Everyone Pays (14 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The Mars Bar was the kind of place only cops and regulars went, unless it was nice out. Unfortunately for me, today had been one of the nicer days in the last few weeks. The sun was still out, no fog had come in to greet us from its ocean breeding ground, and it was warm enough to keep your coat off. People stood outside in the courtyard enjoying themselves, talking it up over happy hour’s cheap drinks. I took a seat inside at the bar. I’d have considered leaving if I wasn’t so used to coming here.

One thing I liked about the Mars was that most of the folks from the Hall didn’t come in. They mostly preferred Teddy’s Sports Bar both because it was closer and because it favored the old boys’ club atmosphere. Teddy’s was so close to being an extension of the Hall’s locker rooms that some of the guys joked about putting showers in there so they could start drinking before getting out of their blues.

I’d tried to fit in there my first few years on the force but eventually gave up. Better to be alone and unbothered than feel the need to try hard and wind up as the butt of too many jokes anyway.

I was finishing my first beer when Ibaka showed up. She sat down next to me and said, “Still fighting off scurvy?”

I tipped my glass up: a Blue Moon that Ibaka thought I ordered for the orange slice that came on its rim. She said I did it for the vitamin C, which I liked because it might help me fight off colds. She said it was scurvy that would ultimately do me in. I’d looked it up once, a disease rampant on old sailing ships. One of its symptoms was the opening of previously healed wounds. I didn’t know if she meant this as part of the joke, but it fit me a little too well, I thought. Vitamin C had cured the sailors way back when, but I wasn’t sure what could cure my wounds.

“So what’s the matter?” She nodded to the bartender, and he started drawing her a beer. I nodded for another. “What about the guy with the voicemail? I thought we were here to talk about that.”

“He sent me an email. The priest. He was watching us at the church. He knows my name.”

“This isn’t about dating? Damn, I thought this would be about dating.” Her beer arrived, and she took a big sip, leaving a foam mustache that she licked off. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Did you hear me?
He
emailed me. Our suspect.”

She turned to me, but I just stared at the fresh beer as it arrived. I didn’t want her to see my face—I was worried she’d be able to see that this was affecting me.

“So what’d you do? You tell Hendricks? Bowen?”

I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek. It was a habit I’d started as a girl, something I did when I was nervous. Truth was, it never helped.

“No. Neither.”

“What? Why not, girl?”

I took another drink, put the pint glass down maybe a little too hard on the bar.

She said, “How much catching up do I have?” I told her what beer I was on, and she nodded, drank off half of hers in one long swallow. When she set it on the bar, I turned to face her.

“What’s the cause of death on Heyes?”

“Broken neck.” She took another drink, signaled to the bartender for another.

“And his tongue?”

She shook her head. “Done after. But most all of the other damage was done before.”

“This guy is cold. Stone cold. So why do that after?”

“Search me. I can’t believe it at all. But I gather he’s sending a message. What’d he say in the email?”

I bit my upper lip. “Said he’s watching me. Wanted to know if I heard God’s words.”

Now she straightened. “What’s that even mean?”

“Means our priestly serial killer is psychotic, possibly schizophrenic, and/or just takes his religion very seriously.”

“Franciscans. All that gloom and doom and sin business.”

I drank my beer, starting to feel the effects. “He was there watching us when we went in and out of the church.”

“Spooky. Guy’s not where he’s supposed to be when you get there, instead he’s somewhere you can’t see him but he can see
you
. Kind of makes you wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t say it, but I knew what she thought: that he might be watching at other times, sneaking up when I didn’t expect it. That or maybe he really got warnings from God. Or somebody had tipped him off.

I said, “Yeah. It worries me.”

“Damn right. That’s why I stay in the ME’s office. Keep my interactions to the bad guys who’re already dead.”

“Amen to that.” We clinked classes, toasting to her common sense and my lack thereof. It wasn’t much to get excited about; on the other hand, given my situation, I might just as well laugh or drink.

“And what’s new in the world of cyber dating?”

“Robocop’s on a bit of a dry spell. That’s the online world. Just this email from our suspect. But . . .” I raised my eyebrows. “But in the world of real people, I kind of met a guy at the basketball courts.”

“Basketball?”

I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm. “He’s hot.”

She laughed, slapped my knee. “Girl! You go. What’s he like?”

I told her. And then I took out my phone. It was time to hear his voicemail.

In the back of the bar, by the bathrooms and an actual working pay phone, I put the phone to my ear to listen to Alan’s message. I was still freaked out about the priest, his email, and wasn’t in a mood to go out and paint the town, but I had held out long enough. Now was the time.

“Hi,” Alan said. “Clara. Hey. I was wondering if you were going to hit the court tonight. Figured maybe we could play. I’ll tell the guys to let you stay on this time, no matter if you’re too good for them.”

I laughed. He was hitting my right spots.

“Maybe you’re still working on your case though. If so, are you free this weekend? Maybe we could get dinner. I don’t know. Okay. Anyway. Call me back when you can. Bye.”

He ended like that, nervous and trailing off, and I admit I liked it. That he babbled a little actually felt right. This wasn’t easy for him either. Maybe he was thinking about me during the day. I wondered about his job, what he did—I hadn’t asked—and if he had time to talk usually or not.

I checked my watch. He was probably on the court now or getting close to it. I wouldn’t be the girl to dial drunk or even after just a few beers. Likely not on the same day either. And he’d said weekend. It was . . . Thursday. I had to think to remember. Too many days on. Much as I didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was no way I could go out and date with this case still on. Not with this guy on the loose, knowing my name, possibly watching.

I swore out loud and headed back to Ibaka. She had another beer lined up on the bar for each of us, ready to go, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting home anytime soon.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

MICHAEL

After finishing with David Heyes, I broke into an empty apartment and holed up. A small studio. Nothing special. I waited there a full day, twenty-four long hours, for His word. All my waiting and listening led to nothing. Emptiness.

Since the detective had entered St. Boniface, I had not heard from Him. Two days without His instructions, His word.

Days of quiet and cold.

Without God’s guidance, I could only plan, plot to carry out my own goals: finding the last men, the ones who had left Emily beaten and bloody. I would find them, and then I would find the detective.
She
would bring back Emily.

My Emily.

Together we would return to the church and to heaven. When all was done, God would take us both. Bring us home.

I sat and waited without food or sleep for Him. Left alone to forge my own path with no certainty. I had been here before, a path that led to drugs, addiction, my own sins. Within the church, I had guidance all along. First from my brothers and more recently from Him. I had not known the fear of indecision or directionless uncertainty. Both fears that scared me more than hell.

Without Him I was left to forge my own path, take action without assurance. Nothing to rely on but my own volition.

Perhaps He had spoken to the detective and she knew what came next. I waited to hear from her too. Waiting for the response to my email, checking on a laptop I had appropriated from David Heyes.

As I waited, I wondered how He could test me in my final steps, even though I knew this to be His way. All the way back to Job, Abraham, and Moses, He has tested His best men. And now I would pass through the crucible and be made stronger.

He may have abandoned me, but I had not abandoned Him. I would do what needed to be done.

PART FOUR

FRIDAY

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I walked to North Beach in the morning, looking for the home of my next john, hoping to find God.

My volition led me now; after waiting in prayer, I knew to act of my own will. Even as I yearned to hear from Him.

Across the city, I walked along the Bay Trail. Across the Marina, I passed women in slight clothing, men watching hungrily, all in the name of exercise and what they considered to be good health. Their hearts were not well in the name of the Lord. Not these sinners.

With their hair bobbed, they bounced with every step, their minds oblivious, earbuds in. These women who sweat in front of anyone, breathing hard, skin slick and brown in the sun. Tempting all. He would have none of it. A pious soul, a considered and repentant heart—these were the path to heaven.

These sinners were all for
this
world: the present, sins of the body, the profane.

And they would reap what they sowed.

As I walked, the sun warmed my face; He told me with its touch that He was still above us, watching, following. He approved.

The grassy open spaces along the Bay, the trees and scattered flowers, all His creations smiled and shined out on the world. Walking across Fort Mason, Great Meadow, I blocked out the sound of cars. I could pretend they weren’t there, but they were.

This was still the middle of the city, where man’s filth abounded in the air. Two homeless men huddled in their dirt on a bench. There they were, mumbling to themselves. Their lives of pain.

If He asked me to wipe them away, to clean the streets in a flood, I would do so.

I stopped to watch. One man picked threads out of his pants with dirty fingernails. The other’s mouth wouldn’t stop running; he babbled to himself about flies. He picked at his face, fingers stained.

Sinners. Addicts. I saw it in their eyes, knew it because I’d been them once before, long ago.

What would have helped me then? Salvation.

I’d taken a knife from David Heyes’s apartment. I wanted to send them on to heaven with it. Wondered if I sent these men on, who would notice? Would anyone care? Perhaps only the person who found them, who had to clean the blood and remove the bodies.

I approached their bench, got within five feet of them, and one said, “I know you?”

He eyed me closely, tilting his head for a different view. The other stopped picking his pants. Now they both watched my movements.

“I come from God,” I said, waiting to hear what they would say next, wondering if I would hear their earthly words or God’s answer.

“Who you?”

Then, “Why don’t you keep walking?”

These weren’t His words. He would not speak through them.

I showed them my hands, drew the knife. “I’m here to offer you salvation. A path up to heaven.”

They both stood at that, started toward the back of the bench.

“Now, now, man. Don’t do nothing crazy. Hear?”

I stepped closer.

“Go!” one said to the other. They ran, tore off in the direction of the Bay Bridge. I didn’t follow. They left their disgusting bags, piles of dirty things on the grass. Garbage bags, a torn backpack, a suitcase with a broken zipper and no wheels—these held all their worldly possessions. I wanted to destroy it all. But it meant nothing to me.

I walked away, pressed on toward Columbus and Bay Street. I would stop at a church before finding the next apartment, one of a man named James Weber.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

DONNER

In the morning, I found Hendricks waiting at his desk. We had paperwork to process, work to do to begin documenting the case, and we needed to bring this all to Bowen. Time had come and gone where we should’ve been assigned to this case alone. These murders involved a big mess, one we’d need real help with. Help
and
a clean plate so we could focus.

I didn’t bother trying to bring Hendricks up to speed on my night. Ibaka would do the honors, unless I got lucky. I wasn’t betting on my luck holding up, but neither did I expect the phone to ring right then, for Hendricks to pick it up and say, “Well,
hello there
, Dr. Ibaka. How are you this fine morning?

“Yes?” He nodded, playing it up. She would be calling to check up on me, making sure I got home all right, as she had done on more than one occasion before.

“She
is
here. As a matter of fact, she just walked in.” He waited as she spoke, looked me up and down to confirm that I was presentable. This kind of inspection was not out of the norm for a hangover morning, and I had done the right thing to make sure my appearance was as sharp as I could make it.

“She looks pretty clean overall, actually,” he said. “Touch of makeup, hair brushed. Yes. It’s a bona fide investigator we have here.” He acted surprised and happy for me, but it was all to get my back up, get me to start the day on a razor edge, which I wouldn’t. Regardless.

“Ask her if she’d like to talk to me or if your services have been enough,” I said, sitting down into my chair. My computer was still on from yesterday, a series of lines bouncing around as the screen saver.

“Ibaka says she’s good,” Hendricks repeated. “And she can hear you. She just wanted to check in.”

“Well, she has now. And I will call her back later.”

“Oh.” Hendricks looked taken aback by my response. “Guess we have some work to do here. She has arrived and means to do it. This seems serious.”

He hung up. I’d call Ibaka later. The last thing I wanted was her mentioning the email from the priest to Hendricks before I had a chance to show him myself.

“You got to see something, partner.”

“Edify me.”

I waved him over to my side of the desks, and he came around. When he did, I had the email from Father Michael pulled up.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

He crouched down, hands on his knees, his tie hanging. “Shit, Jesus,” he said, then kept reading. “He was
watching
us?”

“Keep going. It gets better.”

“I can see that.” He tapped the screen. “This means we have to take this sucker down,
pronto
.” He read the rest of the email out loud, inserting “yadda, yadda” as he pleased. “This guy is crocked.”

“He’s something.”

“This just went up another notch,” he said. “He comes
down
.”

“I’m all ears.” I pushed back my chair, turning toward Hendricks as he stood and fixed his tie. “What’s our plan?”

“First we up the APB on the Clip for this fool. Get cops across the city on tight lookout. Plaster that picture of him across walls, make sure it’s at lineups, get people to know. This guy has a target on his back, starting now.”

“Yes, sir!” I saluted him and handed over a picture of Father Michael that I’d printed from the St. Boniface website.

Hendricks picked up his phone and made a few calls. I watched Bowen’s office for a break in his phone calls so we could approach. When he hung up from one call and didn’t start another right away, I waved to Hendricks to speed up his talking and stood up to head in.

I thought about staying outside to keep my doghouse status and its taint off the meeting but couldn’t send Hendricks in alone. This was
my
case.

“You ready?” Hendricks stood beside me, off the phone and all set to go in.

“Let’s do this.”

We walked over to Bowen’s office, knocked lightly on the side of the doorframe, and he waved us in. We sat down across the desk from him, waited to have his full attention.

“Been meaning to circle the wagons with you two. Bring me up to date on this string you’re working.”

Hendricks started: “We’ve got four connected murders that we know of. Three johns and a pimp from a confined segment of S&M prostitution, all connected to a single girl. We think all done by the same man.”

“That’s one hell of a week there. What are Lund and Peters catching?”

“Not much. Not that we know of.”

Bowen nodded, checked something on his computer. Clicked his mouse.

Hendricks gave him more details on the individual murders, Emily’s status at SFGH, and what we knew about the priest. Bowen listened intently all the way. I was new enough to homicide that I wasn’t sure how he’d react to it all. The word on Bowen was he had our backs, mostly, but he could be too straight at times, following protocols that didn’t make practical sense.

I leaned forward to make my pitch. “We need to go beyond the unofficial support you gave me before. Where this sits now requires the attention of a task force. I think it’s clear that we should be the leads.”

“I can see that,” he said. “Sounds like the right move. Who do you want on support?”

“Coggins and Bennett.” Hendricks answered before I could even consider it. I’m not sure I’d have made the same call, but Hendricks knew them better than I.

Bowen nodded. “Lund and Peters will finish off the week on call, then. I’ll give them a secondary as well. And tell Coggins and Bennet to circle up with you two.” He made a few notes, wrote something on his blotter. “What else do you need?”

I said, “We put a uniform outside our girl’s room at SFGH. Might need more manpower if we get any decent leads. If calls start coming in off the Clip, we’ll need support to follow up.”

“You got it. What else?”

Hendricks said, “I made a couple calls to the Northern and Central. If you follow up and put word out with some pull, maybe we can get this profile as a top priority at pre-shift lineups across the city.”

“Done.”

“And then we work it the best we can.”

“Damn right you do.” Bowen scanned over his notes and our file. “This is strong work—Hendricks, Donner.” He made eye contact with each of us as he said it, then pushed the file back across his desk and stood up. He shook my hand and then Hendricks’s. “I like what I see here. Do what you can and be sure to check back with me before the weekend. Anything goes down, I’ve got your back.”

We thanked him and moved to leave. Just as I got to the door, he asked Hendricks to stay a moment. I walked back out into the squad room alone, waited for my partner in the middle of the floor. This case was becoming news around homicide, as was the work that I’d done on it. I could feel eyes watching me from around the room, but no one made eye contact. Just like that I’d been given some rope, enough to work the case with a wide berth, even a little political pull. Hendricks and I were now leads on a task force. A small one, but still. As a relative newbie in the department, this was big.

In his office, Lieutenant Bowen barked at Hendricks to “stay away from the churches,” and I knew it was meant just as much for me. But what could we do? We had to go after this guy wherever he might be.

The rope had been granted. Now I could do one of two things: haul in our killer or hang myself. I would never let it be the second. So it had to be the first.

We would get Father Michael. Without a doubt.