“This whole argument is bullshit,” I say. “If you’re staying here, I’m staying here. In fact, even if you left, I still wouldn’t go anywhere because there’s a crazy serial killer. For the record, it makes more sense for me to be here because I’m the one who actually knows the Bible.”
“I used the internet to look up that Bible verse you didn’t know,” he says. “That’s the amazing thing about the twenty-first century. The internet exists and I don’t have to know anything because it’s right there!”
“That’s not the same thing as knowing things off the top of your head. If it weren’t for me, you’d think this killer was part of the Illuminati—”
“Excuse me,” the police officer in front of Tobias’s apartment interrupts. “Are you two always like this?”
“No,” Tobias grumbles. “Fine. If you’re not going to leave, could we at least go back to the police station? That should be safer than it is here.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Fine.”
He reaches toward me, but I pull my hand away. He bows his head—the signal of shame—and as we head down the stairway of his apartment building, he doesn’t look at me at all, so I can’t read him. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, he finally turns to face me.
“I’m scared,” he admits. “This killer isn’t messing around and he truly believes what he’s doing is for the good of society.”
I take his hand. “It’s okay. We’re here together and we’ll find him.”
“I missed you,” he says.
I nod. I know I should repeat the phrase back to him—isn’t that what relationships are about? Everything being reflected back, so that we’re in constant equilibrium?—but I can’t because if I say the words, I’ll continue to get too attached and I know I need to cut ties in order to get the future with children that I want.
I take his hand anyway because his love is the one thing that keeps me from falling apart. I don’t know how I’ll deal with breaking up with him, but I have to do it.
* * *
“Okay, we were running on the assumption that this killer’s victims were random—except for the fact that they had broken commandments—just like Mary’s victims were random,” I say, writing down the names of our two new victims on white board. “But Mary’s victims were not that random—she had Gavin Lively who was going to Pious Church, where she performed. There was Jackson Belamonte, who she said she didn’t kill, but he was still her ex-boyfriend and he was murdered. There was Sarah Lurie, who had been in the news since she had been a royal bitch after taking over her parent’s store. So, she knew one of the victims, she was in the same place as another victim, and she knew about Sarah Lurie through public information.”
“What about her almost victim?” Tobias asks, chewing on licorice as he sits on his desk. “The one that would have fulfilled do not kill. He was a gang member and had killed people. Maybe one of his victim's family members told her about it or something. She had a lot of strangers confiding in her.”
“See?” I say. “They were probably all connected to her somehow. It may not be the same as regular murders in terms of motive, but they all have to come into contact with our killer unless their murders were in the news.”
“Well, Glenn Erwin’s murder was in the news.” He taps licorice against his lips. “Still not sure how the killer would have known about Philip Herdon. It’s either someone at the bank, his wife, someone at the adoption agency, someone at his job…or maybe even one of the bar’s patrons caught on to what he was doing.”
I stare at the two names on the board. “Glenn Erwin’s murder was in the news but the killer knew he was in Detroit before anybody else. How did he know?”
“Maybe he saw him in Detroit?” Tobias suggests.
“We didn’t even know he was a killer until someone from Indianapolis identified him,” I say. “There has to be more to that story. What do Glenn and Philip have in common?”
I draw a Venn diagram around the two names.
“You really think we’re going to stumble on something they have in common? It’s not like we would have stumbled on Jackson and Gavin’s connection to Mary if we hadn’t thought she was kidnapped.”
“You need to be more positive.”
“This is me being positive,” he says. “If I was being negative, I would be telling you that we should just wait until we find the killer crucifying a body like we did with Mary.”
I shake my head at him and begin jotting down notes on the whiteboard. “Okay. They had different jobs, one was married, one wasn’t, they lived in different parts of the city…could they have had similar hobbies?”
“Glenn worked during the day and you said his ex-girlfriend said he was always working. Philip worked during the night as a bartender. Even if they did have a similar hobby, I don’t see how they could have spent much time together. Maybe at the bar, but they both had a kid too—it’s not like that leaves a lot of extra time on their hands.”
“Right,” I say, writing child where their two circles intersect. “They both had a kid, but their kids would have gone to different schools. Could they both have been on the same sports team?”
Tobias picks up a photo of Glenn and his son that had been in one of the newspapers. “Philip’s child was a girl. Glenn had a son. I don’t think there are too many activities that they would have been doing together.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit sexist?”
“No, I think that I understand how people separate children’s activities,” he says. “There’s girls teams and there’s boys teams. There’s Girl Scouts and there’s Boy Scouts.”
He flips around the photo of Glenn and Nathan.
“I still don’t think he looks anything like his son,” he says. “Is it possible that his wife cheated on him? I mean, if we’re going under the assumption that Glenn is the one who is supposed to represent a person who broke the commandment that orders people to not murder and that Philip is the one who represents someone who broke the commandment that says to not steal, then they skipped over infidelity.”
“If someone was meant to represent infidelity, it would be Philip, since the murder commandment would have to come before infidelity,” I say. “Besides, Glenn’s son is adopted.”
“Whoa.” Tobias jerks up onto his feet. He swallows the licorice he had been chewing. “His son is adopted? Philip’s daughter is adopted.”
“That can’t be a coincidence,” I say, turning back to the whiteboard. Tobias shuffles through the papers on his desk.
“I’m pretty sure…” he mutters. He yanks up a piece of paper. “Yes. Mary’s father told me that she volunteered at adoption centers when we still thought she had been kidnapped.”
“Her manager said the same thing,” I say. “That’s our connection.”
Tobias finds another piece of paper. “The Herdons used an adoption agency called New Hearts.”
“Do you want to start making bets that it’s the same agency that the Erwins and Mary had been to as well?”
“I don’t gamble when the odds are against me,” he says.
I wrap my arm around his waist and pull him close to me. “You did with us.”
“You weren’t a gamble.” He kisses my cheek. “I was absolutely certain of you.”
“Are you still certain of me?” I ask.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”
“No,” I say, planting a seed of hope when I know how cruel hope can be.
Chapter Eleven
Tobias
This building is pretty damn close to my worst nightmare.
There are photos of babies everywhere, there are people who look close to either crying tears of joy or desperation, and every twenty feet, there’s a cross or a Bible verse.
It’s like Satan looked into my mind, found everything that I’ve recently been concerned about that doesn’t end in death, and created a building out of it.
The building is even across from the baseball field t
hat Glenn Erwin was found at, so it seems Satan has already does his work here.
“Welcome to New Hearts adoption agency. My name is Julia Simpson,” the secretary says. She’s in her early to mid-twenties with thick blond hair and such a small body frame, it seems like the slightest amount of heavy lifting could break her. She also looks like she’s been crying recently. “How can I help you two?”
“Are you all right?” Lauren asks.
“Yes,” the woman says. “I’m just—my father passed away recently. I was just reminded of him by something, and I’m okay. Are you two interested in adopting?”
“Uh, no,” Lauren says. She rubs the back of her neck. I’ve learned some body language signs from Lauren, but I’m not entirely sure what that one means. I know someone touching their face is more likely to be lying, but is the neck close enough to the face for me to consider that she does want to adopt a child? Does she want to adopt one now?
If I thought prayer could work, I’d start praying now. I avoid looking at both of them by looking down at Julia’s desk. This is an instant mistake because it’s covered in religious paraphernalia. A tiny porcelain angel with a cross on its dress, a wooden cross nailed to the inside wall of her desk, a magnet crucifix on a lamp with a stained glass shade, a day-by-day Bible verse calendar, and the Bible verse Philippians 4:13, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, on her mousepad.
“We’re detectives for the Detroit police,” Lauren says, showing her badge. Julia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Can we talk to the owner, Mr. Patrick White, or someone else who’s in charge?”
“Of course,” she says. “But our owner isn’t here right now. Our executive director is walking right up to us though.”
Lauren and I both turn to see a man with white hair coming forward. He’s anything but old, though, with a strong jawline and the smooth skin of a younger man. He’s a few inches taller than me, but thin enough that he isn’t intimidating. He’s wearing a very nice black suit with a pin in the shape of a heart with the word “new” carved into it.
“Hello, I’m Christopher Lush,” he says. “It sounds like you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, we’re detectives for the Detroit police,” Lauren says, flashing her badge again. “We have some questions about two people who adopted children through this agency.”
“Can I ask what this pertains to?” Christopher asks.
“Murder,” Lauren states.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Are the children okay?” he asks. “It’s not one of them that was—”
“No,” Lauren reassures him. “It’s not the children. Two fathers were killed though. Can we talk somewhere more private?”
“Yes, of course, that’s probably best,” he says. He leads us down the hallway to a large door with his name engraved in the center. He opens the door and we step in. His office has a long plain steel table with one of those ergonomic chairs behind it and two bright red armchairs in front of it. There’s a mural on the right of children from all over the world holding hands. On the left, cards are pinned all over the wall, varying from gratitude to Christmas cards.
Christopher sits in the chair behind the desk and gestures for Lauren and I to sit in the chairs in front of it. As I sit down, I feel like I’m sinking into the armchair. I try to rearrange myself while Lauren seems completely composed as she sits up straight. She takes two photographs out of her bag and slides them over the desk to Christopher.
“Our two victims were Glenn Erwin and Philip Herdon,” she says. “Do you recognize either of these men?”
Christopher picks up the two photos and checks both of them. He sets the photos back down.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know either of them,” he says. “And even if I did, I can’t disclose whether or not they were associated with the agency, but even if they were, their association with this agency had nothing to do with their deaths.”
“They weren’t deaths—they were murders,” I say. “How can you be so sure that nobody in your agency was involved? I’m sure you have many employees here. You can’t be certain where they all were when these two were murdered.”
“This agency is like a family,” he says. “I know that sounds cliché, but I have complete faith in everyone who works here. I would loan money to any of my employees and I know they would pay it back the moment they could. We are all children of God and I would be able to tell if any of them had strayed from their spiritual path.”
“How else would you explain that two fathers who adopted from your agency are now dead?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m sure they had other things in common too. Maybe they shared a taxi. Maybe they drank coffee at the same cafe. Maybe they talked on an internet forum. But whatever happened that caused them to be murdered did not happen because of someone within this agency.”
I stand up. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get a warrant.”
He stares up at me. “I’ll be here. Though, you should know that my father was a judge and I highly doubt that you will be able to get a warrant. Your evidence is barely circumstantial. It’s just a coincidence.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
I lead the way out, Lauren following closely behind me. Once we’re both outside the office, I close the door.
“You know he’s right,” she whispers. “We won’t be able to get a warrant.”
I shrug, walking up to the secretary’s desk. Julia is talking to another man with light brown hair, threaded with silver strands. He has to be in his late forties to early fifties and he’s wearing the same pin as Christopher.
“God will heal your pain,” the man says, his voice soothing. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. He will not forsake you. Your father is in a better place now and you should rejoice in the life he lived and the fact that he is in a place where there isn’t any pain. There is nothing to be sad about.”
Lauren leans over closer to me, her body pressing against mine.
“Do you remember me telling you about why the PVP Killer began murdering people?” she whispers.
“His mother had been diagnosed with cancer,” I whisper back. “His fear of her dying and having to confront the very real aspect of death caused him to deal with it by killing others.”
“Wow, you do listen,” she teases. She nods toward Julia. “She just lost her father. Maybe it’s making her worry about Heaven and Hell, so she decided to start killing people in a way that she thinks will save their souls.”
“I thought we were under the safe assumption that The Son and The Father were men,” I mutter.
“We’ve been wrong before,” she says, shrugging. “It’s just a title. The Father is both the father of Jesus and the father of the universe, so somebody could consider Him to be as genderless as God.”
“Female is still a gender,” I mutter. “The Holy Spirit should also have been genderless, but she was an evil fucking singer that happened to be female.”
The man turns around—he’s handsome enough except his face is a little too round—and Julia notices us.
“Ah, detectives, this is Patrick White. He’s the founder of New Hearts.”
“Good afternoon,” Patrick says. “Julia just told me why you two are here. Something about murder? I’m very, very sorry that happened. Can I have the names of the victims, so I can visit the families, make sure the children are coping well?”
“You can talk to your executive director about that and see if you can give us any more information about them because he’s not budging,” I say.
He nods. “Of course. Christopher knows more about the legal aspects of everything, but I’m sure I can sway him to give you whatever you need. But while the two of you are here, I strongly encourage both of you to look into adoption. I have four adopted children myself and they are such blessings. I know people say that all of the time, but there is nothing like raising a child and when you adopt, it’s just the most selfless act.”
“We’re not interested in
adoption,” I say.
Lauren rubs the back of her neck again. I’m really going to have to look up what that means later.
He shrugs. “I understand. The decision is always up to you and I would want anyone who considers adoption to be one hundred percent certain that it’s what they want—I’ve heard of adoptive parents giving back their kids, and it’s such an emotional trauma to the kids. But, if you ever think about having kids or more kids if you already have them, please consider adoption and our agency. I hope I’ll see you two sometime in the future.”
He rushes past us, sipping from his coffee.
“That guy was conversational,” I say. “I wonder if it’s the coffee or the stress.”
“Really?” Lauren asks. “I’m wondering if he could tell that we were a couple. Maybe after years of working with adopting parents, he has instincts about those things.”
“Or he was hoping we were in two separate relationships and both of us wanted kids, so he’d have two couples paying him money.” I turn toward Julia, stepping up to her desk. “Julia, hey, I just wanted to ask how much you know about parents’ personal lives before they adopt? Or even after they adopt.”
“We learn as much as possible,” she says, tugging on her earrings, which are, of course, crosses. “We don’t want a child going to the wrong family.”
“So would you know if one your parents had traveled to another city after the adoption was completed?” I ask.
Her forehead furrows. “No? I don’t think so,” she says. “I mean, we could have a general idea of where they would go if they told us where they like to travel to.”
“Okay, well, thank you for that information.” I head to the door and Lauren follows me. We get into my car and I stare at the building. “Julia seemed a bit nervous, don’t you think?”
Lauren nods. “Yep.”
I glance over at her. She seems lost in thought.
“Let me guess…you’re not thinking about Julia.”
“I really hadn’t thought much about adoption, but Mr. White had a good point,” she says. “If I adopted, I could give a home to someone who already needs a home. Don’t you think it would be a better thing to do than to bring a new life into the world?”
Violence of the Father (A Trinity of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) Page 7
