Callie makes the print visible with fingerprint dust and raises it with clear celo-tape. She attaches the tape to a white card. She takes digital pictures of the print as well, so we have a backup in case something happens to the print card. The camera flashes seem alien here, man-made lightning strikes. Jesus and the altar appear in a moment of daylight before returning to the shadows caused by the candle flames. The chalice lights up like it's been set on fire.
I stare at it and wonder, when exactly did this happen? How did I arrive here? When I was a girl, I sipped from the lip of a similar cup and it meant that I was close to God. Now it means I am close to a monster.
Is it a choice? I ask myself. The monsters or God? Is it possible to get so near them, to understand them as well as I do, and still have room for a concept of the divine?
The flash fires and I wince against its painful brilliance, a light that has nothing to do with God, nothing at all.
'That's all I need for now,' Callie says.
I turn to Father Yates. 'We need to take the chalice, Father.'
He grimaces. 'Feel free. It's not fit for use anymore, as far as I'm concerned.'
'Her thumbprint erases God's presence? Seems like a lot of power you're granting her.'
He finds that smile, the one he's been giving me all along as I've challenged him with my own disbelief and bitterness. One-part tolerance, two-parts compassion, and kindness, through and through.
'No, it's not that. I simply won't allow any part of them to coexist with that holy moment. They don't deserve it.'
I realize that I've been projecting. Father Yates has been troubled by recent events, true, but his faith has never been shaken. Uncertainty about God is my bailiwick; he's always remained loyal.
'What are you going to pray for now, Father?'
'Justice, of course.'
My mouth twists as some more of that dark bitterness rises inside me. It seems like there's no end to it.
'My kind of justice, or God's?'
'I don't have to pray for His justice. His justice is certain. So I guess I'll pray for yours.'
*
*
*
'WE'RE CLOSE NOW,' CALLIE SAYS as we drive back. 'We'll know who they are soon.'
'Yes.'
'Must be nice, to have the kind of faith that man has.'
'I suppose. I take it you don't?'
She laughs and pops a Vicodin she'd had waiting in her hand.
'I believe in me and a select few and that's hard enough as it is.'
A-fucking-men, I think.
'What about you?' she asks.
'Ask me after we catch him. I will tell you one thing, if you can keep your big mouth shut.'
'The unkindest cut.' She sighs. 'But tell me.'
'Tommy and I are going to move in together. In the middle of all this, that's one thing I was able to figure out, and I'll admit, Father Yates played a part.'
She's quiet.
'I'm so happy for you, Smoky.'
Her voice is thick with relief, a release of tension that puzzles me until I study her and understand.
'You worried about me too much, Callie. I was always going to be fine.'
'That's--' She swallows, shakes it off, flashes me one of those mega-watt smiles. 'That's one of the many things good friends do.'
I reach out to touch her, but pull my hand back. Intimacy with Callie is a dance all its own.
'Let's go catch a killer, friend.'
That we can share. No problem at all.
37
'FATHER STRAIN WAS PRETTY SHARP,' ALAN SAYS. 'WHEN I explained what I was looking for and why, he remembered something right away. A cripple. Guy in a wheelchair came in, had been a drunk and stumbled out into traffic one day, ended up paralyzed from the waist down. He hit it off with Lisa Reid.'
'Clever. Why didn't his name come up if he left when Lisa was murdered?'
'He was smart. Made up some story about a daughter he was reconciling with. He was scheduled to fly to California to meet her a few days before Lisa's trip. I'm guessing he'd already killed Ambrose before he left the church. He probably hung out at Ambrose's until Lisa left and then followed her to and from Texas.'
It all makes sense and it reinforces our image of him; intelligent, decisive, organized. In all the prior murders, he sent 'Andrea' in to locate the victim. She was their public face. With Lisa he could come out into the light. It must have been very satisfying.
'Alan, I need you to switch places with Callie and run the print we got from the Redeemer through AFIS. Callie, I need you to get on the phone with forensics in Virginia. I need them to go to Strain's church and see if there's a print there too.'
'Do you think it'll be on the chalice?'
'It's the first place I'd look.'
He couldn't have resisted. No more hiding, right? He probably grinned without knowing it as he left his mark for us to find.
'HERE WE GO,' ALAN CALLS out.
I hurry over to his desk. On the screen of his computer is a photograph of Andrea True. She's younger in this picture, her hair is shorter, but there's no denying that it's her.
'Frances Murphy,' I read. 'Why is she in the database?'
'Past criminal record.' He scrolls down. 'Get this: arrested for assaulting a Catholic priest. That particular priest was later arrested for child molestation and, let's see . . . no dispensation from the judge because she wasn't one of those the priest had molested. He liked boys.'
'Known associates?'
He taps a key and three words appear that take my breath away.
'Brother, Michael Murphy,' I read aloud. 'Look him up.'
Michael Murphy's photograph appears on the screen. He's a male version of his sister, with the same big, sad eyes. He's handsome enough, not a pretty boy. He has a strong face and a certain intensity; he'd have had no problems with the ladies.
'He took part in the assault on the priest,' Alan notes. 'Twenty years ago. No dispensation. He wasn't one of the molested either.'
'What else?'
A few more taps and their rap sheets appear.
'A familiar pattern,' Alan observes.
The list of offenses starts at the age of eighteen and continues forward for about four or five years. Petty thefts, larceny, check-kiting--
nothing huge. The convictions taper off at about twenty-two for both of them. There's nothing after that other than the assault on the priest.
'Check out the birthdates,' Alan says.
'January twenty-second and . . . January twenty-second?' I blink.
'They're twins.'
'Think they'll look good in matching jumpsuits?'
Kirby's voice startles me. She'd crept up behind us. I'd been so engrossed that I hadn't noticed her coming
