Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(78)

“That’s what Lucia says happened.”

A muscle leaped in Jesse’s jaw. “So exhuming the body would be useless. Any DNA evidence he might have left would be destroyed by now by the embalming process and by time. But what about the money?”

“What money?”

“Delgado got the money from somewhere to suddenly quit his job at the stables and open his own business. The timing is right. While I’m guessing there wasn’t enough money from the sale of that library flooring to open a photography studio, I think Father Francisco got the money from somewhere to bribe Delgado to leave Sacred Trinity and keep his mouth shut about what he did to Lucia.”

“Yes,” I said, after thinking about it. “You’re right. Father Francisco only pretended not to believe Becca’s confession. He must have gone straight from the chapel to Delgado and told him he’d have to leave. Sacred Trinity was already in bad financial straits. They couldn’t afford another scandal.”

“And Delgado demanded money in exchange for leaving without a fuss.” Jesse switched on the ignition and backed the car from the parking lot. “And once again, thanks to Father Francisco, Sacred Trinity was saved.”

“Amazing Father Francisco.” I stared grimly at the neat rows of Italian cypress trees as we headed down the school’s driveway back toward 17-Mile Drive. “Is there no miracle he can’t perform?”

“Yes. One. He can’t hide the money trail from him to Delgado. Somewhere there has got to be a record of it—the priest withdrawing it, and Delgado depositing it.”

“A lot of donations made to churches are in cash, as you well know. You’ve seen the collection plate as it goes around.” As Jesse’s bride-to-be, I occasionally tagged along when he went to church to give a good impression to the local bishop, since we needed his permission to marry in the mission basilica (I must have done a good job since we got it—though a fat lot of good it was going to do us now).

“And even if Father Francisco did write Delgado a check,” I went on, determined to keep my mind on the matter at hand, “it doesn’t connect either of them to Lucia’s death. It’s still Becca’s word against theirs. There’s no evidence, Jesse.”

“No.” He eased the BMW out into the traffic on 17-Mile Drive. “That leaves us with only one option.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Look up where Delgado Photography Studio is, then tell Lucia. Then she can do to Jimmy what she did to me in the pool the other night. Let’s bring lawn chairs and a six-pack so we can watch. It’ll be more fun than the fireworks on Fourth of July.”

“No.” Now more than one muscle was leaping in Jesse’s jaw. “Don’t tell Lucia. I’ll take care of Delgado.”

“You?” I whipped off Becca’s glasses, squinting at him in the late-afternoon sunlight. “I was kidding about sending Lucia after Jimmy.”

“Well, I’m not.” Jesse gripped the wheel more tightly, and not because people were driving like maniacs, although they were, it being a Friday afternoon in Northern California. “This isn’t a job for a child.”

“Well, it isn’t a job for you, either.”

“Why not? I killed a man once. I’d be more than happy to do so again, in this case. Or two men, actually.”

“You killed a man once, Jesse, because he was about to kill you, and me, too. This isn’t the same.”

“How?”

“Because that was self-defense. This is vigilantism.”

“Well, in some cases a little vigilantism is necessary. Delgado needs to be stopped, and so does the priest.”

I was more thankful than ever I hadn’t told him about Paul.

“That may be true, but not this way, and certainly not by you. You swore an oath to do no harm, remember?”

“If destroying a monster prevents it from doing harm to others, and preserving the quality of life of the rest of my patients, I’m upholding that oath. That’s how physicians who administer lethal injections to prisoners on death row justify their actions.”

Whoa. I’d thought last night that he was making progress when he’d told me how it felt to be dead, unable to reach out to the people he’d loved.

But this wasn’t progress. This was premeditation . . . something with which I was not unfamiliar, but that still didn’t make it all right.

“Okay,” I said, hanging on to the passenger door. He was taking the hairpin curves along the sea at an impressive clip now that the traffic was thinning out. “Well, I guess that’s what you’d better do, then. Go ahead and take out Jimmy and the priest. I’ll enjoy CeeCee’s headline: “ ‘Young Physician Wastes Promising Future with Sizzling Hot Wife by Murdering Scumbags.’ ”

Jesse didn’t laugh. “Someone has to do it, Susannah.”

“Yeah, but like I said, that someone doesn’t have to be you. Your job is to save lives, not take them.”

“Like I said, sometimes by taking one, you can save others. And if I don’t do it, who will? You?”

“Why not me? It’s not like . . .”

“Like what?”

I clamped my mouth shut, realizing what I’d been about to cavalierly admit to Jesse: that I’d been contemplating killing Paul ever since I’d received that e-mail from him. The only reason I’d agreed to have dinner with him was because afterward, when we retired to his hotel room for “dessert,” I planned to mediate him, permanently.