Twist of Faith

by Ellen J Green

  “Get a warrant, Russell. I’ll get a judge to sign it. Search that house. I’m getting really afraid.”

  Russell’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “I’d love to, but are you prepared for that?”

  “For?”

  “Being questioned? Asked why you withheld evidence in a murder investigation? When you knew what you know?”

  Joanne crossed her arms. “It’s not about me and protecting myself. I’ll take what comes. But if she’s burning Ava’s things. Oh my God.” She put her face in her hands. “This is awful. Ava’s not coming back.”

  “It’s not about me protecting myself either. Not completely. I can go tonight and give them all the evidence I have. Burning a dress is not illegal. We don’t have anything else.” He held her eyes with his. “Are you willing to do whatever, for nothing, and lose everything?”

  She wiped her face. “Okay, so what now? What do we do?”

  “Ava’s not dead.” He said it strong and clear.

  “Then where is she?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I won’t believe she’s dead unless I see a body. She’s not dead. And I’m continuing with this until the end.”

  Joanne stood up. “I went over her phone. She’d been trying to call France for days. Like twenty times she called that number. It doesn’t look like anyone answered.”

  “Gotta be her grandmother. I wonder where she is?”

  “I’ll dial again. Maybe she was traveling.”

  Joanne picked up the phone and hit a button. The phone rang endlessly. She clicked the button and shrugged. “Not answering.” She shook the phone at Russell. “That nun is behind this. That’s what I think. Even if you don’t have a warrant, you need to go back and really give it to her.”

  “Can you rephrase that?”

  She half laughed. “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t perv on me. That’s where you need to start.”

  Russell finished his pizza and took his plate to the sink. “Thanks for dinner.” He turned and leaned against it. “Marie was nervous. Shaking like a death-row inmate. She could break.”

  “Leave it to a cop to use a death-row simile. What now?”

  He shook his head. “Find Ava. And question Jack Quinn.”

  “What happened that someone wants to off all of ’em? Something they saw? Something they did?”

  He was lost in thought. “Either one, maybe both. And it connects with Ava somehow. Where she came from.” He held a finger up in the air. “Give me two minutes. I’m going to my car.” He came back with manila envelopes under his arm. “Now I need your help.” He dropped them on her table. “Reports from the Saunders and Connelly deaths. I need you to pore over them for me. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Anything I can grab on to. I need to find the commonality. The murderer left something behind. It’s just nobody knew to look for it.”

  “While you do what, exactly?”

  He stood up. “Find Ava. I can’t handle all the angles at one time.”

  “How are you and your other little miss doing, by the way?”

  Russell smiled. “Her name is Juliette. And we’re doing. That’s all I can say.”

  “Yeah? I say ditch her. Or when they ask if anyone objects to your union? I’m going to take over that ceremony.”

  He laughed. “You assume you’re invited. Juliette doesn’t have you on the list.”

  “Tell her it doesn’t matter. I’ll track you down.”

  He reached out and hugged her. “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Come over. And bring either Ava in the flesh or that nun’s head on a platter.”

  CHAPTER 36

  He lay on his side, his face pressed into the matted green carpet. His breaths came slowly. His left arm no longer tingled. He could move but was afraid to. The desk chair was right in front of him. His eyes were less than five inches from the wood of the leg. He occupied his time by taking in every detail of the marred pine. The scrapes, the dings, the dirt. He’d cleaned the house in anticipation of leaving but didn’t think to scrub the legs of the desk chair. When he got up, he’d tend to it. He wanted the place pristine. No one coming after him. Looking for him.

  He also focused on the fact that someone had walked right where his head lay. Taken those photographs from the desk drawer and left the note. I’m coming for you. He thought with the Ava ordeal over, this part was done too. But of course it wasn’t. By revealing himself to Marie he’d only made himself an easier target.

  He rolled over on his back and took two deep breaths before pulling himself to a sitting position. He didn’t have the luxury of staying another night. Not after two break-ins so close together.

  He had a cousin in Torresdale. He’d go there for the night, get the rest of his money from the bank in the morning, and get a bus to South Carolina from the Greyhound station in Center City. He took the steps to the second floor carefully and lay down on his bed. The room was warm. He’d just changed the sheets. His eyes were heavy, his lids fluttering.

  When he opened them he saw Father Callahan standing over him. His close-set eyes only inches from his. “Wake up, Jack.”

  He jumped and scuttled into the corner. “What are you doing here?” His heart was pounding, his breaths labored. “How’d you find me?”

  “You know why I’m here. To talk about what happened. Years ago, with Ava.”

  He pressed against the wall, feeling a tingling in his left arm again. “You need to find Marie. Marie was the one who did it.”

  Father Callahan sat on the end of the bed. “You were the ringleader nineteen years ago. You destroyed nine lives. I counted. And now you’re at it again. How many more will there be before you stop?”

  “No. Loyal was the ringleader. And I didn’t kill Bill, Loyal, and Ross. It wasn’t me.”

  “Maybe not, but their lives were destroyed anyway, even before they died.”

  “I didn’t kill Ava.”

  “So it was all Marie? Is that what you’re saying? Don’t lie.”

  “It was Marie this time.”

  “What does the Bible say about liars, Jack?”

  He shook his head and said nothing.

  “A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish. Proverbs 19:9. We covered that in Sunday school, didn’t we?” He stood up and smiled. “I’m sure we did. Were you not paying attention?” He began to pace. “You always were lazy, so I’ll give you a pass on that one. Let’s try it again. Did you kill Ava?”

  Jack closed his eyes tight. Only the suggestion of light from the hallway came through his lids. “She’s dead. But it was Marie. Not me. Marie. I was going to strangle her but she threw up on my hands when I was putting them on her, so I stopped.” His voice had risen as if he were ten years old again, caught stealing a pencil from someone’s desk. “Marie finished it. I swear.”

  “Did you give her body a decent Christian funeral? A funeral at all?” His tone now was calm. Monotone. Jack knew this so well. Father Callahan always got like this just before he erupted. Before he’d scream or threaten or hit. Or something much, much worse. His tone always dropped. Became placid, like he was in control. Like everything was going to be okay. It was all a facade. A lie. The slap came across his face. He felt the sharpness against his cheek like he had so many years ago.

  “We put her body back in her car, in the back seat.” Jack began to whimper. Almost a cry. “She wasn’t breathing and she had no pulse.”

  The slap came again. Harder. “And what did Marie do with her? She was just a girl. Innocent, you know. She’d done nothing wrong. It was you four boys. What you did, that started this.” He poked him in the chest. It burned.

  “I know. But—”

  “Where. Is. Her. Body?” The words were a harsh staccato line.

  Jack was trembling. His left arm was no longer tingling. It was on fire straight up through his shoulder. His chest was heavy. Aching. “We drove her car to the Pine Barrens. A dirt road that cuts off of 72. We l
eft her in the car.” Spasms of pain shot through his chest. “Please help me.”

  Father Callahan watched. And then just shook his head. “No.” It was a whisper in his ear. “Not yet.”

  He opened his eyes. “Father, please? I’m sorry for everything. I was angry at you. But please don’t let me die.”

  But Father Callahan wasn’t with him. Just a shadow of his ghost remained. Jack was still lying on the green carpet in the living room. He’d only imagined he’d moved upstairs. His heart was failing, he knew his life was seeping from his bones. Delirium was setting in. Before he shut his eyes he saw a figure step forward, the light at their back. The figure leaned close to his face.

  “A man burdened with bloodshed will flee into a pit; let no one help him. Proverbs 28:17. Close your eyes now. You’ve done the work for me. It’s time to die, Jack.”

  He felt the breath on his face. Was it real? He was drenched in sweat. His heart drummed and then fluttered. He recognized the voice, knew the person, the killer, the killer of Bill, Loyal, Ross. And he finally understood why it happened. He was seeing what all of them saw just before they died. But it was impossible. Wasn’t it? He wanted to get up. To finally fight, but he didn’t have the strength. He closed his eyes and obeyed.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Steve and Karen are coming over in about forty-five minutes, so, you know, if you want to shower, shave, change, fix yourself up?”

  “Hmmm?” He’d been sitting for hours at his desk, just sorting details in his head. The blue outline of the hippo disintegrating in the flames. Evidence destroyed.

  Juliette had costumed herself for this dinner party, he noted. Black cocktail dress—formfitting but not tight, upswept hair, her grandmother’s diamond earrings, though she still held her stiletto pumps in her hand and chose to shuffle around in her Ugg slippers. It should have set off alarms for him to be on his best behavior. She’d hired a caterer, who had been banging pots in the kitchen for at least an hour, borrowed her mother’s china for the table setting. Flower arrangements as a centerpiece.

  “You’ve been in here all day, looking at those papers.” She clapped her hands two times. “Chop-chop, let’s get going. Get in the shower. Dr. Thomas is going to be here soon, and I want everything perfect.”

  Dr. Thomas was a prospective employer, that much he knew. A partner in a lucrative orthopedic practice at University of Pennsylvania, with offices all over South Jersey. But the fact that she was calling him Steve and his wife Karen meant that she didn’t have too much to worry about.

  “They’ve got an office in Chadds Ford. I’d love to live in Delaware County, wouldn’t you? Get out of New Jersey?”

  He took a breath and looked up from his papers. “I work in Camden, that’s a bit of a hike. And no matter which office you see patients in? You’re going to be taking call and operating in Philadelphia. You’ll spend your life in a traffic jam.”

  Her mouth turned down. “Do what I ask, please, Russell. Get a shower, dress in the dark suit I bought for you, be nice—be charming, even. Don’t talk about your cases or police work. Only if they ask.” She started to turn around but then had more to say. “Oh, and if they do ask, highlight the Prosecutor’s Office. The courts. The lawyers. ’Kay?”

  “God, yes, Juliette. I’ll talk about my in-chambers meeting with Judge Clark just the other day.” He stood up. The comment was meant to be sarcastic.

  “Is he a superior- or municipal-court judge? If he’s superior, then that’s okay.”

  She scooted down the steps, so he couldn’t tell if she was being funny or obnoxiously pretentious. She’d forgiven him too quickly after the wedding-planner incident. He figured it meant either she’d found a way to speed-blast through her grudges or she was way too deep into the wedding plans and the idea of marriage to give up on him now. He was betting on the second, and it was giving him migraines.

  He thought about Ava and how she might have reacted to this little dinner party, smiled at the thought of her messy house. He felt a slight punch in his gut. The more time that went by without finding her, the less certain he was that there was going to be a pleasant ending to the story. Where are you? Talk to me. He’d looked at the photographs all day, comparing the handwriting on each one, the color of the ink. He wasn’t a handwriting expert, but they all looked to be written by the same person, maybe even with the same pen.

  Joanne was still poring over the reports on the deaths of Bill Connelly and Ross Saunders, looking for anything that might stand out. He was counting on her. She was overbearing at times but had fabulous attention to detail, was used to reading mundane boring reports and condensing them, and had a personal interest. It was coincidence that he was thinking about her as he was getting out of the shower and that the phone number on his vibrating cell was Joanne’s.

  “Hey, listen. FYI. On a hunch I called the Cherbourg police and asked them to check on Anais. I was getting worried about her, ya know,” she said just after he clicked the phone on. “Twenty calls, no answer?”

  He dried his hair with the towel. “You called Cherbourg?”

  “Uh-huh. And they called me back. The old lady’s house is all locked up. She’s not there. They looked. She must be traveling, which is a good thing. If she was dead, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Wonder where she went.”

  “Don’t know. But the only thing I’ve gotten so far out of this stuff is that Bill Connelly was deathly allergic to tree nuts. He had an EpiPen and everything.”

  Russell sat down on his bed. “So why didn’t he use it?”

  “Hmmm. They found the bag turned over, like he was searching for it but it wasn’t there, apparently. But—”

  “Are you kidding me? We have guests in fifteen minutes and you’re sitting here naked, on the phone?” Juliette was in the doorway, fully dressed, stiletto heels making her slight form fill the doorway. “Now. Do you hear me?”

  He heard the clip-clopping of her shoes going all the way down the steps. “But?” he prodded Joanne.

  “Oooo, Russell, are you talking to me naked?”

  He laughed. “Hurry up and finish, we have a swanky shindig going down here. I gotta get my suit on.”

  “Investigators found the EpiPen later. It’d rolled under the table.”

  “Interesting. Listen, I’d love to keep talking. Or even come over and read those reports, but right now I’m a monkey in a performing circus. I’ll call you later.”

  “Fine. But I’d ditch that—”

  “Bye, Joanne.”

  He hung up and had just managed to put all his attire on except for his suit jacket when the phone rang again. He looked at the number and grabbed it from the nightstand.

  Doug’s voice was in his ear. “Russell, you need to come here now. I found Ava’s car.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Russell charged down the steps in jeans and a hoodie. Juliette stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. She leaned her back against the wall, her fists balled.

  “No,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “They found a car in a missing-persons. It’s my case. I gotta go.”

  “Have someone else do it. Not tonight, Russell.”

  He hesitated. “I really can’t.” He reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled it away and folded it under her arm. “This is my case and it’s big. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t bother, I don’t want you back here.”

  The doorbell rang. “I kind of have to come back, it’s my house,” he said. “And you’ll get what you want from these people, Juliette, whether I’m here or not. You always do.” With that he opened the door.

  He shook hands with Dr. Thomas as he passed him. “Sorry to miss the evening, I’m sure it’s going to be great, but I’m a cop.” He made sure he turned in just the right way so his gun was visible. “Just got a call. Prostitute roundup. Can’t miss that.” He leaned over and brushed his lips over Juliette’s forehead before heading out the doo
r.

  CHAPTER 38

  Marie stared out the window of her cell at the convent, her eyes wandering over the shapes of the tree branches, the door to the school across the street, the varying pattern of bricks that framed the windows, but her thoughts were fixated on the cop. He’d shown up just as she was burning the dress. He knew something. If he didn’t before, he did now. She could tell by looking in his eyes. That vacant stare seemed practiced, but she saw the gears shifting behind his eyes. Old, too-familiar panic edged with paranoia was starting to take hold of her. Bouts of uncontrollable rage alternating with crippling depression would be next. She had no idea who she could trust. She needed family.

  She heard a noise and whipped around to see Sister Regina there with a sandwich and a bottle of water. “You haven’t taken a meal with us in days. And no dinner tonight? Are you all right, Marie?”

  “You’ve no idea how not all right I am,” she responded.

  Regina set the plate and bottle on the side table and sat next to her. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Marie looked at Regina’s eager face. “I can’t talk about it. But I do need to run an errand now. I won’t be more than a few hours.”

  Regina nodded. “Do you need me to come with you? It’s already dark.”

  Marie went to her closet and grabbed her coat. “No. I’m fine.” Though the dark circles under her eyes and the marks on her face where she’d scratched herself in despair told a different truth. She grabbed the bottle of water and the sandwich. “Thanks, Regina. Do me a favor? Tell them I’m ill, not to be bothered. I’ll be back soon,” she added as she headed out the door.

  The ride up Route 130 North to the Tacony–Palmyra Bridge was bumper to bumper. Marie was impatient and nervous. This part of New Jersey wasn’t pleasant or pretty to her. It was one long industrial road filled with fast-food restaurants and gas stations, with stoplights placed every fifty yards. She chewed the corner of her sandwich, but the thick, dry bread stuck in her throat. She gulped the water to encourage it down.