He nodded then left the apartment, part relieved his lies had worked, but also perplexed as to what to do now.
Amanda wouldn’t be saved. Not today. Not ever.
He had a goal, but he wasn’t stupid. The risk of running into that big man again far outweighed the satisfaction of saving her soul. Plus he had plenty more souls to choose from.
He used the staircase, out of habit to avoid the elevator cameras, but then realized halfway down that he could have used it this time since he’d left a much, much more condemning piece of evidence on her phone.
Incriminating or exonerating.
Only time would tell.
As he continued walking away from the building, one detail wouldn’t leave his head: Where exactly had his plan derailed?
Why did she puke?
Was there something wrong with his latest batch of cleansing solution?
He needed to figure this out and soon. His inner itch to save another soul roared within him, making his eye twitch as he sped up his pace.
His mind began homing in on the next person worth saving.
Chapter Forty-Six
Wednesday, June 27th, 2018
Amanda woke up dazed and confused. Fully dressed, she lay in her bed. Big Danny, her neighbor, was sitting in the corner of her room, cross-legged on the carpet, his head resting where the walls met.
“B… Big Danny?” she called out.
He blinked a few times then looked up to her. “Hey! How you feeling?”
She tried to sit up, then decided against it. Her head felt like it was about to explode.
“What? … Why… Why are you here?”
“I had to keep an eye on you. You passed out in your vomit. Lucky I saw you and had the evening off so I could look after you.”
“What? What are you talking about?” But as she aired the words, she tasted bile in her mouth. She’d indeed been sick.
“Who was that man that came to visit you yesterday?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down his face.
“What? What man?”
Big Danny got to his feet. “I’m gonna splash some water on my face. Want a glass?”
“Sure,” Amanda said.
“Be right back.”
In the few minutes that passed, she racked her brain as to what had actually happened. She tried to rewind her memories. Last night she…
Last evening she…
Her heart began beating faster, suddenly aware that several hours were unaccounted for.
Yesterday she… She took those edibles!
“Shit!” she yelled, folding her body up in bed, then suddenly hating herself for it.
Bringing a hand to her forehead, she forced her eyelids down, hiding daylight and hoping that it would decrease the intensity of her pounding headache.
Big Danny put one of his big-bear hands on her back. “Here, Amanda. Drink up.”
She opened her eyes, grabbed the glass and downed all of its contents.
“You said there was a man in here yesterday?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who was he?”
“Are you okay?” he asked her. “You should remember who your guest was, shouldn’t you?” With his index finger and thumb, he forced one of her eyes to open some more, then the other. “Were you high on something yesterday?”
She winced, then realized Big Danny was a friend. He wouldn’t judge her.
“Well, yes. One of my friends gave me some edibles. Said it’d help me forget about what happened to Lori.”
“Shit, Amanda! You shouldn’t do drugs. And you most definitely shouldn’t do drugs alone! What if I hadn’t shown up?”
“Why did you show up? Why are you here?”
“You really don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head.
“That’s messed up.” He exhaled deeply then sat on the edge of her bed. “I heard you scream, then something crashed on the floor, so I ran up. I was knocking on your door when this young guy was about to leave.”
“Who was it?”
“Beats me. He said he was a friend from church.”
“A friend from church?”
Amanda frowned and rubbed her forehead, but it wasn’t a magical lamp. Nobody came to mind, and no memories came back.
“Well, the mystery man left, and I stayed. You had already begun vomiting, so I placed you in the recovery position and I kept an eye on you. Once the vomiting stopped, I moved you to your bed, but I wanted to stay to make sure you were going to be all right.”
“Thanks, Big Danny,” she said leaning forward to hug him.
“You should really get in the shower now. And I’ve got to get ready for work. Don’t do anymore of those edibles, okay? Promise me?” he asked as he got up.
“Yes, I swear. Thanks for taking care of me. I owe you, big time.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Murphy, tell me something good. Where are you at with those cases?” Fuller asked from behind his desk, his suit and tie disheveled and the bags under his eyes a deep shade of purple. “They’re riding my ass. I can’t buy us any more time. The mayor and the media want answers. We need to give them something. Anything.”
“The rosary from the second victim showed DNA from both the first and second victim, confirming our theory that several rosaries are used, but only one left behind. But the killer’s DNA isn’t on there and we couldn’t lift any fingerprints due to the small size of the thread.”
“What else?” Fuller asked.
“The profiler we met with on Monday came back with new information,” Murphy said.
“Shoot,” Fuller ordered as he leaned back into his chair and waited for the information.
Murphy retrieved her notepad and referred to it as she replied. “He thinks we’re dealing with a person who’s suffered a very deep wound that altered their moral compass. Someone for whom religion is very important but someone who kept disappointing their parents or someone who never received the love they wanted from them, so they developed a strong intolerance toward certain behavior. Mostly behavior that would go against the Church’s preaching. Possibly to match the behavior the killer himself received or witnessed.”
“The killer is hyper religious and intolerant toward what exactly?” Fuller asked.
“Witness statements and the medical examiner’s reports confirm that both victims had sexual intercourse before their death,” Murphy said.
Fuller frowned. “You’re saying he’s intolerant about people having sex?”
Murphy put her notepad away. “Outside-of-marriage sex or inappropriate sex in general, whatever that definition would be, according to his beliefs. We just heard that the second vic was having an affair with a married man.”
“Married man?” Fuller repeated. “Could the wife have found out? Or could the married man be our killer for both victims?”
Rosebud interjected. “All we had was a first initial and a relation with the victim’s dad, but Wang worked her magic, and it paid off. We identified him: Alex Redford, a wealthy businessman who dabbles in politics. His alibi—and that of his wife—were solid. They both attended a live TV program when Jessica was killed. The man even offered to show us his bank account statements if we agreed to keep his affair away from his wife and the media.”
“And?” Fuller asked. “No signs that he would have paid someone off to get rid of the mistress?”
“Absolutely none,” Murphy said. “And we couldn’t find any evidence that he or his wife would have known Lori Davis.”
“Okay. Go back to the profiler,” Fuller ordered. “Did he state anything in terms of physical description? Gender? Something tangible, please.”
Murphy shook her head. “We still can’t narrow it down. Either the killer knew the victims or impersonated a trustworthy figure to gain access to their households. The fact that the victims were drugged first removes the necessity for the person to be physically strong to strangle them. We still think the killer has to be able to lif
t a body from point A to point B, but the lack of rape almost prevents us from knowing for sure if it’s a man we’re dealing with. And the combined use of drugs with strangulation indicates this person doesn’t seek power over the victims. That’s not typical. But the killer is obviously very thorough and careful about not leaving any DNA behind.”
“But if we stick to statistical probability, it’s more than likely a man,” Rosebud added.
“Yeah, yeah,” Fuller said, wiping the side of his nose with his hand. “White male, Caucasian, charismatic, good-looking… We’ve all read those studies, but who are your best leads or suspects?”
“David Dempsey’s story checks out,” Murphy said. “He had no plausible motive to kill his girlfriend. No financial gain. No jealousy. They had a fight, sure, but he passively waited for her to contact him again. Victim’s friends all confirm he’s a pushover. Plus, he had alibis for both murders.”
“And?” Fuller prompted.
“The father was at work. Phone records back up his story for the broken lock being reported to the landlord. He’s not a suspect.”
Fuller exhaled loudly as he let those facts sink in. “Rosebud. Talk to me. Anything else?”
“Amanda McCutcheon,” Rosebud said. “First vic’s BFF. They had a fight the night after she had sex with the boyfriend.”
“Lover’s triangle?” Fuller asked.
“Chastity club feud. But lover’s triangle is not out of the question. Wang thinks there’s something brewing between the first vic’s boyfriend and her BFF.”
Fuller leaned forward on his desk. “Does she look strong enough to lift a person?”
Murphy tilted her head to the side. “Possibly.”
“Alibis for both murders?”
“We checked. It’s weak, but Netflix confirmed she was watching movies and pressed the button to continue streaming every hour or so on Sunday afternoon and evening.”
“Someone else could have pressed that button,” Fuller stated. “Where was she during the second murder?”
“Same. Netflix binging. No parents, siblings, or roommates living with her.”
“What do you think, Rosebud?” Fuller asked while stroking his salt-and-pepper mustache.
“Our search warrant led us nowhere. We don’t have enough to arrest her.”
“Did she know the second victim?” Fuller asked.
Murphy spoke up. “We asked, and Chainey looked into it. He couldn’t find any links.”
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“We still don’t have a real motive, though. Lover’s triangle wouldn’t explain the second murder.”
“The district commander wants to see something. We’ll get eyes on her twenty-four seven. I’ll approve the extra manpower.”
“There’s more, though,” Murphy said.
Fuller leaned back in his chair again. “Speak!”
“Father Matthews. He’s a new priest in town. Young, bright, forward-thinking, handsome, charismatic. Through confessions, he may have had knowledge of what was going on and targeted his victims based on the sins that triggered him. A priest could match what the profiler described. It would make him a trustworthy figure. Someone with easy access to someone’s home.”
“Alibi?”
“We haven’t officially questioned him yet. I attended part of his mass this past Sunday, then met up with him afterwards. He looked truly sorry for what happened to the first vic. I asked where he was after mass on June 3rd and on June 4th. He answered he was either surrounded by parishioners in church, alone in the sacristy of the cathedral, or at home. No witnesses. I know for a fact he was working Sunday morning, but he could have headed to the second vic’s house after I finished talking to him. I’ll get him to come down here to get an interview on the record.”
Fuller played with the end of his bushy mustache. “Catholic priest?”
Murphy nodded.
“They’ll never share their confessions with us, so…” He rocked back and forth in his chair and began tapping the desk with a pen.
“Don’t priests have to pass some sort of psychological exam? I don’t think he’s our guy,” Rosebud chimed in.
“That’s your Catholic side speaking,” Murphy said. “Just think like a cop—”
“Fuck you, Murphy!”
Kate winced then swallowed hard, realizing her mistake. “Rosebud, you know, I didn’t mean it that way—”
“Enough!” Fuller barked. “We’re all tired. You’re sorry. He’s sorry. Moving on.”
Rosebud shook his head and swatted Kate’s excuse with his hand. “I know,” Rosebud said. “But Father Matthews has been helping the community, raising funds, helping the poorest families—”
“And listening to confessions and collecting names and addresses, which he could then use to find his—”
Fuller slapped his desk. “I’ve heard enough! I don’t care if he’s a priest. His profession doesn’t put him above our laws. We’ll surveil them both. Let’s hope the killer is one of them so we can stop the next murder before it happens. And one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Murphy asked, her tired face giving away her cards. Being the lead was taxing her. Just like it did every one of his detectives. The system and the evil in the world—in Boston—had begun to break her, just like it had the rest of them.
“This case began nearly a month ago. I’ve seen you guys in the office around the clock. This can’t go on. As of today, I’m implementing a forced rotation. Murphy, I need you here during the day. One other detective will be working days with you. The other two will split the other sixteen hours, one eight-hour shift each, catching up on office work and interviewing people in the early evening if needed. That means Rosebud, Chainey, and Wang will rotate until we finally catch the killer. But that won’t happen if you guys don’t go home, clear your heads, and rest between shifts.”
Murphy and Rosebud looked at each other but stayed put.
“Now get out of my office!”
Chapter Forty-Eight
As he stared at his lye pellets, pH strips, distilled water, paint stripper, and tiny vials of finished product, he couldn’t shake the thought that had been on his mind the entire walk home from Amanda’s house the previous evening. The sight of that sinful woman puking on the floor had haunted him like a buzzing fly that wouldn’t go away.
He raised one hand and dug his nails into his fist, thinking about hitting the wall for a second but resisting the urge.
What good would that do?
He’d lose his safety deposit.
Closing his eyes, he reconsidered where he stood. He’d been put on this earth to cleanse souls, not floors. He could either ditch his latest batch or test it on himself.
Hesitation hovered over him like a black cloud as he pondered his options. If he had in fact messed up his recipe, he could die. Suicide, even by mistake, was the worst sin of all. He knew that all too well.
Inhaling deeply, he knelt, brought his hands together, and began praying for her soul even though it was damned. Then he tried to clear his mind so he could hear God’s voice coming to him.
Focusing on his breath was his gateway to a trance. Three. Four. Five sets of deep inhalations and exhalations were enough for his worries to dissipate and morph into hope.
Hope for salvation. Hope for God reuniting with His misguided souls.
Through his hands, following His voice and guidance, he could save the sinners around him and make them join Him by His side while they still could.
Looking at his vials and raw ingredients—and knowing he couldn’t afford the expensive drugs they sold on street corners—he emptied the mixture down the kitchen drain and got ready to start a fresh batch.
Grabbing his container of paint stripper, he measured the appropriate volume he’d printed from the Internet. Then he used his kitchen scale to weigh his lye pellets. He took out the stainless steel pot he used solely for that purpose then began preparing a new batch of cleansing solution.
As he double-checked the measurement of the first ingredient, he couldn’t help but reflect on how different he was from the other people in his field. He believed in God, of course. Faith led his life and directed all of his decisions, but he always wanted to understand everyone else’s views. Educating oneself never hurt anyone, and it was also wonderfully helpful when bridging the gap between people of various faiths. Converting someone was much easier once you knew where they came from.
So he’d taken quite a few extra-curricular classes online while attending seminary. He had grown quite fond of chemistry and physics in particular. He liked to think that faith was the missing variable in quantum mechanics. His beliefs were, of course, not the most popular among those he worked with, so he kept them to himself. But chemistry had most definitely proven useful over the past few months. Very useful indeed. Science and faith had always enhanced each other in his hands, guided by Him.
Another flash of Amanda puking on her floor came to mind, which made him triple-check the measurements.
He had to focus.
No more distraction.
As he added the right quantity of distilled water to his pot, he committed to carefully adhering to the correct timing and temperatures to make his latest batch the greatest one yet.
Chapter Forty-Nine
After refilling his and Kate’s wine glasses, Luke loaded the dishwasher, then joined her back at the kitchen table, aware that the long stems on his favorite glasses didn’t fit in the top rack. First-world problem. But he liked how they looked. A little hand-washing had never hurt anyone.
He watched Kate trace the rim of her glass with her index finger, her stare aimed at a tomato stain on their white table cloth.
“You know that cologne you smelled on your mother?” he asked.
“Yeah?” She looked up and squinted at him, her head tilted.
“That had me thinking.”
“Please don’t change your cologne.”
The Last Amen Page 16
