Justifiable (41 page)

Had to be careful not to fall. A broken arm or leg would ruin what would be one of the greatest days of his life.

No one would interfere with his plans.

Boom
!

He swung around and waited for another gunshot. His heart pounded from shock that turned into laughter when he realized the source.

Not a gunshot. A backfire up on the Vine Expressway interchange.

Didn’t wake anyone living around here, a pretty area at one time before crackheads set up housekeeping in the old neighborhoods.

He zipped his jacket up closer to his neck and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. Wind whistled through the naked trees surrounding the parking lot, branches iced just enough to tinkle when they touched.

When he got closer his feet slowed, senses alert. Fingering the .38 in his pocket, he considered the possibility of being mugged, then chuckled at the absurdity.

No one would harm him, not a servant of God.

A tiny light glowed from next to the roll-off Dumpster then a shadowed figure moved with the light between him and the rear door of the building. “I thought you were up to something.” 

The one person he hadn’t wanted to face.

Chapter 62

“I’ve got a match on one of two things.”  Riley held his cell phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. He sat back on the sofa in his apartment, gazing at the lights of Philly that ended along the Charles River.

“You told me you had
two
pieces of evidence.”  Kirsten didn’t harp at him, just grumbled in a voice thick with exhaustion. “You woke me up at four-thirty in the morning to tell me what?”

“That you better be ready with that warrant.”

“I’m in no mood to guess at what you’re talking about.”

“The oil sample I took to Dink tonight matched the ones off the victims. If I tell you where I got it, will you not go off-the-charts crazy?”

“I do not act crazy. I’ve figured out you got the oil from St. Catherine’s supply, but I don’t know
how
you got it.”

“It was actually a legitimate get.”

“So does that mean the bullet was obtained through less-than-legal means?”

“Let’s not get off on that just yet until we find out if ballistics has a match or not.”  He rubbed his neck and blinked to stay awake. “This oil
is
a match, which means someone has been using the oils from St. Catherine’s.”

“Not necessarily. It depends on where the oil came from originally. Could have been part of a larger batch that went to more than one church.”

“That’s true but what is the possibility of matching a church that has three victims connected to it and all with children?”

“Bruno and Lisa Parrick didn’t have kids,” she corrected.

“I found out that Lisa is two months pregnant.”

“Really?” Kirsten whispered in surprise.

“She was in the hospital when she heard about Bruno and broke down in hysterics, telling one of the nurses she hadn’t even told Bruno yet. She said the priest had urged her to tell her husband, but she was afraid he wouldn’t be happy so she kept procrastinating.”  Riley had gotten that on a text from Baby G while he was at Dink’s lab. No telling if Baby G had been up that late last night or had gotten up early this morning.

“That makes four,” she said with glum resignation.

He sat up so fast he almost spilled his coffee. “What’d you say?”

“Four victims connected to St. Catherine’s. I’ll tell you about the fourth one only if you keep the hell away from that church while I work through due process.”

If the gravity of what they discussed wasn’t so serious he’d kid her about cursing. Miss Manners not on her game early in the morning? “You act like I’d go busting in there demanding the killer turn himself in.”

She didn’t respond.

“Come on, Kirsten, give me a little credit at this point.”  But Riley made no promises about what he’d do if Enrique got hurt while waiting on due process. “What have you got?”

“Turner’s detectives had a breakthrough. Vance Montoya was one of the electricians who wired the Philomena House. His mother remembered that he’d mentioned once that he’d talked to someone from St. Catherine’s about the problems with his drug-addict girlfriend when he wired the housing units, but didn’t say who.”

Riley wanted to rail at her for keeping this from him yesterday, but she didn’t have to give it to him now. That she did made up for some of the things she’d done to cause him grief.

Speaking of access to information, Monsignor was privy to everything on St. Catherine’s and Philomena House. Very few other people on his staff would know what, and who, he knew.

Kirsten added, “Every resident of Philomena House was handpicked and screened by the same person who took confessions for Sally, Bruno and Clayton’s wife.”

Still within Dornan’s access and the Monsignor took confessions. In fact, he’d been in confession the first time Riley stopped by St. Catherine’s offices.

Riley’s only regret in all this was the fallout Margo would face once Dornan was arrested. The Monsignor had been some form of anchor for her after Margo’s brutal attack.

But she was the kind of woman who had a steel core and would survive.

The kind of woman who would not want to back a killer.

He eased back on the sofa, ready to hear Kirsten finally admit the name of the person he’d suspected for three days.

“Has to be Father Ickerson.”

Chapter 63

He froze when the small beam of light moved from the shadows between St. Catherine’s and the construction Dumpster. A familiar figure holding the flashlight emerged from the dark. Of all the people he’d been concerned might trip him up he hadn’t expected Ickerson to be the one to catch on.

The tiny light jostled with each step Ickerson took.  “Answer me.”   

“About what?”

Ickerson stopped two steps away. “You know what I’m talking about. You come and go all hours of the day and night. Now the police and media are snooping around, asking questions at Philomena.”

“You’re the one at fault for the problems there, not me.”

He had no patience for this man’s insolence.

“I’m disgusted. You’re quite an actor.”

So the priest was smarter than he appeared.

He now had two choices.  Keep bluffing and hope this did not create a complication or deal with the problem straight on.

Since his calling didn’t allow him to sift through problems to choose which ones he took and which ones he passed on, he accepted the only option. Deal with this problem now.

“Snooping around was a mistake on your part, Father Ickerson.”  He pulled the .38 out of his pocket and fired as the priest dove at him.

Chapter 64

“I understand how the weather has caused a delay in your schedule, but we really need the electrical wiring completed as soon as possible.” 
Yesterday, to be specific.
Margo rubbed her gritty eyes and stretched the phone cord to reach her coffee mug on the file cabinet.

She hadn’t slept so badly since leavin’ Boston eight years ago. That’s the only reason she was in the office at daylight.

“Sorry, Ms. Cortese,” Gonzalez said, just as he’d said the day before and the day before that. “We do the best we can. I call you tomorrow. Maybe come then.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gonzalez.”  Margo hung up and finished gathering the trash in her office. She went down the hall to Deacon Grizzle’s office since he was still out. Nothing had been cleaned in here. Why couldn’t Valdez help with this? She couldn’t decide if Valdez was really tryin’ to do a good job or just puttin’ on a good show for the monsignor. He came and went like the wind, answering only to Icky and preferrin’ to tinker with the audio system as if this were Carnegie Hall. If Icky expected Valdez to be an assistant of some sort he should tell the kid about how collecting garbage in the offices would be a good way to jump right in.

She paused in mid-step.
Admit the truth
. Her foul mood had nothing to do with Valdez’s lack of help with the garbage. Worry over facin’ Monsignor had kept her up all night and worn her nerves down to the point everything bothered her.

She’d do whatever was asked of her if he did not make her leave, but she had to tell him what she’d done. Had to unburden her soul.

With one large black plastic bag in hand, Margo headed to the rear of the building where she’d stack the bags for Valdez when he showed up. She’d ask Valdez, nicely, to toss this and the other bags into the back of Baylor’s truck so he could haul them to the dump. The roll-off Dumpster was for construction debris only.

What was the chance that company had picked up the Dumpster yet? Not one worth a decent wager if she were one to gamble. Just as she reached their small kitchen, the back door flew open ten feet in front of her.

Baylor rushed in with Valdez right behind him. “It’s Ickerson. Looks bad.”

“I think he’s dead!” Valdez shouted.

Margo dropped the bag. “What happened? Where is he?”

Baylor waved a hand toward the door. “Out there. Been shot. I’m calling 9-1-1.”  The old guy took off at a run.

Margo ran past Valdez and out the back door with the young boy on her heels. Icky lay on his back. Blood trickled down the side of his head. She looked closer. Not trickling. Already congealed.

She checked for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. It might just be low.

“Me and Baylor almost fell over him,” Valdez said, his words falling out in a ramble.

“Help me get him inside so we can warm him up,” she told Valdez who didn’t look convinced she could revive Icky. Where was Grizzle when she needed someone with muscle?

She hooked her arms under Icky’s upper body and grunted when she lifted. His shoulders were like ice sculptures. She didn’t care for the short-tempered guy, but she didn’t want him to die. They walked his limp body to the kitchen and lowered him to the floor. Margo sent Valdez to get blankets from the storage room.  She pressed two fingers against the bone-white skin on Icky’s neck. His skin was so cold it hurt to touch him.

Still no pulse.

Valdez rushed back in, panting, and his face almost as void of color as Icky’s. He threw blankets on the floor and started covering the priest.

“Can you find me a small mirror?” she asked.

The kid gave her a thousand-yard stare for a moment then nodded and ran out of the room as if a mirror could bring someone back from death.

Where was that ambulance? Margo rubbed her palms together quickly then placed them against Icky’s cold face, tryin’ to bring blood back into his skin. How long had he been outside like that? What had he been doin’ outside so early?

Valdez’s footsteps pounded toward the kitchen. He hooked the side of the door with his hand and swung into the room on a slide and handed a chunk of glass the size of a business card to Margo. “We broke an old mirror upstairs when we were taking it off the wall this week.”

Margo took the mirror. Was the old wives tale true? Could this be the beginning of seven years of bad luck?

Baylor rushed in. “I called. Everybody’s on the way.”  The old guy was shaken, face so flushed Margo worried about his risk of heart attack.

Monsignor would be here by eight, but she’d call him as soon as she knew Icky’s condition. Nodding at both of the men, Margo carefully moved the piece of mirror under the frozen priest’s nose to see if he was breathing.

Chapter 65

Lucinda drew a shaky breath and folded her hands on top of the metal table between her and the attorney Monsignor had found for her. Her handcuffs clanked when her wrists touched the metal. They sat in a small meeting room the jail allowed for client-attorney conferences.

From what she could tell, the only requirements needed were a locked door, dull-white walls, a metal table and chairs in a space that smelled depressing.

She couldn’t stop her knee from bouncing. “I’m sorry to ask you to wait, Mr. Urlich, but I’d really like the monsignor to be here when we talk.”

“That’s fine. I’ll step outside and give him a call.”  Mr. Urlich had a doughy mid-fifties body, but he dressed up well in a tailored suit and silk shirt. She’d shopped with Stan enough to recognize distinctive men’s clothing.

“Thank you.”  She needed to hear how Kelsey was doing more than how the attorney thought to get Lucinda out of jail. And she needed the Monsignor’s input to keep from making another bad decision.

A few minutes after Urlich stepped out of the room, an officer stuck his head in. “Your husband wants to see you, Mrs. Myers.”

She opened her mouth to refuse Stan when the officer added, “Said he has something to tell you about your daughter.”

“Let him in.”  She prepared herself for this to be some excuse to get past her attorney.

The door opened and Stan burst in with an officer who stopped her husband from going further than a step inside the door.