“I was with the police.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” he replied, apparently having caught her tone. “But why were you, a civilian, with the police at a murder scene?”
“I was in custody,” she admitted quietly, her eyes falling to her shoes. “They—the cops—think I had something to do with the first kid. I was in jail being questioned by a detective when the call came in. He made me go with him to the scene.”
“And did you have something to do with the first crime?”
“No! You know what, this is a bad idea.” Maureen got up and turned to leave, but the old priest grabbed her hand and held tight.
“Please, sit down,” he urged in a gentle tone, yet he firmly pulled her back into the pew. “We’re just talking. I’m just a little confused about why you would be arrested on suspicion of a child’s murder.”
Maureen hesitated, not sure if she could afford to tell another person her secret.
“I assure you, you are quite safe talking to me.”
“I . . . I had a nightmare where I saw the first child killed. The next morning, I went for a run and came across the crime scene. It reminded me of the dream, so I ran. I ran straight into you.”
“That explains a lot,” he said, nodding. “Please, go on.”
Maureen recounted the rest of the events of the past few days. When she had finished, she waited for him to dismiss her as crazy.
“It’s not the first time you’ve dreamed like that, is it?”
“No, it’s—wait. You believe me?”
“I have no reason to doubt. Yes, Ms. Allen, I believe you.”
“No one’s ever believed me, just like that,” she said mindlessly, almost to herself. She had no idea how to feel now that someone was taking her at her word. It almost scared her more. What kind of person was this okay with you being a freak?
“As a man of faith, I do believe that sometimes there are forces which connect people to the spiritual plain. There’s no rational explanation and no choice really but to call it a miracle.”
That word was too much for Maureen. “Okay, I can handle it if I’m just some freak, but miracles? Don’t feed me that line of bull, Father!”
“Ms. Allen, if you really are seeing what you say, then I can think of no other explanation than that God has bigger plans for you than you might realize.”
“Now you listen to me, Father,” Maureen’s voice echoed off the walls of the church as she emphasized every word. “God. Doesn’t. Want. Me. God. Hates. Me. And if He’s up there playing with my mind for some reason, then you know what? I hate Him too!”
She found herself standing over the priest shouting those last words into his face. He never blinked once. There was nothing else to do but leave.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, quickly pushing past him and into the aisle. “Thanks for the chat, but I have to go. I shouldn’t have come here.” Maureen turned and ran down the aisle, out the front door, and into the night.
FIFTEEN
Father Patrick watched the young woman flee the church. He had resisted the urge to prevent her from leaving a second time. Once was enough. In his years as a man of the cloth, he had found that his greatest asset was getting people to talk to him frankly and freely. Eventually, he’d get through to Maureen Allen as well. He had no doubt of that.
The old priest turned himself back to the front of the nave and rose slowly to his feet. The weariness of his years always showed themselves in the creaking of his joints whenever he got up from a seated position. How much of that was from his age and how much was from his old life seemed less clear as time went on. He had been a soldier back then and in some ways, the ones that counted, he was a soldier still.
He walked slowly up to the altar, replaying their conversation. For a man with less faith, the idea of a person’s nightmares coming true would seem inconceivable. For a person who had seen less darkness than he had, the notion would be almost too frightening to bear. He stared up at the image of his Savior on the cross and let out a long sigh. So many years, so many people he hoped he was helping in the name of Christ. The garb of a Catholic priest was one that he never thought would work with his mission, but it was the only faith he’d ever known and, though it had its faults, it was where he felt the most comfortable. The church hadn’t fallen so far that it couldn’t be used in his work. And there was still so much to do before he went to meet his Lord.
The priest crossed himself and turned to head toward his office. It was going to be a late night and reflecting on the enigma of the woman with sight was only going to push off finishing his notes on Preston’s sermon.
SIXTEEN
Manny pulled a tissue out of the box and delicately handed it to Sandra Locke before taking his seat on the other side of the table. She dabbed it gently at her red eyes, puffy from crying for the last several hours. He knew how sensitive he’d have to be in interviewing her, but it was important he get things rolling and get some good information out of her. This was going to be a delicate balancing act.
The ID on the victim had come back late on Sunday. It would have been difficult to get, but fortune struck the investigation when Stacey Winherst had found a small tubular object in the pile of charred internal organs. It was labeled with a serial number that had given them the identity of the victim. It was a shunt to correct a congenital heart condition which Evan, Sandra’s son, had been diagnosed with. The boy’s ninth birthday was only three weeks away.
The revelation that the victim was the son of the county treasurer had piqued Manny’s curiosity. The two boys were of the same age and were children of prominent figures in the community, both of whom had ties to the government. He knew that Tom Lowes had handled quite a few commercial building sales for the county over the years and Sandra, of course, handled all of the county’s money. There had to be a connection.
“Ms. Locke,” he said gently, taking out his notepad from his jacket, “I know this is going to be difficult for you, and I don’t want to upset you, but I’m going to need to ask you some questions.”
“I know,” she said weakly. “I’ll do my best.”
Despite the redness and puffiness of her eyes, Manny could discern the dark bags under them. If he looked in the mirror himself, he probably would have seen the same. He had known that he’d be interviewing her today, but had only found out a few moments before entering the interview room that he was to be the first one to talk to Sandra. It was a responsibility that he wasn’t expecting, but it sounded like the Feds were looking to use locals to interview locals.
“Can you please tell me about the shunt we found among the remains?” he asked as gently as he could.
“Evan was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. Turns out it was genetic. We lost his father to the same condition while I was still pregnant. My OB thought it was a good idea to check out the baby at that point. I guess it was a good thing he did. Otherwise I would have lost him even before . . .” The recollection hurled her into another fit of crying.
Manny waited patiently for it to pass. He felt nothing but pity for her, losing both her husband and her child, but he hoped that he could get something useful out of her.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“It’s okay. Please continue when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” she said. She paused for a moment, blew her nose, and looked back at him. “It wasn’t easy. Evan was on the spectrum, you see. He’d wander off if you didn’t keep a tight eye on him. I’m lucky that I found a job where I can work from home relatively often.”
“Why don’t you tell me anything you can remember about Evan’s disappearance.”
“It must have been around ten in the morning or so. We’d been out in our backyard playing in the sprinkler most of the morning. I went into the house for a few minutes to make some juic
e, and when I came back out, he wasn’t in the yard. When he had run off in the past, he ended up at the park a few blocks from our house. He likes the sandbox. Obsessed with it really. It’s one of the few things that can keep his attention for long periods of time. So I went over there to see if that’s where he was.”
“And when you found he wasn’t there?”
“I ran around the neighborhood looking for him for a few hours. I checked some of his favorite restaurants, the library. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I called a few of the neighbors to see if they’d seen him. No one had. I know you have to wait twenty-four hours to file a missing person’s report, so I didn’t know what else to do. I heard on Saturday morning about the fire and called to find out if it was Evan. I just waited and prayed until the Sheriff’s Department called last night.”
You’re lying. “Ms. Locke, you know as well as I do, that thanks to the Amber Alert, you don’t have to wait to report a missing child. I can’t find one good reason why, with one child already murdered, you wouldn’t call the authorities the second you couldn’t find your son. How about you tell me the truth?”
Sandra’s eyes widened and more tears welled up in them. She knew she was trapped. “I . . . I don’t want to cause trouble in the department. I work with these people. You work with them. It’s no one’s fault!”
“Ms. Locke, Sandra, you don’t have to worry about that. Just tell me.”
“I did call the police. I called right away. They said that he was probably at the park, like usual, and that he would come home soon. I’ve called the police a lot in the past to go look for him. I think they’re annoyed with me for calling so much over the years when it always turns out to be nothing.”
He was sitting across from a woman who had been convinced by his own department that her fears were irrational, and that she was nothing more than an inconvenience to them. It was enough to make his blood begin to boil. “Who did you talk to?”
“Sergeant Wentworth.”
Who else? It could have been any one of a number of the useless officers who polluted the police department, but everything always came back to that bulbous bastard. Manny tried to calm himself down. He would deal with that waste of space as soon as he finished with Sandra Locke.
“Ms. Locke, I’m so very sorry. None of this is your fault, and I promise that we’ll do everything we can to see that those responsible for your son’s death are held accountable. All of them. But for now, I just have a few more questions, if you’d be so patient. It’s almost over.”
Sandra nodded, wiped her eyes clear, and reached out to grasp his hand. Her grip was tight yet assured. It gave him hope.
“All right, good,” he said, squeezing her hand back. “Now tell me, how well do you know the Lowes family?”
“I know them as well as most people in town,” she said. “We’re not close friends, but the kids went to the same school, so I saw them around. Tom sold some property for the county a while back, so I knew him from that. We talk sometimes after church. His wife is nice, would even keep an eye on Evan from time to time when I did confession after Mass. You know, just your average casual acquaintances.”
“Okay, and any information on that sale that you can give me? Anything relevant you can think of?”
“They were commercial buildings we weren’t using anymore, over in Glenbrook. Some investor he knew bought them. I think they’re going to redevelop and rent them out. I’m not really sure. I just did the books.”
He made a mental note to look into the public record, asked Sandra to write down whatever names and contact info she had, and escorted her to the front door of the building.
“All right, Ms. Locke, I’m sure you’ll be contacted by Agent Layton or Agent Lorenzo from the FBI as a follow up after I file your statement. Do you have someone you can speak to in the meantime? I mean, someone who can help you?”
“My sister is coming in from Illinois to stay with me for a while,” she said. It seemed that she was drained of all her emotion. Her face had become blank.
As he walked her out of the building, all Manny could think of was the incompetence within the department that had allowed this little boy’s abduction to fly under the radar in the first place. The sheer lack of care for this woman and her son by the slackers he called coworkers consumed his thoughts. His cordial, sad smile and small wave as Sandra walked toward her car was all he could muster while the eruption brewed inside, waiting to be released.
Manny bull-rushed his way back through the station doors and made a beeline directly toward Wentworth’s desk. He found Sam sitting with his feet up, on the phone, laughing loudly at what was clearly a personal call. Manny swung his head from side to side. The captain wasn’t in sight, and no other officers seemed to be paying attention to the sergeant’s clear disregard for regulation. Fuming, Manny grabbed the receiver from Wentworth and slammed it down, severing the call.
“What the hell, Benny? That was my sister you just hung up on!”
Instead of apologizing, Manny knocked Wentworth’s feet off the desk and spun his chair around to face him. He could feel the redness in his cheeks, and his heart was racing. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch!”
“What’s up your butt?” Wentworth replied, attempting to turn his chair away.
Manny held firm. “Sandra Locke called in to report her son missing Friday afternoon, and you blew her off.”
“You trying to say that kid’s death is on me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
The station went quiet. Wentworth glanced from side to side, as if he was looking for his buddies to come to his aid. No one moved, so he raised himself slowly off the chair to make use of his frame. He looked down at Manny with cocky self-assurance.
“Now look here, you smug little asshole,” he said, poking Manny in the chest with his sausage of an index finger. “We all know that kid was a little flipper. We’ve wasted a lot of time and manpower looking for him every time Sandra got scared after twenty minutes and called us. And what always happened? He’d find his way right back home. Every time. Safe and sound. So you tell me why I should’ve thought this time was any different?”
Manny clenched his fists in hatred for this blob of a man. Wentworth knew full well that dealing with a missing child, especially one the whole town knew was on the spectrum, should never be taken lightly. He had a thousand and more words for the man, but not a single one could get past his throat.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Wentworth sneered. “So don’t come at me like a big man when you got nothing on me, you spineless, self-righteous little spic!” He gave Manny a hard shove in the chest and turned to sit down.
Manny remembered nothing from the moment he lunged at Wentworth until the moment he felt the hands of the Henderson twins grab his arms and drag him off their ringleader. Manny blinked, and the face of the sergeant, awash in crimson, came into focus. As he regained some semblance of composure, he felt a throb in the knuckles of each hand that told him he’d landed some blows.
Captain Wellner had placed himself between the two men, and Wentworth was on one knee with his hand to his nose, trying to pinch off the flow of blood. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” the captain shouted. “Benitez, my office. Now! Wentworth, get cleaned up. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
Manny shrugged off the grip of the twins and stalked behind the captain. Captain Wellner shut the door behind them, shuttered the blinds, and took his place behind the desk.
“Sit down,” he said, smoothing his tone.
Manny took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. He knew he was about to face serious consequences for his actions and cursed himself for his lack of discipline. He was supposed to be there when this case was solved. He owed the victims’ families that.
Captain Wellner heaved a sigh as he took his seat behind his desk, rubbing circles into his temples. “Detect
ive,” he began, looking up at Manny, “I have a lot of respect for your passion and commitment to your hometown and this department. I remember the day you came back and asked me for a job here at the station. I looked over your credentials and your performance reviews, and I thought you were nuts. I asked myself, ‘Why would someone with your education want to sit at a desk and have so little to do?’ I’ve watched you since then, and I’ve been proven right.” The captain rose from his chair and moved around to sit on the front corner of the desk.
“This place is killing you,” he continued, leaning in closer to Manny. “The monotony of the job has sucked you dry and turned your ambition into some kind of hot-headed ego trip. I mean for God’s sake, Manny, we’ve got two dead children in a town that has never had a single homicide in my time as Captain, the FBI breathing down our necks, a department full of officers who are way out of their depths, and when I look at you, I almost feel like you’re enjoying the chaos!”
Who could be happy when children are dying? “Listen, Arthur,” he said, daring to use the captain’s first name, “I’m not—”
“Let me stop you right there. I hate to do this, Benitez, but I’m taking you off the case.”
“You’re what?!” Manny shouted, erupting from his seat. “What for? ‘Cuz I finally gave that piece of shit Wentworth what he deserved? He’s the reason Evan Locke is dead, you know! He’s the one who’s been sliding by in this place for years!” He spat the last few words at the captain in disgust, figuring he had nothing to lose. He may as well get it all out.
“I’m not the one with the problem around here,” he continued, pacing back and forth in front of the captain’s desk. “This department is nothing but a boys club for the former high school kings. Everyone outside this room is half the officer they should be. You know Wentworth’s a fat pile of useless crap. Scottsdale can barely read. McKeegan’s only here ‘cuz he likes to drive the police car and use his uniform to get laid. The Henderson twins do nothing but follow the other three around like little puppies! You know Yancy and Hanson are just here cashing a paycheck. Collins is the only one with any real drive, but that kid is so wet behind the ears, he’s still learning the goddamn Miranda Rights! But no, I’m the one with the ego issue, and I’m the one you’re tossing from the case.”
Unholy Shepherd Page 12
