by C. J. Kyle
Then . . . both men disappeared from the screen.
Chapter 41
Wednesday
EVERYTHING THEY’D COLLECTED from Anatole’s home and St. Catherine’s had been brought to the evidence room. Andy stood by the tech guy going over the computer, locating files, as they had been since noon. No one had expected finding connections to their case would be easy, but hell, someone had been going through this information, nonstop since it had been collected. So far, they hadn’t found a single piece of evidence associated with any of the murdered men.
On top of that, when patrol had arrived at Simon’s house, they’d found it up in flames. It had taken the rest of last night for the fire department to finish putting it out. There’d been no sign of anyone inside, but Tucker wasn’t surprised by that. What better way to hide evidence than to burn it to the ground?
Tucker grabbed his hat and coat and darted out the door. Maybe Finn was having better luck getting answers from the doc. Instead of calling, he made the short trip over to the coroner’s office.
“Tell me you were able to prove paternity from that blood,” he said by way of greeting as he entered the lab.
Sam stepped away from the microscope—and from Finn—her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. “I was going to check for results one more time before closing up shop, sorry. I got . . . distracted.” She smiled shyly at Finn. Tucker had never seen the woman have a shy moment in all the time he’d known her. He didn’t much care for it.
So much for her being able to handle herself with Finn.
“I’ll bet,” he grumbled.
“I can do it now.” Obviously flustered, she hustled to the other side of the lab.
Tucker raised an eyebrow when she was out of earshot. “Is this really the time for you to be chasing your next conquest?”
“You got time for your girl?”
“My girl isn’t getting distracted from getting my test results back because you’re stuck to her face.”
“Touché.” Finn grinned, sat on the swivel stool beside the microscope, and spun it like a six-year-old child. “Gotta get my kicks somewhere though, and Doc . . . tastes like honeysuckle.”
Tucker groaned and left Finn to join Sam at the computer. She looked up at him from over her glasses, her cheeks still pink. “Both donors are in the system from the blood drive we held in November.”
“Yeah?”
“So I compared their blood to see if they shared any markers.”
Adrenaline sent a little vibration through his veins. “And?”
“Um . . .” Sam typed quietly, her face scrunched in concentration. “Sec.”
Tucker checked his watch. He was starving, and he wanted to check on Miranda since he hadn’t talked to her since breakfast. He’d picked up a temporary, disposable phone for her to use until her iPhone could come out of evidence, and he’d left her in Lisa’s care. None of that stopped him from worrying.
“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, cursing her slow connection. She shook the mouse to make sure it hadn’t locked up, then hit the side of the machine. “Finally.” She paused and looked up at Tucker. “Peter Anatole shares markers with Simon.”
“So the priest is Simon’s father?”
“All this test tells me is that they’re definitely related. Father, uncle, or brother.”
“You can’t narrow it down any more than that?”
“I’m running DNA from the priest’s house. If there’s anything left of Simon’s, bring it to me and I’ll compare the sample, but that takes longer. Right now, this is all you have. Take it or wait weeks for more results.”
“We’ll take it.” Finn kissed her cheek and took the printout of her findings. “And I’ll let you know if I need a rain check on dinner.”
Sam glared but her grin ruined the effect she was going for. “Call me.”
“You’re going to call her, right?” Tucker asked as they left the building.
“If she’s off-limits, too, your warning’s come a bit late. Who knows, you might get lucky and I’ll take this one with me.”
That made Tucker laugh. Never-Play-It-Again Finn wasn’t about to settle down with a one-night stand. Or a steady, for that matter. It wasn’t his style.
Hell, it wasn’t exactly Tucker’s, either. At least it hadn’t been. But the thought of Miranda leaving when this case was over was eating a hole in his stomach.
TUCKER ARRIVED HOME with Finn to find a note on the counter from Miranda. She was at Lisa’s having dinner, and he should either pick her up or call when it was safe to return to his place so he could take over his shift of babysitting.
He could hear the sarcasm in the ink-stained Post-it memo.
“What are you doing?” he asked, watching Finn pull scattered file papers from the table, stacking them.
“Putting this shit away. I’m sick of looking at it.”
“Leave it. I want to go over it ag—”
“We have our guy, Tuck. Now we just have to find him. Nothing here is going to make that happen.”
“What else am I going to do? I have an hour before I’m back on the streets searching. I have three counties looking for these guys and no one’s coming up with anything. There has to be something in these damned files that will tell me where they are.”
Finn stopped shuffling and sat down. “You’re assuming Anatole is even still alive. He could have been killed this morning and Simon is probably already long gone. New look maybe, new name. Who the hell knows? If the job is finished, why stick around? He already burned down his own fucking house. Pretty sure that tells us he’s done here.”
That thought soured Tucker’s stomach. “Just leave the papers alone.”
He called Miranda, made sure she and Lisa were all right. He hated her being out there when they had no idea where Simon was. There was a good chance he’d want to make sure she was silenced before he left town. After all, Simon couldn’t know he’d just been discovered as a murderer by anyone else.
Hearing her voice on the other end of the line made him feel a little better, however. Knowing Finn was sticking close to home tonight helped, too. He promised to pick her up soon and hung up. “I’m going to take a shower, then go pick up Miranda. Help yourself to whatever’s not green in the fridge.”
As he walked from the room, he could feel Finn’s middle finger aiming at his back.
LISA’S EX HAD her kids for the night, so instead of coffee, she poured two glasses of wine and slid one across the Formica countertop to Miranda. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to change.” She maneuvered her small body around the counter and headed down the narrow hall off the living room, calling back over her shoulder, “Pick a movie to keep us entertained while we wait for Tuck to get here.”
Miranda knelt before the small entertainment stand and scanned the DVDs lined up on the shelf. She bypassed the horror, suspense, and murder mysteries, which left very little to choose from, but she wasn’t exactly in what’s-around-the-corner type of mood. “How ’bout The Proposal?”
Lisa didn’t answer. Miranda ventured back to the kitchen. She’d seen a bag of popcorn by the coffeemaker. Movie, popcorn, and wine. Not the best of combinations, but at least it would give her something to do while she waited for Lisa to return from the bedroom.
She tossed the bag in the microwave and hit the button, watching the bag swell as the kernels popped. As she grabbed a bowl from a dish drainer, a faint thump stopped Miranda cold.
“Lisa?” Going down the little hallway, she called out again. “Lisa, are you okay?”
A shuffling noise came from inside the bedroom. Miranda froze, her skin turning clammy. She reached for the knob. The door swung in. Lisa lay crumpled on the floor. Her blond hair tinted red with blood.
She sprinted across the room, falling to her knees. “Lisa?” She brushed the hair from the woman’s face, thankful to see the slight rise and fall of her chest.
She pressed her fingers to Lisa’s pulse, glancing over her shoulder, her heart
racing. She couldn’t see anyone. The room was fully lit but—
The door swung closed and a figure stepped from behind it, snatching Miranda by the hair before she could make it to her feet. A rag, covered in a potent, vile stench, covered her mouth. Breath warmed her ear as the figure leaned even closer, yanking her body into his chest.
“You should have minded your own business and kept your nose out of mine.”
Then, the room went black and Miranda’s body fell limp.
Chapter 42
TUCKER WAS JUST pulling out of his drive when Finn ran out of the house and jumped in the passenger seat. “Yeah, I checked your fridge. Nothing in there is dinner worthy. You can buy me a burger on our way back.”
Rolling his eyes, Tucker continued pulling onto the main road. His cell rang. It was Lisa. He answered on speakerphone so he could talk and drive.
“Hey Lis, tell Miranda I’m heading that wa—”
“T-Tucker?”
Lisa’s shaky voice raised every hair on his neck and arms. His blood ran cold. He looked to Finn, who was staring at the phone. “What is it?”
“Miranda . . . she’s gone. I—I’m in my car, but I’m not sure where I am, exactly—”
Tucker slammed on the brakes, swerving to the shoulder of Main Street.
“What the hell do you mean Miranda’s gone? What happened?” His chest squeezed painfully as he tried to catch his breath.
Tucker put the cruiser back into drive, waiting for Lisa to tell him which way to go, her voice difficult to hear over the pounding of blood in his ears.
“I was changing . . . we went back to my house like you said. Someone must have followed us, Tuck. S-something hit me. I blacked out. I didn’t see wh-what happened, but when I came to I saw him putting Miranda in a car. Looked like the gardener’s truck. I f-followed, but I’m afraid to use my headlights.”
“Look around you, Lis. What do you see? I need to know how to find you.”
“Wait! There’s a street sign . . . I’m on Manger Road, about three miles from my house. I— My head hurts, Tuck. I’m having problems concentrating, I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay, Lisa. Stay on the line, all right? I’m on my way.”
MIRANDA MOANED, HER head throbbing and her throat on fire as she slowly pried open her eyes. Where was she? The room smelled musty, and other than a ray of moonlight penetrating one single slat in the shutters, she couldn’t see a thing.
“Hello?” She strained to hear anything other than her own heartbeat, and brought a hand to her head. Whatever he’d knocked her out with had sucked all the moisture from her brain and had left her with one hell of a headache.
She tried to move to her knees and found herself immobile. Something tugged at her waist and as she felt for the source, a new wave of panic nearly drowned her. Rope. She was tied to something, something that wouldn’t budge as she tried to move forward.
She felt behind her, found a large pipe bolted to the wall, the rope around her waist figure-eighting around the pipe as well. But he’d left her hands free. Why? Surely she could untie—
“Try if you like, but unless your fingers have teeth to gnaw through it, you’re not going anywhere.” Someone knelt beside her, fiddled with the rope, gave it a hard yank. “I know my knots, Ms. Harley. Tell me, how is your brother?”
Miranda strained to see in the darkness. She wanted to scream, to fight, to claw the bastard’s eyes out. She swallowed to coat her throat.
The figure moved away. Miranda strained against the ropes, searching for the knots holding her against the pipe. Pain shot down her arm as she twisted her wrist. The knot was right there . . .
A deep, pain-filled moan came from across the room. Her blood chilled. There was someone else in the corner. She couldn’t make out anything more than a shrouded shape moving in the shadows.
“I bow to you, Father, and seek your guidance. I am your willing servant, here to do your glorious work. Help me, Father. Help me to understand what I am to do.”
The chanted prayer pulled Miranda’s attention from whoever had moaned. She twisted her neck, her bones popping loudly in the otherwise silent room. A flame flickered to life and fell upon two candles near the window. Finally, she could see, at least a bit. Near the candles, a man knelt before an altar. The wood, warped with age, caused the candles to lean precariously.
“Why am I here? You could let me go. I haven’t seen your face—”
“Shut! Up!” He turned, the candle flames glowing eerily behind him. “Don’t you think I’ve heard that before? Do you think it will make a difference coming from you?”
His body was backlit by the glow, casting his face in deeper shadow. But as he struck another match, a bright orange light gave her a full view. The blood in her veins ran cold as she realized who she was looking at.
She’d been right all along. It was Anatole.
Chapter 43
“YOU’RE NO BETTER than the pathetic, wretched sinners. And now look. You’re making me commit murder! Lower myself to sin against my God and take a life, your life, without the cause of a justifiable sin that God will condone. No. No. I cannot. Father, tell me what to do!”
Anatole’s last words were bellowed, his face tilted toward the ceiling. An uncontrollable tremor consumed Miranda. He wasn’t just a killer. He was fucking insane. Ranting to himself, to God?
Incoherent sentences poured from his mouth as he paced before the little homemade altar. She was in a house, she could see that now. An old, closed-up little cottage of some kind. Trapped with a madman and a . . . Another moan sounded from far across the room.
Anatole disappeared into the shadows again and after a lot of shuffling and panting, returned, hauling another figure behind him. He wasn’t limping. It was a pathetic detail to notice at a time like this, but the sight of him, strong and capable, refueled her anger and controlled her trembling. The asshole had been faking it all these years.
“You framed my brother,” she whispered. “He loved you and you set him up.”
Anatole turned on her, his face ugly and contorted in the candlelight. “You mean the man who tried to take my place? Who my son looked up to like a father? The greedy, money-loving brother? That’s who you refer to?”
He bent once again and lifted the other figure over his shoulder, stood, and placed him, with unexpected gentleness, on the altar.
Miranda worked the knot furiously, her skin raw and chafed.
“Like Abraham was tested by God, so have I been.” Anatole’s voice cracked, and she realized, startled, that he was crying. “I don’t know what to do, Father!”
Was that his son on the altar? She strained to see, but couldn’t. “Anatole, you’re confused and I can help—”
“My sin has been pride all these years. My own greed to keep my position in the church. I couldn’t tell them, could I? That my teenage sins had created a child I couldn’t keep? That I signed away my rights to him so I could join the church?
“I tried to make it right! I watched over him, took care of him in my own way, all these years. But who did he turn to? Your brother!” Anatole shot across the room and delivered a swift kick to Miranda’s ribs. Her head slammed into the pipe behind her, the ringing in her ears nearly as intense as the pain in her side.
Anatole returned to his pacing and odd rambling. “I give him to you, Father, if that is your wish. Please, tell me what to do.”
The burning in her sides made it difficult to breathe. She fought against the ropes, trying desperately to find the knot again.
“You, my son. All this has been for you. I waited . . . worked diligently to make certain I could find you a post here, with me. Prayed you loved me enough to join me again, and merciful God, you did. I had to wait. Had to have you here with me before I could finish God’s work. All of this, for you. My sin and my greatest love.” Anatole brushed the dark hair from the face of the man on the altar and cupped his chin. “Your sins will be cleansed. Your induction and blessing into the holy ord
ers will purify your soul. You will be able to sit at the right hand of God for all eternity.”
The last rite. Miranda swallowed back bile.
Anatole shifted; the candlelight flickered across the pale face of his son.
Simon.
TUCKER PULLED ONTO Manger Road. His tires slipped on the black ice, nearly sending them into the ditch. He couldn’t get Lisa’s panicked voice out of his head. He had to find her. Find Miranda. They had to be all right.
“You need to slow down,” Finn grumbled. “We’re not going to be any help to them if you kill us.”
“Try Lisa’s cell again,” Tucker snapped, slowing slightly to take the next turn. The call had dropped and even though they’d tried half a dozen times, they’d been unable to reach her since.
They crested a bend and his headlights illuminated a black Toyota, the nose wrapped around a large pine. Tucker slammed on the brakes, cursing when the squad car fishtailed across the road. He managed to regain control before heading into a cluster of trees, and threw the car into park.
“Lisa!” He ripped open the driver’s door. There was blood on the nylon detonated airbag and on the door. But no sign of his dispatcher.
“Over here,” Finn called.
Tucker followed the glow of the flashlight. “She’s okay?”
“Injured,” Finn pointed to the set of blood-dotted tracks in the snow. The gait was off, as if she’d been dragging one leg.
“Where the hell is she?” Tucker snatched his cell phone out of Finn’s hand and dialed Lisa’s number again.
“Tuck?”
He could barely hear her. “Where are you, Lisa? How badly are you hurt?”
“. . .’Kay . . . slid out of control . . . damned tree.”
Tucker gripped the phone tighter. “Where are you?”
“Followed on foot. Small cottage, end of the road.” He heard more shuffling, then she added, “I can see her through the window but no way to reach her without being seen.”
“Stay out of sight, Lis. I’m coming.”