priests that give up their vows and leave the Church," he added.

"How about priests who are accused of sexual abuse? Would they be sent here for counselling?" I asked.

"Hell, I don't know. The Church is very secretive about those things."

"Yeah, I know, and I suspect so does your arsonist Gabriel," I responded.

As we walked toward the back of the building a young man wearing State Police coveralls saw us approach and waved us over. Rich introduced him as Trooper Kevin Gallo, assigned to the State Fire Marshal's office. "Major, look at what I found," he said as he motioned toward a piece of plywood on the ground.

"This looks like part of the igniter," he said pointing to a small partially melted plastic and metal case with two charred stubs of wire protruding.

"Looks like a burnt timer device to me," Rich pronounced his opinion.

"Exactly," Trooper Gallo responded. He picked up another charred flat piece, "This is what's left of the case it was in, see, it was battery powered. I'm thinking the timer activated a device that triggered the explosion. I'm looking for any traces of blasting cap debris or a spark device right now."

"Any idea what the accelerant was?" I asked.

"Not yet, I took swabs from the siding to send to our forensic lab for analysis. It smells like gasoline. You can see the point of origin was here," he said as he walked over to the building and pointed out a dark fan-shaped burn mark near starting close to the ground and widening as it climbed what was left of the building wall.

"Don't nursing homes need to have sprinklers to meet code?" I asked.

"They do," he answered, "but here the system was pump driven, not a gravity feed. The pump didn't start up, or maybe it did and then failed. I can't tell yet; I have to look at the pump test records."

I thanked the Trooper for his information and told Rich I wanted to take a few photos of the building to send to Damian. He nodded, we walked toward the front of the property, stepping around the deep ruts in the lawn left by the fire trucks and construction equipment. I saw the yard was strewn with burned lumber and broken glass left behind by the inferno.

As I was taking photos with my phone he asked, "Why did the US Attorney send you up here, Daryl? Is he going to open a Federal investigation?"

"I don't know that, Rich," I answered. "Damian asked me for help to develop a profile on Gabriel, but that's not my area of expertise. I'm going to recommend his office contact the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit for assistance. They're the experts, especially in cases that have a bizarre angle to them."

"That's a great idea, Daryl, I think Gabriel's letters would qualify as bizarre, but I'm thinking these fires are at the least hate crimes in three states; and we have three deaths. That suggests we should have Federal involvement more than just a consulting role to profile Gabriel."

"What are you getting at, Rich?" I asked as I put my phone in my jacket pocket and turned to look at him.

"Daryl, I don't want to speak out of turn, but I also don't want you to be blindsided. I know for a fact that my Department has asked Damian Costigan for assistance with this case and I'm guessing that's why he asked you to come up here today."

Rich's comment didn't surprise me. I could tell from Damian's voice when he had called, he was reluctant to ask me to look at the fire scene. Now, I realized he knew more than what he had told me. I asked Rich who was investigating this fire with the Fire Marshals.

"Our Major Crimes Unit has the case," he answered, "and I hate to say it but right out of the gate we're hitting a stonewall with the Diocese providing us with detailed information on the priests that were killed."

"What do you mean a stonewall?"

"When our detectives got the case, they held a strategy meeting," he answered. "The first objective they set was to uncover any common links to this case and the recent church fires in New York and Vermont. As I read it, the logical assumption is that these fires are to punish people, in this case, clergy."

He continued. "We need to know if there's a link between priests who may have served at those parishes where abuses have been reported to determine if Gabriel is targeting them, or is he randomly attacking the Church as an institution?"

As I listened, my mind was processing what he had just said. The individual priest target theory was a sound investigative direction; this St. Dymphna fire was the outlier. My gut was telling me Gabriel was stalking clergy involved in the abuse cases, the unanswered questions were how he knew about the incidents he mentioned in his letters and how would he know what priests were at St. Dymphna. More importantly, how would we know if the incidents Gabriel described in the letter really happened?

"Daryl, when we asked the Diocese to provide us with biographical information on the dead priests, they informed us they would speak with their attorney and get back to us."

"Who's their attorney"" I asked.

"He's a priest, Monsignor Petrini. He has a law degree and is the Bishop's chief advisor. He told the detectives he would confer with the Archdiocese, but his initial thought was that the priests' personnel records were protected from disclosure."

"Protected from what?" I asked. "Your people didn't by chance ask for any records pertaining to complaints against them or disciplinary actions, did they?"

"Actually, they did Daryl," he answered sheepishly. "Okay, I'll mention that to Damian," I replied. Before I got in over my head, I opted not to explain my thoughts to Rich before I learned from Damian how deeply his office would become involved.

"Daryl again, I'm not trying to put pressure on you, but now we have three dead priests. This is a murder case. We could use your help,"

I wasn't going to slam the door on Rich's hopes and explained I would call Damian when I got home and get some direction from him. I tried not to let it show, but after what I'd learned so far, I recognized deep religious beliefs were at play here, albeit those beliefs had been perverted.

I had dealt with a case involving the Church during my days as a detective with a small police department in Connecticut; it was one of the reasons I went to law school after watching how the Chief Prosecutor dealt with the defense allegation of demonic possession in a murder case.

The experience opened my eyes and mind to the realization the Church had many secrets. I didn't know how I was going to break the news to Mandy, but I wanted to get involved in these church fire cases. We shook hands, I headed out for the drive home.

When I arrived home, Mandy filled me in on her meeting with the accountants, saying they were pleased with how well she was managing the Stonegarden Foundation's bookkeeping and were amazed how she had grown the Fund's holdings. I thanked her for her great work.

I grabbed the stack of social media post printouts from this morning and went into the family room to read them again. In the back of my mind, I wondered if one of the writers could be Gabriel.

# Chapter 3

The next morning after breakfast I called Damian and filled him in on my visit to St. Dymphna Manor. He didn't ask any questions his only comment was to tell me he would request the services of the FBI profiler unit as I suggested. When I finished my briefing, he was quiet for a few moments; finally, he spoke.

"Daryl, I've been asked by the State Police to work with them on this case, and coincidentally I've been directed by the Assistant Attorney General to coordinate an investigation with the US Attorneys in New York and Vermont. The AG wants me to open a Federal case as the primary prosecutor since we're the ones that had fatalities in the fires. I told him I would have to think on that. What are your thoughts?"

After hesitating a moment, I answered. "Boss, it looks as if you have arson, domestic terrorism resulting in deaths, and a hate crime. What are you concerned about?" I asked.

"The Church, Daryl. The recent Pennsylvania Attorney General's report has alleged years of sexual abuse incidents and alleged coverups, and that disclosure has enraged the public. It was before my time in Boston, but I remember reading about a similar scandal here years ago and I'm afraid this will reopen old wounds."

He continued, "The Justice Department hasn't officially confirmed a widespread Federal probe, but you need to know the Attorney Generals in dozens of states across the country have opened cases and issued subpoenas seeking records from the Church. This is a volatile situation Daryl, nothing I would have ever dreamed of seeing in my lifetime."

"What's been the Church's reaction Boss? I mean, are they cooperating or stonewalling?"

"From what I've been hearing, there have been pledges of cooperation and disclosure, but we're already seeing that will be a long, arduous, and painful process," he explained.

"I can imagine Boss, but as complicated as all of this is, here in Massachusetts we have this Gabriel psychotic who has taken it upon himself to punish the Church outside of the legal system. And we have three dead priests. Gabriel is out of control and won't stop unless he's forced to stop. You can't afford the Church's delays.

"Daryl, I'm asking you straight out. If I open an investigation on the St. Dymphna case, will you take the lead on it for me?"

I admit, I didn't hesitate; I answered yes. Gabriel was an enigma, albeit from his letters at the least a raging psychotic. Identifying him seemed impossible, but I wanted to try before he killed again. I heard Damian breathe a heavy sigh of relief as he thanked me and said he would notify the State Police Commissioner and the US Attorneys in New York and Vermont that his office was officially entering the case under my direction. Before we ended the call, he asked me a question.

"Daryl, what are you going to tell Mandy?"

Again, I didn't hesitate. I answered, "The truth," and ended the call.

I went into the kitchen and saw Mandy standing at the sink. I tugged on her arm and said I wanted to discuss something with her, leading her over to the kitchen island. We sat down, and I explained my conversation with Damian and that I agreed to lead an investigation to identify Gabriel.

To my great surprise she showed no emotion as I spoke. When I finished, her only comment was, "I knew it would only be a matter of time before this went beyond just gathering background information. How can I help?" Her acceptance of the situation was the dose of support I needed.

We decided to hold our case planning session in comfort, we went out to the kitchen where Mandy poured us each a coffee, and I went into the family room. I put a match to the stack of kindling in the fireplace.

As Mandy came into the room her wrinkled nose and squinting eyes silently expressed her sentiment questioning whether we needed a fire. It was early April, and despite the tease of daily increasingly milder temperatures, the view from the slider door onto the deck and across the rising slope of lawn leading to the back meadow and woodland still bore large patches of snow topped with ice.

"Daryl, where do you start a case like this?" Mandy asked as she fixed our coffees in the mugs. That's a good question, I thought to myself as I took a sip, careful not to burn my tongue on the fresh brew.

"When you think it through, there are thousands of churches and ten times that number clergy across the country," I explained. "The Pennsylvania investigation opened the door to public awareness of abuse committed by a fraction of the clergy over many, many years. The way they released it to the public could be viewed by some as if all the abuse is recent and just discovered. The abuse is horrible, repulsive; it didn't start yesterday, but that may be how Gabriel sees it."

I added a splash of milk to my mug and continued; "The other fires are a different story. The ones we know about all occurred recently, within a hundred miles of here. That suggests Gabriel lives somewhere within that hundred-mile radius. That's where we start."

Mandy considered what I had said. "Daryl, have there been other church fires that maybe we don't know about? I remember reading on the internet a few times about church fires down South. Could they be connected to our fires?" she asked.

My first thought was no and answered, "From what I've read most of the Southern fires have targeted smaller evangelical denominations. Gabriel is targeting the Catholic church."

"Okay, that makes sense to me," she said. "But I wonder if this Gabriel person may have been a victim of abuse and this is his way of getting even. What do you think?"

"That could be Hon, but we don't know that," I answered as I set the mug down on the coffee table and went over to poke the logs in the fire.

As I stood there, the warmth from the flames brought into my mind the vision of the three priests at St. Dymphna's lying in their beds as the flames consumed their bodies and souls. That was a horrible way to die I thought as a shiver coursed through me. I saw Mandy had her steno pad and a pencil on the table in front of her and asked her if she would mind taking notes for me.

"Of course not," she answered. "I said I wanted to help. What research can I do?"

"Make a note for me to ask Damian if he'll reach out to the FBI in Washington to learn if Gabriel has claimed responsibility for any church fires outside the hundred-mile radius we talked about," I said. "Also, we need a road map of New England, some colored pins, a drawing compass, and we need to buy a corkboard for your office."

"What's are those things for?" she asked, pausing her notetaking,

"I need to visualize the geographic connection between the four fires we know about. Maybe we can narrow the target radius down a little."

"Okay, I get it," she answered as she wrote the memo on her pad. "What else?"

"We need to research if the dioceses involved in the fires have any lawsuits filed against them for claims of sexual abuse. We should be able to get that info online if we check the court dockets."

"I don't know how to do that," she said softly, "but if you show me how I'll try."

"I will Hon, right after we get back from buying a cork board and I treat you to lunch."

Mandy was quiet as I drove us into Lenox to the store where she had bought the furnishings for our home office and it gave me time to think. I had it in my mind that Gabriel was someone who lived in the northwest part of the state. Two of the church fires were just over the state lines into New York and Vermont, the St. Dymphna fire was more local. I thought if I could nail down Gabriel's range of travel, we could investigate for a common link between clergy who had served at the parishes.

Playing the devil's advocate, my theory would go down in flames as the churches did if the FBI research found Gabriel had laid claim to fires outside of my hypothetical radius.

Gabriel's identity was a mystery and until we received the FBI profiler report, he could be a guy living down the street for all I knew. He was mobile, his technique on starting the fires suggested he was skilled in advanced technology, the language and scriptural quotations in his letters suggested a strong knowledge of theology, his crafting of the scapulars showed he was intense in his pursuit of detail. I envisioned down the road a psychiatrist would have a field day probing his mind. All I had to do was find out who he is.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Mandy asked as she poked my arm. "You're so quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answered as I refocused on my driving. "I was just thinking about this Gabriel case."

"Well, not while you drive Little Boy!" she scolded. "I'm thinking about what I want for lunch. Where are we going to eat?"

I looked over at her and thought to myself; she is cute, but only the Good Lord knows what bounces around in that mind of hers. Before I could pick up on my end of the lunch discussion she asked, "Can I see where the fire was at the priest rest home?"

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, puzzled by her quick change of course and sudden interest in the case.

"If I'm going to be your research assistant and help you in your case, I need to see for myself what this Gabriel guy has done. I mean, he set fire to a rest home, he knew people could die," She shook her head, adding, "That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm not following you Hon. What doesn't make sense?" I asked, confused by her comment.

"If he wanted to kill people, why didn't he set the church fires during mass?" she explained. She had raised a point I hadn't thought of, and it gave me pause for thought.

"Because his anger isn't toward the people who worship, he apparently has hatred for the people who preach the religion," I offered as his rationale.

"Well, all I know is this Gabriel person is a sicko. And now he's a murderer, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's why we need to identify him and put a stop to this before he kills again."

She sat quietly for the rest of the ride until we arrived at the office supply store.

After we found the items I wanted and stored them in the car, we dropped into the nearby Olde Heritage Tavern for lunch. The place was moderately crowded, a look around showed it was obviously a favorite spot for the locals. We sat at a small table and settled on a platter of mild chicken wings with a side of fries, which when we finished, thoroughly satisfied out hunger. As I waited for our check and Mandy to finish her glass of Chablis, she brought Gabriel back into our conversation.

"I've been thinking; you said Gabriel writes letters after the fires. Can I read one?" she asked.

I thought for a moment before I told her Rich Prince had sent me a copy and when we got home, she could read it. I said nothing more, but I had a concern that Gabriel's chilling words would frighten her. My work for the US Attorney had put her through some emotional moments during the past few months but she seemed to be over that. She dropped the subject; I paid our bill, and we headed out to visit the ruins at St. Dymphna's Manor.

The drive over to Washburn took us half an hour, we didn't talk much as Mandy occupied her time browsing through a catalog she had picked up at the office supply store. As we entered the village, she remarked that it reminded her of the little towns near her parent's home in Stowe, Vermont.

I pulled into the driveway at the Manor and saw there was a good size crew of contractors and equipment clearing away the debris. A yellow caution tape cordoned off the yard and as I came to a stop a worker wearing a construction helmet approached us and asked if he could help us. I showed him my Federal ID; he looked surprised. I explained I had been here yesterday with the State Police and wanted to have another look at the property. He told us the rear yard was off-limits because of the demolition, but we could walk the far side of the property. I thanked him, Mandy and I got out of the car and walked to the area he

had pointed out. Near the property line, we saw an older man working in the yard next door. We stopped as he approached us and asked if he could help us with anything. I introduced myself and showed him my credentials. He introduced himself as the next-door neighbor, Nick Bridges.

"We lost a historic landmark," he lamented as he motioned to the manor house.

I asked Nick if he had lived next door long; he answered twenty-five years; this had been his parents' house and he and his wife moved in after they died. Without our asking, he offered a history of the Manor; Built over a hundred years ago it originally was a school for boys, mostly from wealthy families living in or around Boston. The school closed in the late thirties and they converted it into a music and arts center that attracted students from around the world.

In the fifties, it was sold the to a wealthy New York City family who maintained the property for years as their family summer retreat. When the last of that family passed away in the late nineties, a bequest left it to the Catholic church.

"Such a rich cultural history," he remarked. "It didn't surprise us after they did renovations the Church used it as a convent school for nuns. They were good neighbors, in the summer the novitiates worked long hot days in the gardens, at night we could hear their choir practices. As time went on, apparently fewer women were entering religious service and ultimately it closed and sat vacant for a few years. The Diocese opened the rest home about three years ago."

Nick reported they were good neighbors and kept the property well maintained, adding, "What I miss most is my dear friend Monsignor Hennessey. We're grateful he survived the fire. Terrible about the three that died."

"Did you know any of the other priests?" I asked.

"Not really, I heard several of them have been cancer patients, a few who passed over the years died of old age. Monsignor told me that over the past few years the Church assigned some priests there for respite care, but he was the only one I ever saw in the warmer months outside in the evening reading his vespers. I guess the Church has changed."

I nodded my agreement with his assessment, Mandy stood quietly by my side. "Were you home when the fire broke out?" I asked.

"Oh yeah! I heard the bang; it was loud and woke us up. My wife and I got out of bed and looked out the window and saw the fire, she called 911. We thought at first maybe the boiler had exploded, but I could see that the fire was at the back of the house. That was no boiler fire."

"Did you folks hear anything unusual that night before the fire, or had there been any unusual activity that caught your attention the past few weeks?" I asked.

"No," Nick answered. "Like I told the detectives yesterday, this has always been a quiet road; the only unusual activity has been the few times the Troopers had to come and help with one of the priests. From what I remember the Monsignor telling me, he was a new resident there and after reading about the fire in the paper I think his name was the same as one of the priests that died, Father Albert."

His remark piqued my interest, I asked if he knew why they had to call the police. He hesitated before he spoke.

"Monsignor told me confidentially that from time to time they had priests staying there who had emotional issues, stressed out from their work, I guess. Two or three times they got agitated and needed medicine, but they wouldn't accept any help. The staff had to call the Troopers to calm things down and help them give the medicine," he explained.

I thanked Nick for his time and information, Mandy and I headed back to my car. She must have been reading my mind when she remarked she thought it strange that the police needed to be called to control a priest. I didn't have a response to her, but I too found that troubling. I needed to have a talk with Monsignor Hennessey

On the ride back to Stockbridge I pulled into a gas station for fuel. When I went inside to pay before I pumped, I bought a printed road map of New England; a rarity in these days of modern technology.

# Chapter 4

Mandy was quiet on our ride home and when we arrived, we settled in for the evening. After breakfast the next morning I received a phone call from Major Rich Prince. He said he had arranged a meeting with New York and Vermont investigators to compare notes on all the fires to avoid stepping on each other's toes. He said his boss had spoken with Damian Costigan who confirmed he was opening a Federal case and wanted me invited. The meeting was scheduled for tomorrow morning at the State Police barracks in Lee. I agreed to attend and asked if he had any updates on the St. Dymphna fire.

"Our crime lab confirmed the accelerant had traces of gasoline," he said, "And there was a residue of black powder at the point of origin. They said that would explain the explosion. Our technicians are at a loss on how the detonator was rigged, though. They said they've had little experience with remotely activated bombs and suggested we bring in the ATF lab boys to have a look at our evidence. I believe our lab has made a call to them and we're waiting to hear on how were going to go forward." His last bit of information troubled me as I could foresee our case not receiving the priority forensic examination we needed.

I told Rich I would call Damian and ask that he call in a favor from the Justice Department to get us priority examination of the evidence. He agreed and added that for all the work I had done for them lately that's the least they could do.

I asked Rich about the letter his Department had received from Gabriel and any chance it could be processed for fingerprints or DNA.

"Not a chance, Daryl. So many people handled that letter it has prints all over it. I can't justify tying up our lab for what is probably an exercise in futility." I agreed.

The time span between the fires we knew about made me curious. If we could identify a pattern, it may help us narrow down when we thought Damian would strike again. Before I could share that theory, Rich interrupted my train of thought.

"Daryl, one last thing. The Commissioner has re-assigned me to form a team to work on identifying Gabriel. I need your help, and I have it in my mind to keep the group small. I have three top-notch detectives I'll pull from Major Crimes to work with us."

"Sounds good Rich. A key to this is for us to get a list of the priests who've been assigned to the parishes where the fires have occurred. I think we need to go back three years to start with."

"Good luck with that, friend. I placed two calls to this Monsignor Petrini, whom we've been told is the Bishop's righthand man and attorney. I've left messages for him, he has yet to return my calls."

"Okay, let's give him a day or two, Rich. In the meantime, I'll see if Mandy can come up with a biographical sketch of him. We need to know who we're dealing with."

"Mandy's really getting into this, huh?"

"She is Rich, and she's good at it. I don't have the time for all the research that needs to be done and to be honest, the more she can learn about my work the happier our home life will be. Honestly, she's been a blessing.

"Just don't get shot at this time, all right? I don't need the paperwork headaches," he added with a laugh as he ended the call.

I thought to myself, Shot at? No! But this time out I'll have my eyes peeled for anyone walking toward me flicking a Bick lighter.

I found Mandy in her office, as I entered, she looked up and said with a frown, "Another down day in the market. I was hoping to sell some stocks that your friend Freddy's stock screening program identified as short-term investments, but I guess today's not our day. Did you want something?"

"Yeah Hon, I need some research help." My words perked her up, she reached for her steno pad and pencil.

"Okay, Boss, I'm on the clock! What do you need?"

"There's a Monsignor Petrini, I don't know his first name. I've learned he's also an attorney and is the Bishop's closest advisor. I need to know his full name and any background info you can find on him."

"That's it?" she asked with a look of disappointment on her face.

"No, I also need some biographical information on the middle-aged priest that died in the fire." I pulled my notebook from my back pocket checked my notes and gave her his name. "I'm interested in what parishes he's been assigned to over the years."

"Okay, anything else?" she asked.

"Yeah, I need to know the dates of the fires you researched and the time span in days between them." I could see my last request struck a chord in her mind.

"Are you trying to figure out when the next fire will be?" she asked. "That's a long shot, don't you think?"

"It is, but it's worth a try." I answered as I started out of the room.

"Hey! What about the corkboard we bought? Are you going to hang it on the wall?" she asked. I had to think for a moment. I don't own any hand tools, and I hadn't seen a hammer, nails or even a screwdriver in the house. "Never mind," she said before I could answer, "Obviously, you're not Bob the Builder. I'll call Erik and ask him to help me put it up."

"Ouch!" I answered back as I left her to her research, quietly grateful that our property caretaker lived next door.

A restful night's sleep helped revitalize my mind, in the morning I dressed casually for my meeting with the out-of-state investigators. My experience was telling me there had to be commonalities in the crimes, our first job would be to uncover them.

I sat down at the kitchen island and saw Mandy had left me some printouts of her research. I reached over and looked them over as she brought me a coffee and a muffin.

After a quick look I saw Monsignor Matthew Petrini was well known not only in the ecumenical world but apparently also in social circles.

She had found a news article and a photo showing him at a country club golf tournament benefiting a Vermont parochial school building fund. What surprised me was him posing with several attractive young women whose eyes all seemed to be on him rather than the camera. He was youthful in appearance, his muscular physique dressed in stylish casual fashion.

He looked more like a professional athlete than a priest, his short sleeves and open shirt a far cry from the cassock and collar I would have expected from a man of his station in life. I guessed it must have been a warm day on the course.

Another photo article documented him as a chaperone at a church- sponsored youth ski retreat in Vermont. He was pictured in clothing suited to the event, again he seemed to attract a bevy of attractive young women to pose with.

A third article reported the Monsignor being assigned by the Vatican two years ago as Executive Director and legal counsel for the Church's real estate holdings in the New England region, besides his duties as Executive Director and Counsel to the Bishop of our area diocese.

An accompanying biography reported he was born in upstate New York and entered a seminary immediately upon graduating high school. He had spent several years in Rome obtaining degrees in theological studies and philosophy before returning to New York. He obtained a law degree while assigned to a parish near his childhood home, and he was admitted to practice law in all the New England states and Federal Court. I was impressed.

I studied the two photos for a few moments and thought to myself life was full but apparently good for Monsignor Matthew Petrini. I wondered if his women friends called him Matt rather than Monsignor.

Mandy brought her coffee and a small plate of pastries over to the bar and sat down next to me. Seeing what I was studying she remarked, "He's a good-looking man! He sure doesn't look like a priest, does he? Do you think he could be Gabriel?"

Her comment took me aback. Not the reference to his looks, but to him being Gabriel. I gave her suggestion some thought, but it made no sense for him to be involved in the arsons.

I took another long look at the pictures and answered, "No Hon. I think Monsignor Petrini's life is too good for him to risk it all by burning down churches and rest homes." She took the printouts from me and studied them. "I think I know what you mean" she said with a knowing smile as she set them back down.

As we ate, I looked at her findings on the priests who died in the St. Dymphna fire. From obituaries I learned Father Josef Witkowsi was eighty-four years old, having served various parishes throughout Massachusetts. Ill health prompted his retirement and he had resided at St. Dymphna's for the past two years.

Father Walter Convey was ninety years old and was revered as pastor of many parishes throughout New York and Massachusetts. He had been admitted for hospice care at St. Dymphna's less than two months before his death.

Mandy's research via a name search had located a brief article on a Fr. Albert Rastone, reporting he was being transferred from a parish outside of Reading, Pennsylvania reportedly for health reasons. The article provided no further details, specifically where he was being assigned, rather it reported on the priest who would take over his duties. I found that odd.

When she saw I was finished reading, Mandy asked, "How'd I do? Did you see the one priest who worked in Pennsylvania? Do you think he could be one of them who's being investigated?"

I had no way of knowing and I avoided her comment by saying she had done a fine job. I reminded her I had a meeting with the State Police at ten-thirty and expected I'd be home early in the afternoon. Before she could say anything, we heard a knock on the kitchen door and our neighbor and property caretaker Erik Nichols came in carrying a toolbox.

"Good Morning Erik!" Mandy said as she greeted him with a hug, "Thanks for helping me put the bulletin board up in our office." He put his toolbox on the floor and came over to shake my hand as Mandy told him she would fix him a coffee.

I thanked him for his help, and with embarrassment I explained I had no tools to do the job. He waved my apology off, "Don't worry about it. I have all the tools we'll need and I'm glad to help. I'm sure you have enough to do."

His comment about my work surprised me. Mandy realized my surprise and explained she had told Erik and his wife Bernie that Damian had asked me to take on a new case. I trusted Erik and Bernie's confidentiality and let Mandy's comment pass. She and Erik went into her office to hang the corkboard, I headed out for the short drive over to the State Police barracks.

Major Rich Prince met me in the lobby and led me to a conference room where he introduced me to the small group of detectives from New York and Vermont and the three detectives from his Major Crimes Unit. I was comfortable with the group after learning they were well experienced and eager to bring in Gabriel. We watched PowerPoint presentations on the three fires, and several commonalities immediately came up. All were old wooden structures, all occurred between one and three in the morning, all started at the rear of the buildings. One outlier finding was at the St. Michael church and school fire in Vermont.

Investigators determined the fires broke out simultaneously, though the buildings were separated by a large paved parking lot. That bothered me.

The Vermont detective giving the presentation, Trooper Bill Ballard, said the passerby who called 911 reported both buildings exploded almost simultaneously spraying debris before erupting in flames.

Trooper Ballard said the State fire investigators initially suspected dynamite was used, however, after an exhaustive examination of debris samples at the point of origin no taggants or markers used by explosive manufacturers supported that theory.

He said investigators now believed it may have been a homemade substance, perhaps using ammonium nitrate, a common fertilizer that was similar to the Oklahoma City Federal Building explosion in 1995. I thought to myself that would have taken a hell of a lot of fertilizer, but admittedly, I had limited knowledge of the subject of explosives. I realized I needed someone to explain to me in layman's terms how remote detonated devices could be constructed.

I asked if any evidence of a detonator was found at the scenes, other than at St. Dymphna; each presenter answered they didn't think so. Through discussion I learned that at the other fire scenes the debris had been carted away to landfills after the arson investigators finished their work at the scene, eliminating any chance we could go back through it.

We learned the letters received by the police and Church following each fire were all identical to that received after the St. Dymphna fire, showing Gabriel wasn't citing any reasons for his crimes specific to each location.

We spent half an hour debating theories about Gabriel's actions; our consensus theory was the fires were punishing churches that had priests accused of sexual misconduct. Our quandary was the Church had been secretive with managing these incidents, mostly by out of court payments to settle the complaints, payments for victim's counselling and/or transferring the clergy to other parishes. Several in the group raised the question of how we could get information we needed from the Church.

The detectives were learning that on the State level, requests for information were being referred to higher up clergy, delaying a response.

All eyes in the room looked over at me. My answer was simple. I had to discuss that with the US Attorney.

We reviewed photos of the scapulars and noticed the same intricate meticulous construction, each appearing eerily identical to the others. The time and effort it took to make them struck me, and it reinforced my belief Gabriel's mind was consumed with attention to detail. In stark contrast to the rage in the letters, the artwork adding flames to the Gabriel photos was incredibly delicate.

When we adjourned, we went to a nearby break room where our State Police hosts had ordered in some pizzas for lunch. I enjoyed my conservations with the group, learning they were more familiar with my exploits than I was with their cases. I was grateful for the respect they showed me although uncomfortable with the attention. I needed each of them to contribute to our investigation and realized it would be a challenge to manage a multi-state probe.

I brought up the suggestion of adding a few FBI agents to our team, but quickly learned that would not go well with this group. Federal agents weren't very popular these days, and honestly, I could understand that with all the recent political discord within the Department of Justice. I was sure this was the highest profile case in their careers, and I would be dealing with strong personal agendas. I didn't debate their reluctance to add the FBI to our team, I could have access to Bureau help with a phone call.

As we finished lunch, I asked each of the three agencies lead detectives to email me their initial reports to help me develop a case overview for the US Attorneys in whose jurisdictions the fires occurred. I decided it would be Damian's job to keep them apprised of our progress, and it pleased me to learn there were no objections to my plan.

After the others left when we adjourned, Rich Prince motioned for me to join him in his new office. As we sat down, he asked, "Daryl, where do we start an investigation like this?"

"With the assumption Gabriel somehow has knowledge of the Church's innermost secrets," I answered.

"I'm not following you," he said shaking his head in confusion.

"Read the letter Rich. It cites specific acts of sexual abuse even though it doesn't provide names, dates, or locations. We need to check if any of the references could have been described in the Pennsylvania AG's report, and that's the source of information that Gabriel is drawing from to justify his rage," I explained.

He rubbed his chin in thought but didn't speak.

"Rich, are you aware of any church fires in Pennsylvania since the AG released his report?" I asked.

"No, why?"

"Because if they've had no fires, it suggests Gabriel somehow has more local knowledge of abuse, close to home. That makes me think he or she is here among us and seeking vengeance for local cases of abuse." I explained. "And that's why I think we should go after the Dioceses that oversee the parishes where our fires have occurred. We need to gain access to their records of abuse complaints."

I continued, "Another angle we need to look at is whether our dioceses have locations where predator priests are transferred for rehab or respite, whatever they call it."

"Daryl, are you thinking that's what St. Dymphna's was doing? Sheltering predator priests? How are we going to find that out?" he asked.

"Rich, see if someone can research your Department records for requests to send a trooper to St. Dymphna's for help with behavioral control. I think we should go back at least a year. Is that something your Department can do?"

"Yeah, we should be able to do that; it will take time though."

"Good. I think that should be a starting point for your team; please

make that a priority," I said. "The sooner we can confirm there were calls there, the better."

He nodded he understood, looking at me he asked, "Daryl, do you know something I don't? You said, he or she is here among us."

I avoided a direct answer. In my mind at this point Gabriel was gender neutral. "Maybe, Rich. Just call it running down a lead. And if you find your Department has had calls there, I'd like to see the incident reports the Troopers filed," I added.

"Okay," he answered. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. See if you can find out where your friend the Monsignor is staying now. We need to talk with him."

"I can tell you right now, Daryl. I checked on him. He's been assigned not far from your house. He's at the St. Francis Retreat House near West Stockbridge."

"That's great Rich! If you can reach out to him, ask if he'd have time to speak with us. Tell him we have some follow-up questions about the fire if he's up to it."

"I will Daryl. But if you think he'll give up any of the Church's secrets, think again. I told you, he's old school Irish Catholic; he'll defend the Church to his grave."

"Even more the reason I'd like to meet him, Rich. He sounds like he has a lot of wisdom. We could use some of that," I said.

As I stood up to end our meeting, Rich motioned for me to wait a minute. "Daryl, you didn't answer my question before. You referred to Gabriel as he or she. Do your really think Gabriel could be a woman?"

I looked at him for a few seconds before the answer came to me. "Rich, I've read reports of nuns being sexually abused in their convents. In today's world we need to consider all the possibilities." With that said, we shook hands and I left.

When I got back home, I checked on Mandy, finding her busy at work on our Foundation's investments. I glanced up at the large wall monitor with its scrolling stock ticker and saw it was another down day in the world of finance.

"I had time this morning and researched articles about church sex abuse. Daryl, this will leave you weak," she said as she handed me an inch-thick stack of printouts.

"Wow, Hon! You've been busy. This is a great help," I said in thanks. I could see she looked distressed, but that didn't surprise me. We were learning about something foreign to us; dark, sordid secrets, cloaked by the veil of religion until the Pennsylvania probe opened our eyes. I knew this wasn't the first time for allegations like this, but somehow in the past the public shock and outrage faded, and life, and the abuse, went on unabated.

A quick glance at her work showed me her research had found abuse related articles online from newspapers across the country, although not disclosed on the scale of the Pennsylvania report.

I went into the family room and sat down to call Damian, he answered after a few rings. My briefing to him centered on the new task force and my feeling the group was well experienced and determined to identify Gabriel. He agreed he would be the liaison with the other US Attorneys.

"Boss, I really need to see the full Pennsylvania Attorney General's report on abuse. The report we can read online leaves too many redacted blanks for us to fill in," I explained. He quickly agreed to phone the AG's office and request a full unredacted copy be sent to us via email. He stressed that we needed to keep the document confidential.

"Daryl, do you have any leads to even start to find this Gabriel?" he asked bluntly.

"Maybe Boss," I answered with hesitance. "I've learned there's a strong possibility that some priests who were sent to St. Dymphna's Manor may have been there because of behavioral issues at their parishes."

"So, what are we talking about here, Daryl? Alcohol? Drugs? Sex?"

"Could be all the above, Boss. It's too early to tell, but I have uncorroborated information that the middle-aged priest who died in the fire may have had behavioral issues that the State Police were needed to help resolve."

"Christ!" He muttered, "What has our world become? Why do we as people allow this moral decay within the church to harm young lives?"

"The Church is like a family, Boss. Many families have a problem child," I countered."

"Yeah, but in this family, it's clear the Father is skilled at sweeping the problems under the rug," he responded. "That has to end."

"Exactly, that's the reason I called you., I said. We need to request the Diocese disclose the names of all the priests who were sent to St. Dymphna's for the past three years and why they were there."

I added, "I don't need specific medical information, just general information; if it was for medical, emotional or psychological concerns. If we can get that from them, we may uncover incidents of prior misconduct we can look into."

"Okay, I'll make a call to their lawyers. Do you by chance know who represents them?" I answered a Monsignor Matthew Petrini was the Bishop's legal advisor.

"A priest and lawyer?" he asked. "That's convenient. Have you heard of him?" he asked. I explained we'd researched his background, on paper it was impressive, and asked what our next step should be.

Damian thought for a minute. "I can offer him the courtesy of an administrative subpoena, and I won't object if he insists on a confidentiality agreement as long as it doesn't limit our investigative efforts. I think that's the best way to approach him. Your thoughts?" he asked.

"Sounds like a plan, but I wouldn't get my hopes up," I said cautiously." The Church has a heavy financial stake in this if it's shown they were negligent in trying to sweep their problems under the rug as you put it."

"It is what it is Daryl. But rest assured, I have a big dustpan and if need be, I'll use it," he countered and ended the call.

# Chapter 5

The next morning, I checked my email and found Damian had forwarded the unredacted Pennsylvania report on the Grand Jury findings of alleged abuse. After breakfast I took my second cup of coffee and went into the family room to read it.

I opened the email attachment; it shocked me as I realized the Attorney General's report was almost nine-hundred pages. I settled in and began to read, not expecting the level of detail withheld from the public online version.

The report was explicit, reporting incidents involving over three hundred clergy who had been credibly accused of more than one thousand incidents of child sexual abuse going back scores of years. The report included intra-church communications, and from reading them, in my mind the conclusions of the Grand Jury supported a reasonable belief the state's bishops had misused their power and enabled the victimization of children by transferring abusive priests, rather than notifying the police.

I read for more than an hour, ultimately skimming through the last few pages of the report as I had a feeling of growing anger as I read of the depravity.

I was awestruck to read time and time again almost all the victim's families brought forward their concerns directly to the Church. From official Church documents it seemed their leaders took a spiritual approach in seeking resolution rather than regarding the acts as criminal.

It also struck me that much of the testimony the Grand Jury gathered was being publicly disclosed for the first time from victims who were now adults, having suppressed and lived with shame and fear from what had happened to them. It seemed the Grand Jury went to exhaustive lengths to certify the abuse reports as credible. In most of the cases, the statute of limitations, or the deaths of the involved priests now prevented criminal and civil legal actions.

Setting my laptop on the coffee table I leaned my head back onto the sofa cushion and closed my eyes. Investigation of child sex abuse was nothing new to me, but I had never seen or heard of anything as broad in scope as this Pennsylvania clergy probe. It was inflammatory, I thought, and it just might be what had ignited Gabriel's flames of punishment. But who is he? Where do I start to identify him?

I was brought back to the present world when I heard Mandy call out my name. Abruptly leaning forward in the couch, I saw her standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

"Daryl! Are you okay?" she asked." You were so quiet and when I came to look for you, I saw you were sleeping. Are you feeling sick again? Do you think maybe you should make an appointment for that checkup I talked to you about?"

I said I was fine, just reading over some documents for the case and took a break to sort some things out in my mind. She came over and sat down next to me, reaching over and placing the back of her hand against my forehead. "Well, you don't have a fever, but I really think you should make that appointment. You've been going non-stop for months now and I'm worried that you've worn yourself out," she pronounced as her diagnosis.

She took no offense at my ignoring her suggestion as I shook my head no. "What are you reading?" she asked as she turned my laptop toward her to better see the screen.

"It's the Pennsylvania Grand Jury report," I answered as I reached over and turned the screen from her view.

"I want to read it," she responded as she turned it back toward her.

"Hon, it's graphic, and it made me sick to my stomach. You'll only get upset if you read it." She reached over, took my hand and kissed it.

"Little Boy, I said I would help you in this case. Don't you think the more I know about what you're going through I'll better understand your moods."

"My moods?" I asked as I sat upright. "I don't have any moods," pausing before I added, "Do I?"

"Yes, you do Sweetie," she answered with a laugh. "But not bad ones. You just get quiet and withdraw from me. I love you, and I know I can't figure out what goes on in that brain of yours. But I know that you're very smart and you'll work yourself into the ground to find the truth in your cases. I'm just saying I want to take some of that pressure off you."

I was surprised by her candor, but that's what I loved about her.

"You're Catholic, aren't you?" she asked out of the blue.

"Yeah, I was raised as Catholic as a kid, but I've sort of dropped away from the Church. Why do you ask?"

"And you were an altar boy, and for a few years you sang in a youth choir."

"I did! How did you know?"

"Bernie told me!" She answered with a laugh. "She said your Aunt took you to church every Sunday when you were young. When you got older, you went with her, Erik, and their daughters."

"I'd love to know how that came up in your conversations with Bernie," I responded.

"I was curious," she answered. "You and I have never talked about our religions and I was telling Bernie I was thinking we would get married this Fall. I don't really want a church wedding, just a small group of our close friends here at the house," she added. Her last statement erased my depression.

When we got engaged Mandy had said she wanted to wait a year before we talked about a wedding although she has never fully explained why one year was so important to her.

"Out of curiosity, what religion are you?" I asked.

She laughed and replied, "I went to a nice family oriented Congregational Church in Ethan Falls. But like you, after I went away to college, I dropped out of the Sunday mass routine."

"Oh! Well then, who do you plan on marrying us?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't drop the subject as she had in the past.

"Judge Moran! Lindsey said he's a Justice of the Peace and I think it would be great for all of us," she answered with a smile."

"I need to know something," she said changing the subject. "When you were involved with the Church did you ever hear of any sex abuse like we're hearing now?"

I answered honestly, I didn't. Our priests were active with our youth groups, we had organized sporting events, parish picnics, an annual carnival. There wasn't even a hint of wrongdoing.

"I've heard stories about nuns being mean, hitting kids with rulers as punishment. Is any of that true?" she asked. I too had heard stories like that, and although my only exposure to nuns was through religious education classes, I had to admit; they were strong disciplinarians. The most I had suffered was a piercing look to redirect my behavior. She continued, "Well, it seems to me that the Church has a long history of abuse and teaches religion with a healthy dose of fear, like, if you sin, you'll go to Hell. Could that explain why these priests were so abusive? That they were taught to use fear as the tool to force themselves on their victims?"

I didn't have an answer for her, but she had a point. Maybe that's what I was missing; acknowledging the clergy were disciplined to hold themselves above the rest of us, answerable only to God, not their fellow man. I wondered if that's how Gabriel saw himself.

"Now, just leave me be and go rinse your mug out in the sink. And while you're doing that, I'll read this report," she added as she picked up my laptop and curled up in a corner of the couch.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," I said as I gave in to her.

I took my empty mug to the kitchen and called Rich Prince. When he answered I asked if he had read the Grand Jury report, he said he had, and it made him feel sick. I told him I felt the same, but I was convinced the report had something to do with starting Gabriel on his rampage.

"Daryl, when was the report made public?"

"I'm not sure, why?"

"We need to be sure the first fire occurred after its release if we're going to link him to it," he explained.

"Good point," I said in agreement." But regardless, we need to see if there's a pattern to the fires. Specifically, the days between them."

"Man, that's a long shot. Do you really think you can predict when he'll strike again?" he asked.

"I don't know. But we need to start somewhere. Right now, everything is a longshot. Don't worry, I'll work up the timeline."

"I forgot to ask you, where was the letter your department received from Gabriel postmarked?" I asked.

"I looked at that Daryl. It was right here in Lee, but I'm not sure if when a letter is mailed from a smaller post office it's sent to a central distribution center before it's postmarked into the system. I can take a drive down to the post office and ask."

"Okay, that's a start. Any success in setting up an interview of Mon- signor Hennessey?" I asked.

"Yeah. I forgot to tell you, I took a drive over to the St. Francis Retreat House and had a nice forty-five-minute visit with him. He's all settled in and I have to say, it's a beautiful place; a step up from St. Dymphna. I think he's content there."

"That's great. Did he say he would speak with us?" I asked.

"He said he would but cautioned me he he'd received a call from the Diocese lawyer who told him he was not to make any statements or answer any questions about the other priests without him being present."

I thought on that for a few seconds. We needed a way for Monsignor Hennessey to trust us and not compromise what his attorney had instructed. I realized the lawyer priest hadn't directly told me of his restrictions. I didn't feel it was my obligation to listen to him, I just needed to be very careful with my questioning of Monsignor Hennessey.

"Okay, Rich. That's great. When can we see him?"

"Well, he said he's visited Stockbridge a few times and he really loves the town. He mentioned the Red Lion in conversation, I offered to buy him lunch there tomorrow. He seemed pleased with that and I said I'd pick him up a little before noon. You can meet us there."

"Excellent my friend. I'll be there. Anything turning up from your detectives?" I asked.

"They've been doing computer searches of people convicted of arson in Western Mass and identifying unsolved arson cases," he explained. "Fortunately, there aren't many of either; the arson fires have been a few barns and small businesses. They've identified four individuals who've served time for arson and live within a hundred-mile radius of Pittsfield. They'll track them down for interviews starting tomorrow. They'll work with the out-of-state PDs as needed."

I thanked him and as I prepared to end the call; he said he had a question. "Do you think there's any value in giving my detectives copies of the Pennsylvania report to study?"

I agreed without hesitation. I felt the more they understood the concept of what could drive raging anger, the more open they'd be to offer theories on who they thought Gabriel could be. I stressed the unredacted document needed to be strictly confidential. I had read where the Court was involved in settling the Church's objection to publicizing the names of some of the priests, the redacted public version of the report was the outcome of those proceedings. What Damian had received from the Attorney General we considered attorney work product and felt it could be shared within the framework of attorneys working the case. In all honesty, I thought if our rational was challenged, we would go down in flames just as St. Dymphna's had.

After I hung up with Rich, I checked in with Damian. He said he had left two messages for the church lawyer, Monsignor Petrini, to call him. The Monsignor's secretary reported she would give him the messages and explained he was busy assisting the Bishop with funeral arrangements for the dead priests. I said Rich Prince and I were having lunch tomorrow with the Monsignor who had survived the fire and mentioned the church lawyer's warning to the Monsignor not to disclose any information about the other priests who had been in residence at St. Dymphna's.

"I'm not surprised, Daryl. The Church has a lot at stake here. We need to convince this Monsignor Petrini that as bad as it is, we're not just investigating an arson, this is a murder case. He needs to be reminded not only does the Church have the potential of exposure to lawsuits, they need to be careful their lack of cooperation doesn't rise to the level of willful obstruction."

Thinking it through, Damian's position made sense. I wasn't as much worried about the Church refusing to cooperate as I was with delays in providing us with the information we requested. I felt right now they were playing the game with a stronger hand than we had, and I needed to change that.

I went back into the family room and saw that Mandy was on the couch; her head leaning back into the cushion, she was running her hands repeatedly through her long hair. "Are you okay, Hon?" I asked.

" _NO!_ After reading this I'm sick to my stomach," she answered. "I got less than halfway through it and had to stop. Daryl, these priests and their higher-ups should all be in jail. _This is horrible!_ What they did to these young kids? Boys and girls; I can't believe what I've read."

She got up, excused herself and said she needed to lie down for a while. I watched as she slowly made her way to into the kitchen and down the hallway to the master suite, stretching her neck to shake the depression she was feeling. In hindsight, I thought I should have been firm and talked her out of reading the report.

An hour later, I saw she was in the kitchen and heard her call out she had made us some sandwiches for lunch. She brought them into the family room where I had been reading through the reports from the detectives describing the New York and Vermont fires. We didn't talk about the case as we ate. When I finished, I said I would be in her office typing up a case summary report for Damian. She acknowledged me with a look but didn't speak as she turned on the TV.

After a while, I heard her in the kitchen putting the lunch dishes in the washer, when she finished, she came into the office.

Without speaking she found the map I had bought at the gas station and pinned it up on the corkboard. She stared at it for a moment, went to her computer desk and found her steno pad and the stickpins and plotted out the four fires we knew about. I watched her in silence.

She asked, "How are we going to plot your hundred-mile radius?"

I went over to her and studied the map. We decided we would find the approximate center between the fire locations and use that as the axis to draw a radius. Using the ruler to measure the map scale, she marked a circle the equivalent of a hundred miles with light marks from the pencil. As I commented I couldn't see the radius, she put her finger to her lips motioning me to hush. She took white stick pins and pressed them into each pencil mark, pulled a length of yarn from her pocket and connected the pins to form a semblance of a circle. She grasped what I was looking for, but something looked out of place.

"There's your hundred-mile radius," she said coldly as she stood back and inspected her work. "Where is the next fire going to be, Mr. Richardson?" she asked with a challenging tone in her voice. I didn't know if her sudden mood change came from reading the abuse report, and if it did, whether it had fired her up with anger or with resolve.

I thought how I should answer her, but before I spoke, it dawned on me the radius circle looked huge. "Hon, I wanted to make up a list of Catholic churches in the towns included within the circle, but that's too big an area. Let me try something."

I moved the pins to a half inch above each church location, and by eye measured the furthest distance between them and stuck a pin in a new radius center. Using the drawing compass, I drew another circle, this one less than half the size as the first. This better reflected Gabriel's range of travel, I thought.

"Okay," I said, "This should be better. If we list the churches in this circle, we can narrow them down to the ones that are older and wooden." She looked at me, then back to the map.

"Okay, I'll start on that this afternoon," she responded and went back into the kitchen.

I stood and stared at the map for a few minutes. In my mind the strategy made sense, but I wondered if I could realistically predict where the next fire would occur. I wouldn't know unless I tried. My thoughts shifted to the printouts Mandy had given me

The social media comments were disturbing, especially those of two writers who spewed their venom not only at the Church, but to several others who had posted similar but less vicious hate remarks. I sat at my desk and re-read the posts, noting their usernames 'Nogod4me' and 'Ultor.'

The inference of the first name was obvious, although I would not want to be him or her when they stood at the pearly gates and had to explain their chosen nom de plume to St. Peter.

The name Ultor baffled me. I had never heard the word before, but I knew where to look for help. Google had several search results for Ultor, what caught my eye was a finding of the word's meaning in Latin.

Ultor, a masculine noun, meant avenger, revenger, punisher. I couldn't believe what I was reading, my heart was beating as if it wanted to burst from my chest. This couldn't be. I thought to myself, for centuries Latin was the language of the Church. Could Ultor be Gabriel?

I went to check on Mandy; she was in her office at the computer, she turned and said, "I decided the easiest way to get the information you want is to first list the counties within the radius and then Google Catholic Churches by county. What do you think?" she asked. I told her that was a great idea and would save time. I left her to her work and sat down at my desk, keeping as quiet as I could so as not to break her concentration.

I wondered how I could get more information on persons who posted on social media. I'm computer literate, but this was out of my league. I needed professional advice, my first thought was Pat Collins, one of the two electronics wizard FBI agents in Damian's office. A few weeks ago, when he helped me on the mass murder case, his FBI undercover cover identity was Fred Morton, though he preferred we call him Freddy. I couldn't wait to hear what he was calling himself today.

In his late twenties, the kid was brilliant; the last person on earth you would ever expect to be an FBI agent. As a covert operations specialist he was one of Damian's secret weapons, even if he did drive the Boss crazy with his frequent off-the-wall antics. I found his cell number and went out to the kitchen to call him.

"Hey Daryl!" he answered. "Everything okay down there or do you guys just miss me?" he asked with a hearty laugh.

"Both Freddy, and Pat, whatever you're calling yourself these days."

He laughed again and said Freddy would work, adding he had gotten used to the name and thought he would stick with it for a while. "Do you need my help with anything or is this a social call?" he asked.

"Business call, Freddy. I need some advice on how to determine the identify of someone who is posting on social media," I explained.

"Easier said than done, Boss," he responded. "I mean that. It's one area we've been struggling with because of those damn service providers," he explained taking an unusually serious tone.

"Everybody wants their privacy and free speech rights; it's a slippery slope for us when the government starts poking around for information, and the providers are paranoid about getting sued for disclosing it," he explained.

"I understand," I answered. "It was a longshot, but I wanted to try," I explained.

"Hey! You gonna give up so easy?" he asked. "C'mon Daryl, that's why God gave us the dark web! What's the username you're interested in and what type of messages are they posting?"

"Well, speaking of God, the case concerns arson fires of Catholic churches and one of the posters uses the name Ultor to spew venom against the Church, the other calls himself Nogod4me." I explained."

"Oh! Real sweethearts, huh? Hey! Isn't Ultor a Latin word?"

"It is! But how the hell did you know that?" I asked in amazement.

"Hey! Do you think all I did during my four years at MIT was play video games? I took other courses, you know." I didn't pursue his comment but asked how the dark web could help identify the posters.

"There are many sick websites out there where these psychos can share their warped thoughts with other like-minded brain damaged types. I can run some searches to check out the anti-religious sites and chat rooms to see if the names appear in posts. No guarantees, but I'll give it a shot for you. Give me a couple hours and I'll text you."

I thanked him, but before I hung up, he said, "Hey! I may be coming down your way this weekend, I haven't made up my mind yet, though."

"Out here? Why? You miss us?" I asked.

"Yeah, I do, but actually; do you remember that waitress at the Inn who served my breakfast and lunches every day when I was up there helping you a few weeks ago? Well, we've been texting back and forth, and she asked me if I wanted to come down for a visit and have dinner with her. I think I might do that."

"Yeah! I remember her. She's a real cutie, I think you should do it! Have you told her what you do for a living?" I asked.

"No, but she's wicked smart. She recognized you when she saw us together, and she knows who you are. She thinks I'm CIA! I might just go along with that, what do you think?"

"Freddy, my boy, I think that's a plan! Please let me know if you do come down here, I may need your expertise on this case."

"Will do, Boss, see you this weekend."

It's hard for me to explain, but it seemed that whenever I used Freddy or his tech partner Frank Paris on my cases, their energy and skills made good things happen.

I went into the office and checked on Mandy, she said she had finished her preliminary research. "There are fifty-four Catholic churches in our target radius. I printed out a listing for each county, that made it easier. I'll Google each church to see if they have any photos online, maybe I can eliminate any stone or brick buildings. Is that what you wanted?" she asked. I told her it was exactly what I wanted.

She added, "Eleven are in New York, eight in Vermont. The rest are here in Massachusetts. What are we going to do if I can't find photos of any of the churches? You're looking for wooden churches, right?"

"Yeah, let's try and narrow down what you do have with photos. If need be, I'll have the New York and Vermont detectives do a drive-by in their areas and narrow the list that way."

"You and I can take a drive and look at the churches in our two Massachusetts counties." She thought about that for a minute.

"Daryl, I understand your thinking on the wood buildings, but what's stopping Gabriel from setting a fire inside a stone or brick church? The pews are usually wood, and the damage would be awful."

Her question threw me, but she had an excellent point. "I'm thinking Gabriel needs to be as secretive as he can. Going inside a church that may or may not have a security alarm at night sounds risky. I think Gabriel is too intelligent to take that risk," I answered.

"I sure hope you're right, anyway, I'm tired, I need a break. I'll finish this tomorrow," she said as she walked into the kitchen. I sat down and put the paperwork I had left on my desk into a folder.

As I did, the thought occurred to me I wanted to see what the time span was between fires. I rustled through the articles Mandy had printed and wrote the dates in my notebook

Our office had no wall calendar, I brought one up on my computer screen. I learned the first two fires were forty days apart. As I calculated the third fire, it was forty days from the second. This can't be right; I thought and slowly counted the days again using a pencil to lightly touch each day on the screen. The count was correct. I could feel my heartbeat become fast as I carefully counted the days from the third church to the St. Dymphna fire. It was forty days! "God!" I said aloud. "This is unbelievable!!" I had found a pattern.

I stood up and went over to the window and stared at the back meadow. After a few minutes I slowly shook my head and softly said aloud, "God, I can use help on this one."

# Chapter 6

The next day I met Rich Prince and Monsignor Hennessey for lunch at the Red Lion. They had arrived a few minutes before me and were at a table along a side wall. Rich introduced me; the firmness of the priest's grip was a surprise. The Monsignor looked as I had pictured him; a slightly built man, thin grey hair with faded strands of red, neatly combed to the side, I guessed his age was in the late seventies. It struck me he looked Irish, perhaps it was his pug nose appearing as if it had taken a few punches during his travels through life. I remembered Rich had told me the Monsignor had been a boxer in his youth, I suspected when young he was a bantamweight. Our waitress brought me a menu and I ordered an iced tea as the others had done before my arrival.

"Daryl, the Monsignor and I were talking on the drive over, he mentioned it worried him you were looking for information about the priests who lived at St. Dymphna's." Rich said. "He asked I remind you the Bishop's office cautioned him that could not be permitted."

I saw the Monsignor was looking at me waiting for a response; I knew I had to get off on the right foot with him.

"Monsignor, I respect the Bishop's decision, please understand though, this fire and recent fires at three churches appear to have been deliberately set by someone who is expressing deep hatred for the Church." He listened with no show of emotion.

"Daryl, I have been praying every day for the soul of the one who has brought such evil to the Church," he finally said. I detected that despite his age, he had a slight brogue tenor in his voice. I also detected a wheeze in his breathing and suspected he was still suffering effects of the fire, although I noticed his need for a wheelchair had ended.

"Monsignor, I must be honest. I'm also Catholic, and I believe in the power of prayer. But the person setting the fires needs to be stopped with more than prayer." He didn't comment on my opinion.

I asked if he had received good medical care after the Manor fire, he explained he had been taken to the hospital for mild smoke inhalation. After breathing treatments, he was discharged the next day. At his new residence, he was receiving care from the local visiting nurses, a doctor prescribed an inhaler to manage his lingering breathing issue. He assured me he was on the mend.

When the waitress arrived to take our orders, I realized she was the girl Freddy Morton had an interest in. Her name tag said she was 'Heather.'I had to say, she was a cutie. Rich told the Monsignor lunch was on us and encouraged him to eat heartily. He laughed and said the housekeeper at his new church residence was a wonderful cook, her meals reminded him of his dear mother's cooking. He concluded he wouldn't be leaving this Earth because of starvation.

As we waited for our meals, the Monsignor spoke. "Boys, I'm sure you have questions for me. Other than the Bishop's caution about information on the other priests, please ask your questions."

Rich gave me a look of uncertainty; I took up the slack. "Monsignor, as I'm sure Rich explained, I'm with the US Attorney's office in Boston. My experience with major crime investigations has taught me when I encounter matters with which I have no or limited experience, I need to reach out for help. I seek experts to guide me, and this is one of those cases. As I told you, the fire investigations have turned up information that the arsonist has a deep hatred for the Church. That hatred is expressed in handwritten letters sent to the police and the Bishops after each fire." I could see I had his full attention.

"I wasn't aware of that," he responded as he placed his folded hands on the table.

I explained I had learned he had a doctorate degree in psychology and hoped he would assist us by reading the arsonist's letter and render an assessment. Rich looked over at me with disbelief on his face.

"I'll read the letter, but I must caution you, profiling one's personality is a complex process, written expressions are but a small part of the mind's workings. Do you have the letter with you?" Monsignor asked.

I reached into my jacket pocket and produced it, much to Rich's surprise. "Monsignor, the arsonist has assumed the name Gabriel," I said as I handed the folded document to him.

As I did so, Heather delivered our meals. I suggested we eat and discuss the fires afterward. I was glad to see the conversation hadn't dampened the Monsignor's appetite as it had done to mine.

When he finished eating, he slid his plate aside and read the letter. Slowly, his eyes moved through the words, I could see he was processing what was before him. He re-folded the letter and handed it back. He was silent, but I detected a slight movement of his lips and realized he was praying.

Looking at Rich and me he softly said, "I give you my blessing. Satan is among us."

I was speechless for the moment, but I needed to learn more. Reaching into my jacket I removed a color copy of the scapular photo Rich had sent me and handed it to the Monsignor. "Gabriel included a token with his letter. This is a copy of a picture of it," I explained.

Monsignor unfolded the paper, looked at it and quickly set it on the table face down. He looked into my eyes; I sensed shock in his. This wasn't faux drama I was seeing from him; it was his deep spirituality responding. This man of God was the real deal, I thought.

I turned and noticed Heather had returned, asking if she could get us anything else. We declined, and I asked for our check. She leaned over and said, "Mr. Richardson, the Inn Manager asked me to tell you your lunch today is complementary. We thank you for all you've done for our community recently" I was truly surprised, not only by the Inn's gratitude but also by the fact Heather remembered who I was. I felt awkward; I prefer to pay my own way but didn't want to make a scene. She added, "If you'd like to stay for a while, the tavern is available." I thanked her and suggested to Rich and the Monsignor we take her up on her offer. They agreed, I left her a twenty on the table as a tip and we started for the other room. As I reached for the scapular photo the Monsignor stopped me, he picked it up and walked ahead of us.

The tavern was sparsely occupied, we sat a small round table and I glanced at my watch; it was a little past one. Not too early for an adult beverage I thought.

I brought up the subject of an after-lunch drink, I caught a twinkle in the Monsignor's eyes as he remarked, "I enjoy a taste of Ireland after a meal. If they have a good brand, a little over ice would be nice.

I saw Rich grin as the Monsignor reached into his pocket and removed a small red plastic change purse he apparently used as his wallet. I hadn't seen one of those in years and fought the urge to laugh.

I motioned for him to stop and said today a taste of Ireland was on me. Rich said he would have a bourbon on the rocks, I went to the bar and added my VO and Coke to the order.

When I returned with the drinks, I saw Monsignor was studying the scapular photo. After a few moments he re-folded the paper and took a slow, long sip of his drink. He smiled and said, "And on the eighth day The Good Lord created Irish whiskey!" I liked this man of the cloth!

Getting us back on track I said, "Monsignor, I'm trying to decide if Gabriel is a man or a woman."

'What leads you to believe a woman could be involved?" he asked.

"The scapular," I answered." It's clearly a female angel, it's intricate, and if you notice the outline and shading of the flames, they're delicately drawn; very feminine."

"You have remarkable perception, Daryl. I had the same thought. Do you understand the religious connotations at work here?"

"I do Monsignor, but I'm confused. I always thought Gabriel was a male angel, but I also read Gabriel is the only female Archangel and is God's messenger I don't understand how the biblical interpretations could be different."

"It is confusing, unless you accept the premise God's Angels have no gender, that's left to interpretation of ancient scripture. Some writings do suggest Gabriel is female and is one of only two Archangels mentioned in both the Old and New Testaments," the Monsignor explained. "But this picture rendition of Gabriel is contemporary, it clearly suggests a woman. Regardless of gender, in Church teachings Gabriel's hair is flowing, and carries a clarion to herald the Lord's news. This drawing has no clarion."

"Daryl, in my mind I can't visualize a woman putting together the explosives that have been used," Rich interjected.

"Neither can I Rich," I answered," but I've also had the nagging thought that our Gabriel may in fact be two people; a bomber and a letter writer. I haven't worked out a theory on how that could be, but it's something we should consider.

"Daryl," the Monsignor said, "As I said, simply reading a letter to evaluate a mind is just a small part of a greater puzzle. It's apparent Gabriel's hate for the Church has brought forth the rage. If a man creates the fires, his actions could be driven by a woman's rage that she has transferred to him."

He took another sip of his drink. "Seeking her approval, he would act on her rage. The sentiments expressed in letters after the fires could be born from the mind of a woman but written by the man."

I thought about what he said and was now thoroughly confused. I hoped the FBI profile report would help me resolve the arsonist's gender, because as it stood, I still didn't know if we were looking for a man, woman, or both.

"Monsignor, I have one more theory about Gabriel," I said. "Are you aware of a Grand Jury report in Pennsylvania that uncovered almost a thousand cases of child sex abuse at the hands of clergy?" My question clearly bothered him, he clenched his jaw and nodded yes.

"Monsignor, I'm working on the theory that the public release of the report set Gabriel off. Does that make sense?" I asked.

"Surely it does," he answered. "If not the trigger event, it would at least add justification to his or her mind."

"I stumbled across one more thing that troubles me, something on the internet. Are you familiar with chat rooms and posts from people that allow readers to comment?"

"Sadly, I am. I'm old, but I have a laptop for my writings. I've heard of social media, but I don't indulge. There is too much filth and immorality in today's world."

"I agree Monsignor. But on one particular social media site I found hateful comments toward the Church. Among them, one writer is exceptionally vile and threatening. He signs his comments using the name Ultor. Does that have any meaning to you?"

My question almost caused him to drop his glass as he was raising it for another sip. He recovered quickly and set his drink on the table.

"Ultor is an ancient Latin name literally translated as avenger, or revenger. It's a male name rarely found in Christian literature, but it implies evil is present; it's also a metaphor for Satan's hatred of God. Are you sure you're using the correct word?" he asked.

"I am, Monsignor.

"Daryl, with that information I would think your Ultor is a man."

"There's one more thing I've learned," I said hoping I wouldn't be dropped deeper into the abyss of confusion. "And that is?" Rich asked as I looked over at him.

I turned to the Monsignor." I've found that the fires all have been forty days apart."

"What?" Rich burst out. "Daryl, are you sure?"

"I am Rich. I double checked the count," I answered as I looked over at him, his jaw gaping in disbelief.

"Daryl, do you realize the significance of forty days in the Bible?" Monsignor asked, again lowering his voice to almost a whisper.

"I think I do." I said. "Jesus fasted in the dessert for forty days and nights after he was baptized by John the Baptist; forty days of rain with Noah's ark. Am I correct?"

"Daryl, you're partly correct but I caution you, the concept of forty days and nights is a metaphor in theology," the Monsignor explained. "At that time in the life of Jesus, among the Jews the number forty was an abstract; it meant a very long time, not a specific number of days. Over centuries, interpretations of the Bible have associated the number forty with many events, not just those you mentioned. Forty years in the wilderness for the Jews, forty years from the crucifixion of Christ to the destruction of Jerusalem, forty days Moses spent on the Mount receiving the Commandments. In Christian theology, these events signify 'a long time' not actual sunrises and sunsets. We teach this concept to seminarians very early in their studies for the priesthood. Understanding metaphors is one of the primary underpinnings of our teachings. Are you following me?"

"Yeah, I think so. That means my projection the next fire Gabriel sets will be forty days from the last one is more coincidence than fact," I answered in disappointment.

"No, you're missing the message," the Monsignor corrected me. "If Gabriel believes the forty days mentioned in the biblical events are sunrises and sunsets that suggests he has not had the benefit of a seminary education. Had he, I'm sure he would recognize the metaphor."

"I get it," I said." That suggests Gabriel isn't someone who's had a formal clerical education. It strengthens my theory the revenge is for the

sexual assaults mentioned in the report and he sets the fires forty days apart to act on that. I understand what you're saying, Monsignor, thank you."

I looked over at Rich and asked, "Make sense to you?" He looked absolutely perplexed but answered, "It's your theory, Daryl, and that's the best lead we have."

"Daryl, I'm feeling tired, I fear you are facing a battle with Satan and his minions. I think it best I return to my residence," the Monsignor interrupted. Reaching over and placing his hand on my arm he said," I will pray for your strength of intellect and courage of your soul. God bless you for what you are doing."

As we walked to our cars, I had a strange feeling. I had said I needed wisdom; Monsignor Hennessey had shared his with me.

As I drove off it struck me; he rationalized stopping Gabriel in a spiritual not legal context. Spiritual resolutions hadn't helped the kids victimized by the priests across the country. At the least, I thought Rich was correct when he said they didn't make priests like the Monsignor anymore. Now we could comfortably say they also didn't create Gabriel in a seminary.

# Chapter 7

When I got home, I saw a note from Mandy telling me she had gone shopping and for me to look at the printouts on my desk. I went into our office and saw she had prepared a list of churches within the area we suspected Gabriel was travelling. She had narrowed the list from fifty-four to eleven by eliminating churches constructed of stone or brick. I saw of those eleven, five were in western Massachusetts, three in western New York and three in Vermont. She had done a great amount of research for me, now I needed to turn it into something we could apply to the investigation.

I found a pad of small yellow sticky notes and made up a sticker for each of the five Massachusetts churches, noting the names and locations. I plotted them on the corkboard map and attached the sticky notes with large white pins. I stood back to review my work and took pictures. The clarity was good, I would send one to Rich Prince to help me plan our next move.

While I was in the office, I did some online research and learned the Pennsylvania Grand Jury report had been made public late last Summer, well before the first of the fires.

I brought up the calendar on my phone and learned today marked the tenth day since the St. Dymphna fire. If my theory was correct, Gabriel would strike again in thirty days. Now I had a deadline for the investigation.

I called Damian in Boston and filled him in on my lunch with Monsignor Hennessey and Rich Prince. When I finished my briefing, he spoke.

"So, what you're telling me is we aren't any closer to learning about the priests living at the rest home, or whether Gabriel is one or two people, or if Gabriel is a man or a woman or both. Maybe Gabriel is a schizophrenic and has multiple personalities, have you considered that?" he asked in a probing tone.

His last remark took me aback. Despite it being a dig at the lack of progress in the case, he raised a point. Could Gabriel be schizophrenic?

"Daryl, what's the status of the forensic reports on the fire evidence? Do we know what the accelerant was and have the fire detectives figured out the detonator technology?"

I replied we had received no written reports yet; I heard him groan. I asked, "Boss, have you heard anything back from the FBI profiler?" He paused for a moment and I wondered if he thought my question was payback for his comment that I didn't have much going in this case.

"No, not yet. I called Washington myself, The Assistant AG told me he would get right on the FBI to treat our request as high priority suspected terrorist activity. That should get their attention. My secretary faxed the letter and photo of the scapular the same day you and I talked about the profile request. I can make a call for a status report."

I said that was great; we needed something to balance against what the Monsignor had told me.

"Boss, any thoughts on whether we should put pressure on the Church to release records on the priests who lived at St. Dymphna?" I asked.

"I've been kicking that around with my senior staff," he said. "As I recall you said the State Police had made a request for records but were told it had been forwarded to the Archdiocese. Apparently, they're sitting on it. We don't have time for that. My staff suggested we subpoena the Bishop himself for the records. If he files a motion to quash, we can press for a hearing in front of the Court. I would gamble the Church doesn't want a public battle and I'm sure they don't want me to also subpoena the Cardinal."

I agreed with his thoughts and explained I had been reading the Vatican had put the brakes on a planned US Bishop's summit to address priest abuse, on the claim the Pope must decree any protocol changes.

"Sometimes I think the Church is as bureaucratic as our Government, maybe worse," he responded.

"I hear you, Boss; but I can't let politics, religious or otherwise, stand in the way of our putting a stop to this Gabriel," I countered.

In a softened tone Damian said, "Daryl, I was sitting at home last night thinking about this case and I realized this is the most sensitive investigation we've ever worked on. I was raised to believe no one should ever challenge the Pope or Catholic Church. When I thought about it, we seem to feel intimidated by the mystery of theology, the ritualistic pageantry of prayer. Then it came to me. This sex abuse scandal is like living theater. People don't talk about it at the dinner table, they don't pull the priests aside after mass and ask what they think about it. Yet, like theater, there are villains and victims These are deep dark secrets hidden for decades, maybe longer. Look at the newspapers across the country. For months now, every day, there're articles about clergy sex abuse. But to date, the Church hasn't stepped forward with a unified plan to put a stop to this depravity. Why?"

What Damian had just said was profound. This was a side of him I had never seen before.

"Boss, the Church has had centuries to evolve into what it is now. That's how their leaders think. Slow, measured, reflecting on tradition, praying for divine counsel and intervention. That doesn't work for me."

"Then what's your plan, Daryl?" he asked.

I expanded on my theory of identifying a hypothetical area where Gabriel was operating. I told him about narrowing down the list of potential targets within that area and my thought the next fire would be in twenty-nine days, based on the forty days between fires data. I had it in my mind to set up surveillance on the potential targets as we drew close to the fortieth day. When I finished, he was silent.

"Jesus, Daryl, if that's the best you can come up with, you better pray for some divine intervention from God himself."

"I've already done that, Boss."

"And?" he asked.

"I'm waiting for him to get back to me." I said and ended the call.

# Chapter 8

A little before three I was in the family room going over Mandy's list of the five Massachusetts potential church fire targets. On an index card I mapped out a route for us to check them out tomorrow with the thought it would be good to get away from the house for the day. I had checked the weather forecast, it would be clear and warmer the next few days, perfect for a drive. I heard her come in through the kitchen door, got up and saw she was loaded down with packages. Apparently, she was stocking up on groceries in case our home came under siege again.

"I got a little carried away," she explained with a laugh as she set the armload of bags on the counter. "There's a hot pizza for us in my car; sausage, peppers and pepperoni. I thought we could eat early. Would you go get it, please?"

I did as I was told, on the way back inside the aroma of the pie brought my taste buds to life despite the tuna salad on rye toast sandwich I had eaten a few hours earlier. Mandy set up plates on the family room coffee table, we sat down to eat.

"How's the case coming along?" she asked as she lifted a slice from the box and delicately maneuvered it to wrap up the trailing strands of cheese.

"Good," I answered, "I mapped out the five churches nearest to us and thought we could get an early start tomorrow and do a drive by of each of them. I need to see the layouts to figure out how Gabriel could get onto the property and behind the churches without being detected."

"He sets the fires at night, doesn't he?" She asked after wiping the cheeses dangling from her lower lip. "That would stop anyone from seeing him, is that what you're thinking?"

"It's not that simple, Hon. He would have to get in, conceal his car and then set up the bomb device. There's a chance a passerby or the police on patrol would spot his car. It's not as easy as you think."

"I get it, but from what I saw on the internet, the churches nearest us are in small towns, they probably don't have their own police. Even if they did, I would think they don't have many police on duty at night," she countered. "At least that's how it was when I lived in Vermont. Don't those towns use the State Troopers for patrol? I can't imagine they go into those towns unless someone calls for help."

Her point was valid, she was a step ahead of me. I took another bite of pizza; it gave me a moment to think; conveniently I couldn't answer with food in my mouth, not that I had an answer. I needed to have a plan ready in case we had to set up surveillance at each of the churches. Even more, I needed to worry about what we would to tell the priests and the cops in those towns.

"How are you going to stake out these churches, Daryl. That's the right word isn't it?" she asked, I laughed at her increasing use of cop jargon of late, but that was a good thing, I thought.

"I'll pass that on to the State Police, they can come up with the plan; we have enough on our plate already." I sensed she liked that I implied she was now officially part of the investigation.

We finished eating and took the empty pizza box and plates into the kitchen. Mandy checked her phone and commented tomorrow's weather forecast was for sunny skies with an afternoon temperature high of sixty.

Mother nature was starting to tease us, and it would be a good day for a long ride. We agreed we would start out at nine tomorrow morning. I walked back toward the family room intending to call Rich Prince when my cellphone beeped, I saw it was Damian, he was almost shouting.

"Daryl, I just took a call from a Boston TV news reporter asking me for an official comment before they and their affiliate stations run a lead story this evening reporting that we're investigating a serial arsonist who is burning down Catholic churches."

" _Oh Man,_ " I said with dismay, "I was afraid the news would get out, but I didn't think it would happen this quickly."

"Me either, but they got a tip and as it turns out, their source is Gabriel."

" _What?_ " I exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yeah friend. They know everything. Gabriel sent the TV station a handwritten letter and scapular. We've got a huge problem on our hands, Daryl." I was speechless.

"Daryl? You there?"

"Yeah Boss, I'm just at a loss here. Why is Gabriel bringing his hate to TV? What is it he wants?"

"Revenge, Daryl. A warning to us. That's what he wants. I convinced the reporter to send me a fax of the letter his station received with the agreement I would email a statement confirming my office was investigating the Saint Dymphna fire. That's all I'll give him, no elaboration. I have the email to him set up on my computer and I wanted to call you and Major Prince before I send it."

"I appreciate the courtesy Boss. When you get the reporter's fax please text it to me and Rich."

"Will do Daryl. I'll call the Major right after we get off the phone. This is your case, and I'm telling you right now, this hole we stepped into is going to get very deep very quickly. Good luck.," he said ending our call.

It only took a few minutes until I saw an incoming call from Rich Prince. "What do you think, my friend?" I asked without offering a greeting.

"What do I think? We're screwed Daryl. Jesus! Once the public hears this story tonight the rest of the media will climb on board and beat on us to explain what we know about this Gabriel."

"That's easy, Rich. We know squat! Other than Gabriel being an accomplished artist, we know squat! That's a quote."

"I wish it were that easy my friend. Seriously, what are we going to do?" he asked.

"We need to take a step back and assess what we know. Everything points to another fire happening. We need to check out the churches Mandy identified as potential targets, to confirm they meet Gabriel's target profile."

"Target profile? You're losing me," he said. What's his profile?"

"Old wooden buildings, not in an urban area; access to the back of the buildings," I explained.

"Okay, I get that. Now the question is how are we going to do that?" he asked,

"Mandy and I are going out tomorrow to visit the five churches she identified in western Mass. We need to contact the New York and Vermont detectives we met with and give them a list of the churches in their areas. All we'll need from them is a yea or nay on the profile fit."

"If yea, grab a picture of all four sides and send the photos to us. And Rich, this survey needs to be completed in a day, two at the most."

"Okay, I'll make the out-of-state contacts. Send me the church names and locations. What do you want my detectives to do?" he asked. "They finished up interviews of convicted arsonists, that turned out to be easy, aside from the travel they had to do. One of the four died two years ago, the second is back serving two to five for a burglary rap, the other two provided solid alibis for their whereabouts the night of the St. Dymphna fire. I'm satisfied we can rule them out."

"Okay, that's one more possibility we can clear from our plate," I answered. "Did you get a chance to see where Gabriel's letter after the Dymphna fire was postmarked?" I asked.

"I did. I went down to the post office here, the postmaster told me Washburn doesn't have a post office, it has a hole-in-the-wall walk-in self-service kiosk that has a vending machine for stamps and a drop box for outgoing mail. At the end of the day the local carrier empties the box and delivers it to a lockbox in Hancock. Overnight it's picked up from there and brought down here to Lee where it's postmarked."

"All that mileage just to be readied for delivery for the cost of a stamp. No wonder the US Postal Service is operating at a loss," I observed. "Okay, that info supports my theory that Gabriel lives in this area."

"Okay, I can buy that," Rich responded." Anything else I need to do?"

I thought for a few seconds. "No, let's see if Gabriel sent the TV station the same letter that he sent to you guys. If it's different, it may give us something new we can move on. We should get a copy from Damian tonight. For now, it's a wait and see game." Rich agreed, and we ended the call.

Mandy came into the room and I filled her in on Damian's call. She was as surprised as I was and picked up on the fact the case would now be pulled into the public limelight. "I hope they don't mention your name Daryl. I can't go through another crazy man coming here to try and kill you," she said. I was glad to see she didn't put on her hat and coat and go outside to warm up the Bobcat.

I told her we needed to watch the five pm Boston TV news, she agreed and said after our pizza lunch she wasn't hungry and would skip supper. I texted Rich the info on the out-of-state churches to be visited.

At four-thirty my phone beeped, I saw it was a text from Damian. Attached was Gabriel's letter to the TV station. As I read the first line, I realized it was different from the others. The second line made it clear he was raising the stakes; his handwritten warning was chilling.

I am Gabriel

Hear my cry, for I bring you warning. He who has indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural desire shall suffer the punishment of eternal fire. And to those who do not act to end the suffering of innocents I say to you your houses shall crumble and fall as ashes upon the earth. Ultor has judged and condemned those who have turned their eyes from the truth. He has sharpened his broad sword. Our suffering shall be theirs. Spread my words across the Earth so all will know they have been warned.

# Chapter 9

It didn't take long; Rich Prince's call came seconds after I read Gabriel's message for the third time.

"Daryl, did you read it? My God! This person is insane," he blurted out in a rush of words. "Now he's bringing this Ultor into his madness. Who or what the hell is Ultor?"

"I read it Rich, he's going to burn another church, but who will do it? Gabriel? Ultor? Are we dealing with two people? One?" I asked.

"Daryl, this is getting eerie. I don't have those answers. I'm sitting in front of the TV waiting for the news to come on. You don't think the station is foolish enough to read that letter on the air, do you?" I glanced at my watch and saw it was three minutes before five. I checked the screen on the family room TV, it was tuned to the Pittsfield affiliate of the Boston news channel. Mandy came in and sat down, grabbing the remote to raise the volume. She saw I was on the phone and turned it back down. "Rich, stay on the phone with me, I'm putting you on speaker, Mandy's also here." He answered "Okay." I put the phone on the coffee table and sat down next to her. She was silent.

At exactly five pm the station's nightly news graphic appeared on the screen. I noted immediately it wasn't accompanied by the usual musical prelude, rather it flashed to silently display the message, "Exclusive Breaking News - We Urge Viewer Discretion."

The camera moved in to show the news anchor seated behind a desk, his look somber, contemplative. He looked up at the camera and noticeably paused before he spoke. The ten seconds of silence was dramatic.

"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. Metro News has received exclusive information that we find shocking and gravely disturbing. We believe we have the responsibility not only to accurately report the news, but also caution our viewers when our content may cause emotional distress. Our leading breaking news story is one of those occasions."

"Last week we brought you the story of a deadly fire at Saint Dymphna's Manor, a Roman Catholic clergy rest home and hospice located in Berkshire County. Three elderly or infirm priest died in the blaze. Out investigative reporters have learned the fire followed three fires at Catholics churches in Eastern New York, Southwest Vermont and Western Massachusetts, all occurring over a span of three months."

"We have exclusively learned all the fires have now been ruled arsons. Yesterday, Metro News received a handwritten letter that contains a warning the fires are punishment of the Church for their alleged inaction on curbing clergy sexual abuse of children. As we reported months ago, a Pennsylvania Grand Jury report disclosed over a thousand cases of alleged child sex abuse committed over a span of thirty years by over three hundred Pennsylvania priests."

"The person who sent us the letter uses the name Gabriel. After exhaustive internal discussion and with advice from our legal office, Metro News has decided to share Gabriel's letter with you, our viewers. We offer no interpretation of its content, and again, we urge viewer discretion whether to watch the graphic that will appear on your screen in fifteen seconds."

" _Oh NO!"_ I moaned as I turned and looked at Mandy. On the phone, Rich Prince echoed my disbelief. The screen flashed to the graphic displaying Gabriel's message.

After remaining on the screen for one minute, the camera faded back to the news anchor. He sat quietly, looking down at his desk. It was obvious he was legitimately distressed by the letter. He regained his composure and spoke; his voice somber.

"Metro News has reached out to US Attorney Damian Costigan in Boston after confidential reliable sources informed us his office was entering the arson investigations."

"Attorney Costigan declined our invitation for an on-camera interview, but in an email confirmed his office has entered the probe. Our sources also have told us highly respected former Assistant US Attorney Daryl Richardson, now a major crime legal consultant for the Department of Justice, has taken a lead role in the investigations. Metro News could not get confirmation from Attorney Richardson."

"Well Little Boy, there goes our normal lives again," Mandy quipped, shaking her head in disappointment.

The news anchor continued with a message from Metro News management:

"We take Gabriel's warning seriously. We urge our viewers to contact their local, County, or State Police and report any suspicious activity they may see at or near any of the churches or religious services buildings in their area. We remind our viewers in an emergency, dial 911 for immediate help."

"To Gabriel, we urge you to seek crisis intervention assistance. Your anger is clear to us all, we realize you are in pain. Gabriel, Metro News is available twenty-four hours a day to help you. We implore you to stop this madness." The news segment ended and went to a commercial.

"Daryl, you still there?" came Rich's somber voice from my phone.

"Yeah, we're here. I can't believe they aired his letter," I answered.

"I agree, a huge mistake," he said. "They're feeding into his psychosis. And urging him to seek crisis intervention? Are they nuts? Do they think this guy just crumples up newspapers and strikes a match? He's a bomber for Christ sake! He's a terrorist! He's a murderer!"

"Well Rich, the damage is done. We need to move past this. Mandy and I will visit the churches in western Mass tomorrow."

"I agree, Daryl. If you're right about the forty days between fires, we're losing time just sitting and waiting. I contacted the New York and Vermont detectives to check out the churches you identified in their jurisdictions. They said they'll make the visits tomorrow."

"Rich, I'm thinking after this news broadcast, we should touch base in person with the pastors at each church on our list, reassure them we're working on the case and tell them we may be doing some surveillance of their churches. I don't want our guys to get into the forty days factor, so please tell them not to mention that."

'Will do Daryl, talk with you tomorrow,"

As I ended the call I looked over at Mandy, she was leaning back on the sofa running her fingers through her hair. I asked if she was all right, she answered she was, she just didn't know what to say about all this. For the moment, that was fine with me.

I made myself a drink, Mandy passed on a glass of wine. We settled in for the evening to watch TV. Anything but the news.

Shortly after eight-thirty I received a call from Damian. We discussed the news broadcast; he wasn't angry, he was livid. "Daryl, I don't know who tipped off the press you're on the Church case, but I'm sorry." I told him it is what it is, and we needed to move on.

"I'm calling because I received the FBI profile report on Gabriel, but I wanted to study it before we talked," he said.

"Just send it to me, is that a problem?" I asked.

"No, the problem is the report. It doesn't tell us anything you haven't thought of already. It says Gabriel is likely male and may or may not be one person having multiple personalities. The only thing it says they're sure of is Gabriel suffers a fixation he or she is a god-like entity. Who writes this crap?"

"Sounds like a computer-generated algorithm," I answered.

"Probably. It assigns percentage of likelihood to each character trait, and there are many. This isn't much goddamn help at all."

"Let it go Boss, we'll find Gabriel the old-fashioned way, pounding the pavement."

"Daryl, do you have any leads or hard evidence?"

"Nothing Boss, other than a fire every forty days. Gabriel really is a mystery."

"Great!" he responded with obvious disgust. "Daryl, you need to come up with something. I'm beat, I need to get some sleep. Keep me posted." I heard him end the call on his end.

Mandy looked over at me and I shook my head for her not to ask.

"Let's go to bed Hon," I said. "We'll start out fresh in the morning."

# Chapter 10

Early in the morning Mandy and I headed out on our mission to look at the churches we thought Gabriel might target. I was surprised when she suggested we take her new Range Rover and I could drive. Before we left the house, I checked to see that the car's hands-free phone interface recognized my cell phone and was relieved when the message display indicated I was connected.

Our first stop was St. Rose, a half-hour drive northwest of Pittsfield. As we entered the small town of Cannondale, we saw the church was on a hillside at the end of a village green. Across the street was a larger stone Methodist church. From a distance my first thought was the area was too populated for Gabriel. In past fires, he had chosen locations that were more remote. As I signaled to turn into the parking lot, I saw to my left a priest standing by the side of the building. Suddenly, Mandy cried out, " _Watch it_!"

I swerved to the left edge of the driveway as a tan colored pickup truck cut me off and drove around us on the wrong side of the driveway. A quick glance showed me the driver was a young white male wearing a dark hoodie.

" _Did you see that jackass?"_ Mandy shouted. "God, he was ugly looking; that was scary." I pulled into the lot and parked.

The priest was still standing where I first saw him, as we got out of our car, he walked toward us.

"That was almost an accident," the priest remarked as he drew close. "May I help you folks? Do you need directions?" he asked. His questions tempted me to respond, "Yeah, Eternal Paradise," but I thought better.

I introduced Mandy and myself, explaining we were with the US Attorney's office in Boston and showed him my credentials. He glanced at them and noticeably appeared nervous.

"I saw that truck was in our parking lot for a while and wasn't moving. I came out to see if the driver needed help, when he saw me coming closer to him, he slowly drove toward the back of the church and then came around front and quickly left. By the way, I'm Father Coyne. the pastor here. What brings the US Attorney to St. Rose?"

I explained we were part of the task force investigating the recent church and St. Dymphna Manor fires and were contacting as many churches as possible to learn if they had experienced any suspicious activities. He was surprised with our efforts.

"We're a small parish and feel we're in a safe place. We get the occasional cars in the lot at night; teenagers drinking or smoking marijuana. We added new outdoor lighting last Fall, that's helped immensely." As I acknowledged what he said he added, "I saw on the news last night the letter from this Gabriel person. From phone calls I've had this morning there are several in our parish very upset by the story. Do you think this Gabriel started the fires? Are we safe here?"

I answered we're considering that and other scenarios but couldn't comment on the investigation. He seemed satisfied with my explanation, we thanked him for his time and left. Our next three stops were at churches further North. Each was an older wooden structure; all were in relatively populated areas. In my mind I ruled them out as targets, but we met with priests at each location anyway, and explained what the police were doing on the investigation.

It pleased me to see we were welcomed by the priests we met, there were very few if any references to the abuse cases involving the Church as being a motive for the fires. I checked my index card and explained to Mandy we had one church left, Saint Erasmus in Preston, which was southeast of us, north of Pittsfield, about a half-hour drive.

As we entered Preston, we saw a street sign for the church directing us to turn left off the main thoroughfare. I noticed the building density was thinning out, more in line with Gabriel's earlier crime scenes.

As we drew closer to the church, I saw it was brick, but had a large wooden annex I guessed was a meeting hall at the rear. To the right of the church was a large three-story wood-frame rectory. Suddenly, Mandy yelled, " _STOP! Pull over quick_!"

I did as she instructed, she grabbed my right arm and said _," Look, it's that truck from before."_ She was right! It was slowly pulling out of the church driveway and turning to head in our direction.

"We need to get his plate number," I said excitedly. "Lean back a little so he can't get a good look at us." As the truck approached, I read off the license plate, Mandy repeated it two or three times to commit it to memory. As the truck passed by my window, I saw the dark-colored hoodie and got a look at the driver. I wouldn't have described him as ugly as Mandy had, but from what little I could see his face was gaunt, pale, almost sickly. The truck picked up speed as it drove away, I sensed the driver hadn't recognized our car from our encounter an hour earlier.

Mandy took a notepad from her bag and noted the Massachusetts plate number. I made a quick U-turn to catch up with the truck. As we reached the main street, I looked both to the right and left, there was no sign of it.

"Daryl? Do you think that was Gabriel?" Mandy asked. "Where did he go?"

I didn't answer, I slowly drove down the street craning my neck to see if the truck had pulled into a parking lot. It hadn't; it had disappeared.

Mandy pulled on my arm in excitement. _"Daryl! I think that was Gabriel! It had to be. What are the odds we would see him at two of the churches we have on our list? It must be him. Can you find out who owns the truck?_ "

I pulled into a grocery store parking lot and called Rich Prince. Thankfully, he answered quickly.

"Daryl! What's up?"

"Rich, this is a longshot, but Mandy and I just spotted a pickup truck at two of the churches we were checking out, an hour and miles apart. We're thinking the driver was doing what we were, checking locations."

"You're kidding! Did you get a plate number?"

"We did," I answered and read it to him. "Wait a few minutes; let me go out to Dispatch and run it. Don't disconnect!"

Shortly, Rich came back on the phone. He sounded out of breath. "Still there Daryl?" I answered we were.

"It's a 2010 Toyota Tacoma pickup, color tan, registered to a Miriam Parker, 202 Spruce Street, Pittsfield. The reg is valid, so is her license. She was born in 1970, that would make her what, forty-nine, I think? She has no outstanding warrants."

"Rich, the driver was a white male, looked about thirty, can you run a query to see if there are other cars or drivers listed at that address?' I asked.

I looked over at Mandy and saw she was already Googling the address on her phone, she turned it so I could see the screen.

"Here's a street scene of the address; it looks like it's an older small house" she said. " _Look! You can see the back of that truck on the side of the driveway!_ The neighborhood looks pretty run down," she observed as she scrolled the image to show more of the street.

"Daryl, Miriam also has a 2017 Nissan Sentra color white listed to her. That reg is also valid. We're not coming up with any other drivers at that address, we'll have to try a street directory query."

I acknowledged him and looked over to see Mandy was ahead of him. She turned her phone toward me. "Look, this says there's a Stefan Parker at that address, he's thirty-one years old." I smiled, shook my head and said, "I'm impressed Inspector Simmons." Her look said it all. She was proud of herself!

I asked Rich to run a license check for a Stefan Parker, in seconds he confirmed he lived at 202 Spruce Street. I couldn't believe we got this lucky. Could Stefan be Gabriel and/or Ultor? I thanked Rich for the information and said I'd call him in a little while.

"Are you going to arrest him?" Mandy asked.

"For what?" I answered. "Other than almost causing an accident this morning he didn't break any laws." She thought about that as I pulled back out onto the street.

"Can't you at least bring him in for questioning? Get a confession out of him?"

"It doesn't work that way, Hon. We need evidence that we don't have yet," I explained as I picked up speed and headed south toward home. She was quiet for a while, until I felt her tap my arm.

"Okay, what can I do to help you get the evidence you need?"

I thought about it for a minute before I answered. "We need to do thorough backgrounds on both Miriam and Stefan. It sounds like they're mother and son, the age difference fits. I need to know if there's a Mister Parker, or if Stefan has brothers or sisters. Who owns the house? Do they work? If so, where? What do they do for a living? Things like that," I explained.

"Geez, that's a lot, but I think I can help, but that will have to wait."

"Wait? Why?"

"Because I'm hungry. Let's stop somewhere and have lunch." Once again, I was at a loss for words; how could a girl so petite be hungry all the time.

I did as I was told, in a few minutes we spotted a small café in Hancock where we grabbed a quick lunch.

As we ate, I thought how lucky we had been. When we started out this morning, we had nothing; now we had a lead to move forward with. We finished our lunch and as we prepared to leave my phone beeped; it was a text from Rich Prince.

I opened the message and saw it was the Motor Vehicle Department license photo of Stefan Parker. For an instant I was shocked. Stefan had a hauntingly eerie face; pale skin, hollow cheekbones, piercing eyes that looked full of hatred. His appearance seemed unearthly. Why would he pose like that for a simple MVD photo? Or did the photographer take the picture at an awkward moment?

Mandy was looking over my shoulder and remarked in shock, _"Ewe! Who's that? He looks creepy."_

"That, my Love, is Stefan Parker."

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the photo before she spoke in a hushed voice.

"No, Daryl, that's Gabriel; I sense it."

# Chapter 11

As we neared Pittsfield, I asked Mandy to set the GPS to direct us to 202 Spruce Street. I wanted to get photos of Stefan Parker's house and was curious if he had returned home after our brief encounters this morning. She quickly set up the address, as we drove closer, I could see we weren't entering the high-rent district. The houses were small, crammed into tiny lots lined up next to each other like dominos. A mix of single and two-family, most showed the signs of neglect over the years; tiny front yards close to the street; rusted bent and twisted chain-link fences; more dirt than grass as lawns. I guessed that a handful were built to establish the neighborhood in the early nineteen hundreds, the rest probably in the forties for the GI's returning home from WW2.

I explained my plan to Mandy; we would make two passes to obtain photos. I handed her my phone and asked her to open the camera app. On our first pass I wanted a video starting a few houses before number 202 and continuing for a distance beyond it. I said I would drive slowly; she needed to keep the phone discretely placed to avoid being obvious and as steady as she could. I cautioned her not to speak as the video was being recorded as I expected I would use the video to brief the Task Force.

I said we would circle the block; on our second pass, I wanted still photos of the right, front and left sides of the house. She nodded her head and said she understood

I watched as she practiced resting the phone against the bottom of the passenger door window frame until it satisfied her it was steady. A few minutes later I turned onto Spruce Street, the house would be on the passenger side of our car.

"It's coming up just ahead," I announced as we slowly passed number 196. "Okay, press record." Parked in the narrow driveway was the tan pickup.

She did as I instructed her, when we passed house number 210, I told her to stop recording. I turned right at the end of the block and pulled to the curb. Leaning over, I watched the playback. It was perfect. I instructed her to save the video as 202 Spruce.

"This is so cool!" she said. "Will you stop in front of the house, so the pictures aren't blurry?" she asked. I told her I would if we saw no one was outside and would see what we were doing.

As I turned onto Spruce Street again, I pulled to the curb to let a car go past. As it did, I saw the three Hispanic male occupants eyeball us before moving on. My thought was they were seeing if we were an unmarked police car, but I was sure Mandy's new Range Rover didn't fit that profile. I pulled out and stopped in front of house 200 for her to take the picture of the right side of 202. We repeated the process until she had captured the three sides of the Parker's house. I looked in the mirror, glanced at both sides around us and proceeded down the street, satisfied our activity didn't draw any other attention. I sped up and made our way back out to Route 7 South.

As I was driving an incoming call message flashed on the application screen; I saw it was Damian Costigan and answered.

"Hey Daryl! Got a minute to talk?" he asked.

"Yeah, Mandy and I are in the car, we may have a breakthrough on the case."

"Yeah? Well so might I. Let me go first since this is on my dime. I got a call from that priest lawyer, Petrini,"

"He invited me to a meeting in Springfield tomorrow at the Diocese compound with him and the Bishop to discuss the news broadcast last night. He said they're concerned the Church is unfairly being drawn into the Pennsylvania abuse allegations."

"Gee, I would think they'd be more concerned with their three dead priests and what we're doing to find out who killed them," I responded.

"He mentioned he needed information for the Saint Dymphna property insurance claim, he seemed to be more interested in that than anything else. His attitude on the phone surprised me; he sounded demanding, as if recovering money for the fire damage was his priority."

"Concerned about insurance? Is money more important than lost lives?" I asked.

"It sounds that way. The reason I'm calling you is to see if there's any chance you can attend the meeting with me."

I looked over at Mandy; she appeared uncertain with what to say; she shrugged her shoulders and nodded, signaling if I had to go, I should.

"What time Boss?" I asked.

"Eleven. I figure I'll leave Boston a little before nine to allow for traffic. I'd like you there Daryl, I plan on serving the Bishop with a subpoena for all Church correspondence related to all the priests who've lived at Saint Dymphna for the past three years."

"Oh man, that will draw the battle lines right out of the gate, don't you think?" I responded, not wanting to second-guess his strategy.

"Exactly! Daryl, I didn't call you again last night after the news broadcast because I knew it would upset you when they mentioned your involvement in the case. Instead, I spent two hours reading about the Boston church sex scandal in 2002, and when I finished, I was furious that it appears nothing has changed. Dammit, I'm the US Attorney, it's part of my responsibility to insure our children and young people are safe, especially when they interact with the Church. I mean it when I say I'll hold the Church accountable if your investigation finds they were complicit in covering up abuse. Dammit, enough is enough!"

I realized Mandy was staring at me, she quickly looked around and motioned for me to speed up. Unconsciously, Damian's battle cry had surprised me so much I had dropped our speed down to thirty-five in a fifty-five zone. I pressed on the gas and brought us back up to sixty.

I recovered and told Damian I would attend the meeting. He thanked me and asked what I meant when I said we may have a breakthrough in the case. I explained our visits to the churches we thought were potential targets of Gabriel, and our two encounters with the hooded man in the pickup truck.

"Damn, that sounds like too much of a coincidence. What's your next move?" he asked. I explained we would quickly do a background investigation on the truck's driver and his family.

"Excellent!" He said in agreement. "This might be the break we needed. Do you still think this Gabriel will burn another church in forty-days?" he asked. I thought for a moment.

"Yeah, but it's now down to twenty-seven days."

"All right, I'll let you go. Bye Mandy!"

Mandy and I were both silent for a few minutes, exchanging occasional blank looks at each other. Finally, she spoke.

"That's a side of Damian I never saw coming," she said. "Do you think something happened that he's not telling you? He sounds angry at the world; you don't think Maggie is sick again, do you?" referring to Damian's wife.

"I don't know Hon, I pray she's okay, but I agree; that wasn't the Damian Costigan I know. It's like he's on a crusade. I'm worried about that." She didn't comment, we were both silent as I drove, my concern for Damian a distraction I had to control. A few minutes later I had another incoming call, this time it was Major Rich Prince.

"Daryl, I took a chance you're finished with your church surveys. Anything come of that besides the pickup truck?"

I explained we were now looking at only one as a potential target, Saint Erasmus in Preston. "It's up north of Pittsfield, it's a brick church but has a large wooden annex and a three-story wood rectory building on the property. That's the second church where we saw the pickup truck."

"That could be his target. Did you get the picture of Stefan I texted?" I answered I did, and the picture surprised me."

"Yeah, me too. Pretty bizarre looking. I have my detectives working on his and Miriam Parker's backgrounds. He doesn't have a criminal record; in fact, his driving record doesn't even have a stop sign violation. Miriam appears to be a single parent; it looks like the two of them live there alone. The house is in her name, a small mortgage balance. We've learned she works for as a claims processor for an insurance company in Springfield. We can't find any employment info on Stefan, past or present. We've checked with the Department of Labor they have nothing on him. We've checked Facebook, Twitter and a couple other social media platforms, it looks like they're not into online socializing. I have my guys on hold until you decide if we should start interviews of their neighbors and her employer."

"Well Rich, if my thinking is correct, Stefan is either Gabriel or Ultor or both. Ultor has a presence on at least one anti-Catholic site on the dark net. That could be his social media outlet. I think if we start interviewing neighbors it might tip off the Parkers that we're looking at them. I want to hold off on the interviews for now."

"You mentioned this Ultor person when we were talking with Monsignor Hennessey, but you never said anything about the dark net. How the hell did you get that information?" he asked.

"Mandy and our mad scientist associate, Special Agent Freddy Morton," I answered. I looked over as I suddenly remembered Mandy was listening to the call. She had a big grin and raising her arms outward as if to embrace him, she silently called out the name "Freddy!"

"Jesus! Is there anything that kid can't do? He amazed us when we worked with him a few weeks ago. That kid is definitely wired differently than we are."

"That he is Rich. He called me the other day and said he was coming down for a visit this weekend. I'll ask Damian if we can use him for a few days, I have something in mind for him to do for us. Anyway, let me go Rich, we're just coming into Stockbridge. By the way, Damian was invited to meet with the Bishop and Monsignor Petrini in Springfield tomorrow at eleven. Damian is going to serve them with a subpoena, and he wants me there."

"A subpoena? For what," he asked, his curiosity obvious.

"All correspondence in the possession of the Diocese related to the priests who've lived at Saint Dymphna's for the past three years."

"Good luck with that, friend. I can't wait to hear how that plays out," he said. and we ended the call.

"Daryl, you didn't tell me Freddy was coming down this weekend," Mandy interjected as she lightly punched my arm. "Why is he coming?"

I laughed and explained he was apparently smitten by a waitress he had met at the Red Lion a few weeks ago and she invited him down for a date this weekend."

" _Good for him!"_ she exclaimed. "He is so much fun. And he was so supportive when I heard you got shot at in Boston. I was a basket case, but Freddy was right there and took control and helped me get through it that night. Do you remember that?" I answered I was painfully aware.

"Speaking of Freddy," I said as I turned into our driveway at home, "When I meet with Damian tomorrow, I'm asking him to loan him to us for a few days. I'm working on a plan in my mind to learn more about Stefan Parker, and I may need some technical assistance that's right up his alley."

"Oh! That would be so cool! We can get to meet his girlfriend, and if you want, they can stay at our house while he's helping you," she suggested. I looked over at her as I pulled into the garage and shut the car off.

"Girlfriend? They both can stay with us?" I asked. "I think this is a first date for them. Aren't you getting a little ahead of things? I'm sure Freddy will want to stay at the Red Lion for some privacy; let's play it by ear, okay?"

"Okay," she answered, her mood noticeably upbeat as we went inside the house.

# Chapter 12

The next morning, I slept until eight, showered, and dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit, white shirt and dark maroon tie. Checking myself in the bathroom mirror, I thought I appeared formal enough for my meeting later this morning with Damian, the Bishop, and his lawyer, Monsignor Petrini. I had never interacted with a Bishop before; the fact I had it in my mind he may be involved in sheltering abusive clergy in his diocese risked starting me off on the wrong foot. I hoped the Church would realize Damian and I weren't going to tiptoe around our mutual problem; Gabriel.

After a light breakfast with Mandy I checked in with Major Rich Prince. He reported his detectives still weren't coming up with any record of employment for Stefan Parker, and in fact their normal background information sources indicated Stefan was completely off the grid. No cell phone, no job, no credit history, not even a record he graduated high school. That was strange, I thought.

The detectives had learned Miriam Parker was Stefan's mother, as it turned out Parker was her maiden name; they found no record she was ever married. Her last reported employment was with Somerset Insurance's Pittsfield office.

Somerset's website disclosed it is a subsidiary of a large multi-line national insurer, prominent within the industry. They specialized in insurance services for municipal, corporate and religious institutional clients.

When I was ready to head out, Mandy was in her office at the computer. I gave her a kiss goodbye, she wished me luck with my meeting. She seemed quiet this morning, I ask if she felt okay, she said she was fine. I glanced at her computer screen and saw she was browsing through articles on clergy sex abuse. I was curious what she was doing, but I didn't say anything. At quarter to ten I left the house for the one-hour drive down to Springfield,

Traffic on the Pike was normal for a weekday late morning, as I pulled into the lot at the Bishop's residence I was impressed. It was a large Victorian mansion adjacent to what I assumed was an administrative building. As I sat there for a few minutes surveying the surroundings I noticed a new black Ford Taurus pull in. With multiple small radio antennas, it was obviously a government car. What surprised me was that Damian was the passenger. He got out and greeted me; his driver was a familiar face from his office, Boston PD Sgt. Mike Coppolo.

Motioning to the Sergeant who came up to shake my hand, Damian explained he asked Mike to drive him so he could spend the travel time reviewing arrest and search warrant applications for a major money laundering operation his office was planning to shut down in the next day or two.

Mike greeted me warmly with a firm handshake. Coming up on forty years with Boston PD, the Sergeant was the long-time city police liaison with the US Attorney\s office. He was considered an expert in the workings of organized crime in the Boston area, having grown up with many of the senior mob figures who were now being replaced by younger less polished dons who were working to build their criminal dominance after years of inter-mob bloodshed.

"Daryl, you're looking good kid! Put on a few pounds I see," he said as he poked my belly. "Helluva a job you've been doing since you left us, but I have to say, you've got to stop getting shot at. It's not good for our public relations," he said with a laugh. I responded I would try and do better and we all headed to the front door. Damian rang the bell.

A housekeeper answered the chimes and showed us into a beautifully furnished parlor. The chairs, tables, lighting were all original Victorian era, well preserved. I was hesitant to sit down for fear I'd put a wrinkle in the velvet upholstery.

Damian and Sgt. Coppolo weren't as reserved as they plopped down on a wingback and loveseat. The housekeeper returned and asked if she could get us some coffee, tea or water, we politely declined. Damian asked to use a restroom, she beckoned him to follow her to show him the way.

As they left the room, Sgt. Coppolo leaned over and quietly said, "Daryl, we need to talk. Keep an eye on Damian. He's not himself today. Something happened yesterday, I don't know what, but whatever it is it's bothering him big time."

"Mike, what's going on?"

"Like I said, I don't know. The girls in the office said two nuns came to the office asking to speak with him. They were in with him for a few minutes when he asked the front desk to tell Kathleen to join them. They said he rarely asks his Executive Secretary to sit in on interviews, but when he does, what they discuss has always been highly confidential. He trusts her more than anyone else in his office."

"Two nuns?" I asked.

"Yeah. The girls told me they were in his office for an hour. When Kathleen showed them out the girls said the nuns both hugged her and thanked her profusely. They couldn't overhear what that was about, but it was highly unusual. After they left, Kathleen went back into Damian's office and they were in there for another half-hour. The girls said Damian didn't leave his office for the rest of the day and said he didn't want to be disturbed. Something's very wrong, Daryl."

I thought about yesterday's phone call from Damian; both Mandy and I had picked up him being angry and upset. I wondered if the nun's visit has something to do with that but didn't share my thoughts with the Sergeant.

Damian came back into the parlor and sat down, a minute later Monsignor Petrini entered the room and introduced himself. He looked younger in person than he did in the newspaper photos Mandy had found, but she was right about one thing; he was a handsome man even when dressed in his priestly garb. He shook hands with Damian first, I was surprised to see the look on the Boss's face showed a hint of contempt; maybe I was wrong. As the Monsignor reached over to shake my hand, I noticed the shiny Rolex on his wrist, his grip was firm, his hands muscular rather than soft as I would have expected from someone who didn't perform manual labor for a living.

"Ah! Attorney Daryl Richardson, your reputation proceeds you Sir;

I've read of your recent exploits." Turning to Damian. the Monsignor remarked, "I see you brought out your big guns, Attorney Costigan."

I noticed Damian was stone-faced and didn't respond. The Monsignor paused for a moment, turned to Sgt. Coppolo and asked, "And you are Sir?"

"I'm their designated driver, Sgt. Mike Coppolo, Boston PD," Mike

answered with a grin as he extended his hand. I caught the crack of a smile on Damian's face.

"Gentlemen, The Bishop is on a call with the Archbishop; I suspect he won't be long. Please, this way to his study, we'll be meeting in there," the Monsignor said as he motioned us to follow.

"Ma'am, if that offer of coffee is still good, I'd love one," the Sergeant said to the housekeeper who had been standing behind the Monsignor.

"Of course, Sergeant, the kitchen is this way." she answered as she

took him by the arm and led him ahead of us. As he walked past us, I saw Damian gave the Sergeant a quick, furtive nod. These two are up to something I thought to myself.

The Bishop's study was beautifully furnished. Cream colored walls, dark pine built-in bookcases lined two walls; each shelf packed tightly with volumes of what I presumed were liturgical history. The Monsignor motioned for us to take a seat in the two plush wingback chairs staged in front of the Bishop's desk.

We had no sooner sat when a side door opened and Bishop George Francis entered, Damian and I rose from our chairs. His attire was regal for lack of a better description; a dark red mitre covered the back of his head, neatly trimmed grey hair combed to the side, a starched black half-cape trimmed with deep red roping covered his shoulders and chest, a large gold colored crucifix hung from his neck.

"Damian my brother!" he exclaimed as he came over and gave the Boss a warm embrace. Damian took his hand in greeting.

"Your Excellency! You're looking fit, Georgie," Damian said as he stepped back and admired the attire. I was shocked. These two knew each other. How? Why hadn't Damian told me.? I looked over at the Monsignor, he also seemed taken aback by the familiarity between the two men.

The Bishop extended his hand motioning us to sit, he went around and sat at his desk; the Monsignor pulled a chair over to sit at his right side. The Bishop looked at me with a pleasant grin.

"Mr. Richardson, I gather Damian didn't tell you he and I grew up together in South Boston. We played baseball every summer as kids, then in high school we were on the team that won the State championship!" We had some good times together."

Damian turned to look at me. "Growing up he always said he wanted to be a priest, in high school his nickname was 'The Bishop!' Well my friend, you finally made the big leagues," he said as he looked at the Bishop.

"Alas I have, and it's with a heavy heart that we must sit and discuss matters we both find so distressing," The Bishop replied.

"Excellency, Daryl is leading the criminal investigation of the St. Dymphna fire for my office. My personal and professional sympathies to you for the loss of those in your spiritual family."

"Thank you for your kind thoughts" the Bishop replied. Looking over at the Monsignor for a moment he said, "We saw the news broadcast that showed the letter from this Gabriel. Are you having any success identifying him?"

Damian looked over at me. "Bishop Francis, we are working tirelessly to narrow our efforts to focus on one person who lives locally. We have an urgent need to gather information to develop a motive for the fire," I said. As I finished speaking, I looked over at the Monsignor and saw he was keenly interested.

"As you gentlemen can imagine, there is much talk among our parishioners that the fire had something to do with the recent Pennsylvania disclosures of alleged clerical abuse. That is deeply troubling to me," the Bishop said. Before I could respond, Damian interrupted.

"Excellency, we need to know if St. Dymphna Manor was sheltering any priests who have been accused of abuse." The bluntness of the statement surprised me. The Monsignor appeared as if he was going to speak, the Bishop raised his hand to stop him.

"Damian, to address me as Your Excellency is not necessary my dear friend. It's been a long time since anyone called me George, let alone Georgie, and the words give me the comfort I seem to have lost over the years. The Monsignor and I have spoken at length with the Archbishop, we've shared our concerns the exhaustive work we've done to identify any hint of improper conduct among our local clergy will be brushed aside by allegations rooted in events that happened many years ago outside our Archdiocese." Damian and I didn't respond, my quick glance over at the Monsignor caught him shaking his head as if he was subconsciously saying "Don't do it."

"Yes, over the years, we have accepted priests for respite and rehabilitation. In my years here, I've been very protective of our parishioners, especially the children. To deny the Church acted improperly in the past when dealing with these matters is deceitful."

He continued, "I share the anguish of the victims of abuse, their families, and this stain upon the Church. With the Lord's guidance I will not shirk my responsibilities." He reached into his desk drawer and removed a thick, sealed manila envelope, placing it on his desk The Monsignor looked as if he was going to have a stroke.

"Damian, as we discussed last evening this contains the Church documents you're seeking," the Bishop said as he slid the envelope across his desk. "Your Excellency," the Monsignor interrupted as he put his hand on the envelope. "We discussed this. I gave you my legal opinion this disclosure is not proper."

The Bishop raised his hand to silence him. He looked at the Monsignor and said, "The Archbishop and I conferred with Cardinal Ramey. He shares our grave concern that three churches and St. Dymphna Manor have been burned by a deeply disturbed individual. Three of our clerical brethren are dead as a result. This Gabriel has promised more fires to come, he is at war with our Church. We have given our sacred vow to defend our faith, this disclosure is proper." The Monsignor's face reddened with anger, but he didn't challenge the decision.

"This may make it more palatable," Damian said as he removed a document from his suit coat pocket. "It's an administrative subpoena for the records in that envelope. I included a Court order that the contents of the records are sealed from public disclosure. You have been properly served as Attorney for the Diocese."

The Monsignor took the subpoena and sat reading it in silence. I was also quiet having heard the Bishop let it slip he and Damian had spoken last evening. What was Damian keeping from me?

"Gentlemen," the Bishop said as he stood and looked at his wristwatch, I noticed it was a Timex. "The Monsignor and I have a meeting with the funeral home in half an hour. The Archbishop will be leading a requiem high mass for our lost brethren on Saturday at the Cathedral. You are more than welcome to attend."

"As he walked us to the door, the Bishop stopped and rested both hands on my shoulders "Mr. Richardson may God protect and guide you as you enter into battle with Satan's minion Gabriel." He stood back as he and the Monsignor both made the sign of the cross. I could feel my legs shaking as a chill ran down my spine.

We found Sgt. Coppolo sitting in the parlor reading the Catholic Transcript. He folded the paper and stood as we entered. "All set?" he asked, Damian nodded yes.

Monsignor Petrini turned and told the Bishop he had an errand to run and he would meet him at the funeral home. We shook hands, he walked outside with us and as we headed to our cars, we saw him get into a new dark blue Mercedes GTS.

Damian stopped me with a tug to my arm. "Chastity and obedience," he uttered.

"What?" I asked.

"A priest's vows upon ordination; chastity and obedience."

I looked over at the Mercedes and replied, "That baby lists at over one-hundred thousand base price. I thought poverty was one of their vows."

Damian stood and stared at the car as the Monsignor backed out of the parking space. "Most people don't know, but diocesan priests don't make a vow of poverty. They can own property like real estate, a car, and are allowed to manage their own finances. Stick around though friend, and don't be surprised if he strikes out on those vows he did promise." I was at a loss for words.

I had driven for about ten minutes following Damian and Sgt. Coppolo toward the Mass Pike when Damian called my cellphone. He said he wanted to buy us lunch and to follow him to a diner they had passed on the way into Springfield. I agreed and a few minutes later we were sitting in the Route 66 Diner, a throwback to the nineteen fifties. We all ordered burger specials with iced tea. After a few minutes of silence, Damian asked the Sergeant for a summary of his conversation with the housekeeper.

"She turned out to be a chatterbox," he explained as he wiped a drip of ketchup from his lip. "Monsignor Petrini isn't one of her favorites, he's a player. He has a dispensation from saying daily mass, he lives in a condo in Springfield that she described as a singles paradise; pool, gym, sauna. He drives a very expensive sports car and rarely eats his meals at the rectory. She said he spends most of his time away from the Diocese saying he's working on managing the properties the Church owns."

Damian was silent, taking in the report. The look on his face told me there was a reason he wasn't keen on the priest lawyer, but I didn't think it appropriate to ask him about it in front of the Sergeant.

"What's her opinion of the Bishop?" Daman asked.

"She adores him!" the Sergeant answered quickly. "She said she's been the head housekeeper for more over thirty years and he has been the most dedicated Bishop she's worked for. He's kind, polite, she said he's the real deal!"

"That's good to hear, Mike. Thanks!" the Boss said as he took a large bite of his burger. This was set up I thought to myself. For some reason Damian was checking out Monsignor Petrini. I didn't pursue my thoughts; that could wait.

As we left the diner and headed to our cars Damian waved me over and handed me the envelope from the Bishop. It surprised me he hadn't opened it to see the contents. "This was your idea, I hope it helps you," he said as he got into his car before I could ask about his private conversation with the Bishop.

On the way back to Stockbridge I pulled off the Pike and dropped into the Lee State Police Barracks to see Major Rich Prince. My visit surprised him. I explained the visit to the Bishop and showed him the sealed envelope.

"Well, let's open the damn thing and see who's been hiding out at Saint Dymphna Manor," he said motioning for me to open it. It didn't take long to learn that in the past three years two priests who had been credibly found to have molested children had been transferred in from Southwest churches. Information on a third priest, Fr. Albert Rastone, who was killed in the recent fire, was like striking the mother lode.

Ordained thirty-two years ago, his first parish assignment was outside of Spokane, Washington. Within the first year he was reprimanded for his inappropriate socialization with a fifteen-year-old girl. His Bishop referred him for a psychological evaluation and placed him on a six-month leave of absence for therapy. He was subsequently reassigned to a different parish within the Diocese.

A year later the Diocese suspended his priestly duties after he was accused of impregnating an eighteen-year-old church volunteer worker. Several secret internal Diocesan documents showed the girl's parents sued after she kept the baby, a boy who was born seven months later. Letters in the file stated the paternity issue wasn't credibly established as Fr. Rastone admitted inappropriate sexual contact but adamantly denied having sex with her. Blood tests performed on the baby and priest didn't establish paternity beyond a reasonable doubt

A summons and complaint prepared by a Spokane law firm was in his file, the names of the complainant and the newborn were redacted. They settled the case out of court, stipulating psychological care for the mother and an annuity to provide for the child's support until he reached age twenty-one. The Church agreed to punitive damages wherein the child's mother would a receive a modest monthly stipend from the diocese for twenty-one years. Father Rastone subsequently was assigned to a Diocese in Pennsylvania.

I wondered to myself why the Church would agree to such an expensive settlement so long ago especially if there was a question of paternity. It begged the questions why the priest wasn't defrocked and were there other skeletons, or babies, in Father Albert's past?

I re-read the documents looking for something to help me understand the Church's position As I read each page, I was handing them off to Rich Prince for his review. He sat shaking his head page after page.

"Daryl, we need to learn who this woman is and if she's still living, where." he said.

"Yeah. Easier said than done, but we can give it a shot." I responded.

Rich quickly scanned through the paperwork and held up some pages for me to take a closer look at.

"These are insurance company payments to a doctor for psychological therapy sessions. It says here Thomas Hennessey PhD referred Fr. Albert Rastone for further treatment by a psychiatrist. Daryl, Thomas Hennessey PhD is Monsignor Hennessey!"

I looked at the paperwork. One session every week with the insurance paying two hundred fifty dollars per session to Redemption Counselling Associates. The course of treatment was documented as occurring over a six-month period.

"Daryl, look at the name of the paying insurance company. Somerset" Rich said as he looked at me. The name wasn't registering with me.

'Daryl, our background on Miriam Parker found she's a claims representative for Somerset in Pittsfield." I couldn't believe I had missed that. Rich quickly went through the papers now scattered across his desk.

"Look," he said excitedly. "Here's another priest sent for therapy, this time for alcohol abuse. Again, paid to Redemption by Somerset Insurance. This goes back three years ago, but all this shows that St. Dymphna Manor has been a waystation for troubled priests for some time." he said waving his hand across the pile. "Who the hell is Redemption?" he asked.

I took out my notebook and wrote the priest's name and Redemption Counselling for Mandy on the longshot online records would identify who they were.

Rich and I went through two dozen more reports, all showed expensed payments made by Somerset Insurance for medical care. I sat back in the office chair and stretched my neck. It seemed that St. Dymphna was primarily a retirement and hospice center for the Diocese, but they occasionally took in others with behavioral issues. I wondered if Bishop Francis had read what was in the documents he had given to Damian. If he did, why would he give that up so easily? And what else was he and Damian keeping from me? I didn't have the answers.

# Chapter 13

As I got back onto the Pike, I decided to visit Monsignor Hennessey at the Saint Francis Retreat house in West Stockbridge. I thought if I told him the Bishop had turned over the records of priests staying at St. Dymphna, he may be more inclined to talk about his counselling work. As I got off the exit, I first had one stop to make.

Fortunately, the Berkshires are home to many top shelf liquor stores and a stop at my favorite in Stockbridge didn't fail me. In exchange for two hundred dollars I walked out with a bottle of vintage Midleton Irish Whiskey, nicely packaged in a thin oak case. After what he'd recently gone through, I wanted the Monsignor to enjoy a taste of Ireland for many evenings to come

I pulled into Saint Francis a little after three and explained to the receptionist I was here to visit my friend the Monsignor. She suspiciously eyed the canvas bag I was carrying by the strap; I had tucked a newspaper inside to camouflage what I suspected would be considered contraband. My ruse was successful, she said the Monsignor was resting in the sunroom and directed me down the hall. As I entered, I was glad to see the Monsignor was alone, my visit surprised him.

"I come bearing gifts, but I don't want to get caught rum-running," I said quietly as I partially removed the whiskey box for him to see the contents.

He smiled, and with a glimmer in his now wide eyes he said, "Confessions are normally heard on Saturdays, but I'll make an exception today. You are absolved my Son."

I sat across from him, the sun beating down through the large windows gave the room a warm, comfortable feeling. Suddenly, inexplicably, I felt relaxed. I explained Damian and I had met with the Bishop and Monsignor Petrini, and the Bishop had turned over personnel records of the priests at St. Dymphna. He was surprised by my statement.

"The Bishop has my respect and admiration for his decision," he said, "But I'm surprised Monsignor Petrini didn't object."

"He did," I answered, "but the Bishop was firm in his decision. He remarked he had conferred with the Archbishop and Cardinal and they agreed to the release. He said they believed Gabriel was at war with the Church." Monsignor Hennessey nodded his understanding as he struck a contemplative pose. After a minute he spoke.

"Daryl, I fear you don't fully realize what you're dealing with in your investigation.

"I don't understand, Monsignor," I said as I leaned forward in my chair.

"There are forces at work against the Church; external and internal," he said. "The Bishop phoned me last evening and we talked for a good while. He gave me his blessing to assist you in your work, to provide guidance on what I believe is Gabriel's psyche." The Monsignor's statement caught me completely off guard.

"Daryl, the message from Gabriel shown on the television news used an obscure phrase from the Book of Jude. It's in the New Testament where he writes about the decadence of Sodom and Gomorrah. To have knowledge of such a passage, and after seeing the delicate artwork he added to the scapular, that suggests to me Gabriel is very intense, very precise in his behaviors, and very disturbed."

"Monsignor, given that assessment, now do you think he will stick to his forty days between fires timeline?" He didn't immediately answer, his look out the window made me suspect he was seeking divine guidance.

"My Son, Gabriel is controlling us; you, me, the Church. We sit passively and await his next attack against us." he pronounced. "Yes, if we allow, he will strike against us on the fortieth day. Perhaps now is the time for you to take that control from him; defeat his rage before he sins again."

The Monsignor and I chatted for the next twenty minutes, he explained at length his concern if I put pressure on Gabriel, he might abandon his timeline and set another fire before I could put measures in place to stop him.

He also explained that he thought Gabriel was one individual, suffering from a multiple personality disorder. When he finished, I asked, "Monsignor, are you saying Gabriel is insane?" He paused deep in thought before answering.

"I believe he's seriously mentally ill, and obviously very dangerous."

The Monsignor's warning registered with me, but I needed more from him than a broad psychological label.

"Monsignor, among the documents the Bishop provided were records that indicate you performed a psychological assessment of Father Rastone and referred him for therapy. Is that true?"

My question took him aback, and for an instant I saw his face flush red. "Yes, I performed an assessment and recommended he receive more intensive therapy. I'm a licensed psychotherapist and had to make the referral."

"And who did you refer him to?"

"I forwarded my assessment to Monsignor Petrini at his direction. He assured me he would follow-up. Are you suggesting I did something improper?"

"No, not at all, Monsignor. I'm just wondering why Monsignor Petrini would become involved."

"I assume he was acting at the Bishop's direction," he responded. "Without comprising patient/practitioner confidentiality, Fr. Rastone was seriously in need of further professional help."

"Monsignor, can you tell me where Fr. Rastone had been assigned before he arrived at Saint Dymphna's?"

He looked at me with a puzzled look on his face, not immediately answering. "You already know that answer," he finally said, his voice barely audible.

"I do?" I asked, not following him.

"Yes. The other churches that burned. He was placed at each one for short assignments."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Are you telling me Father Rastone was assigned to the churches in Rhinebeck, Kingstone and South Prescott?"

"Yes. Our Lady of Perpetual Light in Rhinebeck was where I met with him for my assessment. Monsignor Petrini drove me there. I kept tabs on the Father's assignments and learned he was moved to St. Anthony's and later St. Michaels before he arrived at the Manor."

"Monsignor, are you telling me Gabriel knew where Father Rastone was being moved around?"

"No, I'm telling you each of the churches he served at was set afire."

I leaned back into my chair and processed what he was telling me. I didn't see this coming and was in disbelief things had come together as they had. This wasn't skilled detective work; this was pure luck. I was on a roll and went for one last question.

"Monsignor, was Fr. Rastone assigned to any other churches you haven't spoken of?" His pause to answer caused me to unconsciously hold my breath.

"Yes. St. Erasmus in Preston."

I almost fell out of my chair! This was the second church where Mandy and I had seen Stefan Parker's truck. I couldn't believe we had called this right. St. Erasmus was Gabriel's next target. It took me a moment to compose myself. I sat forward in the chair and looked him in the eyes.

"Monsignor, why didn't you tell me all this before?"

He reflected for a moment before speaking. "I was bound to silence by the Bishop. I serve the Lord at his direction."

I didn't want to go down the path of Church politics; I chose not to pursue the issue, especially since it was clear the Bishop had a change of heart and allowed the Monsignor to now speak freely. In the back of my mind I wondered what had brought on the sudden change.

"Monsignor, what you've told me today is immensely helpful to my investigation. Is there anything else I need to know?"

Before he could answer an aide came into the room carrying a tray with two plastic cups, cans of ginger ale and a small container of crushed ice. I suspected the receptionist had deduced I had brought in alcohol.

"Excuse the interruption Monsignor, we thought you and your guest might care for some refreshments," she said as she cleared the top of a nearby side table and set the tray down. He smiled and thanked her, she bowed politely and left.

The Monsignor looked down at the gift I had brought him and glanced at his wristwatch. "I suggest we sample your gift," he said as he reached inside to lift the bottle from the box. I stood and helped him, opening it and pouring a healthy dose of Ireland's finest blend into the cups he had freshened with ice, handing one to him. He raised his cup in a silent toast and took a long slow sip of the emerald nectar. After he swallowed, his boyish grin assured me he was pleased with my selection.

He set his glass on a side table and reached down to a well-worn leather satchel that was lying beside his chair. Reaching inside he pulled out a piece of paper. "I want you to see this. Gabriel sent this to me a few days after the fire at the Manor." I took the paper and as I unfolded it, I saw it was the same handwriting as Gabriel's letters to the Church and police.

I am Gabriel.

I have no mercy for the past. I am the burden she has borne for thirty years. I have survived the endless blame she has put on me for her station in life. It wasn't my fault; I tried to tell her how she had hurt me. She screamed when I first told her. She shamed me, cursed, beat me until I submitted to her command to tell no one. I was the progeny of what he had made her; she knew I wasn't lying.

I have been in her room when she is afar and read the archives she secretly brings from her work. She hides them from eyes not hers. The scrolls call out their names, their sins, records of offerings to those who treat sins as sickness. I seek the places the sinners have been hidden, sheltered from judgement and punishment. I will punish them and those of you who shield them.

I have prayed God will listen and speak the words to guide me. Finally, my cry has been heard. I have waited all my life. Now is the time to deliver my rage.

The note was something I wasn't expecting, and my first impulse was to be angry the Monsignor didn't see its significance. It was a threat; directed at him. How could a man obviously as intelligent as he not realizes that? I checked my anger before I spoke.

I leaned over to him and asked, "Monsignor, this is obviously a threat against not only the Church, but you personally. Do you understand that?" His look told me he did, but his response confused me.

"My son, I am almost eighty years old. I have devoted my life to serving the Lord, and I have thought a great deal about this letter. I have no shame or regret for my actions, only sadness Gabriel feels I had sheltered my brother priest. I helped him confront the demon that dwelled within him; Father Albert confessed his sins to me, and I administered his penance to seek the counsel he needed to purge his mind and soul. I have done the Lord's work. He will protect me from Gabriel's rage."

I sat back in my chair and took a slow draw of the whiskey; my mind raced to find the right words to respond.

"Monsignor, who else has seen this letter?"

"No one, only you. This is Gabriel's confession to me, and I pray the Lord understands I have shown it to you to keep you safe and I have not violated the sacredness of confession."

I believed the Monsignor had prayed for guidance before he showed me the letter, but his worry the Lord would think less of him was minimal to my thought the letter was a critical evidence. Gabriel had admitted his guilt.

I tried to quickly think this through. I couldn't wait for Gabriel to act, I needed to provoke him to make a mistake. In theory it could work, but I needed to devise a plan that gave us absolute control over his actions. I couldn't do that sitting in this sunroom enjoying the warmth. I looked at the Monsignor, he appeared serene; he had imparted his wisdom, now it was up to me to use it.

"Monsignor, this letter is a critical piece of evidence. I need to take possession of it," I explained tentatively as I waited for his response. To my surprise he nodded his understanding. Reaching down into the satchel he retrieved the envelope used for mailing. I immediately saw it was postmarked at Pittsfield and the address was here at the St. Francis Retreat House. How could Gabriel know so quickly that was where he had been relocated? This was making no sense.

I stood up and put the letter and envelope in my shirt pocket. As I reached over to shake his hand the Monsignor smiled and pointed to the bottle at his feet. "Before you go Lad, I think I could use a fresh breath of Ireland." I freshened his drink, thanked him for his time and left.

When I got home, Mandy was busy in the kitchen putting together a salad. As she worked, I explained how the meeting went with the Bishop,

his release of personnel records of the priests living at St. Dymphna, and my visit to Rich Prince leading us to discover Miriam Parker could be the source of information on the priests residing there. I deliberately held from her the information about Father Rastone being named in a paternity suit thirty years ago.

"Daryl, that's huge if Mrs. Parker had access to the medical records of the priests, isn't it?" she asked.

I answered it was, but before I could elaborate, she continued. "If that's such a big clue, now why can't you bring her son in for questioning? _I know he's Gabriel. I know it!"_

I told her about my visit to Monsignor Hennessey. After I explained Fr. Rastone had been assigned to each of the churches that burned she was shocked.

When I told her the last of his assigned churches was St. Erasmus, she yelled, _"WHAT?_ _Are you telling me you were actually able to predict where Gabriel would strike next?"_

"I mean, what are the odds that we'd stumble on the Parker guy like we did. I can't believe you were right about this! _How did you do that?"_

"I'm beginning to believe in divine intervention," I answered softly as the best response I could muster.

"Daryl, you've got to bring Stefan Parker in for questioning. I mean now! You don't have any other choice."

I explained Monsignor Hennessey's assessment Gabriel might be schizophrenic and that was a strong factor for me to consider. If I questioned him now, I would be dealing with at least two or maybe more personalities. This was out of my league.

"Mandy, I'm pretty sure Stefan is Gabriel, and we'll find that he's mentally ill, actually, insane. If we were to get a confession from him and arrest him with no other evidence I could see where his confession could be held inadmissible in Court. I'm not saying it would, I'm saying could be. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I asked.

She took a bite of a piece of carrot she had been cutting for the salad and flatly said, "No. I don't understand. Are you saying because he's insane you have to actually watch him set fire to another church before you arrest him?"

"Not exactly Hon, but you're not too far off track. Gabriel's been terrorizing us with his letters. I need a plan to start monitoring his movements and catch him in the act preparing to start another fire. "Maybe you should look at this," I added as I took Gabriel's letter from my pocket. "This was mailed to Monsignor Hennessey at his new residence a few days after the fire."

She read the letter in silence. I saw her face flush before it turned pale, her hand shook as she handed it back to me.

"My God, this Gabriel is sick. I mean, he just threatened the Monsignor, didn't he?" I answered yes, and said I was concerned for his safety.

"Daryl you have to tell someone about this. I mean the State Police should know, and you need to tell the people who run the nursing home. My God! What if he burns down that place?" Her questions heightened my apprehension that if I didn't act now, I was placing others' lives at risk. I needed to call Damian.

I went into the family room and looked through the documents we received from the Bishop. The more I looked at Father Rastone's file, in Gabriel's mind his death could logically be connected to the paternity allegation thirty years ago.

Now I had information the other church fires also had a link to him. But how could I establish the link to Stefan Parker?

I looked at my watch and saw it was almost four-thirty. If I was lucky, Damian would be in his office. I called, he answered quickly.

I explained among the files the Bishop had released was documentation that Father Rastone was accused in a paternity case and explained the inconclusive blood test and settlement agreement in the lawsuit brought by the baby's mother.

"Boss, the plaintiff's name has been redacted but not that of the law firm she used or the date of the complaint. It was filed in the State of Washington Spokane Superior Court in March nineteen-ninety." I gave him the docket number.

"So where are you going with this Daryl? And what do you need from me?"

"I have a thought we could ask the FBI office in Spokane to track down the firm, Haddam and Montano, and see if they're still in business. If they're not, the Court should have the original complaint on microfilm. Ultimately, from either source I want the name of the woman who sued the Church to learn of any tie in to support that Father Rastone was Gabriel's target at St. Dymphna's."

"That's a real Hail Mary Daryl and was a long time ago. I'll pass this on to Steve Foreman, he's the new Agent-In-Charge assigned to my office."

"Please do, Boss; and make sure he knows this is a high priority related to a triple homicide and church fires."

"He's up to speed on your case, Daryl. I'll go down the hall to see him when we get off this call."

"Great, thanks. If by any stroke of luck, the FBI can get the woman's name please have Steve instruct them to see if she filed any other Court actions after this one."

"What do you want that for?"

"I'm thinking after the settlement with the Church she may have filed to change her name."

"What?! That's an incredible stretch!"

"I know, but I'm trying to cover all the bases in this case," I said in my defense. "We've just been marking time. I need to move the case forward and I need to be sure I know who the players are."

"Yeah, and I'm pulling out my hair, what little I have left," he shot back. "Anything else I can help you with since you seem to think my office is on retainer for you?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it, Gabriel sent Monsignor Hennessey a letter a few Days after the St. Dymphna fire."

" _What?"_ he responded in a raised voice.

"Yeah. The letter contains an admission he's sought out the priests he feels were sheltered by the Church and he makes a threat for more punishment, specifically to those who sheltered them."

"Holy Christ Daryl! This Gabriel is insane. Do you have the letter?"

"I do, it was mailed from Pittsfield and is handwritten just like all the others."

"All right then. All we have is this Parker kid as a suspect. The only hard evidence you have is him showing up at two of the churches you identified as possible targets. That's not enough. You need to move on him quickly, we can't let this get ahead of us. What's your plan?"

I need to borrow Freddy Morton again, for about a week."

"Hey! He asked me for a three-day weekend leave to visit down there. What's going on with you two?"

"Not me, he's coming down to see a girl, but don't tell him I told you that!"

"Listen friend, if this gets serious, she better be willing to move to Boston. As off-the-wall he can be at times, I need him here."

"Time will tell Boss! At any rate, please ask him to call me. I need info on GPS tracking equipment and I also need to see a recent search warrant affidavit to learn what I need to establish probable cause."

"I don't know what you're up to down there, but it better be by the book. Judge Taylor will be the one signing off on any search warrants and from what you've told me I don't think you're even close to getting a warrant to authorize GPS tracking.""

"I know Boss, that's why I need to see a warrant application he's already approved."

"All right; let me get started on my errands for you. Keep me posted, you hear me?

"Will do, thanks!"

I called Rich Prince on his cellphone and laid out my plan to focus on Stefan Parker as our prime suspect. I wanted to put a GPS tracker on his truck and explained Freddy Morton was coming down to help me with the search warrant and installation once it was approved. I also explained my request to the FBI to track down the name of the woman who filed the paternity suit against the late Father Rastone.

"Daryl, are you serious? Do you actually believe he was the fire target?"

I explained my visit to Monsignor Hennessey and his disclosure Fr. Rastone had been assigned to each of the churches that burned.

"Sweet Jesus, Daryl! That's incredible. How did you get the Monsignor to give that up?"

I explained the Monsignor had told me the Bishop called him and authorized the disclosure.

"Man! I have this sick feeling the Bishop knows more about these fires than he's telling us," Rich offered.

"I think you're right," I answered, "but I can't get a grip on his motivation. I sense the Bishop and Damian both know more than they're telling us, and I have a gut feeling that the Church's lawyer Monsignor Petrini is somehow a player in all this."

"Well, I told you the Church's insurance company has contacted us about the fires. They claim there were some building code issues that may have contributed to the damage. You think that's an angle we need to focus on?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think your detectives should meet with the insurance company and get more of the details. And speaking of your detectives, did they come up with anything about Troopers being sent to St. Dymphna for disturbance calls?"

"Not yet, but I'll tell them to get on it. I had to pull them out to work with Major Crimes on some new leads in a cold case double homicide in Peabody. Daryl, are you absolutely sure Stefan Parker is Gabriel?"

"Mandy says she knows it's him," I answered with a laugh.

"Well, case closed then! Talk with you tomorrow."

I went out to the kitchen and saw Mandy had prepared two small filet mignons for our dinner. With generous helpings of whipped potatoes, salad, and warm rolls, I ate like a hungry bear just emerged from hibernation. As she watched me eat, I kept waiting for her to bring up our building a home gym. To my relief she didn't seize the moment.

"Hon, tomorrow I'd like you to go with me to check out the Parker house in Pittsfield again. Are you up for a ride?"

"Again? Why?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face.

I explained Stefan Parker was now our prime suspect, and I wanted to get a court order to covertly install a GPS tracker on his truck. I caught her smile and knew she was thinking, "It's about time you listened to me."

"You can do that?" she asked as she dug into her salad. I told her it required a search warrant, that it was something Freddy and his partner had done for Damian's office in many other cases. I wanted to take another look at the house and neighborhood to see if we had missed anything the other day.

"You have the video I took, don't you? Isn't that enough?" she asked, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

I told her the video came out great, but I needed to sit and watch the house for a while. She said she would go with me and didn't speak further about the case. After we finished eating as I was helping her clean off the table she asked, "So, when are we going to have a serious talk about that home gym, Daryl?"

"After we finish this case," I answered. As I walked away, I glanced

down at my waistline; "So, I've got a little paunch, so what?" I thought to myself.

Early in the evening Freddy Morton called to tell me Damian had assigned him to work with me for the week and told him to save his vacation days. I explained I wanted to electronically surveil a suspect's truck; he said he'd bring down the equipment he'd need and some affidavits for search warrants that were granted in the past. He added he'd be in Stockbridge late tomorrow afternoon. We agreed I would pick up all his expenses at the Red Lion; he thanked me and gave me the license plate of the unmarked fleet car he'd be driving, a 2018 Chevy Impala. I would pre-register him in the morning.

"Hey Daryl! I want you and Mandy to meet my friend Heather this week, maybe we could go out for dinner. Just remember, I told her I work for the government, but didn't say what I did. As I told you, she thinks I'm with the CIA, so let's go with that. Okay?"

"Freddy, your secret is safe with us, I assured him. See you this weekend."

# Chapter 14

The next morning Mandy and I were up early and after breakfast we were on the road to do our surveillance of 202 Spruce Street. Enroute we stopped at the Red Lion and I booked Freddy's room for a week. As I drove into Pittsfield, I recalled the drive-by once-over we had the other day when we were on Spruce Street. The carload of Hispanic males that checked us out troubled me that they were focused on traffic on the street. The neighborhood wasn't upscale, I couldn't imagine them cruising by to case a house to break into; my guess was their drive-by had to be about drugs.

Turning onto Spruce Street we saw it was garbage collection day. Banged up trashcans were on the edge of the road, some tipped over, others had garbage hanging from the edges and strewn on the cracked concrete sidewalk. I noticed a break in the debris and pulled to the curb, two houses before the Parker's address. I saw there were no trash cans on the sidewalk in front. Stefan Parker's truck was in the driveway.

As we sat and watched, further down the street on the left I noticed activity that caught my attention. Within a ten-minute period, I saw four cars pull to the curb, each time a male subject appeared from alongside the house and approached the drivers. After a brief encounter the cars pulled away. I had no doubt; this was drug sale activity. Unconsciously I was so focused on what I was watching, I hadn't said anything to Mandy. I looked over and saw she had a nervous look on her face.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked quietly, nodding toward the activity down the street.

"Yeah. It's drug sales, and from what I'm seeing, business is brisk this morning," I answered.

"Daryl let's get out of here, I'm scared," she replied as she pushed my arm up to the steering wheel. "I mean it Daryl. I'm scared."

"Okay Hon, relax," I said as I pulled away from the curb, made a U-turn, and slowly drove away. This neighborhood was rough, and I wondered to myself how Freddy Morton could get in and place the GPS tracker on Stefan Parker's truck without being detected. On the way back home, I called Rich Prince and filled him in on the suspected drug house. He said he would call the local PD and pass the information on.

"Daryl, we found the reports you wanted on the Troopers' calls for help at St. Dymphna's. This Father Rastone apparently had some serious mental issues going on. The reports say the staff needed help to control his violent behaviors and resistance to take his medications. Apparently, he was named in two lawsuits against the Church for sexual assault of minors and was claiming he was suffering from post-traumatic stress as a result," the Major reported. "The Troopers wrote that after talking him down he became compliant and they provided the requested help without incident. They had three calls to help with him over a three-month period. I printed out hard copies of the reports for you." I thanked Rich for the info and said I'd call him later to discuss this further and headed back to Stockbridge.

After we were back home for an hour, I had another call from Rich Prince. He reported he just received the ATF Forensic Lab report on the accelerant swabs from the St. Dymphna fire.

The lab reported in addition to gasoline, there were traces of potassium perchlorate and magnesium; substances commonly found in road safety flares. That was it, I thought. High intensity; instant flame. Now we needed to learn what was used as an ignitor.

Changing subjects, he said the local PD had previously received a tip about drug trafficking on Spruce street and two of their undercover officers had made several heroin buys from the location.

"Daryl, the PD is gearing up for a SWAT assisted raid on the house. They have information it's the headquarters of a local gang. Reportedly there's four gang members living there, all are believed to be heavily armed. The PD asked our State Emergency Services Unit Team to assist on the raid they're planning to execute in the next day or two. I'm curious to see how the neighborhood will react when that goes down."

"Well Rich, that may work to our advantage. Maybe we can arrange to have a couple of your detectives go along on the raid and see if they can get any info on the Parkers from the neighbors. I agree, the raid will draw spectators."

"Makes sense. I'll touch base with the Pittsfield Narco Unit Commander and see what I can put together," he offered," In the interim, I've assigned two of my detectives to work up background information on Redemption Counselling. I'm curious to see who's behind it and what arrangements they have to provide counselling to impaired clergy."

"Okay, great thanks," I answered. I too was curious how involved the counselling service was with the priests at St. Dymphna's.

"One last thing Daryl. I got another phone call from the insurance adjuster who's handling the claims at St. Dymphna's and the Saint Anthony's fire in Rhinebeck. The buildings were ruled total losses, the insurance coverage for both is close to eight million dollars. The adjuster agreed to meet with us to discuss some concerns he has with the claims."

"That's a lot of money Rich. Damian Costigan told me last week Monsignor Petrini called him looking for a police report to start the insurance claims process and he seemed more interested in that than the three priests killed in the fires."

"I can't put my finger on it, Daryl, but my gut is telling me this Monsignor Petrini is shady. I just get that feeling."

"Funny you say that Rich. Damian feels the same way. Time will tell, I guess."

I went to check on Mandy and saw she was curled up under a quilt on the sofa in the family room. She had a look of distress about her.

"You okay Hon?"

She looked up at me, I could see her eyes were glassy, almost as if she was in a daze. She didn't answer. I went over and sat down next to her, taking her hand in mine. "Hon, are you sick? You don't look good. She shook her head in denial.

"I'm not physically sick, I'm mentally sick. Daryl, I was looking through some news websites and saw the New York Post had a big article about priests sexually abusing nuns. They called them sex slaves."

I shook my head in disgust.

She continued, "I thought I could handle this new case you're on, but I was wrong. I can't believe the awful things the Church is involved in; what's being uncovered. How can all this be true?"

I thought for a moment before I answered." Hon, it's shocking, I know. But I keep thinking what we're learning about seems to have happened in the past. I mean, the abuse is probably continuing, but like I said the other day, we're hearing about other abuse cases that don't involve the clergy. In fact, it seems young women teachers are involved in the most recent cases that have been in the papers."

"What's important is you've helped me track down who I think is this Gabriel, and he's a murderer. We can't stop the abuse; we can't fix the Church's problems. That's not what this case is about. We need to stop Gabriel before he kills again. That's what this is about, and I need you to help me."

"Thank You for that," she said as she sat up and tightly folded her hands in her lap. "But I need to be honest with you. I know how you work, but this time you seem to be holding back. It's so obvious. Is it because you're investigating the Church? And it seems as if you're making excuses for this Parker guy who we think is Gabriel. Why? I need to know why."

I wasn't used to being challenged in my work, but Mandy's words gave me pause to think. In a little more than two weeks we had gone from not having a clue as to Gabriel's identity to developing a solid suspect. I had the link between one of the dead priests and sexual abuse. I could link his assignments to the churches that burned. I had the lab analysis of the accelerants used to start the fires, and I had Gabriel's written words admitting to his punishing the Church. What was I waiting for? I needed to link everything back to Stefan Parker being Gabriel.

"I don't know why," I answered. "It's as if an inner voice is telling me to go slow and steady, don't make a mistake."

# Chapter 15

Shortly after two the next afternoon Freddy Morton came to the house. He greeted Mandy with a long hug and presented her with a bouquet of cut flowers he had obviously bought at a grocery store or gas station mini mart. I was surprised how good he looked; dark slacks, a tan turtleneck sweater, his neatly styled blonde hair a shade darker than I recalled from his last visit. I sensed the new-found interest in his lady friend had awakened a new Freddy. I fixed coffees for the three of us and we went into the family room to discuss the case.

It took me fifteen minutes to bring Freddy up to speed. He listened intently, occasionally glancing over at Mandy sitting next to him and raising his eyebrows either in surprise or amazement as I described the sequence of coincidences that brought Stefan Parker under my microscope. When I finished, he set his mug down on the coffee table and moved it aside. He took some paperwork from a manila envelope he had brought with him and set the documents on the table.

"I can tell you right now, you're not even close to having enough to get a warrant for a tracker on your suspect's car," he said shaking his head. His somber professional tone was out of character for him.

"Sounds to me that you have some random circumstances that appear to fit together, but you haven't tied the fires to him. These are affidavits I've used to get other surveillance warrants, maybe they'll help you," he added pushing the papers toward me. I was disappointed, not in Freddy, but in my inability to tie the loose ends together.

Before I could respond, my cellphone beeped, and I saw it was Rich Prince calling. I answered, told him I was with Freddy and Mandy, and put him on speaker.

"Hey folks, I want to fill you in on the drug activity you guys stumbled on over at Spruce Street. The PD is planning a raid for early tomorrow morning. Our departments are gearing up for a full show of force entry and containment." This news surprised Freddy, as I had neglected to tell him about our surveillance of Stefan Parker's neighborhood.

"Also, my detectives did some research on Redemption Counselling Services and came up with some surprising information. It's a privately held limited partnership and their legal agent for service is none other than Matthew Petrini JD."

" _What!"_ I said in amazement. " _That's Monsignor Petrini!"_ I glanced at Mandy who had leaned back against the couch and let out a short laugh as she shook her head. Again, Freddy looked puzzled.

"Amen, Brother! Seems as if the Monsignor has a side business he runs out of his condo. We can't find any information on key executives or employees, but my guys are still looking into that. And that sports car you told me he drives? We ran an inquiry through the DMV and found it's registered to Redemption. I told you I had a feeling this guy was shady," he said.

"Okay Rich, that's a surprise. I'd be interested in knowing if Redemption is billing Somerset Insurance for all its medical claims. Something doesn't sound right if Petrini is using them for all the Church's insurance services and has a claim into them for eight million dollars in fire damages.

"What are you thinking Daryl? Kickbacks?"

"I don't know Rich. That sounds far-fetched, but there must be a way to check this out. When are your people meeting with the adjustor about the fire claims?"

"The day after tomorrow. He's coming here to the barracks and I've set up the interview for eleven AM."

"Okay, let me give this some thought on how we should play this, and I'll give you a call later. Thanks again for the info," I said ending the call.

"Who's this Petrini?" Freddy asked as I put my phone back into my pocket. I explained he was the Bishop's, confidant and attorney, and his role in managing Church properties in New England.

Mandy, who had been quiet for the last few minutes spoke up. "The truth is Freddy; he seems to be more of a businessman and a playboy than a priest. And he looks the role." She got up and headed to her office, adding, "I want to get something to show you. I'll be right back."

Freddy leaned back on the couch. "Man Daryl, can't you ever get a case that doesn't have twists and turns? If this guy's a lawyer and real estate manager, when does he get time to say mass?"

"He doesn't," I answered. "Apparently he has some sort of dispensation from the Vatican."

"Are you sure he's really a priest?" he asked squinting his eyes as he planted the seed of suspicion.

Mandy came back into the room and sat down next to Freddy. She had my folder with the printouts she had given me, rustling through them until she found the news articles with pictures of the Monsignor with his women friends.

Pointing to the pictures she said, "See? He doesn't even look like a priest. And look at how the women have adoring eyes for him. I think this guy is a player."

Freddy stared at the articles and picked up the one with the picture at the ski lodge, holding it for closer examination. I saw his complexion change from flush to almost pale. He looked over at me, his eyes wide.

"When was this taken, do you know?' he asked in a low voice looking between Mandy and me.

"I don't know," she said as she took the article from him. "It doesn't say here, but I can Google the event and see when it was. Why? What's so important about when the picture was taken?" she asked, handing it back to him.

Freddy hesitated, then asked Mandy if she could check right now. She looked over at me and I nodded my approval, subtly signaling her not to press the issue. After she left for her office I leaned over and asked, "What's that all about, Freddy?" He thought for a few moments before answering.

"I shouldn't be disclosing confidential casework, but I think this may have some bearing on your case," he said.

"About a week ago Damian asked me to discretely do some research to try and locate a young novitiate who had abruptly left a convent near Boston. He didn't explain, and I didn't question it. To make a long story short, I haven't a clue where she is."

"A novitiate?" I asked. "As in a nun in training? Who is she?"

He handed me the photo article Mandy had shown him and pointed at a young dark-haired girl standing next to Monsignor Petrini.

"Her. Mary McNally."

I immediately recalled Sgt. Mike Coppola's conversation at the Bishop's residence when he told me Damian had been acting strangely after two nuns had visited his office a few days earlier. This Gabriel case was getting more bizarre by the minute.

Mandy came back into the room and handed Freddy a printout. "This article is about the diocesan sponsored ski trip this past February." She looked at the both of us and sensed we seemed distracted." Did I miss something?" she asked as she sat down next to Freddy. He looked over at me for an answer.

I explained how I learned Damian seemed upset over something that happened at his office involving a visit from the nuns, and now Freddy telling me about a novitiate who was missing from a convent. Mandy didn't seem to be making sense of what I was telling her. I showed her the ski trip photo and pointed to Mary McNally. "This is the missing novitiate." The look on her face was a cross between shock and bewilderment. Mary McNally was a strikingly beautiful young woman.

"Daryl, what does all this mean?" she asked shaking her head in confusion.

"I think it means the Bishop has more to worry about than just Gabriel," I answered.

Freddy leaned over toward me. "Daryl, what are your plans for me? I brought down a lot of equipment and I'm ready to go to work when you are."

I explained I wanted to set up a conference call with the New York and Vermont detectives and bring them up to speed on our investigation. I wanted them to understand why Stefan Parker is our prime suspect and my belief his next target will be Saint. Erasmus in Preston. We needed to brief the pastor up there on our suspicions and set up some form of surveillance at the Church.

"I can set up a video system at the church, but I need to check out the layout to know what equipment I'll need," Freddy offered. "I can configure the system to notify of us of any activity and we can monitor it on our computers or phones."

"How do you plan on building the probable cause for us to put the tracker on Parker's truck?" he asked.

That was the million-dollar question and I still didn't have an answer. We sat quietly for a few minutes.

Finally, Freddy told us he had a dinner date with his friend Heather and said he'd call me first thing in the morning to plan our day. After he left, I went into our home office and sat down to read the warrant applications he had brought.

Using them as a guide, I spent the next two hours typing up an affidavit laying out the arson case up to the point I needed to insert my probable cause to believe Stefan Parker was the arsonist. I took a break for dinner and after an hour of watching TV we went to bed. I had an uneasy feeling I couldn't explain that tomorrow would be a make or break day in the case.

# Chapter 16

The beeping of my phone on the nightstand woke me. I looked at my watch and through clouded eyes I saw it was five-forty in the morning. Mandy groaned as she rolled over, looked at me through half open eyes and sighed deeply as she sank her head back into her pillow. I answered the call; it was Rich Prince.

"Sorry to wake you pal, but we've got a real problem on our hands. We raided the Spruce street drug house at five this morning and it went downhill fast. We walked into a gunfight. One of the suspects is dead, one of the local officers was shot in the shoulder but the wound's not life-threatening. We came up with a huge stash of heroin and meth, and a half-dozen semi-automatic weapons. This was a major-league drug operation. I'm calling to let you know a crowd of neighbors is already out on the street and I expect once the TV news crews get here, we'll attract more local attention. You said you wanted to check out the neighbors; well, if that's still your plan, I suggest you come up here as soon as you can. I looked at my watch again and said I would get cleaned up and be on the road in less than half an hour.

Mandy sleepily asked what was going on, I filled her in and said I was going to the scene. Her response was "Just don't get shot at," as she rolled over, slid her arm under her pillow and went back to sleep. An hour later I turned onto Spruce street.

Even under the best of controlled circumstances major crime scenes are chaotic, crowded with police, fire and medical first responders; streets clogged with emergency vehicles, the steady throaty groan of idling truck engines, spectators crowding the action to get a better look. This morning was no exception. I found a parking spot against the curb two houses before Miriam and Stefan Parker's house, half a block from the crime scene. As I stepped out into the brisk morning air the exhaust fumes from the idling emergency vehicles filled the air. I walked down the block to an area the local police had cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape and showed my credentials to one of the three PD officers manning the checkpoint. I was directed to the State Police command truck parked on the street just past the drug house. As I approached, I spotted Rich Prince conferring with a small group of officers, he acknowledged me and waved me over.

"Well friend, this was close to a disaster," he said as he shook my hand and nodded at the house.

"How's the wounded officer?" I asked.

"He's stable, Apparently the bullet hit his ballistic vest and ricocheted under it and up into his shoulder. He was the second officer through the door after they battered it down and he immediately came under fire. It was almost as if these guys were expecting us."

I turned and looked at the growing crowd out on the street to see if by chance Stefan Parker was among them. He wasn't.

Rich led me into the house, I immediately realized the place was a dump. The living room was sparsely furnished, the bare hardwood floor scratched and stained, discarded fast food wrappers strewn everywhere. Just inside the front door was a makeshift bunker-like barrier constructed with cement blocks stacked to prevent direct access to the rest of the house. I noticed a semi-automatic rifle on the floor next to an evidence ID marker the crime scene photographer had placed to mark its location. A half dozen officers were inside working on the premises search, the wooden kitchen table defaced with graffiti knife carvings of gang symbols and names held clear plastic bags containing drugs the officers were seizing.

"We've got hundreds of bags of heroin and there's a small bathroom where they set up a lab to cook meth. Thank God the entry team immediately recognized the chemical smell coming from the room and sealed it off. The Fire Department hazmat team is in their now cleaning it out for us," he explained. "Looks like we're going to be here all day."

As we walked back outside, I thought to myself the PD had hit a home run shutting down the drug operation, but it had no bearing on my Gabriel investigation.

As we walked through the growing crowd of onlookers at the curb, I again looked around to see if Stefan Parker was among them. He wasn't. I heard someone call out Rich's name and saw it was a TV news crew trying to get his attention. He turned and suggested I head out to avoid getting cornered by the reporters. I agreed. We shook hands, I made my way through the crowd, my head down to avoid being recognized by the news people.

Walking back toward my car, I sensed footsteps coming from behind me. I slowed and turned to see an older man trying to catch up, he raised his hand in greeting, "Hey! I know you," he said as he caught up to me. I stopped as I came up alongside of me.

"Excuse me? "

"You're that Federal guy that was on TV a couple weeks ago, aren't you? You know, that FBI guy came to your house and tried to kill you."

"Yeah. You have a good memory. You live around here?" I asked as we resumed walking toward my car.

He pointed at the small house next door to Stefan Parker's yard. "That's my place. Been here for thirty-two years. I'm damn mad this neighborhood has turned into a hell hole. Those god-damn foreigners and their drugs have run everything into the ground. I heard the cops shot a bunch of them, is that true?" I didn't answer directly, telling him there were some shots fired, but I didn't know if anyone had been killed.

"Well if I had my way, I would have killed all of them sons-of-bitches. They've been selling their drugs day and nights for months. I called the police a couple times and told them to check it out. It took them long enough to do something about it." I listened but didn't respond. "Now maybe they'll do something about the psycho who lives next door to me before he burns down the rest of the neighborhood," he added.

"What?" I asked as I stopped in my tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"The kid," he answered pointing at the Parker house. "My wife and I call 'The Smurf,' We've never seen him outside without his hooded jacket; even in the hot summer he wears it. He's always sneaking around his backyard playing with his rocket motors. I said something to his mother a few months ago, she made all sort of excuses for him. She said he has some emotional issues; he doesn't socialize with people very well and building rocket motors and computers are his hobbies."

"What do you mean, rocket motors?" I asked as we reached my car. He rubbed his chin and looked back at the house. "I'm retired. I had a plumbing business all of my work life. Last summer the kid's mother saw me outside and asked if I could help her stop a leak in her basement. I said sure and went over to check it out. I saw there's a small apartment set-up in the basement, that's where the kid lives. The place was a mess and smelled to high heaven. While I fixed the leak in the hot water heater, the kid went outside and stayed there the whole time I was working. I looked around and saw he had all sorts of small model rocket engine parts, wires, a lot of electrical stuff all over a worktable. His mother didn't say much to me, just apologized for the mess and said something about looking into finding another place for him to live. Well, that was months ago and he's still here prowling around and acting weird."

"You said something about burning the neighborhood down. What's that all about?" I asked.

"The kid set his backyard on fire this past Fall. He said he was testing an invention he made, and the flame got away from him. He tried to spray it with a garden hose but couldn't put it out. I was working in my yard and saw what he was doing and ran over with my hose and was able to knock it down and put it out. The kid just looked at me and didn't say anything. I tried talking to him, but he just walked away and went back into the cellar. Since then I've seen him out back a few times playing with his inventions. Firing them up in a metal pan, kind of like a mason's mortar trough. If you ask me, he's crazy for doing that stuff here in the city. I called the police and asked what they could do, they said unless he causes property damage, they couldn't do anything. I should have said I thought he was making bombs."

"Well, that would get their attention I'm sure," I said. "Is he still playing around with his rocket stuff?"

"I don't know what he's doing, to be honest. I saw him out back a few times burning something in that metal pan. At least he learned his lesson and is trying to keep the flames away from what little grass there is out there."

"When you say burning, what do you mean? Is he burning wood or trash?"

"No. It's got to be some type of fuel. The one time I sat in front of my side window and watched what he was doing it looked like whatever he had put in the metal pan he fired up with a remote control he had in his hand. It wasn't a fire like gasoline would erupt, it was more like a flaring flame you'd see on a rocket. It was a long and thin."

"It burned for a minute or two and then died out. That's what made me think it was a rocket."

"That's interesting," I said. "Sorry, I didn't get your name. I'm Daryl Richardson. I'm with the US Attorney's office," I said as I extended my hand.

"Pete Howard," he answered shaking my hand. "Nice to meet you. Is there anything you can think of that I should be doing about this kid? My wife is in the hospital, she had to have a hip replacement. She's coming home in a few days and I'm worried that in an emergency I wouldn't be able to get her out of the house by myself. I'm thinking it's just a matter of time before this kid has another accident with his hobby."

I noticed Pete was bundled up in a heavy winter parka jacket, but he was shivering in the cool morning breeze. I offered him to sit in my car and I'd turn the heater on. He said if I had a few minutes we could go inside his house and he'd put some coffee on. He didn't have to ask me twice. From what he had said about Stefan Parker's experiments I suspected they were related to how he set the church fires. I didn't know Pete from Adam, but I needed to feel him out to see if I could trust him before I told him the Parker kid was a suspect in the church fires.

The Howard residence was what I expected. A simple, two-bedroom one-bath cottage style, probably last updated with fresh wallpaper in the late seventies. We went into the kitchen and I sat down at the small formica-top table as he started up the Mr. Coffee machine.

He sat down across from me as we waited for the brewing to finish. "So, Daryl; What brought you to Spruce Street this morning? I saw all the local and State cops, but you said you worked for the Federal government."

I made up a story as an answer, explaining the State Police Commander was a friend of mine and had called me with some procedural questions since it appeared the people who were arrested might have committed Federal crimes. Pete seemed to accept my explanation as he stood and poured us each a coffee and set out a sugar bowl and container of milk.

After he sat down, he spoke about his neighbors. "Daryl, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea when I talked about the kid next door. It's obvious he has some mental problems, and I feel bad about that; it's not his fault. But what worries me is when I think about his fascination with fire, and then about those two guys who built the Marathon bombs in Boston, I get worried. Is the kid next-door the next terrorist or mass murderer? Tell me honestly, am I overreacting?"

He wasn't overreacting, but I had to be very careful how I brought up the church fires investigation. Before I could speak, Pete did.

"Hey! Wait a minute. I just realized something. I saw on the news last week the story about some church fires and a letter the TV station got; it was bizarre. Something about...what was the name? Yeah, the guy signed the letter Gabriel. And I think they said you were involved in the investigation. Is that true?"

"Yeah, I'm involved in that case. That's why I'm interested in what you can tell me about your neighbors, the Parkers."

Pete Howard sat and stared at me. "How did you know their name? I didn't mention it."

"To be honest Pete, we're looking at several people in the fire investigation and for reasons I can't go into, Stefan Parker's name came up."

"Sweet Jesus! I knew there was something bad about that kid. Do you really think he set those fires?"

"I don't know. What can you tell me about Stefan's mother?"

"Miriam?" She's lived next door for about ten years. Keeps to herself, me and the wife haven't had much of a relationship with her, we really don't talk to each other. She leaves every morning; I assume she works but I don't know where or what she does. She's a looker, probably in her late forties. Why do you ask?"

"What about Stefan? Does he go out during the day? I see there's a pickup truck in the driveway, I assume that's his."

"Yeah, that's his. He goes out early most mornings and comes back about a half-hour later. I'm guessing he goes somewhere for breakfast. Other than the two or three times this past winter when we heard his truck leave late at night, we've hardly seen him."

His last comment struck me; the truck left late at night. I asked him to explain. He told me his bedroom was on the side of his house close to the Parker driveway and the sound of the truck starting up would wake him and his wife. One time he looked out the window and saw Stefan putting something in the truck bed and covering it with a tarp before he drove away, His first thought was Stefan was moving out in the middle of the night. A few hours later they were awakened again when the truck came back, its headlights reflecting in the bedroom window.

"Pete, can you remember the last time the truck left at night?"

He thought for a minute before answering. "Maybe two weeks ago? It was the night before my wife went to the hospital for her surgery, March twenty-ninth. I remember because I was upset with the commotion and couldn't get back to sleep. I had enough on my mind worrying about my wife"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The Saint Dymphna fire was reported at a little past one in the morning of March twenty-ninth. There was no doubt in my mind now; Stefan Parker was Gabriel. My excitement was momentary though; I still didn't have a solid motive for Stefan to set the fires. I switched gears with my questions.

"What about male visitors. Does Stefan's mother have any guys coming to her house?"

"Once in a while. Like I said, she's a good-looking woman for her age. The only guy I've seen visiting drives a fancy sportscar. I've seen him pick her up a few times over the past months, usually on a Friday afternoon and drops her off late on Sundays. I'd noticed that maybe a half-dozen times this past year. Whether he's a boyfriend or not, I wouldn't know."

I thought about his reference to the fancy sports car. "Pete, what color car does this guy drive?"

"Dark blue. It's a Mercedes, I think. Looks brand new. Why?"

I didn't answer. This had to be Monsignor Petrini.

My hunch curious neighbors would be drawn to the drug house after the raid worked to my advantage, but my chance encounter with Pete Howard defied rational explanation. What were the odds he would be the key to unlocking this mystery? It was as if I was being guided by a higher power, and that made me uneasy. I had never had a case before that made me feel this way. One thing I couldn't get out of my head was a feeling that in all of this, Stefan Parker was also a victim. Of what, I didn't know yet.

I asked Pete about his wife's surgery, he took a few minutes and explained it had gone well and he expected her to be discharged from the hospital in the next day or two. I listened and extended my wishes for her speedy recovery.

Before I got up to leave, I asked him if he would call me if he heard Stefan's truck leave late at night or saw any suspicious activity at the Parker house. I stressed it didn't matter if he called day or night, if he were to see any activity next door that he thought I needed to know he could call me. I told him I couldn't explain why I was interested in Stefan and asked he not discuss our conversation with anyone, even his wife. I stressed I wasn't accusing Stefan of a crime, but his actions were concerning. Pete said he understood. I gave him my business card with my cell number, thanked him for the coffee and conversation, and went out to my car.

Twenty minutes later I pulled into my driveway in Stockbridge and saw Freddy Morton's car. It was time to put him to work.

# Chapter 17

In my years as an investigator I've always approached my cases believing I had to establish a suspect's motive, opportunity and means to commit the crime. In my mind, it was logical to work backwards from the crime to establish the three goals. This church fire care was proving to be the exception.

I briefed Mandy and Freddy on the Spruce Street drug raid and my chance encounter with the Parker's neighbor, Pete Howard. When I finished, Mandy asked me when we were going to arrest Stefan Parker. I explained circumstantially everything pointed to him as being Gabriel, but I had a nagging concern about his motive. I also reminded her I could prepare the legal documents to support an arrest warrant being issued, but ultimately. Damian would decide which police agency would physically take him into custody. I reminded her I have no arrest powers, I'm a consultant.

Freddy who had been quiet, spoke up. "Boss, you said Gabriel has set the fires forty days apart. How many days are left before the next one?" I did some quick math in my head and answered, "Twenty-four. Why?"

"When you first told me about the social media posts from Ultor and nogod4me Mandy found in her research, I wrote a computer program to search the internet for posts from them. I checked this morning and have some hits on both social media and an anti-Christian website I found on the dark web. Ultor especially is heating up his attacks against the Church."

"What do you mean heating up?"

"Well, no pun intended," he said shaking his head. "There was a post about the local diocese holding a solemn high funeral mass for the three priests who died in the nursing home fire. Ultor went off on that, accusing the Church of celebrating a child molester, ridiculing the pageantry of the mass, saying something about the candles and incense being nothing compared to the flames and smoke he would bring against the Church. What he wrote was brutal. And this Nogod4me poster egged him on, it was like pouring gasoline on a raging fire. These two guys are psychopaths. I printed out their posts in case you want to see them."

I thanked him for his efforts, but something troubled me. Gabriel had referred to Ultor before, but who was this nogod4me? Did this mean there were three people who could possibly be Gabriel?

"Freddy, is there any way you can link these dark web posts to Stefan Parker's computer?"

"I looked at the message headers of posts made by Ultor, but because of how he logs into the dark web, he's going through multiple servers. Essentially, his computer traffic is being routed through Europe and the Middle East before it gets to the website he wants. From what I'm seeing Ultor knows what he's doing with his computer, it's almost impossible to track down his location."

I was disappointed by Freddy's answer, and it must have shown on my face. "Hey! I said his computer activity is _almost_ impossible to track," he said. "Of course, if you're confident this Parker guy is Gabriel and he's using a wireless network at his house there's technology to get onto it without him knowing."

"If you're talking about hacking, forget it," I cautioned. "This case is too important to risk anything illegal to gather evidence."

"Okay, what about this?" he asked. "You said you wanted to put a GPS tracker on his truck, but you don't have enough probable cause for that. And say you did get a warrant for the tracker, what will that tell you? Just where he goes. That could be to McDonalds, the grocery store, gas station. But if you focused on linking these dark web posts to the Parker guy you could try for a search warrant to monitor his computer activity. That's the goldmine."

"Is he using the internet to find his biblical references, researching how to make explosives, things that would relate back to the fires? That's more valuable evidence than knowing where his truck goes."

He had a point I thought to myself, and he's the expert in obtaining electronic data. Despite the logic in his suggestion, I had a nagging feeling I was still missing the motive to connect Stefan to the fires.

Mandy had been sitting through our conversation, she leaned forward toward me and changed the subject. "Freddy told me he and his girlfriend wanted us to join them for dinner tonight. Are you up for that? I know I am!"

I needed a break, and quickly agreed that would be nice. We said we

would meet Freddy and his friend Heather at a steakhouse in Lennox at seven. Freddy said his goodbyes and left,

"I hope you aren't upset that I cut you off before, but I could see you were getting all worked up about Stefan Parker," she said after Freddy left and she sat down on the arm of my recliner.

"No that's okay. You're right. I'm hung up on why Stefan would have such a hatred for the Church. We haven't come up with anything in his background that would give me a clue. It's as if he's been living off the grid all his life, he's been almost invisible to the rest of the world."

She thought about what I had just said. "Well, that should tell you something right there. If he does have mental problems like you think, who's been taking care of him all his life? Hs mother. Maybe you should be looking at her. Has she been protecting him because she's embarrassed or ashamed of his condition, or has she been hiding something else?"

Mandy wasn't too far off track I thought to myself. I hadn't shared with her my theory there could be a connection between the now-dead Father Albert Rastone and the Parkers. As far as I knew, Miriam Parker was a single parent, Stefan's age would have had him born about the same time when Father Rastone was accused in the sex abuse scandal.

What didn't make sense was if Miriam was the complainant in the accusation against him, how would Stefan know about that? Would a mother tell her now adult child that he was the illegitimate son of a priest who had molested her? I needed information about the Washington State lawsuit against the Church, especially more detail about Father Rastone's blood test not proving paternity. I needed to call Damian and check on his request for assistance from the Tacoma Washington FBI field office to work up the background on the court case.

My call to Damian went to his phone mail, I left a message and decided to call his Executive Secretary, Kathleen Curtis. She answered promptly and after a few minutes of catching up on our personal lives she asked how she could help me.

I explained I was checking in with Damian for the status of my request for some information in Washington State. She explained Damian was out of the office, he had gone down to Springfield for a meeting with Bishop Francis and wasn't expected to be back in the office until tomorrow morning. I thought that was unusual but didn't comment. Kathleen said she could transfer my call to Steve Foreman, the office newly assigned liaison FBI Agent. I thanked her and a minute later the agent answered. I identified myself and explained I was checking in for an update on my request to the Spokane bureau office.

"Daryl, we've never met, but thanks for checking in. I've heard good things about your work and look forward to meeting you in person. I got an email two days ago from Agent Tom Deacon in in Spokane. He said he located the now retired attorney who filed the lawsuit against the Diocese involving this Father Rastone. The lawyer's name is Paul Montano and he's eighty-two years old. Agent Deacon reported Mr. Montano recalled the case from about thirty years ago, although he was a little fuzzy on the name of the woman involved. He said he recalled a paternity test was done, and the results proved Father Rastone was not the baby's father. At the time the case was brought, his firm reached an agreement with the Church to acknowledge Father Rastone's admitted sexual abuse of the young woman had made his client promiscuous, ultimately leading to her pregnancy Although the identity of the baby's father was never established, he said it was the first case of its kind that he could recall, and in conversation admitted he had bullied the Church into a generous financial settlement under the threat he would go to the newspapers with the woman's story.

"That's great work, Steve, but I really need the name of the woman involved in the case," I pointed out.

"I understand. I emailed a response to Agent Deacon and asked he research the Court microfilm records. I'll email him as soon as we get off this call and for an update." I thanked Agent Foreman for his help and ended the call.

Mandy and I spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV, after changing our clothes we headed out to Lennox and our dinner with Freddy and his friend Heather. When we arrived at the restaurant, they were at the bar, Freddy made the introductions and we joined them.

I was surprised to see that when not dressed in her waitress outfit Heather wasn't just cute, she was extremely pretty. As for Freddy, it was the first time I had ever seen him nervous.

Our dinner went well; the girls chatted and laughed, Freddy and I avoided discussing our jobs.

As we finished our meals and Mandy was suggesting Freddy and Heather come over to our house tomorrow afternoon my cellphone beeped. Instinctively I reached into my sport coat jacket pocket to answer. I looked over and saw Mandy was giving me 'the look.' I glanced at the screen and recognized the number as one of the several listed to Damian's office. As I stood up, I looked over and saw Mandy's eyes were burning a hole through me. I excused myself and said I had to take the call as I headed toward the bar. I answered, it was Danny Saunders, one of Damian's assistant US Attorneys.

"Daryl, I hope I'm not interrupting dinner or anything, but Damian told me to track down Pat Collins, I mean Freddy Morton as he's calling himself these days." Did he make it down to visit you?"

"He did. in fact, I'm having dinner with him right now at a restaurant in Lennox. What's up?"

"He needs to call Damian ASAP. He's down in Springfield and he called the office and told me to locate Pat and have him call the Boss's cell. He didn't say why, but he sounded all out of sorts."

"Okay, I'll give him the message right now. Thanks."

I went back into the dining room and motioned for Freddy to join me. He had a surprised look on his face, glanced at Heather and Mandy, and excused himself.

"What's up?" he asked with obvious confusion.

"Damian's trying to get ahold of you, his office says it's urgent. Don't you have your phone with you?"

He reached into his pants' pocket and inspected his iphone. "I had it on mute, not vibrate. Sorry about that," he said as he dialed Damian.

I listened to the one-sided call. " _What"?_ Freddy exclaimed. " _When? What happened? Where?_ Yeah, he's standing right next to me." he said as he handed me his phone. "He wants to talk to you." I could see that whatever Damian had told him was upsetting, the color had drained from his face as I took the phone from him.

"Daryl, I'm not in a position to talk freely, but a little over a week ago I learned about a young nun novitiate who was missing from a convent outside of Boston. I asked Pat to see if he could track her down. I just received word she was found dead in upstate New York. I don't know many details. but the Sheriff's Department up there says it looks like it was a suicide."

"I'm sorry to hear that Boss, but I don't understand where I come into this. It's a missing persons case."

"Daryl, the last person we believe she was with is Monsignor Petrini."

Damian's disclosure was a curveball I didn't see coming. I needed to know the backstory on the nun, details he apparently had withheld from Freddy.

"Boss, are you thinking this ties into the church fires case? I mean, I'm up to my neck in that and working against the clock to prevent another fire. You need to give me more information about this nun."

"Like I said, I can't talk freely right now. I'm heading back to Boston in a few minutes, I'll give you a call around noon tomorrow. And tell Pat, or Freddy, or whatever the hell he's calling himself these days I want him in on our call."

I agreed and ended the call, explaining to Freddy that Damian wanted us both available by phone at noon for a briefing. He shook his head in confusion.

"Daryl, when Damian first asked me for some help locating this girl I worked with the agents in the office and they entered her info into the NCIC database as an endangered missing person. Two of them went to her convent and tried to interview the nuns, but the Mother lady, the one in charge, wouldn't allow it. She said she was the spokeswoman for their home and wasn't very cooperative. Basically, I ran some computer searches for cellphone, credit cards, the usual information sources but there was nothing. She didn't have a phone, credit or bank account, nothing traceable. I turned the case over to the field agents. I hope Damian isn't pissed at me, but my game is technology, not investigation. When I saw the newspaper photo Mandy found of this Monsignor guy and the girl at the ski lodge, I was shocked when I realized it was Mary McNally. She sure didn't look like a nun in that picture."

I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the dining room. "Don't worry about it, I don't want this to spoil our evening. Tomorrow's another day, my friend," and we joined the ladies at our table. Mandy asked if everything was okay, I assured her it was nothing that couldn't wait until the morning. I looked over at Heather and saw she was looking at Freddy differently than she had before the phone call. It was as if she suddenly realized Freddy was an important person in his own right. I looked over at Mandy, she lowered her head and whispered, "Don't ask." I had the feeling she had spilled the beans on Freddy's true identity, but I let it go.

After dinner Mandy and I headed home. She was quiet for the first few minutes, but I sensed she was dying to know about my phone call.

"Well, are you going to tell me about your phone call or keep me in suspense? You know I'll get it out of you one way or another!"

"I'm sure you will!" I answered with a laugh as I conjured in my mind the methods she could employ. I shook off the pleasures of those thoughts and explained Freddy's connection with the missing novitiate Mary McNally and Damian's call she had been found dead. Mandy's reaction was surprise and then sadness.

'She was so young, and very beautiful. Do you know what her story was?" she asked softly.

I answered I didn't, Damian had been vague with both Freddy and I, but I expected he'd explain himself in tomorrow's phone call.

"Do they know how she died? Was it an accident? My God, I hope she wasn't murdered!" she exclaimed.

I explained I didn't have any details other than she died in upstate New York. I looked over at her and saw she was staring at me.

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me the whole story?" she asked.

I assured her I didn't know any other details; other than Damian's remark she was last seen with Monsignor Petrini.

" _WHAT_?" _Do you think he and she were lovers_? _You don't think he killed her, do you?_ _My God!_ The more I learn about these church people the sicker I feel. What is wrong with them?"

I suggested she not jump to conclusions, we had to wait until we had more facts before we made any accusations. She shook her head in disagreement, I knew she wouldn't let this drop.

"I saw the look between them in that picture, he was enjoying himself more as a man than a priest. It was so obvious. Call it woman's intuition. They were having an affair," she pronounced.

"I hope you're wrong," I answered, not wanting to debate her point. "I'm sure the story will come out in the next few days." Thankfully, she sat quietly for the rest of the ride home.

At home we settled in, Mandy poured herself a glass of wine and fixed me a nightcap. As we sat and watched TV, she was quiet. I wondered what was on her mind. After a few minutes my curiosity got the best of me.

"After Freddy and I took that phone call, when we came back to the table, I sensed Heather was acting differently toward him. A nice different. I have a feeling you girls had a heart to heart talk. Am I reading this right?" I asked.

She took a sip of her wine, smiled, and answered, "Girl talk. I really like her. She's sweet, full of energy, and she's real, not pretentious."

"She told me she recently got her license as a physical therapist and she's applied for a position at the Medical Center. I told her I have some friends who are ER nurses there, if she wanted, I could mention her to them."

"What's the story with her and Freddy?"

"She really, really likes him. She said at first, he seemed mysterious; but over the past few weeks of texting and phone calls she realizes he has his feet firmly on the ground. I think they have a future with each other."

I thought about that. I couldn't imagine Freddy being married and settled down.

"They remind me of you and me," she continued. "As I was listening to her talk about him, I realized she was feeling the same about him as I did about you at first."

"I was mysterious?"

"To an extreme, Little Boy. But look how we ended up!"

She had a point, I thought to myself.

"Daryl, do you think you'll ever give up the work you're doing, maybe settle down and think about joining Berkshire Law as Judge Moran offered?" she asked.

I didn't answer. Truthfully, I couldn't imagine myself as a nine-to-five three-piece suit lawyer again. I just shrugged.

"How are you going to solve this church fires case?" she asked as she set her glass down on the coffee table. "You've said you think Stefan Parker is Gabriel. You're counting down the days until you think the next fire will happen, but you haven't even questioned him. What are you waiting for? How is this going to end?"

I felt like I was being painted into a corner by her questions, a feeling I didn't like. I wanted to avoid an argument; I didn't answer. I shook my head to let her know I didn't have an answer. In truth, I myself was starting to doubt my judgement in how I was handling the case.

We finished our drinks and went to bed, my mind swirling with thoughts of self-doubt and frustration. It took an hour before I settled into a sound sleep, putting to rest the question what was I missing?

# Chapter 18

The buzzing sound woke me, it took a few seconds for me to realize it was my cellphone on the nightstand. I looked at my watch through sleep clouded eyes to see what time it was; one-thirty-five AM. Mandy groaned as I reached over and answered in a hoarse voice. "Hello?"

"Daryl Richardson, this is Pete Howard from Spruce Street Remember me?" I grunted a semblance of acknowledgement.

"The house is on fire! It's burning out of control!" he shouted excitedly, His words shocked me, at first, I didn't understand. "What house?"

"The drug house down the street. The one the cops busted the other day. The whole fire department's here; cops everywhere. You said to call you if I saw anything unusual. I hope I did the right thing."

"Yeah, it's okay, you did good," I answered, my brain now understanding what he was talking about.

"Is Stefan's truck in his yard?"

"Yeah. That's the first thing I checked when I saw the fire. It's parked where it's been all day."

"Okay," I answered; "Thanks for the information. You okay at your place?"

"Yeah, the wife and I are safe as long as the fire doesn't spread up the street."

I thanked him again and ended the call. Mandy sat up, rubbed her eyes and asked, "What's wrong? Who was that?"

I told her it was Stefan Parker's neighbor, letting me know the drug house down the street was on fire.

"Why did he call you? That's not your problem. Go back to sleep," she said as her head dropped like a rock onto her pillow and she wrapped the bedcovers up to her neck.

I laid back down, after a few minutes I knew I couldn't go back to sleep. I didn't know why, but felt I needed to go up to Pittsfield and see the fire for myself. I got out of bed as quietly as I could, but apparently not quite enough.

"Now what are you doing? Go back to sleep," she said sharply as she adjusted the shape of her pillow with her fist.

"I can't sleep," I answered. "I'm going up to Pittsfield."

"You're crazy! Go back to sleep. There's nothing you can do up there."

She might be right, but I had made up my mind. I got dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater and grabbed my Sig Sauer from the closet gun safe. I looked over my shoulder and saw she was staring at me, her hand propping her head up.

"What do you need that for?"

I answered Spruce street was a rough neighborhood, especially in the middle of the night. She groaned, I thought I heard her call me a fool, but I might have been mistaken. I leaned over to give her a kiss goodbye, she turned away. I uttered a sigh and shook my head. This wasn't worth an argument. I said I would be back in a few hours.

I made the normally thirty-minute drive in less than twenty, at this hour there was hardly any traffic on Route 7. As I approached Spruce Street, I was stopped at a police roadblock. I could see the fire further down the street was almost out, the flashing of emergency vehicle lights was blinding even at this distance. I produced my Federal ID to the officer who stopped me, he looked indecisive at first but handed it back and instructed me to park as far from the fire as I could. As luck would have it, I found a space on the curb three houses before the Parker house.

I parked, locked the car and started walking toward the fire. It seemed as if all the neighbors were standing outside in the street or on their porches.

I noticed Pete Howard standing on his front porch, I looked down hoping he wouldn't recognize me. Next door I saw a woman on her porch. It was my first look at who I suspected was Miriam Parker. There was no sign of Stefan.

I crossed the street and walked up to where the PD had set up yellow crime scene tape. The sound of an airhorn startled me as it cut through the cold night air. Turning, I saw it was the State Police Fire & Explosion Crime Scene truck. The police cleared a path through the on-lookers, the truck took up a position in the center of the street.

I was watching the firefighting activity for about ten minutes when I heard a voice behind me call out. "Hey! What the hell are you doing here at his hour?" I turned and saw it was Major Rich Prince.

"I could ask you the same question," I answered as I reached out and shook his hand.

"I got a call the Fire Marshal troopers were requested for assistance. When I heard the fire was on Spruce Street, I thought this was too coincidental to be at the house we just raided and just down the street from our church fire suspect."

"That's what I thought," I responded. "But what motive would Stefan Parker have to burn a house on his street?"

Rich shook his head; he didn't have any more answers than I did.

After about ten minutes we saw some activity at the Fire Marshal truck, Rich poked my arm and said, "C'mon. Looks like they may have found some evidence. Let's have a look."

We showed our IDs at the police line and were granted access. As we approached the truck, we spotted Trooper Kevin Gallo who had worked the fire scene at St. Dymphna's. He recognized us and excitedly waved us over. As we approached, he held out his hand. I saw he was holding a road flare that was mounted on a small piece of plastic with wires and a battery.

"You aren't going to believe this, but I think we found the ignition source," he said. "Check this out. It's so simple it's beautiful."

A closer look revealed the battery was connected to a small printed circuit board. Connected to that was a miniature electric motor with a tiny grinding wheel attached to the spindle. The grinder lightly pressed against the fuse end of the flare. I squinted as I stared at the device.

I grasped the premise; when the motor spun, the grinder wheel would rub against the fuse end of the flare. The friction would cause enough heat to act as an ignitor. But what would activate the motor? Trooper Gallo had a theory.

"If my guess is correct, the circuit board is probably from a remote-control toy, like a car. The transmitter activates the motor, just like it does with the toy. Pretty slick, huh? The range of the transmitter can be a hundred feet or so."

"Where did you find this?" I asked.

"It was lying in the dirt against the corner of the house," he answered. "It looks like it didn't activate, and it's pure luck it didn't burn up in the fire. My guess is more than one of these devices were placed to ignite the accelerant, which was probably gasoline."

"Trooper, could this be the type of device that triggered the Saint Dymphna fire?" I asked.

"Possibly. If you remember, I found what I thought was the remnant of a timer or cell phone, but the more I look at this, what I found at the Manor fire looks similar. I have the Manor device tagged as evidence, when we get back to our lab, I'll make a comparison. Yeah, it's a strong possibility."

I looked over at Rich and I could tell our minds were on the same track.

"Kevin," he said, "We need you to keep this device under wraps. We don't want the word to leak out that we recovered it. If it's what we think it is, we have something we can list as evidence to be seized with a search warrant for our suspect's house."

"You have a suspect Major? Who is it?"

"Kevin, I trust you implicitly, but at this point you're better off if you don't know," he answered.

"That works for me Sir," he responded as he placed the device in a manila envelope and started to fill out the evidence paperwork.

Rich looked at his watch. "It's almost four-thirty. I could use a coffee, but I could use some sleep even more. We have the church insurance company adjuster meeting later this morning, I want to catch some sleep before we meet with him."

"Who's meeting with him?" I asked.

"Me and two of my detectives. They have a handle on what I'm looking for and I have full confidence in them. You're more than welcome to join us. The meeting is at eleven at the barracks."

I said I would make every effort to be at the meeting and we both headed back to our cars. As we walked past the Parker and Howard houses, I didn't see Miriam or Pete Howard.

I told Rich I would see him at the barracks in a few hours and headed home. I went into the house as quietly as I could, Mandy was still asleep. As I slipped into bed, she opened her eyes slightly and moved over close to me. If she had been mad at me for leaving earlier, her anger had passed. I was asleep within five minutes.

I slept until nine-thirty, woke, and took a long hot shower. After I dressed, I went out to the kitchen and saw Mandy in her office. I went in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I was going to let you sleep until noon. Why did you get up? You've only had a few hours of sleep," she commented without taking her eyes from her computer screen.

I explained I was going over to the State Police barracks for an eleven o'clock meeting with the insurance adjuster handling the church and Saint Dymphna fires. She looked at me for a few seconds and went back to her computer. Suddenly, she turned back toward me.

"Is Damian going to drag you into the case of the nun that was found dead?" So that was what she was worried about, I realized. Her tone told me my work was getting to her, and that wasn't good. I explained the New York police owned that case, and in my mind, it had no connection with the fires.

"Didn't you tell me last night that the social butterfly Monsignor was the last person seen with her?" Her sharp disdain for his extracurricular activities was a surprise. "And didn't you tell me he manages the properties for the Church, including the ones that were burned down?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm not the detective that you are, but if I were you, I'd wake up and realize his name keeps coming up in your investigation. I read the report you wrote. I wasn't snooping, you left it on the table next to the printer and I found it when I was cleaning up the office."

I sat down on the couch. "Mandy, we need to talk this out. I'm sorry

if my work is upsetting you, maybe it's a mistake to bring you into all of this."

" _A mistake?"_ she shot back as she swiveled in her chair to face me _._ _"I'm trying to help you, but you don't get it!"_ Her voice raised; her face reddened. She was angry.

"What am I missing here, Mandy?" I asked in as calm a voice as I could muster.

" _I know Stefan Parker is Gabriel. I know it!"_ _But you act as if you're protecting him! I don't understand that._ This morning you told me a house down the street from his was on fire. _What is it going to take to make you understand you're letting him get away with all this?"_

I didn't see this coming from her. I thought for a few moments how to respond. I stared at the floor, but the answer wasn't written there. Then it struck me.

"Mandy, I agree with you that Stefan is Gabriel. What I'm waiting for as you put it, is understanding _why_ he's Gabriel."

"You should go back to bed and get more sleep Mister, because you aren't making any sense," she shot back shaking her head.

The last thing I wanted was an argument; I didn't respond. I stood up, went out into the kitchen and brewed myself a cup of coffee.

I went into the family room and wearily slumped down in my recliner. The cool leather was soothing. I was tired, more accurately, I was completely worn out. Energy sapped, eyes heavy, ego bruised. It nagged at me Mandy thought Monsignor Petrini was somehow involved in the arsons, and now possibly the death of young novitiate Mary McNally. My plate was overflowing with the church and Saint Dymphna fires. I wanted enough evidence to get a search warrant for the Parker house. That was my focus, but I couldn't put things together to establish probable cause. And I was racing the calendar.

I sat and tried to calculate the days left before my theory said Gabriel would strike again. I couldn't concentrate, the numbers didn't make sense. I stopped and re-started the countdown twice before I realized my brain wasn't working this morning. My body was telling me to relax, sleep on it. My brain was saying don't, you have work to do. As I went to take a sip of coffee my hand trembled, splashing the hot liquid onto my fingers. I almost dropped the cup as I quickly set it down on the coffee table. "What is wrong with me?" I thought as I took my handkerchief and dabbed at the spills on my hand and the tabletop. Leaning back into the recliner I stretched the muscles in my neck to relieve the tension. It felt good, relaxing. I could have fallen asleep then and there but fought the urge. I glanced at my watch; it was ten after ten.

I went into the kitchen, dumped the coffee and ran cold water on a paper towel. I carefully patted my face, eyes and neck. As I stood at the sink Mandy came over to me.

"You don't look good this morning," She put her hand to my forehead, "You're awfully warm, and I can feel you trembling. Are you sick?"

"I'm all right," I assured her, "Just could use a few hours more sleep, but I have an important meeting this morning."

"Can't the others you're working with go to the meeting for you? Your health is more important, don't you think?"

I assured her I would be all right and expected the meeting wouldn't last too long. I said I would rest when I came home. She reluctantly accepted my stubbornness and went back into her office. I grabbed my leather jacket from the front closet and went into her office to say goodbye. She stood up as I came into the room.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I don't want anything to happen to you," she said as she gave me a long hug. I assured her again I would be all right, kissed her and headed out to the State Police barracks.

# Chapter 19

The meeting with representatives from Somerset Insurance was held in a second-floor conference room at the barracks. As I entered the room, I saw Rich Prince and detectives Chris Remington and Gordie Faircloud were at the conference table talking with a man and woman. Rich stood and promptly introduced me to Howard Klein, Senior Claims Representative and Somerset Associate Risk Manager Claire Lockwood.

Howard was a bookish-looking sort; short, thin build, his thick black frame glasses seemed noticeably too big for his face. My first impression of him was he was a numbers' man. His handshake was limp and brief, his hand noticeably cold. On the table next to him was a stack of paperwork a few inches thick. My quick glance told me they were spreadsheets.

Claire was Howard's polar opposite. I guessed her to be in her mid-forties, her short-cropped blond hair gave her an all business look. Stylishly dressed in a dark black pantsuit, my initial thought was her attire was carefully chosen to project her position in the company's upper management. Her introductory handshake was firm, her eye contact borderline piercing. As I sat down, I couldn't wait to hear her position on the claims submitted by the Church. In my mind I suspected she was a "nice try, but no" personality.

Howard opened the discussion, explaining that Somerset became the Church's exclusive multi-line insurer for its New England region employees and properties a little over two years ago. He said Monsignor Petrini had contacted Somerset when he was appointed the Church business administrator. He proposed realigning the various properties' insurance coverage, which prior to his representation, was handled individually by each diocese and in some cases individual parishes. Howard said Somerset worked with the Monsignor for months, ultimately bringing under the Somerset umbrella all employee life, health, disability, and property loss and casualty insurance for over one hundred parishes in Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire and northeastern New York.

Detective Remington interrupted Howard. "That sounds like a huge amount of business for your company. It begs the question what inducements did Somerset offer the Church to become their exclusive insurance provider?"

Howard looked over at Claire Lockwood, I caught her brief nod for him to answer. "Yes, it's a good-sized account in our portfolio," he explained. "It's common practice in our industry to bundle coverage and discount premium costs for volume services."

Detective Faircloud asked him to define volume services.

"As I said earlier, we provide the Church with medical, disability, life, and property coverage. The term volume refers to the value of annual premium versus the company's risk exposure. It's a complicated algorithm."

"How are the policies structured?" the detective asked. "More specifically, given the extent of coverage you said the Church has spread out across four states, is there a centralized office or company the Church uses to coordinate payments and claims?"

"Yes," Howard answered, "Redemption Management Systems is the authorized agent for the Church."

I looked over at Rich Prince and knew immediately our minds were on the same track. Redemption Management was most likely Monsignor Matthew Petrini.

Detective Remington asked, "What has been the claims history of Redemption over the past couple of years?"

Howard quickly rustled through the stack of paperwork. "Primarily medical expenses related to hospice care, psychological and psychiatric counselling. Among the covered properties other than the churches, there's about a dozen retirement and convalescent homes the Church operates for retired and sick clergy. There also have been some slip and fall claims."

Claire Lockwood interjected, "Gentlemen, we seem to be straying off course. Out immediate concern is the rash of recent fire claims, both property damage and life insurance payouts."

"I understand Ma'am," Remington responded, "but we need to learn the background history of the Church's insurance experience to evaluate if insurance fraud is a motive in the fires."

"I understand Detective. My company is facing claims for the fires totaling close to eight-million dollars in property damage alone. If they're deemed to have been arsons, I understand you must pursue that."

Rich Prince raised his hand to stop her. "Ms. Lockwood, you said life insurance payouts. Are those claims for the three priests that were killed?" She looked over at her colleague Howard Klein.

"Yes," Howard answered. "Whole life policies were in effect for all three of the deceased.

"What is the coverage on the policies, and who are listed as beneficiaries?" Rich asked.

Howard again rustled through his stack of paperwork before answering. "According to the report I received from my claims' analysts, Fathers Witkowsi and Convey were insured for twenty-five thousand each. Father Rastone's policy was for one-hundred thousand dollars."

He paused as he studied the spreadsheet. "Hmmmm, this is unusual. Father Rastone's coverage was increased from twenty-five thousand to one hundred thousand less than six months ago."

Again, Rich Prince and I exchanged looks but didn't comment. Rich posed the question. "And the beneficiaries, Mr. Klein?"

"I don't have that information with me, I'd have to examine the individual policies."

I spoke up, looking over at Claire. "Ms. Lockwood, Mr. Klein has referenced documents that we will need to examine. I'm prepared to prepare a search warrant to seize the documents, but I'd like to extend the offer to your company to provide certified copies of them pursuant to an administrative subpoena."

Claire Lockwood studied me for a moment. "Mr. Richardson, if you'll provide me with a list of the documents that you're seeking I'll review it before I consent to releasing anything."

"I understand, but I need to advise you that time is of the essence in this matter. I'll need a response from you within the next forty-eight hours."

"Send me your list Mr. Richardson, and I'll consider your request," she responded, her steely eyes suggesting defiance. She was drawing me into a power play, I wasn't going to allow that to happen.

Before I could respond I felt my cellphone vibrate in my shirt pocket, I saw it was five past noon and Damian was calling. I apologized and explained I needed to take the call. Rich pointed out an adjacent classroom and suggested I use it for privacy. As I walked to the room, I answered the phone.

"Daryl, hello. I have Pat Collins or Freddy Morton, whatever the hell he's calling himself today, on a conference call. You still there, Pat?"

"Yeah Boss, I'm here."

"Guys, I need your help with this dead nun case, Mary McNally. The Bishop contacted me when she went missing from the convent over in Cambridge and I assigned Pat to try and track her down and enter her into the national computer as an endangered missing person When my office was contacted by the New York State police after they found her dead in the motel outside of Buffalo, I called the Bishop and informed him. Off the record, he's concerned her death wasn't a suicide." I made some calls to the local PD up there, but they were reluctant to provide much information other than there was an empty pill container on the floor next to the bed. They suspect she overdosed on sleeping pills but are waiting for the autopsy toxicology report to confirm that."

"Boss, I still don't understand. If it's a suspected suicide, why are you getting involved?" I asked.

"Daryl, a couple of weeks ago two nuns came to my office. They were extremely distraught and nervous. They confided in me that they suspected their young novitiate had been molested by a priest. The novitiate was this Mary McNally. She has a sad personal background and had entered the convent about six months before she went missing. I contacted the Bishop, that's what led up to the meeting we had with him two weeks ago."

"Boss, are you telling us Mary McNally was molested by Monsignor Petrini?" I asked. I heard a muffled gasp from Pat who up to now had been silent.

After a pause, Damian answered, "No. The nuns said it was Father Albert Rastone."

" _What?_ " I responded in disbelief. _The priest who died in the St. Dymphna fire._

"The same."

"But Boss, you said on the phone last night that Monsignor Petrini was the last person to be seen with her."

"I did and he was. When the Bishop called me to report her missing, I went to the convent with Mike Coppola. We interviewed the Mother Superior and she said Petrini had met with Mary twice in the week before she went missing, including the day before. Mother Superior didn't know what the purpose of the visits were, they left the convent in his car."

"Mike offered to open a missing persons case with Boston PD, but I declined his offer. The Bishop was concerned with information leaking out to the press, that's why I assigned Pat to discretely see if he could locate her."

"I tried Boss, like you asked," Pat interjected. "But as I told you, she virtually had nothing I could trace. No phone, no credit card, bank account, nothing."

"I know Pat. That's not you fault. Now I need you to take a different approach. I need you to take a trip up to Buffalo and see what you can dig up. The PD up there told me she arrived at the motel by taxi and paid for one night with a hundred-dollar American Express traveler's check. If you can get the check number maybe you can back trace it to see where it was purchased. That might give us a lead."

"Boss, field investigation is something I haven't had much experience with. I'm a tech guy. I have to be honest, I'm nervous about this," Pat said.

"Listen Pat, I need this to be handled discretely for reasons I can't go into right now. I need someone I can trust, that's why I'm assigning you. Get together with Daryl and he can give you some advice on how to approach the cops up there. I'm having my secretary scan you a file that explains what I meant about Mary McNally's sad personal background. Let Daryl read it, he'll know what to do."

"Now Daryl, What's the status of your fire investigation?"

I explained I was currently in a meeting with the Church's insurance company and had learned Monsignor Petrini role of managing Church properties exceeded what we had previously thought. My mention of fire claims of eight million and the life insurance policies for the dead priests, especially the policy for Father Rastone caught his attention.

" _What?_ Are you telling me these fires aren't about clergy sex abuse, it's about money? _Jesus! Then who the hell is Gabriel?_

I answered I still thought Gabriel was Stefan Parker. Now with the information I had received today, I needed to connect him to Monsignor Petrini.

"Okay, sounds like you're on the right track. With Pat out of town if you need any support let me know. I'll arrange for the Springfield FBI office to back you up as needed."

I thanked him and just as we were ending the call Freddy called out, "Daryl! don't hang up. I need to talk with you."

Damian ended his participation in the call with the remark, "And by the way, Pat. If you're going to change your damn alias name every couple of months, do me a favor and send me an email. Okay?"

"Daryl, when and where can I meet with you to go over my assignment in Buffalo?" Freddy asked after Damian left the call.

I explained I was at the State Police barracks and was going back into the meeting. I glanced at my watch and saw it was almost twelve-thirty. I suggested we meet at my house at two-thirty. He agreed. I went back into the conference room and into a situation I hadn't anticipated. The fact-finding session I had hoped for had turned into an us against them standoff. As I sat down at the table, the room suddenly became quiet.

"Did I miss something?" I asked. I looked at Howard Klein; his face was beet red; beads of perspiration adorned his forehead. Claire Lockwood sat with her arms tightly folded across her chest. Her face bore a defiant stare at the two State Police Detectives. Rich Prince had the look of a man who wanted to be anywhere else but in that room. He looked over at me.

"We were discussing the extent of information that Somerset Insurance has pertaining to medical care expenses for the priests and seem to be in disagreement about how that pertains to our investigation," Rich explained.

Claire Lockwood interrupted. "Mr. Richardson, you above everyone else in this room should be aware of the Federal privacy restrictions on releasing protected health information."

"Yes Ms. Lockwood, I'm aware." I replied. "I'm also aware of the permitted law enforcement exceptions to HIPAA and quite honestly, I wouldn't think of trying to obtain information from your company other than via a search warrant. And that's exactly what we're going to do. Now, unless anyone has anything else to discuss, I suggest we adjourn. Another matter requires my immediate attention."

"Well!" Claire retorted, her face reddening in anger. "I never! I want it on the record any further discussions with us will be in the presence of our attorneys. And I warn you, they're very good at protecting our company.

"That won't be necessary," I answered in rebuttal.

"Oh?"

"I don't intend on wasting my time dancing around debating what is and what isn't confidential business records. Three priests are dead, and it's our job to arrest their killer. Good day, madam," I said as I stood up.

Howard Klein sat there as if paralyzed, Rich and his detectives couldn't or didn't want to hide the smug looks on their faces. Howard gathered up his files and he and Ms. Lockwood were shown to the lobby by Detective Faircloud. After they left the room Detective Chris Remington muttered under his breath, "Bitch."

I nodded my agreement.

"Man, that went downhill fast after you left the room," Rich quipped as he leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. We all sat at the table and looked at each other.

"Well, forget it. I have an assignment for you guys." I had their attention.

"I have a hunch that we missed something about Monsignor Petrini's business matters. I'm beginning to think that Miriam Parker has a bigger role in this than I thought. Her neighbor told me she leaves every morning, presumedly to go to work. Our research told us she is or was a claims rep for Somerset Insurance. Now I'm thinking she manages the business matters of Redemption Management Systems.

"What are you proposing?" Detective Faircloud asked with a puzzled look.

"Surveillance. I can find out from her neighbor what time she leaves in the morning. We know what her car looks like. We need to tail her. I'm thinking Petrini doesn't work out of his condo, the scope of his business dealings seems as if it's too much for one person to manage. He has to have help, and I'm thinking that's where Miriam Parker fits in."

"Interesting," Rich said nodding his agreement." Let's do it."

I looked at my phone and found the call I had received from the Parker's neighbor, Pete Howard. I called him, he answered on the third ring. I thanked him again for alerting me to the fire and asked how his wife was recovering from her surgery. After I got an update, I asked what time Miriam Parker left for work in the morning.

"Pretty much like clockwork. Every morning, Monday through Friday at eight-ten or eight-fifteen in the morning," Pete answered. Surprisingly, he didn't ask why I was inquiring. I thanked him and said I would keep in touch.

I informed the group of the information. Rich set up a plan for the two detectives to stake out Spruce Street tomorrow morning to see where Miriam goes. Before we adjourned, I asked of there was anything we had overlooked.

"Yeah," Detective Remington said. "This Howard guy mentioned life insurance policies for the dead priests. We need to know who the beneficiaries are, don't you think?" I agreed.

"We need a lot of business records from Somerset Insurance, not just the life insurance policies. I'll write the application for a Federal search warrant. I'll need two days to put that together and I'll present it to a Judge in Boston for review. We should have the search warrant in hand by the end of the week."

"Yeah, sounds good Daryl," Rich Prince said. "But I have a feeling the insurance company's lawyers are going to dispute the probable cause to support the warrant so they can get access to our investigation files. While you were on the phone that Lockwood woman was pressuring me to divulge information about any suspects and evidence we had. She made a remark her company wasn't going to wait for the police to solve the cases and was prepared to conduct their own arson investigation using its lawyers and private detectives. That could tie us up in Court defending our position, and the clock is counting down in your forty-day theory projection for the next fire."

I thought for a minute on what he had said. My mind was too tired and too crammed with competing information to compute how many days we had left to see if my fire theory was accurate.

After he dismissed his detectives Rich pulled me aside and said he wanted to set up a conference call with the out-of-state detectives investigating the fires in their jurisdictions.

"We should bring them up to speed and start laying the groundwork for them to accept the fact the cases more than likely will result in Federal prosecution." I agreed.

The lack of sleep was catching up to me, but I had to meet with Freddy at two-thirty. I thanked Rich for his assistance and headed for home.

As I walked into the kitchen, I saw Mandy was on her phone, she had a troubled look on her face. She mouthed the words, "my mother." I put my jacket in the front closet, when I went back to the kitchen, she was sitting at the kitchen island, her head in her hands.

"Everything all right?" I asked.

"No," she answered, I saw her eyes were teary. "My father is in the hospital. He had some chest pain and went to the doctors. He has a blockage in one of his heart arteries and they're going to have to perform a cardiac catherization and put in a shunt. My mother is a basket case."

I went over to her and gave her a long hug. "What can I do?" I asked.

She shook her head and answered, "I don't know. I need to go up to Vermont and help them get through this. I didn't see this coming. He's sixty-six years old and up until now his health has been excellent." I sat down next to her as she explained her mother's report on what led up to him being taken by ambulance to the hospital.

"The doctor told my mother the procedure is very common, and he expected Daddy would be fine. He should only be in the hospital for two days after the procedure, but I want to go up there and spend a few days with them to make sure they can manage at home. Is that all right?"

"Of course, it's all right Hon! Your family comes first. When will you drive up?"

"Tomorrow morning. I need to pack some clothes and make sure you have food here while I'm gone." I told her not to worry about me, that I would manage.

"By the way, Freddy's coming over at two-thirty," I said. "Damian is sending him up to Buffalo to follow up on the McNally girl's death and I want to give him some suggestions on how to get the local cops cooperation." My remark surprised her.

"Freddy? Why on earth is Damian getting involved in this? Is there something you haven't told me about this woman?" she asked.

I answered I wasn't sure what Damian had in mind and told her of his remark Mary McNally had a sad background, whatever that meant.

"You know, after you told me Monsignor Petrini was the last one to be seen with her I said I thought they were having an affair. What do you think?" she asked.

I answered I had no idea, but it didn't make sense. "I'm thinking it has something to do with Father Rastone."

" _What!_ The priest that died in the fire?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Damian had a visit from two nuns at the convent, they told him they suspected Rastone had molested Mary."

" _My God! What is wrong with these people?"_ she exclaimed shaking her head in disbelief. "You know what? Maybe Daddy getting sick is a blessing. I need to get away from all this Church depravity, and you need to concentrate on solving this case. Just promise me you won't get shot at this time."

I answered I would do my best.

# Chapter 20

A knock on the kitchen door interrupted us, it was Freddy Morton.

"Hey! He greeted us as I opened the door "I know I'm a little early. Did I come at a bad time?"

I explained Mandy had just been made aware her father was in the hospital and it was a complete shock to her. Freddy didn't hesitate and went over to her and gave her a hug. They sat down at the breakfast bar and she explained her father's condition. Freddy offered words of encouragement and emphasized it sounded as if they had found her father's heart condition before he had a heart attack. His compassion surprised me; apparently his new girlfriend was already working her magic on him. He looked over at me.

"Again, I apologize for being a little early, but I want you to see the report on Mary McNally that Damian sent me. This is heavy duty, Daryl." His blunt comment had my attention as he handed me a manila envelope.

"I'll put some coffee on," Mandy said as she stood up. Freddy and I went into the family room and sat down. I took the report and immediately noted it was a Department of Justice restricted file from the Office of Witness Protection Services. The subject of the report was a Monica McGovern. I was exhausted from a lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours and stared at the name trying to understand what this had to do with Mary McNally. I looked over at Freddy with a confused look. He nodded his head and motioned for me to read the report.

At the time the report was created, Monica was a nineteen-year-old abandoned by her drug addicted mother at birth. She had been raised by several Pennsylvania and New York State foster parent families until she ran away at age seventeen. After a few months living on the streets she had been forced into prostitution by a notorious sex trafficking ring. She came to the attention of law enforcement when she fled her handlers and sought refuge with a group of nuns who ran a shelter for abused girls and women. Ultimately, the nuns encouraged her to disclose her story to the police. Using her as a decoy, a police investigation resulted in a dozen arrests of individuals involved in a multi-state human trafficking operation. She testified at the trial of the first two defendants, who were convicted and received lengthy prison sentences. In the course of the court proceedings a reliable informant told the police a contract had been put out by the ring's purported ringleader, the prominent CEO of a national real estate development company, offering ten thousand dollars to kill her before his trial. When she was told of the death threat and put into protective custody, she balked at any further testimony. The nuns, through their pastoral advisor Father Albert Rastone, interceded on her behalf and negotiated for her to be placed in the witness protection program if she testified. The defendant was ultimately convicted after a trial and received a fifteen-year sentence. As a protected witness Monica McGovern became Mary McNally. With the nun's encouragement she entered their Order's Massachusetts convent as a novitiate. Two follow up visits by her Federal caseworker reported she seemed to be thriving in her new environment. The caseworker reported the only people who knew her real identity and life story were Fr. Rastone and the convent Mother Superior.

I set the report down and looked at Freddy. I felt physically and emotionally drained. Everywhere I was turning there was another victim.

"Yeah," he said solemnly nodding his head. "I too felt weak.

Mandy came into the room with a tray bearing our coffees and some

oatmeal cookies. She looked at me as she set it down on the coffee table.

"Daryl! You look awful. What's the matter?"

I looked over at Freddy. Mandy was part of this investigation, her

research skills and intuition had helped bring me from having no suspects to zeroing in on Stefan Parker. Freddy's look at me was saying "Yeah, let her read the file."

"Hon, Damian uncovered some information about Mary McNally," I said as I handed her the file. "This is a restricted confidential Federal report. Tell us what you think." It took her a few minutes to read the document. When she finished, she looked up and remarked, _"My God!"_ as she slowly shook her head.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Could her death have any connection to the fires?"

She looked at me, then at Freddy before she spoke. "This is unbelievable! These priests have a connection to Mary McNally and a connection to Saint Dymphna."

"Yeah, but our prime fire suspect is Stefan Parker," I reminded her. She thought about that for a minute.

"Yeah, but didn't you say his mother worked for the insurance company that handled the claims for the Church, and that Monsignor Petrini had something to do with submitting the claims?"

"I did say that, yes."

"Then I think your missing link in all of this is Stefan's mother, don't you agree?" she asked as she handed me the file.

I looked over at Freddy, he shrugged his shoulders, but remained silent.

Mandy continued, "Now I'm wondering if she committed suicide or was murdered."

"How did you arrive at that?" I asked incredulously.

"Maybe I was wrong. She wasn't having an affair with the Monsignor; she either was willingly involved with Father Rastone or he molested her and maybe he got her pregnant. Either way, maybe she threatened to report him, or she told the Monsignor about it."

I had to think what she was saying had some merit. Rastone had a history of sexual misconduct and a history with Monica McGovern. It seemed plausible he had carefully cultivated a trusting and supportive relationship with her when she had sought help from the nuns. She was vulnerable and he was the male authority figure who protected her. Now, years later, he had come back into her life as Mary McNally to reap the rewards of that relationship. It was a classic predator grooming scenario.

"I'm going to go and start packing my clothes for the trip up North," Mandy said as she stood up. "Think about what I said. Damian may be right that there's a connection between Mary McNally and the fires."

After she left the room Freddy asked. "Daryl, what am I looking for when I meet with the Sheriff's Department in Buffalo?"

I was tired, but my brain was still functioning, albeit slower than normal.

"We were told an empty pill container was found in the motel room. We need to know what the pills were; prescription or over the counter," I said. "Ask about any personal belongings she had when she was found; a pocketbook, luggage, clothes."

"What you're looking for are any receipts she had that may help track her movements from the convent. I think the most important evidence we can do something with is the American Express travelers' check she used to pay for the motel room. If you can somehow get a copy of it, we can try and trace the check number to see where it was obtained. With any luck, it was a bank and they may have surveillance video of the transaction."

"I understand what you're saying. I have a high-level contact in the American Express security division, and I've had excellent cooperation from her in some recent cases," Freddy remarked. "But how do I explain the Boston US Attorney's interest in Mary McNally's death? They're going to want to know why I'm sticking my nose into their investigation."

"I would be honest," I answered. "They probably know about the church fires investigation. Hell, they might even know about Gabriel from newspaper articles. Tell them we believe she had a connection to one of the dead priests and we're just running down leads. You can be vague, don't get into Father Rastone's or her personal histories."

"Okay, I get your drift. I'll see what I can do," he said. "I need to go

and pack some clothes for the trip. I'll go up tomorrow morning and should be back tomorrow night. I'll let you know how I make out." I wished him luck and walked him to the door.

I checked on Mandy and found her packing in the master bedroom. I was near exhaustion and needed sleep. I left her to her chore and settled into one of the guest rooms for a nap. Sleep came quickly.

I woke and it took me a few seconds to get my bearings. I looked at my watch and saw it was a little past seven. I got up and went out to the kitchen to find Mandy and our property caretaker Erik Nichols and his wife Bernie having coffee.

"I let you sleep," Mandy said. "Are you feeling any better?" I said hello to the Nichols and answered I felt rested.

"You left your phone on the coffee table and it rang a few times. I didn't look at it to see who it was," Mandy said. "Are you hungry?" I answered I was, that a sandwich would be fine.

I went and checked my phone to find messages from Major Rich Prince and Damian. Rich's message was that arson investigator Trooper Kevin Gallo had compared the ignitor device he found at the Spruce Street fire scene with the remnants of the suspected ignitor he recovered from the Saint Dymphna fire. The circuit boards were similar. He was confident the same person made both devices. He asked that I call him.

His phone rang several times, just as it started to go to phone mail he picked up. "Daryl, you got my message. What do you think?"

"I think now we have a critical piece of evidence to try and link to Stefan Parker,"

"I agree. But it gets better. Gabriel slipped up."

"What do you mean?"

"Trooper Gallo lifted a latent print off of the road flare he recovered at Spruce Street."

"That's great, except I doubt if Stefan Parker's prints are on file anywhere," I said in response to the news.

"Your probably right, but Kevin submitted the print to the AFIS database anyway to see if it comes up with a match. I'll keep you posted." Rich added he had assigned two detectives to follow Miriam Parker tomorrow morning to see where she worked. I told him my hunch was she was working for Monsignor Petrini, not Somerset Insurance as we thought.

After Rich's call, I phoned Damian. "Well, I wondered if I was going to hear back from you. Everything all right?" he asked.

I filled him in on the Spruce Street drug house fire and the discovery of what we thought was the device used as an ignitor. When I explained it appeared to be similar to the burned and damaged device found at Saint Dymphna, and that a latent print was found on the incendiary road flare attached to the Spruce Street device, he immediately understood the importance of the evidence.

"Excellent! Even if the AFIS system doesn't come up with a match, maybe you can come up with an idea to somehow obtain your suspect's prints for comparison," he suggested.

"But Daryl, what I called about is your request to obtain the court files of the paternity lawsuit against the Washington State Diocese and this Father Rastone that we learned about from the files the Bishop gave you. I have good news. The FBI office out there found it on Court microfilm. Your hunch was right on. Miriam Parker was the plaintiff.

"What about the baby's name, Boss? Was that in the file?" I asked.

"I don't know. The Agent I spoke with didn't say. He sent a copy of the file to me overnight FedEx, I should have it tomorrow. As soon as it comes in, I'll have Kathy Curtiss scan it to you. Now, where do we stand with Pat Collins going up to Buffalo?"

I filled him on my suggestions to Pat on how to get cooperation from the New York Sheriff's Department and that he seemed more confident after our talk. I explained he was going up to Buffalo in the morning.

"Excellent. I know he can get the job done for us. Don't tell him I said this, but that kid is brilliant. Thanks for helping him out."

After the call to Damian I made myself a drink and sat down in my recliner. The case was finally starting to come together I thought, as I took a sip. I was feeling more confident I'd be able to prove Stefan Parker was Gabriel, but his motive still escaped me.

Mandy came into the family room, she looked drained. "Well, I see you're having a drink. You must be feeling better after your nap," she said as she went behind the bar and took a bottle of wine out of the cooler. She poured herself a glass and sat down on the sofa. "Ahhh! I needed that," she said as she took a long slow sip.

We talked about her father; she said she was nervous but as she was packing her clothes for the trip up north, she realized his medical issue could have been worse. "Not to change the subject," she said, "But I was thinking about Mary McNally. How did she get from the convent to the motel? And why there? I mean, was she from that area? Did she have friends there? That bothers me. There had to be a reason she picked that place."

Those were good questions; my fatigue apparently had slowed my brain down because I hadn't thought of them myself.

"I don't know Hon, but you raise some good points," I said in acknowledgement.

"Do you think you should talk to the nuns you said visited Damian and told him about Father Rastone molesting her? There must be more of a story to that. I mean, how did they know that happened? Did they see something? Did Mary tell them something happened?"

Again, I was at a loss for an answer.

"And if that's the case," she continued, "did they tell their boss, or report it to the Bishop? If you ask me, I think something was being covered up just like all those other sex abuse cases we read about."

Her last comment struck a chord with me. It wasn't clear in my mind how the Diocese handled abuse complaints. After meeting Bishop Francis, I couldn't believe he would be involved in a coverup. He presented himself as a no-nonsense man, his calling in life a sincere devotion to his religion, not just a job. As I thought it through, Monsignor Petrini seemed to be the Bishop's go-to guy on many Church matters. With his law school education, logically he would be the person to oversee an investigation of an abuse complaint. As I sat there, I realized Petrini's conduct seemed to be popping up in many parts of this investigation. Too many. Was I missing something?

# Chapter 21

The next morning at eight-thirty I helped Mandy load her luggage into her car and after an extended hug and kiss, and my promise I would behave while she was away, she headed out to her parent's home in Stowe, Vermont.

I went back into the house and settled in at my desk in our home office. Earlier in the week I had started an affidavit laying out the details of the Saint Dymphna Manor fire and deaths and brought the document up on the screen. Today I would use it to serve as an application for a search warrant to obtain documents from Somerset Insurance, being careful to be brief and concise with the fire crime scene details. I spent almost an hour typing up the premise that although a reasonable motive for the fires was the currently unidentified Gabriel who had threatened revenge against the Church for years of sex abuse of children, it was logical and necessary to explore other motives such as insurance fraud. I knew this was a slippery slope for me, but I was betting esteemed senior jurist Emerson Taylor, sitting on the bench of Federal Court in Boston, would follow my logic and concur I had probable cause to seize the insurance documents. As I leaned back after proofreading the affidavit, I admitted to myself I needed to come up with a solid, provable motive. I still had more work to do.

I noticed the new message email icon on the laptop screen flash, I opened the program and saw a message from Damian's Executive Secretary, Kathy Curtis. I opened the attachment and saw it was the Court record of the paternity lawsuit against Father Albert Rastone and the Catholic Diocese he served. I read through the document and confirmed the suit had been brought by Miriam Parker. To my disappointment, the newborn was referred to only as Newborn Male Parker. The file documented several Court orders ruling on motions for discovery and blood tests, the final order granted the plaintiff's motion to withdraw the suit and ordered details of settlement, if any, to be sealed.

I switched gears and was researching Google for the address of Somerset Insurance's New England regional office to be listed on the search warrant application as the place to be searched for the documents I wanted, when I received a call from Rich Prince.

"Daryl, my guys tailed Miriam Parker from her house this morning. Your hunch was right. She's working at an office building on South Street in Pittsfield. My guys waited a few minutes after she went inside, and they checked the building directory in the lobby. Redemption Management Systems has an office on the second floor. They took some photos of the building in case we need a description for a search warrant."

"Excellent, Rich. Tell them I said thanks. Now we need to shift gears. I received some information from Damian Costigan that may steer our investigation in a new direction. I don't want to go into details on the phone, but we need to talk. I can come to the barracks if you have some time."

"I'll make the time. I'll be here all day."

"Great, I'll see you in an hour," I said and ended the call. I had it in my mind I needed to talk to the Mother Superior at Mary McNally's convent, and my plan was to bring Rich along. Forty-five minutes later I arrived at the State Police barracks.

"Daryl, I don't know what to make of this," Rich Prince said as he slid the witness protection report back to me across the desk. If this Rastone was Gabriel's target when he set the Manor fire, how the hell would he know about the nuns telling Damian Costigan they think he molested the McNally girl? And why is it that Rastone died when most of the others in the Manor didn't? Think about it. This doesn't make any sense."

"Rich, I'm as lost in this as you are. I agree. It doesn't make sense," I answered.

"Then what's our next move Daryl? The clock is ticking."

"I know. I want you and I to take a ride and interview the Mother Superior at Mary McNally's convent."

"Okay, I can do that. But do you really think the McNally girl has some connection with Gabriel? Think about it. We have strong circumstantial evidence to believe Stefan Parker is Gabriel, but he's basically a hermit holed up in his mother's basement. What's throwing me off in all this is Monsignor Hennessey telling you Rastone served at all the churches that burned. Logically, Rastone has been the common denominator all along. But how is Stefan Parker learning information about him?"

I said I didn't have an answer to that, and felt we were missing something. Suddenly, it dawned on me.

"Rich, did your Fire Marshal Troopers take any photos of the interior of the Manor, in particular, where they found the bodies?"

"I'm not sure, I'll pull the file," he said as he stood up and headed for the office door. He stopped midway. "Better yet, let's ask the man himself. I saw Kevin Gallo in the building an hour ago. I'll have him paged."

Rich was gone for a few minutes during which I heard the building intercom paging Trooper Gallo to call the front desk. In a few minutes Rich returned carrying several thick files. He separated the photos from printed documents and set them on the office conference table. As we started to look through them Trooper Gallo arrived at the office.

"You wanted to see me Major?" he asked as he reached over and quickly shook my hand.

"Yeah. Daryl was asking if we had any photos of the dead priests' rooms before their bodies were removed."

"We do," he answered. "Trooper Ridgeway was assigned for crime scene photos and Trooper Landau was assigned to video the scene. I arrived while the bodies were still inside. I remember them standing in the hallway taking pictures and filming. It wasn't pretty. The bodies were badly burned. Is there something specific you're looking for?"

"Rich raised the point it seems the fire burned most severely in the area of the ground floor bedroom wing of the Manor," I explained. "We have a theory that one of the dead priests was the specific target of the fire and I want to see if in fact that's where his body was found."

"Wow! That's a curveball," the Trooper said as he started to go through the large stack of color photos. As he was doing that I asked, "What was the layout of the bedroom wing. I mean, was it set up like a dormitory?"

"Sort of," he answered." It was more like a hotel hallway with the entry to bedroom each suite off one side of it."

"There's a floor plan in the report file, let me show you." As he started toward Rich's desk to check the file, I stopped him. "That's okay Kevin, I'm more interested in photos. And you said video was taken. Is there any chance I could view it?"

"Yeah, sure. We burned it to a CD, it should be in the file. Yeah, here it is," he said as he pulled the CD from the paperwork.

While Trooper Gallo loaded the CD into Rich's computer, I examined the still photos, one of which immediately caught my eye. In what had been the doorway between a day room / lounge and the bedroom hallway was the remains of the door. Attached to the door was a deadbolt lock installed so it would secure the hallway from the dayroom side, preventing the door from being used as an exit from the bedroom hallway. Obviously, a fire code violation. If the door was locked it would trap the bedroom occupants in the hallway if there was no second exit route.

Trooper Gallo said the video was ready, Rich and I watched as the videographer performed a walk-through of the Manor. When the video showed the dayroom, I had Trooper Gallo freeze the frame as the camera focused on the door. It confirmed the deadbolt's location. As the video restarted, it showed that the Trooper filming the scene had zoomed in on the lock, detailing that the deadbolt was extended. I turned to Rich and remarked the door had been locked before the fire burned it to the extent it collapsed. He shook his head but didn't comment as the video continued. The extent of damage was horrific. A charred body was on the floor in the hallway, a few feet from the door. Remains of two more bodies, each in a bedroom, were lying in what remained of their beds. It was a sickening site. I asked Trooper Gallo to stop the video.

"Rich, my guess is the first body in the hallway is Father Rastone. The other two priests that died were reportedly in poor health and bedridden," I said. "We need to talk to the caretakers on duty that night to find out if the hallway door was locked and if so, why?"

Rich commented his detectives had interviewed the husband and wife on duty the night of the fire; he went through the report file on his desk and pulled out their statements. I took a few minutes to read them. They described their activities that evening starting with serving dinner and later administering the infirm priests' nightly medications at eight pm.

There was no mention of locking the hallway door.

We watched the rest of the video that recorded the first-floor bedroom wing. At the end of the hallway was the charred ruins of a wall. Other than the locked door to the dayroom, the occupants had no other route for escape. They had been trapped. There was no doubt in my mind. This wasn't just an arson. It was murder.

I asked Trooper Gallo to make a copy of the video for my file, Rich and I went over to the conference table and sat down. His complexion was noticeably pale, he sat there quietly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just seeing those bodies were a shock," he answered. "Now that we know the hallway door was locked, there's no other explanation than to believe whoever set the fire knew the priests had no way to escape. That confirms this was premeditated murder, don't you agree?" he asked.

I said I did, but I didn't have an answer to explain how Gabriel would have known about the hallway door being locked.

"Rich, I'm convinced Stefan Parker made the devices that started the fire and that he's Gabriel. But his neighbor I spoke with said Stefan rarely leaves his house. I can't figure out how and who he would have been in contact with at the Manor to confirm the priests were in their rooms and the hallway door was locked the night of the fire. What's more confusing is that Father Rastone is the common thread in all this, but we don't have a direct connection between him and Stefan other than through his mother and the paternity lawsuit thirty years ago. Now, Rastone is dead. I just don't get it. What are we missing that will tie all of this together?"

"I hear you. But what about the nun that was found dead? Is she tied into this somehow or is that also just a coincidence?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair.

I explained that Damian had sent Freddy Morton up to Buffalo to learn what he could about Mary McNally's death from the Sheriffs, but I hadn't received a report from him. Rich suggested we brief his detectives about the deadbolt lock and let them handle the follow-up interviews of the caregiver couple. He and I would visit the convent tomorrow to interview the Mother Superior. I agreed, Rich said he would meet me at the barracks in the morning, and he would drive us up to Cambridge. Trooper Gallo gave me a copy of the fire scene CD, I thanked him for his help and headed back to Stockbridge.

After I was home for an hour Freddy called in with his report. He had met with the detective investigating Mary McNally's death and confirmed the Department was treating the case as a suicide.

They were anticipating the results of the autopsy toxicology examination would indicate she had overdosed on over-the-counter sleeping pills. Freddy said he learned Mary arrived at the motel by taxi from the local bus terminal early in the evening and the next morning was found by the motel housekeeper. She was found dead fully dressed on the bed. There were no signs of forced entry to the room or a struggle.

Freddy said the detective told him two or three days of clothing and a plain white envelope that contained four one hundred AmEx traveler's checks were in the one suitcase found in the room. The detective reported a pre-paid cell phone was on the nightstand, no incoming or outgoing calls were found in its stored history.

Freddy explained he wanted to spend another day in Buffalo after learning the bus and driver that brought Mary into town would be making a scheduled trip tomorrow afternoon. He hoped the driver could provide information about where Mary boarded and if she was travelling with anyone.

I asked about the traveler's checks found in the room, he said the detective gave him copies. The serial numbers were sequential, and he said he would contact his American Express contact to determine where they had been purchased. I thanked him for the info and asked he keep me posted.

I called Mandy for an update on her father's condition. She reported the heart procedure had gone well, the doctors had inserted two shunts to open his arteries and he was resting comfortably. The expectation was he would be discharged the day after tomorrow. She changed the subject and asked how the investigation was going.

I explained the finding the priests at Saint Dymphna's were essentially locked into the first-floor bedroom wing the night of the fire.

"My God!" She exclaimed. "Who would do that and why?"

I told her I didn't have that answer.

"What about the nun who was found dead. Did Freddy find out what

happened to her?" she asked.

I explained he was working on it and started to tell her about the AmEx checks when she interrupted me.

"Daryl, something about her has been bothering me," she said. "That witness protection report you showed me made mention the guy she testified against tried to have her killed. Do you think he had something to do with her death at the motel?"

Her question surprised me, just as did Rich Prince asking if Mary could somehow be connected to Gabriel or the fires.

The defendant Mary had testified against would have a motive; his fifteen-year prison sentence. I had one problem, though. The report didn't mention his name.

"Daryl? Daryl? Are you still there?" Mandy asked. Inadvertently, I hadn't said anything in response to her theory.

"Yeah, I am Hon. You know, you brought up a point that I missed. I'll have to look into that."

"If you want me to do some research for you, I brought my laptop with me. I have plenty of time to help you. Daddy is sleeping a lot and my mother doesn't want to do anything other than stay with him at the hospital as much as she can," she explained. "If you can get me the guy's name, I'll see what I can find."

"You know Hon, I could use your help. I'll call Damian and see if he knows or can find out the name of the guy she testified against. I know it's a detour from the fire investigation, but you raised a point that should be checked out."

"What else are you up to?" she asked.

I explained Rich Prince and I were going up to Boston to interview Mary McNally's Mother Superior to see if she had any information on how Father Rastone came to be involved with her religious order.

"Well, I'm glad Rich is going with you. I worry that you'll get yourself involved in something that I'll learn about on the evening news, so behave yourself, understand?" I promised I would and ended the call.

I called Damian and filled him in on my learning the priests at Saint Dymphna Manor were locked in the bedroom wing the night of the fire.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "I thought this case was about a nut job burning churches because he was pissed at them for covering up abuse. Now it seems that the fires are almost a distraction. What was gained by the priests dying in the fire? And how does the dead novitiate tie into all of this? Coincidence?"

I filled him in on Freddy's report about his investigation in Buffalo, and Mandy's comment that maybe we should look at a possible motive being revenge in Mary McNally's death.

" _Revenge?"_ What the hell are you talking about? And how did Mandy come into all of this?" he asked, his blood pressure obviously now headed skyward.

I calmly explained how Mandy had done the bulk of computer research on the church abuse cases and that her objective perspective was catching the possible motives I was missing.

"Okay, I get it. I'm not criticizing, I'm just worried that this case was difficult enough when we started, now It's taking turns that are making me dizzy."

"Do you honestly think that all of these people you've been looking at have a common link between them?" he asked. "About the only one you've left out so far is Bishop Francis!"

I deliberately remained quiet. I honestly hadn't thought about the Bishop.

" _Oh NO!",_ Don't tell me you think Georgie Francis is involved in all of this," he exclaimed in disbelief.

I assured him the Bishop wasn't a suspect, but silently I wondered if he was going to turn out to be another victim.

I asked Damian if he could find out the name of the human trafficking defendant Mary McNally testified against, he answered he could do better than that. "His name is Andrei Fedorov."

"How did you know that, Boss?" I asked in surprise of his rapid answer.

"There's some truth in the phrase it's a small world," he answered with a laugh. "Remember that money laundering case I told you about a few weeks ago? Well, one of the persons of interest in the investigation is a Russian born architect, Vasily Federov. He worked for years with his brother Andrei's construction company before Andrei got caught up in the Pennsylvania human trafficking case. The connection between the two came up during our investigation."

"Is Vasily one of the targets in your case?" I asked.

"No, but the FBI is still looking into his business dealings. Andrei's company was huge and very successful. When he got sentenced to prison the company lost most of the contracts they had in the works. Vasily re-organized the business and is trying to re-build it. I read a report where it said he's working on designing luxury housing, hotels and inns by purchasing and renovating older buildings like schools and churches that are no longer being used for their original purpose. He has a reputation for being a brilliant architect."

"Where does the money laundering suspicion come into play?" I asked.

"We're not sure. The State Department has some intelligence, and our wiretaps support the belief Vasily has close contacts with some organized crime figures in Russia. There are unproven allegations that Russian mob money is being used to finance these new construction projects. My guess is that they're transferring money in and out of this country to launder it and avoid taxes."

"But Boss, how would the Federov brothers tie into Mary McNally's death?"

"I don't know," he answered. "The brothers have a strong family bond; it could be a cultural thing. Andrei's human trafficking conviction literally cost the family tens of millions of dollars. That would be a strong motive to get revenge against the McNally girl."

"Well, now that I know that, my thinking is Mary's death and the Church fires probably don't have a connection. Revenge by the Federov family makes sense. Does Freddy know about this?"

"No, I've said nothing to him. This is the first time I've used him for a field investigation and to be honest, I asked him to go up to Buffalo because he was already in Western Mass and not far from there. I briefed the four field agents investigating the money laundering ring about the McNally girl's death. We're waiting for Freddy's report before I decide if the Justice Department should enter the New York case. If I do, we'll transfer our file on Vasily to the New York US Attorney."

I was satisfied with Damian's explanation and thankful the already complicated arson case wouldn't become further muddled. Changing the subject, I explained that Rich Prince and I were coming up to Boston in the morning to interview Mary McNally's Mother Superior and added that I would have the search warrant application ready to seize business records from Somerset Insurance.

Damian said he would speak with Judge Taylor and schedule some time with him to review the affidavit in the early afternoon. I thanked him and ended the call.

I spent the next hour in our home office putting the finishing touches on my search warrant application. I used Rich Prince as the co-affiant and after a phone call to him to flesh out his professional background and get a description of Somerset Insurance's Springfield business office as the place to be searched, I finished the document. As much as I selfishly wanted to be there when the warrant was executed on Somerset Risk Manager Claire Lockwood, I deferred that pleasure to Rich Prince's two detectives who had interviewed her and her cohort Howard Klein. I hope the poor man wouldn't have a stroke when the detectives and FBI agents knocked on his office door. I listed a plethora of documents to be seized, to include records of claims submitted by Redemption Counselling Services. In my mind though, the most important documents related to the case were the life insurance policies for the priests that died. I was curious about the amounts of coverage and who the beneficiaries were.

When I finished, I fixed myself a sandwich from the lunch meat Mandy had in the refrigerator. For good measure I took the last two crème filled doughnuts for my dessert. As I savored them, I had a vision that a home gym was in my future.

I called Mandy again to check in with her. After hearing her upbeat report about her father's recovery and assuring her I missed her, I gave her the names of the Federov brothers and asked her to email anything she could find pertaining to them on the internet.

After the call I took a shower and went to bed early. I fell asleep knowing that tomorrow I had to kick the investigation into high gear. If my theory was correct, I had less than three weeks until Gabriel would burn Saint Erasmus Church in Preston.

# Chapter 22

At a few minutes past eight the next morning I was in the kitchen drinking my morning coffee. Through the front window I saw Rich Prince's unmarked State Police cruiser pull into the driveway; a few minutes later he was inside settled in at the kitchen island. I brewed him a coffee, set in on the counter, and sat down on the stool next to his. He took a slow slip from his mug.

"Let me ask you something," he said as he set the coffee down. "Do you ever get tired of living your life with all the stress our jobs give us?"

I was puzzled by his question. It was too early in the morning for me to engage in a philosophical conversation. "Not really. It's a job, I take the good with the bad. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I couldn't sleep last night, I tossed and turned. I read the Fire Marshal's preliminary report on the Spruce Street drug house fire before I went to bed, and I couldn't get it out of my mind that the ignition device Kevin Gallo found at the scene appears to be the same as what he found at St. Dymphna Manor. I just don't get it."

"I'm not following you Rich."

"I got up at five this morning and took a ride over to Spruce Street. I saw the Parker kid's truck in his driveway and when I passed the burned house down the street, I asked myself if he's the one burning these churches, why would he burn a house so close to his? What could be his motive?"

His question gave me pause before I answered. Logic told me I caught Stefan Parker checking out churches Mandy and I identified as potential fire targets; his neighbor's report Stefan was experimenting in his backyard with some type of fire devices told me he was familiar with

pyrotechnics; there was a link between his mother and the Church through her work with Monsignor Petrini's property and personnel management businesses, and her allegation of sexual abuse by a priest thirty years ago. Everything was pointing a finger at him being our prime suspect. Even with all these circumstantial facts, Rich had a point. We still had unanswered questions.

"Rich, I know it may not seem like it, but we're making progress on this case. Sure, we've had some unexpected curves in the road, but I feel we're close to breaking this thing wide open. I admit the young nun being found dead has thrown me for a loop, but I'm hoping her Mother Superior can help shed some light on why she left the convent. And once we get the search warrant issued for Petrini's Redemption businesses, we may turn up bank records to prove the fires were for profit.

"Why Stefan would burn the drug house, I don't know; but I'm betting we'll begin to see some daylight to figure this out. We just need to stay the course."

"Oh, I'm not a quitter Daryl. I just wanted to get that off my chest. I'm in this with you to the finish line. By the way, can I look at the search warrant affidavit you've written?"

"Of course," I answered and went into our home office and brought the file back to the kitchen. I gave him the document and excused myself to gather some things before we headed out to Boston. I went into the bedroom and took my Sig Sauer and two magazines from the closet gun locker. I walked back into the kitchen just as Rich was finished reading the warrant.

Looking up at me he said, "Damn, you have a gift for legal writing. I thought a judge might think our probable cause is a little light, but you put the right words together to get your point across. I think he'll sign this." He watched as I laced my belt through the holster and slid the Sig firmly into place.

"Expecting trouble?"

"No, but remember what happened when I went to Boston a couple of months ago? If I'm going to get shot at again, I'd like to have the option of shooting back," I answered not intending to be funny.

"All right but, listen; there will be no shooting! Christ, I already have enough paperwork on my desk!"

A few minutes later I locked up the house and we went out to the driveway. Rich's brand-new Ford Taurus unmarked car would provide our left lane express cruise up the Pike into Boston.

Our ride was smooth, albeit fast. Cars ahead of us seeing the unmarked Trooper car coming up from behind in their rearview mirrors graciously, but undoubtedly with a measure of nervousness, moved over to clear a path for us. I settled in and passed the time listening to the non-stop radio messages between the State Police Troops and cars on the road. It brought back memories of my younger days working for the police department in Connecticut. Rich made the normally two-hour trip in an hour and forty minutes as we turned off the Pike at Exit 18 to head into Cambridge.

I had done some research and learned The Sisters of Margurite is a Canadian religious order that originated in Montreal, Canada. Their primary mission is to serve as parochial schoolteachers and social workers in Eastern Canada, the Northeast, and Middle Atlantic US states. Over the years declining Catholic school enrollment and fewer women entering the Order had resulted in the Cambridge Massachusetts and Scranton Pennsylvania convents being their last presence in the US.

Following the GPS directions for the street address I had given Rich we pulled up to the convent. Surprisingly, it wasn't located next to a church, but rather was a large mansion style home on the edge of the downtown business district. It sat on what I estimated to be five acres of lawn that was starkly void of trees and gardens as one might expect of a Church property. Signs of building neglect were obvious. I surmised the Sisters were suffering through difficult financial times. Rich parked the car and we went to the front door and rang the bell. After a minute, a young nun opened the door.

We identified ourselves and produced our credentials explaining that we wished to speak with the Mother Superior. The nun looked troubled and for a few moments just stared at us. "Please wait, I will see if the Mother is available," she said as she closed the door. "

Well that didn't go well," Rich said as he stepped off the entry landing. After a minute the door opened, and I was confronted by a stern-faced woman dressed in a full clerical habit. The crisply starched white collar and headband of her veil told me I was facing a traditional nun.

"May I help You?" the nun asked in a defensive tone. I introduced myself and showed her my Federal ID. I explained I wished to speak with Mother Superior regarding Sister Mary McNally.

"I am Mother Superior," she answered brusquely. "I have nothing to say about my Sisters. Please leave," she responded as she started to close the door. I put my foot forward to prevent it from closing. She gave me a piercing look; her facial expression reinforced her defiance.

"Mother, we mean no disrespect. We're investigating the death of your novitiate. We need to talk," I calmly said.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said. "I have asked you politely to leave. _Please leave!_ she commanded, raising her voice.

"Mother, our investigation has led us to consider that Sister Mary's death was not by her own hand, but as a result of the actions of another. Please give us a few minutes of your time to explain what we've learned," I said with as much compassion as I could muster.

Mother Superior snapped her head back, my words appeared to shock her. She stared at me with cold eyes. "Come with me," she directed with authority. At least she hadn't grabbed me by the arm and dragged me off to her office as if I was one of her miscreant young male students who had been caught in his mischief.

She led us to a small sparsely furnished office located off the front parlor. I was struck by the simplicity of the room. The floor was bare wood, but clean. A large framed picture of Jesus hung on a side wall; the other walls were bare. Simple dark blue drapes hung from each of the two large windows.

"Sit!" She commanded as she pointed to the two high back wooden chairs facing her desk. She went behind the desk and roughly pulled the drapes shut. The single light in the ceiling gave the room a dreary ambiance. She sat down at the desk and folded her hands, her posture rigid. Rich and I sat as we were instructed. I couldn't help but notice there was a wooden ruler in place to the right side of a worn cardboard desk blotter. I fought the urge to smile as I thought to myself Rich and I were in trouble. I quickly glanced over at him and sensed he was intimidated by the woman.

I explained to Mother Superior my role with the US Attorney and Rich's role to oversee the investigation of the several church fires and the fire at Saint Dymphna Manor. I carefully brought up the subject of Mary McNally's death, as I suspected Mother wasn't aware two of her nuns had visited Damian Costigan. As I explained we were aware of Mary McNally's troubled background and her true identity I saw the first crack in the Mother's stone-faced façade. It was almost a look of relief that she realized others beside herself knew of Mary's dark past. She remained silent.

"Mother, we need to understand the involvement Father Rastone had with your Sisters," I said. The mention of his name caused her to inhale in surprise, or maybe it was in anger. Either way, I needed some answers.

She reached over and picked up the ruler, holding it tightly with both hands. It was obvious she was contemplating what she should do.

"Mother, I met with Bishop Francis and he provided me with certain Church documents that indicate Father Rastone's moral character was not what the Lord requires from a priest. I want to be honest with you. I think Father Rastone preyed on and victimized Sister Mary McNally."

Mother tightened her grip on the ruler, I could see the blood flowing to her knuckles darkening her skin. I thought the woman was going to break the ruler in half, or worse, use it to chastise my accusation. Her teeth were clenched, her breathing now more rapid. I looked over at Rich, he was staring at the floor.

Mother Superior finally spoke. "Father Rastone defiled the sacred vow he made to God. I could sense when the Monsignor brought him here the first time that the man was a demon."

"I assume you're referring to Monsignor Petrini," I said. "Why did he bring Father Rastone here?"

"Our Church, Holy Sacrament was shuttered six months ago when the parish was absorbed by Saint Clements. Monsignor Petrini has made many changes to our parishes in what he said were necessary financial expense reductions in the Diocese. The loss of our Church ended my Order's mission here in Cambridge. The school we taught at has closed, Monsignor has proposed selling our property, we are losing our convent."

"But Mother, why did Father Rastone come into the picture?"

"Monsignor had brought him to us as an interim spiritual leader. We were told he would say mass twice a week in our Chapel but have no other pastoral responsibilities. We were misled."

"Mother forgive me, but I must ask again. Did Father Rastone abuse Sister Mary?"

I saw the quiver in her lip, her hands that had fiercely clutched the ruler were now trembling. "At first he arrived and said mass on Wednesday and Sunday mornings as we were told. After a few weeks he came here in the evening on other nights, asking to visit Sister Mary. He told me how he met Mary in her former life and helped her through her difficulties. He said he was the one that encouraged her to enter our Order. He was convincing, and I believed him because Mary had spoken of him. Then he came here late one evening. He smelled of alcohol."

"He forced his way in when one of the Sisters answered the doorbell and he demanded to visit Sister Mary in her room. The Sister who opened the door woke me and I found him in Sister Mary's room holding her down on her bed. I screamed at him and pulled him off from her. He pushed me aside and quickly left the convent." Mother Superior was now near tears. " _He tried to rape her! He is a Demon!"_

I gave the Mother Superior a few moments to compose herself. My heart was saying I should console her anguish, but my brain reminded me she was a nun. I didn't know what to do other than to give her the time she needed. What I needed was more of an explanation of how the nuns were losing their convent. After a minute or two Mother Superior regained her composure and set the ruler down on the desk blotter.

"In recent weeks Monsignor and I met to discuss my closing down our mission and his intent to sell the convent property. On one of his visits he brought a man with him he said was an appraiser. They toured the property for a half-hour and left without speaking with me about their plans. A few days letter I received a certified letter from the Monsignor explaining the Diocese was selling the property and we had ninety days to vacate."

"I don't understand Mother. Does the Diocese own this property?"

"Yes, we live here and serve at the benevolence of the Diocese."

"This man who Monsignor said was an appraiser, can you describe him?" My question appeared to puzzle her.

"He was middle aged, very well dressed, He said little, but he spoke English with an accent. I thought it was Eastern European, but I wasn't sure."

"Mother, when you received the letter telling you the property was going up for sale, what did you do?"

"I called my Order's Mother General Councilor for guidance, she instructed me to appeal the decision by writing to the Bishop and Archbishop. I did as I was directed. A few weeks later Monsignor Petrini visited me and said my request to reconsider selling the property had been denied. He reminded me of the ninety-day deadline and implied if we didn't comply, he would take us to court."

I looked over at Rich. He shook his head in disbelief but remained silent.

"Mother, after you confronted Father Rastone in Sister Mary's room, what did you do?"

"That night I called Monsignor's office and left a message for him to call me as soon as possible. He called the next morning and I told him what had happened. I insisted that he forbid Father Rastone from having any further contact with us."

"How did he react to that?"

"He said he would take care of the matter and instructed me not to discuss with anyone what had happened. I objected and told him the Father tried to rape one of my nuns and I thought we should notify the police."

"How did Monsignor respond to that?"

"He became extremely angry. He said the Church handles it's personnel matters internally and told me again I was not to discuss this with anyone."

"Did the Monsignor threaten you, Mother?"

"Not directly. But he made it clear the Church would not sit idly by while its nuns made spurious and salacious accusations. He angrily reminded me of my sacred vow to be subservient without questioning higher ordained Church leadership."

Leaning back into the uncomfortable wooden chair, I took a deep breath. I didn't like what I was hearing. As far as I was concerned Monsignor Petrini's words were a threat.

I changed the course of questioning and asked the Mother about the circumstances under which Sister Mary had left the convent.

"After the incident with Father Rastone, Sister Mary became very withdrawn and spent much of her time in her room. I tried to get her to speak with a psychologist to help her get over what happened, but she refused. About a week after the incident Monsignor Petrini visited us with an elderly priest he said was a psychologist with the Diocese. I can't recall his name, but he was very calm and spiritual in his manner. He spent an hour in the chapel talking with Mary and left without him or Monsignor telling me what to do next. After the visit Mary seemed to be coming out of her shell. She still wasn't acting normal, but I did see an improvement. About two weeks later Sister came to me and said she had spoken with Monsignor Petrini during a recent visit and he suggested she take a leave of absence. She told me the last couple who were her foster parents lived in Buffalo and she had maintained contact with them over the years. She said Monsignor Petrini had arranged for her to stay with them for a few weeks and he would either drive her to Buffalo himself or buy her a bus ticket. A few days later Monsignor came and picked her up. He said he had made the bus travel arrangements and would see her off from the bus station downtown. That was the last I saw or heard from her."

"Mother, getting back to Monsignor Petrini telling you the Church was going to sell the convent property, have you or anyone higher up in your Order spoken with an attorney?" I asked.

"We have taken a vow of poverty. We have no money for lawyers. We live a simple life on a small monthly stipend from our Order. It barely covers our basic needs."

I knew I had to be careful I didn't cross an ethical line, but these nuns needed legal advice.

"Mother, I'm a lawyer, but my position with the government doesn't allow me to give you legal advice. However, I have many legal contacts in Boston, and with your permission, I'd like to reach out to them to find someone who will provide you with guidance on the eviction. It would of course be pro-bono, there would be no expense to you or your Order."

Mother Superior leaned back into the soft cushion of her office chair; a look of relief seemed to wash over her.

"Mr. Richardson, God bless you. Eviction is such a frightening word. We have been praying to the Lord for his blessed intervention. I think he has heard our prayers. Thank You."

"You're welcome Mother. I can't guarantee this will turn out as you hope, but at the least you'll have someone available to protect your rights."

I looked over at Rich and asked if he had any questions for the Mother. In a barely audible voice, he said no. I stood and thanked her for her time, she extended her hand in gratitude. "Bless you both. We shall pray for your safety in your work."

Before she showed us to the front door, I gave her my business card, she wrote her private office phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to me. As we stepped outside Rich looked over at me with a weak smile. "At least she didn't hit us with her ruler! But seriously, helping her get some legal advice? That won't jam you up, will it?"

I answered that I didn't think it would be a problem. I was simply making a referral. I was confident I would find a law firm that would help the nuns.

With traffic, the drive to Boston took forty-five minutes. As we travelled, I thought about what we had learned from Mother Superior. She confirmed that the late Father Albert Rastone was a predator. Apparently, his time at Saint Dymphna Manor and the counselling he reportedly received had failed to rehabilitate him.

The closing of the convent and plans to sell the property surprised me. She had mentioned an Eastern European man inspecting the property. I wondered if that could have been the Russian architect Vasily Federov. If that was the case, it suggested that Monsignor Petrini wasn't just interested in unloading the property in a sale, he was considering options to increase its value.

I had the thought we needed the property records for Saint Dymphna Manor and the churches that burned, All the properties were apparently under Monsignor Petrini's management even though two of the churches were in New York, the third in Vermont.

I wondered under whose authority the Monsignor was working. The churches were in different dioceses, under different Bishops, Archbishops and even different Cardinals. Could he be working under someone in Rome? Or could he be working under the radar for himself?

"Hey! You're awful quiet over there. You all right Daryl?" Rich asked.

"Yeah, I was just running through my mind what Mother Superior told us. What do you think about it?"

He glanced over at me. "Well, this Monsignor moved up a few notches on my suspect list. He covered up the sexual assault of the McNally girl and threatened the Mother Superior if she didn't keep her mouth shut. I've never arrested a priest in my career, but there's a first time for everything."

"Did you pick up on her saying Petrini brought an elderly priest to the convent to speak with Mary McNally before she left?" I asked.

"Yeah, my guess is that was Monsignor Hennessey," he answered.

"I agree. I need to speak with him. We need to know what her frame of mind was after she was attacked by Rastone."

"Good luck with that. I doubt if he'll talk about his counselling activities," Rich opined. "There's laws regarding the disclosure of health information.

I didn't further pursue the subject as Rich made his way through downtown Boston traffic and we arrived at the Federal Courthouse. Using my gate access card, he parked in the underground employee garage and we took the elevator up to Damian's office. As we entered the waiting room, Damian was standing at the receptionist desk.

"Well, the prodigal son has returned," he quipped as he reached out and shook my hand. "And thankfully he brought along a chaperone to keep him out of trouble. How are you Major?" He asked acknowledging Rich and shaking his hand. "Come into my office guys, let's see what you have."

We sat at his conference table as he read the search warrant affidavit. When he finished, he looked up and said, "So, from the looks of this, Monsignor Petrini is now a person of interest. What about the kid you said you caught checking out the churches you thought could be Gabriel's next target? This is a fatal arson case. Shouldn't your focus be on him?"

I explained we didn't have enough evidence to prove Stefan Parker started the fires; this search warrant was to discover evidence that would help connect some dots to explain a motive. Damian sat back in his chair and stroked his chin.

"Yeah, I can see how you're going about it, but I'm not sure if Judge Taylor will buy into it. He may tell us that discovery in this case is better obtained through a grand jury, not a search warrant. You're taking a shortcut, and I think he'll see that."

I defended my position _._ "I think that given the pattern of fires every forty days, and the fact we're quickly coming up on the fortieth day since the last fire, there's some urgency here. We don't have time to go through the Grand Jury process. I'm taking the shortest legal route between points A and B."

He thought about what I had said. "Well, good luck with that. C'mon, let's see what Judge Taylor thinks."

We took the elevator to Judge Taylor's chambers and were immediately escorted into his office. He greeted us as Damian introduced Rich Prince. I handed the Judge the warrant affidavit and he settled in to read it. After a few minutes he looked up.

"Daryl, from this I surmise that you think this young Parker man is Gabriel, may have set the fires and sent the letters, and you're seeking evidence to identify how he's targeting the specific churches. And you're saying this Monsignor Petrini has oversight of all the Church properties that have burned. Is that correct?"

"It is Your Honor. The Monsignor is clearly also a person of interest,"

"Then why haven't you questioned Parker? You cite forty days between fires, and I see your point time is running out until you think he'll burn another church. Why are you running the risk he'll act sooner than the fortieth day?"

I had to think fast before I answered. "You Honor, from what we've learned about Stefan Parker he's very intense. I would say intense to the extent he's mentally unbalanced. I'm concerned he's not a criminal psychopath per se, but rather is genuinely mentally ill. I think judging from his writings and artwork he's a savant. It's reasonable to believe he's being manipulated by someone to target and punish a priest who is a serial sex offender.

"You're saying a serial sex offender. I don't see any mention of that in your affidavit," he said as he raised the document in his hand. "And what do you mean _was_ a serial sex offender?

I explained how earlier today Rich and I had interviewed the Mother Superior of a nun who had left her convent in Cambridge and was found dead in Buffalo, an apparent suicide. The dead nun had a history with Father Albert Rastone who died in the Saint Dymphna fire, and who had a documented history of sexual abuse allegations against him. I explained a few weeks before that Manor fire Father Rastone got drunk and forced his way into the convent and sexually assaulted the nun."

" _What?_ Are you saying the priest that died, this Father Rastone, was targeted for death because of his history of sexual abuse and what he did to the nun? Was his assault of the nun reported to the police?"

"The nun's Mother Superior reported the assault to the Diocese, specifically to Monsignor Petrini. And to answer your first question, yes. Retaliation against the Church because of Father Rastone was my thought when I learned about his history. As I wrote in the affidavit, I learned he was briefly assigned to each of the churches that burned before he arrived at Saint Dyphna's. Now I'm thinking that the person behind these fires is manipulating Stefan Parker's actions and wants us to _think_ they're retaliation for Rastone's past sex offenses. He's targeting the churches that burned because they sheltered him, to use Gabriel's words. Now, I believe that retaliation may not be the true motive for the fires."

Continuing, I explained I included in the affidavit what we'd been told about the property insurance for the burned churches and Saint Dymphna's. It's millions of dollars, and the fire deaths could be collateral damage to throw us off. That's why we needed the insurance policies and records of claims Monsignor Petrini's management company had submitted.

Judge Taylor was quiet for a full half-minute, his eyes fixed on me.

"All right. Based on your affidavit and your verbal response to my inquiries I find that there is probable cause to enter into the offices of Somerset Insurance and seize the documents listed herein. Gentlemen, stand and raise your right hands. Do you solemnly swear that the information in this search and seizure warrant application are the result of your own personal investigations as well as investigations of others who have made known to you their findings, and is the truth to the best of your knowledge?"

"Rich and I simultaneously answered, "I do."

"All right, I am signing the search warrant and grant your request to seal its contents pending further orders of the Court," Judge Taylor decreed as he affixed his signature.

He stood, handed me the search warrant and extended his hand, saying "Good luck, Gentleman."

As we approached his office door to leave Judge Taylor called out, "Major Prince!"

We both stopped, turned, and Rich answered, "Yes Your Honor?"

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" the Judge said nodding toward me.

"He has a tendency to get shot at whenever he visits our fair city."

"Duly noted, Your Honor." Rich replied as he took me by the arm and ushered me through the door.

# Chapter 23

After we left downtown Boston and entered the Mass Pike, Rich stepped it up until we were again cruising at seventy miles per hour in the left lane. Traffic was heavy at first and we didn't talk. After it thinned out, he looked over at me. "Man, you pulled us out of the fire with the Judge. For a few minutes I thought he was going to deny the warrant." I didn't answer, I shrugged my shoulders.

"You threw me for a loop though when you said something about the person behind the fires was manipulating Stefan Parker, and the fires weren't about revenge. What the hell was that all about?"

I was hesitant to answer. Since we left the Judge's chambers I myself wondered what I was talking about. "Rich, doesn't it bother you that Petrini is managing properties that were destroyed by fires and he's submitted claims of damages to the tune of eight million dollars? And that insurance bean counter, what's his name? Howard Klein? Yeah, he said Rastone's life insurance policy had been changed from twenty-five thousand to one hundred thousand dollars before the Manor fire. And Petrini evicts the nuns from the convent on the pretext the diocese is selling the property and then turns around and brings in a prominent architect to look at the site? Think about it."

"You think the guy Mother Superior saw with Petrini is that Russian whose brother is in prison for human trafficking?" Rich asked.

"I do. And the connection between all these people must be more than a coincidence," I answered. "Rich, I want us to execute this search warrant tomorrow morning if that's possible. Since it's a Federal warrant we'll need to involve the Springfield FBI field office, but I don't want to slight your guys. Absolutely make them part of the search team. We need to turn up the pressure on Monsignor Petrini and I have a hunch the business records we get from Somerset Insurance will be the key to that."

"Fine. I'll set it up on my end, you can set it up with the FBI. Let's plan it for eleven tomorrow. Tonight, I'd like to catch up on the sleep I lost last night!"

I agreed and settled in for the trip back to Stockbridge. When we arrived at my house, I asked Rich if he wanted to come in for a cup of coffee, he declined, saying he would stop briefly at his barracks office and brief his detectives about the search warrant and then head home. I agreed to meet him at his office tomorrow at nine-thirty.

I went into the house, made myself a drink and called Mandy. When she answered she said she was at the hospital, her father was doing well and would be discharged tomorrow morning.

"I miss you, Little Boy," she whispered. "I can't wait to come home."

I told her I missed her too. She said she would spend tomorrow in Vermont to help get her father settled and then head back home the next day.

"How are you doing on the case?" she asked.

I explained Rich's and my visit to Mary McNally's Mother Superior and that we learned Father Rastone had molested Mary, just as the two nuns had told Damian weeks ago.

"He was evil!" she responded in anger. "And he was a priest? What a disgrace. If the Church had done their job years ago this never would have happened. I wonder how many other women or girls he molested and got away with it?"

I didn't want to go down that road with her, but in all honesty, I shared her anger.

"How's Freddy making out investigating what happened to Mary McNally?" she asked, changing the subject.

I told her I hadn't received an update from him today, but I would call him when we finished this call. I explained that Rich and I had just come back from Boston where we got the search warrant signed for the insurance company business records. I told her Rich and his team would execute the warrant tomorrow.

"Excellent! You went to Boston and I won't see on the TV news tonight you got shot at?"

"Nope!"

"Hooray! We're making progress!

"Were you able to find any information online about the Federov brothers?" I asked.

"I did. There's a lot of articles about Andrei's arrest and the trial, and I was able to find an article about the architect brother. He was interviewed about how his family business lost tens of millions of dollars in business contracts after his brother's arrest and how he was working to rebuild the company by renovating schools and churches that have been closed in the Northeast. It says he's designing and building both affordable and high-end properties. Hey! I just had a thought. Maybe we can get him to design the home gym I want!"

"I think we'll pass on that, My Love," I said trying not to laugh.

"Well, anyway, check your email. I sent you what I found," she replied.

I thanked her for her research and after a few minutes of catching up on what else she'd been doing we ended the call. As I stood in the kitchen, I realized that I really missed her being away from me. As it was turning out, her instincts about this case weren't too far off track, and she was picking up on things I had missed. I wanted her home to see the case through to its end, but more than that, I wanted the comfort of her at my side.

I called the FBI Springfield field office and reached Agent Dave Lewis, whom I had worked with before. I briefly updated him on the church fires case and the search warrant for the insurance company records. He readily agreed to assist and after a few minutes discussion to work out the details I told him Rich Prince and his detectives would meet with him tomorrow morning.

A few minutes before five my neighbor and former housekeeper Bernie Nichols called. "I saw that you're home, and with Mandy away I know you're probably not eating like you should. I made a small roast for Erik and me, we want you to come over and have dinner with us. We're eating at six."

I realized I only had coffee for breakfast and had skipped lunch. I welcomed the invitation and accepted. I changed into jeans and a sweater and a few minutes before six I drove over to the Nichol's house next door. I could have walked but thought after I had dinner and coffee it would be dark, and I didn't relish walking across the lawns where the ground was saturated from the recent melted remnants of snow.

My meal with the Nichols was delicious, Bernie was right; despite my growing waistline thanks to my affinity for sweets, I hadn't been eating regular meals the last few days. Tonight, I ate heartily. As we dined, we avoided discussing the current case, but rather talked about how Mandy's father was doing, when she planned on coming home, and Erik getting our yards cleaned up now that the weather was improving.

I left the Nichols house a little after seven and as I stepped out into the evening air, I immediately felt a chill despite the sweater I was wearing. It was Spring, but Mother Nature was still exhaling the last breaths of Winter.

As I turned into my driveway, in my mirror I saw the headlights of a car pulling in behind me. Instinctively I reached to feel for my gun, suddenly realizing I had put it behind the bar in the family room before I left the house for dinner. Apprehension instantly raced through my body. Who was coming up behind me? I steered to the right edge of the driveway and came to a stop in front of the garage. If I had to make a defensive move to escape, I had given myself enough room to make a quick U-Turn. As the car drew closer, to my relief I saw it was a new Chevy Impala. It was Freddy Morton's undercover car. Why was he here at this hour? Why didn't he call?

I pressed the door opener remote and pulled into the garage. As I stepped out of the car Freddy called out, "Hey! Good timing. I hope I didn't scare you when I pulled in behind you." I saw his new girlfriend Heather come around from the passenger side and wave to me.

"Forgive the late hour, but I wanted to run something by you," he said. "Got a few minutes?" he said.

"Sure, c'mon in."

I unlocked the kitchen entrance door and showed them into the family room. "How's Mandy's father?" he asked.

I explained the procedure went well and she would be home the day after tomorrow. I said I was going to make myself an after-dinner drink and asked if they'd join me. Freddy said he'd have a Coke, after a slight amount of convincing Heather agreed to a glass of wine. As I fixed our drinks, I looked over at her. She looked very pretty, smartly dressed in fashionable jeans and an attractive turtleneck knit sweater. She seemed a bit nervous, but what caught my eye was how she was looking at Freddy as they sat down on the sofa, joined at the hip. From all appearances, their new relationship was more serious than I had thought.

I gave them their drinks and sat down in the recliner across from them. "What's going on Freddy?"

He exchanged looks with Heather before he spoke. "I have a gut feeling that Mary McNally wasn't murdered, it was probably a suicide."

I was surprised he was speaking about our case in front of Heather and he must have realized that from the look on my face. He glanced over at her.

"Oh! It's okay. I explained to Heather who I really am, and what I do for a living. She's cool with it. As it turns out, when we left her and Mandy alone last week during dinner Mandy spilled the beans."

"I should have known," I said, shaking my head.

"Don't blame Mandy. It was my fault," Heather interjected. "When I first met Pat, I thought he was working for the CIA," she said with a laugh.

"But now after he's explained he's an FBI agent I understand why he uses different names when he works undercover. Mandy was hesitant to say anything, but after I explained how I feel about Pat she said that's exactly how she felt about you when you two first met. But for the time being, I'm okay with him being Freddy Morton!"

I acknowledged her explanation with a smile and a nod.

"What makes you think Mary's death was a suicide?" I asked Freddy, changing the subject.

"A letter she mailed a week ago to her foster parents. I tracked them down from a scrap of paper she had at the bottom of her jacket pocket. The Sheriff's must have missed it when they went through her things."

"Unbelievable," I responded to his explanation.

"Yeah. The Sheriff's detective told me they didn't even know who she was at first. They were baffled because she had no ID with her and paid the equivalent of cash with the traveler's check. They found an index card in her pocketbook that had the name and address of a nun. When they called the number on the card, the woman they spoke with told them she and Mary were nuns, and Mary had been living at a convent in Cambridge. The physical description of Mary the nun gave the Sheriff's matched that of the body. The Sheriffs knew nothing about her being in the witness protection program and I didn't tell them."

"Wait a minute. Are you saying they didn't run her fingerprints through AFIS?" I asked.

Before he could answer Heather asked, "Excuse me. What's AFIS?"

"The Automated Fingerprint Identification System," I explained. "It's a Federally managed database of all fingerprints that have been obtained through arrest records or civil service licenses, military records, things like that." She thanked me and said she understood.

"They did run her prints," Freddy explained, "but nothing came up. I'm not sure if they took her prints when she went under witness protection or if they did, a hit wouldn't register because of her protected status."

"That's a good point," I acknowledged. "Then how did they make a positive ID of her?"

"She had an envelope with her name and the convent address. They called the convent and the nun they spoke with on the phone said she'd report the incident to her Diocese. The detective said a Monsignor Petrini drove up to Buffalo and made a visual ID.

" _Petrini?"_ I asked." _Are you kidding me?"_

"Nope. His name keeps coming up in this case, doesn't it? What do you think his story is?"

I had to think for a minute. "I'm not sure my friend, but I'm beginning to think he _is_ the story in all of this. What did the letter say that Mary wrote to her foster parents?"

"She mailed it to them about a week before she died," he answered." I have a copy of it in my car, but essentially, she said she was feeling confused and alone, and wasn't sure if she wanted to continue in her religious life. She talks about her loneliness, fear, well; you should read it yourself. I'm no psychologist but I think she was really depressed."

"What were her foster parents like?"

"They were really nice. They were leery of who I was when I first called them, and stupidly I told them on the phone that Mary was dead. They said she had stayed in touch with them the last two years by letters and that Mary told them of her name change but not why she did it. They assumed it had something to do with the Church. I didn't tell them the real story."

"Do you know what the autopsy found?" I asked.

"Yeah. The preliminary report confirmed there was no evidence of trauma or physical injury. The medical examiner reported the toxicology results would take a week or two even though it's a high priority case."

I thanked him for his efforts and asked that he notify me as soon as he had the toxicology report.

Freddy said it was getting late and he and Heather were heading over to her apartment. He said he'd call me in the morning to talk about what else I needed his help with. As they drove off, I smiled at the thought it looked like Freddy would be spending a lot more time in Stockbridge.

After a sound night's sleep, I woke in the morning a little before seven. I decided I would attend Rich Prince's briefing of his detectives about the search warrant, but I wasn't going with them to Springfield. I had it in my mind to pay a visit to Monsignor Hennessey.

After I showered and dressed, I drove into town for a light breakfast at the Pleasant & Main Café, As I went inside, I was surprised to see my friend and Foundation lawyer Lindsey Moran standing at the counter. She was as surprised to see me as I was her, we both ordered coffees and a croissant and took a seat at a nearby table.

"Mandy told me about her father being in the hospital and that she was going up to Vermont help her mother. How are they doing?" she asked.

I gave her an update and said I expected Mandy to be home sometime tomorrow. As we ate Lindsey said she had been following the church fires case in the news and asked how it was coming along. I didn't share much information, but I mentioned my need to find a Boston law firm to help the nuns in Cambridge deal with a threatened eviction.

I was careful in explaining how I had become involved with the nuns, telling her it was something that unexpectedly came up in the investigation. Thankfully, she didn't press me for the details.

"Do you want me to retain someone through your Foundation?" she asked.

That would be the quickest and most efficient way to help, but I explained I had a potential ethics issue if I became personally involved.

"I'm looking for someone who will give the nuns advice on a pro-bono basis, with no direct involvement on my part," I told her.

"I understand. Let me make a phone call for you," she offered. "I have a lawyer friend who's a partner with McClain, Patterson and Bowers in Boston. She's been very active in women's rights cases and does quite a bit of pro-bono legal aid work. I'm pretty sure she would be willing to help the nuns."

I was familiar with the law firm. They had an excellent reputation within the Boston legal community. I thanked Lindsey for her offer and said I had an appointment at the State Police barracks. I apologized for eating quickly and leaving. She was fine with that, adding she had to be in Court at ten. I finished my breakfast snack, Lindsey said she would call me after she spoke with her Boston friend. As I stood to leave, she said goodbye with a strong hug, "Promise you'll be careful. I worry about you," she whispered. I thanked her for her concern and headed to my car for the short drive to meet with Rich Prince and his detectives.

At the barracks Rich's team had set up a brunch in the conference room. I was tempted to indulge in the assortment of donuts and pastries, but out of respect for my waistline I opted for just a coffee. Rich had arranged for a conference call and Skype access for the out-of-state investigators to bring them up to date on the case.

Although I hadn't prepared a presentation, he turned the meeting over to me. I summarized our findings that Stefan Parker was suspected to be Gabriel, and that the fires had targeted one specific priest, the now deceased Father Rastone. One of the New York detectives asked what we had come up with for a motive, I explained the theory Gabriel targeted the churches and Saint Dymphna because of his belief the Church had sheltered Rastone at those locations.

To see what the other investigators thought, I took time to explain the newly emerging motive theory that the fires may have been part of a greater scheme, insurance fraud. As I made the statement, Rich looked over at me surprise. He and I had talked privately about my theory, now I had put it on the table for the others.

I explained we had a search warrant for Somerset Insurance's regional office in Springfield, and that the FBI office in that city would lead the investigation this morning because it was a Federal warrant. The group had no questions, Rich closed out the briefing and he and his detectives prepared for their trip down to Springfield.

I left the barracks and started the drive over to visit Monsignor Hennessey at the St. Francis Retreat House. I decided to call Freddy and take him with me for two reasons. He was working his first case as a field agent and the experience would be helpful to him. Secondly, I wanted him to give me some guidance on how we could set up video surveillance at St. Erasmus church, the suspected next church fire target. I called his cellphone, when he answered he said he was on his way to the Red Lion from Heather's apartment. He said he would meet me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes. I pulled into the lot just as Heather was walking into the inn, Freddy walked over and got into my car.

"Sorry if I interrupted your date", I offered in apology.

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully. "Heather has to work until six tonight. What do you have in mind for me today?"

I explained who Monsignor Hennessey was, and that I believed he had visited Mary McNally a few days before she left the convent.

"Hopefully, the Monsignor will tell us what her frame of mind was, but don't get your hopes up," I said. "He's a psychologist and he may not want to talk about her because she was his patient."

"Maybe he'll change his mind if I show him the letter she wrote to her foster parents," he said as he reached into a portfolio and found it. "If she told him what she wrote, all the signs were there she was depressed and probably suicidal. I'd like to know what he did about that."

I looked over at him. "Well, you'll just have to ask him."

We registered at the reception desk upon arrival at the retreat house, and after the clerk looked us up and down, she directed us to the building's library where she said Monsignor Hennessey was doing some reading. As we entered the room, he looked up with surprise at seeing me. "Daryl, a pleasant surprise," he greeted us as he set down the bible he had been reading. I introduced Freddy as my associate and the two men shook hands. The Monsignor motioned for us to take a seat in the leather sofa across from his chair. Fortunately, it was only the three of us in the room.

"I have the feeling this isn't a social call," he said as he shifted his eyes from me to Freddy.

"I'm afraid not Monsignor, but certainly a friendly visit. We need your guidance on a matter that's come up."

"Oh?"

"Sister Mary McNally," I said. Upon hearing her name, he had a puzzled look on his face.

"I know of one Sister Mary McNally," he said. "A novitiate near Boston. I also know of her recent passing, and I pray for her soul."

"How did you learn of her death?" I asked.

"Monsignor Petrini called me. He said Mary was travelling and became suddenly ill and passed away"

"Did he tell you where Sister Mary was found?" I pressed him further.

"No, I didn't ask, and he didn't provide any other information. I assumed she was travelling with her Sisters."

I looked over at Freddy, he discretely shook his head in disbelief. I suspected like me, he believed Monsignor Petrini had been purposely evasive.

"Monsignor, did you recently meet with Sister Mary for counselling?"

He was genuinely surprised by my question, pausing before he answered. "Daryl, you know I'm unable to discuss conversations I have with others who have an expectation of privacy."

"I do understand that Monsignor, however in this instance, there are questions regarding the manner of Sister Mary's death."

"I don't understand, Daryl."

"Monsignor, Sister Mary was found dead in a motel room in Buffalo, New York. There was evidence she may have overdosed on pills. The police up there are investigating the theory she committed suicide."

My words genuinely stunned him; he was speechless.

"Monsignor, I respect that you believe you can't tell me what Mary said to you, but I hope at least you'll listen to what I'm going to tell you I already know." He looked up at me and slowly nodded he would listen.

I explained my visit with Rich Prince to the convent and our interview of Mary's Mother Superior. When I described the incident with Father Rastone, his eyes widened in disbelief. "Yes, Monsignor, Father Rastone was caught sexually molesting Sister Mary," I informed him to reinforce my concern. He raised his hand to pause me. He was trembling.

"No one told me that,' he said. "When I met with Sister Mary, she was very withdrawn. We discussed her feeling that her calling to serve the Lord was waning. She mentioned she was uncomfortable with Father Rastone when discussing her feelings, but she never said he molested her. Dear Lord, how could I have been so deceived?" he said as he lowered his head in despair. I could see his lips moving in silent prayer.

It was cold and perhaps insensitive on my part, but I let him suffer his private anguish. I needed him to realize that there was no spiritual solution to the situation, the law now needed to be center stage. After a few minutes I spoke, explaining Mary McNally's troubled teen years that evolved into her being a human trafficking victim forced into prostitution. I carefully explained how she managed to break free from her captors and cooperate with the police to arrest the traffickers. When I explained she was placed in the witness protection program after she testified against the sex ringleader, he was genuinely shocked. Sadly, I had more to tell him.

"Monsignor, during the time Mary was working with the police she met Father Rastone through the nuns who had taken her in and sheltered her. Now it appears that the Father gained her trust by supporting her through the legal proceedings, but in reality, he was grooming her to take advantage of her for his own pleasure. I firmly believed that's why the Father preyed on her when she arrived at the convent as a novitiate."

My words were devastating to him.

After a pause, Freddy spoke up. "Monsignor, I met with the New York Sheriffs who are investigating Sister Mary's death, and I located her former foster parents who live in Buffalo. Sister Mary had sent them a letter a week or two before she died. Did she say anything to you about going to Buffalo to visit them?"

"Foster parents? No, she never spoke of that."

Freddy reached into his portfolio and produced the letter, handing it to the Monsignor. "Perhaps this may help you understand our need to find out how Sister Mary died."

The Monsignor took his time reading the letter, when he finished, he handed it back to Freddy.

"When Sister Mary and I spoke, she was conflicted in her feelings, but she never gave an indication of the deep depression she expresses in her letter," he said.

Looking over at me, the Monsignor asked, "Daryl, I'm confused. How does Sister Mary's passing help you find this Gabriel you seek for causing the church and Saint Dymphna fires?"

My explanation was short. There seemed to be a circle of persons surrounding Father Rastone and we believed Gabriel was acting on information from one or more of them that the Father was a sexual predator and the Church had failed to stop his assaults. The Monsignor quietly seemed to be considering my answer. He looked over at me, then to Freddy.

"Gentlemen, the reports of these assaults have brought great turmoil and shame to the Church," he said. "It troubles me more than you know that I'm bound by my vow to remain obedient when I see signs the Church is being destroyed from within."

His comment caught be off-guard. What did he mean 'destroyed from within?' Although puzzled, I changed the subject.

"Monsignor, during the investigation of the Saint Dymphna fire we noticed that the door leading from the family room to the first-floor bedrooms where the priests died was locked with a deadbolt. Do you know why the door was locked?"

"Over time there were a few priests who had dementia living at the Manor and they occasionally wandered the building during the night. The hallway was locked at night for their safety."

"But weren't there staff on duty around the clock? Wouldn't they become aware a resident was wandering?" I asked.

"Yes, for all the time I lived there, Thomas and his wife Hope were the night attendants. They were very diligent, but the Manor was a large building. There was always a chance they would be involved in chores elsewhere in the building and not notice someone leaving their bedroom."

"Monsignor, on the night of the fire, were any of the first-floor residents dementia patients?"

"No, sadly both Father Convey and Father Witkowsi were bedridden from their illnesses, but not suffering dementia."

"What about Father Rastone?" I asked. His silence told me I had touched a nerve. After a moment he spoke.

"I must choose my words carefully, Daryl. Over the years we've had residents who had problems with alcohol. Their behaviors were occasionally abusive or threatening to us."

"They would be assigned to the first floor. If the authorities were needed to assist with controlling their behavior the door could be locked and the resident contained inside the bedroom wing until the police or ambulance arrived."

"We also had a few residents who would quietly leave unnoticed during the evening or night and return after they had been drinking. They would be re-assigned to the first floor and the hallway would be locked to prevent them from leaving the building"

Without saying the words, the Monsignor had answered my question. The hallway door was probably locked to keep Father Rastone from leaving the building during the evening or night. What troubled me was how would Gabriel have known this?

Freddy and I spent ten minutes chatting with the Monsignor about his life at his new home. He seemed content, and after thanking him for his help we left. On the way out I mentioned to Freddy I wanted to drive up to Preston to speak with the pastor regarding installing a surveillance camera on the rear of the building at St. Erasmus.

As we travelled, Freddy explained the camera would have a night vision lens and be motion activated, A controller device would send us a text message alerting us that the camera detected movement and we would be able to bring up the live view from our computers or cellphones. Covert technology was his area of expertise. I was impressed with his knowledge and confidence the system would work for us. As I drove, my mind shifted to how I would explain our plan to the pastor without causing him to panic.

We pulled into St. Erasmus and Freddy immediately commented on the massive wooden annex building attached to the rear of the stone church. "Man, that looks old, Daryl. I think if that gets burning it will go down pretty fast."

I followed the driveway around the back of the annex and stopped. Freddy craned his neck to look at the upper level and roofline. "I can hang a camera on that corner," he said as he pointed toward the roof. "There's a window I can snake the CAD5 through and hopefully the room inside has a wall outlet we can source for the AC power."

He made it sound simple. "What do you need to get up on the roof? A ladder?" I asked.

"No!" he answered with a laugh. "I don't do ladders! We'll need a bucket truck. I have our van back in Boston, it has a bucket and boom that will reach. I can call Frank and see if Damian can free him up to bring it down here." Frank Paris was Freddy's special ops covert agent partner-in-crime.

The two of them together was always an adventure with their antics. One thing was for sure, they were experts in their field.

"Why don't we rent a bucket truck or van locally?" I asked." It will be faster, and we won't have to pull Frank away from what Damian has him working on."

That'll work. It's your money!" he said. "I need to see inside though, to figure out what equipment I'll need. If it'll work for you, once I know what I need I'll call Frank to gather it up and one of the agents from the office can meet me half-way on the Pike."

I told him that would work, but first we had to brief the church pastor on our plans. I drove around the building and pulled into the lot next to the rectory. The building and the church seemed oversized for a rural parish.

"Does the pastor know we think his church is Gabriel's next target?" Freddy asked as he undid his seatbelt.

"Unfortunately, no. We need to be careful what we tell him so that he doesn't panic," I answered, stepping out of the car.

We went to the front door and rang the bell. In a few moments a woman I assumed was the housekeeper answered. I showed her my credentials and told her I was with the US Attorney's office and would like to speak with the pastor. She invited us into a side parlor and said she would notify Monsignor Allen. As we waited, I looked around the room and thought the church must be using the same nineteen-forties decorator for all its rectories; velvet cushioned side chairs, doilies on the formica-top end tables, amber colored Tiffany style lampshades, pull chain light switches. The arrival of Monsignor Allen interrupted my critique of the decorator's art-nouveau fetish. Both Freddy and I stood as he entered, we showed him our credentials. He motioned us to sit. "US Attorney? FBI? Have we done something wrong?" he nervously asked.

I assured him he had not, and carefully explained the church fires investigation and how we had developed information St. Erasmus had been targeted for the next fire, which we believed would occur in less than two weeks. As I spoke, I could see Monsignor Allen was becoming nervous. I explained we wanted to install temporary surveillance equipment in case Gabriel acted sooner than we believed he would.

"If you know all this, why haven't you arrested Gabriel?" he asked, his voice shaking. "I feel that you're using us as bait. I've read about the fires and the three priests who died at Saint Dymphna. Quite frankly, from what you've told me, I feel we're are in grave danger and you're not acting to prevent that."

I explained we had a strong suspect based on circumstantial evidence, but not enough yet to support an arrest. Our surveillance camera was intended to alert us if Gabriel entered the property and set in motion the actions to start a fire.

The Monsignor appeared to be considering what I was telling him, but I sensed I hadn't allayed his fears. I needed to go out on a limb.

"Monsignor, our plan is to provide intensive surveillance of our suspect over the next several weeks. We'll have State Police officers and detectives close by to your church who will respond immediately if the suspect enters your property."

"Should I notify the Bishop?" he asked.

I explained that the US Attorney and I had personally met with the Bishop and he was aware of our investigation. I stressed that what we had told him today was extremely confidential, and he should not discuss it with anyone, to include clergy outside of his parish.

"Well, if you have the Bishop's blessing for your work, it's not my place to challenge his judgement," he said. "This is very upsetting, though. First we're told the Diocese is considering shuttering our parish and now this threat to burn our blessed church."

"What do you mean shuttering your parish?" Freddy asked before I could.

"Monsignor Petrini is our Diocese administrator," the Monsignor explained. "A few months ago, he met with me and said after reviewing our parishioners' attendance at mass, revenue from collections, and expense for maintaining the property, St. Erasmus was on the brink of insolvency. He said the Diocese was studying consolidating several parishes that were in the same situation. We've built a strong bond with our Catholic community here and it saddens me we may lose that."

"I'm sorry to hear that Monsignor, I hope things work out for your parish," I offered in consolation. 'Our present concern is preventing Gabriel from destroying your church, and to that end we'd like to install that surveillance equipment I mentioned. We can show you where we would mount the camera, and we need to look at a second-floor room near that location."

"All right show me where you're talking about," he said as he stood and motioned us toward the front door.

As we walked toward the rear of the church, I explained Freddy would be doing the installation and that we'd like to do it tomorrow or the day after. I assured him the process would only take a few hours and that we'd be discrete.

Freddy pointed out the corner of the roof line he had in mind and explained the camera needed to be electrically powered from a room inside the building. The Monsignor studied where Freddy pointed and said the indoor room was a storage room, the second floor of the building was currently unoccupied. We went inside to inspect the room.

Freddy made quick work of his inspection, and in less than ten minutes he had figured out how he would make the installation.

The Monsignor showed us out to my car. I thanked him for his cooperation and gave him my business card. I explained I would call him to finalize the installation date and time, and Freddy and I headed back to Stockbridge. On the ride, Freddy called his work partner Frank Paris and told him what equipment he would need. I listened to the discussion which ended with Frank making a quick call to Damian who approved Frank to come to Stockbridge with their undercover van tomorrow and help with the installation.

"This will work out great!" Freddy said after he ended the call. "Frank can stay at my room at the Red Lion for the night and head back to Boston in the morning."

"And where will you be spending the night?" I asked.

"I think you know the answer to that!" he answered with a grin. Before I could pursue the subject, I saw an incoming call from Rich Prince flash on the car display screen. I answered and Rich came onto the speaker.

"Daryl. Can you talk?"

"Yeah. I'm in the car with Freddy. What's up?"

"I'm at Somerset Insurance and this turned out to be a battle royal."

"What do you mean?"

"Your FBI agent friends went in with me and my two detectives and advised the office manager of the warrant. The next thing we knew, that risk lady Claire Lockwood butted in and told the agents they had no legal right to the documents and to leave. When the agent said she was interfering with a lawful search and was risking being arrested, she went ballistic. She demanded to speak with you; when he refused to call you, she grabbed a phone and called her legal department."

"Then what happened?" I asked trying to control my rapidly growing anger.

"The Senior Agent Mike Russo, who by the way is a no nonsense guy, spoke on the phone with the lawyer and essentially told him if Somerset didn't immediately produce the documents named in the warrant he would shut the office down and bring in a team of agents to physically search the place ourselves, and if it took days, so be it."

"Oh God," I moaned. "I'm sorry Rich, I didn't see this coming."

"Well friend, it gets worse. The lawyer asked to speak with Ms. Lockwood, we heard him clearly tell her to produce the documents. She refused and really went crazy, cursing us with vile language and accusing the company lawyer of being a wimp and us as acting like the Gestapo. The woman went nuts!"

"I'm almost afraid to ask Rich, but then what happened?"

"What happened?" he answered, his voice rising. "My detective Gordie Faircloud stepped into the fray and tried to move her away from the scene. Agent Russo stepped between them and told her one last time to shut her mouth and step aside or she would be arrested." Rich paused, waiting for my reaction.

"And then?"

"She didn't stop her tirade, so Agent Russo arrested her, and that didn't end well for her."

"What do you mean?"

"She started screaming louder, cursing, kicking, and spitting as he tried to handcuff her. It took three of our guys to get her down to the floor and put the cuffs on her."

"Oh God!" I said in sympathy. "Are our guys all right?"

"Yeah, their clothes are a little messed up from rolling on the floor with her but other than that, they're fine."

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"We called an ambulance and they took her to the hospital for a psych exam."

"Wow! What the hell? What do you think caused her to melt down?"

"That answer, my friend. came to us a few minutes ago."

"Rich, I'm not following you."

"The office manager instructed that bean counter guy, Howard Klein, to pull up the files for all medical claims, life insurance and property damage policies and claims for the Church. Nothing came up in their system. I told him to query the keyword Redemption and sure enough, the file names magically appeared!"

"So, did you get everything listed in the warrant?"

"Yeah, but it took some doing. Ms. Lockwood somehow moved all the Redemption files to her office computer and blocked access to them with a password. One of the IT guys here was finally able to access the file contents, but I don't know how he did it. The bottom line is, looking at the printouts we have, something doesn't look right."

"What do you mean something doesn't look right?"

"According to the office manager, all claims are supposed to pass through several reviews for adjustment before they're paid. It looks like Ms. Lockwood circumvented the system by using a program to steer all the incoming Redemption claims directly to her computer. That automatically triggered the payment software to issue checks for the full amount of the claims."

"The IT guy said there was no evidence in the workflow logs to show what she was doing; thus, their auditors would believe the claims were processed properly."

"So Rich, what would be her motive for doing all this?"

"Money! Either she was receiving kickbacks from Redemption or was partners with them. I don't know which it could be, but all this falls back to involving Monsignor Petrini. Redemption is his company, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. Obviously, we need to go after Redemption's business records," I answered.

"Agreed. But there's no way my guys can put together a search warrant application," Rich said. "This is all too complicated. I hate to say it, but I need you to write the affidavit."

I thought about what he was saying. This new development was evidence of insurance fraud. If that was the true motive for the fires, how did it tie into Stefan Parker being Gabriel?"

"I agree Rich. I'll start working on the warrant application today. I'll need you to take another tip to Boston with me to present the application to Judge Taylor."

"I'm in this or the long haul, Daryl. I'll do whatever you need. By the way, the lawyer from Somerset Insurance asked for your contact information. He said he needed to talk with you as soon as possible. I didn't give him your cell number, but I have his. I'll text it to you."

"Okay Rich, thanks. I'll give him a call when I have some time."

"Yeah, when you have time; right! Okay, that's the update from here. We should have all the documents we're seeking within the hour and then we'll clear. I'm going to go to the hospital and see what Ms. Lockwood's status is and then I'll head back to my office. Maybe we can touch base again this evening."

I agreed and ended the call. As I did, I looked over at Freddy. "Man Daryl," he said shaking his head, "Did you see all this coming when you took this case on?"

"No, my friend, but it is what it is. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. How about I buy you lunch?"

"Any chance I can con you into lunch at the Red Lion?" he asked.

"Not a problem Romeo. The Red Lion it is," I answered, trying not to laugh. It was obvious Miss Heather had cast her spell on Freddy Morton.

# Chapter 24

At the Red Lion we found Freddy's girlfriend Heather was working in Widow Bingham's Tavern, so naturally that's where we ate. We decided on the turkey club sandwiches and iced teas. For good measure, Freddy added a French onion soup. I knew from experience he had a voracious appetite but was amazed at how he managed to remain trim. The tavern was busy, despite the distractions of her work Heather flirted with Freddy giving him a smile and occasional wink each time she passed our table. Soon after she delivered our meals Freddy took a phone call from his undercover partner Frank Paris. He had gathered the equipment needed for the camera installation at St. Erasmus and would be heading down to Stockbridge within the hour.

After I finished my lunch, I called Monsignor Allen and told him Freddy would install the camera in the morning. He assured me he would make himself available to assist. I paid our tab, adding a generous tip, and Freddy managed to steal a quick kiss goodbye from Heather. He said he would clean up his room at the inn for Frank and would hang out there until Heather got off work at six. I headed home to call Damian and update him on the day's developments.

I briefed Damian about the incident at Somerset Insurance's Springfield offices. He was stunned when I described the outburst of the risk manager, Claire Lockwood. When I explained her scheme to divert incoming claims from the Diocese, he was shocked.

"Daryl, do you know what this means?"

"Yeah Boss. Now I'm even more convinced the fires are a cover for a sophisticated insurance fraud scheme. Making it to look like they were because of Father Rastone's sex abuse history was a ruse.

"Daryl, you're zeroing on Monsignor Petrini. He's the Bishop's right-hand man. You're not saying that Bishop Francis has knowledge of this, are you?"

"No, of course not. I do think Monsignor Petrini is the mastermind and he pulled Stefan Parker into it through his mother who we now know works for him."

"Daryl, we have to tell the Bishop. I can't allow him to be dragged into this, it will destroy him," he said, his voiced raised with emotion.

"I agree Boss, but we can't do that yet. I want to get a search warrant for Redemption Management and its subsidiary businesses. I need to tighten the link between all these people and find out how Petrini is manipulating them to be involved."

"I'll tell you how he's doing it," Damian said. "The man's playing them! I didn't say anything to you before, but weeks ago when I spoke with the Bishop, he confided in me he suspected Petrini was involved in romantic relationships with some women. He's supposed to be celibate, but the Bishop received an anonymous phone call that said in recent weeks Petrini had several women staying overnight at his condo. The Bishop was deeply troubled by that."

I thought back to Damian's comment to me weeks ago when we saw Petrini's expensive sports car and he remarked a priest's vows were to live a life of chastity, and obedience. Apparently, Monsignor Petrini had abandoned his sacred promises.

After a few more minutes of conversation Damian and I agreed he would brief the Bishop on our findings just before the search warrant was executed on Redemption Management. I could tell from the subdued tone of his voice he genuinely cared about how this would affect his lifelong friend Bishop George Francis. I sensed I was walking on thin ice.

Damian added that he had to decide if he would refer Claire Lockwood's court case for interfering with the search to the Federal Court in Springfield or move the case to Boston. I told him that was his call.

After our conversation ended, I went into the family room and immediately felt a chill. It was late April but the past few days had been chilly, with the nighttime temperatures dipping into the low to mid- thirties.

I decided I would build what I hoped would be the last fire of the season and work on the Redemption search warrant in the warmth. Gathering the last of the cordwood from the back deck in a few minutes I had a roaring fire. I sat down with my laptop and started on the warrant affidavit.

The document was easier to put together than the Somerset warrant. It only took a few sentences to explain the background facts of the fire investigations and generally describe the findings from the search warrant executed at Somerset's Springfield office.

I stopped typing as I considered how to explain the several subsidiary businesses holdings of Redemption Management. I wanted this new warrant to authorize our seizure of all claims documents for Somerset policy benefits that were submitted by all the Redemption companies. In the back of my mind I thought Monsignor Petrini may be keeping two sets of books; one for the Church and one for his companies.

I called Rich Prince for help. When he answered my call, he said he was at the Lee barracks having copies made of the Somerset seized documents. He offered to stop by house with copies for me, I quickly accepted his offer.

Having some time to kill, I poured myself a drink from the bar and sat down on the sofa across from the fireplace. The silence in the house, except for the occasionally crackling of the fire, was melancholy. It soon drifted me into a deep sleep.

The ringing of the front doorbell startled me. I looked at my watch and realized I had slept for almost two hours. I went to the door and saw it was Rich. I showed him into the family room, he unceremoniously plopped down in a recliner in obvious exhaustion.

"Man, what a day this has been. Here are the copies of the documents we seized from Somerset," he said as he placed two thick manila envelopes onto the coffee table and slid them over to me.

I asked him if he wanted a drink, he hesitated for a few seconds before he declined, suggesting some water would be fine. I fetched a bottle from the bar refrigerator and sat down to review the documents he had brought.

What immediately caught my eye was a printout of medical claims submitted by Redemption Counselling Associates. There were more than four-hundred claims over the past two years. To my amazement, almost all of them were for counselling sessions for clergy serving at parishes other than for the clergy who we knew were Saint Dymphna residents.

The most startling notation was that the services were allegedly provided by Thomas Hennessey, Ph.D. billed at two-hundred fifty dollars per patient encounter. This was unbelievable! The benefits paid totaled more than one-hundred thousand dollars!

"Rich, did you see this spreadsheet of Redemption Counselling claims?"

"I did," he answered. "And I saw that it lists Monsignor Hennessey as providing the counselling. You realize that those bills are fraudulent, don't you?"

My mind racing, I was at a loss for words. I was mad at myself for not asking the Monsignor when we had spoken if the Diocese paid him for the psychological assessments, he said he had occasionally performed. I suspected he wasn't paid, but I needed to hear that from him. At the least, four hundred claims for services didn't equate to my definition of occasional.

I set the spreadsheets, accompanying backup invoices, and check requisition orders aside. Searching through the contents of the second manila envelope I found the life insurance policies for the three priests who died in the Saint Dymphna fire. Fathers Convey and Witkowsi were insured for twenty-five thousand dollars each. Father Rastone's initial policy was also for twenty-five thousand, but a rider document indicated that amount had been increased an additional seventy-five thousand. The date of origination of the rider document was December 4th last year. If my memory was correct, the first church fire occurred in Rhinebeck. New York in January of this year.

I looked again at all three polices and saw the beneficiary on each was Redemption Management Systems, Matthew Petrini JD, Trustee.

"Did you see this?" I asked Rich as I pointed to the beneficiary page of Father Rastone's policy'

"I did, and if you look a little further in the pile of paperwork, you'll find copies of the checks that were issued by Somerset a week after the Saint Dymphna fire. Our friend Monsignor Petrini received a hundred fifty thousand windfall in record time."

"Rich, we need to see the checks after they've cleared Somerset Insurance's bank account. We need to see how they were endorsed to find out what bank Redemption is using for their finances. I'll include records of bank transactions to be seized in the Redemption search warrant.

"I agree, but we'll need to go back to Somerset and ask for the copies. I think after that Lockwood woman's outburst Somerset may be inclined to cooperate with us," he said.

"That reminds me," he continued, reaching for his notebook and a pen. "Here's the name and number of the Somerset lawyer that would like a call from you." He tore a page from the notebook and gave it to me.

I explained I'd finish the warrant affidavit this evening, adding that we would have to drive back to Boston early tomorrow morning for Judge Taylor's review. Rich winced and started to say something but stopped. He nodded he understood. "I better head home then. I need some sleep. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow," he said as he stood up and put on his jacket. I agreed and walked him to the door. As he stepped outside, he turned to me. "Daryl, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you doing all this work for us. I owe you one, buddy." He said as he reached out and shook my hand. His gratitude was unnecessary. I nodded my thanks.

As I watched him drive away a thought came into my mind; I wasn't doing this case for Damian, the Bishop, Rich and his State Police team, or the dead priests. I was doing it for Sister Mary McNally. Ever since I learned of her traumatic background and later of her death, I had a nagging feeling she hadn't committed suicide. She was a victim, and I wanted the Church to know why she died.

I settled back into my recliner and went to work on finishing the warrant affidavit. Within half an hour it was done and after proofreading it twice I printed out the hardcopy.

I dumped out the drink I had made a few hours earlier and made a fresh one. I added some logs to the fireplace and called Mandy.

"Hello there, Little Boy. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to hear from you. Don't you miss me?" she asked.

"More than you know, Sweetie. How's your Dad?"

She explained he was home from the hospital and resting. All things considered, he was recovering well and was much more comfortable after the surgery.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You sound so subdued. You're not feeling sick again, are you?"

I answered I wasn't sick just a little worn out from the work I'd been doing the past few days. She asked what was going on and I told her about the documents we seized from the Church's insurance company and that I needed her help analyzing some financial data.

"I'm coming home tomorrow," she said. "I should be there mid-afternoon. Is there anything I can do from up here tonight?"

I told her no, it could wait, but that I had to go up to Boston tomorrow morning to get another search warrant signed.

She was disappointed I wouldn't be home when she got here, but I assured her I would make my trip as quickly as possible.

"Are we going to have any 'us time' tomorrow? she asked. "I've really missed you and I'm worried about you."

"Worried about what?"

"This Church case. I've been with you long enough now to know how you get into a case, but this time seems different. It's like you're taking this personally."

I didn't respond immediately; she was right, though. It was personal to me.

"Hon, I promise when I get back from Boston, I'll explain everything to you. And I honestly do need your help. And I promise we'll have our us time. I've missed you too, more than you know."

"Thank You. I needed to hear that from you."

We talked about her parents for the next ten minutes and ended the call on an upbeat note. I really did miss her and needed her help to make sense of Somerset Insurance's claims' records.

I fixed myself a sandwich for dinner and when I finished, I put together the documents I needed to bring to Boston. Around eight pm I called Damian and explained Rich Prince and I would be at his office tomorrow morning around ten with the warrant application to search Monsignor Petrini's offices. He assured me he would speak with Judge Taylor first thing in the morning to give him a heads up. I locked up the house and turned in early for much-needed sleep.

The clock radio woke me at six in the morning, I felt rested as I headed into the bathroom for a shower and shave. I dressed and went out to the kitchen and brewed myself a coffee. I was in the family room watching the morning news when Rich Prince pulled into the driveway at quarter to eight. Grabbing my jacket and the files I needed, I went out to his car.

"Good Morning" he greeted me as I got in. "Are we good to go?"

I told him I thought the warrant application looked good and I didn't anticipate Judge Taylor would have issues with it. As we entered the Pike the morning commuter traffic was heavy. Rich once again moved over into the left lane and almost two hours to the minute we were walking into the Moakley Federal Courthouse.

We met with Damian who read the affidavit and agreed we had sufficient probable cause for the warrant to be issued. His only comment was his concern how the Church would react when we searched their business manager's offices and seized all their records and computers."

"That's not our problem," I said. "The Church isn't above the law."

Damian looked over at me. "Easy for you to say my friend, but I expect there will be some backlash. This isn't the Church committing these crimes, it looks like one rogue individual who happens to be a priest. The bottom line is the Church will be blamed and that may be trouble for the Bishop, Archbishop and possibly even the Cardinal."

"Boss, we'll just have to see how it all plays out."

We took the elevator to Judge Taylor's chambers and were escorted in immediately. He greeted us and motioned for us to sit as he took the affidavit from Damian. He swiveled his chair to face the massive window behind his desk and read the document. After a few minutes I saw his head nod just before he swiveled the chair to face us.

"I find that you have probable cause to search the named premises and seize the items listed." he pronounced. "Please stand and raise your right hands."

He recited the oath that the content of the affidavit was the truth, Rich and I acknowledged it was, the Judge signed the search order and an order sealing the contents of the affidavit. We thanked him and headed back to Damian's office. When we arrived, he asked to talk with us for a few minutes.

"Okay, you have your warrant. Explain your plan to me again," he said.

I said we would execute the Redemption search warrant tomorrow. With any luck Miriam Parker would be working and we would try and question her.

"Okay, but this Monsignor Petrini is a lawyer. If he's not there when you go in, what if she says she won't answer questions without him present?"

I looked over at Rich and smiled. "That would be even better. I'm curious what her reaction will be when we read her Miranda rights to her."

"Are you suggesting the Parker woman is a co-conspirator?"

"I am. Most of the claims' documents we seized from the insurance company have her signature as the person submitting them. I'm confident we'll be able to prove that majority of the medical claims for psychological evaluations and counselling are fraudulent. And don't forget, we already have evidence that the insurance woman, Claire Lockwood, manipulated the incoming claims to avoid her company's protocol for review and adjustment. I'm guessing she was receiving kickbacks from Redemption, but we don't have that evidence yet. Hopefully, we can interview her, and she'll admit her involvement if you'll offer her a deal on a plea in exchange for her testimony."

I could see that Damian was thinking about what I was saying. "Well, we could use at least one of these women to roll over on the others. I'm not sure at this point who would be our best witness. At the least, they're both looking at some prison time for the frauds, but they would be collateral arrests. If the Monsignor is the mastermind as you said the other day, do you think he could be Gabriel?"

"Who is Gabriel? That's the last and most important piece of this puzzle," I answered. "As it stands, I'm convinced Stefan Parker is the person making the incendiary devices, but to lock him down as Gabriel I need to put him at the fire scenes striking the match."

"I think you're making a mistake not picking him up for questioning right now, but it's your case and your decision," Damian said as he stood up from his desk. "Have you considered he's writing the letters and someone else is actually starting the fires?"

"Yeah, I've thought about that, but who? I can't imagine either of the women starting the fires, so that leaves Petrini. I just can't see him being the arsonist. He doesn't fit the profile of the hands-on type, he's more the planner type."

"Okay, you may be right, but somebody is setting the fires. Who are we missing?" Damian asked.

"Don't forget we have the arson fire of the drug house on the same street the Parkers live on," Rich interjected. "And remember the Fire Marshal's crime scene found the unexploded flare device and we have one latent print that's unidentified. How does that fire tie into the others? The ignition device seems to be the same, but why that house? It was a drug den. And who's print is on the flare?"

I thought about what he was saying; he had a point. "But Rich, Gabriel sent his letters after each of the Church properties fires and as far as we know he didn't send one after the Spruce Street fire," I said. "Is there a connection or was Spruce Street a coincidence?"

Rich shook his head. "I don't have that answer, but my gut is telling me it wasn't a coincidence."

"All right, we have a mystery," Damian said. "Let's get back on point. You said you'll execute the search warrant tomorrow. I want to give the Bishop a heads-up; I don't want him to be blindsided. How do you want me to handle that?"

After a brief discussion with Rich, he agreed to call Damian tomorrow morning when the warrant team left the barracks. Damian made it clear he felt obligated to break the news to the Bishop in person and said he'd call him late this afternoon to set up a meeting for late tomorrow morning.

Rich and I stood up to leave as Damian came around from behind his desk. As he shook our hands he said, "I hope you men understand that what you're going to do tomorrow will be all over the front pages when the word gets out. We can try and keep a lid on it but it's only a matter of time before some bystander calls the media. We need to wrap this case up as soon as possible. I need you to deliver Gabriel to me."

"I think we're close, Boss," I said acknowledging his concern. "We just need to continue taking this one step at a time."

Rich and I headed out and ten minutes later we were again in the left lane on the Pike heading back to Stockbridge. As Rich drove, I called Freddy for an update on the camera installation at St. Erasmus. After answering, he said he and Frank had met with the Pastor, adding that as we were speaking Frank was mounting the camera on the church's rear roofline. Freddy said they needed another hour to tie the camera into a Wi-Fi router and test the encrypted live video internet access. I thought to myself he made it sound so easy, yet it was the most critical piece of technology we would be employing. I thanked him for his efforts and asked him to call me this afternoon with instructions on how I could view the video.

I looked at my watch and realized our business in Boston had wrapped up faster than I thought it would. With any luck I would be home before Mandy arrived.

When we got to my house, I saw that Mandy wasn't home yet. Rich headed back to his office. I went inside and found the phone number of the attorney from Somerset Insurance who said he wanted to speak with me. I gave him a call, he answered promptly, identifying himself as Michael Kaufman, the company's Chief Compliance Officer.

I introduced myself, explained my position with the US Attorney's office, and told him my investigation required copies of the cancelled checks issued to Redemption Management Systems over the past year. I was blunt. I said I was hoping for the company's cooperation; if it wasn't forthcoming, I would have the FBI execute a search warrant for their corporate offices within the next twenty-four hours.

"Mr. Richardson, your reputation precedes you. I've spoken with our CEO and Chief Operating Officer regarding Ms. Lockwod's apparent fraudulent claims management and they've instructed me to fully cooperate with the US Attorney's office. I've ordered an audit of Ms. Lockwood's business activities and that includes copies of the checks you're seeking. I should be able to fax you certified copies within the next forty-eight hours if you'll serve our company with an administrative subpoena."

I agreed to his offer and obtained his business address for the FBI to deliver the subpoena.

"Mr. Richardson, as I'm sure you can well appreciate, Somerset Insurance has an obligation to our shareholders to conduct a thorough internal probe of how these alleged frauds managed to go undetected. I hate to say it, but we're at a loss to understand how a malware program could be introduced into our IT system. We have invested heavily in technology to prevent hacking, but as I said, we have no idea how Ms. Lockwood's computer was compromised."

"I appreciate your company's cooperation, Mr. Kaufman. I have assistance available to me from the FBI cybercrimes unit. I'm inclined to think we'll involve them in our investigation. I'll contact you as the liaison between the FBI analysts and your IT group if that's acceptable."

"Absolutely Sir. Somerset would welcome any assistance you could provide," he answered. I said I would be in touch and thanked him again for his cooperation.

As I ended the call I turned and saw Mandy coming through the kitchen door. She dropped her suitcase to the floor, ran up to me and wrapped her arms around me in a bear hug. "I really missed you," she said as she leaned in for a long kiss. That one intimate moment between us gave me the comfort I sorely needed. She had been with me on this case from the start, now I seemed to be stuck in neutral. The pieces were falling into place, but I was still missing the last one; Gabriel. Now that she was home, I felt a new confidence that together we would solve the puzzle.

She was a chatterbox as I followed her through the house; she put her clothes away in the bedroom closet, started up the computers in her office, checked the refrigerator to see how I fed myself while she was away. I must have passed inspection, as she chose not to praise or criticize. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and reached over to take me by the hand and lead me to the family room. In my mind I was hoping she'd lead me to the bedroom, but such was not my luck.

"C'mon Little Boy, tell me where you're at in the case," she said as she sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her.

I sat down next to her and spent ten minutes explaining the progress we were making on the case. When I spoke of Sister Mary McNally, from the look on her face I could see I had touched a nerve.

"Hon, what's bothering you about the Sister's death?" I asked.

She looked deep into my eyes before she spoke. "Don't take this wrong, but it seems like she's being forgotten in all this. I know it seems as if she has nothing to do with the fires, but what if you've missed something and she her death is related?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"You said the case is coming together because Father Rastone is the common denominator between Miriam Parker, the insurance lady, and Monsignor Petrini. Sister Mary is the outlier. I think you're hung up on numbers in this case. Try looking at this as a math problem. Each one of these people are part of a formula, like X +Y+Z equals G, if you can understand that."

"Babe, I don't have a clue what point you're trying to make," I said out of total confusion.

"G is Gabriel. He's the one writing the letters. X is the Monsignor. Y and Z are the two women. Consider that collectively, X+Y+Z have created Gabriel. Therefore, Gabriel is one person, Stefan Parker, the sum of the actions of the other three."

"Okay, that makes some sense, but what about Sister Mary? Is her death part of our case? If so, where does she come into your formula?"

Do you have anything to connect her to Monsignor Petrini?" she asked without hesitation.

"Yes."

"Do you have anything to connect her to Miriam Parker?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Can you connect her to the insurance lady?"

"No, not that I know of."

Okay. Father Rastone is dead so we can eliminate him. That leaves Monsignor Petrini as the only one in the formula who logically might have a connection with her death. Now do you understand?"

"I think so, but I'm still not sure if Sister Mary's death has a connection to our case," I answered.

" _That's exactly my point!"_ she exclaimed. " _Presume that it is_! Monsignor Petrini is the only one we've connected to her. But is he the killer type? I don't think so. A womanizer yes, but not a killer. Someone else may be involved in her death. I think your investigation is missing a person you haven't considered. Now am I making sense?"

I answered I was struggling to see her point, but in the back of my mind I was thinking the New York police believed Sister Mary's death was a suicide. I reminded Mandy that Freddy had uncovered the letter she had written to her former foster parents and it seemed to indicate she was depressed. I could relate to that being the answer to my question more than I could a math problem.

"But was she despondent?" she asked. "There's a difference between depressed and despondent, you know," she shot back in defense of her theory. I could see I was on the losing end of this discussion, I got her point, but stuck to my guns.

`"As I said, the New York cops think she committed suicide. We'll have to wait for the toxicology report to see what she had in her bloodstream,"

"Okay, have it your way," she said. "And speaking of Sister Mary, I've been looking online and haven't seen a death notice or obituary. What's going to happen to her body? Will the Church have a funeral mass for her?" I answered I didn't know what would happen.

"Isn't there anyone you can call?" she asked. "I don't want her to end up in an unmarked grave as if she never existed. She had a horrible life; at least in death I want her to have peace and the world to know that she had lived."

I was surprised by Mandy's compassion for the dead nun. I didn't understand what was behind it, but I wasn't going to press the issue. "I'll call her Mother Superior to find out what burial arrangements have been made," I answered.

"Yes, please do. If there's any expense they can't manage I want to know. I'll pay for it," she said as she got up from the sofa and went toward the kitchen. Again, I didn't understand. Why would Mandy want to pay for the funeral of a woman she had never even met?

I checked my notebook and located the entry where I had written down Mother Superior's number. I called and she answered after a few rings. I told her I was just checking in and updated her on what Freddy had found out in his investigation.

"Thank you for that Mr. Richardson, no one from the Diocese has said anything to me. I'm heartsick not knowing if Sister Mary will receive a Christian burial if it's found she committed suicide."

"Mother, have you spoken with your Order regarding funeral arrangements?" I asked.

"I've called them. I was told Monsignor Petrini had contacted our Prefect and told her he would speak with the Bishop about her burial. We've not heard anything from him since."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. Then it struck me what Mandy was feeling. Mary McNally had been a lost soul all her life. In death she deserved better.

"Mother, with your permission I'd like to give your phone number to a lawyer, her name is Lindsey Moran. She will assist you with Sister Mary's funeral arrangements. I personally will see to it that this oversight is brought to the Bishop's immediate attention. Attorney Moran represents a charitable Foundation that will pay for the Sister's funeral, cemetery plot and a suitable headstone for her grave."

Mother Superior was silent for a few moments. "Thank You and God bless you, Daryl Richardson," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "I know in my heart, and in God's eyes, she did not commit suicide," she said ending the call.

I looked up and realized Mandy had been standing behind me and heard the call.

"Thank you for doing that, Daryl. I love you," she said as she gave me a long hug. As she pulled back, I saw a single tear roll from her eye. I still was missing what was behind her show of emotion, but I didn't ask. I needed to move the case forward.

I called the Springfield FBI office, spoke with Agent Mike Russo, and made arrangements for a team of agents to work with the State Police executing the search warrant at Redemption Management I explained how the warrant tied into the Church fires and that we would be seizing not just documents but all the computer equipment so we could access the data on the hard drives. He said he would put together a team but was concerned my giving him late notice wouldn't allow him to get assistance from the Bureau's cyber unit to physically remove the computers. I immediately thought of Freddy and Frank Paris. Both currently were here in Stockbridge and electronics was their area of expertise. I told Mike I would have two agents from Boston going on the raid, they would take care of removing the computers.

"Okay, thanks," he said. "Let's hope tomorrow doesn't turn into a wrestling match like happened with the raid we did the other day at the insurance company."

I agreed and asked what the status was of Claire Lockwood who he arrested for interfering with the search. "The crazy lady?" he asked. "She was committed on a ten-day involuntary for an emergency psych eval. Hopefully they can get her medicated. I spoke with our Agent-In-Charge, he said he conferred with Damian Costigan and was told when she's discharged from the hospital if she seems to be in control of her emotions, we can release her on a promise to appear. Apparently, Damian hasn't decided whether to have her case heard here in Springfield or move it to Boston."

I told Agent Russo that made sense and ended the call after I gave him Rich Prince's cell number to coordinate the pre-raid briefing.

I went out to the kitchen and saw Mandy sitting at the island drinking a cup of tea. She offered to make me a coffee, I thanked her but declined.

"Daryl, have you thought of any research I can do to help you?" she asked.

"Actually yeah. You said before that I was missing another suspect in the case. I had the thought Mother Superior mentioned to me when Monsignor Petrini recently visited her convent he brought a guy with him who inspected the property. She thought he had an eastern European accent. I wonder if this could have been the architect, Vasily Federov."

"I already did a little research on him, remember? I found the article where he was interviewed and talked about how he was working to re-build his family's construction business after his brother went to prison," she said.

"Yeah, but maybe you can look again," I suggested. "Make a deep dive. See if you can find any articles that report his recent projects, places his company has been working at, anything like that."

"Okay," she responded, "but if it's all right with you, I'll work on that in the morning. Tonight, I just want to unwind and rest." I told her that was fine. She asked what we would do for dinner; before I could answer, my phone beeped. It was Freddy.

"Hey Daryl! We're finished installing the camera, we've tested it and it works great! Frank and I want to stop by your house and set you up so you can monitor the video. Are you going to be home around, say, six-thirty or seven?" he asked.

"Yeah, we're home, that would be fine. Your timing is perfect. I need you and Frank to go on a warrant raid tomorrow morning. We're going to seize a computer system and we need your expertise."

"Cool!" He said enthusiastically, "We don't usually get invited to do any fun stuff! Hey! After I pick Heather up from work at six, I'll get some pizzas for us. Is it okay of I bring her along? "

"Sure, no problem."

After the call ended, I told Mandy that Freddy, Frank Paris and Heather would be stopping over in an hour or so and we'd have pizza for dinner. Hearing we would be having company for the evening seemed to perk her up. She said she wanted to take a shower, change clothes and tidy up before they arrived. I too needed to get ready. I went and made myself a drink.

Our guests arrived a few minutes before seven. They came bearing gifts; four large pizzas. "I wasn't sure what to get on the pies, so I got us an assortment," Freddy said as he walked into the kitchen and set the boxes on the island. He introduced Frank to Mandy, Heather gave her a hug, Mandy did the honors of preparing plates for us. I caught the roll of her eyes when for my first course. I asked for two slices of the pizza that had pepperoni, sausage and pepper toppings. Thankfully, she didn't comment on the effect it would have on my waistline.

After we settled into the family room, it was beers for Freddy and Pat, Chablis for Mandy and Heather. While we ate the guys described their camera installation and how I could access the video. I caught bits and pieces of the women's conversation which seemed to be about Heather's aerobics classes and Mandy's desire to build a home gym.

For the first time in weeks I was feeling relaxed. After a half-hour the conversation turned to our house and resulted in Mandy giving Heather and Frank the grand tour. That gave Freddy and I the opportunity to discuss the case.

I explained tomorrow's search warrant was to seize Redemption Property Management's business records, and my suspicion the medical claims Redemption was submitting to Somerset Insurance were mostly fraudulent. As I described the scheme that diverted the claims from the normal review process of the insurer, and triggered payment of the claims, I could see I had Freddy's attention.

"You know Daryl, that's a pretty sophisticated level of programing for the scam not to get caught by the company's IT firewall."

His comment puzzled me; I said I wasn't following him.

"Pat and I have done some cases for Damian involving embezzlements and money laundering," he explained. "We've found that the most successful IT financial system manipulations are based on coding algorithms that have been developed outside of the country; China, Russia. If you're telling me the payment software was compromised, I'd be curious to see why the IT system cash flow debit variance didn't set off alarms. It sounds like whoever wrote the malware knew what they were doing."

"Freddy, I have to admit, I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

He laughed and shook his head. "That's okay. I just had the thought that once we seize the computers tomorrow Frank and I can try and use them to hack back into the insurance company system to see if we can identify the malware program that was used. Have you given any thought which of your suspects would have the skills to plant the malware?"

I didn't have an answer for him. This case had already taken twists and turns I hadn't foreseen, now it looked like there might be another unidentified conspirator. But something Freddy had just said bothered me.

"Freddy, you mentioned hacking into the insurance company's system. That doesn't exactly sound legal."

"C'mon Boss! Where's your sense of adventure? We do this all the time! You seize the computers legally and submit a written request to Damian for a forensic examination of the hard drives. Frank and I draw up a search warrant for that, and presto! We're legal!"

I looked at him for a few moments and fought the urge to laugh. I envisioned him and Frank walking into Judge Taylor's hallowed chambers in Boston to get the warrant signed as equating to Cheech and Chong visiting the Pope.

"Okay Freddy, I'll take your word for it. But this case is getting more complicated by the minute."

"Hey! Chill, Boss! The A-Team is here for you!" he responded as he headed to the kitchen for another two slices. As he did, he passed the tour group coming back into the family room, having stopped in the kitchen to refresh their pizza plates.

"Daryl, let me see your phone," Frank said as he settled into the couch. "I'll download the camera software for you to be able to access the church video."

Freddy turned to Mandy and asked if she wanted the ability to pull up the video on her computer in our office. She glanced over at me; I nodded my approval. A few minutes later Frank announced, "Done!" and handed me my phone. He pointed out a new icon on the home screen and explained when I clicked on it the program would automatically log me in. I tested it and was amazed when in a few seconds a crystal-clear view of the rear of St. Erasmus appeared.

"You can access the video anytime you want," he said. "After eight pm it's programmed to send you a text alarm when the camera detects motion. It's a series of beeps, you'll be prompted to tap 'acknowledge'. That will automatically bring up the live video. When you click the prompt 'exit,' it will default back to the alarm armed mode. Understand?"

I apparently had a confused look on my face, Mandy spoke up before I could answer.

"He get's it! If he has trouble, I'll help him! C'mon Frank, let's go into the office and set it up so I can watch it on the wide screen." Joined by Heather, they left the room. Freddy wolfed down one more slice of pizza and after wiping his mouth with a napkin he said, "Hey! While we have a moment to ourselves, I want to run something by you."

"I've been checking the dark web every day, and over the past two weeks I've noticed Ultor and Nogod4me seem to have disappeared from the website where they were posting their anti-church rants." Freddy's comment caught my attention.

"Today, while Frank was up on the church roof installing the camera, I was killing time and checked the website. He's back."

"Who's back?"

"Ultor."

"Take a look at this," he said as he handed his phone to me. "I took a screenshot. It was posted by him a little after eleven last night:"

"The dead will not live, the departed spirits will not rise; I have punished and destroyed them, Now I will wipe out all remembrance of them. "

I handed the phone back to Freddy and leaned back into my recliner. I had an uneasy feeling.

"Is this another biblical reference?" I asked.

"Yeah. After I read it, I ran it through Google. It's a variation of a verse from the Book of Isaiah. I just don't know what Gabriel means by posting it," he answered.

I thought for a minute trying to understand the meaning of the message. The last sentence saying he would 'wipe out all remembrance,' suggested finality. If Father Rastone had caused Gabriel's rage, Rastone was dead. That was finality. Churches he had served at had been burned, except one; St. Erasmus. Could Gabriel be telling us to prepare for his last fire? Again, finality. I realized I may have been working this case wrong.

I had decided it wasn't about hatred and revenge against the Church; it was about money. Insurance fraud. Now, Gabriel had suddenly drawn my attention back to the Church being his target.

I hadn't forgotten about Sister Mary McNally. Was there a connection between Gabriel and her untimely death? My uncertainty was growing.

There was the letter Gabriel sent to Monsignor Hennessey right after the Saint Dymphna Manor fire. Gabriel had threatened to punish those who had protected and sheltered the abusive priests. I viewed that as a threat to the Monsignor. Could his life now be in danger as Gabriel sought finality? Had I misjudged the motive in this case?

"Daryl? _Daryl!"_ Freddy called out, snapping me back into the moment. "You okay Boss? I lost you there for a minute."

"Yeah," I answered, "Sorry. I just don't understand what this message means. And I don't understand how the hell this Ultor is coming up with these obscure biblical references. The most confusing part of all of this is that we're looking at communications from Gabriel and Ultor. Are these two separate individuals? Are we dealing with a schizophrenic? Is the writer one cunning son-of-a-bitch who's messing with our minds?"

Before he could answer Mandy and her entourage settled onto the couch. "Daryl, you should see how great the video of the church looks on the wall monitor. It's like we're standing right there looking at the parking lot!" Mandy exclaimed.

"You're all set now, Daryl. All you have to do is work out what the response will be if Gabriel shows up in the middle of the night," Frank

added.

"Yeah, that's all I have to do," I thought to myself. With Freddy and Pat now on the case with me, things were coming together as I had hoped they would. Why though did I still feel I had missed something?

# Chapter 25

I woke up the next morning a little after seven to find Mandy had already started her day. After a shower and shave, I picked out an ensemble of what I would describe as business casual attire. I would attend Rich Prince's pre-raid briefing at ten, but I wouldn't be going with the group to execute the search warrant at Redemption Management Systems. I had it in my mind to visit Monsignor Hennessey later this morning to get a better understanding of the psychological counselling work he did for the Diocese. To prove my allegation that the bulk of medical bills for counselling Redemption had submitted to Somerset Insurance were fraudulent, I needed the Monsignor to assist us in reviewing the invoices I expected the search would uncover.

I went out to the kitchen and found Mandy sitting at the island drinking her coffee and reading the morning news on her tablet. I kissed her good morning and went over to the counter and fired up the Keurig. I nosed around the breadbox and cupboards hoping to find some bakery treats but my search was futile.

"No sweets this morning, Little Boy," Mandy said without looking up from her tablet. "It's two slices of toast or nothing. I'm putting you on a diet." Discretion being the better part of valor I opted not to dispute her dictate. I popped two slices of rye bread into the toaster and stood there staring at it.

"You tossed and turned a lot last night. Are you worried about the search warrant this morning?" she asked as my toast popped up.

"No, not worried. I must have been thinking how I'm going to wade through the financial records Rich is going to come back with," I answered as I buttered my frugal sustenance.

"You don't have to Sweetie."

"I don't?"

"No. I'm home now, I'll do that for you. I can work up spreadsheets for you. From what you told me about your suspicions I'm sure I can present the data to support your theory," she said. "That is if the billing is fraudulent like you think it is."

I sat down next to her and kissed her forehead. "Thanks Babe. That's why I'm going to visit Monsignor Hennessey this morning. We're going to need his cooperation and I want to prep him."

She set her coffee mug down and swiveled her stool to face me. "Daryl, I know you're working hard on this case, but what's really bothering you about it?" She put her hand on top of mine and squeezed it. "If you talk to me about it, it may help you. We're a team. And now you have Rich, Freddy and Pat helping you. You don't have to carry the weight of all this alone. Talk to me."

I took a bite of toast and sipped my coffee before I spoke. "I had it set in my mind from the day we saw Stefan Parked at the two churches he was Gabriel. And after talking to his neighbor about Stefan's rocket motor experiments, I was convinced he's the one making the ignitor devices used to set the fires. The unexploded device that was found at the scene of the Spruce Street drug house fire is similar to what the neighbor saw Stefan playing with. And that device has a fingerprint on it, but we can't match it up with any known criminal record. Even with all that circumstantial evidence, nothing else we've learned about him, which is hardly anything because he's apparently lived off the grid, leads me to think he's the murderer."

"Okay, I follow you," she said. "But you told me you thought Father Rastone might be his biological father. If that's what his mother had told him wouldn't he have hatred for the man and have a motive to kill him?"

"I guess. But the Court records we got from Washington State say paternity was inconclusive."

"Okay. But now you have evidence, or will have evidence after today, that his mother is part of a scheme to use the Church to get money for phony insurance claims."

"Yeah, you're right," I agreed.

"Then doesn't it make sense that his mother failed to get the big windfall she thought she'd get from the Church back then, but now, working with Monsignor Petrini, she has the opportunity and a way to get more money out of them?"

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," I answered. "But if I buy into that, it means Miriam Parker is the mastermind behind all this. If that's the case, where does Monsignor Petrini fit in? From all appearances, the guy's not acting like a priest, he's a playboy. And he's smart, well educated, and seems to have a lot of irons in the fire. He would logically fit the profile of mastermind more than Miriam Parker. What really has me thrown for a loop is how Petrini got involved with Mary McNally. And what if it turns out her death wasn't a suicide? What possible motive could there be for someone to kill her?"

Mandy didn't answer. She raised her coffee mug to her lips and struck a pensive pose. She set the mug down without drinking.

"You said Sister Mary testified against a Russian guy and he went to prison. And he has a brother that you said you think is the guy who was with Petrini when he inspected the nun's convent. Have you thought about him being involved?" she asked. "He would have a motive. She put his brother in prison and you yourself told me that he might have wanted to get revenge for that."

I thought about what she was saying. If nothing else, by talking it through she was helping get my mind back on track. She stood up, walked to the sink and poured her coffee out. I saw her reach into the oven and take out a foil covered dish. She brought it over and set it on the island, removing the foil. Then I saw them. Two chocolate covered crème filled donuts!

"Here! I stopped and bought these for you on my way home from Vermont. I hid them from you in the oven. Seriously, I've got to get you to eat better. That's why I'm going to plant a vegetable garden this year."

I thanked her and quickly took a bite out of one before she changed her mind. As I ate the thought popped into my head; a garden?" I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm, but I had a vision our local deer and other assorted wildlife critters would be grateful she had moved into the neighborhood.

As she put her pocketbook on the kitchen counter and fished inside for her keys, she turned to me. "I'm heading out to the store for some groceries and then I want to stop and pick up some vegetable garden magazines. I'll be back in an hour or two." She gave me a quick kiss and headed out the door.

After I finished my breakfast treats, I called Damian in the hope I would catch him at his desk first thing in the morning. He answered his phone after two rings.

"Good Morning," he answered. "I was going to call you before I headed down to Springfield to meet with the Bishop. Are we still a go with the search warrant for later this morning?"

"Yeah, I'm heading out in a few minutes for Rich Prince's briefing of the raid team. I have Freddy and Frank going with him to take care of seizing the computers. They said they'll set the system up at the SP barracks and file for a search warrant to examine the hard drives."

"Good," he responded. "They know what they're doing. I can spare Freddy to help you for a few more days but I'll need Frank back here by the day after tomorrow to work on a new case we just picked up."

"Okay, I'll mention that when I see them. Anything else I need to know?" I asked.

"Yeah, funny you should ask. Just before I left the office yesterday, I got a call from the CEO of Somerset Insurance."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He was very subdued on the phone, said he's besides himself that someone had compromised their IT mainframe. He told me he's bringing in a forensic team to see how the rogue program got into the system, but he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize our investigation. He also said his board of directors wanted an immediate internal probe of the risk manager woman. They talked about hiring private detectives, but he convinced them to hold off until he spoke with me."

"That's a relief Boss. I don't need anything else to add to the already murky water I'm drowning in."

"Daryl. Is it that bad? I thought you said you were closing in on Gabriel."

"I did, but some things have come up that are confusing me."

"Such as?"

I explained I had thought the attacks against the Church were a cover for the insurance fraud, but now I wasn't sure.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" he asked, raising his voice. "I can't have you waffling back and forth on a motive. This is a high-profile arson-murder case. Have you lost sight of that?"

I hesitated before I answered. I needed to control my urge to angrily defend myself. "I could use some help," I responded. "I need anything your office can dig up on this Russian architect, Vasily Federov."

"Russian architect? Have you lost your mind, Man? How did we go from church fires to having a suspicion of international crime?"

"Money, Boss. Huge money is at stake here. And I mean not only the insurance claims for the burned churches and murdered priests. I think this is tied into a scheme to force the abandonment of church owned properties throughout New England and convert them into commercial development projects."

"But Daryl. Who would gain from a scheme like this?"

"That's the multi-million-dollar question. My gut is telling me Monsignor Petrini and Vasily Federov would reap the biggest reward."

Damian was silent for a full minute. I listened as his rapid breathing eventually slowed, hopefully his blood pressure was returning from the stratosphere.

"All right. It's you case. Keep me posted," he said tersely as he ended the call.

Well, now I'd done it, I thought to myself. I don't know where the words came from, but the arson motive I had explained to Damian made more sense than anything I'd previously considered. He and I had rarely banged heads over the years, but maybe that's what I needed to clear the fog that lately had been clouding my thinking. I went out to the kitchen and brewed myself a fresh cup of coffee. I had an hour to kill before I headed out to the raid briefing. I took my coffee, went into Mandy's office and stood at the window looking onto the back lawn and meadow. She had mentioned she wanted to plant a garden. I occupied my time looking to see where we could put it, and thought I'd better run her idea by our property caretaker Erik Nichols, whom I'm sure she'd sweet talk into helping her. My cellphone beeped, I looked down and saw it was Freddy calling. I checked my watch and saw it was quarter to nine. I hoped nothing had happened to change his plans to go on the warrant raid. I answered the call.

"Daryl, we need to talk," he said quickly. I just got a call from Detective Davidson, Buffalo PD. He received the toxicology report from Sister Mary McNally's autopsy. Her blood was positive for the presence of fentanyl. The report said the level in her blood sample was twice the amount considered a fatal dosage. The ME has ruled her death a homicide."

It took me a moment to recover from his shocking report. "Freddy, I thought the cops found an empty container of sleeping pills in her motel room."

"They did. The detective said the ME's lab swabbed the inside of the empty pill container that was sent to the morgue with her body and it tested positive for traces of fentanyl."

This news was like running into a brick wall. Why was Sister Mary murdered?

"Freddy, call Damian and fill him in, but please don't let anyone else know about this. Ask him to call the Detective Commander at Buffalo PD and ask that they not release this information for at least the next forty-eight hours. We need time to figure out if her death is linked to our case."

"Okay, I will. Are you going to the raid briefing?"

I answered yes, I'd be leaving my house in half an hour and we'd talk when I got to the State Police barracks. After we ended the call, I was numb. Just when I thought I had our case sorted out in my mind we had another murder to contend with. It immediately came into my mind either Monsignor Petrini or Vasily Federov or both were involved in Sister Mary's death.

I went into the bedroom and took my Sig Sauer and two magazines from the gun locker. I didn't usually leave the house armed, but now that our case had four murders, I wasn't going to take any chance I would become victim number five.

When I arrived at the State Police barracks the dispatcher at the front window greeted me with a wave and said the meeting was in the detective's conference room. As I entered the room, I saw Rich and his three detectives and two men and two women wearing FBI windbreakers. I recognized Agent Mike Russo, he turned, saw me, and walked up with his hand extended.

"Daryl, great to see you again. It's been a while." Motioning to the other male and two women agents he introduced me. "After what happened at the insurance company last week, I thought we'd want to have women agents with us in case things got out of control," he explained. I looked at the two women, both were young and attractive. They flashed quick, polite smiles but I sensed that was a façade. They looked like they could handle themselves with any unruly suspect, male or female.

Rich's briefing was short and to the point. He explained the site of the search was Redemption Management Systems, a property management company headed by Monsignor Matthew Petrini from the local Diocese. We would be seizing business records including all the computers in the office. Freddy and Frank Paris would handle disconnecting and removing the devices. I looked over at them and smiled as I realized this was the first occasion that I'd ever seen them wearing jackets identifying them as FBI agents. Rich closed the briefing by telling the group he was hoping the operation would be completed without attracting much attention, stressing the raid was part of a sensitive on-going multiple homicide investigation, and confidentiality was imperative.

Rich dismissed the group and having time before they left to execute the warrant, some helped themselves to coffee and donuts the State had provided, the others left to use the rest rooms. Rich waved me over and greeted me with a handshake.

"Hopefully, this will kick our case into high gear don't you think?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's hope so," I quietly answered.

"We had a small room we were using for storage cleaned out for Freddy and his partner to set up the computers we're going to seize. It's my understanding they'll take care of getting a search warrant for the hard drives?"

"Yeah, that's the plan. They'll both go back to Boston to get it signed, Freddy will come back here and do the forensics for us," I explained.

Rich reached over and put his hand on my arm. "Hey! You're awfully quiet this morning. Everything all right?"

"No, we have a problem," I answered. "The toxicology report for Sister Mary McNally came in. Her blood showed a fatal dose of fentanyl. The MD has ruled her death a homicide."

" _What! How could that be?"_ he exclaimed in disbelief. _"She was a nun! There's no way she could have been an addict."_

'She wasn't an addict, Rich," I answered shaking my head. "I think whoever gave her the container with what she was told were sleeping pills actually gave her fentanyl in pill form. The ME reported the dose she took was twice that which would be fatal."

" _Jesus, Daryl!_ Who would kill a nun? And why?"

"My first thought was Petrini," I answered, "But the more I thought about it I realized he would have to have help to kill her."

"Why?" he asked, with a look of bewilderment, his voice now almost a whisper. "You said that a priest got caught molesting her. Maybe he was worried she'd file a complaint with the police, and it would hit the papers. Or worse, maybe he thought she would sue the Church."

"That was Father Rastone, and he died in the fire at Saint Dymphna. That was weeks before Sister Mary was killed," I said.

"Oh Man, could anyone else who knows about Rastone be in danger?" he asked.

"Possibly, There's the Mother Superior who pulled Rastone off of her, and..." Before I could finish my thought, he interrupted; "And the nun that saw what was happening and reported it to the Mother Superior!"

"Exactly! We need to interview that nun. We also need to find out which nuns went to Damian's office before sister Mary disappeared," I said.

"Why them?"

"I need to know what they talked about. I have a hunch it not only had something to do with sex abuse, but Sister Mary may have overheard something or figured out Petrini and his architect friend were planning to evict the nuns from their convent and sell the property. She may have said something to the other nuns," I explained. "If this Federov is as sketchy as I think he is, he could logically be the one who could obtain the fentanyl that killed Sister Mary," I added.

"Daryl, if that was the case, then it all ties together with your theory that the fires weren't about revenge for the sex abuse, they were about getting the properties condemned and collecting the insurance money."

"That's what it's looking like, Rich. That's why we need Petrini's business records to lay out the foundation that he and his friends were building a war chest to finance or at the least partner with Vasily Federov. You're on the right track, except you left out the possibility that Federov murdered Sister Mary."

"But Daryl, how could that be? You said Petrini was the last person we know of who was with her before she disappeared. And don't you think the other nuns would have said something to the Mother Superior if Sister Mary told them she overhead a conversation about selling the convent?"

"Rich, you and I met Mother Superior. We saw how intimidating she is, almost unapproachable. I think she lords over her nuns with a healthy dose of fear. It's their culture. I could understand the nuns being afraid to talk about anything that would be threatening to their Order."

"I'll agree with that. She had me scared for a few minutes!" he acknowledged.

"Rich, I have Mandy doing internet research on Vasily's construction project activities. I need you to run him though the government agency databases you can access to learn everything we can about him.

"Okay, I'll assign one of my detectives to get on it right away," he said as he glanced at his watch. "It's time for us to head out to execute the search warrant. Are you sure you don't want to go with us?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm going to visit Monsignor Hennessey. Good luck with your raid."

I left the barracks and headed to the Saint Francis Retreat House. As I drove it occurred to me that I had forgotten to ask Freddy if he had given Damian the message the ME had ruled Sister Mary's death a homicide. I dreaded calling, but I needed to talk with Damian. He answered quickly.

"Daryl, what's up?"

"You on the road Boss?"

"Yeah."

"You alone?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Did Freddy call you about the toxicology report from Sister Mary McNally's autopsy?"

There was a pause before he responded, "Yeah, he called a few minutes ago. I'm shocked and sick over this. What the hell does this mean Daryl? This case has spiraled out of control."

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying to tie all these things together. I'm positive now her death and the fires are related."

"Friend, when you started this case you were sure the fires were to punish the Church for how they covered up sex abuse. When you learned about that priest who had a history of abuse and linked him to the churches that burned, you thought this case was about punishing him. He's dead. You've uncovered insurance fraud and think this is a plot to condemn church property and sell it to a developer. Now, Sister Mary is murdered. What are you going to say the motive for all of this is today?"

His sarcasm cut me like a knife. My ego was telling me to remind him he was the one who pulled me into the case to help him, now he was accusing me of spinning my wheels. I fought the urge. There was a silence between us.

"As soon as I get to the Bishop's residence, I'll call the Buffalo PD Chief," he said." We need to keep the nun's murder out of the papers for as long as we can. Once that story breaks, and it comes out we aren't even close to making an arrest for that or the fires, we'll be crucified right alongside the Church. Now I know how Dismas felt on the cross next to Jesus."

I couldn't believe Damian had brought another biblical reference into our case. Catechism lessons from my life long ago shot back into my brain as I heard the name Dismas.

Saint Dismas, the Good Thief, before dying on the cross next to Jesus asked the Lord to remember him when he entered the Kingdom of Heaven. I thought to myself I knew how he felt. I was hunting another thief, a bad one; and I would make him remember me.

"Daryl, I need to tell the Bishop about Sister Mary's death. This will destroy him, but I want him to hear it from me before he reads about it in the paper."

"He knows she's dead, right?" I asked.

"I assume so. You told me Monsignor Petrini identified her body. He must have told the Bishop."

"Okay, just doublecheck that for me. Also, the Mother Superior was asking why the Diocese hadn't contacted her about funeral and burial arrangements. Can you ask him about that and let me know?"

"Yeah, I will. Let me go now, traffic is getting heavy. Call me as soon as you find out what evidence was found with the Redemption search warrant." I agreed and we ended our call.

A few minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of the Saint Francis Retreat House. The thought occurred to me I had asked Damian to see what arrangements had been made for Sister Mary's funeral, but I hadn't heard from Lindsey Moran if she was able to contact her Boston lawyer friend to help the nuns with their anticipated eviction. I called her office.

"Hey Friend," she answered after her receptionist transferred my call to her. "I was just thinking about you this morning."

"Hi! Just checking in to see if you were able to reach your friend that I need to help the nuns up in Cambridge," I responded.

"I did! She's in Florida enjoying a little holiday, but she's flying back to Boston the day after tomorrow. I explained what we were asking help with, she didn't hesitate to agree. She said she'd call me as soon as she got back to her office."

"Great! Thanks, but a complication has come up."

"Oh?"

"Strictly confidential though. Attorney / client privilege?" I asked.

"Of course!"

"Sister Mary's death has been ruled a homicide. Narcotic overdose."

" _Oh God! No! How could that be?"_ she exclaimed in disbelief.

"I can't go into detail at the moment Lindsey, but in short, I believe someone slipped her fentanyl pills on the pretext they were sleeping pills."

She didn't respond for a few moments. "Suspects?" she finally asked.

"I think so. Just need some time to check some things out. Give me a call after your friend gets back from Florida and hopefully, I'll be able to explain all of this to you."

"Okay. Will do. Just be careful, my friend," she said and ended the call.

I checked in with the reception desk, the attendant informed me the Monsignor was in the Sunroom. When I entered, I stopped when I saw he was napping. I stood there for a moment debating if I should wake him, he apparently sensed my presence.

"Daryl! This is a surprise he said as he looked up and re-arranged himself in the wingback chair. "I was just resting my eyes. Please, sit," he added pointing to a leather recliner across from him.

"Monsignor, you're well I hope?"

"Yes. I'm quite comfortable here at St. Francis, and the staff are wonderful. What is the occasion for your visit?"

I took painstaking effort to slowly explain my concern that Monsignor Petrini had seemingly lessened the role of his priestly duties in his life to further his business ventures, under the pretext of benefiting the Church. He was genuinely surprised when I described the various companies Petrini had set up to manage Church personnel and properties.

"I've spent limited time with Monsignor Petrini, but I must say I myself was confused by how he had assumed such control over Church affairs not just locally, but apparently for most of New England according to what he explained to me," he said.

"Monsignor, within the Church hierarchy is there one individual, perhaps a Cardinal, who oversees specific regions of the country?"

He explained there's a Council of American Bishops that he described as being similar to our US Congress. The Council is led by a Cardinal appointed by the Pope who in many regards acts as the National Chief Executive Officer. In practice the Chief Cardinal has the authority to delegate regional responsibilities to other Cardinals. As he continued his explanation, I got the impression the individual Archdiocese's operated with a lot of independence and not much oversight. In the business world, I'd equate that to silos. Now I could understand how Monsignor Petrini would be able to operate under the radar.

I explained that as we were speaking, the FBI was executing a search warrant for Monsignor Petrini's business office. He was shocked.

"The FBI? Dear Lord! Search Warrant? Whatever for?" he asked.

I explained that in my investigation I had developed information that made me suspect Monsignor Petrini, and possibly others, were involved in a scheme to defraud an insurance company for payment of medical and other expense claims. Upon hearing this, he looked confused.

"Monsignor, I have evidence a company called Redemption Counselling Services received over one hundred thousand dollars from billing the Diocese's insurance company for psychological counselling allegedly performed by Thomas Hennessey, PhD."

The Monsignor's confusion escalated as he shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm Thomas Hennessey PhD. Why is my name being used for insurance claims?"

"That's the point I'm trying to clarify," I answered. "Have you ever billed the Diocese for the psychological counselling you told me you occasionally performed?"

"Billed the Diocese? Of course not! I've never asked for money those few times I've counselled my brethren clergy," he answered defensively. "Dear God! Who would use my name for such a lie?"

"I believe you when you say you weren't paid for your counselling. I promise you I'll find out who has fraudulently used your name," I said hoping to relieve his concern.

He looked as if he was going to say something, but instead sunk back in his chair; his head bowed. I sat and looked at the man, his sorrow was incredibly real. At that moment I decided I wouldn't tell him what had caused Sister Mary's death. I just didn't have it in me.

"Monsignor, if it becomes necessary would you assist me by looking through the insurance invoices, I mentioned to verify that you didn't submit them for payment?"

"If the Bishop approves, yes."

I explained the US attorney was meeting with the Bishop this afternoon, and I'd ask him to obtain the approval. I apologized for being the bearer of bad news with my visit, he waved my apology off.

"My beloved Church is under attack by forces I never dreamed we would encounter," he softly said. "Satan is evil." Looking into my eyes he added, "I'll pray you have the strength to defeat him in this battle."

I didn't know how to respond to that other than thanking him for seeing me, and said I hoped to visit again under better circumstances. He nodded and raised his hand in a weak wave.

I went out to my car and after starting it, I sat there for a few minutes wondering how I was going to put an end to Gabriel's rage. I still wasn't sure who he or she was.

# Chapter 26

I arrived home a little after noon to find Mandy was still out shopping. I hadn't heard anything about the search warrant raid which probably was a good thing. My control compulsion got the best of me, I called Rich for a status report.

"Rich, how are you making out with the warrant?" I asked as I sat down at the kitchen island.

"We got in, no problem. Miriam Parker is the only one here. She told us Monsignor Petrini is in Vermont on Church business."

"How did she react when you told her about the warrant?"

"She's in complete shock. Right know she's sitting in a side office with the two women FBI agents. She's shaking, crying. She told me she wanted to speak with a lawyer and then started rambling on something about, "They destroyed my life and now you people are finishing the job." She wasn't making any sense and suddenly broke down completely. I've asked if she would call Petrini for me, she won't even acknowledge I'm talking to her. We may want to take her into protective custody and bring her to the ER for an evaluation. I'm worried she might try and do something to hurt herself."

"Damn," I muttered. "What are you finding for business records?"

"There's a lot. A half-dozen or so file cabinets appear to have files for each church in the Diocese, personnel files, essentially a lot of what looks like legitimate business paperwork. The computer on her desk was password protected and I asked her to give us the password. She ignored me, so Freddy hooked up his laptop and did his password-cracker magic. He unlocked it a few minutes ago. He's scanning through the directory now to make sure it contains financial files."

"Okay, good work. Has she said anything about her son?"

"Not a word. She...Daryl! Wait a minute!" I heard someone call his name in the background. "Daryl, hold on a second. Freddy's telling me he found something." I could hear bits and pieces of conversation in the background but couldn't make out what was being said. After a half-minute Freddy came onto the phone.

"Daryl? Jackpot Boss! Believe it or not, there's a file named Gabriel! It looks like a ledger of bank account wire transfers. The routing number has too many digits to be a US bank. It looks like a SWIFT code for an international transfer. I'll run an inquiry to identify the source of the funds and location.

" _What?"_ I asked trying to contain my excitement.

"Yeah, this is weird. It looks like there's also incoming deposits into the account from another strange looking routing number. These are some big amounts. Two, three hundred thousand dollars at a time. You're going to need a forensic accountant to look at this. My guess is this is a money laundering scheme."

"Freddy, excellent work! I want you to seize everything in that office. Computers, printers, file cabinets, anything that isn't furniture."

"Okay, but you'll have to tell Rich. He's going to need a truck for all this stuff and he ain't gonna like that!" Freddy handed the call back to Rich.

"What do you think, Daryl?"

"I want you seize everything Rich. If I come up there, do you think Miriam will talk with me?"

"Not a chance pal. Barbie, she's one of the FBI agents, just told me she thinks we need to bring Miriam to the hospital. She's really starting to meltdown. She keeps saying something about being a dead woman."

"Okay. Call an ambulance and have Barbie or her partner ride along. Check with Mike and see if he wants one of his agents or one of your detectives to follow the ambulance. I want her taken to the Medical Center. I'll head over there in a few minutes."

I had a thought. "Rich, we're going to have a problem if they admit her for a psych eval. I don't want her to have any contact with Claire Lockwood. She may still be a patient in the psych unit. Understand what I'm saying?"

"Okay, understood. Mike will stay here with his agents and Freddy, Frank, and the local PD officer we brought with us. I'll meet you at the hospital."

As I ended the call Mandy came through the kitchen door, her arms loaded down with groceries. I went over and took them from her and set them down on the counter.

"You're home sooner than I thought you'd be," she said. "Everything all right?"

I filled her in on what information was found at Redemption Management and how Miriam Parker had some type of emotional breakdown.

"Was Monsignor Petrini there?" she asked.

I told her Miriam said he was travelling out of state, and added she was now in FBI protective custody and being taken by ambulance to the Medical Center for treatment. She shook her head. I wasn't sure if it was in sadness or disgust.

"And what about Stefan Parker? Are you going to arrest him now?"

"Not yet Hon. I have to meet Rich at the hospital as soon as I can get there. I really want to interview Miriam."

"Well we know that's not going to happen if they admit her to the psych ward," she said. I agreed.

"Do you still want me to do some research on that Russian architect guy?"

I told her absolutely, it was extremely important. I didn't tell her about Freddy's initial finding that the case may have taken a turn toward international money laundering. I expected her to have a lot more questions, but to my surprise she just nodded and said she'd get started on her research right after she put the groceries away. I gave her a quick kiss and headed out for the hospital.

As I walked into the waiting room, I was taken aback by how full it was. I presented my credentials to the security guard and said I was here to see the patient brought in by ambulance accompanied by the FBI. He asked me to wait and made a brief phone call. When he finished, he told me to follow him and we went into the treatment area. As we entered, I saw Rich and 'Agent Barbie" standing outside a room and started toward them. Suddenly I felt someone tugging on my arm.

"Hey Mister! Thanks a lot for adding to the chaos!" I turned and saw it was a friend, Kristin Holcomb. I had worked on a murder case a few months earlier with her husband Matt, a Detective Sergeant with the Sheriff's Department, and Mandy and I had met her through him. She was the ER assistant nurse manager on duty today, and she and Mandy had become the best of friends.

"The good news is I'm in charge of this madness," she said motioning to the hectic action around us. "The bad news is I hope you brought your pajamas and toothbrush because it's going to be a while before I can get a psych doc to evaluate your prisoner. If her heart hasn't stopped or if she isn't bleeding all over my floor, take a number!" That's what I loved about Kristin; she could be brutally honest and leave you with a smile. I thanked her for the heads up and went over to Rich.

"How's she doing?" I asked.

"I don't know. A doctor took a quick look at her as soon as we got here and ordered a blood test. A nurse just took her vitals and a tech drew the blood.

"Did she say anything on the ride here?" I asked.

"She just kept repeating "I'm a dead woman, I'm a dead woman," Rich reported.

I went into the room and approached the stretcher. I studied her for a moment. Despite the stressful situation she found herself in, she was an attractive woman; golden blond shoulder length hair, high cheekbones, thin build. She looked much younger than the forty-nine years old her driver's license said she was. She turned her head to look at me, her eyes were glassy.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

I told her my name and said I was with the US Attorney's office.

"What's going to happen to me? He's going to kill me. I'm a dead woman," she said, her voice shaking.

"Who's going to kill you Miriam?"

"I'm a dead woman," her voice was now throaty, almost evil sounding as her words took on the tone of a plea for help.

I asked again, she didn't answer. "The Monsignor? Vasily?" Again, no answer.

"Stefan?" Her eyes suddenly grew wide; glassy turned into a penetrating glare.

Her scream was loud, long, and piercing. Instinctively my body jerked away from the bedside. Rich and Barbie rushed into the room as Miriam started flailing her arms and legs as she tried to get off the stretcher. In what seemed like only a minute medical and security staff poured into the room immediately grabbing her limbs to control her outburst.

As Kristin rushed into the room, she brushed me aside with surprising force. I stood back as two more security guards responded and took over the control measures. I heard someone call out for restraints and saw a nurse quickly leave the room and return in a few minutes with a syringe in her outstretched hand.

In short order Miriam was sedated, her four limbs strapped with leather belts attached to the stretcher. I stepped out into the hallway and joined Rich and Agent Barbie.

"What's with her screaming about someone going to kill her?" Rich asked.

"I don't know!" I answered. "I asked her who was going to kill her and when I mentioned Stefan's name, she went berserk."

I felt a tapping on my arm. Actually, it was more like a well-aimed determined poke. I turned and saw it was Kristin.

"There will be no more questioning of the patient. Is that understood?" she asked, looking at each of us. The stern appearance of her face conveyed her directive more strongly than her words. I wasn't about to challenge her; I nodded I understood. She looked at us for a moment before she leaned in close to my ear.

"Don't worry. I won't tell Mandy you almost started a riot in my ER," she said and walked away. I was relieved by her sense of humor. Thinking that Miriam was probably going to be admitted, I was going to need the hospital's cooperation to give me access to her. I sensed I wasn't off to a very good start.

During the next hour we stood in the hallway and waited, for what I wasn't sure. The ER was busy; traumas from car accidents, an assortment of medical life-threatening emergencies, two or three street people who were drunk, a young kid who was having a temper tantrum that required several security and medical staff to keep him from escaping. To my amazement I realized that during the past hour the medical staff were busier dealing with more death and violence than most cops would see during an entire hot summer weekend in our most crime ridden cities.

Miriam's nurse checked on her every fifteen minutes or so, she appeared to be resting comfortably on the stretcher, sleeping on and off. On this check she was accompanied by a security officer who removed the restraints. We stayed outside the exam room, I stood at the entrance to watch the nurse, with Agent Barbie as backup. Miriam was a patient, but technically, she was still in police protective custody. We didn't want the nurse getting hurt if Miriam had another outburst.

I heard Miriam saying something, but I couldn't make out what it was. Suddenly she reached out and grabbed the nurse's arm and began speaking rapidly in a low voice. The nurse pulled back and slowly extricated herself from the grip. She turned around quickly glancing at us, then turned back to her patient. What I next heard left me cold. Miriam was saying something about a bomb.

"I think I need help here!" The nurse called out over her shoulder.

The three of us rushed into the room, Miriam sounded incoherent; gasping for breath, rocking her head back and forth saying, _"He has bombs, can't go down there, it's a trap, can't go down there, he'll kill me, Cant' go there, ......he has.... bombs, don't... don't..."_

"Who has a bomb? Miriam! Who has a bomb? Where can't you go?" I asked leaning in close to her face to be sure she was hearing me. She didn't answer. She repeated over and over, _"Can't go there, can't go there...he's got bombs."_

I looked at the nurse. "Why is she delirious?" I asked.

"We gave her Haldol to sedate her, it could be a reaction to it. Do you know if she has any health problems?" she asked.

"We don't," I answered. The nurse shook her head and had a worried look on her face. She made a call on her handheld phone and a minute later Kristin came into the room.

"What's the problem?" she asked the nurse, who explained Miriam was delirious and was saying something about a bomb. Kristin turned to me.

"Why is she under arrest?" she quickly asked.

I explained she wasn't, she was a suspect in the church fires case. Kristin's eyes got big. "The one I saw in the news? That Gabriel guy?"

"Yeah."

"Daryl, are we in danger here? Should we go into lockdown?"

I told her no, there was no reason to believe there was any threat to worry about. I asked what was wrong with Miriam. The nurse explained to Kristin the doctor had ordered Haldol and asked if she should see if he'd prescribe another medication. Kristin looked at the patient chart and instructed the nurse to call the doctor. She motioned for us to move out into the hall.

"She's probably reacting to the Haldol, she said. "I can tell you already she's probably going to be admitted for observation. Is she going to have someone guarding her?"

I looked at Rich, he said he would post a trooper outside her room as long as she wasn't admitted to the psych ward."

"Well, that's a locked unit. She won't need a guard there," Kristin said.

"That's a problem for us Kristin," I said, explaining another suspect in the case might already be a psych patient. Kristin stepped back and shook her head. "That woman brought in the other day that fought with the cops?"

"Yes, the same."

"Just a minute," she said and walked a few paces away from us. She made a brief phone call and after a few moments came back over to us."

"By law I'm not permitted to confirm or deny any patient is admitted to our Behavioral Health unit. With that said, from what you've told me about your patient today, if she's committed for psychiatric evaluation there wouldn't be a conflict with any other patient who may be involved in your investigation." Kristin was a smart gal, and I read between the lines; Claire Lockwood wasn't in the psych unit. I thanked her and said I understood. The nurse caring for Miriam came back into the room and gave her another injection. When she finished, she turned and told us the medication would make her sleep. I looked over at her and saw her eyes were already closed and she appeared calm. Rich, Barbie, and I went out into the hall.

"Now what?" he asked. "You know that after what she said about a bomb we have to get into her house."

"Yeah, I answered, "We don't have any choice."

"But she's under the influence of the drugs they gave her. I don't think there's any way we could get a judge to sign a search warrant if we say she was medicated when she made the statements she did."

I thought for a minute. "I think based on what we know in this case we need to do a welfare check on her son. We don't need a search warrant for that."

He grabbed my arm. "But Daryl, she said something about a bomb! What if that goddamn kid has set up a booby trap? You heard her say don't go down there; or can't go down there. I think she was talking about the basement where he lives."

"That's what I think," I said in agreement. "So, we'll have the bomb squad go with us."

" _What? For a welfare check Are you crazy?_ "he asked in disbelief.

I looked at him. "Sometimes we have no choice but to be crazy," I said. "Let's do it."

He looked like a man who had just been sucker-punched in the gut. He looked over at Agent Barbie. She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a seductive smile." C'mon, where's your sense of adventure, Major?"

Rich rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens. "All right, let me make some phone calls."

For the next half-hour Agent Barbie and I stood guard outside Miriam Parker's room. We watched, admittedly with some amusement, as Rich paced back and forth as he made calls to line up support for our welfare check of Stefan Parker. His animated hand gestures told me he was getting frustrated. I was tempted to see if I could help; but thought better of it. He was, after all, a Major in the State Police. If he couldn't pull this off, no one could.

Miriam's nurse faithfully made fifteen-minute checks on her patient, who continued her drug induced sleep. As I periodically looked in on her, I had mixed feelings.

My brain was telling me if she had committed the insurance fraud, I suspected she had, she deserved to go to prison. My heart was telling me her life must have been an unending nightmare; as a young woman she was the victim of sexual abuse by a priest, raising what I now believed to be a mentally ill son as a single parent. I thought, where are the bishops who sheltered the predator priests? They should be standing outside this room. They should be feeling what I was. I couldn't remember a case that personally affected me as this one was doing. What made it worse was I couldn't get the murder of Sister Mary McNally out of my mind. Why was she killed? I still had many unanswered questions, but I had the feeling the case was finally starting to come together.

"Okay, we have a plan," Rich said as he ended his series of phone calls. "My Department is activating our bomb disposal unit; they should be on the road coming up from Springfield within the half-hour. I spoke with the local PD Deputy Chief, he's activating his Emergency Response Team to go with us and make a forced entry if necessary. He said he would notify the Fire Department; we'll have a truck and ambulance standing by when we go in. The Chief said he needs some time to set this up and identify a staging area close to Spruce Street. I stressed to him we need a low-profile response; he has no problem with that. We figured we'd need an hour of travel time for the Bomb Squad to get here, so we agreed we'd make entry at four pm."

I looked at my watch, it was now two-twenty. I called Freddy to get a status report on the search warrant operation. He answered and said the van provided by the State Police was fully loaded with files and the computers, they were getting ready to head over to the barracks and log everything into evidence. He said he would set up the computers while Frank put together the search warrant application for the forensic exam of the hard drives. They planned to drive back to Boston tonight and get the warrant signed first thing in the morning.

I told him I couldn't go into detail at the moment, but something had come up and in about an hour we would be going into Miriam Parker's house to check on the welfare of her son, Stefan."

"Whoa! That's a quantum leap!" he responded. "I'd love to get in there and take a look at his computer to see if he's been sending the Gabriel emails."

"You may get your chance," I said as I moved further down the hallway for more privacy. I lowered my voice to almost a whisper.

"Freddy, here at the hospital his mother was rambling on after she was medicated to calm her down and she kept saying something about a bomb. We pieced together what she was saying, we think she was talking about her house. If we find explosives or anything that even hints at being linked to the fires, we'll secure the house and file for an emergency search warrant."

"Man, that would be huge if you if you find he's been making the bombs used in the fires. I've got to have the chance to get into his computer."

"If we get the search warrant, you'll have your chance," I said. "Give me a call in the morning before you go to see Judge Taylor about your forensic warrant; I'll let you know if we got ours for the Parker house. If we have it, I'll need you to do a quick turnaround and get back here to help us with the search."

"OK Boss. I'll call you in the morning. Good luck, be careful."

I walked back up the hallway to Miriam's exam room where Kristin was standing with her nurse, Rich and Agent Barbie.

"Okay," Kristin said, "We can't medically clear her for admission to Psych because we have some concerns with her vitals. Due to privacy, I can't say anything more about that. We're going to admit her to a medical floor for observation and see if her condition improves."

I had questions and started to speak, she put her hand up to pause me.

"She'll be assigned a private room at the end of a hallway. I hope you plan on assigning a guard outside her room." I looked over at Rich.

Looking first at me, then Kristin he said, "I'll have two uniformed Troopers posted outside her room until she's moved to your Psych Ward or discharged."

"Two?" Kristin asked in surprise. "Normally when we have prisoners the police post one guard on the room." Rich looked over at me.

"Kristin, as I said before we have no reason to believe the hospital is in any imminent danger. Two Troopers is just a precaution due to the sensitivity of our case."

"Okay, but I don't like the word imminent. Just please keep us safe," she responded before walking away.

# Chapter 27

At three-fifteen Rich and I left the hospital and I followed him to an address about a half-mile from the Parker house on Spruce Street. The local PD had chosen a vacant factory building parking lot as our staging point and as we entered and drove behind the building, I saw we were well out of the public's view. We pulled up next to three marked local PD cruisers, I saw Mike Russo and one of his FBI agents talking to the officers. A moment later an ambulance slowly came around the building, followed by the State Police bomb disposal truck and unmarked car.

Lieutenant Alan Ricker who was in-charge of the local officers came over to Rich and greeted him. Rich introduced me to the group. The Lieutenant advised that the Emergency Services Unit truck was on the way and said he had driven past the Parker's address a few minutes earlier in his unmarked car and saw a Toyota Tacoma parked on the side of the driveway. I said that was Stefan Parker's car and meant he probably was home. As we spoke, the ESU officers arrived and assembled for a briefing.

The Lieutenant asked how we wanted to make entry to the house. I suggested that the ESU officers surround the property as discretely as possible. Perhaps the truck could drop them off a few houses before the Parkers and they could approach on foot.

I explained to our best knowledge the sole occupant would be Stefan Parker, and he lived in the basement that had been converted into an apartment. I explained his age and said I suspected he suffered from some form of mental defect and I wasn't sure how he would react to the police. I added that from the one glimpse I had of him a few weeks earlier, he was not a large man, in fact the opposite. I didn't think he would be a physical threat.

"My concern is that we believe he's the serial arsonist Gabriel, or at the least, may be the bomb-maker of the devices that Gabriel has used in four fires, one of which resulted in three deaths," I explained. "My greatest concern is that the house may contain explosives and accelerants and the apartment or the door to the upstairs may be boobytrapped."

I turned to the ESU Lieutenant. "My thought is that Rich and I will approach the door, knock, and announce ourselves. We'll call out that we need to talk to him because his mother had an accident and is at the hospital."

"I'm okay with that. If he doesn't come to the door, carefully turn the knob or handle to see if it's unlocked. If it is, don't open it. If it's locked, stand aside and we'll hit it with the ram and we'll enter," he said.

The Lieutenant turned to the uniformed officers. "When we enter Spruce Street, I want a marked unit on each end of the block to shut the street down. My team will surround the house as Daryl has said." Pointing to his team, he assigned them to their positions; he and two tactical officers would be behind Rich and me at the basement door.

"All right, we need to contain this guy quickly. We'll clear any rooms visibly but don't open any closed doors or go up the stairs into the upper floor of the house the door is inspected," he instructed his team,

Turning to Rich he said, "Once we get him contained, I want your bomb squad to move in and make a sweep of the basement with my team. If there's explosives or flammables, we'll stand back and let them neutralize the threat. When they've ready to expand the search, my team will force the front door and secure the upper floor with them. Any questions?" None were heard.

"All right, he said." Let's do this."

Rich and I rode with a local PD officer who dropped us off at the end of Spruce Street where we joined the ESU team who were exiting their truck. Together we quickly made our way down the half-block to the Parker house. As we drew closer, I saw a blue Mercedes GTS in the driveway parked behind Stefan Parker's truck. I couldn't believe it! Had we caught Monsignor Petrini at the house?

The ESU team took up their positions. With the back-up officers on our heels, Rich and I approached the basement door. I leaned my head against it and listened but heard no sounds from inside. I drew a deep breath, looked over at Rich, and knocked loudly.

"Stefan Parker, this is the police! We need to speak with you. Open the door," I announced. There was no response. I knocked again, this time banging the door with the edge of my fist. Again, no response.

I tried the doorknob, it was locked. I looked behind me at the ESU team, the Lieutenant started to step in front of me. I pounded on the door one more time.

"Stefan Parker. This is the police. Your mother is in the hospital. We need to speak with you. Open the door!"

I heard a noise from inside, suddenly we heard the sound of glass smashing against the door.

" _No!"_ a voice screamed from inside. " _Satan! I command you to return to Hell! I am Ultor. Burn in Hell!_ "Instinctively I pulled back, the outburst had caught me off-guard. The ESU Lieutenant grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me from the doorway.

"Breach!" he yelled. His team member bashed the door with the ram, ripping it from the hinges and slamming it down onto the floor inside the basement. In an instant the officers rushed inside. " _Get down on the floor!_ "an officer commanded; " _Get down on the floor!"_

I heard a high-pitched scream and sounds of a scuffle. The next thing I heard was an officer yell, " _Secure! One in custody! All secure!"_ followed by the sounds of violent coughing.

I quickly stepped inside the room and immediately pulled back. The foul smell inside the basement was overpowering; a combination of gasoline and urine. Instantly my eyes started to burn. I stepped back, grabbed my handkerchief from my pocket, and covered my mouth and nose. Rich stumbled outside, gagging.

"Christ! What the hell is that stench?" he managed to say between fits of violent coughing.

Two ESU Officers came out the door dragging a handcuffed hooded Stefan Parker and dropped him down onto the cement driveway. The officers doubled over coughing and rubbing their eyes with the sleeves of their jumpsuits.

"Rich! Send the ambulance and FD down here ASAP," I yelled as I went over to the officers to check on them, Stefan Parker was screaming, he made no sense. It sounded as if l he was speaking in tongues; biblical phrases, calling out for Gabriel, cursing us. It was a scene right out of a B-grade horror movie.

The wail of a siren and blast from an air-horn caught my attention. I turned and saw the ambulance and fire truck racing down the street. I quickly turned back toward the house when I heard yelling from inside.

" _Drop the gun! Drop the gun! Get down on your knees! NOW! On your knees! Hands behind your head! Behind your head!"_

I ran over and stood in the doorway. Two ESU officers were restraining a man on the floor; a few feet away was an automatic pistol with a silencer. "Monsignor Petrini? What the Hell?" was my first thought. As they handcuffed the man and rolled him onto his side, I saw the dark hair, beard and moustache. This wasn't Petrini.

An officer went through the man's pockets dropping the contents on the floor. He pulled a wallet from the man's rear pocket and tossed it to the Lieutenant. He flipped it open and walked over to me,

"You know this guy?" he asked showing me a New York driver's license. I looked at the name; Vasily Federov. What the hell was he doing driving Petrini's car, and more importantly, what was he doing carrying a pistol with a silencer and hiding in Stefan Parker's basement hellhole?

"He was crouched down behind those boxes next to the hot water heater. We heard him cough, that's what gave him away." The Lieutenant said pointing to a dark corner of the basement.

"Lieutenant!" an officer called out. We both turned to an officer standing at the top of the stairs in front of the door leading to the first floor. "This door has a trip wire. Looks like it's attached to a road flare and there's a plastic jug on a wire shelf with what smells like gasoline."

"Okay, everybody out of the basement. Move! Now! Let's go!" he ordered. His men immediately complied and brought their prisoner with them. They sat him down outside, he looked up at me and stared, rather, it was a glare. It was as if he had seen me before, but I couldn't place him.

Using his two-way radio, the Lieutenant called for the bomb squad to come to the scene. I turned and saw the medics were attending to the officers who had been exposed to the fumes inside the basement. To my surprise, Stefan Parker seemed unaffected as he lay on the concrete continuing his ranting, though now less vitriolic.

"Well, you did it, Daryl. You have Stefan Parker," Rich said as he came up to me. "and I assume that's the Russian? He asked pointing to Federov.

"Yeah, that's him. We need to know why he was here and why is he driving Petrini's car?" I answered. Then it dawned on me. Was Petrini upstairs inside the house?

The ESU Lieutenant briefed the bomb squad technicians on what we suspected was a boobytrap device at the top of the cellar stairs and mentioned the noxious odor. They entered with a device they said would analyze the air for potentially dangerous gasses and instructed us to move back from the house. The ESU officers brought Stefan and Vasily to the street where they were placed in separate police cars. As Rich and I were standing along the property line I turned and saw the neighbor, Pete Howard walking toward us.

"I was watching from inside. It's about time you guys did something about that kid. What did he do?"

I greeted him and said I couldn't say much other than it was related to an on-going investigation.

"Hah! I knew it was only a matter of time before he set something on fire again. Did he start the fire at the drug house down the street?"

I answered I didn't know and was saved from further discussion with him when one of the bomb techs came out from the basement and waved us over.

"It's clear now," he said as he took the protective helmet from his head. "The boobytrap was a real MacGyver device; crude and simple but would have been effective. The wire was attached to a toggle switch mounted on a board. The board has a nine-volt battery, a miniature motor with a small grinding wheel and a road flare. When the wire was tripped, the switch would start the motor spinning, the grind wheel would cause a spark to ignite the flare, the flame would burn through the plastic jug and the gasoline would explode."

"That's similar to what was found at the drug house fire," Rich said.

"Yeah, I know, but why would he booby-trap his own house?" I asked.

"He hates his mother?" Rich suggested.

The bomb tech said there was a worktable with partially assembled detonator devices, and several large containers of gasoline. "If you guys go back in there, you better wear a mask. It stinks in there."

The bomb tech spoke with the ESU Lieutenant who ordered his team to force entry through the front door and search the upstairs. Rich and I walked around the front of the house; we saw that instead of the battering ram the Fire Department used a device to expand the door frame releasing the lock mechanism. As the ESU team entered, I wondered if Monsignor Petrini was hiding in the house. After a search they exited reporting the upstairs was clear. No Monsignor Petrini. It bothered me that Federov was driving the Monsignor's car after Miriam Parker had said the Monsignor was in Vermont on Church business.

I turned and saw Rich walking to the end of the driveway where a Captain from the Fire Department was standing. He looked back at me and waved me over.

"Daryl, this is Captain Taylor. He's suggesting we bring in his Department's Haz-Mat team with their protective breathing equipment if you decide to get a search warrant as we discussed. I explained that we needed to do a thorough search, but we won't have a search warrant until later tonight or early tomorrow morning."

I agreed the Haz-Mat team would be helpful and after some discussion I told the Captain to plan on our search tomorrow morning around nine AM. He said he'd alert his team. Rich pulled me aside.

"Okay. I assume you'll draft the warrant application, but we won't have time to drive to Boston to get it signed and be back here by nine tomorrow morning.

"I'm thinking we'll file for a State warrant, Rich. We'll use a local judge. Time is of the essence here. We'll seize Stefan's bomb making equipment, computers and any documents or written evidence referencing the fires, Gabriel, or Ultor. Your department will take custody of the items, I can always file for a Federal warrant to transfer it to the US Attorney if he determines he'll use it at trial."

"All right, that will work. Who do you want to take custody of Stefan and the Russian? The FBI?"

"No, your Department. Charge Stefan with State charges related to manufacture and possession of explosive devices; charge Federov for the gun and silencer. When we have enough to link either or both of them to the church fires Damian can decide if he'll file federal charges."

"Okay, I'll agree to that," he said. "But the Parker kid isn't mentally stable to be released on bond. If the psych doc commits him for evaluation, what are we going to do? His mother is already at the hospital; we can't have the both of them in the psych ward.

Before I could answer, a commotion in the driveway close to the house caught our attention. Stefan Parker was fighting with the medics who were trying to get him out of the PD cruiser and onto a stretcher. He was flailing his arms and kicking, acting like a wild man. We could hear him calling out in Satan's name and spouting what seemed to be biblical phrases about punishment and Hell. I had no doubts Stefan Parker was insane, and that was a problem. I needed to think this through.

Rich went over to the ESU Lieutenant and instructed him to have two of his officers take custody of Federov and bring him to the barracks for booking.

I went over to where several officers and EMS personnel were trying to control Stefan's violent outbursts. For a slightly built kid he was showing incredible strength as he resisted their efforts. After a struggle, he was moved to a stretcher and restrained for transport to the hospital. As they closed the rear doors of the ambulance, I had the thought that my friend Nurse Manager Kristin Holcomb would never speak to me again after today.

Rich directed that Fedorov's car be impounded and taken to the Lee Barracks. I heard him instruct the ESU Lieutenant to conduct a thorough inventory search when the car got there. "I want a list of everything inside the car and trunk. I mean everything, I don't care if it looks like trash, I want it listed and preserved."

Turning to me, he said he called the local PD Assistant Chief. He agreed to assign an officer to guard the house with a Trooper until we returned with the search warrant in the morning. As much as I wanted to go inside Stefan's apartment and look around, the foul odor dissuaded me. I had one of the firefighters get me the serial number off of Stefan's computer for Freddy to get a search warrant to examine it. I headed for home to write up the search warrant affidavit.

On the drive, I called. Freddy and asked him to write up a second search warrant to examine Stefan Parker's computer. I next called Damian and filled him in on the day's events.

"Great! You caught Gabriel with his bombs. And the Russian had a gun and silencer? What the hell is his connection in all of this?" he asked. I answered I didn't know and explained my decision to charge both of them with State crimes. He thought about that for moment and agreed.

"What's you're thinking on charging the two women with State crimes for the insurance fraud scam?" I asked. He answered that unless I could directly link that to the church fires, he had no objection.

"I'll call the District Attorney in Pittsfield and fill him in on the scope of your investigation," he added." I want her to know up front that I may be filing federal charges down the road."

I answered I understood and asked him to persuade the DA to ask for a high bond on Federov when he was arraigned on the gun charges. I needed more time to investigate his background and was worried that he'd leave the country.

I ended the call just as I pulled into my driveway. I saw Mandy's car was in the garage, I went inside and found her in her office.

She got up from her desk and came over to give me a long hug.

"You've been a busy boy today!"

"How did you know?" I asked.

Kristin told me. She said you almost brought her ER to a standstill!"

"What? She called you?"

"No, I called her. She's off tomorrow and I wanted to introduce her to Freddy's girlfriend Heather, so I offered to buy them lunch. She told me you had just left, and you looked like you were really stressed out. Are you okay?"

I told her I was fine and sat down with her as I explained the events at the hospital and Stefan Parker's house.

"You arrested him? You did it! Amazing! You caught Gabriel!" she said excitedly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Hon," I said. We have Stefan and his bombs. And now we have Vasily Federov on felony gun charges. But I don't know why he was at the Parker house with a gun and silencer."

You don't think he was going to kill Stefan, do you?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't make sense."

"Speaking of Federov," she said, "I've been doing some computer research and I came up with something you might be interested in. Here, look at this."

I took the printout from her and saw it was a two-year-old news article about a vacant shopping center complex in upstate New York that had been destroyed by a fire. The article said the property had been for sale for a year and was finally bought by a Pennsylvania company, Balkan Development. The company became involved in a dispute with local officials regarding a plan to convert the property to affordable housing units. Their plan was ultimately denied by the City and a week later the building was destroyed in a massive fire.

I looked over at Mandy. "This was a shopping center, Hon. What does it have to do with the church fires?"

She handed me another printout. This one was dated six weeks after the fire and reported the property's new owners had insured it for three million dollars. The insurance company was fighting paying the claim pending their own investigation; the developer had filed suit against the insurer. An accompanying photo showed an architect's rendering of the proposed housing complex, attributing the design to architect Vasily Federov. Mandy had filled in a huge piece of the puzzle; Federov was linked to a major fire and insurance claim.

"Did I do good?" She asked in response to my silence.

"No Sweetie, you did great!" I answered as I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"I think you owe me more than a kiss on the cheek. Look at this!" she said with an exaggerated wink.

The printout she handed me was a copy of a news item that read 'Settlement Reached in Shopping Center Fire.' The article reported an out of court settlement between Empire Casualty Insurance and Balkan Development had cleared the way for the fire ravaged complex to be cleaned up and the land signed over to the City for future development of a park. Balkan's attorney, Matthew Petrini, was quoted as saying his client was satisfied with the reported settlement but declined to provide details. Insiders reported the agreement was a fraction of the three million dollars being sought by Balkan.

" _What!_ " I exclaimed as I handed the printout back to her. _Petrini represented Balkan as their attorney? How could he do that without the Church knowing about it?_ " I asked myself aloud.

"Maybe they did know," Mandy answered. "Does this help you?"

"Help me? Hon, you just gave me the last piece of the puzzle. Both Petrini and Federov have a history of fire insurance claims. This is fantastic!"

I explained I still didn't know who actually lit the match for the church and Saint Dymphna fires, but I had it in my mind it had to have been Federov or Petrini.

"You don't think it was Stefan Parker?" she asked with a puzzled look on her face.

"I honestly don't, Hon. From what I saw in him today and seeing how he lived I'm convinced he's insane. Something I can't explain is telling me he doesn't have control over his mind to focus on plotting and following through with setting the fires. Hopefully when we get a look at his computer, we'll have a better picture of how disturbed he is."

She asked when I were going to do that, I explained I would put together the application for the search warrant tonight and Rich Prince and I would find a local judge tomorrow to issue the warrant. I looked at my watch and realized I had a lot of work to do.

The next two hours found me at my desk putting together the affidavit. I found a blank Commonwealth search warrant form online and filled out the sections on where we would search and the items to be seized. After reading over what I had written I was confident we had probable cause to search the Parker house.

I looked at my watch and saw it was almost six pm. I called Rich. I explained I had finished the warrant application and wanted to have a plan for a judge to review it first thing in the morning.

"Why wait for morning?" he asked. "I have Judge Demarest's cellphone number; I'll call him and see if we can stop by his house."

"Are you sure Rich? He's probably going to be eating dinner."

"Not a problem. He's going to love the publicity he'll get from being involved in this case," he answered with a laugh. "I've been to his house before; he lives over in West Stockbridge. I'm still at the barracks, I'll swing by your place and pick you up in about a half-hour. That work for you?"

I agreed and ended the call. Mandy was in the kitchen making us sandwiches for dinner, I explained Rich was on his way over and we were going to get the warrant signed tonight.

"Okay," she said as she set my dinner plate down on the island counter. "I guess that's better than you having to drive up to Boston and back."

We ate our light dinner together and just as we finished Rich was at the kitchen door. We headed out to the judge's house. As we pulled out of my driveway, I asked what Stefan Parker's status was after being taken to the hospital.

"Just before I left the barracks, I called the Troopers who are there with him," he said. "They said he was given some medication and seemed to have quieted down. It looks like they're going to admit him, but they can't put him in the psych ward because his mother's there. I have no choice but to put guards with him twenty-four seven until we can work something else out."

I said I understood but had a concern with how the prison system would manage him pre-trial after he was arrested on the bomb manufacturing charges.

"I don't know, but that's not our problem. What I'm concerned with is getting a confession out of Monsignor Petrini, no pun intended." he said with a laugh. "I'm surprised he hasn't contacted us screaming about how we raided his office and seized all his business records."

"Yeah, I'm surprised too," I said in agreement. "Miriam Parker said he was in Vermont on Church business, maybe he doesn't know about the search warrant."

"Church business?" he said with another laugh. "I have a feeling the Monsignor's business involves one of his many lady friends. I'm just saying, from everything we've learned about him. the guy strikes me more like a player than a priest."

Although I tended to agree with Rich's perception, I didn't comment. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the driveway at Judge Demarest's house. His wife led us into his home office and as Rich introduced me, I studied the man. In his early sixties, he had a distinguished look about him. His manner of speech and how he carried himself told me he took his Judge's role seriously.

"Daryl Richardson," he said as he reached out to shake my hand.

" I've heard many good things about you, a pleasure to meet you. Gentlemen, please have a seat."

Rich gave him a broad overview of the Saint Dymphna and other church fires and explained although the investigation was under the umbrella of Federal jurisdiction, the decision was made to file Commonwealth charges as well. Hearing this, the Judge looked over at me curiously.

"Judge, this case is very complex," I said in explanation." Working with local and State law enforcement I've been able to piece together what seemed to be separate and distinct crimes that now are believed to be part and parcel of the greater scheme of a massive insurance fraud. The warrant we're seeking is to search the home of the individual we believe to be the person identifying themselves as Gabriel who has sent threatening letters to the police and media." He nodded he understood as I handed him the search warrant affidavit. He read through it in less than five minutes and when he finished, he nodded and looked up at us.

"Boys, this is a hell of a case! I get it though. You're saying you believe the underlying motive is insurance fraud, the attacks against the Church have been meant to distract you from the underlying larceny crimes."

"Essentially, yes Judge, but as I explained in the warrant, hatred for the Church and revenge for the alleged sexual abuse appears to be our suspect Stefan Parker's motive," He thought about what I had just said.

"That suggests some form of mental unbalance, or at the least, delusion, does it not?"

I answered he was probably correct and silently felt relieved that my motive theory was coming out in my legal writing.

"Okay," he said." I find that you have probable cause for the search. Raise your right hands." We swore to the truthfulness of our statements and as he signed the search order, I asked him to also sign off on the Court order to seal the affidavit. He did without argument or question. We thanked him for his time and headed back to my house.

On the ride Rich and I came up with the plan to search the Parker house. We would start at nine AM; he would arrange to have the Haz-Mat team on scene, and he'd assign two of his detectives to conduct the search along with Trooper Kevin Gallo and a second Trooper from the Fire Marshal's office. I said I expected Freddy would be back in town by noon or one with the search warrant to examine the hard drives in the computers we seized from Redemption Management Systems and the Parker house. With our plan in place Rich dropped me off at home.

I saw that Mandy was in the family room enjoying a glass of wine and watching TV. She got up and made me a drink without my asking.

"I think you've earned this today. Let 'just relax and go to bed early," she said as she sat down next to me. "We need some us time!"

I didn't argue.

# Chapter 28

In the morning after a light breakfast I headed out to the Parker house and as I approached it, I saw the street was crowded with marked cruisers, a firetruck, ambulance, and the Haz-Mat team truck. Unfortunately, the police activity had already attracted a small crowd of spectators. As I got out of my car and looked around, I realized the media hadn't made an appearance yet. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the scene would take on a circus atmosphere. Rich Prince was already on the scene, he walked over to me.

"Good Morning! I just made a call to the PD; they're dispatching a few more uniform officers to keep the crowd back. This is only going to get worse," he said. I nodded my agreement.

"Any problems during the night?" I asked as we walked toward the back of the house.

"Not at all," he answered as he motioned toward Pete Howard's house next door. "The neighbor set the guys up with a late supper he made for them and before he went to bed, he brought them a thermos of coffee to get through the night. That was pretty decent of him to think of them."

"What's all this?" I asked as I noticed the basement apartment door was wide open and two large fans were running to exhaust the interior.

"That's the Haz-Mat team's idea. They're trying to fumigate the place to see if my guys can get in there and work with just surgical masks instead of having to wear air-packs.

"How's that working out?"

"Judge for yourself," he said. "Yesterday we couldn't stand this close to the door without coughing up our guts. Right now, I can smell only a slight citrus odor."

"Yeah, what is that?" I asked.

"It's a citrus vapor spray," a voice said in answer to my question. I looked behind me and saw a uniformed Trooper reaching out to shake my hand. "Tom Bennett," he said." I'm the Haz-Mat liaison for our Department. I got here early and set the fans and sprayer up. Seems to be working. I have to say; I couldn't believe how foul the air was in there."

I thanked him and agreed it was an improvement from yesterday.

Turning back to Rich I asked, "Any word on Stefan Parker's condition this morning?"

"Before I left my house this morning, I checked in with the Trooper guarding him. He reported he's heavily medicated and slept through the night."

"And his mother?"

"I haven't heard anything," he replied. "Since she's not under arrest we don't have a guard on her. I can call the hospital, but I doubt they'll tell me much if anything."

I was anxious to get the search started, hoping it would turn up tangible evidence to prove Stefan was Gabriel. I realized though, I would also need to come up with a plan on how to get his mother and her insurance company partner-in-crime Claire Lockwood to consent to interviews. I expected both would lawyer-up, and that would probably cause a delay as we negotiated back and forth on what benefit their statements would have for each of them. I didn't have time for that. I needed to know who actually started the fires, and as it stood, I doubted that was Stefan.

I saw Rich briefing his detectives and the Haz-Mat team on how he wanted the search conducted, after a few minutes the team entered the apartment. He walked over to me.

"C'mon. Let's see how the search is going upstairs," he said as he motioned for me to follow him around to the front of the house. As we walked, I looked over and saw a TV news crew had arrived and they were setting up to interview the neighbor, Pete Howard. I wasn't happy with what I was seeing, but I figured this was his shot at fifteen minutes of fame and there was nothing I could do about it.

The upstairs of the house was in fairly good condition if one overlooked the fact it appeared dated. The furniture looked to be primarily from the seventies era, neatly arranged and clean, albeit sparse. It was apparent Miriam Parker's homelife was modest at best.

Two of Rich's detectives and a third uniformed Trooper were conducting a systematic search, working their way through the interior starting with the living room. As we watched, I heard a voice call out from down the adjacent hallway, "I have a home office here!" the detective called out as he looked toward where we were standing in the living room. "Major, you might want to take a look in here."

We went into what was once a bedroom and saw a desk and two filing cabinets. One was unlocked, the second was secured with a metal bar and combination lock. The detective pointed to it and asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Go out and see if the Haz-Mat truck has bolt cutters. We need to get into this cabinet," Rich answered.

As we waited for him to return, I looked through the loose paperwork on the desk. I saw it was mostly household bills and assorted junk mail. I quickly looked through the paperwork, but nothing caught my eye as being unusual. The unlocked cabinet was completely empty. It didn't appear to be new; I couldn't understand what its purpose could be. After a few minutes the detective returned and cut the combination lock. Rich opened the first drawer and pulled some papers from a folder. I saw a smile on his face. He turned and handed the papers to me.

"Medical bills, invoices and cancelled checks," he said." This looks like records of claims submitted to Somerset Insurance."

"Seize all of it," I instructed the detective. I saw he had a disappointed look on his face; I surmised he was thinking he had to inventory each individual file. I threw him a lifeline. "Just bundle it all together and inventory is as "paperwork contents of locked file cabinet." I saw the look of relief on his face as he answered, "Okay." I figured when we went through it back at the barracks, any documents that were applicable to the fires or insurance fraud we would identify them with separate exhibit numbers.

As we stood there watching the detective gathering up the documents Rich's cellphone beeped. He answered; it was a short conversation. He turned and looked at me. "They want us downstairs."

We went outside and walked toward the back of the house. I saw the crowd of curious spectators had grown significantly and that there were now two news satellite trucks on the street. I heard someone calling out my name several times, but I resisted looking to see who it was and ignored them.

In the rear yard we saw that Rich's team had brought in the crime scene truck from their barracks and were using it as a command post and evidence collection point. Trooper Kevin Gallo spotted us and waved us over.

"This guy's our bomb maker," he said as we approached and pointed to an assortment of items lying on the dirt at that rear of the truck.

"Just as I thought it was," he said excitedly. "These are the remains of remote-control cars, these are the circuit boards that control the motion and steering, and here's the remote control. He canablized the toys to put together the ignitors. On a workbench I found three fully assembled devices mounted on boards with road flares taped to them and one partially assembled device. My guess is he was getting ready for another fire."

Rich looked at him and with his hands on his hips he remarked, "I guess you think you're pretty smart, huh?" The Trooper had a hesitant look on his face. After an awkward few seconds Rich reached out and heartily patted him on the back. "Excellent work Kevin! You just made our case for us! I mean that! Thank you!"

Trooper Gallo quietly thanked him for his compliment and carefully put his collection of detonation devices into a cardboard evidence box.

I looked behind me and saw Detective Gordie Faircloud approaching carrying a handful of manila envelope envelopes. Without saying a word, he pulled some papers and showed them to us. They were drawings of the Archangel Gabriel, complete with hand colored flames in place of the traditional rainbow of colors.

"Here's his artwork," he said flatly." I also seized his paint supplies and colored markers. Everything else aside, this kid is quite the artist."

I agreed as he slid the drawings back into the envelope.

"Here's the icing on the cake," he said as he reached into the second envelope and took out the contents. Two scapulars.

Rich and I were silent as we looked at the tokens, after a few seconds the detective put them back in the envelope, sealed it, and handed both envelopes to the Trooper inside the crime scene truck who was inventorying the items being submitted. Rich looked over at me and taking me by the arm he guided me away from the others.

"Well, I guess that's our case! Stefan Parker is Gabriel," he said. "Great job Daryl. We couldn't have done this without you. Do you want my guys to draw up the murder arrest warrant application?"

His question caught me off guard. I hesitated to answer.

"Daryl?"

"Rich, I can't get past this gut feeling I have that Stefan isn't the guy who's been striking the match. Yeah, we could get a warrant based on his letters, the tokens and the detonator evidence we're pulling out of here today linking him to the devices that started the fires. We have him for conspiracy, but something is missing in all of this."

"Daryl! What the hell are you trying to say? We've got him. We've got Gabriel! We hit a home run and you're talking like you're going for a grand slam! I don't mean to be offensive; we're friends, we work great together, but I have to man up and tell you, this time I think you're wrong. Stefan Parker is Gabriel and he's responsible for the church fires and the murders of three priests."

I didn't want a war with Major Rich Prince. I thought for a moment before I spoke.

"Rich, why was Vasily Federov here yesterday armed with a nine-millimeter equipped with a silencer, driving Petrini's car, and who murdered Sister Mary McNally and why?" My questions left him speechless. Now it was his turn to think before he spoke. I didn't like the feeling of tension between us.

"Hey Daryl, I didn't mean to offend. I guess I was so fixated on what I was assigned to do, that was to find Gabriel and arrest him, that I didn't stop to think that for you this case is bigger than just the Church fires. I'm sorry," he said as he offered his hand.

"No apology is necessary Rich," I said as I shook his hand. "C'mon, let's see how your guys are making out."

As we started toward the back of the house my phone beeped. I looked and saw it was Freddy calling.

"Daryl, I'm at the end of Spruce Street. _Will you please tell these damn local cops I'm an FBI Agent?_ "

" _What?_ "

"They stopped me at their roadblock, I showed them my credentials, and they pulled me out of the car, patted me down and found my gun. They think the credentials are phony! _Will you please tell these jerks to get off my case?_ "

I couldn't help but laugh. I put my phone on speaker and told him to put the cop on the phone. Rich looked at me in bewilderment.

"Who's this?" the voice on the other end growled.

"This is Daryl Richardson, I'm with the US Attorney's office. The man you have stopped is Fred Morton. He's an FBI agent assigned to the Boston office," I said as I walked into the street.

" _What? This kid is an FBI Agent?_ How do I know you are who you say you are and not some news reporter trying to get him into the crime scene?"

I stood in the middle of the street and waved my arm in the air. "Look down the street. Do you see me waving my arm?"

"Yeah, okay, I'm just doing my job," the officer said as a weak apology. "He sure as hell doesn't look like any FBI agent I've ever met. All right, I'm sending him through."

In a minute Freddy drove down the street and screeched the tires as he braked and pulled into a space along the curb, a few houses before where we were standing. I watched as he got out of his rental car and slammed the driver's door closed. As he approached, I realized what the problem was. He was wearing tan khakis, sneakers, and a multicolored psychedelic looking pullover shirt. As he came up to Rich and me, he was fuming.

"Freddy, please tell me you weren't wearing these clothes when you met with Judge Taylor this morning," I said trying to suppress the urge to laugh at his appearance.

"No! Damian made Frank and I put on white shirts and ties. I changed after the Judge issued the warrant, I wanted to be comfortable driving down here. I was doing just fine until I ran into those jackasses running the roadblock up the street."

"Well, you're here now and that's what counts," I said. I filled him in on what had been found so far in the search, when I finished, he said he'd go inside the apartment and remove Stefan's computer. `

I saw Rich was on the phone and I walked over to him. After a minute he ended the call and looked over at me.

Rich explained the call. "Vasily Federov was arraigned on the gun charges this morning. The prosecutor told the Judge he may have some involvement with the church fires, and that we considered him a flight risk. To everyone's surprise, the Judge ordered him held without bond for ten days pending a dangerousness hearing to determine if he's eligible to have a bond set on the gun charges."

"That's great," I said when he finished. "That gives us some time to see if the two women will talk to us and explain how he's connected to Petrini."

"Speaking of time," Rich said," I've got some phone calls to make. We need to let the New York and Vermont detectives know we've identified Gabriel and have him in custody."

"I agree," I said, "but I'd like you to hold off on giving them the information on the insurance fraud. I'd rather be in a position to give them the full story, and we won't have that unless we can get the women to talk."

"All right, I agree. I assume you'll work on that?" he asked.

'Yeah, I'll check in with Damian to see how he wants us to handle that. And don't forget, we still don't know why Federov was here yesterday." Rich thought on that for a few seconds.

"Maybe he was here to see if Stefan had finished building the detonators. There's what, ten days or so before you predicted the next fire would happen?"

"Yeah, you may be right. But why does he have Petrini's car?" I countered. He shrugged his shoulders to show he didn't know.

"I'm heading back to the barracks to make my calls and set up the work area where Freddy can take a look at the computers we've seized. Touch base with you late this afternoon?" he asked.

I said that was fine and walked over to the crime scene truck where I saw Freddy putting on a paper, hooded coverall suit. "Where the hell did you come up with that outfit?" I asked as I felt the material to confirm it was paper.

"Pretty cool, huh? Frank and I ordered a dozen of these suits. They're lightweight, disposable and cheap," he explained. I watched as he zipped himself into the suit and tied the hood chin strap. He put on a pair of latex gloves, a surgical mask and a plastic face shield. Finally, he looked ready to go to work. Actually, he looked like something out of a biological warfare training film as he slowly walked toward the door, the pants of his suit making a swishing sound each time he took a step. The new FBI, I thought to myself. Got to love it.

I stood around for the next ten minutes and watched as the detectives who were searching the house brought the seized items out to the trooper collecting the evidence. I saw they had collected mostly documents, I wondered who would go through them to see what bearing they might have on our case. I knew one thing; it wouldn't be me.

I decided to head back home and as I walked toward my car, I realized I'd made a big mistake. One of the women news reporters standing in neighbor Pete Howard's yard recognized me and waved frantically for her crew to follow her as she made a beeline toward me.

"Attorney Richardson! Attorney Richardson! Sir! Please! A moment of your time!" she cried out as she ran out to the street and caught up with me. I had two choices. I could run, they would chase after me, the camera bobbing up and down to capture the pursuit would make their evening news broadcast more exciting, or, I could stop and speak with her. I stopped. She put her microphone up to my face, I saw her hand was shaking, her breathing heavy as she fought to regain her composure after her short sprint. She glanced back at her cameraman; he gave her a thumbs up signal indicating he was ready to film.

"Thank You," she said. "Sir, can you confirm for us that you've arrested Gabriel?" I had to think fast. A second camera crew ran up to us and jockeyed for position to film me, I smiled at them and waited.

Again, the question was asked, "Sir, can you confirm for us that you've arrested Gabriel?"

I looked directly at both cameras. "Yes, the State Police have arrested a subject believed to be Gabriel."

From the stunned look on the reporter's faces I realized they hadn't expected me to say anything, but the public had a right to know. Gabriel had frightened all of us, attacked one of our most precious rights; to practice our religion without fear or oppression. Silently, I hoped the Church hierarchy would be watching the six o'clock news.

"Mr. Richardson, can you confirm for us that Gabriel has been identified as Stefan Parker?"

"No, it's not appropriate for me to comment further. This is an on-going investigation. Any additional information will be forthcoming from the State Police as they deem appropriate. Now, if you'll excuse me," I said as I turned to walk away. I didn't get very far!

"Attorney Richardson, a man was arraigned in Court this morning for weapons charges; he's been identified in Court records as Vasily Federov, a prominent architect. Can you explain his connection to Gabriel?" a male reporter asked after he stepped in front of me blocking my passage.

"No, I'm not able to comment on that."

"Sir, the US Attorney has publicly stated his office is investigating these church fires and that he has appointed you to lead the investigation. Why won't you answer our questions?" the male reporter pressed.

"As I explained, this is a complex on-going investigation. Arrests have been made. The accused have rights, and I respect that. It's not appropriate for any of us to speculate on the facts of the case, they'll be available to you as the case proceeds through the Court. That's how our system works. Thank You. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have no further comment." I walked toward my car with the entourage that not only included the media and print press, but now was joined by a rag-tag group of neighbors and curious by-standers. I got into my car and locked the door. To my relief I saw two local PD officers walking quickly toward my car. They moved the crowd back from my path to allow me to pull away from the curb; I made a slow U-turn and made my escape.

After a few minutes I called Rich. When he answered he said he had just finished briefing the New York and Vermont detectives.

"Well friend, I'm on the road, but as I was leaving, I got cornered by the TV news people and I confirmed to them your Department had arrested a person we believe is Gabriel. Sorry if I overstepped your authority, but I did the right thing." Rich was quiet for a few seconds.

"You didn't give them my name as the case spokesperson, did you?" he asked. I said I had not.

"Thanks! This isn't a problem, Gabriel's arrest was mentioned at Federov's arraignment this morning, but the prosecutor didn't mention the Parker kid's name."

I explained that the press was asking questions about how Federov was connected to Gabriel, but I declined to answer them.

"Well that's good, but it does beg the question what is his connection to Gabriel?"

"I'm not sure, Rich, but my guess is Federov was using Stefan to make the bomb ignitors. What's throwing me off-track is whether he took his influence over the kid to the next level and somehow got him to write up and mail the Gabriel letters and post messages on the dark net."

He thought about that. "Then what you're saying is you think Federov is the guy that actually set the fires?

"Yeah, I guess that's what I'm saying."

"Then how do you explain you and Mandy catching the Parker kid scoping out the churches that your profile said were possible targets?"

"That's the problem. I can't," I answered. "Let's change the subject. What's happening on your end?"

"I'm waiting for my guys to bring the Parker kid's computer here; I think I have everything Freddy will need to start working on that and the computer we seized from Claire Lockwoood's office. Speaking of that, do you think Freddy will be able to unravel the mystery of how she managed to divert incoming claims and issue checks without her company knowing what she was doing?"

"He's pretty smart Rich; no strike that! He's brilliant! I don't know how he does it, but he and his partner Frank Paris have amazed us with their skills time and time again."

"Well, let's hope he's on his A-game this time out," he said.

"Rich, anything turn up about the gun Federov had on him when he was arrested?"

"No, nothing. My guys ran it through NCIC, it's not reported as stolen."

"What about Federov?" I asked. "He's Russian. How is he in this country? Does he have a work visa? Is he a resident alien? What?"

"To be honest, I don't know that answer, and that's a good point. I'll make a call to ICE and see what I can find out?"

"Anything turn up with the search of Petrini's car?" I asked.

"Not yet, it's in our impound lot, I saw it when I got back to the barracks. I'm waiting for my guys to clear from the search scene and I'll assign them to do an inventory. That probably won't be until tomorrow morning, though. I expect they're going to want to go home and take a long hot shower after working that crime scene. Man, I still can't get over that smell and how it didn't seem to bother the Parker kid at all."

"Yeah, that place was bad. Your guys did a great job and they deserve a little break."

"Okay, I'm beat too, and I want to head home. Anything else that you can think of that I need to do?" he asked.

"Yeah. If Federov has Petrini's car, tell me, where is the Monsignor?"

He didn't answer at first, when he spoke; his voice took on a solemn tone.

"Do you still think he's the mastermind behind all of this?"

"I can't figure this out, Rich. It makes sense that he is, but it's eating me alive not knowing how Sister Mary's murder ties into all of this. That's the connection to Petrini that I can't resolve."

"I've got to be honest,' he said. "I've been so wrapped up in nailing Gabriel I haven't thought about the nun. I wish I had an answer that could help you, but I don't."

Uncontrollably, I let out a heavy sigh. It didn't go unnoticed.

"This is really eating away at you, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, it is. My mind keeps wondering why God would let her suffer death as she did. In that priest Rastone's mind she was a throw-away. He tried to rape her. Why didn't the Church call him out for what he was; a predator. Why did they hide his crimes?"

Rich hesitated before he answered. "I don't know. I can't believe everything I was raised to believe about religion and God has come down to secrets and coverups. They had to know what they were doing by hiding the abuse. It's been too widespread to believe it was just a few who were abusive. It was hundreds and hundreds for years and years. Now, they're paying the price."

"Yeah, and the victims have paid the ultimate price," I said. There was a long silence between us.

"Hey Daryl! I didn't mean to drag you down, brother. I'm in this with you to the end. You helped me get Gabriel. I give you my word, I'll help you get whoever murdered Sister Mary."

"Thanks Rich, that means a lot. I'll talk to you in the morning," I said as I ended the call.

I hadn't been consciously aware of it, but a sudden onset of depression had taken hold of me. I sat up in the driver's seat and shivered as I tried to shake the funk. I didn't want to bring this home to Mandy. She had called it right weeks ago. Stefan Parker was Gabriel.

# Chapter 29

When I got home, I saw Erik's pickup truck in the driveway. As I went inside through the kitchen door, the aroma of something good cooking immediately hit me. Garlic! Mandy and Erik's wife Bernie were at the stove, Erik was sitting at the island drinking a cup of coffee. Mandy greeted me with a kiss and hug, I asked what she was making.

"We're having lemon chicken for dinner with spaghetti. Bernie's teaching me how to make her secret recipe pasta sauce! Smells great, doesn't it?"

I agreed and went over and shook hands with Erik. "And what are you up to?" I asked as I noticed he was browsing through some gardening magazines.

"Apparently we're getting into the organic gardening business!" he answered as he glanced over at Mandy and rolled his eyes.

Before I could render my opinion on the subject my cellphone beeped, I saw it was Damian calling. I excused myself and headed for the family room.

"Hey Boss, I was going to call you," I said as I sank down into my recliner.

"Daryl, where are you?" he asked. His voice had a serious tone.

"I just got home from the search of the Parker house. We seized evidence that positively identifies Stefan Parker as Gabriel."

"I just got off the phone with a Captain Jack Merrill, Vermont State Police. He said he's the Commander of the Major Crimes squad and told me he worked with you on the Judge Moran case a few months back," Damian explained.

"Yeah, I know Jack. He's a good guy. What's going on with him?" I asked.

"He said he needs to speak with you and was looking for your contact number. He said he knew you worked for me and asked for my help to get ahold of you."

"Speak with me? I wonder why?"

"Are you sitting down?" he asked.

"Yeah, but what's with the drama, Damian?"

"I asked him what this was about, he said this morning a Vermont Trooper was doing follow-up on some break-ins at summer cabins and was checking camps in the area. He went to a cabin and when no one answered his knock on the door, he looked through a window and saw a body on the floor. He forced the door open and found a male victim who had been shot in the back of the head."

I didn't say anything. What did that have to do with me, I wondered?

"The victim's wallet had a Massachusetts driver's license. The name on it is Matthew Petrini.

" _WHAT?"_ I responded, not realizing I had shouted my response in shock and disbelief. This was the last thing I had expected to hear; my mind raced to understand why someone would murder the Monsignor. It came to me quickly. When Vasily Federov was arrested yesterday, he had been driving Petrini's car, and he had a nine-millimeter pistol. I jumped to the conclusion Federov had murdered Petrini. But why? I needed to speak with Jack Merrill.

I turned around and saw Mandy and Bernie standing in the doorway from the kitchen. "Are you all right?" Mandy asked. "We heard you yell and..." I raised my hand to stop her as Damian continued.

"The Captain said his detectives found some paperwork in the cabin, among the documents were some insurance papers for Saint Dymphna Manor here in Massachusetts. He recalled reading news articles about the fire there and that you were heading up the investigation of that and several church fires. He said he needs to speak with you as soon as possible. If you have something to write on, I have his cell number."

I went around behind the bar and found a pen. I wrote Jack's number on a napkin and told Damian I'd call Jack immediately; once I had more details, I'd call and fill him in.

Mandy came into the room and sat down in my recliner. "Daryl, what's going on?"

I was reluctant to tell her, but I had to. I worried I'd spoil her secret pasta sauce dinner.

"There's been a murder at a cabin in Vermont. The victim's driver's license says he's Matthew Petrini", I said.

" _WHAT?"_ she yelled out. " _No! My God, what have you gotten involved in? What?_ _How can this be?_ _Daryl! What does all this mean?"_

"I don't know Hon, I'm as shocked as you are. I have to call Jack Merrill, he's the Major Crimes boss in Vermont. I worked with him when Judge Moran got shot, remember?"

"I do remember the name," she said. "God, I can't believe Monsignor Petrini is dead. And murdered? Who would want to kill him?"

I turned and saw both Bernie and Erik had come into the room after hearing Mandy cry out. They had worried looks on their faces. "Are you two all right? Should we leave?" Bernie asked.

"Of course not!" I said. "I just told Mandy about a shocking development in the case I'm working on. Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

I sat down on the couch across from Mandy. "Hon, I didn't tell you, but yesterday when Federov was arrested at the Parker house, he was driving Petrini's Mercedes; and I told you he had a gun with a silencer."

She was completely caught off-guard with this news about the car.

"What? If he has the car and a gun, and Petrini is dead in Vermont, that means Federov had to have been with him up there, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. That's exactly what I think," I answered. I looked over at Bernie and Erik. He shook his head and turned to go back into the kitchen.

"So Federov must have murdered the Monsignor, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's what I think Hon," I answered as I stood up.

"C'mon Sweetie," Bernie said to Mandy as she reached out to take her arm. "The sauce needs to be stirred, and I'm sure Daryl has work to do." She gave me a knowing look; I nodded my thanks.

I called Captain Jack Merrill, he answered quickly. He explained what his Troopers had found; I explained how I was familiar with Monsignor Petrini and how two days ago we arrested the person we believed was Gabriel and the arrest of Vasily Federov who was with Gabriel, and had a nine-millimeter, silencer, and was driving Petrini's car.

"So, from everything you're saying Daryl, this Federov is our person of interest. I'll need your help with a few things to turn him into our accused." he said.

"Absolutely," I answered. "What do you need from me?"

He explained his detectives found a spent nine-millimeter cartridge when they searched the murder scene. The Vermont Medical Examiner was performing Petrini's autopsy this morning, hopefully the bullet that killed him would be recovered. His thinking was he needed a ballistics comparison between the evidence he had and the gun Federov had when he was arrested.

I told him Rich Prince was the State Police Commander I was working the arson cases with; he said he had spoken with Rich a few times over the years when their investigations crossed state lines. "Rich is a great guy," he said, "That will make our exchange of information smooth." I agreed to call Rich and fill him in and asked Jack how he wanted to handle the ballistics' comparison.

"I think I'll drive down to you with one of my detectives and we'll bring our evidence. If you can, check with Rich and see if we can get his department's firearms examiner to perform a rush comparison for us. If he can link our evidence to the gun you guys have, we have our murderer. Is there anything you need from us up here?"

I thought for a moment. "Yeah, Damian Costigan mentioned your detectives found some paperwork related to Saint Dymphna Manor. I'm interested in taking a look at copies of what they found to see if it ties into our case down here."

"It's a deal," he said in agreement. "I'll have copies made and we should be down to see you late tomorrow afternoon, Thanks for your cooperation, Daryl."

After we ended the call, I phoned Rich Prince. My news that Petrini was murdered shocked him, to say the least.

"My God, Daryl! We're supposed to be investigating some church and nursing home fires. How the hell did we end with four, no, now five murders? I thought we finally were seeing light at the end of the tunnel, now it seems we're right back where we started."

"How so Rich?"

"I thought you finally nailed down a motive for us. The church fires were an elaborate cover for the insurance fraud. Now, logic and physical evidence are telling me Federov killed Petrini, but why? If they were partners in the fraud scheme, which I believe they were, what brought on their falling out to cause Federov to kill him?"

"I don't know. Maybe an argument over the insurance money," I said. "Maybe Petrini was getting cold feet. Maybe Petrini knew Federov had something to do with Sister Mary's murder and he threatened to expose him. There's a lot of reasons that could be the motive, but I'm thinking we may never know the truth unless Federov tells us."

"Yeah, I get it, but I don't think either of us will be hearing Federov's confession in the near future. Okay, what do we do now?" he asked.

"You need to contact your crime lab firearms expert and get him to agree to a rush comparison for the Vermont cops."

"Consider the agree part done. I'll order him to do it. You realize though, our forensic lab is in Sudbury, and you said Jack Merrill was coming down here tomorrow. Sudbury is a two-hour drive from here on a good day.

"All right, so we'll meet with Jack tomorrow afternoon," I said. "You set up the firearm exam for the day after. Jack can head back to Vermont from Sudbury."

"That's easy," Rich said. "What else?"

"Two things. First, I need to see the inventory of everything your guys found in Petrini's car. Second, Mandy's research found something that reported Federov lived in New Jersey. We need to know where he was staying up here for the past few weeks; hotels, motel, at Petrini's condo?"

"What's your interest in where he was staying?"

"I want to search it. I need something to link him to Sister Mary. If we can do that, we can try to put pressure on him to come clean. He already made one mistake. I need him to make one more."

"One mistake?"

"Yeah. He killed Petrini and stole his car,"

"All right, I'll see what I can do. Talk with you in the morning," he said and ended the call.

I called Damian and caught him as he was driving. He sounded tired. I filled him in on the impending firearm exam.

"I don't know how you do it, Kid," he said. "Sounds like you're going to solve a murder for your Vermont friends, but when are you going to do me a favor and find out who killed Sister Mary McNally so I can bring this nightmare case to its end? Have you forgotten about her?"

"Forgotten her? Damian, she's been on my mind every minute since I heard she was dead. I haven't forgotten her."

"Sorry Kid, I didn't mean to have what I said come out as it did. I'm on my way down to see the Bishop. I have to tell him his Monsignor is dead. The Vermont cops asked me who could identify the body for them, I'm sure the Bishop will want to do that himself. If that's his decision, I'm going to drive him up there tomorrow."

"I don't envy you Boss. You're a good friend, I'm sure the Bishop will be grateful."

Damian didn't respond at first, he finally quietly said, "I'll talk to you tomorrow," and ended the call.

I went behind the bar to make myself a before dinner drink. Bernie and Erik came into the room and said they were heading back home. Bernie leaned in and gave me a hug. "You look like you need some rest," she whispered, "Take care of yourself."

After they left Mandy came into the room, I offered to get her some wine; she passed and said she needed to check on our dinner. I followed her into the kitchen and sat at the island.

"Daryl are you almost finished with this case?" she asked. "You've caught Gabriel, it sounds like the Vermont cops are going to arrest the Russian guy for murder, and you have Stefan Parker's mother and that insurance woman for their phony billing scam. What's left for you to do?"

"Ideally, we need one of the women to tell us what this scheme was all about," I answered. "I need to know how they manipulated Stefan to assume his Gabriel persona. Did his mother tell him Father Rastone had raped her and he was his biological father? Is he schizophrenic and is he both Ultor and Nogod4me who were posting on the dark web? Most importantly, I want to find the person who murdered Sister Mary."

"Speaking of her," Mandy said," Lindsey called me and said her Boston lawyer friend met with the head nun and she's going to help them. Lindsey said the first thing she's going to do is arrange for the Sister's burial. I told you, I'm going to pay for the plot and headstone. I want something nice for her grave."

I looked at her as she slid the baking dish onto the oven. "Hon, pay for the burial expense from the Foundation account," I said.

"No! she said firmly. "I'm doing this because I want to. I have the money, it's not about that. Let's not discuss this anymore. I've made up my mind." I gave into her and didn't press the issue. Changing the subject, I asked how her father was doing after his surgery.

She came over to the island and sat down on a stool next to me.

"He's doing great! He's getting his strength back and Gretyl said he's not complaining about any discomfort. I was wondering, now that the weather is getting warmer, maybe they could come down here and stay with us for a week. Would that be all right?"

I was glad to see Mandy was back to lovingly referring to her parents as Hansel and Gretyl because of their alpine lifestyle, and I certainly wasn't going to oppose their visit.

'Sure, I think that's a great idea," I answered.

'Is there anything you want me to do to help you finish this case? You said you thought I should look at the insurance billing paperwork to figure out how the fraud scheme worked."

I told her Freddy was working on the forensic exam of the computers we seized, and depending on what he found, we might ask for assistance from the State Police Economic Crimes Unit. I was especially interested in the insurance claims for counselling of priests who had been assigned to Saint Dymphna.

"Okay, by the way, when I was up in Vermont, I did some research about Saint Dymphna. Her life story was so sad, she reminded me of Sister Mary. Do you know what Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of?"

I thought for a moment, I honestly didn't know.

"She's the patron saint of the emotionally disturbed and mentally ill," she informed me in an authoritative tone. "How appropriate is that in this case?" With that pronouncement she got up and checked on the progress of her secret recipe sauce.

I took my drink and went into the family room. I looked at my watch and saw it was a few minutes before six. I turned on the TV and tuned to a local channel. Mandy came in and went behind the bar and poured herself a glass of Chablis. She came over and sat next to me on the couch. "What are we watching?" she asked.

"The news."

At six o'clock I saw that our 'raid' on the Parker house, as the reporter described it, was the lead story. And what a story it was! The segment started with a brief overview of the three church fires and transitioned into an in-depth review of the Saint Dymphna Manor fire, with a brief obituary of each of the three priests who died. Next was how Gabriel entered the picture, mentioning not only of the letters he mailed but also the scapulars. How did they know about that, I wondered? To my knowledge, none of the PDs had released that information.

Gabriel's influence on the case was reinforced by showing the letter he had sent to the news media. This time it stayed on the screen for fifteen or twenty seconds, just long enough for viewers to read it. I looked over and saw Mandy shaking her head in disgust.

The next two minutes or so were devoted to the police activities at the Parker house; the Haz-Mat team, detectives in protective garb bringing items over to the crime scene truck. I was struck by the dramatic effect the broadcast had; it was actually well prepared.

The reporter closed out the segment with a minute of discussion of Alexei Federov being led out of the house in handcuffs, referring to him as a "mystery man" later identified as the prominent architect. The reporter speculated on why he was arrested, with my insider knowledge of the case I realized they had no ideas of how he was involved. That was good, I thought. That told me they were unaware of the insurance fraud angle.

The last minute featured me speaking to the press, or as I viewed it, being accosted by them.

"Hey! That's You!" Mandy said as she reached over and hit my arm. She sat up and watched intently as I answered their few questions. She grinned as they showed me declining to explain why I wouldn't comment on Federov's connection to Stefan Parker and launching into my brief lecture on how the criminal justice system worked.

"My Hero!" She said with sarcasm as she reached over and hugged my arm.

I shook my head in dismay. "I'm just kidding Little Boy. You look good on TV." Before I could think of a comeback, the news anchor's next words stopped me in my tracks.

"When we come back after the break, we'll look at the man leading the Gabriel investigation, major crimes legal consultant Attorney Daryl Richardson."

" _WHAT?"_ I exclaimed. " _What are they trying to do to me?"_ I looked over at Mandy, her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Did you know they would do this?" she asked

"Of course not. Turn the TV off, I don't want to see this!" I answered.

"Not on your life, Buster! I want to see this!"

The story started out reporting I was orphaned at a young age and raised by my great-aunt, whom they described as a wealthy widowed investor and philanthropist. They showed photos of me from newspapers through the years as I progressed from being a young local cop in Connecticut, to my obtaining a law degree, and ultimately working as an Assistant US Attorney in Boston. The reporter highlighted some of my major cases and honed in on my preference to get out of the courtroom and work in the field with the detectives investigating these sensational crimes. I have to admit, whoever put this report together did their homework; newspaper articles one after another flashed on the screen with screaming headlines describing murder and mayhem and the several times I had been in gunfire situations. I was relieved when it reported I was currently residing in the Berkshires without providing more details. The segment closed out with a flashback to the Parker house search scene and a closing comment that there was a sense of relief Gabriel was in custody. Thankfully, the broadcast faded to a commercial.

I sat on the couch dumbfounded. What was the purpose of all of that I wondered? If the media was trying to bait me by fawning over my life's adventures, they were in for a disappointment.

The sound of something boiling over on the stove brought me back to reality. Mandy ran into the kitchen, she yelled, "It's just the pasta letting me know it's done; we're good!"

We decided to have dinner sitting at the kitchen island rather than in the dining room. The lemon chicken she had prepared was moist and tasty, her secret recipe pasta sauce was a culinary treat. Bernie had taught her well. We were only a few minutes into our meal when our cellphones came to life. Apparently, most of our small circle of friends had seen the news broadcast and were calling to offer their opinion on its content. We each answered the first two calls before mutually agreeing the mute feature was a great invention.

While we ate, Mandy was a chatterbox between bites, filling me in on her parent's upcoming visit, lunch with her nurse friend Kristin Holcomb and Freddy's new girlfriend Heather and Krisitin's confidence that the Medical Center was interested in hiring Heather. I listened; grateful we weren't talking about the Gabriel case.

When we finished eating, I started to help clear the plates and clean up until Mandy convinced me I was just getting on the way. I went into our office and sat down at my desk.

The church fires case had become the most confusing one I had worked on in my career. I was asked to identify Gabriel the arsonist. In terms of establishing a motive, what first appeared to be retaliation against the Church for allowing sexual abuse by its clergy to continue for decades, turned out to be a sophisticated insurance fraud scheme. I had evidence to prove Stefan Parker was Gabriel. I had evidence to prove the insurance fraud and identified Miriam Parker and Claire Lockwood as the persons, who committed the fraud.

I thought back on my conversation with Mandy when she talked about possible suspects in the case in terms of solving a math problem. At the time she spoke of it, I thought she wasn't making any sense. Now in hindsight, I realized I was wrong.

Her use of the equation X+Y+Z = G for the unknown suspects was now solved as Miriam + Claire + Monsignor = Stefan. That made sense to me, but I still had a problem. Two additional names had turned up in the investigation; Sister Mary and Architect Vasily Federov. Neither fit in Mandy's math formula. Sister Mary was dead, that left Federov. It didn't take me long to arrive at the conclusion Federov had murdered her. All I had to do was prove it.

# Chapter 30

I slept late in the morning, when I went out to the kitchen, I saw Mandy was on the phone at her desk. I brewed myself a coffee and popped an English muffin into the toaster. Apparently, Mandy's strategy to put me on a diet was not to make me the morning feasts I had been accustomed to. After a few minutes she came into the kitchen with her coffee mug, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and sat down next to me.

"Good Morning Sleepy Head!" When you went to bed last night you didn't say you had anything to do this morning, so I let you sleep."

I thanked her and said my plan for the morning was to drive over to the State Police barracks and see how Freddy was making out with his forensic exam of the computers we'd seized.

"Well, I've been busy," she said. "That was Lindsey on the phone. We're working on the arrangements for Sister Mary's funeral."

"Oh? I thought the Bishop's office was taking care of that."

"Apparently he's not. Mother Superior has heard nothing from him, her Order is mad at the Church for dragging its feet, so Lindsey and I are taking over."

I was surprised by her comment about the Bishop. "What do you mean taking over, Hon?"

"Would you mind if Lindsey and I drove up to Boston? We want to pick out a burial plot and take Mother Superior to pick out a monument for the grave."

"A monument?"

"Yeah. I want Sister Mary's grave to be beautiful. Don't worry, I'm paying for it."

"Hon, it isn't about the money. I told you, write the checks on the Foundation account."

"Well, I thought I'd use the Foundation account for the bus."

"The bus? What bus?"

"She took a long sip of her coffee and I could see by the look in her eyes she was thinking fast to explain herself.

"Sister Mary's religious Order is based in Montreal. Mother Superior told Lindsey they're shocked and saddened by her death, especially now they've been told she was murdered. Mother Superior said there's a dozen nuns who want to come down to Massachusetts for her funeral, but they can't afford it. I told Lindsey to look into chartering a bus and make reservations for them to stay at the Holiday Inn in Cambridge. It shouldn't cost too much, and it's the right thing to do."

I was smart enough not to challenge her decision, and honestly, I wasn't surprised by her compassion and kindness.

"Whatever you think his best Hon. What can I do to help?"

She looked over at me, an angry look come over her face. She set her coffee mug down and looked into my eyes. In a low voice she slowly said, "I want you to find the son-of-a-bitch that murdered Sister Mary and arrest him. I want him to suffer for what he did." I didn't answer her.

I got up and rinsed my mug and plate in the sink. "When are you and Lindsey going up to Boston?" I asked.

"Tomorrow morning. We're planning on staying overnight and we'll be back the day after tomorrow. Is that all right with you?"

"Of course!" I answered. "You do what you need to do. I have some more work to do on the case before I turn it over to the State Police."

'You said the other day you thought this Federov guy killed Sister Mary. How are you going to prove it? You told me Monsignor Petrini was the last one to be seen with her, and he's dead too."

"Federov has slipped up twice already," I answered. "First by getting caught driving Petrini's car after he was found dead, and second by being at Stefan Parker's house when we raided it. I don't know what made him so careless, but I have a hunch we'll find more mistakes he made in the past few days."

"I hope so. Just please be careful," she said as she came over to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I said I was heading out to the barracks, she said she was going into to town to meet with Lindsey.

Traffic was light on the Pike, twenty minutes later I was walking into the Lee barracks.

I started to go into Rich's office and saw he was speaking with someone. As I turned to go back into the hallway, he called me in.

"Daryl! You must have ESP! We were just talking about you."

He introduced me to Mike Burkhart, who he said was an investigator with the public defender's office. "Mike had twenty years on the job with us and then he became a turncoat!" he said with a laugh.

"Hey! Supplemental income! I can't get in on all those gravy road construction side jobs anymore, so this was the next best thing."

"Mike was telling me his office is representing some of the guys that were arrested in the Spruce Street drug house raid," Rich explained. "One of them wants to make a deal."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Miguel Cordoba-Rios," Mike said. "He's got two prior narcotics convictions; he's looking at being charged as a persistent felony drug offender and looking at twenty years without parole."

"What's he selling?" I asked.

"Actually, it's about what he sold. He said he heard about that nun who OD'd and thinks he sold the pills to the guy who gave them to her."

" _What?"_ I asked incredulously.

"You heard me. Word travels fast, especially in lockup. He told us there was a Russian guy who stopped at the Spruce street house asking about fentanyl in pill form. Miguel said the first time he came by they thought he was narc and told him to get lost. He said he was with another guy driving a brand-new Mercedes sports car."

I looked over at Rich. He was reading my mind. "Yep!" he said and motioned for Mike to continue.

"Miguel said the second time the guy stopped by he was alone and he made it obvious that he was packing heat. Miguel said the guy came on like he was with the Russian mob and said if Miguel's crew was interested in staying in business, they should cooperate with him. The guy said he wanted four fentanyl tabs and waved two hundred-dollar bills in Miguel's face."

"And?" I asked.

"Miguel said his crew had some Percocet laced with fentanyl and he sold the guy four tabs at fifty apiece."

"Can Miguel identify the guy, and will he testify to what he told you?"

"He will if the State's deal is sweet and they'll put it in writing."

I looked over at Rich. "How do you want to handle this?"

"I called the District Attorney's office; I'm waiting for her to call me back.

"What do you think she'll offer?" I asked.

Mike Burkhart interrupted. "Off the record, I'll tell you what we're looking for. If the DA offers twelve to eighteen month for possession, Miguel will go for it. The deal has to be in writing, though."

"We have him now for possession with intent to sell. He's not the one who made any of the hand-to-hand sales to the undercovers, so we don't have him for sale," Rich explained. "The nun's murder case in New York is the priority and the DA needs to understand that."

I thought for a minute. "If he balks, tell the DA once the nun's murder hits the papers, the case will be national front-page news. We need her to get on board with us. If you have to, fill her in on our progress with the church fire case. At this point, we need to aim high because of all the notoriety these cases are going to bring."

"Thanks, I'll tell my boss where we stand." Mike said as he stood and reached to shake Rich's hand. "Let me know as soon as you hear back from the DA." We shook hands and he left; Rich motioned for me to sit down.

I was perplexed by how Miguel could have learned Sister Mary died from an overdose. I told Rich this wasn't making sense. Had Federov said something to Miguel at the jail?

"Okay, I understand your point, but I have another concern. If the gun Federov had when we arrested him matches the bullet removed from Petrini's skull during the autopsy, how will that affect Sister Mary's murder case?" he asked. "Federov could be responsible for two murders of religious figures in two states."

"Of course, I can't speak for the US attorney, but my recommendation to him will be to defer to Vermont's murder case. The bullet match is direct evidence to convict him. As it stands, we can't prove he gave Sister Mary the pills that killed her, he may have given them to Petrini to give to her. As far as the arson and insurance frauds, Stefan Parker and the two women can be prosecuted on the State or Federal level, that's Damian's call."

"There's something else. I didn't want to say anything in front of Mike, but we have an ace card here," Rich said.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that unexploded igniter device Kevin Gallo found at the Spruce Street fire? It had a latent print on it."

"Yeah, I remember," I answered. "You said you ran it through AFIS and didn't get a hit."

"Right! But we entered Federov's prints into the system after he was booked and ran the latent again. We got a hit. It's his!"

"You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not kidding. That puts him at the Spruce Street fire with the bomb Stefan Parker assembled. I just haven't figured out why Federov went back to the drug house and burned it."

"Because he made a mistake," I said. "He probably panicked when he realized if we found out the sleeping pills Sister Mary took were laced with fentanyl, and if we traced them back to the Spruce Street house, the guy who sold him the pills could identify him."

"And that could be why he whacked the Monsignor," Rich surmised, "because Petrini was with him when he made the attempt to make the first buy."

"Exactly, I said. "What we're missing though, is how Federov got the pills into the container found in Sister Mary's motel room."

I looked over at Rich, he seemed to be distracted, deep in thought. "Wait a minute, he said. I just thought of something."

He quickly got up out of his chair and told me to follow him. As we walked down the hallway, he explained he wanted to check something in the evidence room.

"You said you wanted us to inventory everything in the car Federov was driving. I quickly looked through what my guys found, and I think I saw a pharmacy cash register receipt. I want to take a look at that."

We checked in with the Evidence Officer, he retrieved a Ziplock bag that was tagged as being removed from the center console of the blue Mercedes. Rich put on a pair of exam gloves and went through the pieces of paper; the car registration, insurance card, three Mobil gas credit card receipts and a receipt from Regis Pharmacy, Pittsfield, Mass. He looked at the receipt and turned it so I could read it. It was for over the counter sleep aid pills, paid for in cash. I looked at the date. It was two days before Sister Mary was found dead.

"I know this pharmacy," Rich said. "They had a holdup last year and installed cameras on every register. I'll have two of my guys go over there right now and look at the video. If my hunch is right, we'll have either the Monsignor or Federov buying the pills."

I couldn't believe we could be so lucky. I followed him to the investigations office and immediately noticed there were detectives sitting everywhere. Rich looked over at me and realized my surprise.

"I brought in four detectives from our central district major crimes squad and three from our Economic Crimes Unit to help go through the documents we seized, and what Freddy's printing out from the computers."

"Speaking of Freddy, where is he? I want to check in with him." I said.

Rich led me to a nearby office, I found Freddy with two detectives from the Economic Cremes Unit. Rich introduced me and I asked Freddy how he was making out.

"Good! The insurance computer claims diversion algorithm is the most complex one I've ever seen. Really slick. I isolated the program and transferred it to a flash drive and just started playing with it to see how it's coded.

"And?"

"Right out of the gate I can tell the architecture is foreign, it looks like Eastern European protocols."

"In plain English, what does that mean?" I asked.

"It means whoever wrote this is a real pro," he said with a laugh. "This is going to take me a while to figure it out, and I think Frank needs to look at this. He got his degree from Cal-Tech and knows more about this coding style than I do," he said referring to his covert ops partner.

I went over to a worktable where Rich was talking to one of the detectives who turned to me as I approached.

"I've got to tell you," he said. "Your man Freddy is an absolute genius! Our boss would give his eye teeth to have him working for us. I've got to ask, is he really an FBI agent?"

"Yeah, why?"

" Hey, I'm not criticizing or anything," he said as he put his hands up in defense of his comment. "It's just that he seems to be having too much fun doing his work! He cracked the computer log-on password in less than five minutes with a program he said he wrote, and he zipped through the file directory to isolate the church files we wanted as if it was no big deal. It would have taken our IT wizards a full day to do what he did in fifteen minutes!"

"Yeah, he's pretty amazing," I said in response. "Anything coming out of the insurance claims?"

"Oh Yeah! Where do you want to start? For example, we found documents that the three priests who died in the fire all originally had ten-thousand-dollar life insurance policies. About a year ago, the policies were amended to provide twenty-five thousand coverage each One policy was increased late last year to change coverage from twenty-five to one hundred thousand. It's all here," he said as he lifted a stack of printouts from the table."

I noticed the document on the top of the pile was a rider to increase Father Rastone's coverage to one hundred thousand.

"Here's where the crimes occurred," he said as he handed me some documents that showed copies of checks paid by Somerset.

"Payouts on the life policies were split. Look here," he said pointing at a check. "This one is for the death benefit of a Father Joseph Wiskowsi, payable to the beneficiary, Redemption Management Systems Trustee account."

I saw the amount was ten-thousand dollars.

"Now look at this check," he said. "Same insured, payable to Redemption Management Systems Admin Acct. It's for fifteen thousand.

The computer program split the payments. What's really clever is that the ten thousand check was an actual check, the fifteen thousand check was coded as an electronic funds transfer to the Redemption Admin account. When Freddy ran a query for the Somerset system to display checks paid to Redemption, only the Trustee account checks came up."

I was following what the detective was saying, but I needed clarification. He must have sensed my confusion.

"What this suggests," he said, "is that Redemption was running two sets of books. I'm willing to bet the Church got the original coverage money, in the one case the ten-thousand; the additional fifteen thousand went to Redemption. Same thing with the checks for a Father Convey. The big fraud is the checks for a Father Rastone. One was for twenty-five thousand payable to Redemption's Trustee account, seventy-five thousand was electronically deposited into Redemptions Admin account."

I told the detective I understood. "What we need Freddy to do is download everything he can find on both Redemption accounts," I said, "It makes sense the Diocese would get the proceeds of the insurance checks in the Trustee account so as not to arouse their suspicions something was wrong. The Admin account deposits went into Redemption's pocket."

"Exactly! The detective said. "Freddy's already picked up on that and said he's working on the account downloads from Redemption's computers."

I looked over at Freddy who was typing on the computer keyboard at a furious pace, and then over at Rich. "I should have known Freddy was already on this," I said. "I told you this kid is brilliant! Rich, this case is coming together. The last piece we need is to see is if Federov bought the sleeping pills."

"Right," he said. "Follow me; let's grab two of my guys and send them down to the pharmacy."

We went into the detective squad room and briefed Gordie Faircloud and Chris Remington on their assignment. Gordie brought up Federov's mugshot on a computer and printed it.

. As the detectives were leaving the office, Rich instructed them to notify him if they made a positive identification.

"C'mon Daryl, let's go to my office. We have some details to work out."

As I sat down in Rich's office I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.

"Daryl, the Colonel called me this morning, he said our department is being hounded by the press for more information on Gabriel's arrest. Once we hear from Gordie and Chris that they ID'd Federov for the pills, I think we need to set up a meeting or conference call with my Department, the US Attorney, and the New York Sheriff's Department investigating the nun's death. As I told you, we need an official decision to finalize who's going to prosecute who.

"I agree, but don't forget we still have the firearms examination hanging in the wind. We need that result before Damian can make a decision on prosecution." I said.

"Jesus, I almost did forget. The Vermont troopers said they'd be down here by mid-day today," he said as he looked at his watch.

"I had Federov's gun hand delivered to our crime lab in Sudbury this morning. When Vermont gets here, we can brief them on the case status, and they can drive up to Sudbury for the ballistics' test. Didn't you say Jack Merrill himself is coming down?"

"I did. I haven't talked with him since the Judge Moran shooting case, it'll be good to see him," I said.

We had no sooner mentioned Captain Merrill's name when the front desk called Rich and said two Vermont troopers were in the lobby. We both went out to greet them. To my surprise, Jack's partner for the day was Vermont State Police recruitment poster boy Trooper Jon Anderson, all six-foot four two-hundred seventy-five pounds of chiseled muscle. I had met Jon during the Moran investigation and was awestruck by not only his size but his professional bearing. Both men heartily greeted Rich and me.

In Rich's office I briefed them on the Gabriel investigation and where Monsignor Petrini fit into the picture. When I finished, I was shocked by something Tpr. Anderson said.

"Daryl, after Petrini's body was found, I was assigned to canvass the neighbors. The area's not very populated, mostly summer cabins, places we call camps. His closest neighbor told me he saw Petrini a few times during the past summer, he was with a different young woman each time.

He said all of them were beautiful and he was shocked when I told him Petrini was a priest." I looked over at Rich.

"Well, at least he wasn't bringing young boys up to his camp," he quipped. I picked up on his innuendo but didn't comment.

"Daryl, from what you're telling us, the church fires were a cover for an insurance fraud scheme, and this Gabriel took advantage of the church's sex abuse scandal to set the fires as a distraction? What's his story?"

"Jack, Gabriel is Stefan Parker, a sickly-looking young guy who I believe is actually insane. I believe Monsignor Petrini and the Russian architect Vasily Federov took advantage of Stefan's mental disorder and used him to be complicit in the fires by constructing the incendiary devices and writing the letters threatening the Church," I explained.

"Okay, I can understand that, but I have a concern. If the gun Federov had when you arrested him matches the bullet removed from Petrini's skull during the autopsy, how will that affect your case?" he asked,

"I can't speak for the US Attorney, but my recommendation to him will be to defer to your department in the murder case. That carries a higher penalty."

"Okay, I'll pass that along to our Colonel; he can discuss this further with your US Attorney."

"Do you have the bullet removed from Petrini?" I asked.

'I do," he said and motioned for Tpr. Anderson to remove it from the small manila envelope he was carrying.

"Can I see that?" I asked the Trooper.

"Ghoul!" Rich muttered under his breath.

As I took the baggie holding the bullet I said, "No, I just want to see if it's intact enough for a comparison."

"It's intact," Jack said." I have a copy of the ME's report for you. He wrote that the fatal shot wasn't a contact wound; he estimates it was fired five to ten feet from Petrini's head. Amazingly, there wasn't an exit wound. The ME surmised that may have had something to do with the powder in the cartridge. I also have our investigation report and printouts of some crime scene photos in case you need them," he added as he handed me a large manila envelope.

I didn't exactly know what the powder in the cartridge comment meant, but at least the bullet was intact enough for a comparison. Our briefing had been short; I offered to buy lunch for Jack and Jon before they headed over to the Sudbury crime lab. They both politely declined, saying they wanted to learn the exam results as quickly as possible. We ended the meeting with Rich telling them he would call the firearms examiner and advise him they were on the way, and that we wanted the results as soon as they were available.

I sat down in the chair across from Rich's desk. "Did you see all of this coming when you agreed to take on this case?" he asked.

"|No Rich. To be honest, I've never had a case as complicated as this one is. It seems as if every time we turned around there was a new twist. I had it in my mind that Mandy was right three weeks ago when she said Stefan Parker was Gabriel. I got hung up thinking I wanted to put a tracker on his truck and that would lead us to him when he was starting his next fire. I really thought that was the only way to catch him. Now I see how wrong I was. It was Monsignor Hennessey who helped me change course."

"Monsignor Hennessey? How?"

"Last week he said he thought Gabriel was controlling all of us and we were sitting back passively waiting for his next attack, He suggested that now was the time to take that control away from him if we were going to defeat him."

"And how did we do that?" he asked.

"We simply knocked on his door!" I answered truthfully.

"Well again, I can't thank you enough for everything you're doing What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

. "I'm going to head home and wait for you to call me and say that Federov was caught on camera buying the over the counter sleeping pills that he swapped out for the fentanyl, and that the gun he had on him when he was arrested fired the bullet that killed Petrini. Then I need to sit down and write this up. I think we've got all the players and their roles identified."

"One thing still bothers me. Who was the mastermind behind all this?" he asked.

"It has to be Vasily Federov, the last person to come into the picture," I said as I stood up. "I honestly think that if we hadn't caught him in Stefan's basement, he was going to kill him and then go after the two women."

I started toward the door. "Hey! Keep your phone on. I'll call you." he said.

When I got home, I found Mandy in the bedroom packing her travel case for her trip to Boston with Lindsey Moran.

"You're home early! How did you make out?" she asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed and told her we now had evidence Vasily Federov set the fire at the drug house, and that I was confident we would have evidence before the day was over that the gun he had when he was arrested was the murder weapon in Monsignor Petrini's death.

"Does that mean the case is finished?" she asked.

"Yeah, all but having the last piece of evidence to prove who killed Sister Mary."

She sat down next to me on the bed and took my hand. "I'll understand if you can't do that. At this point it doesn't matter. I think it was Monsignor Petrini who gave her the pills, and he's dead. Now he has to answer to God," she said as she squeezed my hand.

"That's not good enough for me, Hon. I have an idea who switched the sleeping pills with fentanyl, and I'm not closing the case until I can prove it."

She stood up and zipped the cover in place, struggling a bit to close it without breaking the zipper. As she went to lift the case, I saw she was struggling with the weight, I gently moved her aside. "Where do you want me to put his?" I asked as I lifted and was surprised at how heavy it was. Thankfully it had wheels and a pull handle, but even so, it seemed she had packed a lot of clothes for an overnight trip.

"Are you planning on running away?" I asked. "It looks like you've packed a lot in this."

"Oh no Little Boy! You aren't getting rid of me that easy! You're stuck with me! I just want to have the right clothes to wear when we go to the funeral home and cemetery. Plus, Lindsey said we should treat ourselves to a nice dinner before we head back home, so I need an outfit for that."

"Fine. Are you driving, or ....?"

"Oh no! I'd be afraid to drive in downtown Boston. Lindsey's driving."

"Okay," I said in acknowledgement as I wheeled the case over to a corner of the room.

I went out to the kitchen and brewed myself a cup of coffee to settle myself down before I started to write up my case report. As the Keurig was doing its thing, I quietly snooped around the cabinets to see if Mandy had hidden any snacks from me. Unfortunately, I didn't realize she had come up behind me until she tapped me on the shoulder.

"Uh..., what are you up to Mister Richardson?" she asked as she reached around and closed the cabinet door I had opened.

"I was just looking for a little snack before I sit down and do some paperwork," I answered with the most innocent tone I could muster.

"All right, just this once I'll give in, but I'm not kidding. You've got to start eating better and cut down on the sweets. You can't live on donuts, coffee and VO," she said as she crossed over to the pantry and took out a package of small cinnamon topped coffee cakes. "Just one, and I mean it! Here," she said as she handed me one. "Ah! Victory!" I thought to myself.

I took my coffee and cinnamon trophy into our office and started up my computer. As it was loading, my phone beeped, I expected it to be Rich calling. It wasn't; it was Freddy.

"Hey! I ran into Rich, he said you had just left for home. Are you there yet?"

"Yeah. Why? What's up?"

"I want to stop by and show you something I found. I think it'll make your day!"

"Sure. C'mon over, I'll be here all afternoon doing some paperwork."

"Okay, I'll be over in about half an hour."

Mandy came into the office; I told her Freddy was coming over to talk with me. She smiled and nodded but didn't comment as she sat down and brought the stock market ticker up on the wall-mounted monitor. A quick glance told me the market was up two hundred some odd points; I hoped that would please her.

I opened up the several search warrant application documents I had previously written in the case with the thought for much of the final case report I would copy and paste sections from them. As I waited for them to load, my cellphone beeped again; this time it was Rich.

"Hey! We hit the jackpot at the pharmacy! Gordie called and said the store's video clearly shows Vasily Federov at the checkout counter at the date and time the sleeping pills receipt indicates they were purchased. He printed out a screen shot. Now we need to get a written statement from the drug dealer that he sold the fentanyl to him and we've got him wrapped up for the murder of Sister Mary."

"Man, that's better than excellent!" I said. "Have you heard back from the DA on whether she'll go along with the offer from the Public Defender?" I asked.

"I did. I talked with her just before I called you. She said she'd agree in writing for a twelve to twenty-four-month sentence on a guilty plea for possession of narcotics."

"Hmm, that's a little longer than the defendant is looking for, what do you think?" I asked.

"Realistically, with good behavior he could be released in as little as nine months. I'm willing to bet he knows the system well enough to realize he's getting the deal of a lifetime if he accepts the offer."

"Okay, next steps?" I asked.

I expect to hear back from the Public Defender within the hour. If he accepts, I'll send two detectives over to the jail with a photo spread. If Miguel picks out Federov they'll get a written statement from him."

I agreed with Rich's plan; now all that was left was for Federov's gun to match the bullet retrieved from Petrini's body and we have him for two murders. The only glitch in this was Sister Mary was killed in New York, Petrini in Vermont. I didn't envy Damian having to figure that one out.

"Daryl? You there?" I heard Rich ask.

"Yeah, sorry. I had a brain freeze thinking how this would work out with two murders committed in two states."

"Yeah. How is that going to work again?"

"As I said before, Damian could defer to Vermont prosecuting Federov for Petrini's murder, New York could apply for a warrant in Sister Mary's case, but they would have to wait for the Vermont court case to be resolved before they could execute their warrant."

"Christ," Rich said, "I don't know what's harder to figure out. Who did what to who, or who will prosecute first when we figure that out.

"I know," I said. "My only other thought is that Damian could prosecute him for murder on the Federal level under the umbrella of the crime interstate flight to avoid prosecution. Both New York and Vermont would need to be on board with that, though."

"That might work, but my concern is that both these murders are going to attract incredible media coverage. What's more sensational, murder of a priest or murder of a nun?"

"I wouldn't want to make that call," I answered.

"All right, we have some time to think about that. All we need now is the report from the ballistics' exam, I expect to have that later this afternoon. Oh! By the way, I ran into Freddy and he as asking where you were. He said he needed to talk with you, and he seemed pretty excited."

"Yeah, he called me. He's on his way over here. I don't know what's got him all worked up."

"Okay, as soon as I hear the results of the ballistics' exam, I'll call you. Talk with you later," he said and ended the call.

Mandy swiveled around in her chair to face me. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Problems?"

I explained we were very close to having the evidence we needed to charge Federov for Sister Mary's murder. She stared at me for a minute, I saw her eyes were getting glassy. "Thank You for that. Now she can finally find the peace she never had when she was alive." Before I could respond she turned around away from me, I gave her the moment of solitude she obviously needed. A few minutes later the kitchen doorbell rang, I got up and greeted Freddy.

"I found something in Claire Lockwod's computer you need to know about," he said.

I motioned for him to follow me into the family room, we had no sooner sat down and Mandy came into the room. She went over, gave Freddy a hug and asked if we needed privacy. He looked over at me. "No, not at all, in fact, I want you to listen to this too," he said. She sat down next to me.

"Don't tell us you and Heather are getting married!" she said with a wide grin. He blushed and quietly let out a laugh. "No, not today!" he answered.

"Let me explain. I did a deep dive into Claire Lockwoood's office computer after I discovered the malware program that manipulated the incoming invoices and outgoing benefits payments to Redemption Management. As I told you before, I think the program was written by someone outside the country, probably Eastern Europe. What I wanted to know was how it got into Somerset insurance's network without their firewall and anti-virus programs picking up on it." He paused for a few seconds.

"And?" I asked.

"I found evidence Claire had deleted a ton of files in the week before we raided her office. Most people think that when they delete files they're completely erased. That's not exactly true," he said as he continued.

"When I extracted the virus program, I discovered some partitions in the file, they contained the original email that delivered the virus into her computer."

"And that's significant because ...?" I asked.

"Because the email that delivered the virus was sent to her by someone with the username 'vasi' on a server linked to a construction company. I hacked...I mean I did some snooping and found the company to be Balkan Construction. That's your architect suspect's family's company, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I answered. "So, you're telling us that Vasily Federov probably sent the email that had the malware virus program attached?"

"Not probably, he did send the email and yes, that's how the malware got onto Somerset's server."

I looked over at Mandy, she had a smile on her face. She got up and went over to Freddy. "You're the best," she said as she gave him a hug. "Want some coffee or something to drink?" she asked.

He answered water or juice would be fine, she left the room to get him a drink.

"Freddy, have you told anyone about what you've found?" I asked.

"No, just you. But at some point, we need to tell Somerset how their system has been compromised."

"Well they already know that, don't they?" I asked.

"They do, but that's not the problem. This virus is so sophisticated I'm not sure how to go about getting it out of their system. That's why I need Frank to take a look at it. He's better with virus analysis than I am. My problem is I'm afraid to email it to him for fear it may get into our office network. That's why I saved it on a flash drive and opened it on an off-line laptop. I've got to get the flash drive to Frank, but that;s going to take at least a day or two. I still have work to do here, and don't want to drive up to Boston and then come back."

Mandy came back into the room with a tray of assorted fruit drinks. Freddy took a bottle of apple juice and thanked her.

"Freddy, Mandy and Lindsey Moran are driving up to Boston tomorrow morning," I said looking over at Mandy. "Couldn't they take the flash drive and stop in at the Federal Building and give it to Frank?"

"Sure, that would be great!" he answered.

"What?" Mandy asked. "What did I miss?"

I briefly explained what Freddy had found in Claire Lockwood's computer and that the virus was now on a flash drive. Frank Paris would use that to analyze how the virus was constructed. His and Freddy's lab was in the basement of the Federal courthouse building in Boston."

"I won't get infected or anything, will I?" she asked. I realized she was serious.

Freddy laughed. "No, of course not! This is a computer virus, not a germ virus. Just don't plug the flash drive into any computer and you'll be perfectly safe.

"Okay, we can do that," she said.

"I've heard some bits and pieces of conversations at the barracks. Are you close to wrapping up this investigation?" he asked.

I explained the most recent developments, and the how each of our suspects fit into the puzzle. Freddy listened intently.

"So, the church fires were basically a distraction to cover up the insurance fraud, is that right?" he asked.

I answered yes. I could see he was thinking about something but seemed hesitant to speak.

"Something bothering you?" I asked.

"Yeah, he said, his voice now softer than normal. "I read the Pennsylvania sex abuse report, and I read the witness protection file on the nun describing how she had been a victim of human trafficking. Your investigation found that the Church had been sheltering at least one priest who was a pedophile and he molested the nun. What's the Church doing about all this? Are they finally going to wake up and put a stop to all this?"

I wasn't sure how to answer his question. I soon realized Mandy wasn't content to be quiet.

"Nothing! They haven't done anything to put an end to this!" she said with anger in her voice. "It's been a steady stream of denial, looking the other way, sweeping things under the rug. And I'm outraged that it cost a young woman her life just because she had the dream becoming a nun would erase the pain she had experienced growing up a sex trafficking victim. And now the Church doesn't even have the decency to step up and give her a decent burial."

"What? I don't understand," Freddy said. "They won't bury Sister Mary?"

Mandy looked over at me. "I didn't say anything to you because I saw how hard you were working to solve the church fires. Lindsey told me last week her lawyer friend who's helping the nuns with their eviction problem went to the funeral home with the Mother Superior to make funeral arrangements. The undertaker said he was informed by the Archbishop's office the Church was contemplating how to handle the burial because of the scandalous nature of her death, and not to follow any instructions from her Order. _Scandalous nature of her death! How dare them say that. She was a victim! She was murdered!"_

"Whoa! Hon, take it easy. I wish you would have said something to me," I said in an attempt to calm her down.

"Well, I didn't! You promised me you wouldn't forget about Sister Mary and you've kept your promise. And I love you for that. But I can't forgive the Church. The lawyer filed some type of complaint with a Judge and he granted Mother Superior the authority to manage the funeral arrangements. That's why I'm paying for the burial plot and monument."

"Hon, I told you, take the money out of our Foundation. It's a charity fund, that's what it's there for."

"I don't want charity Daryl; I want justice for Sister Mary."

I thought for a minute before I spoke. "And so do I Hon; justice for Sister Mary."

"Me too Mandy, I mean that. What can I do to help?" Freddy asked.

"Thanks Freddy, I think I have it under control. If you can, just come to her funeral." Her tone of her voice told me she was calmer.

"I promise I will. Just let me know when and where," he said as he got up and gave her a hug. "I have a lot of work to do," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small zip lock bag containing the flash drive.

"When you get to the courthouse tomorrow go up to Damian's office. I'll call him and let him know you have some evidence for Frank. Damian or one of his staff will take you down to our lab. And thank you for doing this. It's a big help."

Mandy took the flash drive and gave him a hug. "Thank you for all you've done to help Daryl, I'll take care of this first thing."

Freddy headed back to the State Police barracks; I went into our office to work on the case report. Mandy didn't say anything more about the Church's handling of Sister Mary's funeral arrangements, that was fine with me.

I lost track of time as I worked on the report. Over the years I had written scores of criminal complaints, for some reason I was working through this one easier than I thought it would be. I was telling a story, albeit complex, but the pieces of the puzzle all fell into place. As I came to the end, I realized I had two last bits of key evidence. As if a divine light was turned on, my cellphone beeped. I looked at my watch. It was five-fifteen, Rich Prince was calling.

"It's over Daryl, case closed," he said bluntly.

"What?"

"The ballistics comparison was positive. Federov's gun fired the bullet that killed Petrini. The examiner said the match was textbook perfect."

"Excellent," I responded.

"Miguel Rios accepted the DA's plea bargain offer, he looked at the photo spread and immediately identified the mugshot of Vasily Federov as the person he sold the fentanyl pills to. The detectives took a sworn statement from him,"

"Excellent again!" I responded.

"One more thing I overlooked. My detectives re-interviewed the Saint Dymphna caregiver couple last week. They made written statements that it was Monsignor Petrini who instructed them to use the deadbolt to lock the priests in the first-floor bedroom wing. They explained Father Rastone had been sneaking out at night and would come back obviously showing signs he had been drinking. They said the night of the fire they tried to get to the door to unlock it, but the flames and heat drove them back. That's explains why the door was locked.

"Well, it shouldn't have been locked, but we can't change what happened," I said.

"Unless you can think of something I missed, as I said earlier, case closed, he said. "All we need to do now is get a decision on who's prosecuting who and draw up the arrest warrants."

I agreed and said I would call Damian in the morning and brief him. I mentioned I was almost finished with the case report and I had written it in a format that when his detectives were preparing their arrest warrants, they could copy and paste specific paragraphs for each of the subjects they were accusing.

"Man, that's excellent. I don't know how you do it, but thanks again. This has been one hell of a learning experience for all of us."

"Yeah, for me too Rich. But a word of caution. Our work may be finished, but once the arrests are made and the media gets ahold of the story, hold onto your hat. I think law enforcement will be in good shape, but I'm afraid the Church is going to take it right on the chin."

He was quiet for a few seconds. "Maybe that's not a bad thing, Daryl," he finally said. "If nothing else, maybe we opened up some eyes and we'll see some positive changes."

I thanked him for his help on the case but didn't comment on his optimism. What we didn't discuss was all the work that needed to be done to get the case ready for trial.

I finished my report by adding the most recent developments that Rich had briefed me on. I printed out my case report and sat on the sofa in our office and read it. To my amazement, there were no glaring typing errors.

I sat there and thought about what would happen next. The State Police Economic Crime Unit would be tasked with tallying up the amount of the insurance fraud. With that completed, they would need to follow the money and find where the embezzled funds went. They needed to identify bank accounts and draw up search warrants to seize the money. That could take weeks.

I truly believed Stefan Parker was insane. I could foresee him being declared unable to understand the charges against him and committed to a State mental health hospital for evaluation and treatment. I didn't know if he would ever be restored to sanity.

I expected through their attorneys Claire Lockwood and Miriam Parker would turn against each other as they sought to minimize their roles in the insurance fraud, hoping their cooperation would result in lighter sentences when they were convicted.

If I were a betting man, I'd put my money on Miriam's lawyer to claim her actions would be blamed on post-traumatic stress disorder from the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of Father Rastone when she was a young woman.

Then there was the looming battle between Somerset Insurance and the Church. Millions of dollars were at stake.

The Church would seek compensation for the fire damages, Somerset Insurance would counter by saying the Church knew or should have known one of their clergy orchestrated the fraud. I expected that would be a long, drawn out, contentious battle as it dragged through the Courts.

The biggest loser in my mind was Vasily Federov. He didn't have a prayer, no pun intended, to be acquitted for his murders of a priest and a nun and arson for setting the Spruce Street drug house fire. His biggest concern would be where he would serve his prison sentences; State or Federal. I didn't see a bright future for him if he was sentenced to New York's Attica Prison, perhaps he would be more comfortable in the frigid Siberian-like winter weather of the northern Vermont prison at St. Albans. If Damian prosecuted him on federal charges, I suspected it would be a high security facility.

I went looking for Mandy, as I passed the kitchen window, I saw her in the backyard with Erik Nichols. They were measuring out what I suspected would be the vegetable garden she said she wanted. As I stood looking at them, I had a feeling come over me that things were getting back to normal, a state that Mandy thought might be unfamiliar to me. I had one more issue to deal with, that was Sister Mary McNally's funeral.

After a few minutes Mandy came inside and asked how I was making out. I told her the investigation was finished, all the loose ends had been cleaned up, all that was left was for Damian to decide which if any of the accused would be tried in Federal court. She saw I had my case report in my hand.

"What's that" she asked. I answered it was my report.

"Can I read it?"

"Sure, I said and handed it to her. She went into the family room and sat down on the sofa. I went behind the bar and made myself a drink. I asked if she wanted anything, she shook her head no. I went over and sat in the recliner across from her.

"After five minutes she looked up at me and smiled. "Daryl, this is really good. It's amazing how you connected everything.

"Thanks."

"I wasn't planning on making a big dinner, I bought a frozen pizza, or we can have mozzarella sticks and sauce and I can throw together a small salad," she said.

I was more tired than hungry and opted for the mozzarella and passed on the salad. She left and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

As the oven was warming up, she came back and sat down. She said she and Lindsey planned on leaving Stockbridge at nine, thinking they would miss the morning commuter traffic on the Pike.

She said they would stop at Damian's office first to drop off the flash drive, then go over to Cambridge to pick up Mother Superior. Together they would pick out the burial plot.

She showed me a brochure from a monument company in Cambridge and pointed out the headstone monument she had decided on. It was an angel with open arms, and I must admit, it looked beautiful. I glanced down at the price and saw it was $6,000.

"When is the funeral?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "According to Lindsey's lawyer friend the Church is giving her the runaround about where to hold the funeral and who will perform the mass."

I thought about that, and asked myself, why? What were they trying to do? Sister Mary's murder would be front page news coast to coast in a few days; if the church was worried about publicity, I would think they wanted to be portrayed in the best possible light.

Twenty minutes later Mandy and I were munching on our light dinner watching TV. The evening passed with no talk about the case. Before we went to bed, I emailed Damian my case report with the message I would call him in the morning to discuss it.

By nine pm Mandy and I were in bed, I had no trouble falling asleep.

# Chapter 31

Mandy was up early in the morning; she woke me at seven-fifteen telling me Lindsey would be here a little before nine. I showered and dressed, by eight I was in the kitchen for breakfast. Mandy seemed excited about her day's planned adventure. At twenty before nine the kitchen doorbell rang, Lindsey had arrived. She greeted us with hugs and sat down to join us for a cup of coffee.

She asked how my case was going now that Gabriel had been arrested, when I told her the investigation ended late yesterday, she was surprised.

"I can't stand the suspense," she said, "What was behind all the church fires?" I told her how we discovered the church fires were actually camouflage for an elaborate insurance fraud scheme.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she said." I thought for sure Gabriel was someone who had been abused by a priest and he was setting the fires as retribution."

`I looked over at Mandy. "Should I tell her the whole story?" I asked.

"Sure, she's our lawyer and besides, it'll be on the front pages in a day or two; go ahead."

I went into our office and came back with a printout of the criminal complaint affidavit had written. She read slowly, and at least a half dozen times she stopped, looked up, and exclaimed _"What?"_

When she finished, she set the document down on the island. "This is an incredible story! I can't believe it," she said. "Five people were murdered, and the public only knows about the three priests who died in the fire?" I nodded that was correct.

"Daryl, when the full story hits the papers and TV news, you know it will set off a firestorm across the country."

"I know, that's my concern," I said in acknowledgement.

"The Russian guy actually murdered a nun and a priest? Are you absolutely sure?" she asked.

"Yeah, we have strong evidence in all the murders."

She leaned back on her stool and put her hands to her head. "My God, what has this world come to? This is unbelievable."

I didn't respond as I moved the complaint document away from her.

"The last piece is to get a decision from Damian on which accused he's going to prosecute on the Federal level," I explained.

"Poor Damian, I wouldn't want to be him. We'll be seeing him in a couple of hours, is there anything you want me to tell him?" she asked.

I thought for a minute to come up with a smart remark but opted not to say anything. "No, I'm going to call him at nine."

The ladies finished their coffee, and after another round of hugs I wheeled Mandy's travel case out to Lindsey's car, and they headed out on their trip. At nine-thirty I called Damian.

"Good Morning," he said as he answered. "I read your criminal complaint affidavit last night. This case is an incredible story! Your documentation is excellent"

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Now the hard part falls to you. I need to know who you're going to prosecute in Federal court."

"I'll be honest Daryl, I really want the Russian for the murders of the priest and nun, but I'm worried about the nightmare the media will create for whoever prosecutes him. What do you think?"

I explained my thinking to let Vermont have the first crack at Federov. New York could lodge warrant's for crimes he committed in their state. Anyway, I looked at it, Federov was going to spend the rest of life behind bars.

"And Gabriel? The Parker kid?" he asked.

"I think he's insane, Damian. I mean that. I would let Massachusetts prosecute him for manufacturing bombs, terroristic threatening, and conspiracy. It doesn't matter. I don't think he's competent to stand trial. He needs to be institutionalized in a mental health facility."

"So that leaves me the two women and the insurance fraud."

I answered yes and explained what I believed would be their lawyer's positions pitting the women against each other and my theory about Miriam Parker pleading she suffered from PTSD.

'That's a lot for me to think about," he said. "I need to run this by my senior staff to see what they think."

"The clock is ticking Boss; I need a decision sooner rather than later"

"Tell me about it," he said. "My office is being hounded by the press and TV news. I mean not just local, I'm talking national media, and they're being relentless. The good news is other than the news release about Gabriel's arrest the other day, not much of your investigation has leaked out. I'm grateful New York and Vermont have been tight lipped releasing information on the nun and priest's deaths but it's only a matter of time before the facts of the cases come out."

"Okay, I understand, switch gears. Did Freddy call you?" I asked.

"Yeah, he said Mandy's going to drop off something for Frank Paris to look at. Speaking of Mandy, can I be blunt?"

"Sure," I said, but I had some apprehension for what was coming.

"The Bishop called me and said a lawyer representing the nun's religious Order took the Church to Court for an emergency hearing accusing it of a civil rights violation by refusing to permit a Church funeral mass for the dead nun. To cut to the chase, the Judge agreed the Church's actions rose to the level of discrimination and from the bench he gave the nun's Order the legal authority to arrange the burial, and ordered the Church to allow a funeral mass or show cause why it was refusing. The Church ultimately withdrew its objection. During oral argument the Church's lawyer alleged the nun's lawyer was being bankrolled by a charitable foundation linked to your fiancee Mandy, and he viewed that as an ethics violation because you were leading the criminal investigation of the church fires. Is that true?"

"Absolutely not. The lawyer is working pro-bono," I answered. "I don't even know her name." Damián apparently didn't expect me to answer with a firm denial without an explanation. He paused before responding.

"Daryl, the Bishop told me off the record he's being pressured to stall the nun's burial while the Cardinal and Vatican develop a response to the criticism they expect to get when her death hits the papers. The Bishop also told me the Church was considering one funeral mass for both the nun and the priest.

Now it was my turn to be speechless, which was a good thing. I was livid. My silence lasted only a few seconds.

"Are they out of their God-damned minds? Petrini is the one who gave her the fatal dose of fentanyl! He's murdered her!" I shouted in anger.

"Daryl! Calm down! The Church doesn't know that."

"Then give me the Cardinal's address and I'll go there and tell him to his face. One of his priests was a murderer, another one was a rapist!"

"Easy Man, easy! I agree with you! There has to be a solution to this, I just need time to think this through."

"We've run out of time, Damian. A couple of weeks ago you made the remark enough is enough when we were talking about the Church's coverups. Now's the time to back those words up with action."

After I spoke, I realized I was yelling. I knew better than that; that's not how I work.

I made an effort to calm down. "Why don't you give a copy of my criminal complaint to the Cardinal, Archbishop, and Bishop and let them read it. Then see what they have to say about one mass to bless the deaths of one of their nuns and her murderer, who happens to be one of their priests," I said.

Damian was silent. I waited him out.

"Daryl," he finally said, "I'm not defending the Church because Bishop Georgie Francis has been my lifetime friend; he's as incensed about all this as much as you are."

"Then either get my affidavit to them or set up a meeting within the next twenty-four hours to meet face to face. I'm not afraid to tell them that while they're taking their time to contemplate what to do, Sister Mary is lying on a stainless-steel tray in a refrigerator. She's not a throw-away Damian, but that's how they're treating her."

"Okay! Okay! Truce! I'll call the Bishop and make arrangements to immediately email your affidavit to all three of them. I'm going to demand they respond by two this afternoon or I'm going to hold a press conference and announce we have persons of interest and I'll name names and disclose the charges. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yeah, I'll agree to that. Speaking of press conferences, at some point soon you have to go public with the arrests. The Pittsfield paper's article on Gabriel's arrest has already gone national."

"I know, you're right," he said. "I've made up my mind. I think your plan will work. Vermont will arrest and prosecute the Russian for Petrini's murder; they have the strongest physical evidence. New York can lodge a warrant charging him with conspiracy to commit murder for providing the fentanyl that killed the nun. Massachusetts can prosecute Gabriel for the bomb factory charges, and I'll lodge a Federal warrant for domestic terrorism."

"I'll put it on the record it was the Russian who actually lit the church fires. I think we can prove that based on the fingerprint evidence found at the drug house fire and the similarity with how the church fires started. Each state that had a church fire can charge him with arson, and terrorism and lodge their warrants. I'll sign-off on Federal arrest warrants for the two women charging insurance fraud, larceny, and money laundering. The FBI can work with the Mass Economic Crimes Unit to flesh out the extent of the embezzlement."

I thought about what he had decided on how the prosecutions would go forward; it was exactly what I had suggested.

"This is an unusual way of doing it, but I think in the end it will satisfy all the agencies that have been involved in the case," he said. "If Washington balks at the arrangement, I can always file to transfer all the cases to Federal Court here in Boston. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah, thanks. Do me a favor, though. When Mandy shows up at your office this morning, please don't tell her about this conversation."

"Are you kidding? I don't want a war with that little spitfire. She's liable to drive her Bobcat down to my house! I'll call you in a few hours when I hear back from the Church leaders," he said as he ended the call.

I called Rich Prince and filled him in on Damian's decisions regarding prosecutions.

"Okay, that will work for us," he said. "We'll draft a warrant application to add the charges to the Parker kid's file. By the way, the DA was advised the hospital has him stabilized and recommends he be transferred to Bridgewater State Hospital for a full psych exam. The DA told me the Public Defender's office currently represents him, they have no objection."

"Okay, that's perfect. I'm curious what they're going to come up with for a diagnosis, but I wouldn't be surprised if a big part of it is schizophrenia."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Rich said. "Also, Freddy stopped in to see me first thing this morning. He said he had some information he needed checked out, but he's tied up with his forensic work on the computers we seized. He asked if one of my detectives could help him."

"Oh? He didn't say anything to me. What's he need?"

"He said Damian Costigan had him doing some investigation of Sister Mary's death and one of the things he was trying to run down was where some traveler's checks she had in her motel room were issued. He said he had a contact with American Express and she told him they were purchased for cash at the Pittsfield branch of Berkshire Bank and Trust."

"Yeah, he told me he was working on that right before we brought him in to help us with our case," I said.

"He asked if my detective would visit the bank and see if we provided the check numbers the bank would check their video archives to see if there's a photo of the person who purchased the checks. I said sure, we'd help", Rich explained.

"Thanks Rich, that's a loose end that slipped my mind. I'm willing to bet it was Petrini or his office manager Miriam Parker who bought them. Let me know how that turns out," I said as I ended the call.

I knew there was going to be a significant amount of follow-up work that needed to be done once the cases moved on to the Court phase, but that would be a chore for others to manage.

I leaned back in the recliner and raised the footrest. The case was closed as far as I was concerned. As I sat staring at the fireplace, now lying in repose after a strenuous winter run of providing heat and comfort, my mind wandered. For a reason I couldn't understand, I was still thinking about the case.

I thought about the twists and turns during the past month. Coming across Stefan Parker checking out a church I had identified as Gabriel's potential next target was a stroke of pure luck. Once I learned of the changes in the amounts of life insurance coverage for the priests who died in the Saint Dymphna fire, it was like opening Pandora's box.

Our original motive was logical; Gabriel was using the fires to punish the Church and priests involved in sexual abuse. Coming to realize the fires were a smokescreen to cover up insurance fraud was the game-changer. Weeks ago, Damian had made the comment the case was like living theater; he was right.

What I hadn't foreseen was the cast of characters going beyond a one man show. Four more suspects stepped from behind the curtain and associating them with Gabriel and figuring out their roles had me at a standstill. It was as if I was the story's narrator and I had forgotten my lines. Thankfully it was Mandy who became my off-stage prompter. Her math exercise sounded absurd to me at first, but in hindsight, it served as the tool that helped me understand the relationships between the suspects who were now the accused.

Why was I dwelling on all this I wondered? Had I missed something? Was there still one more piece of the puzzle before the investigation was truly over? Suddenly it dawned on me; Sister Mary McNally was not yet at eternal rest.

My few moments of self-doubt abruptly ended when my phone rang. It was Damian calling. I answered his call. As he spoke, his voice was noticeably calm.

"The Bishop just called me. He said the Church leaders read your affidavit. They're devasted. They had no idea about what you uncovered. They're shocked to learn Sister Mary McNally was murdered." I forced myself not to comment.

"The Cardinal instructed the Bishop to contact the nun's lawyer and work with her to arrange a funeral mass for Sister Mary within a week. He said he and the Archbishop will not attend, and he instructed the Bishop to assign a priest as the celebrant. The Bishop told me he'll assist at the mass.

"Does the Bishop have someone in mind to perform the service?" I asked.

"Yes, Monsignor Thomas Hennessey."

I was surprised by his choice. "Has the Bishop spoken with the Monsignor yet? I asked.

"No, he said he would call him this evening and make arrangements for someone to go down to West Stockbridge and bring him up to the church in Cambridge."

"Do me a favor. Call the Bishop and tell him Mandy and I will drive the Monsignor. His rest home is only fifteen minutes from our house and the Monsignor was very helpful to me in the investigation."

"Are you sure you want to do that Daryl? I know how upset you are with how the Church has handled this."

"Yeah, I'm sure, just make the call. Anything else?" I asked.

"No," he answered. "I'll be in touch once I learn the funeral date and time." We ended the call without further discussion.

I got up from the recliner, walked over to the sliders leading to the back deck and looked out onto the meadow. I noticed some stakes had been driven into the ground off to the left side of the lawn. I guessed that's where Mandy and Erik planned her vegetable garden. I shook my head in amusement; she had a knack of getting her way. I thought about how she had challenged the Church leaders. Thanks to her persistence, Sister Mary would finally be laid to rest by the Church she was preparing to serve for the rest of her life.

I heard a knocking on the kitchen door, I went over to see who it was and was surprised to see it was Freddy.

"Hey! I was hoping to catch you at home. Got a few minutes? he asked.

I invited him in and asked if he wanted something to drink as he sat down on the sofa in the family room. "A light beer if you have one," he answered. His quick response surprised me. I went behind the bar and pulled two bottles from the refrigerator.

`

"Everything okay" I asked as I handed the bottle to him.

"Yeah, I just had to get out of the barracks for a while. I've been working on the computers you guys seized, and I was starting to see double! I just needed some time to clear my head."

"Finding anything interesting?" I asked as I sat down on the sofa across from him.

"Oh yeah! Miriam Parker was very methodical in her bookkeeping. I'm not an accountant, but the Economic Crime guys told me she kept two sets of books for Redemption's three businesses. The crazy part is, I don't think she was benefitting from the scam."

"What do you mean?"

"I found her payroll file; she was on salary; seventeen hundred fifty bucks a week. Her tax deductions were all listed, payments made for her and her son's medical insurance, premiums on a fifty thousand life policy for her. Nothing looked out of order. She had another file of accounts payable for office expense, again all the ledger entries looked legit."

"You said there were two sets of books. What's in the other?"

"Well, to quote one of the Economic Crime detectives, the pot at the end of the rainbow!"

"What do you mean?"

Money was pouring into the receivable's accounts, mostly wire transfers from out of the country. Another file had disbursements. There were literally hundreds of transfers out of the account to a couple of off-shore banks, millions flowed through the account over the past year."

"Money laundering?" I asked.

"That's my guess, but something I found confused me at first."

"What do you mean?"

"I found Miriam used one password to access her bookkeeping. When I tried to open the accounts payables file, her password didn't have access. I played around with that for a while and realized that the outgoing money transfers were being conducted from a remote computer. Someone was accessing her system from the outside, using their own password and making the transfers."

"That's weird," I said as I took a sip of my beer."

"Yeah, but it got more weird. I cracked the password with the program I wrote and was able to trace the hacker's account to a server in Saddle River, New Jersey."

"New Jersey? What's the connection to Redemption?"

The FBI found that the Russian architect you guys arrested lives in Saddle River, New Jersey."

I thought about what Freddy was telling me. Vasily Federov was hacking into Redemption. Monsignor Petrini had to be in on it.

"The FBI down in Jersey is putting together a search warrant for his house. I have no idea what this guy was doing with all that money, but it looked to me to easily be in the millions," he said as he drained half his bottle with one long draw.

"That does sound like money laundering to me," I said. "But for who? Who was he working with?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but I heard the detectives talking and it sounded to me like they thought the Russian was taking advantage of fluctuations of the US dollar in the international money markets. Something about foreign currency being transferred into accounts in Europe, then being wired into Redemption's accounts after being converted to US dollars. They tried explaining to me how it was being done, but it was way over my head. That's when I decided I needed to take a break for a while."

"Yeah, I don't understand how that works either," I responded;

"There's one more thing I found in the Parker guy's computer," he said. I found that the social media posts from Ultor and Nogod4me both originated from his computer."

"What?"

"Yeah, that's what I said to myself when I came across it, but yeah, Parker was writing the posts as two different personalities. He's a schizo Daryl. I also found how he was accessing the dark web to make his posts and that's what stopped me dead in my tracks."

"What do you mean?"

"I found a program that allowed him to jump from server to server in three different Middle East and Eastern European countries in seconds and saw that it was actually a backdoor portal into the dark web. I've never seen anything like this before. This guy was a freakin' genius!"

"Freddy, I'm not following you."

"Daryl, this puny little guy holed up in his mother's basement like a rodent had a program on his computer that's virtually impossible to trace. I only found it because I had his computer in front of me. I downloaded the program to examine it, and I have to say, I've never seen anything like it. I called Frank and told him, he said for me to copy it into a file and send it to him. He's thinking we should send it to the NSA or CIA and let them look at it. This is a high-level covert piece of AI.

"AI?" I asked.

"Yeah, artificial intelligence. Where you been, Man? This is cutting edge computer science you stumbled across."

"Change subjects for a minute. Did Mandy say when the funeral will be for the nun? I told you yesterday Heather and I want to attend."

I explained I was waiting to hear the funeral arrangements and thanked him, remarking I didn't want to see Sister Mary's soul sent up to Heaven from an empty church."

"Wow! That's really profound. I never thought of it that way. You know, I'm sure some of the detectives on the case would attend the service if they knew about it. Is it all right if I mention it to them?"

"Yeah, whatever you think is best. It will be up in Cambridge though, that much I know," I said.

He looked at his watch. "I have to get back to the barracks for my final briefing to the team. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, I'm out of this. Damian asked me to identify Gabriel, I've done that," I answered.

I walked him to the door and watched as he left. I spent the rest of the day enjoying a quiet afternoon; watching TV, occasionally venturing out to the kitchen to forage for snacks. Despite the pressures of the last few weeks having been lifted from me; I had a restless feeling. A phone call just before five convinced me I might have ESP. It was Damian.

"Hey! Got a few minutes?" he asked when I answered. "Sure, what's going on?" I asked.

"Our New York Sheriffs friends issued a press release about an hour ago to report an arrest warrant had been issued in the nun's murder."

"They laid out all the details of your case; the cause of her death, names of the accused, the insurance fraud motive, everything!"

" _What?_ How did that happen?"

"Apparently this morning Major Prince held a video conference with the New York and Vermont detectives to brief them on how I'd decided to split up the prosecutions. I can't blame him for what happened next, those guys needed to know the cases had been solved."

"What do you mean, for what happened next?"

"Our phones here at the office have been swamped by calls from the media looking for more information. Right now, there's three satellite news trucks on the street in front of the courthouse. I've got to make a statement; I have no choice and wanted to let you know before I did it."

Curiously, I wasn't upset by his news. I expected that any mention of the Church's sex abuse connection would make sensational news. I could foresee endless finger pointing as the media followed the case through the court proceedings.

"Daryl, I mean this sincerely. This is and will remain one of the most difficult cases of my career. You have my deepest gratitude for all your work."

"Thanks, Boss. I don't envy you for what you're going to go through dealing with the press. I'll be attending Sister Mary's funeral with Mandy; you and I can talk when I get into town."

"That's fine. I spoke with the Bishop about an hour ago. He mentioned the funeral is going to be this Saturday morning and I told him my wife and I will attend."

"Okay, thanks for the info. I haven't heard from Mandy today; I expect she'll call me this evening and fill me in on the details. I'll see you Saturday," I said and ended the call.

Suddenly, my restless feeling had been erased. I went and made myself a drink. At six-thirty Mandy called. She was excited but sounded tired as she began explaining her busy day.

I listened as she filled me in on the funeral arrangements. She had chartered a bus to bring the nuns down from Sister Mary's Order in Montreal and booked hotel rooms for them and a room for the bus driver. Lindsey had been on the phone with the Bishop's secretary several times finalizing the mass details. The New York Sheriff's Department had offered to send an honor guard to act as pallbearers. They planned on staying overnight following the service and would head back to New York on Sunday. Mandy and I would drive the Monsignor to Cambridge Friday afternoon, she had booked him a room to stay until we all returned to Stockbridge Sunday afternoon.

"Oh?" I asked, 'We're going to stay up there until Sunday?"

She said yes, she planned a reception after the cemetery burial and for us to have dinner Saturday night with the Monsignor and the nuns. I told her that was fine. We ended the call with her saying she and Lindsey were going for dinner and she's be home late tomorrow morning.

I skipped dinner, made myself another drink and went to bed early.

# Chapter 32

On Friday Mandy returned home a little before noon. She told me Damian had given a press conference about the arrests in the case and newspapers across the country had picked up the story. I went online and to my dismay, as I suspected, the involvement of Monsignor Petrini in the insurance scam that prompted the fires put the Church dead center in the crosshairs of public outrage. Mandy started following comments on social media and quickly became frightened by the vicious accusations and threats being levied against the Church. Thankfully I was able to persuade her not to look at the posts anymore because of how they were upsetting her.

Friday afternoon at two we picked up Monsignor Hennessey at the St. Francis Retreat House and he and Mandy got acquainted on the drive up to Boston. I was pleased to see they seemed comfortable with each other. We checked in at the hotel and learned the nuns hadn't yet arrived from Montreal. At the Monsignor's request we took a drive over to St. Paul Parish where he met with the pastor to discuss plans for the mass. Mandy and I passed the time as they talked by taking a walk around the grounds.

When I was living in Boston, I rarely ventured over to Harvard Square, or frequented any of the bars and taverns that dot the historic downtown streets. Now in hindsight, I thought I might have enjoyed rubbing elbows and hoisting a few tankards with the Ivy-League elite.

As we walked the church grounds my cellphone beeped, I saw it was Rich Prince calling.

"Hey Daryl, you home?" he asked.

I told him we were in Cambridge with the Monsignor. "Oh, okay," he said. "My wife and I are driving up tomorrow for the funeral, and by the way, a group of the detectives are also going. They feel as if they knew the nun and want to pay their respects."

"But that's not why I'm calling," he said, his voice becoming somber. "I'm afraid I have some upsetting information."

"What's going on, Rich?" I asked.

"Our intelligence unit has been monitoring some anti-church social media sites. Apparently, a group of victim advocates are planning a protest against the Church at tomorrow's funeral."

" _What?"_ I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, purportedly they're a group of sex abuse survivors and their families and they're demanding the Church be held accountable for their coverup of clergy abuse." I was stunned.

Mandy sensed my change in attitude and tugged on my arm. "What now?" She asked. I motioned for her to wait a minute.

"I know this is the last thing we want to have happen, but there's not much we can do to stop them," he said.

"Don't they have to have a permit or something to demonstrate?" I asked.

"Our intelligence is that they've made some inquiries to the City, but they plan on assembling in a public park across the street from the Church. As long as they don't block access to the park, or disrupt traffic, they can exercise their First Amendment rights."

I'm a lawyer and I should have known that before I asked the question. He was right.

"Okay," I said. "We'll just have to ignore them."

"That might be easier said than done," he responded. "We don't want to blow this out of proportion, but my Department is going to have a tactical unit discretely posted near the Church in case things get out of hand. Maybe we'll be lucky, and it'll be a silent protest."

"All right, anything else I should know," I asked.

Not that I can think of. You probably heard that the New York Sheriffs volunteered to be pall bearers. Jack Merrill called me, he said he and a few Vermont Troopers were planning on coming down for the funeral. I have nothing else other than that."

I thanked him for the update and ended the call. I slid my phone into my pocket and turned to look at Mandy.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but now what?" she asked.

I told her of the planned protest and instantly I saw the anger flush red on her face. "Oh no! They aren't going to disrupt Sister Mary's funeral." No way!" She shook her head emphatically in denial and started to walk away from me in anger. I followed and gently grabbed her arm to stop her. Her instinctive reaction was to jerk her arm away from me.

"Mandy, wait! Rich Prince said there's a group of troopers planning on attending the funeral, and his department will have extra troopers at the church to prevent any disruptions. They won't allow anyone to interfere with the service."

"She looked at me. "And I suppose now there'll be TV and news people at the Church?"

"Yeah, there might be, but they can't film inside the Church or otherwise disrupt the service," I explained.

"You do know that the Bishop will be at the mass, don't you? Are you going to tell him about this?" I had to think how to answer her.

"No, I'll call Damian and give him the heads up. He may want to have some of the agents assigned to his office escort the Bishop. That's his call. And by the way, Damian told me he and Maggie plan on attending."

She looked into my eyes. "Daryl why is this happening to us. I thought I was doing something kind. Why can't people understand that?"

I gave her a hug and took her hand to walk with me.

"What you're doing is beautiful, Hon. And I love you for your compassion. My hope is that as this plays out in the news, people will realize that change is needed. Not only on the part of the Church's Leadership, but also on the part of the victims and future victims. They have to have the courage to call this abuse out for what it is; a crime. The most despicable kind of crime. Maybe tomorrow will be the start of that change."

She squeezed my hand and we walked in silence between us until Monsignor Hennessey came outside with the Pastor.

We arrived back at the hotel just as the bus carrying the nuns arrived. I was surprised to see it wasn't a large coach but rather a new looking airport shuttle type vehicle. Mandy greeted them and introduced herself. I was taken aback to see the nuns were all older woman, dressed in full clerical habits. I glanced around and saw some of the other hotel guests gawking as Mandy assisted the Mother General with assigning rooms for her nuns. I smiled as I watched the Monsignor making the rounds introducing himself. He seemed to be enjoying his celebrity. As I watched I thought maybe he had the right idea. We needed to celebrate Sister Mary's life, not mourn her.

Saturday morning as we turned onto St. Auburn Street, we couldn't believe our eyes. An hour before the mass was scheduled to start, hundreds of people were lining the street waiting to enter the church.

"My God! What's going on?" Mandy called out. I looked over at her and saw she was wide-eyed in amazement. Monsignor Hennessey who was sitting in the back seat of our car craned his neck to take it all in.

"It seems we'll have a large turnout," he said. "This is a beautiful sight! Praise the Lord!"

I noticed there was a large contingent of local police directing traffic and assisting people crossing the street from the city park. A uniformed officer stopped us. I explained I had brought the Monsignor who was conducting the mass, he directed us to a reserved parking area in the driveway on the side of the church. As I pulled over to park, I saw Rich Prince and several Troopers in full dress uniforms. He came over to the car and helped Monsignor Hennessey out. A Trooper walked over and escorted him to the sacristy entrance.

I asked Rich about any protestors, he said there were about thirty of them across the street in the park. "I got here early and went over to talk with them. They were actually very cordial and told me they would be holding a silent vigil during the mass," he said. "I don't anticipate any problems, but to be on the safe side, the City has assigned a few officers to stay with them." I was relieved at his news.

I looked over to tell Mandy what Rich had said and noticed she had left me and was walking over to Lindsey and Judge Moran who had just arrived. I went over to join them.

"Did you see all this?" Lindsey exclaimed as she waved her arm toward the gathering crowd. "This is incredible!"

Rich, who had followed me, remarked, "Apparently you folks didn't see yesterday's Boston papers. Almost their entire front pages had articles about the Gabriel case and Sister Mary's murder. They had a small feature article about this church and mentioned a public funeral mass was scheduled for today. I guess the stories touched a nerve with a lot of people."

"Oh! There's the bus with the nuns!" Mandy exclaimed as she pointed up the street. An officer directed it to the side driveway and Mandy and Lindsey went over to greet them.

I motioned to a nearby stone bench and asked Judge Moran if he wanted to sit. He said her would; we went over and sat down. A few minutes later I saw Damian and his wife Maggie, and Freddy and Heather walking toward the Church from the park across the street. They spotted the Judge and me and came over to join us.

At quarter to eleven we saw a small motorcade of police cruisers turn onto the street, their emergency strobes flashing as they led a hearse into the side driveway. I noticed it was followed by two marked New York Sheriff's Department cars. We stood as we saw the crowd waiting outside start to file inside the church.

Mandy and Lindsey joined us, as we entered the church an usher escorted us to a pew up front behind where the Montreal and local nuns were seated. The fragrance of flowers was incredible; not overpowering but comforting. I looked over at the casket that had been placed in the center aisle at the foot of the altar. It was a beautiful champagne-beige color with a blanket of red roses draped across the top. Mandy and Lindsey had seen to every detail.

At five minutes past eleven we all rose as Monsignor Hennessey followed by the Bishop and three parish priests, walked in front of the altar and blessed the casket. The odor of burning incense irritated my eyes and I could feel them becoming moist. I looked over at Mandy and saw a single tear slowly rolling down her left cheek. She dabbed at it with a tissue as she looked over at me. I had a feeling this was just the beginning of tears for her this morning. I reached over and held her hand.

The mass was long, and true to form from my younger days, I had to work at not fidgeting in the hard, straight-back wooden pew. Thankfully, Monsignor Hennessey's homily was short, yet inspirational. He obviously made no mention of Sister Mary's death occurring as the result of a crime. I must admit, as the mass ended and the New York Sheriffs rose to take their place as pallbearers and move the casket out to the hearse, I had a feeling of relief.

Rich said he would drive the Monsignor and Bishop to the cemetery, the ride was slow as we were escorted through the city traffic. When we arrived, I saw several TV news satellite trucks parked on the street, photographers and a video team were scampering up a hillside under the watchful eyes of three local cops who were stationed to prevent them from going over to the graveside.

We walked up onto a knoll overlooking a pond. "This is the plot I bought for Sister Mary," Mandy said as we got to the grave. "As soon as I saw it, I just had a tranquil feeling come over me. I can't explain it. It gives me goosebumps when I think about it."

"It's perfect Hon, and the headstone monument is beautiful," I said.

The graveside service was attended by just a few of us; the nuns, the Troopers and Sheriffs, Judge Moran and Lindsey, Damian and Maggie, and Freddy and Heather. The service was brief, a few prayers and psalms, and a blessing of the grave.

I looked over at Mandy, she slowly went down on her knees and quietly prayed. Sister Mary had entered into eternal rest.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Mandy stood and dried her eyes. She told the group she had arranged a luncheon back at our hotel and they were encouraged to have something to eat. We waited and watched as each of the nuns paid their individual private respects. When the last one finished, we headed back to the hotel. Mandy was quiet as I drove, she leaned her head back into the headrest. This had been difficult for her, and I wondered if she would ever tell me why she had put herself through all this.

Once we got settled at the luncheon, the mood seemed much lighter. Monsignor seemed to be enjoying holding court with the nuns, their occasional laughter told me his Irish wit was intact. Damian, Judge Moran and I concentrated more on eating than conversation. Jack Merrill and his Vermont Troopers were seated at the table behind us. My curiosity was getting the better of me. I appreciated them coming down for the funeral but wondered what compelled them to make the trip. I excused myself from my table, leaned over and asked Jack to join me out in the foyer.

I thanked him and his men for coming to the funeral, he said it was the right thing to do and remarked as it worked out, they were killing two birds with one stone.

"What do you mean?" I asked."

"Didn't Rich tell you? Vasily Federov agreed to waive extradition. My guys and I are driving over to Pittsfield tomorrow and we're going to arrest him on our murder warrant and take him back to Vermont for arraignment."

"No, he didn't mention it," I answered. "What made Federov give up so easily and so quickly?"

"I guess he'd rather serve a life sentence in Vermont rather than in the New York prison system."

I told Jack I knew what he meant and thanked him for the information. As I turned to walk with him back to our tables I saw Damian and Rich coming toward us.

"You guys holding a strategy meeting without us?" Damian asked.

"No, Jack just told me that Federov waived extradition, I didn't know that," I said as I looked at Rich.

"I just found out myself yesterday when the DA called me," Rich said.

"I thought with the funeral coming up, and that on your mind, I'd wait before I said anything. I asked the DA if we could question him before Jack took custody of him; she said Federov refuses to make a statement or answer questions. All he wants is access to a phone to call a lawyer."

"No harm done, Rich. We have him solid on Petrini's murder. I'll be glad to see him go."

"Gentlemen, there's been some developments on my end," Damian said, "but this is neither the time nor the place to discuss them. Let's plan on a conference call Tuesday afternoon and I'll fill you in." We returned to our tables and the luncheon ended about an hour later.

Mandy and I spent the afternoon taking a nap in our room. I woke up and looked at my watch to find it was four-thirty. Mandy was coming out of the shower. We talked and decided we would pass on dinner; she said she wanted to check on the nuns and make sure the Mother General knew their meals were being provided without cost to them and she would encourage them to eat. After she left, I took a shower and went down to the hotel bar for a drink. I sat down at a corner table and ordered my old reliable VO and coke. I was watching a spring training ball game on one of the wall mounted TVs when I heard a familiar voice say, "I should have known I'd find you here. Come here often Little Boy?" She sat down and when the waitress came over ordered a glass of Chablis.

"That was a beautiful service, wasn't it?" she asked. I agreed and thanked her for everything she and Lindsey had done.

"I have a question," she said as the waitress brought her drink and set it on the table." I'm all set with the room and food charges on my credit card, but I was wondering, should I give the nun's bus driver a tip?"

I asked if a gratuity was included in the quote, she had received from the bus company, she said she didn't know. I said yes, a tip would be appropriate.

"OK, I think they have an ATM in the lobby, I'll take some cash out."

I reached into my back pocket, took out my wallet and gave her a hundred-dollar bill.

"A hundred dollars?" she asked. "I was going to give him fifty and thought that was being generous." I sat back and looked at her.

"Honey, he'll be driving for eight hours with a dozen senior citizen nuns. Picture that. On second thought, maybe he deserves two hundred," I said.

"No! I get it," she said with a laugh. "A hundred will do just fine. Thank You, I'll give this to him in the morning."

We sat in the bar for an hour, I had another drink, she nursed her wine. When she finished, I settled our tab and we went over to the dining room to check on the nuns.

To my surprise they were all seated at a long table with Monsignor Hennessey seated at the head. Mandy walked around checking on each nun, they all said they were enjoying themselves and each in turn thanked her for her generosity.

When she came back over to me, she said the Mother General wanted to head back to Montreal not later than nine tomorrow morning. That was fine with me.

In the morning we met the nuns and Monsignor in the lobby, Mandy thanked the bus driver for his services and gave him the gratuity as she wished him a safe trip. She went to the front desk to settle the room and meal charges and we were on the road with the Monsignor a half hour later. He and Mandy chatted during the ride, all in all it was a pleasant trip. After carrying his bags into the lobby at his Retreat House residence, we said our goodbyes and headed to our house.

As I pulled into the driveway, we noticed something parked near the barn. As we got closer, I saw it was a brand-new John Deere garden tractor with a large pink bow tied to the steering wheel.

"What the heck is that?" Mandy exclaimed as she started to get out of the car before I came to a complete stop. She got out and quickly walked up to it; as I shut the car off, I saw her take an envelope from the seat and open it.

"Oh Wow! It's a gift from Bernie and Erik. Look!" she said excitedly as she handed me the card. It read "Mandy, our gift to you! We think this will make your gardening adventures more fun. Enjoy!"

"How sweet! This is great!" she said as she hopped onto the seat and grabbed the steering wheel. "Let's go inside, I've got to call them and say thank you!" she said as she ran to the kitchen door and let herself in.

"That's okay," I said to myself under my breath. "I'll get your bags for you," as I walked around and opened the back hatch. Inside the house I found her in the kitchen talking excitedly on the phone. She must have said thank you a half dozen times as I stood there. At the least, I was glad to see she was happy and excited after everything she had gone through the past month.

I spent some time outside with Mandy in the afternoon as she tried out her new tractor. Erik came over and added to the surprise when he showed us a small trailer, he and Bernie had also bought for her. After a while I went back inside the house and worked on organizing my Gabriel case files, gathering all the printouts Mandy had made for me and setting up a file folder. After that, I settled into my recliner in the family room and rested.

I must admit, I was curious about what Damian had meant when he said there were some developments in the case on his end, but that would have to wait until our conference call tomorrow afternoon.

A little after four, I thought I heard a car in the driveway, I got up and saw that Freddy and Heather had stopped by. I watched them walk over to Mandy who was still playing with her new yard toy; after a few minutes Freddy knocked on the kitchen door and walked in.

"Hey! I finished up my work for Rich Prince's guys and thought I'd stop by and fill you in. Have a few minutes?" he asked. I said sure.

Freddy reported he had thoroughly examined the computer we seized from Claire Lockwood's office at Somerset Insurance and Miriam Parker's system from Redemption Management. "I'm pretty sure it was the Lockwood woman who was the person running the insurance scam." he said.

"What makes you say that," I asked.

"I retrieved some emails she deleted, they go back almost two years, right around the same time I think the malware program infected Somerset's mainframe. The emails were between her and the Russian guy. Aside from the cryptic messages about benefit claims, it looks like the two of them were having an affair for quite a while."

"That's interesting," I said. "I wondered about that early on; I wasn't sure if it was Federov or the Monsignor who was involved with her."

'It was Federov, I'm sure of it. What really surprised me was I saw emails from the Parker woman. Her messages were all business, nothing unusual at all. In fact, I thought she was a pretty efficient bookkeeper."

"So, what's the bottom line on all of this?" I asked.

"Bottom line? I don't think the Parker woman knew what was going on with the claims being manipulated."

"Wow! I'm surprised," I said. "But what about the way the claims payments were being split? Don't you think Miriam Parker knew that? If she did, I'd think she was in on the scam."

"I'd agree with you, but remember I told you she was locked out of the second bank account I found. I think she never saw any of the deposits of payments from Somerset and the other monies that were wired into it. That's the account I told you was being accessed from New Jersey. Now we know that's where the Russian was living."

"Does Damian know about this?" I asked.

"Yeah. I emailed him my forensic exam report last Friday. He called me a couple of hours later and asked me pretty much the same questions you just did."

"He said something about his office was contacted by a lawyer who said he was representing the Parker woman, and he wanted to set up a meeting for her to give some information he said we needed to know. I don't know what if anything came of that."

I wondered to myself if this was the development Damian had mentioned.

"There's one more thing," Freddy said." Damian told me the our guys in the Newark field office raided the Russian guy's house and seized his computers and some business records. He said the Bureau cybercrimes unit would do the forensic exam and asked me to cooperate with them if they called me. Maybe they'll be able to figure out the international money transactions that I found."

"What about the malware program you found? Was Frank able to figure out the origin and how it works?" I asked.

"No, he said he's never seen anything like it. He said the program is definitely Eastern European in its configuration and coding; we've seen that style before. His guess is it's Russian. He told me he spoke with Damian and they agreed he would Fed-X the thumb drive to the Bureau lab in Quantico for them to take a crack at it. We think it's too dangerous a virus to email it. It's constructed similar to what I found on the Parker guy's computer. All I know is whoever designed these is a better programmer than I am!"

Hey! Don't sell yourself short, Pal. You did some brilliant work for us and I mean it when I say we wouldn't have solved this case without your help," I said.

"Well thanks. But I learned something out of all of this."

"What's that?"

"I'm a better technician than I am a field agent. I had the Sister Mary case figured all wrong."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. For the longest time I thought sure Gabriel was a victim of clerical sex abuse and I was wrong about that. We're not perfect."

He looked as if he was considering what I'd just said but didn't say anything.

"So, my friend, what's next on your agenda?" I asked. I saw a grin form on his face.

"After our conference call with Damian tomorrow, I'm taking the rest of the week off, but I'm staying around here. By the way, you can close out my room at the Red Lion. I feel guilty because I guess you've figured out; I've been staying at Heather's apartment."

That's not a problem. Mandy and I think she's a real sweetheart and we can see she's had quite an effect on you!"

He gave me a sheepish look. "Yeah," he said as he looked down at the floor. "I didn't see her coming in my life, but I have to admit, I like being with her."

"Then just have fun, enjoy your life, and see what tomorrow brings," I said as I stood up. "C'mon, let's go see what the ladies are up to."

We went outside and after twenty minutes of conversation about Mandy's upcoming agricultural extravaganza, Freddy and Heather said their goodbyes and left. I stayed with Mandy as she walked me through the area of the back lawn that she and Erik were going to cultivate and construct a wire fence to keep the wildlife out. I didn't have a problem with the location, it would get sunlight all day, but the size threw me. It was large.

"Mandy, this looks awfully big. It's just the two of us. Don't you think this will produce more vegetables than we could ever eat?"

"Yeah? But I have a plan."

I was almost afraid to ask, but I did.

"Kristin Holcomb told me she and Matt have had gardens for two years now and she donates most of the vegetables to the Pittsfield Food Pantry Summer farm to table project. I thought that's a great idea," she said. "She cans a lot of her crop, keeps some, and donates the rest. She said she'd teach me canning and we can go together and donate what we don't keep for ourselves. I think it will be fun!"

I smiled, nodded that I understood and walked away to look at the flower beds along the back of the house. I turned around and saw her walking around to study the area she would be planting and couldn't help but smile.

As I stood there daydreaming, my cellphone beeped. I was hesitant to see who was calling, but I knew I had to. Surprisingly, I saw it was Captain Jack Merrill of the Vermont State Police.

"Jack! What's up? I asked."

"Hey! I just wanted to let you know we took custody of Federov and I tried talking to him on the drive up here, but he refused to say anything. He just glared at me. We arraigned him in Court for the murder of Monsignor Petrini, the judge set his bond at one million, cash only. The son-of-a-bitch laughed and smiled when he heard the judge set the bond. You don't think he has access to that kind of cash, do you?"

I had to think for a moment. "I don't know, Jack. There was some talk questioning whether he was tied into the Russian mob. Who knows what resources or agents they have in this country?"

"Well, that's a concern," he said. "Rich Prince made mention of possible money laundering. Any luck finding out if he has cash stashed anywhere?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I heard just today that the FBI in New Jersey raided his house and they seized computers and business records. Hopefully they'll find some bank records."

"What do you suggest I do?" he asked.

"The New York Sheriff's Department went public and said they'd obtained a warrant charging him with Sister Mary's murder. Did your prosecutor up there mention that to the judge? Did New York lodge their warrant with you guys?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it. The judge asked to see it, the prosecutor had to tell him we physically didn't have it, but it was entered into NCIC. The judge said he wanted to see a physical copy."

"That's strange," I said. "I've never heard of that. No matter; I suggest you get on the phone with New York and ask them to prepare a certified and exemplified copy of the warrant. If you have to, set something up to have one of their deputies meet you half-way and hand deliver the copy to one of your Troopers."

"That's what I thought," he said," I just wanted to run that by you first. My concern is if he were able to post bond, he'd flee the country. This case is too important and sensational to let that happen."

"I agree. Are you going to be on Damian's conference call tomorrow?" I asked.

"I am. I'm waiting for his secretary to text me the call-in number and password. You're on the call, right?"

"I am. Bring this up to Damian, I'm sure he'll agree with what I just told you."

"Okay, thanks again Daryl. Your work on this case gave my department some great publicity. I'm grateful."

"No thanks are necessary, Jack. It was a team effort all around. I'll talk with you tomorrow," I said and ended the call.

# Chapter 33

Tuesday morning at nine-thirty Damian's Executive Secretary Kathleen Curtis texted me the twelve-fifteen pm phone conference call-in number and password. I saw in the text header the invitees included Major Rich Prince, Capt. Jack Merrill, NY Sheriff's Investigator Dan Cantrell, FBI Agent Steve Foreman assigned to Damian's office, The Berkshire County District Attorney's Office, FBI Covert Operations Agent Pat Collins, and me. I logged in at twelve-ten.

On the dot at twelve-fifteen Kathy came onto the phone and took roll call. All of us were accounted for.

"Gentlemen," Damian greeted us. "Thanks' for calling in. I wanted to brief you on a development that came up within the past few days; it may help to answer the few remaining questions we have in the Gabriel case. Please bear with me, this is a comprehensive briefing."

"As you know, we have sufficient physical evidence to prove Gabriel is in fact Stefan Parker, age twenty-nine, residing on Spruce Street in Pittsfield with his mother Miriam Parker. Investigation has determined the fires at three churches and the Saint Dymphna Manor Care Center were actually actions to divert attention from an on-going multi-million-dollar insurance fraud."

"We have developed evidence to prove the scheme was orchestrated by the recently deceased Monsignor Matthew Petrini, his accused murderer Russian architect Vasily Federov, and Somerset Insurance employee Claire Lockwood."

"I was contacted by an attorney representing Miriam Parker, offering for her to provide information relative to her employment by Redemption Management Systems, a business entity formed by Monsignor Petrini to manage much of the Church's business operations in Massachusetts and New England. Ms. Parker was Redemptions office manager and sole employee. I agreed to the attorney's offer."

"We met at my offices in Boston last Friday for approximately three hours. During that time Ms. Parker told us her son Stefan was conceived out of wedlock after she was sexually assaulted by a now deceased priest, Father Albert Rastone, who died in the fire at Saint Dymphna Manor."

"Ms. Parker stated when she became pregnant, through her family she sued the Diocese the priest was assigned to. The suit was subsequently withdrawn upon the parties agreeing to a financial settlement. Ms. Parker stated that from an early age Stefan showed signs of mental impairment, initially diagnosed as retardation. In his early teens he was re-diagnosed as autistic with savant ideations. She said he was home schooled due to behavioral issues that surfaced when he was enrolled in a public schools. She described as Stefan aged, he became consumed with religious theology and claimed he heard heavenly voices that were directing his actions. She described his condition worsened and she was threatened by the State of Washington Child Services who sought to institutionalize him., She fled the State of Washington and established a home for him in Pittsfield.

"In the new environment she said Stefan thrived; the money she was receiving from the Washington Diocese paid for an in-home tutor. In his mid-teens his tutor realized Stefan had a photographic memory for everything he read in the Bible. His tutor passed away from illness when Stefan was twenty years old, but he continued his bible studies independently. At the time Miriam was a claims representative for Somerset insurance."

"Through her employment she met Monsignor Petrini, who was a close friend of Miriam's department supervisor, Claire Lockwood. Over time Miriam told the Monsignor of Stefan's condition, he ultimately befriended the youth, fascinated by his recall of biblical writings."

"Ms. Parker stated after a year of friendship with Monsignor Petrini he told her he was forming a company to manage the Church's business interests, including insurance coverage. She said Claire Lockwood negotiated significant insurance coverage for the Church due to her relationship with the Monsignor, resulting in her receiving a promotion."

"It was through the Monsignor that Claire met Vasily Federov, whom

the Monsignor said was a noted architect he had retained to help him with renovating church owned properties. Ms. Parker said within a matter of months she realized Mr. Federov and Claire Lockwood had become romantically involved."

"About a year and a half ago the Monsignor approached Ms. Parker with a proposal for her to come to work for him as the office manager for

his property management company. She said the wage he offered, salary and medical benefits, was better than what Somerset was paying. She accepted his offer."

"Ms. Parker stated the Monsignor's business interests were extensive, she managed the insurance related claims for the multiple dioceses to include health, property and casualty claims. About one year ago the Monsignor informed her he was considering leaving the Church and pursuing his success as a non-clerical business manager. She said he seemed to change his behaviors, and she became aware he was becoming involved in personal relationships with young women. She said she felt this was morally wrong but working for him provided her with financial stability and she remained silent."

"Ms. Parker stated she became concerned when the Monsignor informed her, he was going to charge the Church for what he described as a commission for his business services, and that he alone would manage the associated billing and banking process for his fees. She offered to help him, he made it very clear to her assistance wasn't needed."

"She stated it was shortly after that conversation when she noticed a new program appeared on her computer. The Monsignor explained going forward all church related claims would be submitted through the new software. She said her curiosity caused her to explore the new format, but she saw she was denied access to most of the sub-system files except for claims submitted and accounts receivables payable to the Church."

"She said her income allowed her to have an apartment built for her son in the basement of the house she owned on Spruce Street. By that time Stefan had successfully passed his driver's license test and she bought him a used pickup truck. It was when he found his ability to live more independently, he developed an interest in computers and model rocketry. She felt he was coming out of his reclusive behaviors and encouraged him with her monetary support."

"She stated it was during that time period Monsignor Petrini's architect friend Vasily Federov started to frequently come to her home and spend time with Stefan in his apartment."

"After a few weeks she noticed Stefan was acting hostile toward her and after days of gently prodding him to tell her what was troubling him, he said Vasily told him his father was an evil priest who had raped his mother when she was a child. Ms. Parker stated from that moment going forward, Stefan showed her nothing but hatred."

"He told her he had booby-trapped his apartment with bombs and if she ever set foot down there, she would die. She said she was scared to death and had no one to turn to for help."

"From that day to the day he was arrested, she said they had almost no personal contact. She said she would leave an envelope with spending money for him at the top of the stairs every week. She suspected from finding dirty dishes and empty food wrappings that while she was at work or away from the house he would go upstairs for food. She said his apartment has a small electric stove, refrigerator, microwave and bathroom, but admitted she hadn't gone downstairs for almost six months because of his threat she would die."

I don't know who on the conference call muttered, "Jesus," but whomever it was, they were speaking what I thought all of us were thinking.

"I questioned Ms. Parker extensively," Damian said. "She believes Vasily Federov used her son to create the explosive devices that lit the church fires. She said he took advantage of Stefan's mental deficit by preying upon his vulnerability; he convinced Stefan his biological father was an evil man created by Satan. She believed her son was so consumed by his biblical readings that he translated Vasily's words as being a message from God to punish his father and the Church. She said she believes her son is insane, and after listening to her, I agree."

"I explained to Ms. Parker your findings that money was being run through Monsignor Petrini's private business account and that it was suspected millions of dollars were involved. She emphatically stated the Monsignor's lifestyle showed no signs of such wealth. She believes Vasily Federov and Claire Lockwood were the masterminds behind the fires and insurance fraud and said she would testify to that fact if she was brought into court."

"Gentlemen, after careful review of her interview and the investigation reports and affidavits I've received from you, I believe she is being truthful. It's my intention to not charge Miriam Parker with any criminal offenses.

"Vasily Federov has been charged in Vermont for the murder of Monsignor Matthew Petrini. It's my intention to prosecute Claire Lockwood for federal crimes related to the insurance fraud. Are there any questions?"

There was dead silence from those of us on the phone.

"Fine," he said. "With no questions heard, I thank each of you for your excellent work in bringing this case to conclusion. Thank You." An awkward silence followed for about fifteen seconds, then one by one, I heard a series of beeps as the others dropped out of the call.

I pressed the end conversation icon on my phone, as I did, I thought Damian's briefing seemed unusual; as if he was reading it from a prepared statement. And to end abruptly as he did? Something was off. I waited a few minutes and called his cellphone.

"That didn't take you long," he said as he answered. I went over and sat down in my recliner.

"I couldn't help myself. Your briefing seemed very sterile to me. Were you reading it?"

There was a moment of silence before he answered. "Yeah, I wrote it last night. I wanted to fill everyone in on where we stood before I hold a press conference tomorrow morning."

"I figured that. Are you satisfied you have enough to prosecute the Lockwood woman?" I asked.

"Yeah, from the preliminary information I'm getting from the SP Economic Crimes guys, and a briefing Pat Collins gave me, it looks as if we have strong documentation to prove the fraud. Of course, it will be a few more weeks before they can trace the offshore accounts that were being used, but I'm going to have one of my assistant attorneys write up an affidavit for the Lockwood woman's arrest. I want to get her arraigned as soon as possible. Are you okay with my decision not to prosecute Miriam Parker?"

"I am. I didn't speak with her as you did, but even so, I can imagine her life with her son has been a nightmare."

"It has. In fact, that's the very reason this case is going to take another turn for the worse."

"Turn for the worse? I don't understand."

"Miriam Parker's attorney told me she's filing suit against the Church, Cardinal, Archbishop, and Bishop for their negligence in not identifying Petrini and the dead priest Rastone as predators and allowing them to continue in their clerical roles. She claims the Church is responsible for her son assuming the identity of Gabriel."

"I wish her luck with that," I said in response.

"We'll that's the Church's problem, not ours. I just feel awful my friend Bishop Georgie Francis has been dragged into this. As far as I'm concerned, he's as much a victim as Sister Mary was." he said.

"With that said, as far as I'm concerned the investigation is closed. Now we'll move onto the trial phase. Again, I thank you for all you've done to help me with this."

"All right, that sounds good to me, but there's one loose end," I said and told him of the possibility Vasily Federov could make bail in Vermont and the concern he would skip the country if he did.

"I can fix that. I'll have one of my assistants draw up an affidavit and file it with the Vermont court stating Federov is a suspect in an on-going international money laundering investigation subject to detainer as a material witness. That way, if he does make bail, Vermont can hold him for us without bail and we'll take custody of him."

"That works for me. So, just to be clear, I'm out of this now, correct?" I asked.

"Yes Sir, your services to the US Attorney's Office are no longer needed," he answered. "I'll talk with you in a few days."

I had a feeling of relief as we ended the call. For a while I didn't think I'd be able to put a name or face to Gabriel. Maybe there is something to be said about divine intervention, I thought.

As I stood up and walked over to the family room slider door it dawned on me, I hadn't seen Mandy for a couple of hours. The weather had finally started to warm up, the last I saw her she was supervising Erik tilling the area where she was going to put her garden. I looked out and didn't see them. After a minute I saw our Gator ATV coming down the hill from the woods above the meadow, it looked like Mandy was driving Erik. As they drew closer to the house I walked out onto the deck and went down the stairs to the yard. Mandy pulled up and stopped a few feet from me, got out, and came over as she wiped some dust and grass from her sleeves and jeans. Erik got out, nodded and walked toward the barn carrying a shovel and rake.

"How did your conference call go?" she asked. I told her fine, Damian said the case was closed and thanked us for our help. She responded with a smile. "Good, I know how hard you worked on this for him. I'm just glad it's over."

"What were you and Erik doing up on the hill?" I asked.

"Umm...I wanted to clean up the seating area up at the lake," she answered. I picked up on the fact she turned her head away from me as she answered. What was she up to I wondered? We have a pond up there with nice small waterfall, but it's hardly a lake.

"It's a little early in the season and not all that warm out yet. Couldn't that wait?" I asked. She looked over at me as if she was thinking what to say. "C'mon, get in," she said pointing to the Gator, "I want to show you something."

I didn't know what she had up her sleeve, I said nothing and slid into the passenger's seat. We started up the hill, her driving was a little fast, but I was surprised the ground still firm enough to minimize the bumps we'd experience in the summer. In three minutes, we pulled up onto the clearing where we had placed a bench facing the waterfall. I looked over and then I saw it. An exact replica of the angel monument she had bought for Sister Mary's grave, only it was one-quarter the size. It was positioned as to display a welcome to the pond and waterfall. Mandy turned off the Gator engine.

"I wanted to surprise you. Do you like it?" she asked.

"I do, but why here? I asked.

"That's my guardian angel, her name is Mary," she answered as she looked up at it. "Now I can come and visit with her whenever I want."

"When did you do all this?" I asked, confused that I hadn't a clue how she'd snuck this past me.

She laughed. "I saw it when we picked out the monument for Sister Mary's grave and I bought it. I called Erik and had it shipped to his house so you wouldn't see it. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, I'm surprised, and I have to say, it sits perfectly where you put it." We sat there looking at it without talking. After a few minutes we headed back down the hill. Mandy pulled up in front of the stairs to the deck. I got out and asked, "Before I go inside, any more surprises I should know about?" She put her hand to her chin. "Umm...let me think."

"Yeah! Don't make any plans for September nineteenth."

"Why?"

"You're getting married. Don't forget to take your dark blue suit to the cleaners. I want you to look nice. See Ya!" she answered as she spun the Gator's wheels and drove off toward the barn.

I stood there speechless. Finally, Mandy had committed to set a date for our wedding. I wondered if her guardian angel Mary offered a family plan.

###
