She went into St. Stephen’s front door and looked around. Nobody was there that she knew. She went around to the back and into the annex. Most of the office doors were open, but the offices were empty. She went around to the back of the church again and looked into the small reading room behind the sacristy, and there he was, sitting with his legs propped up on an ottoman, reading David Leavitt’s The Lost Language of Cranes.
“There you are,” she said. “I was afraid you’d left without me.”
“I can’t leave without you.” Chickie put his book down in his lap. “You’re the only one who can get me in and out of a car. I’m in no shape to take a taxi by myself.”
“Where’s Aaron?”
“Marc’s play opened tonight. It ought to be just about over by now. There’s going to be a party to wait for the notices. We’re invited, if you want to go.” Chickie’s head shot up. “I don’t think I meant that the way it sounded.”
“I know the way you meant it,” Mary said. “Oh, rats. We really need Aaron.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to talk to Mr. Demarkian, that’s why. And Aaron is the one who figured it out. He’ll be able to explain it better than we will.”
Chickie fingered the back of his book. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions here? Gregor Demarkian is a professional. The police are professionals. If they really need us, they’ll come and find us.”
Mary marched over to Chickie’s chair and put her hands on its arms. She was leaning all the way over him, with her face only inches from his, and she was breathing hard.
“Look,” she said. “I know it’s an act. The swish thing you do. And I know you’ve got good reason to do it, even if you haven’t told me what it is, but I believe you, and mostly I’m okay with it, but I’m not now. Okay, Chickie? I can’t handle it now. Do you know Father Healy is dead?”
“Yes,” Chickie said. “Everybody in Philadelphia knows Father Healy is dead.”
Mary retreated to a standing position. “I didn’t know he was dead. I was in class and in the library, and then I was listening to that station that makes you so crazy. But you must see it, don’t you? What Aaron found out, about the extra name, that Scott knew about. I’m not crazy, you know, I’m really not. It must have something to do with all this.”
“But even if it does, Mary, what are we supposed to do about it? Even Aaron isn’t sure he knows what it means, and I don’t understand it any better than I understand Swahili. In fact, considering some of the situations I’ve gotten myself into over the years, I probably understand Swahili better.”
“Don’t get started on that sort of thing, either. I get nightmares that you’re going to pick up AIDS.”
“I do try to be somewhat more careful than that. My point, however, stands. We don’t have anything to say to Gregor Demarkian. Or to the police. We don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Did Aaron make copies of those sheets?”
“Dozens of them. They’re all over the place. According to Aaron, you can’t be killed for what you know if everybody else knows it, too.”
“Good,” Mary said. “What we’ll do is get some of the copies and take them out to that place Demarkian lives. Cavanaugh Street. I can find it on a map. And then we’ll just tell him the truth. About Aaron finding the stuff on Scott’s computer. And like that.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know what. That’s what Mr. Demarkian is supposed to know.”
“Has it occurred to you that Aaron might not be overjoyed to be turned in to the police? I don’t know what his life is like at the moment, but he may have issues—”
“Like what?”
“Like an apartment full of marijuana.”
“Oh.” Mary always forgot that people like Aaron and Chickie lived lives very different from hers. They seemed—Chickie, especially, seemed—so close to her on the emotional level, she was never prepared to hear that they did things that horrified her even to think about. The sex, she didn’t think about. It was easier that way.
“I know,” she said. “Aaron has a cell phone, right?”
“Right.”
“And you must have the number, or Father Burdock must—”
“Dan isn’t here. We had a visit from Reverend Hell Incarnate down the road.”
“I know. I saw him leave. Why does that mean that Father Burdock isn’t here?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. He was upset. He came through here and said he’d be out for a while. Why do you want Dan?”