by Mary Nealy
There was someone who’d want to share the news. The reverend. Standing there with the lady detective. He’d seen her at the site of the explosion and listened, then studied her carefully. Everything was at a man’s fingertips on the Internet these days. Pravus had already done some searching to find out just who she was, and he now had plans to include her.
Reaching for the phone, he wished he could make LaToya scream. That made the pastor do exactly as he was told. But LaToya lay silently on the table. Her arms tied, spread straight out at her sides, her legs secured. He’d cut deep, but it was necessary. He’d let her sin flow out and used it for something beautiful.
By the time he was done, he would save her.
Paul scrambled to grab his new cell phone out of his pocket. He hadn’t let it out of his possession since O’Shea had given it to him. He reached to flip it open.
Keren grabbed his arm. “Don’t!”
“This is my chance. LaToya’s kidnapper is going to give me some order. This is my chance to do it right and get her back.” His phone kept ringing.
Keren’s grip was like iron. “Give me a second.” She pulled her own phone out. With a press of one button she reached O’Shea.
Paul almost pulled away from Keren, but she held him too tightly. “What if Pravus isn’t in the mood to be patient? What if he’s watching us right now?”
“He’s getting a call,” Keren said into her phone. “Are you set?”
She hit a series of buttons on her cell. “Okay, I can listen in, and O’Shea is set to record. Is there a number on your display?”
“I wasn’t told anything about my phone being tapped.” Paul’s phone rang again.
Keren snagged it away from him and quickly recited the number to O’Shea.
“It’s not tapped, not really, we just keyed our phones into the same frequency and muted the speakerphones in ours so he can’t hear us. And we’re recording it, so okay, yeah, I guess it is tapped.” Keren glanced up at him. “You don’t mind, right?”
“Right.” Paul tried to take the phone away from her.
“Cell phones are fast and easy to trace; we need maybe fifteen seconds unless he’s got something special going with it. The FBI should be in place by morning with all their space-age equipment. But we’ve got what we need to track him right now.” Keren shoved the phone into his hands. “Answer it.”
Paul’s finger trembled until he nearly hit the wrong button and accidentally hung up. Then he got it right and pulled the phone to his ear.
“What took you so long, Reverend?”
Paul closed his eyes. Keren’s hand settled solidly on his shoulder. He looked at her, and she gave him an encouraging nod.
“Is this Pravus?” Paul wondered at the name. He’d heard it somewhere. Part of his seminary studies maybe, but that had been awhile ago.
“You know I’ve got little LaToya, and yet you make me sit here with the phone ringing and ringing.” The soft, cultured voice cut like a cold knife. “Almost like you don’t care. Almost like you understand that she needs to die.”
Paul said, as calmly as his terror would let him, “Pravus, you want to rid the world of evil, but you haven’t looked closely enough at LaToya. You picked the wrong woman.” What was he doing, trying to convince him to let LaToya go and kidnap someone less worthy?
Paul began to pray in his heart. Lord, give me the words. If there are any words that will reach this man, let me say them.
“You told me the same thing about Juanita,” Pravus crooned. “You are weak, Reverend. Twice you’ve begged for the lives of sinners.”
“Let her go, Pravus. Please, let her go. The way to cleanse the world of evil is to change hearts. To bring people to Jesus Christ with love. Killing people just spreads hate. You don’t want the evil to spread, do you?” Paul hesitated over the next words, but they felt right. And when you’re dealing with a madman, maybe it’s all useless anyway, so he spoke as he felt led. “I’ll help you face the demon that’s keeping you away from God.”
Keren gasped when he said it. She gave him a strangely intent look.
The soft, rhythmic voice broke, and Pravus snarled, “Don’t speak such foul words to me! I’m not evil. They are evil. They are the ones who won’t let my people go.”
Paul was suddenly aware of O’Shea behind him. O’Shea held up a note that said, “Ask about your police days.”
Paul nodded. “I’m sorry for what I did to you back then, Pravus. I did a lot of sinful things. I have asked God to forgive me; now I ask you.”
“I’ll never forgive you. Never! And I’m glad they’re dead. It was my first act of rebellion against the pharaohs who tried to keep my genius enslaved, and you were too stupid to even know it. Oh, and tell the pretty detective she certainly is one of the fairest in the land.”
A click ended the call. “Did you get it?” Keren asked O’Shea.
“Give me a second.” O’Shea hit a button on his phone and waited. “I think they could at least narrow it down in that amount of time.”
“He knows I’m working with the police.” Paul hung up. “He knows there’s a woman detective. He’s watching me somehow.”
O’Shea held out two small metal disks. “We found these bugs. Nothing fancy. But he’s watching you closely.”
“Listening devices in my apartment? I wonder how long those have been there.” It made Paul sick to think of it, though honestly, his apartment was close to the most boring place on earth. He didn’t spend much time there, and he certainly never brought anyone home. His life was strictly solo, except for work, since his wife’s death.
“We’ll track his number.” Keren’s jaw tensed as she looked at the bugs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a name and address.”
“He’s not that stupid, Collins,” O’Shea cautioned.
“Maybe he is,” Keren protested. “Your real bright people don’t usually go into crime for a living.”
“Yeah, the fact that criminals are stupid really makes our job easier,” O’Shea conceded.
Keren turned to Paul. “You handled that really well. Good job.” Then she and O’Shea began discussing what they gleaned from the conversation.
Before they forgot him entirely, Paul said, “While Pravus was talking, I remembered something else.”
Both of them looked up excitedly. They looked almost happy, almost like they were enjoying themselves. Paul’s fists clenched in a sudden flash of fury. He wasn’t being fair, he knew. They were excited that they might be able to stop Pravus. But he still thanked God he was no longer a cop.
“What?” Keren demanded. “Did you recognize the voice? Do you know who it is?”
“No, I remember I’ve heard the word pravus before.”
Keren stepped closer to him. “What? What does it mean?”
“Evil. Pravus is the Latin word for ‘evil.’ Pravus spiritu is ‘evil spirit.’ “
“Like a demon?” The color faded from Keren’s face.
For a moment Paul thought she might faint, but he didn’t really believe it. He knew he was dealing with one tough cookie. “Does that mean something to you?”
Keren shook her head. Finally, she said, “No, but it confirms something I have known … or … uh guessed all along.”
Paul nodded.
O’Shea sighed, and nodded, too.
They were dealing with a demon. A demon straight from hell.
Keren clapped the magnetic police light to the roof of her car as she drove back to the station.
“Isn’t that overkill, Collins?” O’Shea asked.
“I’m going to speed anyway.” She shrugged and added wryly, “This will save some uniform the bother of pulling me over and having me rage at him until he lets me go on my lawbreaking way.”
“You could just try obeying the law,” Paul said from the backseat.
Keren looked sideways at O’Shea.
“You heard the citizen, kid,” O’Shea said. “The minute we get back to the station, I’m going to bo
rrow a pad of tickets from a patrol officer and write you up.” He heaved his bulk around so he could look at Paul. “How’s a citizen’s arrest sound to you, Pastor P?”
“It suits me, Mick. I’m in the mood.”
O’Shea grinned at Keren, and she slowed down with a glowering look. She reached up and pulled the light back in. “Okay, fine. I’ll slow down.”
“What’d he mean with that ‘fairest in the land’ crack?” O’Shea wondered.
“I know what he meant.” Keren tried to think of a way to change the subject. “It was just his way of letting us know he’s keeping close track. He’ll probably say something about you next, O’Shea.”
“Yeah, but how did ‘fairest in the land’ mean he knew you? I don’t get it.”
“Me neither,” Paul said.
Keren squirmed. It was no big deal, really. It was just personal. On the other hand, it meant Pravus had done a pretty thorough background check on her. “I’ll explain later. Every time I get to talking I start speeding, so shut up and let me drive.”
After a few more minutes of blissful silence, Paul cleared his throat. Keren glanced down and saw that her speed had built back to fifteen miles over the speed limit. She forced herself to slow.
“It’s just that I’m so anxious to get back and examine your old case files.” She glanced into his eyes using the rearview mirror. “It’s almost noon now. If we push hard, we can get through them tonight.”
“Don’t forget, I promised Rosie an escort to the bus station.”
“I’ll send a squad car for her. They can see her to the bus station or drive her wherever she needs to go.” Keren waved his reminder away. “We don’t have time to let you go help ladies cross the street.”
“If I’d have told Rosie I was going to do that, I would agree. But I made a promise to a very special young woman. One who has done me the huge honor of trusting me when she never trusts anybody. I’ve got to go.”
“Call her, Paul,” Keren suggested. “She’ll understand.”
“The people in that neighborhood aren’t comfortable with the police. If I send a policeman to take her anywhere, she might just react by ducking out the back door and hustling to the bus stop on her own.”
Keren tried to burn through his overblown sense of duty by banking a blazing look off the mirror. He merely settled more stubbornly into his seat.
“If you go, at least one of us has to go with you,” O’Shea pointed out.
“I’ll be fine for an hour on my own. I can take care of myself.”
“Not if Pravus phones. Having us there when you got the earlier call helped, even if you don’t want to admit it.” Keren could have easily gone back to sparring with him. “All of us thinking together helped come up with the right questions for him.”
“Fine then.” Paul crossed his arms. “You’ll have to come. We can bring case files along and work while we drive. Figure something out, because I’m going.”
O’Shea shook his head in disgust. “I’m going to play the tape again. Listen for specifics. Maybe we can narrow our search.”
The odd voice of Pravus-the-demon haunted them as they drove. It did nothing to improve Keren’s mood. She could tell they were all edgy by the time they’d heard it through three times. Keren pulled into an empty spot near the precinct and threw her car into PARK with more force than necessary. “Let’s get to work.”
They hurried into the station, all of them nearly frantic to cull the files for information.
“Pravus said, ‘I’m glad they’re dead. It was my first act of rebellion against the pharaoh, and you were too stupid to even know it,’ “ O’Shea said as they settled around Keren’s desk in the squad room.
“I’m glad they’re dead. They. More than one person,” Keren said.
O’Shea nodded. “We look for a case with more than one death. You do the search, Keren. This machine likes you more than it does me.”
Keren turned to her computer. “Great, we’ll want the paper files later, but right now let’s eliminate a bunch of them.”
By the time the computer was done sorting, they had narrowed the cases to eighty-three. “I’ve left all the supposed accidents and suicides, as well as any case where there was more than one death.”
“Did you get rid of all the first-degree murders? He said I was too stupid to figure it out. So I must have charged him with something less than deliberate first-degree murder.”
Keren went back to the computer. “Okay, not a lot of people go down for first degree, thanks to plea bargaining. I’m down to forty-six cases.”
O’Shea said, “Have you taken out the women perps?”
Keren nodded. “I did that first.”
“And all the ones who are still in lockup?”
“Done.”
O’Shea looked at the vastly reduced number of files listed on Keren’s computer screen. “There’re still a lot of ‘em.”
Paul glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time before we have to go back to the mission. Let’s move it.”
“I’ll print out the names of the cases remaining.” Keren did so and handed them each a copy of the file numbers and names. “We can pull them from the files and start reading.”
“Let’s see how many are known to be in the area,” O’Shea said.
Keren added, “Some of them may be dead, too. That wouldn’t be in the computer. We may be able to narrow this list pretty quickly.”
They were only into their first few cases when Paul’s phone rang. All three of them froze.
Paul said, “Do you need time to get ready?”
Keren and O’Shea sat poised, their phones already to their ears. They both shook their heads. Paul answered, holding his breath.
“I just wanted to tell you, Reverend, you should remain at home tomorrow morning. You’re expecting a package.” Hysterical laughter broke through the carefully modulated voice. Then the call ended.
All three of them looked at the stack of files. Paul glanced anxiously at his watch. “It’s almost six. I’ve got to go.”
“Paul,” Keren said impatiently, “we’ve only got tonight. You know what to expect tomorrow morning.”
Paul stood from his chair. “Do you think I need to be reminded?”
He turned away with an effort Keren could read in every line of his body. She said, “O’Shea, give me the recorder phone. Chances are the wacko is done calling for the night anyway. I’ll go. You stay here and work.”
She stormed after Paul. “This time I’m using code three, and you’re not going to guilt me into stopping. I think this warrants lights and sirens.”
“As long as you turn them off well before we get to the mission.”
“Deal.” When she agreed, he finally quit arguing. Nice change.
With a giggling Rosita delivered on the first step of her date with Manny, Paul and Keren returned to work. O’Shea pounced on them when they returned to the precinct house. He had the report on the cause of the blast at the gang hangout. “Pure low tech. Just like those listening devices. This guy is no electronics genius.”
Keren asked, “What’d he use, dynamite? C-4?”
“Gasoline.” O’Shea flipped open the report. “Like I said, low tech. He soaked the basement with gasoline and had containers of gas duct-taped to every creaky support beam in the basement of that building. The bomb squad figures at least ten bombs.”
“It’s a condemned building overrun by a gang. How’d he get in carrying gallons of gasoline?”
“It wouldn’t take that much. A couple of gallons to splash around and another gallon or so to make a bunch of Molotov cocktails, waiting for a spark to set them off,” O’Shea said. “According to the few gang members who would talk to us, they never went down to the basement. It was full of junk and the foundation was crumbling. Pravus could have brought the gasoline in early in the morning. He could disguise himself like a homeless man and no one would look at him twice, especially since the people who live in the house ar
e stoned most of the time. No one is prowling around much—not in the morning. Two gallons at a time under a big coat. He could have done it in a couple of trips.”
“How’d he detonate it?” Keren reached for the report.
“They’re not sure yet, because everything was blown to smithereens.” O’Shea didn’t hand it over, evidently in the mood to be the center of attention.
“He might not use the same trick again,” Paul said as he tried to picture the bomb. Tried to figure out what he’d do if he saw one.
“Let’s hope we get him before we find out.” O’Shea looked the report over as he talked.
“We’ve got an ID on the cell phone. The couple who lost it only realized it was gone when a detective came to their house to ask about it. They keep it in the car for emergencies.”
“Are you sure?” Paul leaned forward. “How closely were these people questioned? Some serial killers work as a team.”
“We’re checking their backgrounds, but they’re in their late seventies,” O’Shea said. “They live in an assisted-living apartment complex on the North Side. She’s a retired social worker, he was an accountant for thirty-five years. They have six kids and seventeen grandkids. They pay their taxes, don’t get speeding tickets, and they host a Bible study in their home every Wednesday night. It’s just not them, Paul. No amount of stretching will make it fit. They’ve even got an alibi for the morning of the explosion. They’d gone with a group from their church on a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. We’re canvassing the area, hoping we can find someone who saw their car burglarized, but so far, nothing. They don’t have a clue how long their phone has been missing. We checked their call records, and the last time they made a call was two weeks ago to one of their daughters.”
On that note they all turned back to the files.
It was midnight and no one suggested leaving. They culled the stack to two dozen people in the area who were still among the living. Keren ran them through the computer, looking for current addresses.
She arched her back in her creaking desk chair. She tried to force her spine to bend into a straight line. “If the FBI were here, their profiler could maybe pare this list down further.”
