‘I have no idea who’s on his Christmas list. All I know is that MacFarlane has at least one inside man working for the DC police. If we go to the authorities, MacFarlane will find us.’ Edie stared despondently at the newspaper article. ‘Religious fanatics… not good. Try searching for these Warriors of God, will ya?’ She tapped her index finger against the computer screen.
A few seconds later, C?dmon found MacFarlane’s website, the domain address none other than www.warriorsofgod.com.
‘Did God not make Jonathan Padgham as he made you and me?’ C?dmon softly whispered.
‘Do you think that’s the reason why they killed Dr Padgham, because he was gay?’
A sad look in his eyes, C?dmon slowly shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think that was the reason they killed Padge. Although in another place, and at another time, that may have been sufficient reason to take his life. But it wasn’t the reason today.’
Edie took several deep breaths, opened her mouth to speak, then found she had nothing to say. The day’s events had unravelled in such a helter-skelter fashion, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to untangle the skeins.
‘While some might dismiss that —’ she jutted her chin at the computer screen ‘— as your run-of-the-mill hate chatter, it scares the bejesus out of me.’
The hate-filled diatribe bringing to mind her own religious upbringing, Edie turned away from the computer. Her grandfather had been a hard-core evangelical Christian, fervently believing that the Bible was the literal transcription of God’s word. And, like the prophets of the Old Testament, Pops had been a rigid taskmaster, daily force-feeding his family an ultra-conservative diet of hellfire and eternal damnation. Finally unable to bear it any longer, her mother had left home at sixteen. Later, Edie had gone to live with her grandparents. She lasted a bit longer, escaping on her eighteenth birthday via a full scholarship to George Washington University. The day she boarded the northbound Greyhound bus was the last day she ever spoke to her maternal grandfather, Conway Miller.
For the first couple of months she’d made halfhearted attempts to keep in touch with her Gran, but when the letters were returned unopened, she got the message. She’d not only left the family, she’d left the flock. She had officially been branded a non-person. It was another fifteen years before she set foot inside a church. The congregation at St Matilda’s was an eclectic mix of female priests, gay deacons and multiracial couples. People of all stripes and colours, joined together in mutual joy. A blessed gathering. Edie didn’t know if it was a form of rebellion against the religion of her youth, but she loved attending Sunday service at St Mattie’s. No doubt, Pops weekly spun in his grave.
‘It would appear that Stanford MacFarlane is the big fish in a very murky pond,’ C?dmon said, drawing Edie’s attention back to the computer screen. ‘In my experience, men consumed by hatred who cloak themselves in religion are the most dangerous men on earth.’
‘Just read the newspapers. Religious fanaticism is a global phenomenon.’
‘Which begs the question, why has a group of fanatical Christians stolen one of the most sacred of all religious relics?’
Edie shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Nor I. Although I am keen to uncover the answer.’
24
Outside the hotel room window the day had dawned damp and cold, no glimmer of sunshine to cast even a suggestion of hope. Through the leafless trees Edie stared at the snaking procession of headlights, the early- morning motorists lost in an enviable world of undone Christmas shopping, overdue bills and holiday office parties.
She sighed, her breath condensing into a cloudy smudge as it struck the glass of the window.
‘All is not lost,’ C?dmon said from behind her, his voice taking her by surprise.
Edie turned to face him, unaware that her glum mood had been so obvious. ‘Then why am I having so much trouble finding an answer that makes any sense? I don’t know about you, but I tossed and turned all night trying to figure out why an ex-marine colonel who now owns and operates a mercenary contracting firm would have had Dr Padgham murdered?’ She held up her hand, forestalling an objection. ‘I know, the Stones of Fire… But did they have to go and —’
Hearing a thud, Edie rushed over and unlocked the door to their hotel room, snatching the just-delivered complimentary copy of the
‘There’s nothing in the paper. How can that be? Surely by now someone has found Dr Padgham and the two dead guards.’ She tossed the newspaper onto her unmade bed.
‘It’s still less than twenty-four hours since the murders were committed,’ C?dmon calmly reminded her. He had just showered and shaved, which explained why he was half-dressed, his red hair matted to his skull. Attired as he was in a white vest, Edie could see that he had broad shoulders and a lean, rangy build.
‘Yeah, but the night shift should have found the bodies. The guards are supposed to make the rounds of the museum every thirty minutes. And I know for a fact that Linda Alvarez in payroll arrives at the museum at seven o’clock sharp. She has to walk right past Dr Padgham’s office to get to —’ Edie stopped, hit with a sudden thought. ‘Once they access the computer logs at the museum, the police will know that I was at the museum when Dr Padgham was murdered. Which makes me a fugitive.’
One side of C?dmon’s mouth twitched. ‘Hardly a fugitive.’
‘Well, okay, a person of interest. Isn’t that what they call them on cop shows?’ She peered at her reflection in the wall mirror. Feeling the sting of tears, she turned her back on C?dmon, worried the dam might burst.
Since yesterday afternoon she’d been fighting the onslaught, and truth be told she was tired. Tired of being strong. She just wanted to curl up in her bed, pull the pile of stiff covers over her head and cry her eyes out. But she couldn’t. She barely knew C?dmon Aisquith, and if she scared him off, she’d be left to fend for herself. Like she’d had to do so many times before. When she was a kid, her mother used to ignore her for days on end.
‘I’m sorry for getting all emotional on you. I just —’ She sank her teeth into her lower lip, struggling to hold back the tears.
As she stood there, her back still turned to him, she heard C?dmon pad over to where she stood. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
‘There’s no need to be ashamed of your emotions.’
‘Easy for you to say; you’re a red-headed pillar of strength.’
‘Not true.’ Gently he turned her round, pulling her into his arms. Since he stood somewhere in the neighbourhood of six foot three, her head fitted perfectly into his freckled shoulder.
Edie closed her eyes, drinking in his warmth, his solidness. It felt so good to be held in his arms. Good in a way that made her think of the sleepless night just passed.
Worried she might give in to her urges, sex the best balm of them all, she extricated herself from his arms.
‘I need to call the Hopkins and find out what the heck is going on,’ she said, striding over to the desk wedged between the TV and the dresser.
‘Given we’re very much in the dark, I think that’s a wise idea. Although make no mention of what you saw yesterday at the museum.’
Nodding, Edie dialled the main number for the museum. When prompted by the automated system, she keyed in the four-digit extension for the payroll department. Hearing a perky voice answer ‘Linda Alvarez. How may I help you?’ Edie motioned C?dmon to silence.
‘Hey Linda, it’s Edie Miller. I’m sorry for pestering you so early in the morning, but I really screwed up my
