Brad Parks - The Good Cop

Then she disappeared behind a door to her right. Probably to fetch security.

* * *

But it wasn’t a security guard who soon came out to greet me. It was the reverend-perhaps-doctor himself. And if irritation correlates to perspiration, he was plenty aggravated. He was already mopping himself by the time he greeted me.

Still, he seemed determined to play nice. With what was intended to be a friendly smile, he looked down at me-being six-and-a-half feet tall, I suppose he looked down on most people-and gave me a cologne-doused handshake, guaranteeing me another day of smelling like eau de Al. He asked me if I needed anything to drink and I declined. Then he thanked the alpha underling, whose name was apparently Desiree, and invited me into his personal chambers.

I followed him into a room with high ceilings and dimensions large enough to accommodate a decent game of Wiffle ball. He hobbled over behind his desk like a man ten years overdue for a knee replacement, and I tried not to pop an Achilles tendon every time my feet sank into his extra-plush carpeting. It was like DuPont had started making a brand called StainMaster QuickSand.

Pastor Al plopped himself in a chair, removed his gold-wire-framed glasses, and took another opportunity to mop his hangdog face. As he did so, I pulled a pen and notebook out of my pocket. No need to make him think this was a social call.

He replaced his glasses, sighed, and in that voice-of-God bass asked, “So what can I do for you today, Mister Ross?”

So I was Mr. Ross now. It was an upgrade from Lucifer’s cabana boy, or whatever he called me around Mimi.

Since he was showing courtesy, I did the same and kept my tone respectful, even while my words were sharp: “I’m working on a follow-up story about Darius Kipps, and to be honest I’m a little perplexed by your actions, Reverend. Last night you held a press conference and announced that the Newark Police Department was telling a big, bad lie. Then you said the state attorney general ought to step in. But this morning you called the attorney general and told him thanks but no thanks. Can you explain that for me?”

Pastor Al actually squirmed in his seat. He did the face-wiping routine again. “You ask very challenging questions, young man,” he said. “I can see why your editors would consider you a good reporter.”

And I can see you’re stalling me, Pastor Al, I thought. But, mindful I had to keep my inner wiseass on a leash, I just sat there with my notebook open and my mouth shut.

“Have you ever heard of the Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican?”

“You’ll have to refresh my memory, Reverend. It’s been a long time since Sunday school.”

“This comes to us from the Gospel of Saint Luke. Now, the Pharisees were very pious men, and they were much admired for their righteousness. The Publicans were the tax collectors, and I think we all know, no one likes the tax collector”-he threw in a pause because I guess this is where his congregation would usually share a chuckle. “Now, as the parable is told to us by Luke, these men enter the temple to pray. The Pharisee stands up and prays to God about his own virtue, telling God that he fasts and tithes, thanking God that he is not like the lowly tax collector. The Publican, now, the Publican, he stands at a distance. He dares not raise his head to God. And when it is his time to pray, he beats his breast and humbly asks God to have mercy on him, for he is a sinner .”

Pastor Al paused to let his words have their impact. For all his flaws, he was a mesmerizing preacher.

“Now, who do you think Jesus tells us is justified in the eyes of the Lord? Who is more favored by the Father?”

“Uh,” I said, because I felt like it was a trick question.

“The Publican!” he boomed. “The Publican is justified because he recognizes his unworthiness before God! Jesus teaches that ‘everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.’ So I am mindful of the Pharisee and the Publican as I admit to you I made a mistake in my handling of this matter.”

“Mistake?” I said.

“Yes. I believe they call it looking before you leap.”

What, I wanted to say, because you didn’t know your parishioner was two-timing with the deceased’s best friend? But mindful of my plan to act somewhat dumb, I said, “How so?”

“I’m afraid I fell back on some of my old instincts. In my days as a young pastor, I felt there was only one way to accomplish a goal, and that was to pursue it with straightforward tenacity and intensity-to make a lot of noise, in essence. It is only in my more senior years that I have come to realize there are many different ways to accomplish a goal, and sometimes they are quieter. The Lord hears a whispered prayer just as well as He hears one that is shouted.”

And in my days as a young reporter, I might have fallen for a line of fiddle-faddle like that. But in my more senior years, I recognized the reverend was talking out his ass. And while in polite conversation we allow people to obfuscate like this all the time, I wasn’t going to let Pastor Al get away with it here.

“I’m sorry, Reverend, but I don’t have a doctorate in religion”- and chances are neither do you, you fraud -“so you’re losing me a little bit. Let me keep it simple for a second: Did you call the attorney general this morning?”

I thought maybe Pastor Al wasn’t going to give in so easily-that I was going to have to wade through more a few more miles of Confusion Creek to get to where I needed to go-but he just squirmed a little more and then, finally, said, “Yes, I did.”

“And did you inform him you were dropping your call for an independent investigation into the death of Darius Kipps?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, without squirming this time.

“And why did you do that?”

“I received information at the highest level that made me think differently about the matter.”

It was the first semi-useful thing he said, and I was scribbling it in my notebook as I asked, “Did the attorney general give you that information?”

“No.”

“Then who, at the highest level, did?”

“That is something I would rather not say,” Pastor Al replied. “I have to respect certain confidences in this matter. But what I heard satisfied my … curiosity in this matter, enough that I considered it closed.”

“So what did you hear?”

“I was asked not to divulge the details publicly, and I will honor that request.”

“Okay. So you … you now trust in the conclusions reached by the Newark Police Department?”

“I do.”

“Because, you know, my paper has come across evidence that Detective Kipps’s death may not have been a suicide.”

I told him about the photos. He paid careful attention but asked no questions. When I was done, he said, “Well, that sounds like something to leave to the authorities. I’m sure they will handle that according to their policies and procedures.”

“Right,” I said, mostly just to stall so I could consider how to word my next question. It was time to start playing a little less dumb about the Mimi-Fusco affair. I doubted Pastor Al would get too explicit in his answer-it didn’t seem like his style-but I wanted to know if he knew. Maybe he could whip a biblical passage on me, something fearsome from the Old Testament about torturing fornicators.

The question came out as: “Was there anything in Mimi’s actions or in the actions of Detective Fusco that might have … influenced how you felt about this matter?”

“Detective Fusco?” LeRioux boomed. “What would Detective Fusco have to do with this?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“I do.”