Justifiable (39 page)

Massey pretended to care while persecuting those who served God. She’d sealed her fate when she’d threatened St. Catherine’s.

Chapter 56

Tires groaned against the pavement and horns squawked along Race Street with traffic churning in as much turmoil as Margo’s conscience. She stomped her frozen feet up and down the sidewalk in front of the Race Street Café, preferring the miserable cold to being seen inside with Riley Walker.

Couldn’t he have picked an earlier hour than ten at night? She had to get up for work even if he didn’t have a job. If he didn’t show up soon, she’d have to reconsider or freeze to death.

Wind pulled at the hood of her old parka, a battleship gray jacket with wool lining that blended in with the shadows where she huddled close to the brick building.

“What are you doing out here?”  Walker stepped into her field of view.

So much for being incognito.

Jeans and the bomber jacket, five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks and a razor sharp slant to his eyes. Everything, right down to the way he stood, vibrated danger toward anyone who got in his way.

She crossed her arms, ready to give Walker the brunt of her discontent. “I’m not hungry.”

“Tell the truth. You didn’t want to be seen inside with me.”

She ignored his astute observation and looked around, checking the area. A middle-aged couple huddled close together as they headed toward the restaurant. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

“My truck?”

“No.”  She was never getting into a vehicle again with any man who was not her family or Monsignor. “Follow me to where I’m parked.”  Margo walked off, not doubting for a minute that Walker would stay close behind.

At the door to her minivan, she swung around to face him. “You said you would trade information. That you had a way to shift attention away from St. Catherine’s with these killings.”

“If you brought something to trade with.”

“I did, but I’m not handing over anything until you convince me you won’t drag St. Catherine’s into some sensationalized story about these deaths.”

He crossed his arms and stepped close.

It took all her power not to take a step back, but he’d know she was terrified of him, of his size, if she did. She fingered the blunt knife in her pocket. Pepper spray could only be used once or twice. She never wanted to be defenseless again.

“I’m not sensationalizing anything, Cortese. I report the truth. I have not said one word about St. Catherine’s – ”

“You threatened to.”

“No, I warned you I would not shy away from reporting the truth, but this isn’t about a story. I’ll share some things with you that only three people besides me know. So if this information comes out I’ll know you leaked it. If that happens, all bets are off.”

“I’m the last person who’s going to share a word with anyone, particularly the media.”  She realized that statement conflicted with her standing here talking to Walker. “With the exception of right now.”

“Enrique is still alive.”

She sucked in a breath at that news. “He is?”

“Yes, so far. But the killer has alluded to using him for something tomorrow so we have to find this guy fast. I have a question for you. Do priests ever put a drop of oil on the arms or hands of a confessor?”

She considered his question carefully and couldn’t see any reason not to answer. “Sometimes in absolution we put the sign of the cross on the forehead and another mark in oil on the wrist. Now I get a question. Why have you been targeting St. Catherine’s?”

“Because Sally Stanton and Clayton Howell lived at Philomena and were members of St. Catherine’s, both killed by a bullet from the same weapon, both marked in the same way.” 

She put the next piece together. “Oil was found on the bodies.”

“Right. Two more victims killed in the same manner are being researched that I’m betting have a tie to St. Catherine’s. Did you know Bruno Parrick?”

Monsignor was right. Riley Walker was only going to dig deeper. If he caught her in a lie, she’d lose what little negotiating room she had. “Yes, Bruno worshipped at St. Catherine’s, but that doesn’t mean anything. All these people live in the same proximity. Northern Liberties is not the safest area either.”

“The victim found this morning didn’t live in this area.”  Riley’s eyes left her face and moved to take in their surroundings before coming back to her. “That’s why I said if you believe everyone at St. Catherine’s is innocent of any involvement to bring me a couple of drops of the oil used for dabbing on someone who’s dying. Did you bring the death oil?”

She corrected him. “Sacrament oil. Like I had a choice with you breathing down our necks?”  Or with Monsignor on the other side telling her to shut down Walker? What if Riley was on to something and the killer was using holy oil? Didn’t matter. Monsignor was the only person with a key to the stock of oil at St. Catherine’s, which she’d borrowed from where he kept it tucked away in his desk. She was the only other person with a key to his desk so there was no way the oil on those bodies had come from her church, right? Therefore, Riley was testing her to see if he could catch her trying to hide something.

Margo withdrew an empty aspirin tube the size of her little finger from her coat pocket. She’d scalded the tube in hot water and dried it before placing two drops inside.

He stretched out his hand.

She started to place the tube in his palm then pulled it back, terrified at what she was doing. Her heart climbed her throat with needle sharp fingers.

Monsignor expected her to handle this problem and she believed this would be an easy way to get rid of Walker.

He’d challenged her to prove no one at St. Catherine’s had been at the crime scenes and she’d pretended to fall right into his trap by asking how.

Walker kept his hand extended. “I give you my word that I won’t say a thing about getting this oil
unless
it can be proven that it matches what is found on the bodies.”  He must have thought her hesitation came from worry over what he’d report. “If it doesn’t match, you’ll have blown a huge hole in my theory about the connection to your church.”

All well and good, but the damage would still have been done. She understood Monsignor’s point of not being able to choose which problems she could deal with. She’d been given this one and made the best choice she could.

Like Monsignor, she was willing to accept the consequences.

Margo laid the tube of oil in his open palm.

“I have to say I admire your belief in your faith and the people you work with,” Walker told her. His voice had been tender, almost apologetic. “More than that, I admire your guts in showing up here with this sample.”

Margo didn’t want his praise any more than she wanted to feel warmed by the respect she heard in his voice.

Tomorrow she’d have to confess to Monsignor that she’d taken oil from the chest and given it to an adversary of the church, one who was not of their faith even.

She’d just risked far more than any future with the church. Margo prayed Monsignor wouldn’t discharge her from being his assistant. This was the only life she knew.

The only life she wanted.

The only place she felt safe.

Chapter 57

A walk in the night air should clear Kirsten’s head, not drum up visions of what kind of animals stalked the city after hours. She carried her briefcase in one hand and jangled her keys in the other hand.

Downtown Philly smelled tired, the pavement holding fuel and tire odors to tangle with succulent wisps of Philly beefsteak still being cooked somewhere. Her stomach growled. She didn’t like to eat after ten at night so she’d missed her window of time a half hour ago.

Keeping to the right of oncoming foot traffic, she passed beneath the protective catwalks covering the sidewalk along University Avenue. Two more hours at her desk should catch her up enough for tonight so she could thumb her nose at Cecelia Van Gogh’s back tomorrow. The bitch had dumped two cases back on Kirsten’s desk that had been ready to go when Kirsten delivered them last week. Cecelia’s note indicated she wanted additional research.

No, Van Gogh wanted to load Kirsten to the point she couldn’t expend any extra time on the serial killings until Philly PD made an arrest.

The strange feeling of being watched interrupted Kirsten’s mental crabbing. She slowed as she exited the covered walkway and peered into the areas illuminated by streetlights. Buildings soared above her, the tops vanishing into a black void of night. Some people strolled and others fast-walked, none of them paying her any attention.

Then she saw him.

Riley stood away from the building where he’d been leaning. He moved with an easy stride, meeting her halfway to the corner then falling into step beside her. “Got a minute?”

“Depends on what you want to talk about.” Did she believe someone with a church was involved in these killings? Sadly, yes, she couldn’t deny the evidence, but neither could she continue to collaborate with Riley. Not and do justice to her position with the DA’s office.

“I just want to know where you’re going to be at eight in the morning.”

She stopped and cut a suspicious gaze at him. “Why?”

“Because I may have the hard evidence you’re looking for.”

Kirsten sighed. “Still determined to prove St. Catherine’s is harboring a murderer?”

“I’m only here to give you a heads up. Just tell me where you’re going to be.”

“In my office.”  In spite of all that was going on and having her butt chewed over associating with Riley, Kirsten was glad to see him. And had been thinking about their deal for dinner. Not a date in the serious sense of the word, but she’d thought on that potential dinner more than once. Paying up might be interesting.

Riley leaned close and whispered for her ears only. “What if I can deliver a sample of oil and a bullet that matches the ones found on the murder victims?”

His warm breath rushed against her skin, soft and inviting.

A professional wouldn’t notice things like that, but a female couldn’t ignore the way her skin tensed, wishing for more than his breath along her neck.

“Kirsten?” 

That had come out sounding like a caress.

Her mind finally caught up to what he was asking.

She
hadn’t gotten a sample from the Monsignor so she doubted Riley could have finagled one. Doubted, but couldn’t dismiss the possibility. “What are you telling me?”  

“Nothing yet.”  When he lifted his head away, he staked her with an uncompromising stare. “If I deliver you a match on those two will you follow through on your end?”

“The chain of possession won’t hold up in court,” she countered, not willing to give him any answer until she knew everything.

“I’ll tell you exactly where I got both so you can search for your own evidence.”

“You realize if I stick my neck out on this we’ll both lose our heads if it goes bad.”

He studied her, his gaze probing for something. She fought the urge to fidget under that assessment.

“We’re going to lose Enrique tomorrow, Kirsten, if we don’t do something. I won’t call you with anything less than what I’m willing to stake his life on.”

She believed him. Riley might have his faults, but she knew enough about him by now to believe the depth of his commitment. He’d cut his arm off before he’d endanger that child. “You have Dink and J. T. call me with the lab and ballistics results. If you get a match on both, I’ll pull a warrant. But if not, all bets are off.”

“Agreed. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Riley, because I can only do so much,” she said, exhausted and worried about him. “Please don’t break any laws. I don’t want to face you in court.”  She expected him to come back at her with a joke or sly comment, not for him to nod silently. His eyes drooped at the corners from lack of sleep and strain. He couldn’t keep running on fumes for much longer. “Go home and get some sleep.”

He just smiled and touched his fingers under her chin, holding her entire body hostage with that tiny connection. Her heart thudded a fast beat. If he kissed her right now, what would she do?

The kiss was only a touch to her forehead, but even that took her breath.

Why did this man, of all the ones she’d met, stir feelings she worked so hard to suppress? Why did she want to see him smile, to be genuinely happy?  Why was she thinking about how much that dinner date was starting to matter to her?

“Go to your office while I can see you...Kirsten.”  He smiled when he said her name.

“I work late a lot and I don’t need you to watch.”

He moved his hand to stroke her hair. “But I need to know you’re safe inside before I leave.”

Warmth fingered through her at having someone concerned over her safety. She’d dated men who respected her independence almost too much at times, never thinking twice about her walking home alone. In fairness, that’s the message she gave off.
I don’t need anyone.
And she didn’t.

But she’d be lying if she said Riley’s concern didn’t feel nice. “I’ll go. You call me if anything changes.”