Original Sin

Jorgenson. He’d felt awful about letting someone drug him the other morning-though Skye had assured him it wasn’t his fault. He must have jumped on the research she’d asked him to do since she’d put him on desk duty for forty-eight hours pending blood tests.

Sheriff-

Here are the background checks you’d asked for this morning. Still waiting on military records on Nichols. There’s nothing on Fiona O’Donnell, and I contacted ICE for immigration status, but haven’t heard back. A few things seemed odd to me and I flagged the files. The Doc cleared me for duty this afternoon, so I’ll be back graveyard shift Sunday.

— Dep. Jorgenson

She’d almost forgot about the slough of background checks she’d asked Jorgenson to do. She hadn’t expected them until Monday. She’d run them on each of the dead, plus Pennington, Walker, Fiona O’Donnell, Rafe’s doctor Richard Bertram, and Andy Rucker, the husband of the woman who he claimed pushed a pregnant woman down the stairs. The victim was in the hospital under full bed rest after her doctors stopped premature labor.

He had all the reports here, with a note on each file indicating what was missing. He’d flagged Matthew Walker’s report.

She frowned. She’d put his name in this morning, but after talking to him she didn’t have any red flags and wouldn’t have looked at it tonight-considering everything that was going on-had Jorgenson not flagged it.

She flipped it open and skimmed the summary. Frowning, she flipped pages. This couldn’t be right … she picked up the phone and called Jorgenson. “Hey, are you certain you have the right Matthew Walker?”

“Yep, I triple-checked when you mentioned the sick mother. It’s the same Matthew Walker who was the pastor of Good Shepherd. You’d think the church or whatever would have done their own background check, ’cause I sure wouldn’t want to be hearing about God from some pervert ex-con.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I appreciate how fast you got this to me.”

“Anything. And I want you to know,” he cleared his throat, “you got my support this June.”

“I appreciate that, too.” She hung up and stared at the file, shaking her head.

Matthew Walker was a well-versed liar. He had gone to Bethany Bible College with Vance Lamb, just as Mrs. Lamb said. He then moved to Sacramento, where he was the associate minister for a large church. He’d been accused of rape, but the charges didn’t stick when the victim recanted her statement. Jorgenson made a note that he was checking with neighboring states, but included a verbal conversation with a detective in Portland, Oregon, that he’d recorded and transcribed:

Walker is slick. He started this storefront church downtown, had a huge congregation after two years. Said he was Christian, but it was generic as anything. All feel-good crap. Got real chummy with Edith Lyttle, an eccentric woman with millions in the bank. Edith changed her will, left all the money to his church, and then two months later died. I had the coroner autopsy the body twice, but he swore it was a heart attack. No drugs, no violence, nothing. But damn, I’m a 22-year veteran and my gut told me that Walker killed her. Left Portland when his mother got sick. Funny coincidence, that happened right after I exposed the jerk for those rape accusations you mentioned. Said I had slandered him, destroyed his ministry. He’s good. Yeah, left Portland with Edith Lyttle’s three million dollars.

That was four years ago. Jorgenson found nothing on him-other than that he had a California state driver’s license issued in San Francisco-until he opened Good Shepherd two years ago.

But the kicker? Jorgenson had found Georgia Walker’s obituary-dated nine years ago …

…. widow of Judge Neil Walker, survived by a sister, Corinne Davies of Portland, Oregon and a son, Reverend Matthew Walker, of Austin, Texas.

Walker had no dying mother-his mother was already dead. Then why did he leave Santa Louisa? Why the elaborate lies?

The man had lied to Skye, and she smelled blood. She’d bet her badge that he knew Garrett Pennington, his replacement at Good Shepherd. Whether the Lambs were involved, she didn’t know, but she would before the weekend was over.

She called Jorgenson. “If you come in this weekend, you get overtime. I want a complete background check on Matthew Walker. I want every church he worked at, every article he’s quoted in, a birth certificate, his mother’s death certificate, where he was born, who his next-door neighbor was growing up. Call every cop who suspected him of a crime. He is trouble with a capital T.”

“I’m on it, Sheriff.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up, then looked at Walker’s mother’s obituary again.

Sister to Corinne Davies.

Corinne Davies, the cook who poisoned the priests at the mission. No mention of Lisa Davies, her daughter, who’d also worked at the mission.

Skye called Anthony to tell him, but he didn’t answer his phone.

Shit, shit, shit.

She ran to the desk sergeant. “I need four patrols, two to go to Good Shepherd and two to go to the cliffs where Abby Weatherby died.”

“We have no one. Everyone is out on a call. Day shift is working overtime.”

“You have no one?”

He shook his head. “I’ll prioritize it for you: send the first out to Good Shepherd?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m headed to Good Shepherd now.” She walked out, then walked back in. “Hey, do we have a patrol at Rittenhouse?”

He looked at the sheet. “Yeah, Tom Young is working that beat. He’s checking the site every hour. Worried about kids vandalizing the place or something?”

She nodded. “Exactly.” Or something.

Skye ran back to her car and prayed that nothing had gone wrong with Anthony. Or Moira.

THIRTY-SEVEN

What’s worth the price is always worth the fight

Every second counts ’cause there’s no second try

— NICKELBACK, “If Today Was Your Last Day”

Anthony stood in the basement of Good Shepherd. There was no one here, unconscious or otherwise, though the place was a complete mess.

Father Philip crossed himself when he stepped down into the basement. He looked around, fear in his eyes, then started back up the stairs. “This room is a nest of slithering snakes, full of darkness. There are many demons here, waiting for release. We must leave immediately.”

“I didn’t know this was down here,” Lily said. “It’s spooky. I’m scared.”

Father took her hand and squeezed. “So am I, dear.”

Anthony didn’t like the place either, though he didn’t sense the same evil that Father did. It was what he saw that disturbed him-the altar, the destruction, the unusually dark blood in the corner. He shook his head. “What they must have been doing-I haven’t seen magic this evil in a long time.”

“Let’s find the box and leave, Anthony. Moira needs our help.”

When Lily came to at Father Isaac’s church, she had been borderline hysterical. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so deeply terrified of the photo of the sigil carved into the box. She said nervously, “Do we have to take the box?”

“Yes,” Father said. “We must destroy it.”

They left the basement and Anthony tried the door to Pennington’s apartment. Unlocked. “Be careful,” he said. He listened for movement, breathing, any sign that someone was waiting for them upstairs. He proceeded cautiously, quickly searching the apartment with Father and Lily in tow. It was empty.