Salvation in death

“Same page, same line,” Eve agreed.

“Poison is a distant kind of weapon. It removes the killer from the victim, but can also afford the killer the advantage of standing back and witnessing the death. The crowd in the church would afford an excellent cover for that. The distance and the intimacy. I would say both were desired. Public execution.”

“Why make it public if you can’t watch yourself?”

“Yes. But for what crime? The crime had some direct effect on the killer. Exposure wasn’t enough. For a person of faith-and the ritual, the method, the time, and the place indicate that to me-the sin, the crime, had to have been deeply and desperately personal.”

“It’s about the neighborhood, about home, the gang co

“Yes, the method, the place mattered. The killer’s mature enough to plan, to choose. Involved in this faith enough to know how to use it. Organized, thoughtful, and probably devout. And the intimacy and distance of poison is often a female weapon.”

“Yeah, like no fists,” Eve commented. “Poison isn’t bloody. Takes no force, no physical contact. A hundred-pound woman can take down a two-hundred-pound man without chipping her nail.”

Mira sat back as their salads were served. “You believe Jenkins’s killer will confess.”

“Guilt’s going to eat him inside out.”

“A man or woman of faith, then?”

“Yeah, I guess. Yeah. He believes.”

“Your two cases may not be co

“But Catholics do.”

“Yes. The killer will confess to his priest.”

12

EVE HEADED BACK TO HOMICIDE WITH THE IDEA of grabbing Peabody and taking on the priests at St. Cristóbal’s again. Confession, she thought. She believed Billy Crocker would need to unburden himself. Doing the deed-the impulse, even the restrained passion of it-would have carried him through the murder itself. But the aftermath, all the grief surrounding him would scrape and dig at him. Add in her parting shot, letting him know she recognized him, and yeah, he’d fall under the weight. She’d already seen it in his eyes.

But the Flores killer. That was deeper, felt deeper. More personal, and more tied in with the ritual of faith. Mira put her finger on it, in Eve’s opinion. The killer would seek yet another ritual of faith.

Maybe already had.

Hit the priests, and some of the tattoo parlors on her list. But that was long-shot territory. Finding the tat artist who inked her particular Lino after what could be a good twenty years was a crap shoot. But if she couldn’t nail it down any other way, it was worth that shot.

She’d started the swing to her division when she remembered Peabody wouldn’t be there. Party pla

Another ritual, she thought, slowing her pace. All the trappings, the timing, the words or music, the scheme.

The killer had to be part of that ritual. Had to have been in the church at the moment Lino drank the sacramental wine. Had to watch the death-ritual death. A familial co

Ran by the Ortiz house every morning, she remembered. Was there a purpose there?

Otherwise, a less intimate co

Turning it over in her mind, she stepped into her bullpen and saw Baxter flirting with Graciela Ortiz. No question about it, she mused, the body language, the eye gleams all said testing sexual interest. Then again, to her way of thinking, Baxter would flirt with a hologram of a woman.

“Officer Ortiz.”

“Lieutenant. I stopped by, but the detective told me both you and your partner were out.”

“Now I’m in. My office is right through there. Go on in.”

“Detective,” Graciela said and gave Baxter one last blast with green, liquid eyes.

“Officer.” His grin widened, unabashed when he turned it on Eve. And pounded a hand like a happy heartbeat on his chest. “You’ve got to love a woman in uniform,” he said to Dallas.

“No, I really don’t. If you’ve got time to hit on subordinates, Baxter, maybe I need to review your caseload.”

“Dallas, sometimes a man’s just got to make time.”

“Not on my clock. But since you’ve made all this time, you can use it to do a search on all John Does, deceased, in Nevada, New Mexico, and Arizona, six to seven years ago.”

“All? Jesus, you’re a hard woman.”

“I am. Be grateful I’m adding age between twenty-five and forty.”

She turned as he muttered, “Oh, in that case,” and walked into her office. “Officer.”

“I wanted to speak to you in person regarding the interviews with family members and friends. There was nothing I didn’t expect-shock, sorrow, even outrage. Father Flores was, as I told you, very popular. Well, when we believed he was Father Flores.”

“And now?”

“More shock, sorrow, outrage. In fact, as he married, buried, baptized many of the family over the past five years, you can add a lot of concern. Some of my family is very traditional, very orthodox. There are questions as to whether the marriages are sanctioned in the eyes of God and the Church. Which Father López assures us would be the case. Though he and Father Freeman have offered to renew all the sacraments, for those who wish it. Frankly, Lieutenant, it’s a big freaking mess.”

She shook her head. “I like to think I’m a progressive sort of person. Practical. But I confessed to that man, and received Communion from him. And I feel… violated, and angry. So I understand what many of my family are feeling now.”

“His death stopped the violation.”

“Well, yes. But it also revealed it. If we’d never known…” She shrugged. “We do know, so I guess it’s just what we all decide to do about it. My mother thinks we should look on the positive side. Have a mass renewal of vows, of baptisms. And a big party. Maybe she’s right.”

“There were a lot of people at the funeral who weren’t family members.”

“Yes. I’ve spoken to some of them, the ones we’re close to, or Poppy was close to. It runs along the same lines. I don’t know how helpful any of it is to your investigation.”

“You saved me some steps.” She considered a moment. “You have several relatives, I imagine, who are about the same age as the victim. Round about thirty-five.”

“Sure. We’re legion.”

“Plenty of them were living in the area when they were kids, teenagers. And plenty of them members of the church.”

“Yes.”

“Any of them former members of the Soldados?”

Graciela opened her mouth, closed it again. Then blew out a breath. “A few, I suppose.”

“I need names. I’m not looking to cause them trouble, not looking to dig at them for what they did in the past. But it may co

“I’ll talk to my father. He wasn’t part of that, but… he’ll know.”

“Would you rather I spoke to him directly?”

“No, he’ll be easier speaking to me. I know his cousin was a member and died badly when they were boys. He doesn’t have any love for gangs.”

“What was the cousin’s name?”

“Julio. He was only fifteen when he was killed. My father was eight, and looked up to him. He never forgot it, and often used him as an example, a warning, especially to my brothers and cousins. This is what happens when you go outside family, the law, the church-when you use violence instead of hard work and education to get what you want.”