beacon. Another obligation tugged at her. She had to find the killer and restore balance to this community. Pulling into a parking spot in front of the rectory, she listened halfheartedly to Tony's advice.
'All I'm saying is, you better not push this guy too hard. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd take it well. He's dangerous, Raven.'
'Yeah, I hear ya, partner.' Killing the engine, she turned to him. 'It's just that he got under my skin. And when people do that, I push.'
'Don't I know that.' He chuckled. After sliding out of the car, he slammed the door. 'Hey, before we go in there, just wanted you to know I have no intention of sharing everything with our new partner from Transylvania. You and I are gonna sanitize that file. He's only gonna see what we want him to see. It's still our case.'
'Glad to hear you say that, partner.' She grinned and tapped her fist to the top of her gray-splattered Crown Vic. 'Now let's see what the priest has to say.'
On the stoop, Raven pushed the doorbell, hearing the buzzer muffled behind the door. Father Antonio answered the chime. Eyes puffy from lack of sleep, the young priest looked older.
'Thank you for coming so quickly. Can I get you any hot tea or coffee? It's such a chilly day.'
'I could use some coffee if it's made,' Raven replied. Tony followed them, letting her establish rapport with the priest once again. A practiced maneuver. 'You didn't get much sleep, huh?'
A fleeting smile flashed across the cleric's face. 'No, not much. But it helped to pray. I didn't feel alone.'
Knitting her brow, Raven wondered if it would be that easy. Could she erase the images of death with prayer? Or would her petition fall on deaf ears? A part of her didn't want to know the answer to that question.
'I brought the file from my room. It's on the table,' he offered. He gestured around the small kitchen and break room. 'Please, fix whatever you would like.'
Raven quickly filled a mug with black coffee, forgoing her usual cream. She couldn't take her eyes from the manila folder on the table. Once at the table, she pulled out a chair and sat near the priest.
'So, tell me about what you saw last night, Father.'
'When I was on my way to the chapel, I saw him at his family's gravesite. He comes here often.'
'You said before that the man didn't follow the pattern. What did you mean by that?' she asked.
'I think he saw me watching him. That's probably why he didn't stay. The man's eyes. I have to admit it. He scares me.' Father Antonio met her gaze, then clarified, 'He usually goes to the cemetery, then comes into the smaller chapel. He never talks to anyone, just sits in the back pew. But last night, he—'
'He what, Father?' Tony edged closer. 'What did he do?'
'He just—vanished.'
Tony tilted his head, then smiled. 'People don't just vanish, Father. With all due respect, were you nipping at the sacred chalice?'
Father Antonio chuckled. 'No, I can assure you I was not imbibing in wine, Detective. But the man didn't come into the chapel. He just left, I suppose. Like I said, the chapel was dark when I got there. Someone turned the lights out. All I know is that I saw this man in the cemetery before I found—'
Raven's gaze dropped to the manila folder placed before her. 'And you said you know who this man is? You did research on him?'
'Yes. I hate to even admit it now, but I was curious about him. He was always so reticent to speak to me, so I...' His voice faded. Pushing the folder toward her, the priest added, 'Take a look for yourself.'
Raven opened the folder, finding countless newspaper clippings and other documents in the file. But one name she recognized.
'Are you sure about this, Father?' After Father Antonio nodded, she looked across at her partner. 'You're not gonna believe this, Tony.'
CHAPTER 3
Raven pulled at the collar of her coat to fend off the chill. She still held the file Father Antonio had given her. With Tony at her side, she stood within the wrought-iron gates of St. Sebastian's cemetery—her eyes upon the headstone marked
And the newspaper clippings in Father Antonio's file told little of how a ten-year-old boy had escaped the same fate.
'You know how I feel about coincidences, Raven.' Tony's voice drew her back. 'Delacorte was here last night.'
'Not to play devil's advocate, partner, but the priest didn't exactly get a good look at him.' Looking back over her shoulder, she turned toward the breezeway windows to the right. 'Not from this distance—and in the dark with snow falling? He won't make a credible witness.'
'Maybe we just see what Delacorte says about it. We'll get a shot at him this afternoon at three. We pretend to catch him up on the case, then turn it into a subtle interrogation. You up for the challenge of one-on-one with Mr. Freeze?'
'I don't want to hog all the fun. Why one-on-one?'
'Just seeing the way you got to him at the Dunhills'. If anyone can get Delacorte to talk, it'll be you.' With caution in his voice, he added, 'Be careful with this guy. If he's dirty and you push the wrong button, he could be real dangerous. But I'll be in the next room, watching his every move.'
Raven wasn't sure if Tony didn't have that backward. Christian Delacorte slipped his way under her skin without effort. She would've preferred to pass on round two with him, especially with her shrewd partner watching behind a two-way mirror.
'Not sure I agree with your take on it. But if we're gonna do this thing, we'd better run a background check on Delacorte. I gotta have more ammunition on this guy.'
'Agreed,' he replied. Her partner turned to head back to the car, then glanced over his shoulder. 'Let's get out of here. Place gives me the creeps.' He wandered away, muttering, 'Which is ironic considering what I do.'
But Raven found herself rooted at the grave, wondering what drew Delacorte back here, time after time. Images of her father's funeral flashed in her mind. Even though he'd been taken from her by an act of violence, she hadn't witnessed his death. Her memories were grounded by a father's love. Yet in contrast, what monsters lurked in Delacorte's past? Only a young boy, he'd seen everything, according to the newspapers. She couldn't imagine such horror. Some of the articles in the priest's file alluded to a bungled police raid by crooked cops. Nothing proven.
She now understood Christian's resentment toward law enforcement—even if it did hit close to home. And to compound the outrage, his desire for retribution couldn't be directed at anyone in particular. Charges were never filed. She had no doubt he believed a massive cover-up had robbed him of justice. No wonder he bristled with hostility to the badge.
Despite feeling a connection to this man, she had to remain objective in her investigation. If he had killed Mickey Blair for a reason they'd yet to uncover, she must be able to see it and act upon the evidence. Her sense of duty bound her to that pledge.
But something gnawed at her gut. Nothing about this case looked simple. And with Christian Delacorte involved, she had the feeling things were going to get complicated.
The smell of fast food came from her wastepaper basket, providing a necessary alternative to the ever- present odors of cigarette smoke and stale afternoon coffee that permeated the bullpen of desks across the homicide department. Someone had left a nearly empty coffeepot on the burner. The stench lingered heavy in the air, challenging her ability to block it out.
Reading over the file on Delacorte, she was lulled by the usual background noise. Ringing phones, the never-ending sounds a metal desk makes, and idle sports diatribes in low male voices. From various searches, she uncovered that Delacorte had graduated with honors from the business school of the University of Chicago with an
