The Last Amen

by C. C. Jameson

  “Like you hear my voice right now?”

  The father flipped his palms up in the air, a confused look on his face. “I’m not crazy!”

  “What do you mean then?”

  “During my prayers. In my head. And he kept showing me signs. I only followed the path he’d already lined up for me.”

  Kate rubbed her face as she added up their facts to see if she could tally up enough elements to reach probable cause: no alibi for both murders, he knew of various rituals (but that was part of his job, and the oils used didn’t match), his use of sage went against his faith (but it could have been done to throw them off his scent). So, other than the man being a priest and not having an alibi, she had nothing.

  No judge would ever approve an arrest warrant for him. But Kate could fill out the required paperwork for a search warrant and gain samples of those holy oils.

  That she could do.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Saturday, June 30th, 2018

  They spent dinner in silence, and Luke had to admit it was probably better that way.

  He’d watched the latest press conference by the mayor. Bostonians were angry. They wanted the killer caught, and he, too, wanted nothing more. That would mean Kate could relax a bit. Having the entire city scrutinize her lack of progress hadn’t been easy on her.

  He watched her tired eyes as she moved peas back and forth on her plate. Maybe she’d also lost her appetite.

  Why did the Boston PD Public Relations person have to go and mention their lead detective by name? Rookie mistake. Their household was paying the price for it. And now some nosy reporter had made a connection between his job at the DNA lab for the Massachusetts State Police and Kate as the lead investigator, exposing something any defense attorney would have a feast with.

  But that was neither here nor there. They still had to find a killer first before they would worry about that. Luke knew they’d done everything by the book, but he couldn’t help but worry nonetheless. Their relationship had been disclosed to all who needed to know. He had personally avoided involvement with any evidence brought in by Kate and her team for any and all cases she worked on. But he was still the lab supervisor in charge of the DNA analysis the Boston PD needed done. A greedy defense attorney could probably make some connection somewhere that could get them in trouble.

  But there was nothing he could do about it now. Nothing but keep the house’s curtains closed. Those reporters would eventually go away, like they had around twenty-four hours after the last time Kate had been mentioned by name on the news.

  The doorbell rang yet again. Luke looked at the clock on the wall. A good twenty minutes had elapsed since their last attempt.

  “Should I go this time?” Mrs. O’Brien offered.

  “No, Mom. They’ll go away if we keep ignoring them.”

  But he knew the only way they’d go away for sure was if Kate and her team found the killer.

  Not having personally examined the evidence the detectives had brought in hadn’t prevented Luke from keeping an eye on the results. Everything the detectives had examined had been proven useless. Even those oils they sampled from five different churches around town and the oil on the second victim’s forehead. They’d all been made from the same batch. Whether or not that had helped the detectives, Luke had no idea. All he knew was that unless they had more evidence to point them to one specific church, they’d only expanded their scope instead of narrowing it down as they had probably hoped.

  Perhaps they’d have more luck trying to trace where the frankincense and sage had come from.

  “How about we watch a comedy after dinner?” Luke suggested to his mom and Kate. They could all use a laugh.

  Kate got up and shook her head.

  “Sorry, I’m not in the mood for it.”

  Exactly my point, he thought, but he knew better than to voice those words.

  As she scraped a few untouched bites into the garbage, Kate spoke up. “It was delicious, Mrs. O’Brien, as always.”

  “My pleasure, dear. Glad you liked it.” She got up, grabbing her dirty dishes and taking them to the sink.

  “You guys watch something. I’ll just go back to those boxes in your office,” Kate said to Luke, not even bothering to look at him while she spoke.

  Luke inhaled deeply as he pondered what he should do. Then, hearing his mom turn on the faucet, he re-opened his eyes and got to his feet.

  “Mom, please don’t bother with the dishes! I’ll take care of them. Why don’t you go and find something to watch? I’ll be right with you.”

  She turned off the water but left her hand on the faucet as her stern eyes met his.

  “You’re going to ignore your old mom and take care of her. That poor child—”

  “She’s not a poor child. She’s one of the strongest women I know.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. Not only is she dealing with the stress of every Bostonian blaming her for the lack of progress on those murder cases, she’s also decided to reopen her old wounds from decades ago?”

  Luke cleared his throat, knowing fair well that he was to blame for that, not Kate.

  “Mom—”

  “No.” She grabbed Luke’s dishes from his hands and added them to the sink in front of her.

  “Do your best to ignore me. Go and make her think of something else. Anything other than those murder cases.”

  Luke considered refusing but knew better. “Fine.”

  He refilled his glass of wine and headed to his office, but instead of walking in, he just leaned against the frame of the open door, staring at Kate, sitting in his chair, her gloved hands carefully opening more envelopes.

  Her nose twitched, then she looked up and he realized she was fighting back tears. Again.

  “Smell this!” she said, offering a yellowed Christmas card.

  He walked toward his desk and leaned down to do just that. “Is that… cologne?” His nose twitched as well. “Old Spice?”

  “Is that what it is? Old Spice?”

  “I’m pretty sure. Dad used to have some back in the day.”

  Kate smelled the card again, then closed her eyes. “That’s what I smelled around my mom when the hypnotherapist took me back.”

  “That means…”

  She dropped the card and her hands dug themselves into her hair, scratching her scalp as her face contorted in pain.

  “After all these years! I don’t understand why nobody ever found these letters! Why didn’t the police see them when they searched the house? Why didn’t Mom open them? Why did she keep them? Who’s this E guy?”

  “And how is the smell still in there?”

  But she shook her head and got up instead, reaching for Luke’s glass and then downing half of it in one large sip.

  “I’m no detective, but I know this isn’t your handwriting on the box. Who wrote that?” Luke asked, pointing to the words Steve and Jo’s attic.

  “That’s Kenny’s handwriting. He must have found it in Mom and Dad’s attic when they cleared it. That’s the only reason why the sheriff and his team wouldn’t have found it. But why did he never show it to me? Why didn’t he unpack what it contained?” She finished the rest of Luke’s wine.

  “Maybe it was too difficult for him as well. Wasn’t your dad his only brother?”

  “Yeah,” Kate said, wrapping her arms around Luke’s waist and letting her head rest against his chest.

  “That’s one thing we’ll never know. Kenny took that information with him to the grave, but you can do something about those letters now.”

  “But I still don’t understand why she kept the letters and never opened them. And why did she keep them in the attic?”

  “I don’t think she wanted your dad to find them.”

  “But why not throw them away? Why keep them?” she asked, her green eyes looking up to him. From the sadness that shone from them, he knew Kate had connected the dots, but acknowledging those facts had to be painful.

 
; His chest tightened at his inability to make her feel better. No matter what he said or did, there was nothing he could do to ease her suffering. Those damned letters had soiled whatever memories she’d kept of her belated, beloved mother.

  And it was his fault she’d opened them.

  But there was no point beating himself up over it. He’d already apologized for that, and she’d have eventually found them on her own.

  “So what do you want to do?” He rubbed her back as she inhaled deeply.

  “I’ll send them to Sheriff Ramsay. He can have them analyzed for prints, maybe find some DNA in the envelopes’ glue. Come on, let’s go watch a movie. But nothing about cheating spouses, please.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Sunday, July 1st, 2018

  The Sunday hymns didn’t sound as heartfelt as they normally did. Or perhaps he wasn’t standing in the exact spot where he normally stood, where the echo bounced off the floor and walls in such a way that it made his soul surge, as though trying to leap toward God with each breath he took.

  No, today felt different. Hollow, somehow.

  Maybe it was the growing anticipation building up inside of him. Maybe it was a sign that he had to save more souls. And he had to do it soon. Perhaps God wasn’t happy with his performance.

  Had he disappointed Him when he’d failed to save Amanda?

  He bowed his head and prayed in silence while the congregation in front of him continued chanting.

  “Lord, my savior,

  Lord, my liberator,

  Guide me toward your light,

  Together our souls will unite.

  Your spirit calls, through the dark times it beckons,

  With open arms, you’ll greet me in the heavens.

  Glorious is your name,

  Glorious is your flame.

  Lord, while I walk with shame,

  My sins you forgive the same,

  I look up to you and your name I’ll forever proclaim.”

  And as he repositioned himself for the next portion of the service, he silently promised to God that he’d get back to his duties. He would be the proud servant he’d been born to be. And he would no longer let someone’s gender or hair color dictate whether or not their soul deserved saving.

  Hope and pride boomed in his chest as he silently made a promise to God: he’d save another soul, and he’d take care of it right after mass.

  The afternoon offered the best alibi he could ever need: today’s fundraiser was hosted right in the middle of the parish. The sunny weather had allowed them to proceed with their plan A, which meant that dozens of sinners would be gathered near their residences. Nobody would notice him disappearing for a short while.

  He’d already grabbed a couple of vials from his latest batch and snuck them into church in the pocket of his pants. While bringing a bottle of wine—even a travel-size one—would look suspicious, the fundraiser also came with a built-in solution: punch. He had to time it correctly, but punch would do just fine. He would offer a cup of it—with his cleansing agent added in—just before walking away from the crowd, into the sinner’s home.

  But whose turn was it now?

  Whose soul needed saving the most urgently?

  Relieved that he no longer had to oblige by the blonde-only rule—having heard and recalled his Lord’s message very clearly—he began perusing the church’s database, this time starting his search with the addresses first.

  A handful of people who had signed up to attend the event lived less than a block away. That was perfect.

  With sinning so commonplace these days, he knew several sinners would be in attendance.

  He paused as he browsed his list, trying to remember what each of them had confessed to recently: light drug usage, cheating on an exam, cheating on a boyfriend, lying to parents, masturbating, stealing someone else’s lunch at work, lying on their taxes, having sex with the neighbor, and getting an abortion.

  His choice was clear.

  He turned off the computer, voiced a quick prayer, grabbed a handful of rosaries, then headed out to find her among the mingling sinners.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  It had been days since her blackout and Amanda couldn’t believe her mind hadn’t recovered a single memory from it. And she hadn’t been able to fill in more blanks since Big Danny had headed out of town. Gambling trip with his buddies, he’d said.

  But whether her stomach harbored queasiness or just worries was still unclear. Ever since that day, she felt as though someone had been following her. Spying on her.

  Or perhaps it was just paranoia after what Big Danny had told her.

  What friend from church? Had David come over? She pulled out her phone, hesitant to call him, wondering if the police would read something into that. Lori’s death was still so recent…

  Deciding against it, she returned her phone to her purse and headed into a coffee shop instead.

  Caffeine could make her even more antsy, she thought while waiting in line. When she reached the barista, she opted for an herbal tea and a granola bar. Something to soothe her nerves instead of feeding the paranoia that already inhabited her.

  She sat at an empty table in the shop, staring out the window for a while, pondering while glancing around, when she noticed a dark gray sedan a block and a half from where she sat.

  Hadn’t the same car been parked by her apartment this morning when she’d left?

  She shook the thought away. She just needed to sleep it off.

  That edible experiment had been an epic fail. She really had to give Joshua hell when she ran into him next.

  Had he been the friend from church who’d showed up?

  Why couldn’t she identify that man? Wouldn’t he have contacted her again?

  This whole week had been a nightmare, she realized as she once again forced herself to put aside those negative thoughts.

  Ditching her empty cup and wrapper in the garbage on her way out, she walked home.

  But as though a tiny voice spoke up in her mind, she turned around. The sedan was leaving its spot. She continued marching down the sidewalk, then turned into a random street, curious to see if the car would follow her.

  Sure enough, it did.

  Whether it was the anger she felt at her inability to fill in her blackout or the adrenaline from something else, she pointed straight at the car, then dashed toward it, her elbows pumping at her sides. No way in hell was she going to be followed by some creep.

  She wouldn’t be stalked. It was broad daylight. She risked nothing. She could scream her heart out if that sedan driver was the killer coming after her.

  Someone would hear her.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Officer Alessandro Agostino-Persichetti, aka Smitty, sat in his unmarked vehicle, his third cup of coffee in hand, his eyes locked onto the community get-together organized by the church. In a wide-open space in front of him, behind a foot-high hedge of flowery bushes, people who were dressed to the nines chitchatted loudly.

  How times had changed!

  Sure, he hadn’t been to church in years—perhaps getting to see the worst of humanity had contributed to that a little.

  Well, a lot.

  His faith in God had ended around the time he stumbled onto his fourth body, a woman he knew. A pretty awful sight, which he still remembered in vivid detail. The discovery of her body had followed a domestic disturbance call. He and Mansbridge, his regular partner, had shown up as fast as they could, but it had been minutes too late for the poor woman who’d been stabbed in the chest by her violent husband.

  They’d first seen the pool of blood ooze out and stain the carpet in the hallway, the dark liquid soaking into the fibers from the other side of the apartment door. The stench of her fresh blood had haunted him for about a year, enough to prevent him from buying fresh meat.

  His mind flooded with images from that awful day. They’d managed to force their way into the apartment, only to find a very confused and sobbing man hunched ov
er his wife, his hands joined, his arms anxiously pressing his full force onto her chest, as though attempting to resuscitate a woman who’d just bled to death.

  His breath had reeked of alcohol and smoke. Another stench that Smitty disliked.

  Yeah. As he watched various members of the congregation chatting among themselves, he recognized a few familiar faces. People he hadn’t spoken with for years. He had last talked to them… Well, around the time he stopped going to church. Around the time his faith dissipated into the abyss of corruption, violence, and the evils of what humans could do when facing bad situations.

  His phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID: Vanessa. He ignored the call, which stopped the ringing. But not a minute elapsed before it rang again.

  “Damn it!”

  Peeling his eyes off of Father Matthews for a second, he sent her a text message:

  Can’t talk right now!

  He tossed his device onto the empty passenger seat next to him. Mansbridge had received an emergency call about his family an hour earlier, so he’d headed to the hospital. Something wrong with one of his kids. So Smitty was short a partner—and free of the voice of reason he’d come to depend on.

  Staking out a homicide suspect alone sucked. Smitty certainly couldn’t blame the man for taking care of his kid, but having his partner here would have made the rest of the afternoon more enjoyable. Maybe Mansbridge could have offered advice or helped Smitty get out of the mess he was in with Vanessa.

  Smitty’s phone rang yet again just as he watched Father Matthews relocating to a different group of people. That young new priest certainly looked like he enjoyed chatting and mingling with his parishioners.

  Smitty debated whether he should pick up. He didn’t want to. His job certainly made it clear he wasn’t supposed to. Especially when his partner had gone and left him as the solo surveillance officer. But he sure as hell knew the woman wasn’t going to stop calling until she’d said whatever she needed to say.