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Detective Sullivan had come to his house with two uniformed cops. They searched his home... They treated him as if he were a criminal, as if he had done something to Annie and his children. Peter had to sit there and watch. In the end, Sullivan said Annie would probably come back on her own.
You should get a lawyer to help you through the family court process.
Family court. Family court. How could Annie do this to him? Take his kids and make him file in a court to get them back? It wasn’t right.
Finally, the person who’d been talking forever to the priest left the church. Peter went inside. Father Raphael Morales was straightening the missals stacked on a table in the vestibule.
“Father Morales?” he said.
The priest turned and said, “Yes, may I help you?”
Peter wore his uniform because it commanded respect. Authority commanded compliance.
“I’m looking for my wife. I think you know where she is.”
The priest’s eyes darkened and he took a small step back. “I don’t know you. I’m sorry.”
Yes he did, Peter thought. You know exactly who I am and what I want.
“My wife is Annie Carillo. Her grandparents were parishioners here before they died.” Peter had looked up the marriage records this morning; her grandparents had been married in this little church. His instincts had been correct.
The priest remained silent.
“Tell me where she is.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Yes you can, Father,” Peter said, working on keeping his voice calm, but firm. “She was here on February 27th. I found the gas receipt. I found your church bulletin in the recycling bin. She was here, and you are related to the woman who took her from my house on Sunday.”
“I do not feel comfortable with this conversation, Mr. Carillo. I’d like you to leave.”
Peter waved his arms around. “This is God’s church, is it not? This is for everyone, or is that a lie?”
“Please leave or I will have to contact the police.”
Peter laughed, put his hand on his gun. He enjoyed watching the arrogant priest flinch.
“Tell me where my wife is, Father Morales. We are married in the church—it’s a sacrament that can’t be broken by man, yet you are preventing me from being with my wife. How can you wear that collar when you are a liar?”
Peter wanted to grab the man and shake him until he answered. But he didn’t. He had too much control, too much honor to beg.
“I’m calling the police,” the priest said. He turned and started to walk away, toward the altar.
“Just tell me the truth! I can’t live without my family.”
The door opened and the young minister who Peter had seen earlier, walked in along with a small group of eighth graders. He said to Peter, “Officer, is something wrong?”
Dammit. Peter could have made Morales talk. He just needed more time, needed to explain. Surely a man of God would understand that a wife couldn’t just walk away from her wedding vows? From the sacrament of marriage?
Now the man wouldn’t speak. But he would be alone again, and Peter would return for answers.
“I’ll come back later,” he said and left.
Forty-Five
Margo Angelhart
As soon as I had Jennifer secure and confident that Logan would fill my mom in on the situation, I rushed over to St. Dominic’s.
