Robert Walker - Cutting edge

“Exactly how much did Mootry leave you, your monastery, in his will?” asked Lucas.

“He was a wise man. He left a self-perpetuating legacy.”

“I see.” Men have killed for a hell of a lot less, Lucas thought, his eyes boring into the priest.

“I'm sorry that I am such a disappointment to you,” said Father Aguilar, “that I could not be of more help. But I've told you everything.”

“Why haven't you requested police protection?” asked Lucas, still skeptical of the man beneath the robe.

Aguilar shook his head and raised both his hands, each hand seemingly independent of the other, fluttering birdlike as if to indicate all that was around them. “No man can protect me if my God calls me to Him.”

Meredyth asked if they could see the rest of the order, commenting on how vast it appeared from the outside. “And what is it you use the fires for?”

“I'm sorry, but your presence here has already disrupted the life of the brothers,” he replied. “As to the kiln, we make our own pottery, filling orders all the time. It's quite popular, and it's our main source of revenue.?'

“Aside from legacies, you mean?” asked Lucas.

Meredyth pinched him. “How many in your order?” she asked.

“It varies, given the time of year, but currently there are twenty-nine brothers.”

“Really?” asked Lucas. “That many celibates left in Houston?”

“It is a place where men can step away from the rigors, stress, temptation, and ugliness of our modem world to study, reflect, and find their true selves, to get in touch with the one true God.” He stood to indicate their time was up.

Lucas remained tenacious, however, asking, “Can we meet some of the brothers?”

“As I said, it would be disruptive for them. This is a holy place of meditation, worship, reflection. You… you bring only discord and disharmony. Why, it exudes from your very pores, Mr. Stonecoat.”

“Just a few questions, Father.”

'They are reclusive for a reason.

“A reason like murder?”

Such foul thoughts…”

“Do you think a court order would make them and you less reclusive?” badgered Lucas as Meredyth tried to get him to settle down and shut up.

Aguilar gritted his teeth, controlling himself, and seething, he added, “I know something of the law myself, Detective. You have no mitigating circumstances to warrant such a disruption in the house of the Lord. Now, if you please.”

“Oh, you have friends in high places, in the legal system?”

“Everyone must have friends in the legal profession to get by in today's madhouse, yes.”

“Friends such as Judge Mootry?”

“Yes, he was my dearest friend, and as I said, I now fear for my own life.”

“And what about Pierce Dalton?” Lucas saw the twitch, almost imperceptible in the man's eye.

“Dalton? I only know Dalton as Mootry's attorney.”

“He was at Texas Christian about the time you were there.”

“It was a large campus.”

“What did you talk about with Mootry the night he was killed?”

“Damn you, man! I wasn't there!” He threw open the door and called to Leonard, shouting, “Show these kind people out, Leonard.”

All the way back to the precinct house, they discussed their separate impressions of Father Frank Aguilar, each unsure as they replayed the meeting in their heads. “If he went to Lawrence with this when Mootry was killed after Palmer, then Lawrence has known all along, and he refused to listen to me anyway. What does that make him?” she asked. “Is he somehow involved?”

“Don't jump to conclusions.”

“But-”

“He may just've been respecting the rights of Pardee and Amelford to conduct their investigation without interference.”

“Maybe, but I'm not so sure.”

“Frankly, I'm more interested in finding out more about Father Frank. Think about it. You see your beautiful fiancee brutally killed, and your wealth, as in Wesley Palmer's big bucks, could do nothing to ease the guilt and pain and horror, so what might you do in your grief-stricken state?”

'Turn to my friends? And maybe the church?”

“Exactly. And Father Aguilar happens to be in the neighborhood when Palmer gets the news, and he's Johnny-on-the-spot.”

“God, but you're a cynical cop,” she told him.

He winced at the accusation, but replied, “It's kept me alive. Now, stay with me on this,” he continued. “You're an aging trial judge and you've seen all of man's inhumanity to man, and maybe you learn you haven't got too many more years left on this planet because your doctor tells you so. Who do you turn to if you're a lonely old man without family?”

“Mootry turns to Aguilar and Aguilar works out a brilliant plan for his legacy to be self-perpetuating, to save his soul?”

“After all, in his early years he was something of a Satanist, enough so that the FBI was keeping tabs on him.”

“If this is true, then all the ancient motives apply: vengeance, passion, greed, avarice…”

“But avarice in the name of God; a holier-than-thou avarice, which takes us directly back to Father Frank.”

Lucas Stonecoat worked his way around to the rear of the monastery of the Jesuit-like brothers, Frank Aguilar's kingdom. He wondered how much like David Koresh Aguilar ran his operation.

It was an overcast night, a threat of rain in the air after a sweltering Houston day that had set new record highs for heat. The sidewalks were cooling down so rapidly, a hazy fog was pushed about by Lucas's feet. The alleyway was relatively clean, making him wonder if the brothers were sent out here periodically to humbly go about picking up trash. There was a soup kitchen operated out back of the church, and a lone bulb shone in the night, indicating this was the place.

Lucas believed it might lead to the bowels of the building, and since Father Aguilar was anxious for them not to see the inner workings of his monastic order, Lucas was doubly anxious to do so. To this end, he wore his worst rags and most dilapidated shoes.

There were a number of homeless people waiting at the door, and as they filed in, Lucas followed. He was inside a dark room filled with the odors of chicken broth and baked bread. Maybe the pottery kiln was also used to bake bread, he told himself.

He knew he must record every sight and sensation for later, so he could tell Meredyth about his adventure in detail. She'd be upset with him, but he could smooth that over somehow.

His size might draw some attention, so he crouched and hung his head low. He gathered up his soup and bread and was locating a table when one of the brothers began a prayer. Someone nudged him from behind and whispered in a feminine voice, “Sit with me, brother.”

He turned to see Meredyth's face hidden in the cowl of a monastic cloak. “What the… where did you get the disguise? And what're you doing here?”

“Same as you, only smarter. Now sit before you draw attention to us, and I'll minister to your spiritual needs.”

“I thought you were seeing Conrad tonight.”

“He, well, we had a difference of opinion.”

“A fight?”

“A discussion.”

“Spirited one, I imagine.”

“I knew you would be trying to get in here, and this time,

I meant to be along. I've got a costume for you on the bench. Come with me.”

“Where'd you get the robes?”

“I have a friend in the theater.”

They got to the back table she directed him to. There she pointed out the men's room and instructed he change inside. “And then what?” he asked.

“That door through the kitchen takes us into the monastery.”

“Are you sure?”

“I've seen it open and close each time one of the brothers comes and goes. It must take them somewhere.”