Nighttime Is My Time

deodorant. Only then had he thrown into the mix the supplies he needed, the peroxide, bandages, salves.

He hoped he wasn't getting a fever. His body felt warm, and he knew his face was flushed. With all the useless camouflage items he had tossed into the basket at the drugstore, he had managed to forget to include aspirin. But that he could safely buy anywhere. Most of the time, most of the world has a headache, he thought, smiling to himself at the mental image conjured up by that reasoning.

He turned up the volume on the television. They were showing pictures of the crime scene. He observed intently how muddy it seemed. He hadn't remembered the area as being that swampy. That meant the tires of his rental car were probably embedded with dirt from that area. It would be wise to leave the car in the garage of the house where so far he was allowing Laura to continue to live. He'd rent another mid-priced, mid-sized, unobtrusive black sedan. That way, if for any reason anyone started to nose around and check the cars of the reunion group, his would be passed over.

As The Owl was selecting a jacket from the closet, a breaking story came across the screen: 'Young reporter from Stonecroft Academy in Cornwall-on-Hudson reveals the disappearance of actress Laura Wilcox may be linked to a fiend he calls 'The Lunch Table Serial Killer.' '

44

'Monsignor, I cannot emphasize sufficiently the urgency of our request,' Sam Deegan told Monsignor Robert Dillon, pastor of the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury. They were in the rectory office. The monsignor, a thin man with prematurely white hair and rimless glasses that illuminated intelligent gray eyes, was behind his desk. The faxes Jean had received were spread out in front of him. In a chair directly across from the desk, Sam was putting Lily's hairbrush back in a plastic bag.

'As you can see, the latest communication suggests that Dr. Jean Sheridan's daughter is in grave danger. We intend to try to trace her original birth certificate, but we are not even sure if it was registered here or in Chicago where the baby was born,' Sam continued.

Even as he spoke, he felt the hopelessness of trying to make a quick breakthrough. Monsignor Dillon couldn't be more than in his early forties. Clearly he had not been around twenty years ago when Lily might have been baptized in this church, and, of course, her adoptive parents would have registered her under their surname and her new first name.

'I do understand the urgency, and I'm sure you understand that I must be cautious,' Monsignor Dillon said slowly. 'But, Sam, the biggest problem is that people don't necessarily baptize babies within a few weeks or even months anymore. It used to be that an infant was baptized within six weeks of its birth. Now we see them toddling in to receive the sacrament. We don't approve of that trend, but it does exist and did exist even twenty years ago. This is a fairly large and busy parish, and not only our own parishioners but frequently the grandchildren of parishioners are baptized here.'

'I understand, but perhaps if you could start with the three months after Lily's birth, we could at least try to track those baby girls. Most people aren't secretive about adoptions, are they?'

'No, as a rule, they're proud of the fact they're adoptive parents.'

'Then unless the adoptive parents themselves are behind these faxes to Dr. Sheridan, I think they would want to know of a possible threat to their daughter.'

'Yes, they would. I'll have my secretary compile the list, but you do understand that before I give it to you, I will have to contact all the people listed personally and explain only that a girl adopted at that time may be in danger.'

'Monsignor, that could take time, and that's just what we may not have,' Sam protested.

'Father Arella can work with me. I'll have my secretary make the calls, and while I'm speaking with one party, she'll alert the next to stand by to hear from me. It shouldn't take that long.'

'And what about the ones you don't reach? Monsignor, this nineteen-year-old girl may be in grave danger.'

Monsignor Dillon picked up the fax, his expression deepening with concern as he studied it. 'Sam, as you say, this last communication is frightening, but you can understand why we have to be careful. To protect us from possible legal problems, get a subpoena. That way we can release the names to you immediately. But I would suggest that you allow me to talk to as many of these families as possible.'

'Thank you, sir. I won't take any more of your time right now.'

They both stood up. 'It occurred to me that your correspondent is something of a Shakespearean scholar/' Monsignor Dillon observed. 'Not too many people would have used a fairly obscure quote like this one about the lilies.'

'That occurred to me as well, Monsignor.' Sam paused. 'I should have thought to ask this immediately: Are any of the priests who were assigned here at the time Jean's baby might have been baptized still with the diocese?'

'Father Doyle was the assistant pastor, and he died years ago. Monsignor Sullivan was the pastor at that time. He moved to Florida with his sister and brother-in-law. I can give you the latest address we have for him.'

'I'd like to have that.'

'It's right here in my file drawer. I'll give it to you now.' He opened the drawer, pulled out a folder, glanced in it, and wrote a name, address, and phone number on a slip of paper. He handed it to Sam, saying, 'Dr. Connors' widow is a parishioner. If you wish, I can call and ask her to see you. She might remember something about that adoption.'

'Thanks, but that won't be necessary. I spoke to Jean Sheridan just before coming here. She found Mrs. Connors' address in the phone book and is probably on her way to see her right now.'

As they walked to the door, Monsignor Dillon said, 'Sam, I just remembered something. Alice Sommers is our parishioner also. Are you the investigator who has continued to work on her daughter's case?'

'Yes, I am.'

'She has told me about you. I hope you know how much comfort it has given her to know that you haven't stopped trying to find Karen's murderer.'

'I'm glad that it's helped her. Alice Sommers is a very brave woman.'

They stood at the door. 'I was shocked to hear on the radio this morning that the body of the woman who was walking her dog has been found,' Monsignor Dillon commented. 'Is your office involved with that case?' Yes, we are.

'I understand that, like Karen Sommers, it appears to be a random killing and that she was also stabbed to death. I know it seems implausible, but do you think there is any chance that there is a connection between those murders?'

'Monsignor, Karen Sommers died twenty years ago,' Sam said carefully. He did not want to share the fact that the same possibility had been preying on his mind, particularly since the stab wounds had been in exactly the same area of the chest.

The Monsignor shook his head. 'I guess I'd better leave the detecting to you. It was just a thought that occurred to me, and because you're so close to the Sommers case, I felt I should mention it.' He opened the front door and shook Sam's hand. 'God bless you, Sam. I'll pray for Lily, and I'll get back to you with the names as fast as we can put them together.'

'Thank you, sir. Do pray for Lily, and while you're at it, remember Laura Wilcox.'

'The actress?'

'Yes. We're afraid she's in trouble, too. No one has seen her since Saturday night.'

Monsignor Dillon stared at Sam's retreating back. Laura Wilcox was at the Stonecroft reunion, he thought incredulously. Has something happened to her as well? Dear God, what's going on here?

With a fervent silent prayer for the safety of both Lily and Laura, he returned to his office and dialed his secretary. 'Janet, please drop everything else you're doing and get out the baptismal records of nineteen years ago, from March through June. As soon as Father

Arella returns, tell him I have a job for him and to cancel any other plans he may have made for the day.'

'Of course, Monsignor.' Janet hung up the phone and looked longingly at the grilled cheese and bacon