The Redeemed (16 page)

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “It’s weird.”

“You’re not making sense,” Parkman said. “What is it?”

“Aaron, take us to the hotel. On the way, I want you to call Detective Hirst and have him meet us at the hotel. I have a message for him.”

“Okay, Sarah, what message?”

“It’s not over.” She sat up and slipped off the bed onto her good foot.

“What’s not over?” Parkman asked as he looked at Aaron.

“Father Adams. Something tells me it’s not over.”

“That’s impossible,” Aaron said. “He’s dead.”

Sarah spun to face him. “I don’t question Vivian,” she said too sternly. “If Vivian says it’s not over, then it isn’t. Get me to the hotel and make sure Hirst meets us there.” She grabbed her crutch, winced as she placed it under her arm, and walked to the closet for her clothes.

Neither man tried to help her. She preferred it that way.

“Okay, we’ll do it your way, but I don’t understand it unless Father Adams had someone working for him.”

“It could be.” Sarah dropped the hospital robe and slipped a shirt over her bruised ribcage. “I don’t know all of it yet, but what I can tell you is if Hirst doesn’t act fast, hundreds of people are going to die very soon at the hands of Father Adams.”

Aaron gasped. Parkman looked away.

“By the way, that includes us. We all die unless this gets fixed. We’re almost out of time. Call Detective Hirst. And let’s roll.”

Chapter 32

Detective Hirst hated the paperwork, but understood it came with the job. That didn’t mean that when the paperwork was complete he couldn’t rejoice. Getting out of the office by two in the afternoon, his recent case closed and no new cases to look at until next week, he could spend the rest of the day at home, and then get up tomorrow to attend Father Adams’ funeral, the publicly respected individual, but a privately hated one as well.

He pulled into his driveway and killed the engine, anticipating time with his wife. No work, no papers, no criminals and no dead bodies. Just one gorgeous woman with needs that he was happy to fulfill. He knew what it meant to be married to a cop. He knew the long hours weren’t conducive to a solid relationship. When he got these opportunities, he seized them.

He retrieved his briefcase from the backseat and then stopped. After one look at the house, he decided his work wasn’t coming home with him today. He popped the trunk and tossed the case in. Slamming the trunk lid, closing the car doors and hitting the lock button on the key fob felt final. Today was wife Day.

He strolled up the walkway, Janice on his mind, easing away thoughts of the past week. No lights were on when he opened the front door. He placed his keys on the stand beside Janice’s, unclipped his holster and set his gun in the locked cabinet underneath. The lock clicked when he closed it.

He straightened, pulled his pants up, and shouted, “Janice? Where are you?”

No reply.

“Janice?”

He started down the hall, looked in the living room, then the den, and ended up in the kitchen.

Maybe she’s having a nap.

“Janice?” he called one more time, then realized that if she was napping, he didn’t want to wake her. He took the stairs slowly, avoided the one that creaked, and made it to the second floor as a yawn escaped his lips.

Maybe he would nap with her. Sounded like a good idea after a busy week.

But their bedroom was empty.

He scratched his head and whispered, “Where is she?”

Her house keys were inside the house, sitting on the stand by the door. The front door had been locked. She was either in the house, in the back yard, or at a neighbor’s place. He looked out the bedroom window. The lawn chairs were where they always left them. No sign of her.

“Janice?” he called out as he stopped at the top of the stairs.

Something thumped from below. He looked over the railing.

Instinctively he reached for his holster, but it wasn’t there. His eyes wandered to the cabinet by the front door. Then the table with the keys.

He waited.

The house remained silent.

He started down the stairs, debating whether he should put his holster back on. At the bottom, he decided against it. Too paranoid. This was his house. The priest killer was dead. It was over. No one would be here but Janice. The crime rate in this neighborhood was very low. With no signs of forced entry, and no outward signs of a struggle, Janice was okay and he’d find her at any moment.

“Janice?”

The thump came again.

This time it sounded like it came from the basement. He turned that way. The basement door sat open about three inches. They never left it ajar. Janice was in the basement. It made total sense. No wonder she couldn’t hear him calling her.

He walked over, pulled the door open all the way and almost jumped out of his pants as his cell phone rang.

He fumbled for it and stepped back from the basement stairs.

“Yeah?” he blurted. “Who’s this?”

“Aaron Stevens.”

“Who?”

“I’m with Sarah and Parkman.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“We’ve got trouble.”

He stared at the open door, the stairs descending to darkness, an eerie feeling rinsing his stomach. “What kind of trouble?”

“Father Adams is dead but it’s not over.”

“How’s that?”

“We don’t know just yet. Sarah wants you to meet us at the hotel. She’ll fill you in there.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Hold on.”

Hirst listened as Aaron pulled the phone away and spoke to someone, the mouthpiece covered. Then he came back.

“No, it can’t wait. Meet us within the hour and tell no one about this, or hundreds of people will die. According to Sarah, our window of opportunity is closing fast. Within hours, there will be nothing we can do to stop this. Hirst, just meet us at the hotel. We’re in room 444.”

“All right, I’ll be there in half an hour, but Adams is dead and the case is closed. I can’t imagine what Sarah must be talking about, but—”

“Room 444. Just be there.”

Aaron hung up.

Hirst pocketed his phone.

At the top of the stairs, he called his wife’s name. Briefly, he looked back at the gun cabinet, entertained the idea of fetching his weapon, shook his head at the silly notion, and started down the stairs. At the third step, he flicked on the light.

Nothing happened.

He tried the switch two more times. Still nothing.

“Janice?” he said, his voice less sure, more cautious.

Maybe she fell while changing the bulb. Or maybe she tried to navigate the stairs and fell down in the darkness.

He pulled his cell phone out and turned on the flashlight feature. Using it to guide him down the rest of the stairs, Hirst got to the basement floor, swung the light around and headed for the other light switch that turned on the part of the basement under the living room.

That switch worked.

And he saw Janice.

He almost dropped to his knees, but he’d been to enough crime scenes to remain on his feet. Only this one was personal. It was Janice, his Janice.

As he walked over to her he asked all the usual questions. Who could’ve done this? Why did they do it? How did they do it?

Janice’s hands were suspended above her head, tied to the unfinished basement’s wooden ceiling. She was suspended so her feet barely contacted the ground.

Hirst’s stomach revolted and he gagged, breathing deep to keep the contents down. He took a couple of extra deep breaths even as his eyes watered at what his brain was trying to comprehend.

Janice was naked except for a stained pair of white panties. Blood covered most of her body and her face looked like a thousand bees had stung her. Her lips were swollen to twice the size and her eyes were virtually swollen shut. Purple bruises covered most of her flesh and she bled in more than ten spots where someone had taken a small knife, like an X-Acto blade, and made tiny cuts. Not enough to kill, but enough to cause great pain.

“Why?” he said out loud as he felt for a pulse.

A thick plastic black collar was wrapped around her neck. He pulled on it and then leaned in close for a better look.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said from behind him.

Detective Hirst spun on the balls of his feet, ducking his head, his hands coming up in a defensive posture.

Father Adams stood under the light, the shadow of his fedora covering one side of his face.

“You!”

“You see this?” Father Adams held up what looked like a remote control for a TV set. “This red button can be pressed from anywhere at any time and that collar around your wife’s neck will explode, effectively slicing her head clean off.”

“What are you talking about?” Hirst said as he straightened up and took a step towards Adams.

The priest withdrew a gun, clicked the safety, aimed at Hirst and fired the weapon. The bullet took a chunk out of the basement floor less than a foot in front of Hirst, then ricocheted once and came to a stop somewhere with a solid thunk.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Hirst gestured with both hands. “What do you want?”

“What everyone wants.”

“And what’s that?”

“Equality.”

“Come again.”

“This isn’t the time. Let’s talk about something a little more pressing, shall we?”

Hirst waited for Adams to speak as sweat rolled into his eyes. He blinked it away.

“Detective Hirst. Walk around behind your wife, please.”

“What are you, a magician? I mean, how did you do it? I saw your body on the autopsy table.”

“That wasn’t my body. Now, just walk around behind your wife.” Adams raised the gun and pointed it at Hirst.

Hirst did as he was told, wishing he had gotten his gun in the cabinet after all. “Then whose body was it?”

“My brother, Mike. He was always a little less organized than I was. Messier. Working with him for these murders was an exercise in futility. I had a feeling his death was coming. But that doesn’t matter as I will be dead very soon as well. Do you see the digital timer on my little device?”

Hirst examined his wife’s neck. He pulled Janice’s hair aside and saw the small red digits, counting down from thirty hours.

“Yes,” he said. “I see it.”

“The collar around your wife’s neck is timed to detonate tomorrow at six in the evening. I will be dead by four in the afternoon. That will give you two hours to bring your bomb squad over and remove the collar after I have deactivated it. Do you understand what I have told you?”

“Yes, but how will you deactivate it? If you can, then just do it now.”

“How I turn it off isn’t important. But what is of great importance is that you understand my instructions as I give them to you.”

Hirst stared at the priest for a moment, then nodded.

“Good. Sit down.”

He looked around for a chair.

“Sit on the floor by your wife’s legs.”

Hirst did as he was told.

“Listen carefully to what I need, and you and your wife will survive this little ordeal.”

Surprised by his calm and clear head, he asked, “What did you do to her?”

“She let me in, we had tea, we discussed you. Then she rooted around down here looking for her Bible. I simply offered her atonement for her sins. I was surprised at how sinful she has been. I’m sorry if she is in a state of disrepair, but I assure you, it was necessary. She is still alive and will remain that way as long as you do what I want.”

“And what is that?” Hirst asked. He adjusted himself and sat cross-legged. “What do you want?”

“I will be doing the eulogy tomorrow at my brother’s funeral. Be there. And bring that girl Sarah Roberts and her friend Parkman. Listen to my eulogy with the rest of my congregation and then I will die and be buried. Do this and it will truly be over. You and your wife will be free.”

“I was planning on being there anyway. You didn’t have to do this.”

“You were. But now that Sarah and Parkman are done in L.A., they may leave. Your wife’s life depends on them being at the church. If they are not, I push this button.” Adams pointed at the red button on the remote in his hand. “The collar is tamper proof. If you attempt to remove it, your wife dies. If the time runs out, your wife dies. If Sarah and Parkman
don’t
show up tomorrow, your wife dies. There is nothing you can do for her except what I tell you.”