Richard Hawke - Speak of the Devil

“This ends tonight,” Carroll grumbled. He hung up.

“What’s the word from Super Cop?” Jigs asked as he pulled to the end of the ramp.

“He called you a punk.”

“I’ve taken worse.”

“He called me a prick.”

“Man has a potty mouth, Fritz. Better keep him away from these lovely sisters.”

THE CONVENT OF THE HOLY ORDER OF THE SISTERS OF GOOD SHEPHERD was located midway down a residential block. It was between a pair of apartment buildings, set back from the street. There was a semicircular drive leading to the front door and a low metal fence delineating the property. As we crawled slowly past, I spotted playground equipment near the rear of the property. The ludicrous image of a nun on a slide popped into my head. I didn’t share it with Jigs. Across from the convent was a block of low brick row houses. The street was dark except for an oyster light coming down from the moon. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. It was as still as a photograph.

I told Jigs to swing around the block and go down the parallel street behind the convent. I dialed the convent’s number on my cell and asked for Sister Mary Ryan.

“Is he there?” I asked when she came on the line.

“Not yet.”

“I’m circling the neighborhood. The police are on the way.”

“Sister Anne has told me to let you know that she wants the opportunity to speak with this gentleman when he arrives. She is adamant about this, Mr. Malone.”

This gentleman .

“This man is extremely dangerous, Sister. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sister Anne suspected that’s how you would feel. She insists. His overture was made to us. It is our duty to minister to the broken.”

“With all due respect, it’s my duty and the duty of the police to see that nobody else is harmed. It’s possible that this guy has added kidnapping to his list of holiday activities, Sister. He’s not well, you’re right. But what he doesn’t need is an opportunity to create more mayhem. You’d be acting on his behalf by letting us take him into custody.”

“How do you plan on doing that, Mr. Malone?”

“I haven’t actually gotten there yet,” I admitted. “If the police arrive before he does, it’s their game. What I’m saying is that this will all go down much easier and better if it happens outside your convent, not inside.”

“Once he steps onto convent property, he is protected by the Church. We are a sanctuary.”

I lowered the phone. “They want to give the creep sanctuary.”

Jigs shook his head. “Nuns.”

I returned to the phone. “Sister Mary? This guy is not dumb. He knows the police are in touch with you. If he told Sister Anne that he’s coming over, then I can tell you it’s one of three things. He’s either lying; he’s planning to turn himself in; or he’s got something up his sleeve. If it’s the first, none of this matters. He’ll be a no-show. If it’s the second, he might be combining it with the third. He might want to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe he thinks that dying on holy turf will give him a handhold on the Pearly Gates. Who knows? Or maybe he has this same sanctuary idea in mind, in which case Sister Anne is playing right into his hand. What I’m saying is that the best thing for everyone is not to let him run the show anymore. We need to take over the controls.”

“Just a moment.”

She muffled the phone. I could hear her speaking with someone else. It sounded as if they were both underwater.

“Mr. Malone?” It was a different voice.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Malone, this is Sister Anne Claire. I am the prioress of the Convent Good Shepherd. Naturally, we want to cooperate.”

“I think that’s the best attitude, Sister.”

“Yes. However, you have your job and we have ours. This man has accepted an invitation from me. I gave it in good faith. I will not be party to a trap. I am a sister of Christ. We do not lie and we do not set traps. If this man arrives, I intend to meet with him. I intend to hear him out and to offer my perspective and guidance.”

“Well, the fact is-”

She cut me off. “I have not trained for all these years so that I might turn away at a moment of testing. I have to assume that after he and I speak, I will be suggesting that he volunteer to turn himself over to the authorities. But I want a promise from you. This man will not be harmed, and he will not be detained when or if he shows up here. Not until after I have spoken with him. I ask you to give me your word.”

Jigs had reached the end of the block. I signaled him to pull over. He snuffed the lights. There was a plastic Santa hanging off the top of the chimney of the house on the corner. The Santa was illuminated by a spotlight from the front yard. He looked like a cat burglar caught in the act.

I said into the phone, “This thing will be out of my hands when the police show up. Which should be any minute.”

“Will you be in contact with them?”

“Possibly.”

“Then you give me your word. You vouch for this man’s safety and make whatever arrangements you need with the police.”

“Sister Anne, I can give you my word until I’m blue in the face. But I have no control over the New York City Police Department.”

“We have seen tragic things happen in this city between the police and people they were attempting to arrest.”

“We have. But-”

“If I cannot get your word for my visitor’s safety, Mr. Malone, I suppose I do have an alternative.”

I didn’t like the way she put that. “What’s that?”

“I can alert the media right now. You tell me, would the illumination of the television media affect the proceedings?”

I held the phone to my chest. “She’s thinking about calling in the cameras.”

“Savvy sister.”

I brought the phone back to my ear. “I have to remind you that you’re going out of your way to protect a multiple killer.”

“And who should need more protecting?” Before I could answer, I heard a faint sound in the background. The chimes of a doorbell. “I believe I have a visitor.” There was an unmistakable smugness in the nun’s voice. “I must go.” She hung up.

I turned to Jigs. “Drive!”

Jigs’s Fairlane lurched forward, screeching on the pavement and nearly hitting a parked car as it swung around the corner. I was thrown against the door as Jigs swung the large steering wheel again and we careened around the corner.

“Stop here!”

Jigs hit the brakes as I was shouldering open the door. I tumbled out and had to move my legs double-time to keep from falling. I crossed the lawn of the apartment building and headed for the fence that bordered the property. Beyond the fence, I could see a figure standing under the light at the convent’s front door.

I reached the fence still unseen. I climbed over it as quietly as I could and hit the ground in a crouch. The figure at the door still hadn’t seen me. He was about a hundred feet away. I yanked out my gun and sprang out of the crouch. I thought about calling out. I thought about taking aim at his knees. I was running at full speed when the door opened and the figure stepped forward and disappeared inside. The door closed. He was gone. I slid to a halt on a pile of damp leaves. I surfed them a good six feet.

I MADE MY WAY ALONG THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING. THE GROUNDFLOOR windows were dark and, in any case, were set too high to be of any help. Near the back of the building was a smaller window that was giving off a flat, harsh light. I spotted a copper kettle hanging from a wooden rack. Rounding the corner, I froze. A shadowy figure was at the back door, dropping a bulging black plastic bag into a garbage can.