“Mr. Duncan, this is Deputy Shepherd calling.”
Asking if Duncan Bond put Cecilia’s name in the prayer jar was a formality. Thomas already knew the answer. But he needed to hear it from Duncan Bond.
“Every day, Deputy Shepherd.”
Thomas jotted prayer jar on his memo pad and circled the words. Two gravely ill victims, and Father Fowler prayed for both.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Saturday, July 18th
9:05 a.m.
“It’s that goddamn Fowler,” Gray said, slapping his coffee mug on the desk and splashing black liquid over the sides.
Thomas, Aguilar, and Lambert convened with Gray in the sheriff’s office, the four of them squeezed together in close confines.
“All we know is Fowler prayed for Lincoln Ramsey and Cecilia Bond,” Aguilar said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “That’s hardly unusual, and it doesn’t implicate Fowler for murder.”
Gray swung his eyes to Thomas.
“You said it, yourself. This is an angel of mercy killer. Isn’t that what the FBI agent called him?”
Thomas plucked at his shirt cuff.
“All I’m saying is we need to handle this delicately. We can’t storm into Fowler’s office and accuse him of murder.”
“These murders have Fowler’s stench all over them. He always considered himself above the law.”
“So let me speak to him.”
“I can handle Fowler.”
“You’re already upset.”
“I’ll be professional.”
Lambert shook his head behind Gray and said, “Sheriff, why don’t we work together and link Carl Middleton to the Cecilia Bond case.”
After interviewing Middleton for an hour last evening, Gray had sent Middleton home. Lambert hadn’t found fingerprints on Kay Ramsey’s bathroom window, so they couldn’t prove Middleton tried to break inside the Ramsey residence. The neighbor across the street confirmed Middleton pounded on the door and yelled. But Kay Ramsey was the only person claiming Middleton tampered with the window.
“Let’s link Duncan Bond to Lincoln Ramsey,” Aguilar added. “We need everyone working together.”
The sheriff huffed and turned to Thomas.
“Fine. Interview Fowler at St. Mary’s. But I want a full report after you finish.”
Thomas drove across the village in silence. The morning had dawned gray and foreboding. Clouds hung low over Wolf Lake as he turned into the church parking lot. The announcement for Cecilia Bond’s memorial service, set to begin in ninety minutes, greeted him at the door. A flurry of congregation members hustled through the church, making preparations. A robed teenage boy with a bowl haircut glared at Thomas as he crossed through the vestibule.
“Where’s Father Fowler’s office?”
The boy pointed at the stairs.
Thomas descended the steps to the basement. Gloom shrouded the lower level, and tables stood at regular intervals beneath the shadows. They looked like coffins in the dark. Light spilled from the room at the rear of the basement. The clicks of fingers running over a keyboard broke the silence.
Thomas peeked his head inside the room. A tall, black-haired woman with a sharp nose leaned over the keyboard. He recognized her as the woman who helped Fowler usher Kay Ramsey into the church Thursday evening. When she didn’t notice him, Thomas cleared his throat.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Father Josiah Fowler.”
“Father is in his office, completing his sermon for today’s service. It would be better if you returned after the ceremony.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Thomas rested his hand against the jamb and blocked the doorway, an obvious message he wouldn’t leave without speaking with Fowler. She tensed and set her palms flat on the desk.
“One moment.”
She rapped her knuckles on Father Fowler’s door. After squeezing her head inside the opening, she spoke to Fowler in a hushed voice, though Thomas caught the severity in her whisper.
“He’ll see you now,” the woman said, motioning Thomas inside.
Father Josiah Fowler’s office looked more like a prison than a place to relax. Concrete walls with no windows, a prominent cross hanging behind his chair, a bookshelf overflowing with bibles and tomes Thomas didn’t recognize. Except for the phone on the desk, it seemed Fowler had no contact with the world once he entered this strange sanctuary. Thomas closed the door.
Fowler’s eyes widened. He’d expected someone else when his assistant told him a representative from the sheriff’s department wished to speak to him.
“Deputy Shepherd,” Fowler said with a gleam in his eye. “We meet again.”
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t a social call.”
“Oh. I’d hoped you enjoyed Thursday’s service enough to join the church. God will always welcome you, Deputy.”
Thomas sat in the chair across from Fowler’s desk. A cross hung from the priest’s neck and reflected the lamp light. He’d been busy scribing when Thomas entered. Now he turned the papers over.
“Carl Middleton denies starting the fight with Lincoln Ramsey outside your church. He claims you’re lying.”
Fowler sniffed.
“Mr. Middleton is a child in a man’s body, and if I had to guess, I’d say he’s a dangerous child.”
“Why do you say he’s dangerous?”
“You weren’t there, Deputy Shepherd. Had you seen the hate in that man’s eyes, you’d understand. He would have harmed Lincoln and Kay Ramsey, and I’m unsure I could have stopped him without several people stepping in.”
“You’re a large man, Father Fowler. You’d handle yourself in an altercation.”
“I’m not violent,” Fowler said, glancing away.
“Garrick and Suzanne Tillery attend your masses.”
Fowler’s mouth twisted for a brief second. But Thomas noticed.
“They do.”
“Garrick Tillery lives in the same neighborhood as Lincoln and Kay Ramsey, and he’s an acquaintance of Carl Middleton.”
“Acquaintance, or drinking buddy? That’s the appropriate term, yes?”
“Do you believe Garrick Tillery is dangerous, as you say Carl Middleton is?”
Fowler’s eyes squinted and tracked along the ceiling.
“When he drinks, he’s not himself. Garrick Tillery is a very sick man. I fear he’s beyond help, though I’ve tried to reach him.”
“Sick enough to hurt Cecilia Bond or Lincoln Ramsey?”
“Perhaps.”
“I spoke with Duncan Bond. The night Cecilia passed, Duncan claims he was here, at the church, and you saw him.”
Fowler rocked back in his chair with his fingers interlaced behind his head.
“Yes, I recall passing Duncan as I entered the church.” Fowler tutted. “Poor, poor man. He was here every day, praying for Cecilia.”
“Can you verify the time
