The Church of the Holy Child Page 9

  “Both of the women were working with the shelter and both had pissed off husbands. I’m going to speak to Sandra Carlisle now.”

  “You think there’s a link?”

  “Between the murders, yeah. Between the husbands, no.”

  “I get the feeling, you’re alone on that.”

  “Griff’s going by the book. Waiting for the third body before he says it out loud.”

  “Isn’t information pertaining to the shelter confidential?”

  “That’s why I’m meeting with Sandra myself. She not happy about it, but at least we have some history. Griff’s in Augusta with Gina.”

  “Send a woman to do your dirty work.” Katie laughed. “I like his style.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “Keep me posted,” she said.

  “You think you might get some work done now that you’ve had your morning shopping spree?” I asked before she closed the door.

  She poked her head back in. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I drove over the bridge and into South Portland to the Women’s Shelter administrative offices. The shelter itself is in a different location known by a very select few. I was dreading this meeting, but as soon as Sandra opened the door I could see from the look on her face that she was well beyond dread and somewhere in the realm of fury.

  “I’ve been up all night thinking about this. I don’t know how I can hand over employee files. These people risk their lives for the women they help. It feels like the ultimate betrayal to allow you to investigate them behind their backs.”

  “Think of it as ruling people out, rather than an investigation,” I said walking past her into her office. “Only you, Griff and I know we’re looking at staff records. The only way this could come out to the public is if we find something.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sandra said.

  “You and I know that, but we have to be able to prove it in case it comes up in court.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Everyone who’s working here now, in the shelter, in administration and on the hot line, staff and volunteers.”

  “Shouldn’t there be a court order requesting confidential files?”

  “I can get one Sandra, or Detective Stark can, but that would bring to light what we’re doing and I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  “Rock and hard place,” Sandra said. “I don’t know what’s worse, feeling like I’m betraying my staff or looking like I’ve got something to hide.” She tapped the end of her pen against her front teeth then looked at me. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll pull them together.”

  I sat in an overstuffed chair while Sandra removed manila files from a grey metal cabinet in the corner. I’d never asked Sandra about her family, hell I hadn’t even known about Rosa until we’d barged into the safe house. Our conversations were always geared toward work. I glanced at her desk looking for photos. The soft glow of a Bankers lamp lit the large flat calendar beneath her laptop. Beside the computer lay a yellow, legal pad with a pen on top. I could never figure out how some people kept their workspace so neat. For the life of me, I couldn’t do it, though compared to Griff I was one step short of immaculate. But that’s not placing the bar very high.

  When she’d finished, I put the files into an empty copy paper box, put on the lid and hoisted it into my arms.

  “Thanks, Sandra,” I said. “I’ll get these back to you as quickly as I can.”

  “Wait a minute, Britt. These aren’t leaving the building.”

  “You want me in your office all day? People are going to see me looking through these. It’s going to raise some questions if I’m here.” It was a spur of the moment idea and I held my breath hoping it would work.

  She bit her lip, debating.

  “Look,” I said. “We’ve known each other long enough for you to know I’d never do anything to cast a shadow on the shelter or anyone affiliated. But it’ll be a lot easier not to mention faster, if I take these back to my apartment where I can go through them alone and undisturbed. I’ll get them back to you as quickly as I can.”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  “And this is everything, right?”

  She hesitated.

  “Sandra, you’ve got to tell me.”

  She tapped her fingers on the box. “These are the most current ones, but there’re more in the basement.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need to see them.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she said and closed the door behind me.

  I stashed the box in my trunk and slipped behind the wheel wondering if this would put an end to our friendship. Then I called Griff and told him that I had the files.

  “We’re gonna need them,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just left Gina.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve come over to your way of thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Same chemicals on her hands, nails recently trimmed, same jagged marks left behind on the head, missing chunk of hair.”

  “Souvenir?”

  “I think so. I was hoping there’d be some differences, but according to Gina the murders are carbon copies. The husbands didn’t both know enough to cut their wives fingernails and clean their hands, or use the same brand of wipes.”

  “They probably didn’t want a piece of hair as a reminder either. So what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking we’ve got a serial and he’s targeting battered women.”

  “What kind of monster would do that?”

  “One with a reason,” Griff said. “They always have one.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Brick to the head,” Griff said, opening a bottle of Chardonnay. “That’s what killed them both. The rest was just foreplay.”

  “Jesus. They survive an abusive marriage and when they’re finally getting out someone else beats them to death. It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “The weird part is that they’re not putting up a fight. I mean we can’t conclude that solely from their clean fingernails, but you’d think there’d be scratch marks, cuts, some sort of abrasions on their hands and arms if they were struggling. These are gutsy women. They’re escaping one attacker, but giving in to another? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You think they know the person so they’re not expecting it?”

  Griff nodded. “That’s what it looks like.” He nodded toward the box that held the shelter files. “Maybe those will shed some light. The shelter is the primary connection between the two women.”

  “And my card in their wallets.”

  “Yeah, you are one of the common denominators.” He took my arm and turned me toward him. “Where were you on the nights these two women were killed?”

  “Snuggled up beside you.” I wrapped my arms around his waist.

  “Ah, the perfect alibi. Right where you should be,” he said.

  I stepped away after his kiss. He could still make my knees tremble and I didn’t want to get side tracked. “So what now?”

  He lifted the lid off the copy paper box. “We get to work.”

  “Why would Karen Westcott have gone back to Barlow’s?” I asked setting a stack of files on the table. I flipped open the one on top. “Goodnow said he walked her to her car and saw her leave.”

  Griff shook his head and reached for the next file. “Somebody called her? Maybe she was meeting someone, but didn’t want to give out the apartment address. Barlow’s is right around the corner.” He shrugged. “We probably won’t figure out why she went there until we know who it was she went back to meet.”

  We’d each gone through about five staff histories when Griff’s cell rang. It was Allie. He nodded, said okay and hung up.

  “Okay if Allie comes here to spend the night?” he asked.

  “Of course, but why?”

  “It seems her mother and Neil can’t get back from their little tryst in Boston until after midnight a
nd Marsha, can’t stay overnight again. She’s going to drop her off in a few minutes.”

  “No problem, I’ll make sure the guest room looks presentable.”

  “Throw some clothes on the floor,” Griff called after me as I went down the hallway. “She’ll feel right at home.”

  I’d just sat down at the table again and opened another file when the bell rang. Griff went to the door and hugged Allie as she stepped inside.

  “Sorry to be a pain,” she said.

  “Are you kidding? What more could a guy want than to spend an evening with two beautiful women?”

  She rolled her eyes and joined me at the table.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  “I just ate,” she said. “And I’ve got a ton of homework.”

  “Rooms all yours.”

  She picked up her backpack and disappeared down the hallway.

  “Can you get her to school tomorrow?” Griff asked. “I’ve got a meeting at seven.”

  “Why don’t you leave a message with Eliza to pick her up here at six tomorrow evening and she and Neil can stay for dinner. We can make up for our abrupt exit last time.”

  “That’s why I love you.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  He tilted his head considering the question. “I suppose I can think of a few more.”

  At six o’clock on Tuesday Neil and Eliza were at the door holding a bottle of wine and a box from The Cheesecake Factory.

  “Dinner’s on the table,” I said taking the bottle to the kitchen to pop the cork and fill some glasses. I didn’t let on that the poached salmon with cilantro and lime had been baked to perfection at The Good Table restaurant and then driven to my apartment in a thermal take-out container. And I didn’t feel the least bit guilty making up a fake recipe when Eliza asked for it.

  “How’s the investigation going?’ Neil asked.

  “Do we really have to discuss that again?” Eliza shot him an irritated glance.

  “I like hearing about it,” he said.

  “There’ve been a few twists and turns,” Griff said.

  “Thought it was a slam dunk with the husbands?”

  “We’re looking at some other angles.”

  “A guy beats the hell out of his wife for years. Now she’s dead. How many other angles can there be?” Neil laughed.

  “Shut-up, Neil,” Allie said. “My mom asked you to stop talking about it.”

  “Whoa, what’s this, a mutiny? Okay, I give.” He raised his hands, palms out in a show of surrender.

  “How was the theater?” I asked, directing the question to Eliza.

  “We saw Burlesque. It was wonderful, a lot of fun. It’s so nice to get away from the routine once in a while.”

  “In fact,” Neil piped in, “We’re thinking of taking a cruise before the holidays.”

  “Really?” Allie’s head jerked up from her plate. “Where to?”

  “Ah, well, to the islands, but just the two of us,” he said. “Sorry kiddo, “Lady Love” isn’t big enough for all of us.”

  Allie slumped back against her chair. “I thought you said it was fifty feet?”

  “She is, but I have to have room for the crew.”

  “The decision isn’t final yet,” Eliza said.

  “Oh yes it is.” Neil reached out and took Eliza’s hand. I’ll give you the dates tomorrow after I check my crew’s availability.” Neil shoved a clump of broccoli into his mouth and smiled at Eliza who dropped her eyes.

  “Where do you keep her?” Griff asked.

  “She summers at the Dolphin Marina in Harpswell and spends the winter at whatever island I’m in the mood for.”

  “Must be nice,” Griff said.

  I glanced at Allie. She was looking at me and mouthing the words, ‘Can I stay here?’

  I nodded.

  “Then I’m staying here.” Allie said.

  “Great, it’s all decided.” Neil slapped his hands together.

  Eliza shot Allie a look that caused her grin to fade and her shoulders to drop, a mother daughter communiqué that Allie understood, but not me. There were none of those secret transmittals between my mother and I. “Get the hell out” was about as discreet as my mother ever got.

  “Where are you from, Neil?” Griff asked.

  I wanted to kiss him for changing the subject. I think Eliza did too.

  “Grew up right here in Portland.”

  “Your parents still in the area?”

  “My mother died when I was nine. Dad raised me. He passed just a few years ago. Wish I’d been here, but I was living on the west coast at the time. I tend to travel a lot, let the wind take me where it will. I get an itch, ya know?”

  Allie got up to go to the kitchen. “Wish he’d scratch it now,” she whispered as she passed me.

  After coffee and cheesecake, Allie and I cleared the table.

  “Thanks for saying I can stay here when they go on their cruise,” she said. “I don’t want a babysitter and she still thinks Dad’s out all night chasing bad guys.” “You can stay here anytime, Allie. You don’t have to ask.”

  To my surprise, she wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her head against me. It wasn’t the first time Allie and I had shared a hug, but it was the first time she’d initiated it.

  “Hey, what’s going on out here?” Griff came into the kitchen shoving a forkful of cheesecake into his mouth.

  “Girl talk,” I said.

  “Allie.” Eliza stepped into the doorway and stopped short seeing her in my arms. “Well, isn’t this cozy. Already creating a back-up for when I’m gone?”

  “Mom…” Allie started.

  Eliza turned before she could finish. “Time to go,” she said over her shoulder.

  Griff walked the three of them out to Neil’s car. When he came back I was halfway through washing the dishes, but instead of joining me he picked up one of the shelter files and sat down at the table.

  “I think Allie feels left out,” I said.

  “Can’t blame her. He’s a little controlling with her mother’s time.”

  “Why doesn’t Eliza say something?”

  He shrugged. “I was wondering the same thing, but maybe she sees it as a tradeoff.”

  “For what?”

  “I asked him what he did for work on the way to the car. He alluded to the fact that he doesn’t have to do a whole lot, family money. Said he dabbles in day trading.”

  “Must be pretty good at it if he drives a BMW and has a fifty-foot sail boat.”

  “Sounds like he has plenty to play with and as he put it, nurture his favorite charities.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as the benevolent type. I’d say he’s his favorite charity. If Allie plays her cards right she might get those Diesel jeans yet.”

  “Are you saying my daughter’s a Material Girl?” He air quoted the last two words.

  I groaned. “No and you better not either. That’s Madonna, you’re at least a generation off.”

  “The church isn’t very busy today, Father. Are you running out of sinners?”

  “If only that were so.”

  “The irony is that the real sinners are you priests. Teaching that love your brother and do unto others shit. You can’t even live up to those yourselves.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To give you another update. A whore story, if you will.”

  “We are all God’s children.”

  “You didn’t say that about the others.”

  “You didn’t verbally defile the others.”

  “That’s because they died for the cause.”

  “And this one didn’t?”

  “In a roundabout way.”

  “If not for the cause, then why did you kill?”

  “I had to after she told me she’d lost her son.”

  “Lost him?”

  “The state took him away because she was a whore and a drug addict. I hadn’t planned to kill her when I picked her up, but after hearing tha
t, what else could I do? She deserved it. I’ll admit that it’s not quite the same as abandonment, but it’s close enough. And it’s a nice curve ball. It’ll throw some confusion into the investigation.”

  “What do you know about the investigation?”

  “I hear things. I read the newspaper. They’re looking at the husbands or for a connection between the women. They’re not giving out details because at this point they don’t know shit. The hooker’s death will confuse them even more. It’s fun to watch them scramble. Like rats in a maze.”

  “What if I call the police?”

  “You can’t, Father. You and I both know that. You don’t think I come here because of my religious devotion do you? I told you. I went to a priest when I was a child, right in this very church on a sunny Saturday afternoon. My father had broken my nose. I slipped into a confessional and told the priest that my father hurt me. He told me anything disclosed in the confessional is confidential. He explained it as having a secret with him and God. Isn’t that special? He told me he couldn’t repeat anything anyone told him and that I should go to the police.”

  “If you gave the priest permission, he could have gone to the police.”

  “I told you before. My old man was the police. He would’ve killed me. And like the fucking cops would’ve listened to me over one of their own.”

  “Then if the priest didn’t help you why are you here?”

  “Torment, Father, it’s time for a little payback. Hearing the despair in your voice brings me pleasure. What is it they say? Turnabout is fair play? Somebody here has to pay and since the old priest I talked to is probably long dead, you’re the lucky one.”

  “It wasn’t the priest’s fault. He was bound, as we all are, to inviolable secrecy in the confessional. No one is excused, not even to save his own life or someone else’s. It would violate Divine Law. His hands were tied.”

  “Not my problem any more, Father. Now it’s yours because I’ve chosen you as my confidante and I’m gonna give you every little detail of how I’m killing God’s flock, how I win their trust then beat His sheep to a pulp. You should see the surprise in their eyes. It’s really priceless. And now you and I can share this secret together. You can think about it when you’re falling asleep at night and wonder if I’m out there, doing it again. Beating the life out of another one of God’s children. I hope it keeps you awake. I hope it makes you toss and turn on your feather pillow. I hope it torments you so badly that you finally have to slit your own throat. The church should have helped me when it had the chance, because now it’s time for all those who created me to pay.”