Rite of Wrongs (14 page)

T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

Thursday, 1:30 p.m.

Miriam sat on the stone bench inside the gate of Saint Mark’s cemetery. She couldn’t make herself enter the church a second time. Yesterday’s reunion with Augie had been so far from what she’d dreamed might happen, though why she’d bothered dreaming anything . . .

Why couldn’t they have had a civil conversation?

With all they’d been to each other, why had they had to snipe?

She took a deep breath and let her eyes close, the pitchy smell of the pines as strong as the cloying scent of the roses along the fence. She didn’t know how the flowers survived in this heat. The church obviously had a magician for a gardener.

Look at her, stopping to smell the roses when she never stopped for anything. She hadn’t even made it to her youngest niece’s birthday party. Neither had she found the time to deal with her and Thierry’s living arrangements.

She thought about Melvin in Hawaii and smiled. She couldn’t imagine taking off for two weeks, flying for hours, lying on the beach drinking tequila. Hell, she could go to South Padre if she wanted time with sun and sand—

Enough.
There was no reason but petulance for her not to take the bull by the horns.

No reason save for the fact that Augie had already said no.

She wondered what it was like for him to be here every day, to commune with the Lord and shepherd his flock, or whatever he did, knowing his brother was buried behind the building. His brother whom his father had loved the most.

It was his father who’d been responsible for Augie’s decision to attend seminary, a decision he’d made when too young to understand that nothing he did would get his father to recognize his favoritism as emotional abuse.

Marty Treece had lauded the athletic prowess of his older son, leaving his youngest scrambling for a way to prove his worth. Gabriel was named after an angel, Augustine after a saint. As if the brothers hadn’t been burdened from their first breaths.

Augie shouldn’t have had to prove anything. It had made Miriam furious to learn he’d felt that way. No kid ever needed to deal with that type of baggage.

Yet the degree intended to prove how good he was—because who was better than a man of God?—had backfired when Gabriel had passed. Upon the death of his firstborn, Marty had lost his faith and accused Augie of abandoning his family and choosing the wrong side.

Miriam had never met Augie’s father. Those two had been estranged long before she’d been hired and Judah had partnered her with Augie. And his mother had walked out of their lives after Gabriel’s death. The Treeces were one messed-up family. And Miriam knew for messed up.

He’d thought being a priest would be a way to win his father’s love, yet that shortened version of his history left out all the complications that had torn the family apart.

But Marty was wrong about his son.

Augustine was the best man Miriam had ever known.

She would call him during Sunday-morning services and leave him a message. Or, better yet, she’d send him an e-mail. No, she’d write him a note. That way when Judah asked, she could tell the truth. She’d gone back to the church to see him.

She wouldn’t have to admit how much of a coward she was.

She pulled her traveler’s notebook from her crossbody and tore out the center sheet from an unused insert. Then she clicked on her pen and wrote:

Augustine—

Please.

—Miriam

T
WENTY
-N
INE

Friday, 8:00 a.m.

Another day. Another fifty cents. Not even enough for a muffin and latte, and Miriam could’ve used both. She was starving. After yesterday’s trip down memory lane in the Saint Mark’s cemetery and the visit to the county clerk’s office that followed, she’d substituted tequila for dinner, and she’d been stupid and eaten the damn Pop-Tarts with her coffee this morning at home.

She was going to have to invest in one of those fancy pod things that brewed espresso and steamed milk. It had to be cheaper in the long run than flirting with Vikram, right? And maybe she’d look into a service that provided all the ingredients for a healthy meal. All she’d have to do was toss it in a pan. She would need to buy a pan.

Of course, she’d also have to get home early enough—and often enough—to cook what she bought before the food went bad. She pulled to a stop at a red light and snorted. Who was she kidding? None of that would ever happen. She could live at the station and never have time for all the things she needed to do. Including sleep.

Even with her caseload having been divvied up among the detectives in the squad who weren’t assigned to the serial murders, the minutia of the investigation was kicking her ass. She couldn’t finish one thing before another popped up out of nowhere. Or she was sent on a fool’s errand. Twice.

First thing this morning: check on Dorothy Lacey’s property records. Then tap Melvin and see what he’d discovered—or not discovered—about the other fosters, and how his visit had gone with Sameen Shahidi. Where she went after that would depend on what she learned. One piece of the puzzle at a time.

Once at the station, she found Melvin in the break room when she stopped for more coffee. It would only turn to acid in her gut, but she needed the jolt of caffeine. The cup she’d brewed at home had only fueled her for the drive in. And washed down the crust of the Pop-Tarts.

“I thought you’d sworn off this stuff for Starbucks,” Melvin said, stirring powdered creamer into his mug.

“I didn’t have time to stop.” A lie. Also lame; she kept her own schedule. “And I’m tired of spending fifty bucks a week for coffee and breakfast.” That much was true.

“I hear that,” he said, bringing his mug to his mouth. “Zoe loves her mocha something or others. Until they have to come out of her allowance.”

“What did you find out yesterday?” she asked as she filled a Styrofoam cup from the pot that had just finished brewing.

He blew across the mug’s surface. “If you’d checked in like you were supposed to, you’d know.”

“Sorry.” Having left the note on Augie’s door per the spirit of Judah’s demand, if not the letter, she’d spent the rest of the day digging through enough files to keep her in paper cuts for years before hauling the boxes she still needed to clear from basement storage to the station. Then she’d gone home and read through everything in her notebook again.

Sitting alone in the cemetery had left her in a mood. One she’d been unable to define, but one she’d known she didn’t want to deal with at the office. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I went downtown and gave the foster-care records an hour of my life, then went home and tried to puzzle through my notes on the case.”

“And did you get anywhere with either?”

She shook her head. “Maybe if you have something new to add, things will click.”

“I got nothing. No Sameen or Dr. Gardner at the clinic. No Sameen at her apartment. Her neighbors on either side haven’t seen her recently, but they don’t see her much as it is. Seems she keeps to herself. Neither recall her having visitors.”

“Huh. Now I’m really curious about our mystery nurse.” She opened a sugar packet over her cup, added two more, then grabbed a red-plastic stir stick. “Wonder if Mrs. Hudson would let us see Sameen’s personnel file. I’d love to get a feel for her without a ton of hassle.”

“Good luck with that,” Melvin said, then added, “And good luck with
that
,” jerking his chin toward the deputy chief’s office. She looked over just as the door opened. Just as Chris Judah walked out. Just as Father Augustine Treece followed.

“Fuck.” She muttered the word, but Melvin heard and chuckled. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself from punching him. Then she counted to ten. Heat spread across her chest, up her neck, to her face. She wondered if she was having a heart attack.

What in the hell was he doing here? He’d told her no; had her single-word plea actually worked? Was he going to think less of her now? Think her desperate?

Yes, she was glad to see him here because it was what Judah wanted, but she wasn’t ready for this. She would never be ready for this. Working with him again? Even though he’d be a consultant going through the case file and not active police?

She should’ve told Judah that bringing Augie in was a bad idea. Having him here was going to screw with her head that on a good day was already borderline loose. There was probably an office pool on when she’d lose it.

But since she didn’t have a choice, she smoothed down her jacket and, heart pounding like she’d eaten a drum for breakfast instead of a Pop-Tart, left the coffee she didn’t need where it was and headed for her desk. He was already there. Waiting.

His mouth was tight. He hadn’t shaved. His crow’s-feet spread to his cheekbones when he frowned. In the shadows of the Saint Mark’s sanctuary, he’d appeared stern.

In the squad room’s harsh, fluorescent lighting, he appeared grim. Or maybe he was just sincere and reflective, as suited his calling. Augustine Treece, MDiv. Not a lot of police with a
magister divinitatis
,
a master of divinity degree, behind their names.

Tossing her crossbody to her desk, she gave his glare the side-eye and did her best to ignore her impending cardiac arrest.

He waited until she sat, then did the same. “Ground rules.”

She nodded. She couldn’t even mouth an
okay
.

“This is business. Cop business. Murder business. Nothing here is about you or about me, or the years we worked as partners, or . . . anything else.” He added the latter while rubbing at his temple. “Understand?”

She nodded again, her heart still racing, swamped with memories of lying beneath him, moving beneath him. She wanted to hate him for the way he’d made her feel. She was close to hating herself for still feeling it.

“I’m only here to consult. I’ll look at reports. I’ll give you my thoughts as a Bible scholar. But no crime scenes. No badge. And no gun.”

“No gun. No badge. No crime scenes.”
No needing you to save my life.
“Got it.”

She took a deep breath and counted to ten, waiting for the icy tension between them to crack, to melt, to soak into the carpet and vanish. It didn’t. It thickened as if global warming wasn’t even a thing.

“I saw you yesterday,” he said, sitting in the straight-back visitor’s chair, crossing his long legs. “In the cemetery.”

Privacy. Even in a cemetery, it wasn’t sacrosanct. “And you didn’t come out and say hello?”

“You were lost in thought,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You didn’t want to get into another argument, you mean.”

“I knew you wouldn’t have come back on your own. Which meant Judah wasn’t going to let up. I came by to tell him not to send you again. That I wasn’t interested in the case.”

A repeat of what she’d said. She supposed the words had more gravitas coming from him. Or not, since he’d agreed to come aboard. “Then, why are you here?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got a weak spot when it comes to puzzles.”

But not for her. “The ones they sell at Walmart are probably a lot safer to work.”

His gaze held hers. It was steely. “Where’s the fun in safe?”

Was he already breaking his own rules? “You might be surprised.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for when I retire.” He sat with his hands folded together on his thigh and looked around the squad room. “The more things change, huh?”

She wanted to pinch herself, or shake herself, or something. This was too surreal. He looked so much like he had when he’d last been in this office. Maybe a little less stressed, and now that he’d laid down the law, more at peace, but everything else was uncomfortably familiar.

Same dress shoes and socks. Same gray suit. Now, however, instead of a white dress shirt, he wore black. And in place of one of his fabulous ties—he’d had an even better collection than Judah—his neck was ringed with a white collar.

It made her itch, that symbol. To him, it meant everything.

To her, it meant loss.

“Your partner seems like a great guy. I met him earlier.”

She nodded. “He wasn’t the first one they tried to get me to work with, you know. After you left.”

“I thought you might end up on your own for a while.”

“Wonder Woman.”

That brought a short-lived grin. “They called you that?”

“Among other things. Lot of blame thrown my way for you leaving,” she said, then wished she hadn’t. Both of them knew the truth: he
had
left because of her.

He fell silent, too, uncrossing his legs, crossing them again, this time toward her, then leaning in. “It was my decision to leave. Everybody knows that. That last case we worked . . .” He paused, staring at the surface of her desk and rubbing at what looked like a pencil-lead smudge. “That was the straw, but the camel had been stumbling for a while.”

“I didn’t mean to break you,” she said, barely holding on to her composure.

His smile was probably the saddest she’d ever seen. “It was just my back. No big deal.”

She hit the button to boot up her computer, the distraction giving her time to find her footing. “I’ll be more careful this time.”

“I have no doubt,” he said, taking a deep breath, then nodding toward her monitor as it came to life. “So, I guess you should fill me in on the case?”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” She opened the document folder with the photos and reports, then reached for her traveler’s notebook.

They spent the next hour going over the crimes: the scene details and collected evidence, along with the theories she and Melvin had tossed around. Other than the Scriptures, Augie didn’t see anything with a strong connection to the Bible; he’d need more time to study the reports. Unfortunately, Miriam feared they didn’t have much to spare.

“What I found most interesting is that the verse from the first scene doesn’t refer to any sort of punishment,” she said. “It looks like it’s just God laying down the law.”

“Could be the first weapon was one of convenience.”

She’d considered that, too. “Like he wanted to exact retribution against both victims, but didn’t think things through or do any biblical planning before he started?”

“Something like that,” he said with a nod, looking up from the papers in front of him and meeting her gaze.

It took her a moment to catch her breath. “Let’s just hope come Monday, we don’t get a chance to find out.”