“Working at Quantico is a far cry from life in Los Angeles. I’ve got a little place by the coast. My town’s population rose to three-thousand, according to the last census. Remember what I told you last time we spoke.”
“I’m not FBI material, Neil.”
“Who wants to work full time with the FBI?”
“You do.”
Gardy chuckled.
“But I’m crazy. We have a consulting position open. Reasonable hours and travel. Good perks. And none of the pressure full-time FBI agents deal with. After your work with the DEA task force, you’d be a shoo-in for the position.”
“I’m flattered, but it’s not for me.”
“You sure? I’d put in a good word for you.”
“And I appreciate it. Neil, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. We’ve had two unusual deaths in the last week. I’m worried we’re dealing with a murderer, and I’d like to tap your expertise.”
“What’s happening up there?”
Thomas recounted the Lincoln Ramsey and Cecilia Bond deaths.
“You’re certain Lincoln Ramsey didn’t die from natural causes?”
“I’m not sure of anything, Neil.”
“The Bond death is curious, though I can picture a scenario in which she lost her balance and hit her head.”
“So can I.”
“It troubles me that the deaths occurred in rapid succession. We’re shooting in the dark, but it’s possible you’re dealing with a serial murderer.”
“Like an angel of mercy killer.”
“Exactly. Or an angel of death killer, as we often refer to them.”
“Lincoln Ramsey was on his death bed, and Cecilia Bond wasn’t far off.”
“Have you ruled out Bond’s spouse?”
“He gave me a bad vibe, and he became a religious fanatic after his wife fell ill.”
“Interesting. Fanaticism ties into the angel of death theory. My partner, Agent Bell, is the top profiler at the BAU. She’s out of the office today. I’m not a profiling expert. But I’m happy to lend my opinion.”
“Who am I looking for?”
“Someone who knew both victims and encountered them regularly. Given both victims faced death, Ramsey and Bond might have sought counseling or a psychologist, someone who could help them cope.”
Dr. Mandal’s face popped into Thomas’s mind. Though he hadn’t mentioned Ramsey and Bond by name during therapy, he’d spoken about the cases and the difficulty he experienced watching Kay Ramsey and Ambrose Jorgensen struggle after Lincoln passed. In a small village like Wolf Lake, Mandal would have learned the names of the victims.
“Then there is the obvious choice—a medical doctor,” Agent Gardy said, continuing.
“Wolf Lake only has a handful of doctors. Ramsey and Bond were patients at the same practice.”
“That’s a start. Many angel of death killers work in the medical field. Viewing tragedy every day drives them over the edge.”
“What about clergy? Ramsey and Bond attended the same church.”
Gardy considered Thomas’s theory for a moment.
“I wouldn’t rule it out. You have a potential suspect in Bond’s husband. Can you link him back to the Ramsey case? Like you said, Wolf Lake is a small village.”
And Bond had a weak alibi at the time Cecilia died.
Thomas had more questions than answers after the call ended. He tugged his hair as he ran through the suspect list. Was he off base this time? Lincoln Ramsey’s death appeared tied to COPD, and Cecilia Bond was in no condition to hike along the river without supervision.
The phone rang and jolted him out of his thoughts.
“Sheriff?”
“Carl Middleton harassed Kay Ramsey a half-hour ago,” Gray said. “I’m heading to Middleton’s house now. Lambert is at the Ramsey residence.”
“Do you need me to come in?”
“We have it handled. But Middleton blamed Kay Ramsey for ratting him out over the broken window.”
“She had nothing to do with it.”
“You and I understand that, but try to convince a jackass like Carl Middleton.”
“Are you bringing him in?”
“Ramsey claims Middleton attempted to break into her house. I’ll interrogate Middleton while Lambert dusts for prints.” Gray groaned. “I wonder if this guy had something to do with Lincoln Ramsey’s death. He can’t let go of a grudge.”
“Sheriff, I don’t want you to think I went over your head. But I called an old contact at the FBI. When I mentioned the possibility our killer was a priest, his ears perked up.”
Gray paused.
“That bastard, Fowler. I don’t trust him, Thomas.”
“He knew both victims.”
“The prayer jar,” Gray said with a growl. Thomas recalled a glass jar in the vestibule. Until now, he hadn’t understood its purpose. “When someone wants Fowler to pray for a loved one, they slip a note into the jar. As if the good Father has a direct line with God.”
“Did Kay Ramsey enter Lincoln’s name into the prayer jar?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Keep me in the loop. I’ll call Kay Ramsey.”
The first call to Kay Ramsey’s phone dumped into her voice-mail. He called again, and this time she answered after two rings.
“Mrs. Ramsey, this is Deputy Shepherd with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. I stopped by your house this morning.”
Kay Ramsey’s voice trembled, tugging at his heart strings.
“I remember you, Deputy.”
“I understand Deputy Lambert is with you.”
“Yes, he’s here,” Kay said, her voice devoid of hope.
“Then you’re safe. I need to ask you an important question.”
“I’ll do my best to answer.”
“While your husband battled COPD, did you enter his name into Father Fowler’s prayer jar?” Kay didn’t reply. “Mrs. Ramsey, are you there?”
“Faith is a private matter, Deputy Shepherd.”
“Please, Mrs. Ramsey. It’s critical you tell me if you entered your husband’s name into the prayer jar.”
“I did,” she said after a long pause. “A lot of good that did us.”
“Did Father Fowler speak to you about your husband’s condition?”
“Many times. But I fail to understand what this has to do with Lincoln’s death, or why Carl Middleton is harassing me.”
“We’ll speak with Mr. Middleton. That’s all I needed, Mrs. Ramsey.” Thomas gave Kay his phone number. “If anyone bothers you again, call me. You’re not alone.”
His pulse raced as he sat inside the quiet house. Jack cocked his head, sensing Thomas’s consternation.
Thomas looked up Duncan
