by Aiden Bates
Ray huffed out a little laugh. He didn't want to like Larry, but that didn't sound like a serial killer. That sounded like a father who loved his son. Then again, anything could be a stressor. "That sounds pretty unequivocal. I hope the son wasn't in the room to hear you call him an abomination, of course."
D'Cruze sniffed. "Sinners who don't know that they're sinners are the worst kind. He was ten. He was old enough to know what he was. Old enough to know better. At any rate, Emiliana swore up and down that she would find a way to get rid of the child. Five days later, she was dead."
Ray looked at Nenci. Nenci's face betrayed nothing, but Ray knew that he had to be thinking the same thing that Ray was. That had to be the point that had caused the break, when Larry had become a killer. Could D'Cruze be the one who had ramped up his body count, though? That was the big question.
Ray cleared his throat. "Father, we're not just here to ask you about that first killing. There are a number of murders that have been attributed to Larry Morrison, that it now turns out that he could not have committed."
D'Cruze's eyes widened. "My God."
Nenci was watching the priest carefully. "We do firmly believe that Morrison is still guilty of at least some of those murders, but it now appears as though some of them were committed by a copycat. The victims all have one thing in common."
"Well, they're all women, and all around Emiliana's age." D'Cruze scratched at his cheek. "Other than that, I can't imagine what it would be."
Ray rested his forearms on the table. "All of the murdered women were Catholic, Father. They all had some connection both to the Lakeville-Freetown School District, and to St. Dominic's."
All of the color disappeared from D'Cruze's face. "I never made that connection." He covered his face. "Holy Father! I presided at all of their funerals, and I never made that connection. What's wrong with me that I never noticed?"
Ray glanced at Nenci. This wasn't their guy. He couldn't have controlled the way that he paled, not by that much. "Father," Nenci said, leaning forward, "I need to ask. We know that this second killer, whoever he is, was mistaken several times for Larry Morrison. Can you think of any of your former parishioners who might have shown an undue interest in any of the deceased? Or who might have seemed otherwise off?"
D'Cruze's hands shook when he pulled them down from his face. "None. No one sticks out in my mind as being particularly excitable about these particular women. Some of them had their issues, don't get me wrong, but not in this way." He sighed.
Ray frowned. "Were any of the deceased active in your Order of Lot?" It was kind of a long shot, but he had to try.
"Melina Bonnaire was. Two of the women, Orna McBride and Clarissa Baldovini, were specifically opposed to my work on behalf of the Order and filed numerous complaints with the Archdiocese because of it." He rubbed at his temples. "I'm sorry, Detectives. This is all a little much to take in."
"One last question, Father. When did you transfer up to Braintree?" Nenci put his pad and paper away.
"Five years ago."
Ray stood up and shook the priest's hand. He'd hurt Doug, and he wanted to tear his throat out for that, but he couldn't do that right now. Besides, telling him that a serial killer had been poaching from his flock while he'd watched had kind of been the same thing. "Thank you for your time, Father."
The detectives left.
"I want six showers," Nenci muttered as they got into the unmarked car parked in front.
"It's the casual way that he said it." Ray shuddered and put the key into the ignition. "I mean it never occurred to him that he might be speaking to someone affected by his views. Not once. I just… I wanted to be angry with him. And I was angry with him. But I was just so floored by his complete ignorance that I couldn't reconcile it in my head." He sighed. "Anyway, he's not our guy."
"No, I don't think he is." Nenci looked out the window as they pulled into traffic. "I mean he was way too shocked when we pointed out that all of the victims were involved with St. Dominic's. How he did the funerals for every one of those women and didn't pick up on the fact that they were all involved, I have no idea. But here we are."
"Here we are." Ray drove back out to Framingham with a pit in his stomach and wrote up a report on the contact.
Later on, he sat down at dinner with his omega. "I met your old parish priest today." How much should he tell Doug? He couldn't make himself talk about some of what Father D'Cruze had mentioned. After all, he'd talked about more than Emiliana just rejecting her son. She'd outright hated him, and all because of something genetic. He couldn't hide the conversation from him either, though.
Doug sneered. "Ugh. I hope you didn't mention me."
Ray huffed out a laugh. "Not by name, no. I mean you know the subject came up, just a little bit."
Doug pushed some of the food around on his plate. "I guess it would, if you were trying to figure out if he was the one masquerading as my dad. What did you think?"
"It's not him." Ray took Doug's hand. "I'm not overly impressed by Father D'Cruze, but it's not him. I honestly can't see him taking that kind of direct action." He could definitely see the priest encouraging extreme behavior, but that was a different matter entirely. "Do you miss church?"
"No. Not at all." Doug squeezed his hand and grinned. "I don't have a lot of great associations with it. I know a lot of nice religious people, and they're fine, but it's not something that I need to have in my life personally." He frowned. "Is there a particular flavor of faith that you find helpful or comforting? I can try to be supportive, if it's important to you. I can at least not be obstructive."
Ray got up to kiss Doug's cheek. After everything that Father D'Cruze had put him through, Doug was still willing to be open minded about religion with him! "No, sweetheart. My folks used to say that religion was the 'opiate of the masses' or something like that. It's not something that I feel strongly about."
"Okay then." Doug smiled up at him.
"I have an idea." Ray snapped his fingers and started clearing dishes away.
"Is this a naughty bad fun idea or something that's going to mean extra paperwork for someone?" Doug got up to help clean up.
"Um, probably the paperwork." Ray blushed. "Basically, my theory is that the priest might not have been the killer, but the church is still at the middle of all of this. That's where our guy is finding his victims, between church and school. If you're up to taking a trip down memory lane, we could head down to Lakeville and see what they've done to St. Dominic's."
Doug ran his tongue against his teeth. "Huh. I still think that I'd rather hang out here and have some naughty bad fun. But you're probably right." He gave a wan little smile. "While I'd honestly rather take poison than go back into that church, it will get us out of this whole mess faster so we can move on with our lives. The thing is," he continued, moving forward to put his hands on Ray's hips, "Mass isn't until Sunday."
Ray gave in. It wasn't hard to do. After all, there was only so much that they could do over the weekend. "It's only Friday now."
"Naughty bad fun?" Doug took his hands.
"Naughty bad fun." Ray laughed and let himself be led toward the bedroom. If he had to put his mate through something like going back to the church that had rejected him so thoroughly in his childhood, he could try to make it up to him before they went.
Chapter Nine
Doug stood up behind the defense table. It felt cold up there, all by himself. His father should have been there beside him, but the prison was on lockdown thanks to some rightfully angry prisoners who had a laundry list of complaints against the Department of Corrections. Larry was not part of that action. In truth, no one from his unit was. Still, no one was getting in or out until the riot had been contained.
That meant that Doug was all alone on the defense side of the court. He could handle being alone. This wasn't even a major hearing. The gallery was mostly empty. They'd gotten a handful of reporters, a couple of photographers, but that was it. Otherwise, it was
just Doug, Chris, Judge Murphy, and the trial officials.
Murphy, as usual, looked irritable. "You may be seated." He picked up a stack of papers. "What's this I hear about you wanting five more charges against Larry Morrison dismissed, Morrison?"
Doug rose again and cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. We've found that my client has alibis for each and every one of those murders, your Honor. Documentation for those alibis is attached; it's been verified independently by the State Police and by the prosecutor's office."
Murphy turned up his nose and looked over at Chris. "Mr. Maggio?"
Chris nodded. "Your Honor, the Commonwealth accepts those alibis. We've re-opened those five cases and would like to drop the charges for those five homicides against Mr. Morrison, senior." He glanced over at Doug.
Murphy grunted and shifted in his seat. "You're aware, Mr. Murphy, that this reduces the number of victims down to eight."
"Yes, your Honor. I'm aware. And I truly regret the pain that those families must be feeling right now. But the person who killed their loved ones is still out there somewhere, and we can't get justice for them if the wrong man stands convicted." He lifted his head and met Murphy's eyes. "I have no problem with Larry Morrison doing time for crimes that he actually committed. This seems reasonable to me. But we can see that these are crimes committed by someone else. Perpetrators aren't interchangeable parts; we can't just throw someone in jail and say, 'Good enough.'"
Doug lifted his eyebrow. That line was impressive. He would have to remember it.
Murphy's lip curled. "I'm reluctant to give in to this kind of shoddy work. The job should have been done the first time. Nevertheless, I don't see where I have any choice. If the Commonwealth is willing to dismiss those five charges from Mr. Morrison's record, I do order that those five charges be dropped from his charge sheet and the convictions be vacated from his record. When you bring him to trial this time, Maggio, get it right."
"Yes, sir." Chris straightened his back.
Murphy turned his attention to Doug, much to Doug's dismay. He'd have preferred for Murphy to forget that he was there.
"Morrison. I know you'd probably gotten your little heart all set on bringing your daddy home from Shirley today. Not going to happen. Your father still has eight murder charges against him. He's a flight risk. I have to make sure that he doesn't skip town before his next conviction. He will therefore remain incarcerated at the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center in Shirley." He banged his gavel. "Court is adjourned."
Doug pressed his lips together. He wasn't even disappointed anymore. He couldn't help but have some contempt for a judiciary that allowed a man like Murphy to stay on the bench, but he knew better than to let that resentment show.
Once the judge and the court officers cleared the room, Doug and Chris met up in the middle. "That guy just likes to needle you, I swear to God." Chris shook his head. "I don't know why. It's personal. It's absolutely personal, and it's weird."
"Yeah. It is weird, and I kind of hate it, but what am I going to do?" Doug shrugged. "I mean other than rub his nose in it when my dad's proven innocent."
Chris flashed a quick, pacifying smile. "How's that list of suspects coming?"
Doug grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door with Chris. "It's coming, the way it always does. There are a few candidates. I'm trying to be a good witness and not get my grubby little hands all over the case, you know? It's weird. This whole situation is weird." He shook his head. "I mean none of the partners have ever had a case where the prosecutor and the defense counsel have worked so closely. Never mind me and Ray." His cheeks heated up but he ignored it.
"Yeah." Chris smirked. "How does that work, exactly? I mean how does neither of you try to press the other one for favors or anything?"
Doug shrugged and hugged his coat closer to him as they emerged into the colder air. "Well, for one thing we want the same thing. He's not sold on Dad being entirely innocent, and I know you're not either, but he's aware that there's something there to look into so there's not a lot of pushback on that side. And I really do respect his competence."
Chris shook his head. "I don't know if I could do it, even with all of that. I mean I'd still be pushing for him to make concessions, or hide things, or whatever."
Doug laughed out loud. "When I come across something that's suitable for hiding, I'll let you know."
He headed back to Boston and parked his car in the deeded space near his condo. Then he walked to the office. He hoped that by the time that he got there, some of his irritation with Judge Murphy would have sorted itself out.
When he got to the office, though, he learned that wasn't to be. He walked into the reception area to find an unknown man, maybe five years or so older than he was, waiting for him. The strange man stood up from his seat in the waiting area when Doug walked in, stormed over to him, and slapped Doug to the ground.
"How can you defend that killer?"
The receptionist screamed. "I'm calling the police!"
Doug picked himself up. He could taste blood on his lip. "Hold off on that, Sharon. Please. Is the Morgan v. Virginia room available?"
"I'm not locking myself into a room with you!" the assailant screamed.
"Well, I guess I could press charges. Assaulting a pregnant omega? That'll go over well." Doug smirked.
"The Morgan room is free, Doug." Sharon bit her lip. "Are you sure about this?"
"Very." Doug gestured to the strange man. "Let's have a chat. The room has a glass front, so there won't be any funny business. I promise." He led the stranger down the hall. "Can I get you anything? Under the circumstances, you'll have to forgive me if I insist on decaf."
"Don't try to be funny, Morrison. It's not your strong suit."
They arrived at the conference room. Doug grabbed some napkins from a nearby credenza and used them to deal with the bleeding as he took a seat. Great. Now I've got blood on my suit, and my lip is split. Ray's going to flip his lid. "So, we haven't been formally introduced, although you obviously know who I am. I'm Doug Morrison." He held out a hand.
His attacker crossed his arms firmly over his chest, refusing to shake Doug’s hand. "My name's Paul Butler."
Doug pulled his hand back. If the guy wanted to be angry, Doug would let him. "Second son of Eva Butler," he remembered. "I'm pleased to meet you. It's good to have a face to go with the name."
Butler screwed up his face. Doug wasn't sure if it was with confusion or disgust. It was probably a combination of the two. "You know the name, but you're sitting here trying to free her murderer! What kind of a sick bastard are you?"
Doug sighed. "Mr. Butler, I completely understand your anger."
"You don't understand a Goddamned thing! Don't you sit there and patronize me! That man murdered my mother, and chopped her into parts! You have no way of understanding what I'm feeling!"
Doug slapped his hand onto the table. He had to do something to get the man's attention. "Mr. Butler! The first woman that Larry Morrison is accused of killing was my mother, so actually yes. I know exactly where you're coming from. She was the first. Not the last."
Butler sagged back in his seat. "How can you be trying to free the man who killed your mama?" His voice, so loud when they entered the room, was a whisper now.
"Because, Mr. Butler. I can prove that Larry Morrison was in Newport, Rhode Island on the day and time that your mother was killed. There is photographic evidence to prove it. There are multiple eyewitnesses who were there with him, who saw him and spoke to him and interacted with him. There are credit card receipts that show him having been there. The person who killed your mother is still out there. That's the case for you, and for fifteen other people just so far."
Butler frowned and looked down. "That doesn't make sense though. Why wouldn't that have come out during the trial?"
"I have no idea." Doug spread his hands wide. "But what I do know is that if I can prove that he didn't kill all of these fifteen women, I'm going to be able to clear him
of the other nine. I mean come on. If the MO fits this other killer, and not Larry Morrison, then they have to see that Larry Morrison did not kill those women. To include my mother."
Butler buried his face in his hands. "It was supposed to be over. I mean first they found her… like that. I mean they never found her head. They only found other parts. It had to be a closed casket funeral, obviously. But they… I mean… first they found her. And then the case went cold, you know? And you move on, you get on with your life, but you don't really get over it. And then they rip open that scar to do the trial. And I thought, 'Well, this sucks, but it's worth it if they can put this sicko away.' And they did. Now you're telling me that it's not actually over."
