Justifiable

by Dianna Love

  “Guess what they say about love being blind is true,” Riley quipped.

  Kirsten ignored him. “The grandmother said Vance told her yesterday he found Pia’s mother overdosed so he called for an ambulance, but he couldn’t find Pia. He rounded up people to help him search for his little girl, which has been collaborated.”`

  “Are you sure his girlfriend died of an overdose?”

  “Yes. And Vance was a good father, based on what his mother said. The last she heard from Vance was when he went home to an old house he has in the woods near Evansburg State Park.” Kirsten paused. “That’s twenty miles away from St. Catherine’s and the grandmother said they were Baptists and she’d never heard of St. Catherine’s. That absolves St. Catherine’s of being linked to all these murders so I don’t want to hear anything else about them.”

  “Then don’t ask me questions.”

  “We had a deal, Walker.”

  “I don’t see how that clears anyone from suspicion.” Riley had thought they were on the same side...until now.

  “Pia’s mother never lived in Philadelphia. No one in that group had any connection to St. Catherine’s or Philomena House.” Kirsten all but shouted that.

  Riley slapped the console cover. “We’re running out of time to find Enrique so while you and the rest of City Hall sits on your collective hands I’ll be asking the questions you’re all afraid to ask.”

  “In case you haven’t heard, the pope is coming to Philadelphia. This city will go crazy if we put pressure on a church that was verbally trashed last year on assumptions.”

  Screw all of them. He’d find Enrique even if it cost the pope’s visit. Seemed like the pope would put a child’s life first. Right? “I heard the pope was coming, but losing that visit wouldn’t keep me up at night.”

  “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do, Riley.”

  He heard regret and worry behind that threat and caught that she’d used his first name, but it didn’t change anything. “Lock me up if you can live with the consequences. But make sure you show up with enough to put me away for a long time, because I’m not stopping until this is over. And it’s not over until the killer is caught and we find Enrique.”

  Chapter 49

  Lucinda forced a smile through clenched teeth and hoped she possessed a smidgen of natural acting ability. She had to present a composed image to get past security at Stan’s building where he managed a television station from his office as senior vice president.

  The security staff knew Lucinda. Treated her as the wife of a very important executive in the company. She had a photo security badge that cleared her to come and go any time.

  When she stepped up to the security desk, the officer on duty smiled, gave an obligatory look at her badge and wished her a nice day, clearing her so she could continue to the elevators.

  They wouldn’t be smiling for long.

  Stan could not hide from her, not even here.

  Nothing could stop her from getting her baby back.

  She’d called Ziegler, but the doctor had been at the hospital with a critical case. That had left Lucinda no choice but to call Stan or the police.

  A bell dinged, announcing the elevator stopping at the lobby floor. Lucinda waited for the car to clear then stepped in, thankful to be alone on the ride to the tenth floor where no one was expecting her. Definitely not Stan.

  She’d considered calling him for all of a nanosecond. He hadn’t called her before taking Kelsey out of school. Lucinda could think of nothing but getting to her child first and talking to Stan later. She’d had another reason for not calling. If Kelsey wasn’t in this building, where she’d better be, Lucinda didn’t want to give Stan a chance to leave before Lucinda got here.

  Please, God, keep my baby safe, Lucinda prayed for the millionth time.

  If Stan had a reasonable explanation for taking Kelsey out of school – Lucinda hadn’t come up with one possibility on her frantic drive here – she’d listen and come clean about taking Kelsey to the specialist so he’d understand why his taking Kelsey on his own had terrorized her.

  Then she’d take Kelsey home and...do what?

  Continue to live with a man when she still had no conclusive proof for or against his being a child molester?

  She clamped her hands on her head to stop the mental noise before she lost her mind over all this.

  The one thing that stuck in her thoughts from everything she’d read on child abuse were stories of the mothers who couldn’t forgive themselves for not acting fast enough. Too afraid of accusing a family member of harming the child, when a family member had the best opportunities.

  Women who had given the benefit of doubt to the wrong person out of love and commitment.

  She was no freaking trophy bride who lived in fear of her husband or any other man who would touch her child. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She hated feeling vulnerable, but more than that was feeling helpless to protect her child. Fear flipped to anger in the next breath when the elevator doors opened to the land of power players with corner offices and personal assistants.

  Powerful people didn’t scare her. A predator did.

  Lucinda nodded at people who spoke, but couldn’t trust her voice. Not with hard tremors shaking her body. She’d called and asked Stan’s assistant to clear her through security so Lucinda could surprise her husband.

  Literally.

  Tears threatened with every step she took, her heels sinking into the thick Persian carpet. She angled down a walkway lined with precious metal awards covering the walls.

  Stan’s just-out-of-college assistant lifted a perky smile to Lucinda. The nice young lady tried to greet her, then panicked and jumped up when Lucinda didn’t pause. “Hello, Mrs. Myers.”

  “Where’s my husband?”

  “Your husband’s in a meeting with the CEO and… Mrs. Myers, please wait!”

  Lucinda didn’t say a word or slow down. She wanted one thing and nobody was stopping her.

  A glass wall separated Stan’s office from the sprawling reception area. The door and a bushy plant blocked her view of whoever sat facing Stan’s desk, but her husband was in view behind his desk, intently listening to someone.

  Until her movement must have drawn his attention.

  Stan glanced around and did a double take when his gaze snagged on her. He stared as though trying to assess why she was heading toward him like a runaway train. Two men in suits sat in cushy chairs facing her miserable dog of a husband who had taken her daughter without telling her.

  Stan stood. His face creased with confusion. He spoke to the two men and walked out to where Lucinda stood with her hands curled into fists at her side. He hurried up to her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Kesley?”

  “Come over to the conference room so we can – ”

  “Where. Is. She?”

  “Lucinda?” Stan looked around at the people who were pausing to watch. He took Lucinda’s arm and started toward another glassed-in room with a large table and twelve chairs.

  She yanked her arm back and pleaded, “Tell me what you’ve done with her!”

  “She’s fine, Lucinda,” Stan said, his voice getting harsher. “I’m trying to tell you where she is, but this is not the place to talk about it.”

  Lucinda couldn’t take this any more. She reached up and grabbed his shirt, not caring that she sounded like a lunatic. “I’m calling the police if you don’t tell me right now where she is.”

  “What?” He looked down at her hands then at her face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me. It’s Kelsey, dammit. I took her to Dr. Ziegler. I know Kelsey’s been abused.”

  Emotions raced across Stan’s face from shock to disbelief to hurt and finally settling on anger. “How dare you accuse me of something like that?” he whispered in a chilling voice.

  “I dare anything when it comes to my baby. I want her back. Now!” She was close to hysteria. H
er entire body shook.

  He grabbed her hands and shoved them off his chest, furious. When he spoke, he squeezed the words out between clenched teeth. “You’re not seeing Kelsey until you calm down.”

  That did it. Rage blinded her to all else but finding her child. In a crazed moment fueled with adrenaline, she started beating on his chest. “I. Want. My. Daughter.”

  Someone yelled, “Call Security!”

  Chapter 50

  J. T. Turner studied the wall of leads, photos, brainstorming and evidence notes, and tried to connect dots on the killer who had little Enrique.

  A .38 caliber bullet in the same spot on each forehead.

  Oil wiped on the forehead in a cross mark and on the inside of each wrist.

  Three had children.

  Two were Philomena residents and one had worshipped at St. Catherine’s.

  “Let’s work through this again,” he told the two detectives he’d pulled off other cases to work on this one. “Start with enemies of each vic beginning with Clayton Howell.”

  Anthony Greco was a chain chewer, his jaw always grinding on a stick of gum now that he was no longer a chain smoker. He leaned a hip on the table shoved against one wall and covered in files. “Howell was catching heat from his old business associate from his muling days, but that one had a solid alibi. Howell had been quiet since moving into Philomena. Neighbors say he wouldn’t even talk to Ickerson’s new assistant Valdez once Howell heard Valdez had done time.”

  “What about Stanton?”

  “Stanton did not have enemies anyone knew of. Neighbors say she got upset about losing her job at the grocery store, but she didn’t kick a fuss until she got home and that was more about being upset than angry. Neighbors believe she fell on the little boy by accident.”

  “I spoke to Bruno Parrick’s wife,” Miron Zwolinski said, picking up the next vic in line. “Figured since he put her in the hospital she might have told a brother or boyfriend on the side, but her family’s in Canada and she said they didn’t have friends come over. She said she didn’t discuss family business with anyone outside of her priest.”

  That threw another red flag at the church. Turner wouldn’t ignore the possibility of someone from the church being involved. But he would be damned sure before moving in the wrong direction.

  “What about Montoya?”

  Zwolinski used his toe to wheel the desk chair he sat in back and forth several inches. His face was a narrow oval that fit his tall, thin, stretched-looking body. “Everyone who worked with Montoya considered him a likeable guy. No real temper. In fact, a couple of them called him a pussy for letting his crack-head girlfriend yank him around. He’s the one who found her comatose in a flop house, no clue her kid had been missing. Mom was declared DOA at the hospital.”

  “Our best connection is the oil on their heads and wrists,” Greco said. “Don’t mean it’s got a thing to do with a church since anyone can get oil, but we can’t rule out the proximity to St. Catherine’s.”

  “Montoya has never been to the church,” Turner said in a non-defensive voice. He wanted his men looking at everything behind closed doors, no matter who that was. “Looks like someone from the Northern Liberties area except for the Montoya guy.”

  Turner scratched the beginning of a beard from lack of shaving this morning. “We’re missing something. This guy calling Walker has been involved in all these killings in some way and with the missing kids. Have to assume he’s the trigger man, but even if he isn’t he’s still the nucleus for the deaths.”

  “The kids tie Montoya to the others,” Greco pondered aloud.

  Zwolinski stopped rolling his chair. “Except for Bruno. I asked if they’d ever considered adopting and his wife broke down in tears, saying they wanted children. Don’t know if wanting them constitutes a tie in. But the killer did give the little girl back because she needed asthma medicine so he could still have Enrique alive.”

  Turner moved across the room, rubbing eyes that felt like he’d rinsed them with sandy water. “Okay, let’s go for the kid connection. If that’s the case, someone could have killed Howell because of the drug dealer threatening Howell’s girlfriend and her child, but that would have meant his girlfriend told someone about the threat and she said she only told Howell.”

  “Stanton was in the emergency room with Enrique right before she was killed.” Greco chewed, chewed, chewed then said, “Someone could have thought she wasn’t a decent mother because she was mentally challenged and seeing Enrique hurt would have snapped the guy. That would point at someone in Philomena, which might be the case with Howell’s killer.”

  Zwolinski shook his head. “But how does that link to Montoya who lives out in the country and had never been to St. Catherine’s or Bruno who had no kids to hurt?”

  Something on the hospital clicked in J. T.’s mind. “Enrique went to St. Joseph’s Hospital that night. Bruno’s wife was treated there and Montoya’s little girl had been there, because they had her on file. What about Howell’s girlfriend? Her kid ever at that hospital?”

  “Sort of.” Zwolinski frowned deep lines into his face. “His girlfriend had her baby there, but hasn’t been back since.”

  Turner heaved a sigh. “Okay, that leaves us with the oil. We need samples from local churches, including St. Catherine’s.”

  “Who’s going to pull that one?” Greco asked.

  “I’ll get that sample.” That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Turner would laugh if that wasn’t so depressing. He headed for his office to make a call to Kirsten Massey. When shit started rolling down hill it would stink up the DA’s office, too.

  Chapter 51

  “What can I do for you, Monsignor?” Kirsten settled into the chair across from where Monsignor Dornan sat back in his leather one. She kept her smile in place. Fighting rush hour gridlock to reach his office had been a bitch, but she wouldn’t have passed up this opportunity for anything.

  He’d surprised the socks off her when he’d asked her to meet him at St. Catherine’s.

  Once she finished this visit she intended to find Riley and let him know she’d been here.

  That should shut him up. Yeah, right.

  “I’ve heard a rumor there is speculation regarding a possible link between the bodies that have been found this past week and St. Catherine’s.” The Monsignor reclined his leather chair slightly. Behind him, beyond a paned window, clouds gathered into one giant blanket of stormy weather above the tree line.

  “What speculation?” Kirsten knew exactly whom Monsignor referenced and wanted to choke Riley for stirring up trouble. “I don’t believe anyone in Philly PD or the DA’s office has come around asking you questions or made accusations, have they?”

  “No, you’ve all kept your distance, which the bishop and I appreciate, but I’ve come to the conclusion the best thing for everyone involved would be to establish that we have no possible association with these deaths beyond aiding those in mourning.”

  She had to admire his deal-with-the-problem-straight-on approach. “If that’s the case, answering some questions would provide me with the ability to alleviate your concerns.” When he agreed, she asked what he knew about each of the victims, jotting notes as he spoke, then pointed out that Clayton Howell, the first of the documented murders, and Sally Stanton had an association with St. Catherine’s through Philomena House.

  “Those two deaths could also be associated with the welfare system, but I doubt that implicates them any more than it should us.” His elbows were propped on his chair arms, palms together, fingers laced. Absolute power radiated behind that unflinching gaze.

  She could see how he came by a reputation for being so persuasive and imposing. No wonder the DA held this man in such high esteem. She had past experience with Monsignor Dornan. Before returning to Philly to accept the DA position, Cecelia Van Gogh had been in San Francisco during the time the Monsignor had been there.

  Was that where he’d gotten the nickname Enforcer?


  “I certainly agree with that line of reasoning,” Kirsten admitted. “But we have to keep an open mind – ”

  “I suggest you look at those who prey on the less fortunate and sooner would be better than later. We both understand the significance of the pope’s visit to this city.”

  Had she detected just a hint of threat in that? “The police are following every lead they find and doing their best.”

  “But no one can keep this from the media for long. They must be given more than that press conference today. Give them something else to focus on, or some prejudiced newsmen will share their misdirected opinions on these killings the minute they get back on the air. I doubt the mayor and governor will be happy if the city’s image is destroyed on the brink of a papal visit or if you allow St. Catherine’s to be victimized by the press...again.”

  Kirsten didn’t need a crystal ball to know who was stirring up Dornan. Prejudiced newsmen like Riley.

  She hadn’t been involved in the first attack on St. Catherine’s and resented the insinuation of guilt by association. “My job is to help convict criminals, not worry about public image for anyone. Just to let you know, we are getting closer to finding this killer.” She wished that were true, but now was the time to put up a strong front. “We will catch him. St. Catherine’s will be blemished only if someone from here is involved.”

  “You have no evidence connecting these crimes to us,” Monsignor continued in a voice hardening more with each word.

  “I can’t comment on all the evidence collected so far – ”

  “The fourth death, the Howell man, had no ties to St. Catherine’s, wasn’t even Catholic.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin, speaking as though he was educating her. “There must be other common threads between the four victims – like all lower socio-economic situations, drugs involved with two of the victims’ families, at least two had recently been to the local hospital, three from New Liberties which meant they shopped at the same grocery stores, frequented the same pubs. Surely, you and Philly PD have come up with a better connection than St. Catherine’s.”