Her mother had said she was crazy to think she could make a living working on 'those Hollywood movies,' as she called them, but her father had glowed with pride when she was accepted into NYU as a film major.
'She has a talent, Loretta-you'll see,' he had said to his wife, squeezing her to him, her round little body plump as a ripe peach.
'You should be glad she's staying close to home,' he continued, looking out at the garden in front of their two-family house in Queens. 'She'll be able to come over for dinner.'
Sophia wished she were going away to college, but NYU was a really good school and she was grateful to be accepted into the film studies program there.
Now, sitting in her dorm room with most of her classmates asleep around her, she tried to concentrate on the book on her desk, but the words blurred and danced on the page in front of her. All she could think of was how much she longed for a cigarette.
Finally she gave up. Moving quietly so as not to disturb her sleeping roommate, she grabbed her pack of Marlboro Lights, pulled on her boots and overcoat, and slipped out of the room.
The fresh snow was silent and glistening in the street, soft and white and pristine, not sullied yet by the soot of engines and the pollution of the city. Sticking a cigarette in her mouth, she realized she'd forgotten her matches. She shivered, drew her coat tighter around her, and headed through the snow toward the deli on the corner of La Guardia Place.
The street was deserted, and the street lamps cast pools of light onto the softly falling snow. The flakes swirled and danced under the lights; caught up in the magic of the night, Sophia almost didn't see the man standing in the shadows of the NYU dormitory building. Seeing her, he took a step toward her.
'Need a light?' His voice was soft, his face still half in shadow.
'Sure-thanks.'
It was the last thing she ever said.
Chapter Forty-seven
When the phone rang at seven the next morning, Lee awoke instantly, the sharp stab of sound pulling him out of bed. He grabbed the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Lee, it's Chuck.'
'Oh, God-another one?'
'Yeah.'
'Where is it this time?'
'Old St. Patrick's. You know it?'
'On Mulberry?'
'Right.'
Old St. Patrick's Cathedral was a beautiful landmark building nestled between Mott and Mulberry Streets, at the intersections of Chinatown and Little Italy. Lee had never been inside, but had walked past it countless times. It was a fifteen-minute walk from his apartment.
'I know where it is,' Lee said. 'Jesus.'
'I'm on my way,' Chuck said, 'but you'll probably get there first.'
'Right. Any instructions?'
'No-just don't let anyone move anything until I get there.'
'Right.'
Lee pulled on some clothes and hailed a cab in under five minutes. He was there in less than ten. He showed his ID to the uniformed cop on duty and went in the side door.
The scene at Old St. Patrick's was depressingly familiar: the same group of investigators dispersed around the church, the same hushed voices and dimly lit interior. The early-morning rays of the rising sun crept tentatively through the circular stained-glass window at the back of the church.
Lee walked past the crime scene technicians, who were just unpacking their equipment, and approached the altar, to look upon the face of the latest victim. He steeled himself for the sight of her naked, mutilated body, but he couldn't prepare himself for what he saw.
There, on the altar, lay the torso of a young woman. Her head was still attached, but that was all; her limbs had been severed, and were nowhere to be seen. On her dismembered torso were carved the words On earth as it is in heaven.
Lee absorbed this information in one terrible moment-then, turning away, he vomited. The members of the CSI team glanced at him, then continued with their work. This was obviously not the first time they had witnessed this reaction to a crime scene. Within seconds, a young woman from the CSI team headed toward him with a rag and a bucket, hastily gathered from the mop closet.
As she cleaned up after him, Lee forced himself to look at the victim. As he expected, she had the same short, curly dark hair as the others, though her skin was more of an olive hue. Her lips were fuller, her body-what there was of it-more womanly and developed. His head began to spin, and, fearing he was going to be sick again, Lee turned away.
'Sophia,' said a deep voice behind him. 'Sophia Lo-Bianca.'
Lee turned to see Detective Florette approaching from the back of the church. Though without his usual jacket and tie, he wore a crisp white shirt, creased trousers, and polished brown loafers. Lee wondered if the man had a full-time valet.
'NYU student, film major,' Florette said, frowning.
Lee stared at him. 'How did you get all that?'
Florette indicated a young man in a clerical collar sitting in the back pews of the church.
'Father Joseph. Knows her because she sings in the choir here.'
Florette looked down at Sophia-or what was left of her-and shook his dignified head.
'Nasty business. What do you make of this?'
Lee gritted his teeth, determined not to be sick again in front of the elegant detective. 'I'll know more once we find the rest of her.'
Florette laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Come with me.'
Apprehension gathering in his churning stomach like a sour storm cloud, Lee followed the detective to the back of the church. There, underneath a stained-glass window depicting Death terrifying a group of people, he saw a leg. He looked around for a blood trail, but there was none. That meant either the Slasher had cleaned up, or she had stopped bleeding by the time he cut her up, which meant she was already long dead-thank God. He took a deep breath and looked at Florette.
'There's more,' he said, and led Lee to the other side of the church, where, on the basement stairs, they found another leg-and then an arm, and finally, under a statue of Mary holding Jesus, the other arm.
Florette gave Lee a few moments to process what he had seen, and then he said, 'Does it have significance- the placement, I mean?'
'I think it does, probably a religious significance, but I'm not equipped to interpret it.' He wished with all his heart Nelson were here-he would know what to make of all this. He was a lapsed Catholic, but he had absorbed all the symbolism and church history.
Lee looked over at the priest, still huddled in a corner pew. 'Can he stick around for a while?'
'I'll ask him,' Florette answered, and walked over to the priest.
Chuck arrived shortly afterward. When he saw what the Slasher had done to poor Sophia, his face grew crimson right up to the roots of his blond crew cut.
'Jesus,' he said. 'Bastard,' he added through clenched teeth, though the epithet hardly seemed strong enough.
Lee and Florette filled him in on what they knew. Nelson wasn't answering his phone, and Detective Butts was with his wife's family out in the middle of New Jersey. There wasn't much for them to do. The CSI team had things under control, as usual, and after interviewing the priest again, all they could do was watch as poor Sophia
