Justifiable (40 page)

He nodded and stood where he was as she strode to the glass doors of her office building and stepped inside the warm reception area. When she glanced outside, he was melting into the dark.

He should have questioned her easy agreement to pull a warrant if he really had gotten a sample of oil and it matched the oil found on the victims.

If Riley knew what she’d found out an hour ago on Vance Montoya, the vic dug out of the police Dumpster this morning, he’d be tearing the doors down on a little church in Northern Liberties. But if Riley’s evidence corroborated her findings, Kirsten would be the one tearing down St. Catherine’s doors with a warrant.

And if she made a wrong decision, Van Gogh and the mayor would expect her resignation by dark.

When she reached her office, the message light was blinking. She unloaded her arms while the messages played. All were calls to do with work until the last one.

“Kirsten, I hope you enjoy the surprise I’ve planned for you.” 

What did her father have up his sleeve now?

Chapter 58

First he had to convince J. T. to get someone to test the bullet tonight, which would piss off J. T., then Riley had to drive like a madman to New Jersey where he’d piss off Dink.

Can’t please all the people all the time, right?

The only thing that mattered was that a new day would start in one hour and sometime during that day – or night – the person who had mutilated and killed human beings had “plans” for Enrique.

Riley made the three-block hike through downtown to the parking garage where he’d left his truck to go find Kirsten. She smelled so nice tonight he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her. Not entirely true. He’d wanted to kiss her and the only thing that stopped him was the possibility of destroying the tiny bridge he could feel building between them.

When this was all done, he’d take her out for a dinner she’d never forget and do his best to make her want to do it again.

He jumped in his Tundra and let the motor run a moment to warm it up while he rubbed his hands together.

His cell phone rang. Unidentified caller. He didn’t need a number to know who was calling. “Want something?”

“What were you telling Investigator Massey?” 

The killer had seen him talking to Kirsten? “Are you following me?”  Or her? This bastard better not touch her.

“The DA lied to the people today. How can I make sinners repent when the citizens are fed garbage through the media?”

“That was not my doing,” Riley argued.

“The Lord does not abide those who scoff at justice. Punishing evil is not something to be taken lightly.”

Chill bumps raced up Riley’s arms at the warning in those words. “So you’re only punishing the evil adults, right? Not children.”

“I deliver the children to a safe haven.”

“What kind of safe haven? Where is Enrique?”

“Somewhere nothing can get to him.”

Riley had asked the Detroit killer the same question and heard, “Somewhere no one can find him.” 

Frustration had become Riley’s constant companion, and it took everything he had to remain calm. “You gave me Pia, why not give me Enrique?”

“Enrique is part of God’s plan to save more children.”  The killer’s steady tone and emotionless delivery could raise chill bumps on a death row inmate. “He’ll be with me tomorrow when I show the sinners the consequences of their choice. Then I won’t need him any longer.”

Riley hated this bastard with all of his being. Hearing this killer talk about Enrique and sinners as though they were pawns to be captured in some twisted game then waved under the nose of the loser threatened to make him lose his cool and do something stupid. What little was left of his soul leaked out with every reminder of Detroit and everything about this killer took him back to that awful night.

Biddy was right.

Riley had lost faith in his instincts after Detroit. He’d been playing it safe with this killer, afraid to make a wrong move when there was no guaranteed right move. He should be using his investigative skills to garner information J. T. could use.

Before his time ran out, Riley asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“To make the sinners repent and change their ways. It’s my duty to confront those without conscience, to show them actions have consequences. Everyone is depending on me to clean up the garbage.”

“What’s your measuring stick? How can you be so sure someone is definitely guilty of a sin?” 

“Because they know they’re guilty when they confess their sins. I will give you all you need to know tomorrow. You tell Investigator Massey and the DA to prepare more graves if they don’t tell the people the truth then. If a child is sacrificed because you don’t follow instructions the blood will be on your hands.”

The call ended before anyone could have triangulated.

Riley called Kirsten and warned her to be careful, that the killer had been watching them.

Kirsten argued, “He’ll probably leave now that you know he was out here.”

“Maybe. Just take a cab home, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for calling.” 

His next call was to J. T. who cursed him like a red-headed stepchild before agreeing to run ballistics overnight on the spent .38 bullet that Biddy had managed to find in Monsignor’s office while Riley had drawn Margo away to meet with him. The cursing stopped abruptly when Riley explained that a match would mean Riley could tell J. T. the identity of the killer.

Chapter 59

He’d followed Kirsten Massey on foot through the dark streets to where she’d stopped to linger with Riley outside her office building on University Avenue. That had been an hour ago. Philadelphia howled softly with a harsh wind running most late night pedestrians off the streets. But he’d worn plenty of layers, prepared for the weather, so he found a place to curl up in a corner and wait.

When Massey came down from her lofty office, she took a cab. He hailed one right behind her and pretended not to know the address he was looking for, but gave directions the cabbie didn’t realize were based on the taxi they followed.

She got out of the cab on 18
th
Street in Rittenhouse Square.

Nice area...for those who could afford one of these places. White lights twinkled from trees in the park that centered the square. A heavy guy who didn’t look too happy walked his terrier that darted everywhere looking for the perfect spot to hike his leg.

As his taxi rolled past slowly, Massey paid her cabbie and hurried into a highrise that topped out over twenty stories. She smiled at the doorman who whipped open the glass door of the luxury apartment building.

So that’s where she lived. How’d she pay for that on a government salary? Did Walker know about this place? Had he been to her apartment?

Walker had been a perfect choice, because he seemed to have no attachments to anyone. Until now. The woman had to be why Walker was getting testy and questioning so much when they talked. So the newsman had an interest in the DA investigator?

That could present a problem tomorrow if Riley balked at reporting the story of his career.

The last story of his career.

But on second thought, Walker’s interest in Investigator Massey could turn out to be a benefit after all if he hesitated to perform on command.

Once the true story was reported, the city would see what a dedicated servant had done. They’d praise how he made the sinners realize what they faced if they did not repent and the pope...that visit would be the pinnacle of all he dreamed about.

Everyone needed incentive.

In the end, Riley would take responsibility for Enrique.

Chapter 60

Riley carried two cups of gas station coffee into the Certified Labs of Trenton in New Jersey and wasn’t leaving until he got what he needed. J. T. had made him wait for the ballistics technician rather than just drop off the bullet, which meant Riley didn’t reach Dink’s lab until just after one in the morning.

Yanking Dink out of bed at that hour would cost him more than money. “You finished testing the other oil samples?” Riley asked.

“All top shelf olive oil with identical trace elements of herbs.”  Dink ran his fingers through his bedhead hair and flipped on lights. “You owe me forever for this one.”

Riley smiled at the guy he’d met while covering a report on problems with a sewage treatment facility in Atlanta. “Got a possible supplier?”

Dink sat down on his rolling stool. “Maybe for the original base material, but the herbs and stuff? Not a standard mix of any retail operation I’ve found. Appears to be hand mixed, a custom or homemade concoction.” 

“That’s not much help.”  Riley frowned at the limitless possibilities a hand-mixed potion created, but he couldn’t have a better chemist running slides. CLT of New Jersey had lured Dink away from Atlanta and now he specialized in water treatment testing for city and state. Dink was one goofy looking, bohemian type with flame-red hair that would rival Carrot Top and a pair of Harry Potter glasses, all camouflage for the kind of brainpower they could use at NASA.

Riley drummed his fingers on the blue-gray Corian surface of Dink’s work center. “I have a hunch this oil comes from a church.”

“Could be.”  Dink swung around on the stool. “Made a few calls to some buddies in the business. One of them said the components of the oil sounded like the kind used in his church for sacraments.”

Riley stopped tapping his fingers. “Like a Catholic church, right?”

“Sure, but it could be Episcopalian or some other one. I don’t go to church so I don’t know who uses oil during the service.”

“Can you reach your buddy now and ask him a church question for me?”

“Sure, if he’s online.”  Dink pushed his bulk over to a keyboard. “Lives in San Diego.”  He typed with quick keystrokes, never backing up to fix a typo.

While they waited on a reply, Riley asked, “So you can tell if two oils are from the same batch, so to speak?” 

“Sure.”  Dink was as good as the confidence in his voice.  He could probably tell if two gnats had been hatched from the same gnat egg.

Riley pulled out the aspirin container and passed it to him.

Dink held up the small tube and gave Riley a tired look. “You’re a pain in my neck, but I’m more of a Jack Daniels kind of guy, not the aspririn kind.”

“That’s got a couple of drops of oil. I need to find out if it matches the other samples...tonight.”

Dink’s eyes squinted then widened behind the glasses. “Dude, I thought you wanted something quick and
easy
. You think because
you
don’t have a life I should give up my nights, too?” 

“If you want four tickets to the Eagles playoff game.”

“You’re getting closer to my happy spot.”

Riley released a tired rush of breath. “Plus this killer has a five-year-old little boy he’s threatening to use to make some statement tomorrow...today. We have to catch him before he hurts that child.”

“Ah, well, that’s a righteous reason. Give me the sample and I’ll do my Superman routine.”  Dink’s computer dinged with an incoming message. “My boy’s online. What do you want to know?”

“Ask him if a Catholic Church might use one exclusive type of oil?” 

Dink zipped that question out and had another ding almost as quickly. “Not really. Olive oil is fairly universal.”

“Ask him if all churches put sacrament oil on the arm of a terminally ill person, like on the wrist?”

After another series of lightning keystrokes, Dink hit the send and watched the monitor expectantly. “He says only in the Catholic Church. The priest makes the mark of a cross on their forehead and sometimes touches the oil to the inside of the dying person’s wrist.”

On the forehead, too. Had Kirsten held out on him? If so, Riley couldn’t do anything about that now. “That helps, but it’s going to mean more if there’s a match with these oils.”

“I’ll know in four hours or less.”  Dink got busy.

Riley had settled back to wait when a text came through on his cell phone from Baby G...news on Lisa Parrick. Bruno’s widow.

Chapter 61

Not his normal night of exterminating Satan’s disciples from the world, but one that had been productive. He’d even managed to sleep for four sound hours. He needed to be rested.

Today would be monumental to St. C’s future.

He opened the driver’s door slowly, but no one would hear a thing in the back parking lot of St. Catherine’s at four in the morning. He’d disconnected the interior light a long time ago to provide complete darkness when he needed to arrive and slip inside St. Catherine’s undetected. He had work to catch up on, then he’d go shower. The porch light above the rear steps to the administrative offices was out.

That suited him since the whole point was to enter without notice.

His wool cap and thick gloves insulated him from the teeth-chattering frigid air, but the brittle cold cut through the thin material of his pants and tore at his exposed face with icy fingers when he stepped carefully toward the building.