by Blake Pierce
“Two bodies,” Paige said, crisply, glancing at her computer screen and then looking up again. “The executive has already filled me in. First, a priest was killed in southern France in the Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port commune a few days ago.”
“A priest?” Renee said, wrinkling his nose. “What sort of person kills a priest?”
“I believe,” Paige said curtly, “that’s why they call us investigators. I need you to investigate.”
Renee glared. “And the second victim?”
“Yesterday in Spain.”
“Also a priest?” Adele asked.
But here, Sophie shook her head ever so slightly. Only a single back-and-forth motion before her chin went still. The sort of woman who didn’t want to waste so much as a gesture. “In fact, no, not another priest. A young woman. Outside Santa Domingo De Silos in Northern Spain. She was found with her throat slit.”
“So what’s the connection between them?” Adele pressed. She didn’t quite meet Sophie’s gaze. She wasn’t courageous enough to maintain eye contact for too long, but now she could feel her curiosity rising.
“Both of them had their throats cut. It’s a tentative relation as it is, but the nature of the weapon is what connects them.” Agent Paige folded her hands primly in front of her, and in an impassive tone said, “Calcium carbonate was found in both wounds. Both victims were killed with an unusual weapon.”
“Let me guess,” Renee said, grunting, “we don’t have a clue what the weapon is.”
“Not yet. Some think it might be a bone or some sort of geological construction. We’re not sure. But it’s odd enough and close enough proximity in both time and geography that the executive thinks it prudent to send a couple of agents to investigate.”
Adele nodded hesitantly. “Is that all we know? They were killed by a strange weapon, their throats slit? Are they related in any way? Was the woman religious?”
“It’s not clear as of yet but it doesn’t seem like they have much of a connection. I’ll be sending you their files, and you can make whatever deductions you deem appropriate. My only question, Agent Sharp, is if you feel up to the task.”
Adele frowned, but just as quickly hid the expression. “Excuse me?”
“I know things have been difficult for you over the last few months. I didn’t want to put undue pressure. I mentioned to the executive that perhaps it would be best for him to assign someone else. But he said I ought to give you the option.” Sophie sounded disappointed for a moment and Adele resisted the urge to glare.
“I’m fine,” Adele said, lips tight. “Thanks.”
Sophie nodded and then added, “I’m glad. I’m here to help. The executive wants me to keep an eye on the case. I also, for the sake of department cohesion, am going to be doing performance reviews of field agents.”
John and Adele shared a look. John slowly lowered his feet from the desk. “Reviews?” he said.
Paige waved a hand airily—another single gesture before lowering it again. “I’m sure you’ll both be fine. But, Agent Sharp, given your interaction with a suspect of interest last month, we simply want to make sure you’re doing all right. I’m here to help in any way I can.”
Adele wasn’t so stupid she didn’t recognize a trap when she saw it. Any hint of vulnerability, any whiff of weakness, and it would go right into Sophie’s report. A suspect, that’s what he was being called. The man who had murdered her mother, who had murdered Robert, who had attacked her father.
Regardless, the suspect couldn’t be allowed to control her life. She doubted it would give Agent Paige anything short of satisfaction to take Adele off the case. Maybe even to put her on paid leave. Adele had hoped by working together a few times, the animosity between them might have dwindled. But Agent Paige had always been ambitious. The executive trusted her enough to put her in charge in his absence. And now, it seemed, she was seizing more and more influence for herself.
Still, Adele couldn’t show she was rattled. “I’m happy for the oversight,” Adele said. “We could all use the help, I’m sure.”
“Do you find you usually need help in the field?” Sophie said, lifting her computer lid and putting her hands to the keyboard as if ready to type.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Adele said quickly. “I’m just grateful to be working as a team.”
Sophie frowned, lowering the lid again, but nodded. “Well, the two of you have a flight booked in the next hour.”
“Where are we headed?” John said. “France or Spain?”
“The commune first,” Paige replied. “And in light of my overview, I’d like to receive regular status reports every evening. I don’t put my youngest to bed until eight, so if you can please make sure you call after…”
She bobbed her head and then returned her attention to the computer, effectively cutting off the two agents. Adele got stiffly to her feet, and John followed, the two of them shuffling out of the office through the opaque door. They moved into the hall, their feet padding against the carpeted ground as they arrowed toward the elevators. Once they were out of earshot, Adele growled beneath her breath, “Overview my ass. She wants my job.”
“You’re paranoid,” Renee said. “She’s just a choir girl. The sort of student who asked the teacher to assign homework.”
“She doesn’t like me, John; she’s making trouble.”
Agent Renee patted her on the shoulder. “You don’t have anything to worry about. You’ve got the best closure rate in the department. Even if she’s trying to make waves, she’s not gonna get so much as a splash. Anyway, I haven’t been to a commune before.”
“A religious one at that,” Adele returned. “I’m going to be surprised if you don’t burn up walking in.”
John nodded. “Maybe I should say a prayer or two beforehand.”
Adele snorted, shaking her head as the elevator doors dinged shut.
The connection between the victims seemed tentative at best. But it was all they had to go on. And now, with the added addition of oversight from Agent Paige, Adele would have to stay attentive, focused. She sighed as the elevator began to shake and rattle, carrying them toward the ground floor. Even the flight, in an hour, was cutting it close. Maybe she was just jaded, but again, Adele wondered if Sophie was intentionally making things difficult. For the sake of her job, Adele would have to make sure she solved this case quickly, without a fuss. The longer she took, the more opportunities it would give Sophie to cause trouble.
And as far as Adele was concerned, she had more than enough of her own to deal with.
***
John snored next to her as Adele cycled through her phone, scanning the case files on the two victims. Agent Renee had an uncanny ability to sleep anywhere. Now, his head rolling to the side, drool trickling down his cheek, his snores were irritating a couple of the passengers across the aisle who kept angrily jamming earbuds into their ears and shooting reproachful glances at the man imitating a chainsaw.
Adele was used to John snoring at this point and ignored it. Her eyes scanned the files, glancing from one to the next. The priest, Gabriel Fernando, had been in his fifties, with a pleasant face, bordering on cherubic. He had dimples and smiling eyes, with a thin tuft of light brown hair. His commune in Southwest France was well-known and well respected. Not a single criminal record or complaint she could see. The only odd thing was he didn’t have a driver’s license. Then again, in a small commune, perhaps it wasn’t necessary.
She cycled to the next picture, frowning. The two couldn’t have been more different. Rosa Alvarez had been in her late twenties. She had dark hair and wore too much makeup. She had a record. Nothing serious, but a couple of shoplifting charges and one hit-and-run a decade ago. The woman didn’t have a known address, but by the looks of things she had family in Madrid. Adele studied the young woman. Even in the picture, she could see the weight of the world weighing Rosa down. Her eyes were shrunken, her head stooped, her shoulders slumped. This was a woman who’d braved the
world, fought, and lost.
Adele lowered her phone, sighing.
No connection between them. Just the calcium carbonate in the neck wounds. But no other commonality. Maybe the killer was just a psychopath. Maybe this wasn’t the same person at all.
She listened to the snore emanating from the chair next to her and shifted, jabbing John in the ribs and then glancing out the window when he went quiet, sniffed a bit, and turned, facing the aisle.
The first crime scene would have to help narrow the focus. Especially since Agent Paige was looking over their shoulder. Adele glanced at her phone, staring at the small bubble in the top of the screen that had arrived within minutes of them boarding the plane. Already, Paige was looking for a status update. She would be hounding them for the rest of the case. Each day wasted would be another excuse to cause more trouble. But more importantly, each day wasted meant another possible murder.
CHAPTER FOUR
Adele remembered a trip as a child to the southwest of France near the Pyrenean foothills. She remembered the scent of the Nive River, remembered the sense of leaving the city behind her.
Things were quieter, simpler here.
The ride from the airport had passed mostly in study, comparing notes they’d found of interest. But no connections seemed to exist between the poor priest and the unfortunate young woman.
Now, close to the Ostabat at the foot of the Pyrenees, overlooked by the shadows of the rocky terrain, Adele and John emerged from their taxi on cobblestone streets of the Rue de la Citadelle. The Port St-Jacques claimed the Nive, adorned and ornamented along the shore by the many old houses and balconies overlooking the gentle waterway. Many of the buildings boasted their age in hues of pink and gray schist and sandstone.
As John and Adele moved down the cobbled streets, she glimpsed etchings over some of the buildings, inscriptions in the walls from a bygone era. One inscription touted the price of barley in the seventeen hundreds. Another offered a prayer to an unfamiliar saint.
Beyond the first port, along the sole main street, Adele noted the Gothic church which her mother had pointed out to her on that childhood excursion. The Notre-Dame-du-Bout-du-Pont also wore an ensemble of red schist, the fourteenth-century architecture standing as a crowning jewel amidst the old commune.
“Who kills a priest?” John muttered beneath his breath, echoing the same question he’d asked back in the executive’s office. “Especially at a church?” he added, growling.
The two of them made their way up the cobblestone path, heading in the direction of the old, stone-strewn Gothic church. The tall building embraced the sky, steeples and slanted roofs protruding above red and pink sides, standing out against the backdrop of the mountains. The river behind them created a droning white noise, drowning out the rustling trees at the foot of the terrain.
The small commune seemed lifted off some postcard, transported in time, plucked from centuries ago and brought to that moment. But the illusion was somewhat ruined by the flashing blue and red lights of the police car parked outside the Gothic church. As they drew nearer, Adele spotted a tall man in a suit shaking a finger at a police officer and saying, “The lights can damage the windows. It will dull their colors. Please turn it off.”
The officer muttered something in return, but evidently his response didn’t please the man in the suit.
As John and Adele drew nearer, the suit glanced toward them, taking in their appearance with one sweeping look. This fellow had bowed legs and a large nose. Otherwise, he boasted a masculine jaw and an easy smile, which, despite his irritable words toward the cop, he directed toward Adele and John.
“Welcome,” he said. “I’m afraid the church is closed for the week. My apologies. Might I recommend the chapel, you can find it—”
As he began to point down the street, Adele interjected, “We’re with the DGSI.”
The man hesitated, adjusting the sleeves of his neat suit. “I see. Well, perhaps you could help a soul out, then. All I need is for him to turn off the lights. It can damage the stained glass.”
Adele glanced from the flashing lights of the police car to the church. “That’s fine, please turn them off,” she said.
The officer sighed, giving her a look, but then, at a growl from John, he turned, stomping back to his car and hitting the lights. He muttered something beneath his breath, but remained by his vehicle, preferring to slouch against the hood and then turn to face the small fence around the church.
“Who might you be?” Adele said, glancing at the smiling greeter.
“Father Paul,” he said, nodding at her. “I help keep this place open and show visitors through. Sojourners and onlookers alike are welcome inside.”
“Father Paul?” John said. He took in the man’s suit and neatly pressed sleeves. “You don’t look much like a priest.”
The man smiled patiently. “I am sorry to disappoint. Not all of us wear robes or shave our heads. And I believe it’s appropriate to look presentable when speaking with the authorities of the land. Romans tells us that.”
Adele and John shared a look. Adele was pretty certain Romans was a chapter in the Bible. She was also pretty certain John didn’t know what a bible was.
“Well, Father Paul,” Adele said, delicately, “I hate to intrude, but we’re here to examine the crime scene.”
“Of course, of course.” Here, the amiable man’s smile diminished. He shook his head with a weary sigh and said, “Very sad, horrible, in fact. Why anyone would want to hurt Father Fernando is baffling.” He reached for the black gate, unhooking the latch with a quiet creak and pushing it open. The bars nudged gently against the wooden sawhorses, and Adele and John stepped through into the church grounds. The man led them up slab steps toward the Gothic structure. “He was a good man. Everyone loved Fernando. Everyone in town, everyone in the commune, everyone who met him. No one had a bad word to say.”
He led them through the open, arching door, the slanted sides leading to a point at the top. As they entered, Adele felt small, bathed in the shadow of the dark, immaculately maintained building. It was strange to stand somewhere five hundred years old. She wondered how many people had come through these halls. The pews faced the front. Marvelous windows displayed scenes from the scriptures, illuminated in the sunlight and casting resplendent refractions of colored lights across the stone ground. A crucifix on the wall cast in bronze settled near the center of the room, and the low-hanging windows allowed even more light to stream through as if bathing the place in the vibrant glow.
Everything smelled of dust and must. Adele wondered how they kept a place like this clean without accidentally using corrosive, modern products against old, archaic structures.
The floor was rough beneath her feet. No carpeting to speak of. There, in one corner, she spotted caution tape. No painted outline on the ground. The tape itself hadn’t been secured to traffic cones, but had rather been laid on the floor. A couple of books had been left, hymnals by the looks of them, holding the tape in place.
“Is that where they found the body?” Adele said, pointing.
“I’m afraid so,” Paul said, nodding once. “The investigators were kind enough to amend some of your practices in order to preserve the church. But it does mark the area, I’m sorry to say.”
Adele and John approached. As they did, they heard the sound of footsteps coming from behind a hall lined with pillars. A younger man emerged, wearing a smooth, brown robe. The habit swished with his motions, but he pulled up short, resting a hand against one of the wooden pews and staring at them. “I’m sorry, who are—oh, Father Paul. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The men nodded at each other in greeting. “They’re with DGSI,” said the older man, gesturing toward the agents.
This new arrival looked a bit like a chipmunk. He had thick, chubby cheeks and bright, wide eyes with long lashes. He looked friendly, but now concern etched his countenance. “I see. Are you here about Fernando?”
Adele pau
sed a moment, scanning the marked portion of the floor. The caution tape fluttered from the wind through the open doorway. One of the hymnals was free of dust, but the other was caked in it. The floor was clean, suggesting someone had granted permission to wipe away the blood.
“Yes, we’re here investigating the murder. Who found the body?”
“That was me,” said the younger man.
“We call you Father, too?” John asked.
“You can call me Brother Rudy,” he said quickly. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
John ignored the greeting. “When did you find him?”
Rudy crossed his arms. “It should all be in the report. I don’t mean to be difficult. I’m happy to answer any other questions.”
“Humor me,” John said.
The man’s sleeves spilled past his stomach. “Well,” he said, hesitant, “it was a few days ago now. Wednesday, I believe. I came in for morning prayers and saw him lying there. Lord preserve us,” he said, crossing himself. “It was so horrible. I thought he was sleeping. But then I saw the,” he shivered, “the blood. I immediately called the police. They arrived quickly. We are all very grateful for that. The Lord has seen us through this trying time, and we trust he will keep watch over us even now.”
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary?” questioned Adele. “Anything that stood out?”
“The blood. But I noticed he wasn’t moving. I tried to help him to his feet and then saw the wound on his neck.” The young man winced, closing his eyes for a second before opening them and continuing in a softer tone. “I don’t know what I could’ve done differently. I don’t know why anyone would’ve hurt Fernando. Everyone loved him.”
John shared a look with Adele. This was the second time they’d used the same phrase. Why would anyone murder a man universally loved? Why would they hunt him in the church and cut his throat?
“There was the one thing,” Rudy said, suddenly.
