Sacred Sins (28 page)

“I don't want to die.” Laura, in delirium, had gripped his hands. “I don't want to go to hell. Do something. Oh, please, God, do something.”

He wanted to clasp his hands over his ears, to fall on his knees at the altar and take the host into himself. But he wasn't worthy. Until his mission was finished, he wouldn't be worthy.

“The Lord be with you,” the priest said clearly.

“Et cum spiritu tuo,”
he murmured.

T
ESS
let the freshening breeze outside play on her face and revive her after over three hours of services. The frustration was back as she watched the stragglers from late Mass stroll to their cars; frustration and a vague, nagging feeling that he'd been close all along.

She linked her arm with Ben's. “What now?”

“I'm going into the station, make a few calls. Here's Roderick.”

Roderick came down the steps, nodded to Tess, then sneezed three times into his handkerchief. “Sorry.”

“You look terrible,” Ben commented, and lit a cigarette.

“Thanks. Pilomento's checking out a license plate. Said a guy across from him mumbled to himself through the last service.” He tucked the handkerchief away and shivered a bit in the wind. “I didn't know you'd be here, Dr. Court.”

“I thought I might be able to help.” She looked at his reddened eyes, sympathizing when he was wracked with a fit of coughing. “That sounds bad. Have you seen a doctor?”

“No time.”

“Half the department's down with flu,” Ben put in. “Ed's threatened to wear a face mask.” Thinking of his partner, he looked back at the church. “Maybe they had better luck.”

“Maybe,” Roderick agreed, wheezing. “You going in?”

“Yeah, I've got some calls to make. Do me a favor.

Go home and take something for that. Your desk's up-wind from mine.”

“I've got a report.”

“Screw the report,” Ben said, then shifted as he remembered he stood a couple of yards from the church. “Keep your germs home for a couple of days, Lou.”

“Yeah, maybe. Give me a call if Ed came up with anything.”

“Sure. Take it easy.”

“And see a doctor,” Tess added.

He managed a weak smile and headed off.

“Sounds to me like it's heading into his lungs,” she murmured, but when she turned back to Ben, she saw his mind was already on other things. “Look, I know you're anxious to make calls. I'll take a cab home.”

“What?”

“I said I'll take a cab home.”

“Why? Tired of me?”

“No.” To prove it, she brushed her lips over his. “I know you've got work you want to do.”

“So come with me.” He wasn't ready to let her go yet, or give up whatever private, uncomplicated time might be left of the weekend. “After I tie things up, we can go back to your place and …” He bent down and nipped her earlobe.

“Ben, we can't make love all the time.”

With his arm around her, he walked to the car. “Sure we can. I'll show you.”

“No, really. There are biological reasons. Trust me, I'm a doctor.”

He stopped by the car door. “What biological reasons?”

“I'm starving.”

“Oh.” He opened the door for her then went around to the driver's side. “Okay, so we'll make a quick stop at the market on the way. You can fix lunch.”

“I can?”

“I fixed breakfast.”

“Oh, so you did.” She settled back, finding the idea of a cozy Sunday afternoon appealing. “All right, I'll fix lunch. I hope you like cheese sandwiches.”

He leaned close, so that his breath feathered over her lips. “Then I'll show you what people are supposed to do on Sunday afternoons.”

Tess let her eyes flutter half closed. “And what's that?”

“Drink beer and watch football.” He kissed her hard, and started the car as she laughed.

He watched them huddled together in the car. He'd seen her in church. His church. It was a sign, of course, that she should come to pray in his church. At first it had upset him a little, then he'd realized she'd been guided there.

She would be the last one. The last, before himself.

He watched the car pull out, caught a glimpse of her hair through the side window. A bird landed in the branch of the denuded tree beside him and looked down with bright black eyes, his mother's eyes. He went home to rest.

I
THINK
I
found a place.”

Ed sat solidly at his desk, hammering away two finger-style at his typewriter.

“Oh, yeah?” Ben sat at his own, the map of the city in front of him again. Patiently, he drew lines with a pencil to connect the murder scenes. “A place for what?”

“To live.”

“Umm-hmm.”

Someone opened the refrigerator and complained loudly that their A & W had been stolen. No one paid any attention. The staff had been whittled down by the flu and a double homicide near Georgetown University. Someone had taped a cardboard turkey onto one of the windows, but it was the only outward sign of holiday cheer. Ben put a light circle around Tess's apartment building before he glanced over at Ed.

“So when are you moving?”

“Depends.” Ed frowned at the keys, hesitated, then found his rhythm again. “Have to see if the contract goes through.”

“You having someone killed so you can rent their apartment?”

“Contract of sale. Shit, this typewriter's defective.”

“Sale?” Ben dropped his pencil and stared. “You're buying a place?
Buying?
”

“That's right.” Ed patiently applied Liquid Paper to his last mistake, blew on it, then typed the correction. He kept a can of Lysol spray at his elbow. If anyone who looked contagious walked by, he sprayed the area. “You suggested it.”

“Yeah, but I was only—Buying?” To cover his tracks, Ben pushed some excess paper into his trash basket on top of the empty can of A & W. “What kind of dump can you afford on a detective's pay?”

“Some of us know how to save. I'm using my capital.”

“Capital?” Ben rolled his eyes before folding the map. He wasn't getting anywhere. “The man has capital,” he said to the station at large. “Next thing you know, you'll be telling me you play the market.”

“I've made a few small, conservative investments. Utilities mostly.”

“Utilities. The only utilities you know about is the gas bill.” But he studied Ed with an uncertain eye. “Where is this place?”

“Got a few minutes?”

“I've got some personal time coming.”

Ed pulled his report out of the typewriter, cast a wary glance over it, then set it aside. “Let's take a drive.”

It didn't take long. The neighborhood was on the outer and rougher edges of Georgetown. The row houses looked more tired than distinguished. The fall flowers had simply given up for lack of interest, and stood faded among tangles of unraked leaves. Someone had chained a bike to a post. It had been stripped down of everything portable. Ed pulled up to the curb.

“There it is.”

Cautious, Ben turned his head. To his credit, he didn't groan.

The house was three stories high, and narrow, with its front door hardly five paces from the sidewalk. Two of the windows had been boarded up, and the shutters that hadn't fallen off tilted drunkenly. The brick was old and softly faded, except for where someone had spray painted an obscenity. Ben got out of the car, leaned on the hood, and tried not to believe what he was seeing.

“Something, isn't it?”

“Yeah, something. Ed, there aren't any gutters.”

“I know.”

“Half the windows are broken.”

“I thought I might replace a couple of them with stained glass.”

“I don't think the roof's been reshingled since the Depression. The real one.”

“I'm looking into skylights.”

“While you're at it you ought to try a crystal ball.” Ben stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Let's have a look inside.”

“I don't have a key yet.”

“Jesus.” With a mutter, Ben walked up three broken concrete steps, pulled out his wallet, and found a credit card. The pitiful lock gave without complaint. “I feel like I should carry you over the threshold.”

“Get your own house.”

The hall was full of cobwebs and droppings from assorted rodents. The wallpaper had faded to gray. A fat, hard-backed beetle crawled lazily across it. “When does Vincent Price come down the steps?”

Ed glanced around and saw a castle in the rough. “It just needs a good cleaning.”

“And an exterminator. Are there rats?”

“In the basement, I imagine,” Ed said carelessly, and walked into what had once been a charming parlor.

It was narrow and high ceilinged, with the openings of what would be two five-foot windows boarded up.

The stone of the fireplace was intact, but someone had ripped out the mantel. The floors, under a coating of dust and grime, might very well have been oak.

“Ed, this place—”

“Terrific potential. The kitchen has a brick oven built into the wall. You know what bread tastes like out of a brick oven?”

“You don't buy a house to bake bread.” Ben walked back into the hall, watching the floor for any signs of life. “Christ, there's a hole in the ceiling back here. It's fucking four feet wide.”

“That's first on my list,” Ed commented as he came to join him. They stood for a moment in silence, looking up at the hole.

“You're not talking about a list. You're talking about a lifetime commitment.” As they watched, a spider the size of a man's thumb dropped down and landed at their feet with a noticeable plop. More than a little disgusted, Ben kicked it aside. “You can't be serious about this place.”

“Sure I am. A man gets to a point he wants to settle down.”

“You didn't take me seriously about getting married too?”

“A place of his own,” Ed continued placidly. “A work-room, maybe a little garden. There's a good spot for herbs in the back. A place like this would give me a goal. I figure on fixing up one room at a time.”

“It'll take you fifty years.”

“I got nothing better to do. Want to see upstairs?”

Ben took another look at the hole. “No, I want to live. How much?” he asked flatly.

“Seventy-five.”

“Seventy-five? Seventy-five
thousand
? Dollars?”

“Real estate's at a premium in Georgetown.”

“Georgetown? Christ on a raft, this isn't Georgetown.” Something bigger than the spider skuddled in the corner. He reached for his weapon. “The first rat I see is going to eat this.”

“Just a field mouse.” Ed put a soothing hand on Ben's shoulder. “Rats stick to the basement or the attic.”

“What, do they have a lease?” But he left his weapon secured. “Listen, Ed, the realtors and developers push back the borders so they can call this Georgetown and take idiots like you for seventy-five-thousand dollars.”

“I only offered seventy.”

“Oh, that's different. You only offered seventy.” He started to pace but ran into a magnificent cobweb. Swearing, he fought himself free. “Ed, it's those sunflower seeds. You need red meat.”

“You feel responsible.” Ed smiled, terrifically pleased before he strolled into the kitchen.

“No, I don't.” Ben jammed his hands into his pockets. “Yes, dammit, I do.”

“That's the yard. My yard,” Ed pointed out when Ben trailed after him. “I figure I can grow basil, some rosemary, maybe some lavender in that little spot right outside the window.”

Ben saw a patch of knee-high grass nearly wide enough for two swipes of a lawn mower. “You've been working too hard. This case is making us all loony. Ed, listen carefully to these words, see if they ring a bell. Dry rot. Termites. Vermin.”

“I'm going to be thirty-six.”

“So?”

“I've never owned a house.”

“Hell, everybody's going to be thirty-six once, but not everybody has to own a house.”

“Shit, I never even lived in one. We always had apartments.”

The kitchen smelled of decades of grease, but this time Ben said nothing.

“There's an attic. The kind you see in shows where there're trunks and old furniture and funny hats. I like that. I'm going to do the kitchen first.”

Ben stared out at the pitiful clump of grass. “Steam,” he said. “That's the best way to strip this old wallpaper.”