Salvation in death

Pedestrians scattered like pool balls at the break. Others edged closer, calling out encouragement and/or grabbing ’links or cameras to record the bout. Eve barely resisted the urge to just keep going, and instead waded in. She grabbed a hank of hair, pulled hard. When the owner squealed and reared up, Eve nabbed her opponent in a headlock.

“Cut it out!”

Hank of Hair bit her, snapping forward to sink teeth into Eve’s shoulder. And got an elbow to the chin in return.

“I’m a cop,” Eve stated. “Goddamn it. The next one who bites, scratches, slaps, or squeals is getting hauled over to Central and dropped in the tank.”

“She started it.”

“Lying bitch. I want to press charges.”

“I want to press charges.”

“I saw it first.”

“I-”

“Shut the hell up!” Eve considered just knocking their heads together and calling for a wagon. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who started what. It’s done. Break it up, stand up, step back. Or I’ll charge you both with disturbing the peace, creating a public nuisance, and whatever else occurs to me.”

They glowered at each other, but said nothing else as they climbed to their feet and stood with Eve between them. A third woman gingerly opened the shop door. “I called the police.”

“I am the police,” Eve told her.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Showing considerable faith, the shopkeeper opened the door wider. “I just didn’t know what to do. These ladies were in the shop. We’re having a nice sale today. And they both wanted the Betsy Laroche triple roll bag in peony. We only have one. Things got very heated, and before I knew it, they were fighting.”

Eve held up a hand. “Let me get this straight. You’ve got a bloody lip, a ripped shirt, ruined pants, and a black eye coming on between you. Over a bag?”

“A Laroche,” the one with the bloody lip lisped. “At ten percent off. And I saw it first. I had my hand-”

“Bull! I saw it first, and you came ru

“Liar.”

“Bitch.”

And they leaped around Eve and at each other’s throats.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

She broke it up this time by grabbing both by the hair and shoving faces against the wall. “Two things can happen now. You can each go your separate ways, unless this lady here wants to press charges.”

“Oh, no.” The shopkeeper peered out of what was now a tiny opening. “No. That’s okay.”

“Your separate ways is option one,” Eve continued and noted the black-and-white pulling up to the curb. “And neither of you will come to this establishment for the next month or I’ll hear about it. Option two is I’m going to have-I’m on the job,” Eve said to the uniforms as they strode across the sidewalk. “Can’t get my ID right at the moment.

“Option two is I will have these two officers cuff you both, put you in the back of their vehicle, and take you the few blocks to Central to book you on the variety of a

“I’ll leave if she leaves.”

“Okay, all right.”

“You.” Eve tugged the first hank. “Go south. And you.” Then the other. “Go north. Don’t speak, don’t look at each other. Just start walking. Now.”

She released them, stood where she was until each combatant limped away. She reached for her ID, winced slightly when the bite on her shoulder objected to the move. “Thanks for the backup,” she said. “I think we’re clear here.”

“Thank you, Officer, thank you so much.” The shopkeeper laid a hand on her heart. “Should I take your name and contact information, in case they come back?”

“They won’t.” With that Eve walked the half a block more to Ernest’s.

It was an upscale kind of diner, with service at its stainless counter, or chummy booths. Service was quick, the food simple.

Mira sat at one of the two-top booths, sipping something cold from a clear glass. Her rich brown hair curled at her nape, and in a new flirtatious way, around her serene and pretty face. The look of her, Eve thought, in her spring’s-here yellow suit and textured heels in ball-lightning blue, seemed more suited to one of the trendy cafés than the cop diner.

Then again, she supposed the police psychologist and profiler had no more time for fancy lunches than she did herself.

Mira saw her, smiled.

“Sorry I’m late. There was a fight over a Laroche triple roll bag. In peony.”

“You had a fight over a purse?”

Eve had to grin at Mira’s utter shock. “No, I had to break one up. It’s a purse? I figured it had to at least be a suitcase to get that much insanity. Or maybe it was the ten percent off. Anyway-”

“Wait, there’s a sale on the Laroche triple? Where?”

“Just down the street. Half a block south. Ah, Encou-nters, I think it’s called.”

“I know that shop.” Mira pulled out her ’link. “Why don’t you decide what you’d like for lunch, and I’ll… Yes, Mizzie, this is Charlotte Mira. Yes, it’s good to talk to you again. You have the Laroche triple, in peony, on sale? Would you put that aside for me? I’m just having lunch at Ernest’s, so I’ll stop in to pick it up on my way back to work. Yes, thank you. Oh, I’d love to see that, too-if I have time. I’ll see you shortly.”

With a smug smile, Mira clicked off. “Isn’t that my good luck? I’ve been toying with getting that bag, and talking myself out of it. But, well, a sign’s a sign.”

“I guess.”

“I’m going to have the Greek salad,” Mira said when their waiter stopped at the table, “and another iced tea.”

“Two salads,” Eve said. “Pepsi.”

Mira let out a contented sigh. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? It’s nice to get out of the office, to score a Laroche, and to see you. You look well, for someone who just broke up a fight.”

“One of them bit me.”

“Oh.” Mira’s smile faded into concern. “Is it bad? Do you want me to look at it?”

“No.” Eve rolled her shoulder. “I don’t get it. Scratch, bite, squeal, slap. Why do women fight like that? They’ve got fists. It’s embarrassing to our entire gender.”

“Yes, I can see a fistfight over the triple roll would have been much less embarrassing for all involved.”

Eve had to laugh. “Okay, guess not. Anyway, I know you don’t have much time. I’ve got a lock on the Jenkins murder. It’s not co

“Unlike the probability?”

“Copycat, impulse. Probably a long, simmering deal that flashed over when the Flores deal hit the media. So, it’s loosely co

“A repeat killer or serial was a worry.”

“Did you see it that way?”

“It couldn’t be ignored. The targeting of figures in religious organizations, the ceremony or ‘performance.’ But, it also had to be factored in that each of the victims was remarkably different, in the faith base, their public exposure. You have a confession on Jenkins?”

“Not yet. I’m letting him stew in it. If I don’t have one within the next few hours, I’ll stir it some more. So it’s the Flores case I need to kick around.”

Mira took one of the table crackers, which looked as unappetizing as what Eve thought of as the Catholic cookie. She broke off a microscopic corner, nibbled on it.

“The false priest,” Mira said, “killed at the moment of ritual when he stands most emphatically as a servant of God and as his earthly representative. This is my blood-that’s what’s said. If the killer believed him to be Flores, believed h kes,hisim to be a true priest, this would indicate some direct attack on the church and its ritual, on the priesthood. Your investigation hasn’t found any evidence of a personal problem with the victim-as Flores. He could, of course, have heard something in confession that the penitent later regretted passing on.”

“Which means the killer likely belonged to that church, or is, at least, Catholic.”

“I believe whether it was simply a priest-or the individual masquerading as one-who was the target, that the killer has strong ties to the Catholic Church, and to that parish. The method was another kind of ritual, and I don’t believe choosing to execute the murder during a funeral mass was happenstance.”