Paxton sputtered something, but Jeremy was out of the car. Some things never changed. His uncle’s first love was his job, and his mother’s first love was… Well, he’d rather not say what that was. He broke into a trot as he headed toward the far side of the school. He needed to ditch his uncle if he hoped to ditch school.
“Jeremy!” a voice called from the quad.
He looked around to find his best friend walking toward him. “Evan! What are you doing out of class?”
His friend shoved his glasses up on his nose. “Mom had to drop off my history paper.” Evan indicated a car pulling out. “Was that your uncle?”
“Yep. Get used to seeing his taillights.”
Evan frowned, as if not quite sure how to take Jeremy’s words. Jeremy shrugged it off. If Uncle Pax wouldn’t bother to stick around, then why should Jeremy?
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough of this place.” He turned to Evan. “Let’s head over to the pool hall.
“Are you … are you kidding?” Evan gasped, looking ready for his inhaler.
“Of course not! The guy watching the door owes me a favor. We can get in for free.”
Evan’s eyes darted from Jeremy to his mother’s car disappearing down the street. “I don’t know. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”
“Well then, let’s get some fun in before we have to make the funeral arrangements!”
Evan only frowned, clutching his history paper to his chest. “But she drove all the way here so my assignment would be on time.”
Jeremy wasn’t going to let a stupid paper on Napoleon get in the way of what he was certain would be the best day of his life. “It’s what, the end of second period, right? And your paper is due fifth period, right?”
His best friend nodded slowly.
“Then we’ve got two periods of unbridled fun!” Jeremy began walking backward, then broke out into a trot. “Are you going to seize the day, or what?”
Evan’s face scrunched up, and he chewed his lip. “Well, they were just going to show a movie in English class.”
“And you have free period after that. The librarian never calls roll. We gotta live the life that Diana Dahmer says is going to slip through our fingers before we know it.”
Finally, Evan’s face broke out into a smile as he ran to catch up. “Just this once!”
Jeremy whooped, but not too loud.
You never knew where Sister Switzler was.
* * *
At a stoplight, Paxton dug around under his seat. There had to be something there. His fingers rustled up against plastic. With his face plastered against the steering wheel and his shoulder nearly dislocated, he finally grabbed hold of the edge of the package.
Victorious, he pulled out… an empty cupcake wrapper. Worse, it was completely empty. At some other desperate point he had licked it clean of crumbs. Life really was cutting him no breaks today.
He was about to take another try at the “under the seat” food lottery, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. Paxton glanced at the caller ID. Ruth. Crap.
Sliding his finger across the screen, he answered it, hoping she didn’t hear the car noises. “Hey, partner.”
God. Did he always sound so lame?
“How is the canvas going?” she asked.
Paxton cringed. All hopes that he was going to get out of this unscathed vanished. However, maybe he could limit the damage. “Not bad. Heading back to the station now.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Um…” Paxton glanced around. How did she know? Then behind him came the blast of a siren. He looked in the rearview mirror. The car behind him had mini red and blue lights flashing. Which would make it Ruth’s car.
“Yeah, sorry. I had to get Jeremy to school again.”
“Well, I’m the last person to bust your chops for kid problems.” Paxton watched Ruth tilt her head to the right. “Take this corner, go three blocks, hang a left, and then pull up to the third store.”
“Oh, a secret rendezvous?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Other guys could get away with playful banter. But Paxton? Today? Not very likely.
In the rearview mirror he could see Ruth frown. “Just drive.”
Feeling about as old as the nephew he just dropped off, Paxton slipped his phone back into his pocket. He turned his blinker on, but didn’t bother to check his blind spot until a honk sounded. Slamming on the brakes, he barely missed hitting a car in the right-turn lane. Ruth had saved him again.
Seriously, though, if he didn’t get some caffeine and sugar soon, he was going to do a lot worse than a fender bender. Much more carefully this time, Paxton checked his mirrors and his blind spot before turning right. He followed Ruth’s directions to the letter and pulled up at the curb.
Not exactly how he expected Ruth and their first secret liaison to go… Paxton caught himself. What was with him today? The damned ME must have infected him with sheer stupidity. Ruth was so far out of his league that… Well, let’s just say that Ruth probably didn’t get her breakfast from under her car seat.
His partner was all business as she got out of the car. He tried to keep the junk dispersal to a bare minimum as he joined her. Of course, he caught that cupcake wrapper under his shoe. Paxton tried to casually scrape it off on the curb, but only accomplished tripping instead.
Ruth’s eyebrow went up as she started to brief him. “So, your canvas,” Ruth said, making air quotes, “turned up a guy who had been hanging around Father Gonzales all week.”
With a few taps she brought a rap sheet up onto her phone’s screen. Damn, she was good. Paxton was just glad he had figured out how to answer his. It had been slightly awkward for the first two weeks that he had his phone. He had to let everything roll into voice mail since he couldn’t figure out the “answer” function. Ruth, however, practically had a multimedia experience going on.
“He is a recently released mental patient, Darby Fenkelhoffer.”
“Besides the name,” Paxton said as Ruth showed him a picture of their possible perp. The guy had a shaved head, scar over his left cheek, and that I-belong-in-an-asylum look in his eye, “and his looks, what makes him our guy?”
Ruth switched back to the rap sheet and enlarged it. “He’s got some pretty significant violent tendencies, with multiple arrests.”
“Still, in this part of town, I doubt that we could throw a stick around here without hitting half a dozen perps matching that description.”
“Ah, but ones with such a fascination for crosses?” Ruth said as she pulled up a picture of Darby’s cell. Every inch of the walls, ceiling, and even the floor, were covered in drawings of the cross. Many were in the upside down orientation.
“The pope would be jealous,” Paxton commented, as he looked over to find that they stood in front of a “Christ’s Gift,” religious bookstore. “So we think he might be here?”
Ruth shrugged. “A patrol car went by Darby’s halfway house and found several receipts from a variety of bookstores. This one just happened to be the closest.”
Paxton headed toward the entrance. “Good enough for me.”
But Ruth did not join him. Instead, a playful grin tugged at the edge of her lips. “Don’t you want to know what else they found in Darby’s bathroom sink?”
“Not just a used toothbrush, I take it.”
“No. There were copious amounts of blood in the sink’s drain. Human blood.”
As she joined him, she popped the safety strap off her gun holster.
Paxton did the same. You could never be too careful with knife-wielding, mentally ill serial killers.
* * *
Cecilia stepped out of the way of her nearly stampeding classmates. Where did any of them have to go, except to third period? Helen caught her arm, though, and dragged her into the hallway.
“What did Father Fiefer eat for breakfast this morning?” The redhead gagged. “They can bottle it and use it for crowd control.”
As France
sca joined them, Cecilia looked out over the sea of blue, black, and white uniforms. “Have either of you seen Jeremy around?”
“No,” Helen replied. “But when do we ever?
Francesca shrugged as well. “He’s way too cool to hang with us now.”
Still, Cecilia searched the hallway. He should be heading to his math class, which was right across the hallway. Did something happen during his social studies class? She had reminded him three times to remember his book, but then she found her mom in the bathroom and had to give Jeremy the bum’s rush out the door. Maybe if Cecilia explained it was her fault that he didn’t have his book, Sister Morgan would go easy on him.
The other two girls continued toward the gym, but Cecilia turned in the other direction. “You guys go ahead.”
Helen frowned. “What do you mean? We’ve got PE.”
“I know, but I’ve really got to find Jeremy. Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
As her two best friends headed out to gossip and generally have fun, Cecilia searched the crowded quad for Jeremy. Where the heck was he? She dreaded answering that question. How many times could he miss school and avoid a suspension? Then what? The last thing her younger brother needed was time on his hands.
As the seconds ticked by, the crowd began to thin. No Jeremy. Cecilia rushed over to Building A, the social sciences wing, and made her way to Sister Morgan’s room. The older nun was carefully going through assignments.
No Jeremy.
Cecilia’s heart sank. If Sister Morgan didn’t hold him over, where was he?
Just as she exited the building, the warning bell rang. Across the quad, Sister Switzler knitted her very bushy eyebrows together tightly enough to make a Neanderthal proud. Cecilia tucked her head down and made for the gym.
If Switzler was on the prowl, she definitely didn’t have Jeremy, either. And if Sister Morgan did not keep him for detention, that meant only one thing. He had skipped school. Again.
She should have just left her mom sprawled out in the shower. Except for the fact that they could barely afford their water bill now, let alone after a day’s worth of “showering.” Cecilia put her hand out to open the gym door, when another hand covered hers. She had been so deep in the shame and blame game that she hadn’t even noticed John coming up from the breezeway.
“Just the girl I was looking for,” John announced, nearly caressing her hand.
Cecilia pulled her hand out from under his. “I’m late.”
“Don’t worry,” the wide-shouldered defensive lineman shrugged. “I’ll talk to Coach if he gives you any hassle.”
“I’d rather not get any hassle, whether you talk to him or not,” Cecilia answered as she tried to walk around John, but he blocked her way.
“How about you go out with the guys and me tonight?”
“You and the guys? Yeah, great way to make a girl feel special,” Cecilia retorted, but knew it was a mistake.
“Oh, I can make you feel special.”
Before John could lean any farther into her, Cecilia ducked out of the way.
“Thanks, but no.”
John’s stance stiffened as his hands balled up into fists. He did it so frequently that Cecilia didn’t even think that the guy realized he was doing it.
“I don’t like the word, ‘no.’ ”
Cecilia really needed to get around the football player without making a scene. “Sorry, then. How about ‘Gosh, not really’? ”
John slammed his hand into the brick wall. Cecilia jumped back a step, pulling her binders closer to her chest.
“I don’t like anything negative in my life, ” John said.
Mad at herself for letting John’s show of aggression get to her, Cecilia shrugged. “Wow. You must be disappointed a lot, then.”
Rage passed over John’s face, contorting his features into a crumpled mask. His cheeks blotched red as he breathed through his teeth. Sure, John was known for his temper and had done his fair share of locker-room trashing after losing a game, but Cecilia had never seen him like this. He didn’t even seem to recognize her as a person anymore. She felt more like a target. Was it some kind of ’roid rage? He looked ready to hit her as hard as he had just hit that wall.
Cecilia wasn’t sure what to do. She glanced over her shoulder, but Switzler had already gone back into her office.
“I’ll show you disappointment,” John growled.
“Hey,” a new voice said. “This mama’s boy giving you trouble?”
Cecilia turned to find Michael walking up to them. He seemed casual—except for the baseball bat in his hand. She could nearly see the wheels turning in John’s head. He clearly wanted someone or something to vent his rage upon, but the way Michael twirled the baseball bat in his hand gave the distinct impression that he knew how to use it. Cecilia had never been happier for their national pastime.
Regaining her composure, Cecilia answered, “No, Michael, not at all.”
Even though she could feel the red-hot anger radiating from John, Cecilia walked past him toward the gym door. He didn’t move. The jock just glared at that baseball bat.
Michael, however, seemed oblivious to John’s balled-up rage. His smile was warm as he asked her, “Walk you to class?”
“No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”
But as she entered the gym, with her hands shaking and her breath coming in starts, Cecilia wasn’t quite sure how true that was.
* * *
Ruth pushed yet another cross away from her face. They were on display. They were on stands. They were even hanging from the ceiling. She could see why Darby liked the place.
“Is this where all crosses come to die?” Paxton asked as he finished checking the last of the aisles.
“My ex was a theologist, and even we didn’t have this many crosses,” Ruth said as she joined her partner.
“Hello?” she called out, but again no answer.
Something was off. Even though the sign said, “Open,” and the front door was locked, the store appeared deserted. And in her line of work if something looked off, it usually was off.
A loud crash came from the back of the store. Paxton’s gun was out and up faster than Ruth could track it. She too drew her weapon as, step by step, they made their way to the storeroom door.
Paxton set up to enter the storeroom. He was all attention and focus. Gone was the man who stumbled out of his car with half a wrapper stuck to his shoe. Ruth knew the scuttlebutt around the bull pen. How Paxton was past his prime. The half-cop, half-bum jokes. But when it counted, like right now with a possible serial killer on the other side of the door, Paxton was the best she had ever seen.
He gave a nod and she jerked the door open. In a single swift move, Paxton was in the door, announcing their presence. “Police!”
She came in behind him, flanking his right. “Who’s there?”
The sight gave her pause.
“It’s like Cross-a-palooza.”
Ruth did not chide her partner—mainly because he was right. If the front of the store had been filled with crosses, this storeroom was crammed to the hilt. They were stacked everywhere.
That sound again. Paxton’s gun was back up. “Identify yourself.”
A figure came from the back of the storeroom. A curtain separated them, so it was hard to tell, but the person seemed to be carrying something over his shoulder. The closer the figure came, the more it became clear that it wasn’t just “something” over his shoulder, but a body. And were those bloodstains?
Paxton must have already come to the same conclusion as he took a step forward. “Stop right there! Hands up!”
Instead, the figure moved off to the right, making his way toward Ruth.
“Halt!”
She couldn’t see the figure’s face, since the body was hiding his features. All she knew was that he was not halting. Then he sped up, lurching toward her.
“Police! Last warning!”
Her finger tensed on the trigger as he advanced. She ha
d seen what this guy did to a priest. Ruth could only imagine what he would do to them. Luckily, she had a Glock 9mm. Each step he moved forward, the closer she was to using it.
Please stop, she pleaded in her mind. Please don’t make me shoot.
But he just kept coming.
Suddenly, the figure swung toward her. This was it.
Her hand tensed, ready to fire, but Paxton called out, “Don’t!”
Still, she almost did, and then Ruth saw the raw fear in the man’s face as he let out a high-pitched scream and fell to the floor. The object he was carrying crashed down, fracturing into a dozen pieces. A hand rolled to her feet.
That wasn’t a body on his shoulder—it was a statue. And from the stigmata on the palm, a statue of Christ.
The man caught sight of the badge on Ruth’s belt, and rapidly began signing.
“He’s deaf,” Paxton said, as he gently pushed on her hands. She didn’t even realize that she was still aiming at the poor man, who was doing nothing more illegal than carrying a statue of Jesus.
“Oh, God! I almost… I almost…” Ruth couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.
“But you didn’t, Ruth.” Paxton squeezed her wrist as her arm trembled. “You didn’t.”
How close she had come, though. Too close.
It was so easy to link unrelated facts together. A serial killer on the loose. A deserted bookstore. A man who couldn’t respond. To think that she could have added all of those things together—and shot an unarmed man because of them.
Paxton kept his hand on hers as he called the station. Usually she would have shrugged off the intimacy, but she feared how badly her arm would shake if he weren’t holding it still. Vaguely, she heard Paxton request a sign language interpreter as she stared down at the statue’s bloody hand.
How close she had come to having blood on hers as well.
CHAPTER 3
Cecilia sighed in relief as she left trig class. The day was finally over. And not a single sighting of Jeremy. She barely heard her friends chattering beside her. As they made their way to the parking lot, several radios blared that stupid KMNY concert contest.
Down & Dirty: A McCray Crime Collection Page 4