Wake the Devil (4 page)

W
esley Simms was wrong about when the body of Father David Beckley would be found. Late that afternoon, a member of the church’s cleaning crew dusting the side chapel noticed a dark-red stain slowly seeping out from under the altar. When he recovered from the shock of what was behind it, the man went outside, threw up, and promptly called the police.

Todd Milner reached Maria Alonso at her parents’ home in Richmond, Virginia and broke the news that her husband was officially missing, not just incommunicado due to an assignment. As additional protection, Dan Pappas was dispatched to Rachel Lawrence’s house with two more cops. Jack and Beth elected to go the church and examine the scene where the priest had been killed.

The church’s bell tower stood in stark contrast to the darkening sky. Evening was coming on quickly. Rumbles of thunder accompanied by flashes of electricity could be seen in the distance. As the sun set, the temperature continued to drop. The rain had increased in intensity and was blowing sideways, one sheet following another. It knocked leaves off the trees and sent them spiraling to the ground. The first cops to respond had set up barricades and stretched yellow crime scene tape across the church entrance.

Inside the sanctuary, people spoke in hushed tones. One look was sufficient to confirm Father Beckley was dead. At Jack’s request, the medical examiner waited for Beth to finish her examination. Over the last eight months, she’d applied herself to learning his forensic techniques with a fervor that surprised him. She could now locate
and analyze evidence on par with any technician. The woman definitely had a competitive streak. Confident in her abilities, Jack watched her work as she covered the area in and around the side chapel meticulously. She ran a sticky roller from her evidence kit across the floor, then over the alter itself. After that, she used a Polilight to search for prints. Several friction ridges were revealed. Jack doubted they’d be of any value. The killer had almost certainly worn gloves. In under an hour, she managed to fill six separate plastic bags with what Jack called trace: little bits of material that might or might not prove useful later. It wasn’t the items that were supposed to be there that interested him. It was what he dubbed “outliers”: things you wouldn’t expect to find. Early on in his career, he’d become a believer in Locard’s Principle, which argued that in every murder a transfer takes place between the victim and the killer. That transfer might be minute, but it was always there.

While she was occupied, Jack donned a pair of blue Tyvek shoe covers and wandered around the church. According to the maintenance man, the front door was always locked, except when services were being held. The side door and the door to the priests’ residence, however, were both left open. A few questions revealed there were actually two priests who tended the parish of St. Bernadette. One was now behind the altar. The other was in Houston visiting his sick mother.

It now seemed obvious the SWAT officers had spoken with the Sandman. Their description of him as “an elderly gentleman” was confusing, but understandable in light of what the files said about his ability to change his appearance.

Significantly, the Sandman hasn’t succeeded in killing the witnesses, which meant he’d been forced to improvise. That might work to their advantage. There was a special corner in hell, he decided, for someone who murders a priest. He looked at the figure on the cross at the front of the church and closed his eyes.

Jack’s wandering had a point. He was trying to determine the assassin’s way in and out of the church. Ultimately, he came to a halt at the back of the sanctuary. His vision grew unfocused as he attempted to place himself in the killer’s head. Given the Sandman’s penchant for meticulous planning, it was clear his intention
had been to use the building as a staging area. Nevertheless, Jack doubted the killer had gone there
intending
to murder a priest or don a priest’s habiliments. The murder was an unnecessary complication, as was his meeting with the police. Both were risks that gave rise to the possibility of mistakes. And mistakes led to evidence.

Jack made his way into the rectory and found Father Beckley’s quarters. They consisted of a simply furnished sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The bedroom contained a four-poster bed and a comfortable-looking armchair. The sitting room had a desk and a freestanding set of shelves with books, a few photos, and an autographed baseball from the Atlanta Braves. Jack smiled, remembering that priests were human. Nothing significant jumped out at him until he got to the closet. There he found an empty clothes hanger lying on the floor as if it had been pulled off in haste. Next to it was a black suit.

How many suits did a priest own?
He had no idea. Three seemed like a reasonable number, but it could easily been five or even ten. One was still hanging up and one was on the dead priest.

Out of curiosity, Jack looked in the clothes hamper. Crumpled beneath some towels were a black jacket, pants, and a vest with the traditional cleric’s collar. The jacket and trousers were good quality wool that a dry cleaner would generally handle, not something that would go in the wash. Gradually, a picture of what happened formed in his mind. SWAT’s arrival had either interrupted the Sandman or delayed his departure. Father Beckley, it seemed, was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If a rifle was being used, as it had been in London according to Beth, the killer needed a vantage point for a clear shot. He looked up at the ceiling . . . the bell tower. Like most people, criminals were creatures of habit. They tended to reuse what worked for them in the past. He left the clothes where they were and returned to the sanctuary.

Beth was just finishing her examination when Milner arrived with his own technician. Unnecessary, but they weren’t familiar with her skills yet. Milner introduced Alan Komanski to them.

“Al’s been with us for twenty years,” Milner said. “He’s about as senior as they come. If anyone can find a needle in a haystack, he can. No offense, Detective.”

“None taken,” Beth said, backing her way out of the cramped chapel. “Another pair of eyes is always welcome.”

Milner informed Jack, “You fellows have something in common. Al was Marine CID, too.”

Jack shook his hand and asked where Komanski had served.

“Wherever the job required,” Komanski said. “You know how it is.”

“Sure.”

Komanski was a little under six feet, with a prominent nose and intense blue eyes. Jack placed him in his midfifties. Despite his age, he looked like the kind of man who ran triathlons as a hobby. He’d kept his military crew cut, something Jack didn’t see much of anymore. Komanski glanced at the shoe covers on Jack and Beth’s feet and gave a brisk nod of approval.

“Can’t be too careful about contaminating a scene,” he said. “Believe it or not, cops are among the biggest polluters.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jack said.

Beth recalled Jack mentioning the same thing to his class the first time they met, but chose not to comment.

“If your girl’s done, I’ll give the place a thorough going over and see if I can work some magic,” Komanski said.

Jack winced inwardly. Beth was in the process of pulling off her latex gloves. She paused for a second, said nothing, and continued.

“I noticed you walking around when I came in,” Milner said. “Spot anything significant?”

He explained, “I checked Father Beckley’s residence and found a priest’s jacket, pants, vest, and a clerical collar stuffed at the bottom of his clothes hamper. I think the Sandman put them on when he met with our SWAT officers to pass himself off as a priest. Beth should—”

“You touch anything?” Komanski asked.

“Just the top of the hamper. I was wearing gloves.”

“What about the clothes themselves?”

“I used a hanger to move the towels and other items aside. Everything is still in the same position.”

Komanski shook his head. “You should have waited for me.”

“Since I didn’t know you were coming, that would have been a little difficult. I was very careful.”

Milner quickly added, “Dr. Kale used to be one of us, Al. He knows his way around.”

“Psych profiler, right?” Komanski said. “I remember hearing about you.”

“Correct.”

“Nothing personal, but that psych stuff sounds like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me. No one knows what goes on inside these guys’ heads.”

“You may have a point,” Jack said.

“Well, no help for it now. I’ll check out the clothes when I’m done here. You and the gal try to avoid getting hands-on, okay? If you see something of interest, holler. With a little luck, we’ll nail this bastard.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “The gal and I’ll be up in the bell tower. Want to accompany us, Todd?”

“I’ll be along in a bit. Right now I need to identify the Sandman’s points of ingress and egress.”

“Excellent idea,” Jack said. “C’mon, gal.”

As soon as the door to the stairway closed, Beth shoved him. Jack had to struggle to keep a straight face.

“Gal?”

“As a psychologist, I sense some hostility here,” Jack said.

“Yeah? Well I’m finding there are more horse’s asses in the world than horses,” Beth said.

Jack began to chuckle and kissed her on the forehead. “You sure about me getting back into police work?”

Beth pushed him away. “I’ll let you know later. Watch where you’re walking. I can see some footprints.”

“You’re very observant for a girl.”

Beth gave him a sour look, then opened her evidence kit and took an electrostat image of the clearest prints.

“Think this is our man?” she asked.

“It’s possible. They could be from a janitor, or Quasimodo for that matter. One side looks like it’s been wiped.”

They found the same situation at the roof. The Sandman had erased whatever evidence of himself he might have left behind. The rain had taken care of the rest. The same wipe marks appeared directly under the tower’s southeast opening. It was on a direct line to the Lawrence home.

“He set up here but didn’t take the shot,” Beth said, talking to herself.

“Might not have had a chance,” Jack said, squinting through the blowing rain. “Great view of the surrounding area. Our guys told me they were on a silent approach.”

“Silent or not,” Beth said, “he could see them coming five miles off.”

Jack nodded. The Sandman’s adaptability was impressive. He and Beth spent twenty minutes examining the area and found nothing. He was just starting to get a sense of what they were up against.

They met Milner and Komanski at the bottom of the steps and told them what they’d seen.

Komanski surprised Beth by apologizing if he came on a little strong. Probably as a result of Milner talking to him, she thought.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect. Too much time in the service is all. We’re all on the same team as far as I’m concerned.”

Beth smiled. “Apology accepted.”

“You wouldn’t know it to look at me. But I have a sensitive side.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I watch
Dancing with the Stars
with my wife.”

She wasn’t sure that equated with sensitivity. Nevertheless, she nodded enthusiastically.

“Some of those gals . . . I mean, women, are amazing,” Komanski said.

“They are,” Beth agreed.

“The other night they showed this clip from an old black and white movie with Fred Astaire and Ginger something.”

“Rogers,” Jack said.

“Yeah, Rogers. That’s the one. Let me tell you, she matched every step Astaire made. Pretty damn impressive, you ask me.”

“Except she did it in high heels going backward,” Beth said.

The FBI tech’s eyes slid sideways, and he frowned as he thought about that.

Without another word, Beth gathered her evidence kit and headed for the door.

O
n the way home, Jack placed a call to Dan Pappas. He was at the Lawrence house waiting for Dwayne Stafford to relieve him. If there was any question about the Sandman being in town, the priest’s murder had dispelled it.

“How are the witnesses?” Jack asked.

“Antsy and angry as hell that no one has spoken to Borov yet. I told them it probably wouldn’t do much good.”

“Agreed. Do they understand what we’re dealing with?”

Pappas lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I’d say no. The good news is they’re cooperating. Doc Lawrence is a trooper. It’s a damn shame what she went through, but she’s trying to pull herself together. She’s been making calls to her office for the last hour scheduling patient tests. No question she’s really involved with those kids.”

“Better she’s staying busy,” Jack said. “What about the other witness?”

“Landry’s a solid citizen. He’s former army and loyal as hell. He’s staying in the guest room tonight. They both asked to meet with you tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I told ’em you were heading things up.”

“I don’t see what I could say—”

“Jack, the woman just lost her husband. Now some nut wants to kill her and Landry because they happened to see this Borov pass off a suitcase. They’ve both had it pretty rough. Her more than him, obviously.”

“Understood,” Jack said. “Beth and I will be out to speak with them in the morning.” He looked at Beth, who nodded her agreement.

“Get some rest, Dan.”

*

Marta greeted them at the door when they came in. Each had to endure a series of lapping kisses from the big German shepherd. Beth asked Jack to feed her and take her for a walk while she took a bath.

“How come that’s my job?” he asked.

“She’s your dog.”

“What happened to share and share alike? Equal partners? Women’s lib?”

“It’s a flexible concept,” Beth said.

Jack looked at Marta for support. She raised her eyebrows.

“I’m surrounded,” he muttered and headed into the kitchen.

As he was getting Marta’s food ready, he heard the water go on upstairs. Traditionally, Beth’s bath lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour depending on how much she needed to unwind. Generally a book or play by Shakespeare went in there with her. Early on in their relationship, he’d been surprised to find she could quote entire passages from
As You Like It
and
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
by heart. Impressive. Once a month, she and several friends in her all-women reading club got together over lunch to discuss books. The group included a lawyer, a doctor, and a Superior Court judge. He once walked in on a meeting and had the distinct feeling he was intruding. He left as quickly as possible.

He had just started reviewing the first Sandman file when Marta nudged him with her nose indicating she was finished eating. He looked down at her. Her tail thumped against the nearest cabinet.

“It’s still raining out, you know.”

Marta stayed where she was, watching him.

“You don’t like the rain, remember?”

No reaction except a tail thumping against a kitchen chair.

“Right. I’ll get an umbrella.”

They walked through the quiet Brookhaven neighborhood past house windows spilling warm incandescent light onto the lawns. Inside, people were preparing dinner; kids were doing homework and
texting each other, probably both at the same time; seductions were under way; people were worried about their children, paying bills, or what to do for the weekend.

Marta kept her nose low to the ground, checking for scents. The rain had let up and was now a steady drizzle rather than the downpour that had drenched everything earlier that afternoon.

Jack reflected on how the day had turned out. He’d begun it reconstructing the murder of three people fifty thousand years ago and had finished the day doing virtually the same thing. Not much in the way of advancement for the human species. If he allowed those facts to depress him, they would. He was good at compartmentalizing and shoved the comparison away.

As it always did when he was feeling morbid, his mind turned to his former partner, Connie Belasco. She’d been dead now almost nine years. It hardly seemed that long. Great kid, solid cop. So eager to please and show she was one of the guys. Not unlike Beth, really. He owed Connie a visit.

The cemetery was twenty minutes away and it had been a while since their last talk. Mostly it was him talking and her listening, but every once in a while he thought he could hear a whisper. Perhaps, as his friend said, the dead find a way to communicate with the living. Morris Shottner, the psychologist he saw, would probably think he was nuts if he ever verbalized that. As always, he cautiously approached the subject of Connie in his mind, because thinking about her often brought on one of his panic attacks. What he told Janet was true. Since hitting on the trigger that precipitated them during his case with Beth, the attacks had certainly levelled out, but it was frustrating that they hadn’t disappeared entirely. The last one had come three months earlier. Maybe they would disappear altogether one day. It would be nice to have a life without them.

Jack felt the leash tighten behind him as Marta slowed, her way of saying she was ready to go back. They turned and started for home. It was just cool enough out and there was enough dry wood in the garage to start a fire. Beth would enjoy that after her bath.

Thoughts came and went, particularly about how his life had changed since Elizabeth Sturgis had entered it. She was five foot nine with brown hair and the largest green eyes. Add to that, she was
funny, quick witted, and intelligent as hell. At thirty-three, she was six years younger than he was. He’d never met anyone like her and didn’t expect to. An added bonus was that she and his thirteen-year-old daughter, Morgan, got along really well. They’d become Twitter and Facebook friends and spoke regularly, sending each other pictures and inane messages about what they were doing at any given moment.

The last time Morgan had come to visit, she had broached the subject of living with them. Apparently, Jack’s ex-wife’s new boyfriend had become a source of friction. Morgan made him promise not to say anything until she thought the matter out further, which was typical of her. She was a serious and contemplative child. He told her not to make any snap decisions and to give her mother a chance to work things out.

To his pleasant surprise, Beth was in favor of Morgan relocating. She was close to her own family and saw it as a good decision for all involved.

That discussion had started him thinking about the subject of marriage. He knew Beth was the one and that it was time to make their relationship permanent. For some reason, taking that step still scared him. Over the last eight years, he’d basically given up the idea of finding someone to love again. Beth had changed this. They’d been together what? Eight months? She knew the worst things about him—his frailties—and to his everlasting astonishment they were still all right with her.

“What do you think about marriage?” Jack asked Marta.

Marta had no opinion, but he was certain she approved.

A few weeks earlier, he’d asked Dan Pappas if he knew any reliable jewelers in town. Pappas told him he had a friend in the diamond business. Jack hadn’t mentioned marriage, but he supposed their loosely kept secret had managed to spread its way around the police department. As it turned out, everyone had a friend in the diamond business. Dwayne had one. Dwayne’s partner, Ed Mundas, had one. Even Beth’s secretary knew somebody who could give him a great deal.

While Beth was trying on clothes a month earlier, he took the opportunity to speak with a saleslady at Neiman Marcus’s jewelry
department. He hadn’t purchased a diamond in a long time and was surprised by how much they had gone up in price. She told him the more colorless and clearer a stone, the higher its price. Made sense. When Beth returned carrying her purchases, he was positive the lady winked at her as they were leaving the store. Privately, he was convinced some mystical form of communication existed between women where engagement rings were concerned. Though Beth said nothing about it, she seemed unusually affectionate that evening.

Definitely time
, he decided. Just as soon as they caught a killer that police on three continents hadn’t come close to in six years.