Pretenses (17 page)

“Welcome home, honey,” Coco said, pointing her silenced Makarov at him. Father Reynolds stood in the doorway, astonished to see someone in his private dwelling. “Close the door,” she commanded. “I don't want the neighbors to see what I'm going to do to you.”

Reynolds closed the door.

“Lock it. I don't want to be interrupted either,” Coco ordered.

“Young lady,” Reynolds finally said, keeping his fear under control, “though your sins are many, Christ can make you whole again.”

“Sit down, Father. I have some questions for you. I'm an honest woman. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you live. Give me a hard time, and I'll have to make you violate your vow of celibacy.”

“Mary Magdalene was also a woman who had many sins. Yet, she was forgiven. Ever read the Bible?”

“Many times. Have you?” Coco said contemptuously. “Let me ask you something that has always puzzled me, Father. Where in the Bible does it say that priests have to be celibate?”

“Is that why you came here?” he asked, avoiding the question.

“You ever had a woman, Merle?” Coco asked, spreading her legs. She was wearing a short skirt outfit and no panties underneath.

He looked between her legs. “No. I've never been with a woman.”

“A celibate man wouldn't look at my crotch that way, Father. Haven't you ever longed to be inside a woman? Don't you want to know what it's like to make love?”

“Every man has his cross to bear. But that's what sacrifice is all about. I willingly gave up that part of my life to serve God.”

“Yes, but is that required of you? Even Peter had a wife. Why not take a wife and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh? God did make woman, did he not? And if so, she was made to be enjoyed, was she not? Yet you sacrifice one of the greatest gifts for nothing.”

“What's your name, my child?”

“I am Coco Nimburu of the Nimburu clan.”

“Would you like me to hear your confession?”

“Yes, and I will hear yours. It will hurt like hell, but I swear, I'll give you pleasure like you've never known before I leave.” She pointed the Makarov at him. “Let's go to the bedroom, Merle. I think you'll be more comfortable there.”

I
WAS CONVINCED
that there was a connection between Judge Taylor and Senator Blevins. According to Coco, Taylor's murder was merciful and Blevins' murder was brutal for personal reasons. What was the common connection? I was growing more and more frustrated. I knew the answer had to be right in front of me, but I couldn't see it.

On the way home, the traffic was so heavy that I picked up the files again as I waited for the traffic lights to change. There had to be something in these records that would lead me to the mystery woman.

I reread the Blevins file. Suddenly it occurred to me that Jason Bellamy had inherited most of the family money. Did he leave the money to Martha when he died? Money was always a motive for murder. I flipped the page to see how Jason had died, hoping that would tell me something. But it turned out that he had died of a heart attack. But I still wanted to know where the money had gone. The Blevins certainly weren't hurting for money, judging by the size of their elegant house. What's missing? I asked myself. PICTURES!

There were no photographs of either sibling in their files. I wondered why. Did Michelson remove them? Probably so. But why? What possible difference could the pictures of siblings make? It had to make a difference, probably a big one. There were pictures of both the Taylor and the Blevins families, but no pictures of Jason or Adrienne. Why? I called Kelly and told her I was going to the Taylor house to look for pictures of Adrienne. She growled a little but promised to go to the Blevins' house to check for photos of Jason. It could be nothing, but we had to follow every clue.

T
HE PRIEST
was naked and tied to the bed. Six golden needles were strategically placed in his chest to produce the stiff penis. Father Reynolds still had no idea what this woman wanted.

“I need to know everything you know about the Rapist,” Coco said.

“I can't tell you anything. I'm a priest, for God's sake. Please …don't do this.”

“I have to. I made a promise. I know you know something. What did he tell you?”

Reynolds was quiet.

“Okay, I gave you fair warning.” She put a gag in his mouth, then pulled out a set of silver needles. “Merle, are you sure you want to go through this? Tell me what I want to know.”

Reynolds shook his head.

Coco picked up a needle and inserted it into his right testicle. The pain was excruciating, but the gag muffled the priest's screams. Coco pulled the needle out and the pain stopped. “You ready to tell me now, Merle? Why go through all of this? You're going to tell me everything eventually.”

Reynolds shook his head again.

She reinserted the needle. “I'll be right back. I'm going to make a pot of tea. I can see this is going to take a while.” She left the room humming “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

She found an old-fashioned teakettle in the pantry and let cold water
from the faucet run into its spout. When the water was ready, the kettle would whistle. She reached into the cookie jar and took out some Oreos. When she went back into the bedroom, sweat was pouring off Father Reynolds, the pain was so great. Coco sat on the bed—expressionless.

“That's just one needle, Merle,” she said and ate a cookie. “I feel it's important that I tell you that if I insert all six needles, you will die. Now, do you really want that?”

Reynolds shook his head. Coco stared into his eyes. She wanted him to be aware of her personal resolve. He needed to see that she could administer pain without emotion or remorse. She put another cookie in her mouth; then she pulled the needle out.

“Better?”

He nodded.

“Are you ready to talk to me?”

Reynolds shook his head. Coco ate another cookie and shrugged her shoulders. Then she reinserted the first needle and stuck in two more. Reynolds' muffled screams were more anguished than before. “If you were ever going to have children, I would worry about having that many needles in one testicle. But since you're not ever going to be having any, there's no need to be concerned.”

She picked up the remote control and turned on the television.
Entertainment Tonight
was on. “You ever watch this show, Merle? It gives you all the dirt on the celebrities.” The teapot whistled. “Be right back,” she said, and hopped off the bed.

T
HE
T
AYLOR HOUSE
was just as we had left it. I wondered what the children were going to do with it. It was such a nice place. I walked into the living room, looking for family portraits. I saw dozens of them but none of Adrienne, not that I could tell anyway. There were pictures of Webster and Jennifer and their children, but not many of anyone else. I saw several pictures of two young black couples. I assumed they were the parents of Webster and Jennifer.

It was truly strange not to see any pictures of Adrienne in the house. Maybe the sisters weren't on speaking terms. Maybe Adrienne was dead, and the memory of her sister was too painful for Jennifer. But that didn't explain why there weren't any pictures of her in the file. Even if she were dead, what difference did it make? On the other hand, there was nothing in the file that said Adrienne was dead while the Blevins file had information that Jason was dead. I was really curious now. Jason was dead, Adrienne probably wasn't, but there were no pictures of either. I was onto something. I could feel it.

Did Michelson remove the pictures? Where would Judge Taylor keep any family pictures that she didn't want seen? I went into the master bedroom. A lot of women have a special drawer where they hide their keepsakes. If I could find her keepsakes, I might find pictures of Adrienne, I thought. I wasn't sure why I was determined to find pictures of her, but they were missing from the file, and my heart told me they were important.

I opened all the drawers, searched the armoire, and looked under the bed. Nothing. Frustration was beginning to mount again. I knew there must have been keepsakes somewhere; it was just a matter of finding them. I went into Jennifer Taylor's huge walk-in closet. There were several boxes stacked on the shelves. I took a deep breath and blew it out.

This was going to take forever. It occurred to me that even after spending twelve years in a Shaolin Temple, I still lacked sufficient patience. Master Ying Ming Lo had been on me constantly about that. Someday, I would master patience.

S
IPPING HER TEA
, Coco watched television and ate more Oreo cookies. Father Reynolds' muffled screams and constant squirming didn't bother her. From time to time, she would check to see if he was ready to talk. He had five needles in him now—the most she had ever inserted. She admired his high threshold for pain. She took the last swallow of her tea and looked at Reynolds.

It was almost 8:30; he had been holding out for more than two hours. Coco turned off the TV with the remote control and positioned herself between his legs. She shook the needles back and forth, forcing them in deeper. The priest's body was gyrating up and down.

“You ready to talk to me now?” Coco asked patiently. He nodded. Tears were running down his rose-colored cheeks. Coco pulled the needles out and he was able to relax a little. His chest moved up and down rapidly. After removing the gag, she asked, “Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“Have you seen him since the rape?”

“Yes. He comes to confession once, sometimes twice a week.”

“When will he come again?”

“Tomorrow morning. He comes in on his lunch hour, right around noon.”

“See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Here, have an Oreo. They're delicious.” He opened his mouth and she put a cookie in. “You ready for phase two? You're gonna love this.”

Father Reynolds' eyes enlarged when Coco took off her clothes. “What are you doing? I told you everything! Don't do this!” he pleaded.

“Relax, Father. I'm going to take good care of you.”

He struggled as best he could but it did no good. Coco laughed uproariously. “Don't fight it, Father. You might as well relax and enjoy it. This is going to happen.”

The more he struggled, the more it turned Coco on. Now, she had him. And it felt good. She began slowly. When the priest was no longer struggling, her thrusts became more powerful and rapid. Father Reynolds' eyes rolled back into his head—only the whites were visible.

“See what you've been missing, Father?”

He didn't answer, but he was moving with her now. Her rhythm was fast and furious, but he kept up. Two hours later, Father Reynolds was still going strong, but Coco had had enough.

“I need to stop for a while,” she told him as she stretched out next to him. “Give me half an hour. We've got all night and tomorrow, at least until the Rapist shows up.”

I
TOOK THE FIRST BOX
off the shelf and opened it. It was full of cards and letters from Webster. Kelly and I had been too busy to be thorough at the time of the assassinations. This time, I would be meticulous. I got to the bottom of the box, but there were no pictures in it. Undeterred, I carefully put everything back in the box the way I had found it and opened the next box. My cell rang. It was Kelly. Maybe she was having better luck.

“Hi, Kelly. You find anything?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Not yet. What did you find?”

“I got some pictures of the family. They were in the basement.”

“Is that where you started?”

“No, I started in the bedroom. That's where I keep my stuff.”

“Me, too. Judge Taylor's got an entire box dedicated to all the cards, letters, and notes from flowers her husband sent her over the past twenty-five years.”

“Wow! They were the real thing, huh?”

“Yeah. Makes me more determined to find out who paid Coco Nimburu to do this to them and why. Bring the pictures over. Hopefully, by the time you get here, I'll have something also.”

“I'm on my way.”

I opened the next box. It was full of their children's nostalgia, everything from birth certificates to baby shoes to school report cards to high school
diplomas and yearbooks. No pictures in this box, either. I started to wonder if I should go to the basement and see what was down there. This was looking like a dead end. I opened the next box and still nothing. I had three more boxes to go.

Starving for some good news, I called the safe house to talk to my husband. It was nine o'clock; Savannah should be ready for bed now. I hadn't talked to her in a few days. That was unusual for me. Keyth came to the telephone.

“Hi, baby. Where are you? I called the hotel and they said you had checked out without staying the night.”

“Yeah, I got a call from the Assassin. Would you believe she was in the same hotel as us?”

“Why didn't you check the register when you checked in?”

“Keyth, they've got a million hotels in San Francisco. How was I to know she was going to be at the same hotel I was in?”

He was quiet.

“What Keyth? Don't hold back. Let's hear it. How was I supposed to know she was going to be at the same hotel I was in?”

“Because you're the special agent in charge. It's your job to know. You should have at least checked.”

“Well, thank you very much, Keyth. Thanks for making me feel so damn good about myself.”

“You're welcome,” he said flippantly. “You can get mad at me if you want to, but you should have known to check that first. You didn't and now you have the nerve to blame me for how you feel? When we were in the Islands, weren't you the one who had the theory that the assassin had gone back to the Hyatt? And if that's true, seems like you would have checked with the desk clerk when you checked in, seeing that it would have been very convenient.”