The 7th Canon Read Online Free PDF Page A

folding chair and straddled it. His right hand held two plastic bags.
    “Found it,” Connor said holding up a bag with what looked to be Father Martin’s letter opener, a gift from a South American missionary. The teak handle, carved with the image of Christ on the cross, appeared stained with blood.
    “Along with these.” Connor handed Begley a second plastic bag, this one containing a brown nine-by-twelve-inch envelope.
    Begley, already wearing blue latex gloves, unzipped the bag and folded open the envelope tab. He pulled out what appeared to be photographs. His face contorted in disgust. “Where?”
    “Office across the hall,” Connor said. “Inside a file drawer.”
    Begley looked from the photographs to Connor, about to say something, but his cheeks puffed as if swallowing his words. He turned, raincoat splaying like a cape. “Listen up, people.” Everyone in the room came to a sudden stop—the patrol lights swirling and the radios crackling. “We’re going to freeze the building,” Begley said. “Right now! Bag everything and catalogue it. Do not leave this room. Do not open doors.”
    After a beat the room started up again, the men and women quickly going about their business.
    Connor grabbed Father Martin by his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. A sharp pain radiated from his wrist, buckling his knees and bringing another wave of nausea.
    “Connor,” Begley said.
    “You have the right to remain silent,” Connor said. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney . . .”

    Danny Simeon stood in the hallway behind a uniformed officer stationed at the recreation-room door. Simeon had heard the sirens, which were not unusual in the Tenderloin. He’d paid little attention to them until the windows of the dormitory lit up in strobes of flickering color. Looking out the window, he saw police officers exiting patrol cars and hurrying up the building steps to the front door. The boys, well versed in police procedure, scattered from the dormitory like billiard balls.
    Simeon hurried into the hallway in time to see beams of light bouncing off the staircase walls, the officers’ boots pounding up the stairs. He did not see Father Martin in the hallway and quickly checked the office. The door was locked, but Simeon had a key and quietly slipped inside.
    The first wave of officers came up the stairs and entered the recreation room across the hall. Those who followed fanned out throughout the building. Simeon stepped from the office and got as far as the double-wide doors when an officer stopped him. Inside the recreation room he caught a brief glimpse of Father Tom kneeling on the floor with his back to the door. Another officer shoved him down the hall and started asking him questions.
    Now he watched as two uniformed officers stepped into the hall, Father Tom between. His arm was immobilized in a sling and his T-shirt covered in blood. Simeon stepped quickly toward him. “Father T? What happened? Where are you taking him?”
    But just as Simeon neared the priest, Dixon Connor exited the room. Before Simeon could react, Connor had grabbed an officer’s nightstick, jabbed the end into Simeon’s stomach, and whipped the other end across his jaw.

Chapter 5
    December 22, 1987
    Donley drummed his fingers on his desk and dismissed another case summary as not helpful. Frustration had set in. He’d come into the office early to search for legal precedent on which to base an argument that a man who’d professed to be Elvis Presley could somehow also be sane enough to decide how to dispose of his estate. The stack of books on his desk grew, but so far, Donley had nothing to show for it.
    He drained cold coffee from his mug, grimacing at the taste. He rarely drank coffee, which was likely part of the reason he felt on edge, but he needed the caffeine after working three late nights in a row. He wanted to clear his desk so he could enjoy the Christmas