by Joanne Fluke
Steve laughed. “You’d better put your purse up tonight. Pete might decide to chew through it to see if there’s more. Oh before I forget, Michele, I had Doug stop by at the hardware store to make these for you.”
Steve reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out two keys.
“The red one opens the dead bolt, and the blue one’s for the regular lock. I don’t think you should go back home until this whole thing is wrapped up. My place is much more secure. Now, there’s something I need to show you. I’ll be back in a second.”
Michele breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad she wasn’t going back to her own apartment, even though her WinterGame interview with Margaret had been canceled. That hollow front door was bothering her. She almost wished that Steve hadn’t told her.
As she slipped the keys onto her key chain, Michele wondered if she was making some sort of commitment. Did the keys simply mean that she was still under official police protection? Or was there another reason that had to do with Steve’s hurried “Love you, honey” in Doug’s car this morning? Michele opened her mouth to ask, but the phone rang. She was beginning to hate that sound. At least it wasn’t the tie line this time.
“Could you get that, honey?” Steve called from the bedroom.
“Hello? Yes, this is Steve Radke’s apartment. Just a moment and I’ll get him for you.”
Steve hurried back to the living room and took the phone. He was holding a gun in his hand.
“Oh, hi, Mom! No, that’s all right. I wasn’t sleeping.”
There was a moment of silence, and Steve laughed.
“Oh, that was my—my friend, Michele Layton. No, Mom. It’s perfectly all right. You aren’t disturbing us at all.”
Michele got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. She didn’t want to eavesdrop on Steve’s conversation with his mother. She guessed friend was as good a word as any to describe their relationship, but she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. She wished Steve had said something a little more personal.
She switched on the light by the bed and sat down gingerly. She still wasn’t used to the water bed, but it had certainly cured her insomnia. What other word could Steve have used? He certainly couldn’t have said mistress or lover, and girlfriend was a ridiculous term for a woman over twenty-five. There must be a socially acceptable word to describe her, but Michele couldn’t think of a single one.
“Michele? Come here a second, will you?”
Steve was sitting on the couch when she came back to the living room.
“I told my mom we’d try to stop by on the way up to Canada. They want to meet you, and their place is right on the way. International Falls. She heard about the murders on the news, and she’s been trying to reach me all night.”
Michele smiled. Steve wanted her to meet his parents. Maybe friend wasn’t as bad as she thought.
“This is a Colt thirty-eight magnum. It’s fully loaded, six cylinders. I keep it on the trunk by the bed. See this little button on the side? That’s the safety. Press it so the red shows, aim it, and pull the trigger. That’s all there is to it. Do you think you can handle it?”
Michele reached out to take the gun and clicked the safety back on.
“I know exactly what you’re going to say. ‘Aim for the chest. It’s the biggest target. Extend the right arm, and steady the gun with your left. Keep both eyes open, and squeeze off your shots.’ I used to go target shooting with my dad. He had a Colt just like this.”
Steve nodded.
“You’re full of surprises, Michele. That’s one of the things I love about you. My ex-wife almost fainted the first time I handed her a gun.”
The phone rang again, and Steve reached over to answer it.
“Hi, Henry. No, not a thing. Michele and I just got back from Perkins. Now? Sure, Henry. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Steve hung up the phone and turned to Michele.
“Henry sounded pretty excited. He wants me to meet him at the hospital right away. Do you think you’ll be all right here alone?”
Michele nodded quickly. She was scared to death of staying here alone, but she couldn’t keep tagging along with Steve like a scared rabbit and spoil her image by admitting her fear. Besides, she had the gun, and she did know how to use it. It wasn’t the same as the fishing tapes.
“I’ll be fine, Steve. Go ahead.”
“Pete’s not very big, but he’s a pretty good watchdog. If anyone comes to the door, he’ll bark like crazy. Don’t let anyone in, Michele. No one. Promise?”
“I promise, but you’re going to look pretty silly sleeping out there on the steps.”
Steve laughed. “All right. You made your point. Don’t let anyone in but me. Lock the dead bolt when I leave, okay?”
Michele kissed Steve at the door. “You can wake me up when you get back if you want to.”
“I want to.” Steve hugged her hard.
Michele snapped the dead bolt home as soon as Steve closed the door. He’d mentioned love for the second time. Two times in one day couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
It took less than ten minutes to drive to the hospital. Steve left his car in a no-parking zone near the entrance. As he rushed into the lobby a gray-haired woman in a pink smock stopped him.
“I’m sorry, but visiting hours are—”
“Police, ma’am.” Steve flashed his badge. “I’m meeting Dr. Corliss in the cafeteria.”
“Oh. Follow the green line, and turn left at the end of the corridor. It’s the third door on the right.” The receptionist lowered her voice. “It’s not another murder, is it?”
“No, ma’am. Just routine business.”
Steve glanced back as he reached the end of the corridor. The gray-haired woman had the phone to her ear, and she was speaking urgently to someone. Steve was willing to bet that the receptionist’s friends would take an unscheduled coffee break to try to overhear his conversation with Henry.
The cafeteria was nearly deserted. A tired-looking intern sat at an orange plastic table in the back of the room, munching impassively on a vending machine sandwich. A medical text was propped open in front of him, and he didn’t even look up as Steve entered.
“Steve, over here.”
Henry stood by the coffee machine. He finished the last of his coffee at a gulp and threw the plastic cup into the trash.
“Come with me, Steve. There’s something you have to see.”
Four nurses rushed into the cafeteria as they were leaving. Steve thought they looked disappointed. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes since he’d shown his badge to the lady in pink. The hospital grapevine was working effectively tonight.
Henry led Steve down the corridor and stopped at a door with a small bronze plaque. It was the hospital chapel.
“In here, Steve.” Henry opened the door and switched on the lights. “You’re not going to believe this, but everything checks out. I went over it twice to be sure.”
Steve stepped inside. It was a miniature church with four cushioned pews.
“Take a good look at the big silver crucifix up by the altar. Your murder weapon looks exactly like that.”
Michele was afraid to take a shower. All sorts of terrible things could happen, and she wouldn’t hear them over the noise of the rushing water. Judith had been taking a shower when those three men broke into her house. Then there was the horrible scene with Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins, but she didn’t want to think about that. Michele settled for a bath instead. If she kept the bathroom door open, she’d be able to hear any noise outside in the apartment.
She was sitting in the bathtub, trying to relax, when it happened. Pete came barreling into the room and jumped up on the edge of the tub. The porcelain was slippery, and he went skidding and thrashing into the water.
“Oh, my God.”
Michele pulled the little dog out. He looked like a drowned rat. It was amazing how much smaller he seemed when his hair was plastered to his body.
“Now you’ve done it, Pete.” Michele laughed at Pete’s forlorn expression. “Do you want a bath, boy? You’ve certainly got a head start.”
Pete didn’t seem to mind getting into the tub again, after Michele let out most of the water. She found an old soft brush under the bathroom sink and scrubbed him down.
“All done, Pete.” Michele finished rinsing him off and wrapped a fluffy towel around him. Then she carried him into the bedroom and gave him a Milk-Bone while she rubbed him dry.
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Michele set him down on the bed and hung up the towel to dry. When she came back, Pete was shaking, so she pulled back the spread and covered him up. The heated water bed would warm him up in no time.
Pete followed her with his eyes as she got into one of Steve’s white T-shirts as a nightgown and the robe she’d brought from her apartment. There were three books on Steve’s side of the bed. An Introduction to Criminalistics, Medicolegal Investigation of Gunshot Wounds, and Fishing Canada. Michele settled for the fishing book—at least there were pictures—and stretched out on the bed to read. In less than five minutes Pete had crawled over to cuddle against Michele’s side and both of them were sound asleep.
It was past one-thirty, but there were lights on at the archbishopric. Steve turned on Third Avenue South and pulled into the driveway. The archbishop’s invitation to call on him again probably didn’t extend to the wee hours of the morning, but it couldn’t be helped. If Archbishop Ciminski was still awake, Steve had to ask him some questions.
“Mr. Radke?” Joe, the young priest whom Steve had met on his last visit, opened the door.
“I’m sorry to come so late, Joe, but I have to talk to the archbishop if he’s still awake. It should take only a minute.”
Joe nodded and hung Steve’s parka in the closet.
“Right this way, Mr. Radke. His Excellency is in the den. He just finished a late meeting.”
“Ah, Steve.” Archbishop Ciminski got up from his chair to shake Steve’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t locate your bishop.”
“I appreciate all those calls you made, sir.”
The archbishop was wearing street clothes again. Even though he was prepared this time, Steve still had trouble believing that the tall, smiling man wearing corduroy pants and a red crewneck sweater was really the head of a powerful archdiocese.
Archbishop Ciminski gestured toward a group of wing chairs near the window.
“Have a seat, Steve. Is it too late to offer coffee?”
“It’s never too late.” Steve grinned. “Your coffee is much better than Perkins’s.”
Joe tapped at the door and came in with their coffee before the archbishop had even reached for his buzzer. He must have prepared it right after he’d answered the door. Steve waited until the young priest had left before he turned to the archbishop.
“I’ve got some unpleasant news, sir. The city medical examiner identified the murder weapon. It was a crucifix.”
“A crucifix?” Archbishop Ciminski was clearly shocked.
“Yes, sir. Now it’s even more important to find that bishop. He may be the killer.”
Archbishop Ciminski looked sick. “Oh, that can’t be. No member of the clergy would ever—No, it’s simply impossible.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but Dr. Corliss is positive. Of course, the killer might not be a real bishop. That’s one of the reasons I needed to talk to you right away. Do you know of any place a layperson could buy or rent a bishop’s vestments?”
“Let me think a moment.”
The archbishop sighed deeply and took a sip of his coffee. His hands were trembling.
“Certainly not through regular church channels. I’m sure of that. How about a costume shop? I’ve heard they carry almost everything.”
“Good.” Steve pulled out his notebook and wrote down the suggestion.
“The vestments could be stolen, I suppose. I’ll check with the bishops in the state and see if any of their things are missing.”
“How about a dry cleaning store? Are vestments cleaned at commercial places?”
The archbishop nodded. “That’s a possibility.”
“Thank you, sir. That gives me a place to start. Now, how about the crucifix? Dr. Corliss took measurements. I won’t go into the details, but he’s sure it’s twenty-four inches tall and made of high-grade silver.”
“That sounds fairly standard. Just a moment, Steve.” The archbishop pressed his buzzer, and Joe appeared. “Will you bring in the crucifix from our chapel, Joe? And we’ll need a tape measure.”
Steve watched the archbishop as they waited for Joe to come back. He still looked distressed. The news that a venerated religious object had been used as a murder weapon must be a terrible shock to a man in Archbishop Ciminski’s position.
Joe came back carrying the crucifix. He laid it reverently on the table and gave the tape measure to the archbishop.
“Yes.” Archbishop Ciminski nodded as he measured carefully. “Twenty-four inches exactly. This particular crucifix is widely used in the church.”
“Where could someone buy or steal a crucifix like this?”
Archbishop Ciminski frowned. “It would be much too expensive for the ordinary home. Any type of chapel might have one. Parochial schools. Churches, of course. Perhaps even a local parish house. It’s possible to buy a crucifix like this from just about any supplier that handles religious articles.”
“Have you received any report of a stolen crucifix?”
“No. I’ll call around, of course. Joe, I want you to prepare a list of every Catholic facility in the area that might have a crucifix like this. Use our mailing list.”
“Yes, Your Excellency. I’ll have it on your desk in the morning.”
Steve stood and shook the archbishop’s hand again. “That’s all I need for now, sir. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Of course.” The archbishop walked him to the door. “It sounds to me as if your killer is one of those religious nuts.”
Steve watched as Archbishop Ciminski’s face turned suddenly pale.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
The archbishop swallowed with difficulty. He looked faint.
“Oh . . . no. It’s just the idea of a crucifix being used for such a frightful purpose. It’s a sacrilege!”
Joe was waiting to help Steve with his parka and usher him out. He promised to deliver a copy of the list to police headquarters in the morning and handed Steve a foil-wrapped package.
“We had turkey tonight. I thought perhaps you could use a few sandwiches. There’s a bag of those chocolate chip cookies in there too.”
“Thanks, Joe.” Steve shook his hand. “Now that you mention it, I am a little hungry.”
The guard sounded disgruntled as he answered the phone, but he turned respectful immediately. The residence was completely dark. There had been no trouble of any sort tonight. No one had been in or out all evening.
Archbishop Ciminski thanked him and hung up the phone. The crucifix that Steve Radke had described matched the one he had purchased for Holy Rest last year. He was tempted to call Sister Kate right now to make sure that it was still there, but he hated to wake her in the middle of the night. It could wait until tomorrow. This whole thing was undoubtedly a very disturbing coincidence.
“Michele? I’m home,” Steve called as he let himself into the apartment. He was so tired he could barely move. He had to get some sleep right away.
A dim light was on in the living room, but there was no sound of a greeting. Steve tiptoed into the bedroom and stared at Michele and Pete. The little dog was snuggled next to Michele, sound asleep. Only his nose stuck out of the quilt that covered him. Steve lifted the gun from the trunk and moved it out of reach.
“Some watchdog you are.”
Steve whispered the words, but Pete’s ears quivered. Then he was up, barking loudly.
“Don’t panic, honey. It’s me.” Steve grabbed Michele’s hand as she reached
out instinctively for the gun. “What did you do to my faithful watchdog? He didn’t even blink when I came in.”
Michele sat up and rubbed her eyes. Then she hugged Steve tightly.
“I gave him a bath. It must have made him sleepy. I wasn’t planning on it, but he jumped right into the tub with me.”
Steve grinned at Pete. “Better be careful, fella. I’m likely to get jealous.”
As soon as Steve began to take off his clothes, Pete leaped off the bed and headed for the living room. They heard him jump up on his beanbag bed and settle down for the night.
Michele laughed as Steve got into bed and turned out the light.
“That’s what I like. A well-trained dog that knows his place.”
Steve rolled over and kissed her. She was warm and cuddly as she pressed up against him. All the worries of the day evaporated as he held her, and suddenly Steve wasn’t a bit tired anymore.
“Pete doesn’t know his place. He’s just avoiding the waves we’re going to make.”
CHAPTER 20
It was a little after nine in the morning, and Steve sat at Chief Schultz’s desk, drinking his fourth cup of coffee. Michele had done it again this morning. French toast, crisp and hot with plenty of butter and warm syrup. Scrambled eggs with juicy little sausages. Chilled orange juice. She’d said it was frozen, but it had tasted like the freshly squeezed kind his mother used to make on Christmas mornings. And a pot of hot, strong black coffee. He’d never realized how much he’d hated instant coffee before.
Steve felt slightly guilty about enjoying himself so much with Michele. She’d moved in with him because of the murders, but he’d be a fool to let her move back to her own place when the case was closed. He was pretty sure Michele felt the same way, but the time never seemed right to talk about it. He’d given her his keys, and she’d put them on her personal key ring. Wouldn’t she have kept them separate if she were intending to give them back?
