Ransom

by Julie Garwood

  The scent of Calvin Klein’s Obsession came floating through the grille that separated them. It had a distinctive, heavy, sweet fragrance Tom recognized because his housekeeper in Rome had given him a bottle of the cologne on his last birthday. A little of the stuff went a long way, and the penitent had gone overboard. The confessional reeked. The scent, combined with the smell of mildew and sweat, made Tom feel as though he were trying to breathe through a plastic bag. His stomach lurched and he forced himself not to gag.

  “Are you there, Father?”

  “I’m here,” Tom whispered. “When you’re ready to confess your sins, you may begin.”

  “This is . . . difficult for me. My last confession was a year ago. I wasn’t given absolution then. Will you absolve me now?”

  There was an odd, singsong quality to the voice and a mocking tone that put Tom on his guard. Was the stranger simply nervous because it had been such a long time since his last confession, or was he being deliberately irreverent?

  “You weren’t given absolution?”

  “No, I wasn’t, Father. I angered the priest. I’ll make you angry too. What I have to confess will . . . shock you. Then you’ll become angry like the other priest.”

  “Nothing you say will shock or anger me,” Tom assured him.

  “You’ve heard it all before? Is that it, Father?”

  Before Tom could answer, the penitent whispered, “Hate the sin, not the sinner.”

  The mocking had intensified. Tom stiffened. “Would you like to begin?”

  “Yes,” the stranger replied. “Bless me, Father, for I will sin.”

  Confused by what he’d heard, Tom leaned closer to the grille and asked the man to start over.

  “Bless me, Father, for I will sin.”

  “You want to confess a sin you’re going to commit?”

  “I do.”

  “Is this some sort of a game or a—”

  “No, no, not a game,” the man said. “I’m deadly serious. Are you getting angry yet?”

  A burst of laughter, as jarring as the sound of gunfire in the middle of the night, shot through the grille.

  Tom was careful to keep his voice neutral when he answered. “No, I’m not angry, but I am confused. Surely you realize you can’t be given absolution for sins you’re contemplating. Forgiveness is for those who have realized their mistakes and are truly contrite. They’re willing to make restitution for their sins.”

  “Ah, but Father, you don’t know what the sins are yet. How can you deny me absolution?”

  “Naming the sins doesn’t change anything.”

  “Oh, but it does. A year ago I told another priest exactly what I was going to do, but he didn’t believe me until it was too late. Don’t make the same mistake.”

  “How do you know the priest didn’t believe you?”

  “He didn’t try to stop me. That’s how I know.”

  “How long have you been a Catholic?”

  “All my life.”

  “Then you know that a priest cannot acknowledge the sin or the sinner outside of the confessional. The seal of silence is sacred. Exactly how could this other priest have stopped you?”

  “He could have found a way. I was . . . practicing then, and I was cautious. It would have been very easy for him to stop me, so it’s his fault, not mine. It won’t be easy now.”

  Tom was desperately trying to make sense out of what the man was saying. Practice? Practice what? And what was the sin the priest could have prevented?

  “I thought I could control it.”

  “Control what?”

  “The craving.”

  “What was the sin you confessed?”

  “Her name was Millicent. A nice, old-fashioned name, don’t you think? Her friends called her Millie, but I didn’t. I much preferred Millicent. Of course, I wasn’t what you would call a friend.”

  Another burst of laughter pierced the dead air. Tom’s forehead was beaded with perspiration, but he suddenly felt cold. This wasn’t a prankster. He dreaded what he was going to hear, yet he was compelled to ask.

  “What happened to Millicent?”

  “I broke her heart.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” the man demanded, his impatience clear now. “I killed her. It was messy; there was blood everywhere, all over me. I was terribly inexperienced back then. I hadn’t perfected my technique. When I went to confession, I hadn’t killed her yet. I was still in the planning stage and the priest could have stopped me, but he didn’t. I told him what I was going to do.”

  “Tell me, how could he have stopped you?”

  “Prayer,” he answered, a shrug in his voice. “I told him to pray for me, but he didn’t pray hard enough, now did he? I still killed her. It’s a pity, really. She was such a pretty little thing . . . much prettier than the others.”

  Dear God, there were other women? How many others? “How many crimes have you—”

  The stranger interrupted him. “Sins, Father. I committed sins, but I might have been able to resist if the priest had helped me. He wouldn’t give me what I needed.”

  “What did you need?”

  “Absolution and acceptance. I was denied both.”

  The stranger suddenly slammed his fist into the grille. Rage that must have been simmering just below the surface erupted full force as he spewed out in grotesque detail exactly what he had done to poor, innocent Millicent.

  Tom was overwhelmed and sickened by the horror of it all. Dear God, what should he do? He had boasted he wouldn’t be shocked or angered, but nothing could have prepared him for the atrocities the stranger took such delight in describing. Hate the sin, not the sinner.

  “I’ve gotten a real taste for it,” the madman whispered.

  “How many other women have you killed?”

  “Millicent was the first. There were other infatuations, and when they disappointed me, I had to hurt them, but I didn’t kill any of them. After I met Millicent, everything changed. I watched her for a long time and everything about her was . . . perfect.” His voice turned into a snarl as he continued. “But she betrayed me, just like the others. She thought she could play her little games with other men and I wouldn’t notice. I couldn’t let her torment me that way. I wouldn’t,” he corrected himself. “I had to punish her.”

  He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh and then chuckled. “I killed the little bitch twelve months ago and I buried her deep, real deep. No one’s ever going to find her. There’s no going back now. No siree. I had no idea how thrilling the kill was going to be. I made Millicent beg for mercy, and she did. By God, she did,” he said as he laughed. “She screamed like a pig, and oh, how I loved the sound. I got so excited, more excited than I could ever have imagined was possible, and so I had to make her scream more, didn’t I? When I was finished with her, I was bursting with joy. Well, Father, aren’t you going to ask me if I’m sorry for my sins?” he taunted.

  “No, you aren’t contrite.”

  A suffocating silence filled the confessional. And then, in a serpent’s hiss, the voice returned.

  “The craving’s come back.”

  Goosebumps covered Tom’s arms. “There are people who can—”

  “Do you think I should be locked away? I only punish those who hurt me. So, you see, I’m not culpable. But you think I’m sick, don’t you? We’re in confession, Father. You have to tell the truth.”

  “Yes, I think you’re ill.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m just dedicated.”

  “There are people who can help you.”

  “I’m brilliant, you know. It won’t be easy to stop me. I study my clients before I take them on. I know everything about their families and their friends. Everything. Yes, it’s going to be much harder to stop me now, but this time I’ve decided to make it more difficult for myself. Do you see? I don’t want to sin. I really don’t.” The singsong voice was back.

  “Listen to me, “Tom p
leaded. “Step outside the confessional with me and we’ll sit down together and talk this through. I want to help you, if you’ll only let me.”

  “No, I needed help before and I was denied, remember? Give me absolution.”

  “I will not.”

  The sigh was long and drawn out. “Very well,” he said. “I’m changing the rules this time. You have my permission to tell anyone you want to tell. Do you see how accommodating I can be?”

  “It doesn’t matter if you give me permission to tell or not; this conversation will remain confidential. The seal of silence must be maintained to protect the integrity of the confessional.”

  “No matter what I confess?”

  “No matter what.”

  “I demand that you tell.”

  “Demand all you want, but it won’t make any difference. I cannot tell anyone what you have said to me. I won’t.”

  A moment of silence passed and then the stranger began to chuckle. “A priest with scruples. How extraordinary. Hmmm. What a quandary. But don’t you fret, Father. I’m ten steps ahead of you. Yes sirree.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’ve taken on a new client.”

  “You’ve already chosen your next—”

  The madman cut him off. “I’ve already notified the authorities. They’ll get my letter soon. Of course, that was before I knew you were going to be such a stickler for the rules. Still, it was considerate of me, wasn’t it? I sent them a polite little note explaining my intentions. Pity I forgot to sign it.”

  “Did you give them the name of the person you intend to harm?”

  “Harm? What a quaint word that is for murder. Yes, I named her.”

  “Another woman, then?” Tom’s voice broke on the question.

  “I only take women on as clients.”

  “Did you explain in this note your reason for wanting to kill this woman?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you explain it to me?”

  “Practice, Father.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” he said. “This one’s even more special than Millicent. I wrap myself in her fragrance, and I love to watch her sleep. She’s so beautiful. Ask me, and after I’ve given you her name, you can forgive me.”

  “I will not give you absolution.”

  “How’s the chemotherapy going? Are you feeling sick? Did you get a good report?”

  Tom’s head snapped up. “What?” he demanded in a near shout.

  The madman laughed. “I told you I study my clients before I take them on. You could say I stalk them,” he whispered.

  “How did you know—”

  “Oh, Tommy, you’ve been such a sport. Haven’t you wondered why I followed you all this way just to confess my sins to you? Think about it on your way back to the abbey. I’ve done my homework, haven’t I?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Why, I’m a heartbreaker. And I do so love a challenge. Make this one difficult for me. The police will come here soon to talk to you, and then you’ll be able to tell anyone you want,” he mocked. “I know who you’ll call first. Your hotshot friend at the FBI. You’ll call Nick, won’t you? I sure hope you will. And he’ll come running to help. You’d better tell him to take her away and hide her from me. I might not follow, and I’ll start looking for someone else. At least I’ll try.”

  “How do you know—”

  “Ask me.”

  “Ask you what?

  “Her name,” the madman whispered. “Ask me who my client is.”

  “I urge you to get help,” Tom began again. “What you’re doing—”

  “Ask me. Ask me. Ask me.”

  Tom closed his eyes. “Yes. Who is she?”

  “She’s lovely,” he answered. “Such beautiful full breasts and long, dark hair. There isn’t a mark on her perfect body, and her face is like an angel’s, so exquisite in every way. She’s . . . breathtaking . . . but I plan to take her breath away.”

  “Tell me her name,” Tom demanded, praying to God there was time to get to the poor woman to protect her.

  “Laurant,” the serpent whispered. “Her name is Laurant.”

  Panic hit Tom like a fist. “My Laurant?”

  “That’s right. Now you’re getting it, Father. I’m going to kill your sister.”

  Look for

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

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  Copyright © 1999 by Julie Garwood

  Originally published in hardcover in 1999 by Pocket Books

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN: 0-671-00336-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-3883-0 (eBook)

  First Pocket Books paperback printing November 1999

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Cover and tip-in illustrations by Brian Bailey