Salvation in death

“But… He was sent here.”

“At his request, and with the use of that falsified identification.”

“Lieutenant, he performed Mass, the sacraments. There must be a mistake.”

“You said you confirmed it,” Freeman interrupted. “How?”

“Dental records. The body in our possession has had facial surgery. Cosmetic surgery. A tattoo removal. There were scars from knife wounds.”

“I saw those,” Freeman stated. “The wounds. He explained them. He lied.” Now Freeman sat. “He lied. Why?”

“There’s a question. He went to some trouble to be assigned here, specifically. That’s another why. Did he ever speak to you about anyone named Lino?”

“No. Yes. Wait.” Freeman massaged his temples, and his fingers trembled. “We were debating absolution, restitution, penance, forgiveness. How sins may be outweighed by good deeds. We had different philosophies. He used Lino as an example. As in, let’s take this man-call him Lino.”

“Okay. And?”

Freeman pushed up, those dark eyes rested on his fellow priest. “This is like another death. Worse, I think. We were brothers here, and servants, and shepherds. But he was none of that. He died in sin. The man I just prayed for died in sin, performing an act he had no right to perform. I confessed to him, and he to me.”

“He’ll answer to God now, Martin. There’s no mistake?” López asked Eve.

“No, there’s no mistake. What did he say about Lino?”

“It was an example, as I said.” Freeman sat again as if his legs were weary. “That if this young man, this Lino, had si

“You disagreed.”

“It’s more than good deeds. It’s intent. Are the good deeds done to balance the scales, or for their own sake? Did the man truly repent? Miguel debated that the deeds themselves were enough.”

“You think he was Lino?” López put in. “And this debate was about himself, about using the time here to… balance out something he did in the past?”

“It’s a theory. How did he handle your take on this discussion?” Eve asked Freeman.

“He was frustrated. We often frustrated each other, which is only one of the reasons we enjoyed debating. All the people he deceived. Performing marriages, tending the souls of the dying, baptisms, hearing confessions. What’s to be done?”

“I’ll contact the Archbishop. We’ll protect the flock, Martin. It was Miguel… It was this man who acted in bad faith, not those he served.”

“Baptism,” Eve said, considering. “That’s for babies, right?”

“Most usually, but-”

“Let stick with babies, for now. I’m going to want the records of baptisms, here at this church, let’s say from 2020 to 2030.”

López looked down at his folded hands, nodded. “I’ll request them.”

Peabody sat thoughtfully as they drove away from the rectory. “It has to be really hard on them. The priests.”

“Getting snookered’s always a pisser.”

“Not just that. It’s the friendship and brotherhood, finding out that was all bullshit. It’s like, say you go down in the line.”

“You go down in the line.”

“No, this is my scenario. You go down-heroically-”

“Damn straight.”

“And I’m devastated by the loss. I’m beating my breasts with grief.”

Eve glanced over, deliberately, at Peabody’s very nice rack. “That’ll take a while.”

“I’m not even thinking, ‘Hey, after a decent interval I can jump Roarke,’ because I’m so shattered.”

“Better stay shattered, pal, or I’ll come back from wherever and kick your ass.”

“A given. Anyway, then the next day it comes out that you weren’t Eve Dallas. You’d killed the actual Eve Dallas a few years before, dismembered her and fed the pieces into a human-waste recycler.”

“Go back to beating your tits.”

“Breasts, otherwise it’s not the same thing. So anyway, now I’m shattered again because the person I thought was my friend, my partner, and blah de blah, was in reality a lying bitch.”

Peabody turned to stare, narrow-eyed, at Eve’s profile.

“Keep that up and you’ll be dismembered and fed into a human-waste recycler.”

“I’m just saying. Anyway, back to Flores, who we’ll now call Lino.”

“We get the records, check out all the Linos, narrow it down.”

“Unless he wasn’t baptized there, because his family moved there when he was, like, ten. Or he was never baptized, or he stuck a pin in a map to pick this parish for his hidey-hole.”

“Which is why EDD will be working on the fake ID, and why we’ll be ru

“I think it’s pretty damn low,” Peabody added, “faking the priesthood thing. If you wanted to fake something, you could fake something else. Like something you did before, something you were. Hey! Hey! Maybe he was a priest. I mean not Flores, but another priest. Or he tried to be one and washed out.”

“That’s not bad. The washing out. We get the records, you cross-check with guys who washed out of the priesthood. Then do another check on the seminary where Flores trained. Maybe the vic knew him, trained with him.”

“Got that. I’ll kick it back a little more, do a search on men of the right age span who went to the private schools with Flores, might have co

It was an angle, Eve thought, and they’d work it through. “The guy had to figure he had the ultimate cover. Nobody’s going to run a priest, at least not like we’re going to. Not when he keeps out of trouble. And the only time we’ve learned he came close to the line was with this Solas. And we’ll be checking that, too.”

As she spoke, Eve pulled over to the curb in front of the Trinidad, a small business hotel on East 98th. She flipped on her On Duty sign.

It didn’t run to a doorman-which was a shame only because she enjoyed snarling at them-but the lobby was bright and clean. A sultry-looking brunette ma

“We need a few moments with Elena Solas.”

“I see.” He skimmed the badges. “Is there a problem?”

“Not as long as we get a few moments with Elena Solas.”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me.” He moved to the far end of his station and began speaking to someone on his headset. When he came back, he kept his neutral smile in place. “We have a small employee lounge on the fifth floor. I’ll escort you, if meeting her there will suit.”

“That’s good.”

He walked them down to a staff elevator. “Mrs. Solas has only worked here for a short time, but has proven to be an excellent employee.”

“That’s good, too.”

Eve said nothing else, simply followed him as he stepped off the elevator, turned down a hallway, then used his key card to open a pair of double doors.

It was more of a locker room than a lounge, but as with the lobby, clean and bright. The woman who sat on one of the padded benches had her hands clutched in her lap, fingers threaded as if in prayer. She wore a gray dress under a simple white apron, and thick-soled white shoes. Her dark, glossy hair rolled into a thick, tight bun at her nape. When she lifted her head, her eyes were dull with terror.

“He got out, he got out, he got out.”

Even before Eve could move, Peabody hurried over. “No, Mrs. Solas. He’s still in prison.” She sat, laid her hands over the knot of Elena’s. “He can’t hurt you or your children.”

“Thank God.” A tear slid down her cheek as she crossed herself, and rocked. “Oh, thank God. I thought… My babies.” She launched off the bench. “Something happened to one of my kids.”

“No.” This time Eve spoke, and spoke sharply to cut off the rising hysteria. “It’s about the man you knew as Father Flores.”