“I beg to differ concerning your assessment of yourself. You haven’t changed one iota. But thank you for being willing to come. And thank you for your irreverent humor. It would probably be best for me to lighten up a bit, but I am very concerned.”
“Does it have something to do with Shawn’s health?” Jack questioned. That was the main thing he was worried about: some health issue like cancer, as it would be too close to his own problems.
“No, not his health but his soul. You know how headstrong he can be.”
Jack scratched his head. Recalling Shawn’s loose sexual mores from college, Jack would have thought his soul was in jeopardy from the age of puberty on, which begged the question of why there was such a rush today. “Can you be a bit more specific?” he asked.
“I’d rather not,” James said. “I’d rather discuss the issue tête-à-tête. When can I expect you?”
Jack glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes until noon. “If I leave now, which I can do, I’ll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Wonderful. I do have an official reception I must attend with the mayor at two p.m. I look forward to seeing you, Jack.”
“Likewise,” Jack said as he hung up the phone. There was a strange unreality to James’s request. It was like the president calling and saying get down here to Washington immediately: The country needs you. Jack laughed out loud, grabbed his leather jacket, and headed down to the basement.
As Jack was unlocking his bike, he became aware that someone had come up behind him. Turning around, he found himself confronted by bulldog-faced Chief Bingham. As usual, his expression was grim, perspiration dotting his forehead.
“Jack,” Bingham began. “I wanted to say again how sorry Calvin and I are about your son. Having had children ourselves, we can, to some degree, imagine how very difficult it must be. Remember, if there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
“Are you heading out?”
“No, I just drop down here every so often to unlock and lock my bike.”
“Always joking!” Bingham commented. Knowing Jack as well as he did, he wasn’t about to take offense the way he used to when Jack first came on board at the OCME. “I assume you’re not heading out to lunch with a chiropractor friend.”
“Your assumption is entirely correct,” Jack said. “Nor am I heading out to see an acupuncturist, a homeopathist, or an herbalist. But I am going to lunch with a faith healer. The archbishop of New York just called and asked to have lunch with me.”
Bingham burst out laughing despite himself. “I have to hand it to you. You’re creatively quick on the retort. Anyway, ride carefully, and if truth be known, I wish you wouldn’t ride that bike. I’m always terrified you’re going to come in here feet first.” Still chuckling, Bingham turned and walked back into the depths of OCME.
Jack rode uptown on Madison, the fresh air reviving him. In fifteen minutes he arrived at the corner of 51st Street.
The archbishop’s residence stood out dramatically from the neighboring modern skyscrapers, a modest, rather severe three-story slate-roofed house of gray stone. The windows on the lower floors were covered by heavy iron bars. The only sign of life was a glimpse of Belgian lace seeming out of place behind a few of the barred windows.
With the bike secured along with his helmet, Jack mounted the granite steps and gave the shiny brass bell a pull. He didn’t wait long. As the locks clicked open, the heavy door swung inward, revealing a tall, thin, red-haired priest whose most prominent feature was a hatchet-like nose. He was dressed in a priest’s black suit and a heavily starched, old-fashioned white clerical collar.
“Dr. Stapleton?” the priest questioned.
“Yes, indeed,” Jack said casually.
“My name is Father Maloney,” the priest said, stepping to the side.
Jack entered, feeling somewhat intimidated by his surroundings. As Father Maloney closed the door behind him, he said, “I will show you to His Eminence’s private study.” He strode off, forcing Jack to run a few paces to catch up.
The sounds of busy Madison Avenue had disappeared behind the heavy front door. All Jack could hear besides the tick of the grandfather clock were their footsteps on the highly polished oak floor.
Father Maloney stopped before a closed interior door. As Jack came up to join him, the priest opened the door and stepped aside to allow Jack to enter.
“His Eminence will join you momentarily,” he said, backing out of the room and quietly closing the door.
Jack glanced around the spartan room, which smelled of cleaning fluid and floor wax. The only decoration besides a small crucifix hanging on the wall above an antique prie-dieu were several framed formal photos of the pope. Besides the prie-dieu the furniture was limited to a small leather couch, a matching leather chair, a side table with a lamp, and finally a small lady’s writing desk with a straight-backed wooden chair.
Jack walked across the glossy wooden floor, his leather soles tapping loudly. He sat on the sofa without leaning back, feeling as if he were someplace he didn’t belong. Jack had never been religious, as his schoolteacher parents had not followed any faith themselves. As he grew up and was forced to think about the issue, he’d decided he was an agnostic, at least until the tragedy that had stripped him of his family. From then on, Jack had given up on the comforting idea that there was a God. He didn’t think a loving God would let his beloved wife and his darling daughters perish as they did.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Already on edge, Jack leaped to his feet. In walked His Eminence James Cardinal O’Rourke in full regalia. For a beat the men regarded one another, each resurrecting a flash of pleasant memories. Although Jack could definitely see a glimpse of his old friend in the cardinal’s face, the rest of his appearance surprised him. Jack didn’t remember him being as small as he now appeared to be. His hair was shorter and not so vibrantly red. But it was the clothing, of course, that had changed the most: James reminded Jack of a Renaissance prince. Over black pants and white collar, James wore a black cassock enhanced with cardinal-red piping and buttons. Over the cassock was an open scarlet cape. On his head was a cardinal-red zucchetto skullcap. Cinched around his waist was a broad scarlet sash, while around his neck hung a jeweled silver cross.
The two men threw their arms around each other. They hugged for a moment before stepping back.
“You look terrific,” James said. “You look like you could run a marathon this minute. I don’t think I could run the length of the cathedral if I had to.”
“You’re too kind,” Jack said, as he gazed down at James’s gentle face with soft, freckled, shiny red cheeks and pleasantly rounded features. His sharp, sparkling ice-blue eyes told a different story, and one more consistent with what Jack knew of his old friend, who was now a powerful, ambitious prelate. The eyes reflected James’s formidable and canny intelligence, which Jack had always envied.
“Truly,” James continued. “You look like a man half your age.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jack said with a smile. Suddenly he remembered how facile James was at flattery, a trait he’d always used to great advantage. Back at Amherst, there wasn’t a person who did not like James, thanks to his ability to beguile others.
“And look at you,” Jack said, trying to return the compliment. “You look like a Renaissance prince.”
“A chubby Renaissance prince whose only exercise is at the refectory table.”
“Think about it,” Jack continued, ignoring James’s comment. “You are a cardinal, one of the most powerful people in the Church.”
“Fiddlesticks,” James remarked, waving him away as if Jack was teasing him. “I’m just a simple parish priest caring for my flock. The Good Lord has put me in a position that’s way over my head. Of course, I can’t question the Lord’s ways; I do the best I can. But enough of this small talk. We can indulge ourselves more at lunch. First, I want to show you something.”