Gray shook his head and said, “We’ll match the soil to the cemetery. Come clean, Fowler. You murdered Garrick Tillery and Kay Ramsey. Did you believe you were saving them from suffering? Do you think you’re God?”
Fowler’s legs collapsed. Thomas caught the priest and guided him to the floor. Fowler’s breaths came too fast and sounded shallow. Thomas checked the man’s racing pulse.
“He’s going into shock. Call an ambulance.”
Gray glared at the fallen priest.
“He’s faking. Cuff the bastard.”
“Listen to yourself!” Thomas’s shout reverberated off the walls and knocked Gray back on his heels. “All this goes back to your wife’s death. You’re convinced Fowler is a murderer because you can’t forgive him for running Lana off the road.”
Injury clouded Gray’s eyes, and Thomas harbored guilt for snapping at the sheriff and bringing Lana into the case. But he couldn’t separate Lana’s mysterious death from the Fowler investigation.
If the priest understood the sheriff’s accusation, he gave no indication. He blinked at the ceiling, confused by his surroundings.
Thomas radioed dispatch and requested an ambulance for the priest. This wasn’t right. Thomas had witnessed bad acting by criminals over his career. He’d yet to see someone fake shock.
“Father, can you hear my voice?” Fowler blinked twice. His eyes followed the walls before falling to the deputy’s face. “You fainted, but you’re doing fine. Breathe and focus on my voice.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Fowler said, his voice weak and fading. “All I wanted was to help Kay and Cecilia and support their families. That’s the role God chose for me.”
Thomas met Gray’s eyes and motioned him behind the desk. The sheriff complied, and Thomas tilted his head at the carpet beneath Fowler’s chair.
“There’s red mulch mixed with the dirt,” Thomas said. “That didn’t come from the cemetery.”
A vein pulsed in Gray’s neck.
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t there when Kay Ramsey died.”
Ignoring Gray, Thomas directed Fowler’s eyes to his.
“Who has access to the prayer jar besides you?”
Fowler swallowed. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
“I don’t allow anyone to read the contents. There’s a lock on the lid, and I have the key.”
“Where do you keep the key?” When Fowler didn’t answer, Thomas set a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “It’s important you tell me everything. Where do you hide the key?”
Fowler’s eyes drifted to the desk, and Thomas pulled the drawer open. Three keys hung from a ring. Donning gloves, Thomas removed the keyring.
“Which key unlocks the prayer jar?”
“The bronze one in the middle.”
“And you keep the keys inside your desk at all times?”
Fowler blinked again, composing his thoughts.
“Yes, and I always lock the office. Nobody opens the door except for me and…” The priest’s jaw hung open. “No, it can’t be.”
The reality hit Fowler and Thomas at the same time. Thea Barlow had access to Fowler’s desk. All evening, Thomas had wondered why the footprints at the crime scenes were smaller than Middleton’s.
“Does Thea Barlow bring the prayer jar to you?”
“Yes.”
The possibility Barlow killed Garrick Tillery and Kay Ramsey worked across Gray’s face. Thomas faced the sheriff.
“Barlow was there Thursday night when Kay Ramsey said she no longer wanted to live.”
“An angel of mercy killer,” Gray said. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “I’ll call Lambert and have him track down Thea Barlow.”
“That won’t work. Lambert released Carl Middleton and responded to a call, and Aguilar is on her way to the church.”
Two murders in one night. Thea Barlow was escalating. A chilling thought crossed Thomas’s mind.
“Father, give me the names from the prayer jar.”
The request grounded Fowler and gave the priest something to focus on.
“I already told you. The contents of the prayer jar are private. They belong to the family and me.”
“If Thea Barlow is our killer, I need to know who she’s going after next.”
Fowler covered his face with his hand. A moan rolled out of the priest.
“Talk to me, Father. Who did you pray for tonight?”
The priest’s eyes locked with Thomas’s.
“I prayed for Mason Shepherd. Your father, Deputy.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Sunday, July 19th
1:50 a.m.
Ignoring Deputy Lambert’s warning to wait until he arrived, Chelsey stomped on the gas pedal and pushed the Honda Civic faster. The rural road on the northern fringe of Nightshade County undulated and cut through forestland. She couldn’t drive safely at these speeds during the day, let alone in the middle of the night.
Twenty minutes ago, the sheriff’s department had triangulated the location of Damian Ramos’s phone. Chelsey promised Lambert she’d let the deputy handle Raven’s rescue. But she was at least two minutes ahead of Lambert, the cruiser’s lights pinpricks in her mirror.
She scanned the terrain as she tugged the wheel. Tires screeched while she rounded a sharp curve. Where was the farmhouse? It seemed she’d left humanity behind when she exited Wolf Lake.
Chelsey checked her GPS. The house had to be close. A glow through the trees caught her eye, and she pulled hard on the wheel and whipped the car to the right. A two-story farmhouse rose beside a dirt road. But it was the dust hanging in the air that pulled her attention.
Straightening the car, she accelerated down the road, the dust growing thicker. Then she spotted the glowing eyes of taillights in the distance and the source of the dust storm. Mark Benson was fleeing with Raven and Ellie Fisher.
The cruiser’s headlights grew in size in her mirror. Her phone rang, and she recognized Lambert’s name on the screen. No chance she could control the car if she answered.
It was a minor miracle she’d located Raven tonight. Chelsey knew the sobering statistics. Once she lost sight of Raven and Ellie, the chance of a happy ending dropped like a stone in a bottomless river.
“You’re not getting away,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
Chelsey punched the accelerator and closed the distance on Mark Benson’s SUV.
* * *
Darren gripped the door handle inside Lambert’s cruiser as the deputy glared ahead, his vision razor-focused on Chelsey’s Honda Civic. They had to find Raven and Ellie Fisher before
