Reprisal

He'd been sitting there with Father Ryan, a man he had come to trust, even to admire. They were both on tenter hooks, alternately sitting and pacing, waiting for the docs to give them the latest news on Da

A NYNEX pay phone, bolted to the wall, like a million others around the city. But Re

And it might have worked, too.

You were good, you bastard, Re

"Low specificity," Nick said.

"Say what?" Re

Nick smiled. "Scientist talk. It means that the incident under review resembles the sought-after phenomenon in only the most general sense. What about that bizarre ring of the bell you've told me about?"

"Like I said: I couldn't talk to the folks who picked it up, so I don't know. Wish I could. If they confirmed that long drawn-out ring, I'd be on a plane heading south right now."

Nick glanced at him, then looked away.

"You still think he killed the boy?"

As Re

"I'm sure of it," Re

"How about a boat?" Nick said.

Re

"Uh-uh. Not in that weather. And anyway, there were no boats reported missing or stolen. No, Nick. Ryan eliminated the only witness who could finger him."

"And then disappeared himself," Nick said. 'The point of eliminating a witness is to obviate flight. You're saying he did both. That doesn't make sense."

"Nothing about this whole case has made sense from the start," Re

"It's not a matter of sides. I'm pulling for Da

"You mean you're keeping a soft spot for that pervo priest?"

Nick's eyes blazed. "Don't say that. Nobody's ever even hinted—"

"I'm sure that was behind it. When we finally turn over all the rocks, that's what we'll find. And it won't be the first time, believe me."

"He was good to me," Nick said, his throat working as he looked away. "Damn good."

"Yeah," Re

"So what are your plans?" Nick said after a while.

"Not sure. That's why I called you. What do you think?"

Re

"I'd wait," Nick said. He tapped the letter. "There's not enough to go on here. Odds are extremely low that it was him. And even if it was, he might have been just passing through. Wait and see."

Re

"I think you're right. But if I get another notice like this from North Carolina, I'm out of here. I'm southbound."

Nick nodded slowly and sipped his beer, a faraway look in his eyes. Yeah, this rocket scientist knew more than he let on. Definitely.

Nick Qui

It made no difference, really. Nick knew how to get in touch with him. And he also knew that Father Bill was no killer, no matter what Detective Augustino or the NYPD or the FBI thought. The man had practically raised him. He couldn't be a killer.

As soon as he got back to his office, he locked the door and sat at his desk. He turned on his Macintosh and dialed into the DataNet network. When he'd accessed the bulletin board, he left a brief message for the priest.

TO IGNATIUS:

YOUR AUGUST OPPONENT GOT WORD OF AN ABERRANT RING-

A-DING IN DUKE COUNTRY. THAT YOU, IGGY? HE'S STAYING

put for now, but you be extra careful. hope you're well. please stay so.

el comedo

Nick leaned back and sighed. Even after five years he still felt the loss of a dear friend.

Please be careful, Father Bill—wherever you are.

THE BOY at one year

November 29, 1969

He'd stopped sleeping.

It had frightened Carol at first, but she was getting used to it now. Somewhere in his tenth month he'd begun to stay up all night reading. He'd been reading books and newspapers ever since he could manipulate the pages. He would give her lists of books to buy or take from the library in Dardanelle. An omnivore of information, the child read voraciously, almost continuously. And when he didn't have his nose in a book, he'd settle himself in front of the TV.

Carol stood in the doorway now and watched Jimmy, clad in his Bullwinkle pajamas, as he sat before the TV. Legs folded beneath him, he rested on his heels, his feet pigeon-toed inward, crossing under his buttocks. His dark eyes were alive with interest, a small smile played along his lips. But he wasn't watching Romper Room or cartoons. He was watching a story about Viet Nam on the ten o'clock network news.

"All that fear and destruction and death over there," he said with shocking clarity in his toddler's voice. "And all the rage and strife here at home. All over a worthless, tiny clump of dirt on the other side of the world." He turned his head and smiled at Carol. "Isn't it wonderful!"

"No," Carol said, stepping forward. "It's awful. And I don't want you watching it."

She turned the set off and lifted him under the arms.

"How dare you!" he cried. "Put that TV on! Put me down!"

She held his tiny body away from her, out of reach of his flailing arms and kicking legs.

"Sorry, Jimmy! You may not be like any other baby in the world, but I'm still your mother. And I say it's past your bedtime."

She placed him in his crib, closed the door to the nursery, and tried to block out his screams of rage as she walked back to her bedroom. He was still too small, his arms too weak to pull himself over the crib railing. Thank God for small favors.