The Bishop swept into the interrogation room regally, with all the flourish of a duke or a viceroy, which in essence, is what his rank equated to. He was young for his rank within the church and was often berated for what was considered to be a streak of vanity. Often, he reflected that it was vanity, of a sort, but not the vanity his attackers thought. He simply felt that God had graced him with good looks as well as intelligence and that he should not spurn that gift. His dark brown eyes burned on this day, charged with his holy mission. His hair, an iron gray, was swept back across his head, each single hair almost perfect. While there were lines in his face, most were laugh lines as opposed to worry lines, although quite a few of those had been etched into his face over the past months. Not from the worries his brothers had in taking rein on those poor, wretched priests who had fallen into sin by molesting children within their parishes. That particular job would have been easy for him. In his mind, there were the godly and the ungodly. It mattered not to him whether or not they wore the vestments of the priesthood or not. If they transgressed that badly, they didn't warrant the privilege of wearing the uniform of God's servants. He surveyed the room and saw but two men, both in ill-fitting suits, both white men, one with graying, thinning hair and the other with a shock of wild, black hair which went everywhere. One was sitting at the table in the center of the room, reviewing some paperwork and the other stopped in his tracks where he had been pacing. While neither smoked, they both had the bulge of a pack of cigarettes emanating from their suit coats. While neither were nervous, neither looked comfortable. That suited the bishop, as he knew this was their environment. If they were uncomfortable here, then his job would be that much easier.
In the Bishop's wake followed a small, dapper man with beady, rat-like eyes, a pinched face and black, slicked-back hair wearing an expression making him look like had just bitten into a lemon, but the lines on his face betrayed that he had worn that expression for a very long time. He knew he looked seedy, mainly because that was the impression he sought to emanate. By making himself appear to be a cheap, sleazy lawyer, others would hopefully be caught off guard. Too many, however; knew better. His reputation was such that most others of his profession winced when they saw him walk through a door. Not only was he a lawyer in the employ of the Catholic Church, he was the top lawyer in the United States employed by the Catholic Church.
"Ah, Your Eminence," the detective seated at the table said easily. "Please, have a seat."
The Bishop smiled benignly and took the offered seat. "Thank you, Detective Halleman?" The detective nodded. "I'm sure you know Mr. Dager?" He knew better than to offer his ring to be kissed. He knew for a fact that neither of the men were Catholic.
Detective Halleman nodded and spoke with a bit of acid in his voice, "Yes, Your Eminence.