It hadn’t worked out that way, and he still carried the shame of bailing out on Father Doyle. The upside was that he could help the old priest by counseling people in the streets instead of in the pews. That meant venturing into the seedier side of life, and he still came to Father Doyle for advice.

“All I have is a hunch,” he told the priest. “Mick claims he’s only writing a book to earn a little money, but I think it’s part of a bigger scheme. Those men from Mingo County didn’t come all this way to help Mick sell his book.”

“And what makes you think they’re up to no good?” the priest asked. “Because of the way they look? Because the people of Mingo County have no love for the Blackstones?”

“I think they’re here to stir up trouble,” Patrick said. “I agreed to represent Mick for that book, but I didn’t sign up for anything else, and I don’t like being dragged into it.”

Patrick had already read the memoir to be sure it contained nothing that libeled the Blackstones. The memoir seethed with resentment, but if all it did was assert Mick’s opinions, the Blackstones had no legal cause to block its publication.

“The memoir is foul,” he said. “Most of it is bellyaching about the indignities he’s endured at the hands of the Blackstones. Not that the Blackstones are angels, mind you. There’s something deeply tricky about that family. They sent a woman to bribe me into scuttling the book.”

“What woman?” Father Doyle asked.

Memory of his irrational attraction to the Blackstone woman still plagued Patrick, and he sent a cautious glance toward the old priest. “Gwen Kellerman. She claimed to know you. Does she?”

“I’m well acquainted with Mrs. Kellerman,” Father Doyle said in a warmly approving tone. “She is the sort of quiet, gentle light that makes the world a better place.”

It wasn’t what Patrick wanted to hear. It would be easier to dismiss his attraction if she’d been stamped in the same ruthless mold as the rest of her family. He shrugged off Mrs. Kellerman and shifted the conversation back to Malone.

“I know Malone kidnapped that child,” he said. “If he was willing to confess and repent, I’d gladly help him make a clean breast of it. But no, he wants money so he can move to Brooklyn. He’s slime, Father. Next time you kick a case my way, try to find someone who isn’t up to his eyeballs in corruption.”

“Already done,” Father Doyle said agreeably. “The holy sisters who run the primary school are having trouble paying their water bill, and the city is threatening to cut them off. I was hoping you might volunteer your legal services.”

Patrick nodded. “Whatever you need. You know that.”