by Dianna Love
Riley hadn’t expected the child’s mother to be so bad. He’d started thinking the body in the Dumpster was possibly the little girl’s father, but that would pop a hole in his theory about the killer protecting children. “Does your son live close by, maybe in the Northern Liberties area?”
“Oh, no. He’s a country boy. Got a cabin about twenty miles out of town near Evansburg State Park. I left two messages. He’ll be here soon as he finds out about Pia. Next time he won’t let that little whore convince him to leave Pia with her again.”
Pia’s father being a good man and living twenty miles out in the country put another nail in Riley’s theory. One of them had to be the link to St. Catherine’s. “Do you or Pia’s mother live in this area or worship at St. Catherine’s Catholic Church?”
The grandmother gave him a strange look then shook her head. “I live further out than my boy, Vance, and that slut lives in New Jersey. We’re Baptists.”
Chapter 45
Bodies were piling up and every decent lead came with a lit stick of dynamite.
Kirsten strode into her outer office, the space used by her assistant. Taylor Funk could usually be found at her desk, positioned just right of the door to Kirsten’s office. Taylor was rarely MIA, especially at three in the afternoon, which meant the young woman had probably made a run to the ladies room.
Stifling a yawn, Kirsten kept walking. She didn’t mind losing sleep if it was productive, but these multiple killings took a left turn every time they got a solid lead to work with.
“News flash. DA Van Gogh’s gunnin’ for you,” Taylor called, walking into Kirsten’s office.
“And here I thought you had real news.” Kirsten turned to face her. “Give me about five minutes then you can unleash her on me.”
Taylor got points for wearing a mauve pant suit that flattered her plump body instead of the too-snug and too-revealing clothes she’d first worn to work, but that hair color had changed twice in four weeks. Today the short locks spiraled out in wiry black curls with red streaks.
“You got it, boss.” Taylor’s phone rang in the next room. She stopped chewing her gum and dashed back to answer the phone in a voice so smooth she should be doing voice-overs for radio or television. She ran her fingers over the springy hair clipped back at each side, exposing a row of pierced earrings lining the outer edge of her right ear.
Kirsten dropped the file in her hand on one of two boring-brown side chairs that faced her desk. She punched the voice mail retrieval button on her desk phone then shifted her attention to scan notes on her desk.
After the beep, a cultured male voice said, “I tried your cell phone several times, but you haven’t deemed my calls worth returning.”
Her father? Kirsten stepped over to close her door.
He would never admit to anyone in his circle that his only child would not give him her cell phone number, which meant he’d spent money to get it.“I have the time for the memorial ceremony,” he continued on the recorder. “If you’d answer my calls once in awhile.” His smooth corporate tone disintegrated into irritation on that last part.
Kirsten moved a finger to end the message.
“ – you think I had something to do with your friend leaving, but I didn’t and don’t know where she is.”
Her hand stalled.
She’d assumed he’d hired a private investigator to get her phone number. But maybe that had been a byproduct of his hunt for Elicia?
Or this could all be wild conjecture on her part.
Get it together Kirsten. He was not going to make her doubt herself.
But had he figured out why she’d really come to Philly in the first place?
A short knock on the door was the only warning she had before Cecelia barged in.
Kirsten put the receiver down.
“What’s going on?” Cecelia had a habit of expecting everyone to know what she was thinking. She could be asking that about the jackhammer outside vibrating the windows or she could be asking about a budget overrun for their department.
But Kirsten was getting better at reading her mind. Cecelia wanted to know whether or not Kirsten had closed the Stanton case yet.
“We can’t dismiss the Stanton killing as domestic violence any more than we can dismiss the murder this morning.” Kirsten prepared herself for the battle ahead.
“We’re running out of time to get this shut down.”
Since when did murder cases get solved on a schedule? Kirsten let Cecelia ramble. The DA really didn’t care for anyone’s opinion but her own anyhow.
“The media is beating down the doors to find out about the body in the Dumpster. On city property, no less. Right under the noses of the police. This is getting out of hand.” Cecelia stuck her arms out and shook her head as she walked to the window, acting as if Kirsten had control over an unknown murderer. The DA had poured her gym-toned body into a cerulean blue dress that hit about an inch above the knees and at the last hint of a modest neckline. The shoes matched so exactly that Kirsten wondered if the dressmaker whipped out the pair from scrap material.
Kirsten could not allow Cecelia to screw up this investigation. “The police are doing everything they can, but we can’t release any details about these murders to the press that would allude to a serial killer. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.”
In another of her dramatic motions, Cecelia dropped her arms by her side and turned around. She pursed her lips much like an annoyed guppy. “That’s why we have to call a press conference and give the media something that will keep them happy.”
Kirsten crossed her arms. “We have to be careful about any news the killer hears. He’s a strange bird. Even though we have matching bullets and oil on all four heads so far – ”
“Four?”
“The body this morning appears to be consistent with the other three. Why not just release the standard statements about being unable to share more at this time, etcetera?”
“Let me walk you through this,” Cecelia said in a voice that insinuated Kirsten had gotten her law degree from a school for mentally challenged attorneys. “There’s no guarantee this killer will continue to use the same MO based on the inconsistencies so far. This department’s best move would be to say the crimes may be connected, but we’re leaning toward domestic violence being at the center of the killings rather than suspecting a classic serial killer.”
“But that’s not true.”
“It is true until it’s proven otherwise, Massey.”
“Talking to the media could create problems with this case.” Kirsten had to get Cecelia to see reason.
“If we avoid the media the leaks will get us. It always happens. Best to create suspicion that someone is doing this to cover up a domestic homicide. Otherwise, the minute the media releases secret information on the case copycat murders will pop up with just enough similarity to convolute the investigation and stretch police resources beyond where they are now.”
Much as Kirsten hated to admit it, Cecelia had a point. She just did not trust the DA’s motives.
“Plus,” Cecelia went on with her oration, using her hands as a symphony conductor. “If it leaks about the oil on the head being drawn in a sign of the cross similar to last rites, it’s going to sound like a religious nut out killing people, which throws speculation on the church. Again. None of us want another fiasco like that last one with St. Catherine’s.”
“I’m taking precautions against that.”
Cecelia continued as if Kirsten didn’t exist. “If we have fallout against the church again the national media will pick up on what’s going on in Philly and turn this into an anti-Catholic city. With the business symposium around the corner everything the mayor has worked for will disintegrate.”
Now there was the Cecelia that Kirsten knew who was more concerned about the mayor’s ability to generate positive PR for the city.
“Plus,” Cecelia went on. “We just got word the pope will be visiting. Bishop Gautier pul
led a coup in getting the pope to visit St. Catherine’s.”
“St. Catherine’s? Not the Cathedral Basilica?”
“He’s going there, too. But having the pope visit an inner city program will be a huge boost to the mayor’s plans. When the pope visits Philadelphia the rest of the country will sit up and take notice. They’ll realize this is truly the city of brotherly love for all.” Cecelia stared above Kirsten’s head. Her voice took on a lofty air.
Patriotic music should be playing in the background.
In the abstract, Kirsten could clearly see the DA’s point in not wanting to turn these killings into a national news story, but Kirsten didn’t work in the abstract. She dealt with real people who had suffered from real crimes.
Cecelia had given her another way to attack this. “Well, that’s a surprise and I’m thrilled to hear the pope is coming, which means we also have to assure everywhere he visits is safe. I don’t want to point a finger at any church either, but we have evidence to vet. I’m thinking we need to ask for oil samples from churches in the areas of the killings as a start on figuring out where the oil on the victims originated.”
Cecelia gave her the I-am-your-superior eye and stuck a matching hand on her hip. “And what if that gets out? People will be afraid to attend church if they think a serial killer may be watching for his next vic during Mass. Nothing stays private once you have cops sniffing around a place, not even a church. Anybody can get olive oil, for Christ’s sake.”
Kirsten quelled the first comments racing to her tongue. Pointing out that the DA’s office had a few leaks of its own would only give Cecelia a reason to continue this going-nowhere conversation when Kirsten had work to do on the case.
But Cecelia wasn’t finished quite yet.
“Bishop Gautier made a brilliant move by bringing in Monsignor Dornan. Everyone has calmed down about St. Catherine’s. Dornan earned his take-no-prisoner reputation by turning around every disaster the Catholic Church has handed him. Philly is crazy about this guy and the city will go wild once there’s a formal announcement about the pope’s visit. This is everything the mayor could hope for.”
Kirsten tried to feel a sense of celebration, but couldn’t see the fireworks for the additional burden this would put on Philly’s PD.
Undaunted by Kirsten’s lack of enthusiasm, Cecelia continued. “You and Detective Turner need to find this murdering SOB before he causes any more problems.”
Any more problems? As if they’d been discussing a prankster spraying graffiti on buildings? Kirsten made a show of lifting her watch into view and stepping behind her desk as if to check on an important appointment. She hoped Cecelia took the hint and left. Nope.
“You’ve got two days, Massey.”
“To do what?” Kirsten crossed her arms, annoyed at the underlying threat in Cecelia’s tone.
“Or you’re off this olive oil killer case. It’s not technically yours until Turner has something for us to prosecute. We have other cases that need your attention.”
“What happened to ‘make this your priority’? Now you expect me to just drop it in two days if we haven’t found the murderer?”
“Yes, I do. If this ends badly, I don’t want someone from my office in the middle of the news frenzy. Especially someone seen spending too much time with Riley Walker.”
First she throws me into the melee and now she condemns me for being there. The bitch. Kirsten was not getting bumped off this case so Cecelia could shove it into filing cabinet obscurity. “Every case I have is up to date. Nothing has been ignored and any time I’ve spent with Riley Walker has been in the interest of solving this case. I have no intention of backing off now.”
“Two. Days. Need I remind you that the mayor has to make budget cuts? Having a DA investigator is a luxury, not a requirement for this office.” Cecelia left on that not-so-subtle threat.
Chapter 46
Lehman’s text message to Riley had been blunt: Come to my office at 4:00 to discuss your job.
Not a big surprise since Lehman’s message had come on the heels of Lilly telling Riley WNUZ’s rating was taking a nosedive. Seemed every station but WNUZ had a video of Riley carrying Pia into the emergency entrance of St. Joseph’s.
Why hadn’t Lehman just couriered his termination papers?
But then Lehman wouldn’t get to gloat in person.
But Riley hadn’t received his walking papers yet so he couldn’t be sure that was the reason behind the message. And Biddy’s future was tied to his so he couldn’t blow off Lehman.
Not after talking to Biddy on the way here and finding out the cameraman was headed with his wife to the hospital again. High-risk pregnancies came with all sorts of problems. The doctors hadn’t given good odds on her carrying this baby to full term, and warned her that getting pregnant again after this would put her own life at risk.
This might be their only child.
She had seven weeks to go and medical bills filling up the nursery. Biddy needed his job and the insurance.
If Riley had known all this back when he came to WNUZ he’d have refused to work with Biddy just to keep him safe from any fallout Riley had to endure.
Once again, history couldn’t be rewritten.
He walked into the Liberty Building’s granite and glass foyer. He flashed his WNUZ ID badge for security who checked the list then allowed him to take the elevator to Lehman’s ivory tower.
If WNUZ cut him loose right now his credibility would plummet faster than the stock market in the Great Depression. And Lehman would put the screws to him with the other stations. He’d leak rumors that would prevent Riley from selling any story, because a station was only as good as the reputation of the people on their news desks.
His cell phone chimed as the doors opened for the elevator. Riley backed away to take the call rather than lose it in the car. “Walker.”
“Is Pia okay?”
The killer? “Seems to be. Still groggy. What about Enrique? Is he okay?” Riley forced himself to maintain a slow conversation in an even tone in spite of the adrenaline that jacked through him every time this guy called. The key was to not lose this connection. One set of J. T.’s technicians would be listening in and another group would be racing to triangulate the call.
“Enrique is in good hands.”
Riley hated the cryptic way this guy talked. “What do you want now?”
“The news stations are making the sinners out to be victims. They slander me for helping a child. Their vile reports mock repentance and death.”
Guess throwing one body in a Dumpster or staking another one to a cemetery headstone didn’t count as mocking the dead. Riley stepped further away from the elevators when one car belched out a wad of people.
The security guard cast a suspicious look in Riley’s direction.
Riley kept his voice low. “I have no control over what any of the news stations report.”
“I will not tolerate you sharing what I tell you with any of them or the police.”
Unless you want a body picked up.
The caller continued. “We have a duty, you and I. I’ll let you know when it’s time to inform the people.”
“Got it.” Riley would say anything to keep this guy calm and on the line. He searched for a way to keep an open dialogue. “So you’ve been calling me because I’m a reporter?”
“Not just any reporter, but the one who faced Satan and won. You taught Detroit to be vigilant and protect their children.”
Riley nearly sank to his knees. His mouth turned raw as an open wound. This bastard had chosen him because of Detroit?
The killer’s voice picked up volume and strength like a Sunday morning television evangelist. “You forced Satan from Detroit. Together, we can do this in Philly, too, but only if you do not fail me.”
Riley blinked away the haze of shock and disbelief and found his voice before this guy thought he wasn’t listening. “If you want to protect the innocent, why give me Pia and not Enrique?”
“Pia needed asthma medicine.”
So this guy knew specific details about the children he nabbed. “But what about Enrique? Is he still...alive?”
“Of course, he’s alive.”
Hearing that gave Riley a surge of faith he’d find this child.
“He has to be alive. We all must sacrifice in the war against evil. I have plans for him tomorrow.”
“What plans? What’s tomorrow?” Riley yelled. “He’s a kid, don’t hurt him – ”
The call ended.
He couldn’t speak until he caught his breath and his heart stopped beating like a war drum. Riley punched J. T.’s number and started in on him as soon as the detective answered. “You get that bastard on this call?”
“Hold on.” J. T. barked out orders at someone for a report. A muffled exchange followed then J. T. cursed as he came back on the line. “Got an area, but not a specific location. I’m betting even if we do nail down a location that we’ll just find another prepaid cell phone wiped clean of prints and tossed away.”
Fuck. “What part of town was it in?”
“Close to City Hall. Sounds like he’s pissed off at the news stations. Doesn’t like being criticized for brutal killings and abducting a little girl then leaving her in a car.”
“I caught that.” Riley watched for an elevator, saw one empty and jumped on, closing the doors before anyone joined him.
“Enrique might or might not be alive – ”
“He is alive.” Riley didn’t want to hear statistics on how children missing for more than twenty-fours hours were rarely found alive.
“Okay, fine, but this guy is getting agitated. Sounds like he plans to use Enrique to make a statement.”
All Riley could picture was the corner of that Diego blanket covered in blood. Would this maniac spill a child’s blood to fulfill some duty he imagined had been decreed by God?