Alex Kava - A Necessary Evil

She heard the door to the reception area open and Harvey stood up again, looking at her, waiting for her direction. With no appointments scheduled, Gwen thought it would be quiet most of the day, but Dena evidently had decided Mondays would be delivery day. Gwen had already signed for a case of her beloved gourmet coffee, three boxes of supplies from Office Depot and a new patient's medical report sent via messenger service from a Dr. Kalb.

"Package for Dr. G. Patterson?" The messenger didn't look up from his electronic pad, punching in numbers. He had already set the box on the reception desk. "Just need a quick signature."

When he looked up, he jumped at the sight of Harvey. He had been so focused he hadn't noticed that the big dog had managed to sit down on the floor beside him.

"He's* harmless," Gwen assured him and signed the electronic pad he held out for her.

"Not a bad idea to have extra security." He gave Harvey a pat on the head before he left.

She shoved the box aside on the reception counter, glancing for the sender's address, but not concerned when she didn't find one. She picked up the phone, tucking it under her chin, checking voice messages while she slit open the envelope that accompanied the box. But there wasn't a note inside. Instead, a single gold earring slipped out of the envelope, falling onto the counter. Gwen. watched it spin like a coin on one end. For a second everything stopped, all sound, all movement other than the earring that now spun in slow motion. Even her heart seemed to stop. She didn't need to examine it closely. She knew this was the match to the one left on Saturday.

Gwen slowly put the phone back in its cradle, her eyes never leaving the earring. The dread immediately gripped her stomach. She forced herself to look at the box. It was about a one-foot cube. Much bigger than any of his other packages. More instructions? Another map? Could it be another cell phone? What would he have sent her this time to direct her to his victim? And why the box? Certainly he wouldn't… no, he wouldn't dare. Or would he? She couldn't help thinking it was probably the right size, just big enough for a human head to fit into.

She glanced down at Harvey who sat at her feet, staring up at her. He'd be able to sense, to smell, to know if it was something… dead. Wouldn't he? There'd be blood, even dried blood. Yes, of course, he would.

She used the letter opener to carefully slit the packing tape on the sides of the box. Using the palms of her hands rather than her fingers, she lifted the flaps, trying to avoid adding her fingerprints to the many that may already be on the outside. Once the flaps were pressed back she still couldn't see beyond the white packing material. She poked at it with the letter opener and made no contact. There seemed to be nothing of substance under the crinkled white paper. Did she dare peel it back?

She stood paralyzed, staring at it. Finally she set the letter opener aside and commanded her fingers to touch, then grip a corner, to lift, to pull it back. She found herself squinting and cringing as if preparing for something to jump out at her. When had she started holding her breath? Her chest already ached. But her fingers were steady. Thank goodness, since nothing else seemed to be.

Her ringers peeled and pulled and tugged until all the white packing paper had been removed, a pile of it now on the counter. At the bottom of the box remained only a single key on top of an index card. Without removing either, she recognized his familiar block-style handwriting. And what was worse, she recognized the address he had scrawled on the card.

Our Lady of Sorrow High School

Omaha, Nebraska

Nick couldn't find Christine. He wasn't surprised that she hadn't waited for him right outside the classroom like she'd said she would. He wandered over to the second-story windows facing the street. No police cruisers. No cops. That was a good sign.

He dug his hands into his jeans pockets. He hated waiting. He could go back in for the second half of Sister Kate's class and make Christine come get him. Yep, that's exactly what he'd do. Make her wait on him for a change. He was headed back to do just that when he noticed down the hall the door to Tony's office was open. He hesitated. He and Tony had known each other a long time. Maybe he'd been too hard on him the other day when all Tony had wanted and needed was a friend, not an attorney.

He reached in and knocked on the open door, startling Tony.

"Hey, come on in." He nodded at Nick, but his eyes returned to the computer screen and his fingers flew over the keyboard, as if he needed to close down whatever he was working on before Nick could get a glimpse. Or was Nick still just being suspicious?

"You haven't seen Christine, have you?"

"No, is she here, too?"

"We brought Timmy for the Explorers' class. I sat in on the first half. I think Christine's downstairs giving that guy in the monsignor's office a piece of her mind."

Tony looked up at the mention of the intruder. Nick tried to figure out whether that was how Tony saw the guy, as an intruder. But Tony just shook his head and reached for a coffee mug that sat on the bookshelf. Nick waited, letting him take a gulp of what he knew was chocolate milk and not coffee. He only put it in a mug to draw less attention, or at least that was his explanation. Nick had ribbed him about it, jokingly asking if he thought a chocolate-milk-drinking priest would be taken less seriously than a coffee-drinking one.

Instead of some explanation of why the guy was going through the monsignor's stuff, Tony said, "Christine should be careful."

It wasn't at all what Nick expected him to say.

"And why is that?"

Tony shrugged, took another sip. "Everyone's on edge right now. I'm sure the archbishop won't appreciate the media snooping around."

"But he doesn't mind sending some goon to snoop around?"

This time Tony smiled. "Brother Sebastian does look a bit like a goon, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, in a freaky sort of way. Who exactly is he?"

"Assistant to Archbishop Armstrong, his right-hand man."

"And his job description includes rummaging through dead priest's offices?" Nick asked.

Another shrug from Tony. "Brother Sebastian would probably do anything the archbishop asked of him."

Nick leaned against the doorjamb. Tony didn't seem too concerned. Christine had probably blown it out of proportion. Of course, someone had to go through the monsignor's sniff, box it up. He had never paid much attention to Tony's office before, but suddenly he was taking it all in with new eyes, thinking of his own office back in Boston and what someone might find if they had to clean it out for him. Tony's was a little neater, but not much. Stacks of magazines lined the far corner. Books and computer games were piled together on two shelves of the bookcase. They were an odd combination. The books were mostly English-lit stuff, poetry and Shakespeare. The computer games appeared to be about warriors and crusaders. A bulletin board had layers tacked over each other _ anything from class changes and teachers' phone numbers to Nebraska football ticket stubs, dry-cleaning receipts and take-out menus. A duffel bag had been thrown under his desk, the zippers undone with a dirty towel halfway out and a pair of muddy running shoes beside it. He'd forgotten how small Tony's feet were. They looked like kids' tennis shoes.

Nick glanced out into the hall. Then he came in and sat in the recliner Tony kept in the corner. Keeping his voice low, he said, "Christine seems to think the archbishop has a few secrets he'd like to have die with Monsignor O'Sullivan. Don't worry, I know if something's going on you probably can't talk about it."