Justifiable

by Dianna Love

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Kelsey was at the mercy of a predator.

  My fault. Lucinda shouldered all the blame, from marrying Stan to confronting him this afternoon. Rage and terror had stripped her sanity, leaving her lost to any thought except getting her child back. She still should have calmed down and thought it through, considered the ramifications of attacking him and threatening to kill him. What had she been thinking?

  That Stan would just hand over Kelsey?

  No, she’d lost all ability to think past getting to her daughter. Seeing that she was safe.

  Stan claimed Kelsey was safe. He said he’d brought in a highly touted female tutor who specialized in dealing with troubled and withdrawn children. The tutor was working with Kelsey in a private space just one floor below his office.

  By that point, Stan had been shouting everything he said and Lucinda had been screaming that she wanted her child.

  Did she believe Stan? She didn’t know. He could have just been covering his backside with so many people listening. On the other hand, she still couldn’t reconcile the man she’d married with the man who would harm Kelsey, but too many women had fallen into that trap and failed to put their child’s safety ahead of love for a spouse.

  What made her any different than those women?

  Nothing. She was just a woman who had fallen in love with the perfect man, and then trusted the person she loved.

  Love. Lucinda didn’t know what that meant anymore.

  Cursing erupted ten feet away and behind her. She shuddered and kept her back turned to her cellmates.

  Another whiff of urine and body odor struck her so hard she almost threw up on the concrete floor. She curled into herself on the metal bench, fear tearing her apart.

  Fear for Kelsey. And there was no one to call since the only friends she had now were those she’d met through Stan.

  Fear for herself locked in this jail cell with two women who smelled of cigarettes, cheap perfume and hard nights on the streets. One of them made Elvira look like a poster child for Mother of the Year.

  She was alone in this battle.

  Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway and echoed against the concrete walls in sync with the beat of her thumping heart.

  What time was it? Seven, eight o’clock? No windows to see if it was dark yet. They’d taken her watch along with her clothes and given her an orange jumpsuit.

  Like a criminal. That happened when you threatened to kill your husband in public, and acted like you might do it right then.

  Footsteps kept heading her way. She knew it was unrealistic to think someone might be coming to help her, but Lucinda sat up quickly, anxious to see who approached.

  One of the women laughed. “You think somebody gonna throw you a scrap, dog?”

  Another one said, “Shut up bitch. She was tryin’ to help her little girl.”

  Lucinda didn’t care what anyone thought or how she looked. She just wanted to know if anyone had believed her and gone to take Kelsey from Stan.

  A police officer stopped in front of her cell then an angel of mercy appeared at his side. She recognized her angel by the black pants and matching shirt with a white clerical collar.

  Monsignor Dornan thanked the officer then stepped closer to the bars once the policeman faded from sight. “How are you, Lucinda?”

  She burst into tears that came from so deep inside she couldn’t stop the geyser to answer him. She sobbed into her hands, her heart breaking into pieces that would never go back together the same way again.

  “Here, take this.” His gentle words drew her head up.

  Lucinda could barely make out his face through her watery gaze. She took the handkerchief he offered and wiped her eyes. He waited silently while she pulled herself together.

  “Thank you for coming.” Her voice sounded tiny and desperate to her own ears. She’d always been strong. What had happened to her? She’d gotten complacent, comfortable with depending on someone else. She’d trusted too deeply.

  “I spoke with the officers about your charges,” Monsignor told her. He hooked a hand over one of the bars. “I’ve left a message for an attorney I know. What else can I do to help you?”

  His kindness almost undid her again. After the humiliation of being handcuffed and booked into jail where everyone treated her as though she’d lost her mind or was on drugs, she bled adoration for this man who’d come to help her.

  He could have sent the attorney and kept himself from being associated with this sordid mess. With her.

  “You don’t know how much seeing you here means to me. I took your words to heart when you said we have to fight the good fight of the faith. I tried, but I failed.” She squeezed her eyes to stop the weeping. She wouldn’t waste the time he was giving her. “Please find Kelsey and get her away from Stan.”

  Monsignor glanced back at where an officer stood not far away. “Keep your voice down, Lucinda. You’re not helping yourself.”

  “I don’t care what they do to me if Kelsey is safe.” She reached for his hand, gripping the long fingers between her palms. His hand felt warm and strong, capable of anything. “Please promise me you’ll save my baby and keep her out of Stan’s hands. I can’t make it through tonight knowing she’s out there alone and vulnerable. Talk to Janeen. She’ll help you.”

  Monsignor Dornan put a fist against his head, took a deep breath then lowered his hand and met her gaze. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter 55

  How could the police lock up a mother for protecting her child?

  He didn’t know who deserved his anger the most – the mother, the police or Stan Myers. What had Lucinda Myers been thinking to go after her husband that way?

  She should have been more vigilant in watching her little girl to begin with.

  Now he’d have to add saving Lucinda’s daughter to his plan, but he could be flexible and add one more item to his list. In fact, Kelsey would prove valuable in helping his cause.

  But he’d have to watch for the perfect opportunity.

  A stream of headlights flowed into the neighborhood across the street from where he’d parked in a subdivision with houses still under construction. He’d waited until dark to find the Myers house in Germantown, a northwest section of Philadelphia.

  Stan Myers could thank the media for showing everyone where he lived. Reporters interviewed neighbors as if people who waved at Stan and Lucinda in passing knew what really went on in the Myers house.

  Stan Myers would probably have a realtor searching for a gated property by tomorrow.

  But for now, the degenerate had to deal with a load of media camped outside his house. What did they expect? That Stan would run wild through the front yard, admitting he was a pedophile?

  After that scene Lucinda made in Stan’s office, the media might have good cause for any expectation. Both parents had failed Kelsey. Her mother would be in jail for a day, maybe two, depending on whether her husband pressed charges or not.

  Then who would stand guard over her child?

  Neither Lucinda nor Stan was a worthy parent, but Kelsey had a savior.

  He was the only one willing to battle sin while others stood by as Satan built a path of corrupted souls.

  Satan was attacking St. Catherine’s through law enforcement. The DA’s office pumped garbage into the media then sent a disciple under the guise of trying to clear St. Catherine’s name.

  Investigator Kirsten Massey was crazy to think she could have a drop of sacred oil. God did not have to prove himself to anyone, particularly the DA’s office.

  We must fight the good fight of the faith.

  Massey pretended to care while persecuting those who served God. She’d sealed her fate when she’d threatened St. Catherine’s.

  Chapter 56

  Tires groaned against the pavement and horns squawked along Race Street with traffic churning in as much turmoil as Margo’s conscience. She stomped her frozen feet up and down the sidewalk in
front of the Race Street Café, preferring the miserable cold to being seen inside with Riley Walker.

  Couldn’t he have picked an earlier hour than ten at night? She had to get up for work even if he didn’t have a job. If he didn’t show up soon, she’d have to reconsider or freeze to death.

  Wind pulled at the hood of her old parka, a battleship gray jacket with wool lining that blended in with the shadows where she huddled close to the brick building.

  “What are you doing out here?” Walker stepped into her field of view.

  So much for being incognito.

  Jeans and the bomber jacket, five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks and a razor sharp slant to his eyes. Everything, right down to the way he stood, vibrated danger toward anyone who got in his way.

  She crossed her arms, ready to give Walker the brunt of her discontent. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Tell the truth. You didn’t want to be seen inside with me.”

  She ignored his astute observation and looked around, checking the area. A middle-aged couple huddled close together as they headed toward the restaurant. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

  “My truck?”

  “No.” She was never getting into a vehicle again with any man who was not her family or Monsignor. “Follow me to where I’m parked.” Margo walked off, not doubting for a minute that Walker would stay close behind.

  At the door to her minivan, she swung around to face him. “You said you would trade information. That you had a way to shift attention away from St. Catherine’s with these killings.”

  “If you brought something to trade with.”

  “I did, but I’m not handing over anything until you convince me you won’t drag St. Catherine’s into some sensationalized story about these deaths.”

  He crossed his arms and stepped close.

  It took all her power not to take a step back, but he’d know she was terrified of him, of his size, if she did. She fingered the blunt knife in her pocket. Pepper spray could only be used once or twice. She never wanted to be defenseless again.

  “I’m not sensationalizing anything, Cortese. I report the truth. I have not said one word about St. Catherine’s – ”

  “You threatened to.”

  “No, I warned you I would not shy away from reporting the truth, but this isn’t about a story. I’ll share some things with you that only three people besides me know. So if this information comes out I’ll know you leaked it. If that happens, all bets are off.”

  “I’m the last person who’s going to share a word with anyone, particularly the media.” She realized that statement conflicted with her standing here talking to Walker. “With the exception of right now.”

  “Enrique is still alive.”

  She sucked in a breath at that news. “He is?”

  “Yes, so far. But the killer has alluded to using him for something tomorrow so we have to find this guy fast. I have a question for you. Do priests ever put a drop of oil on the arms or hands of a confessor?”

  She considered his question carefully and couldn’t see any reason not to answer. “Sometimes in absolution we put the sign of the cross on the forehead and another mark in oil on the wrist. Now I get a question. Why have you been targeting St. Catherine’s?”

  “Because Sally Stanton and Clayton Howell lived at Philomena and were members of St. Catherine’s, both killed by a bullet from the same weapon, both marked in the same way.”

  She put the next piece together. “Oil was found on the bodies.”

  “Right. Two more victims killed in the same manner are being researched that I’m betting have a tie to St. Catherine’s. Did you know Bruno Parrick?”

  Monsignor was right. Riley Walker was only going to dig deeper. If he caught her in a lie, she’d lose what little negotiating room she had. “Yes, Bruno worshipped at St. Catherine’s, but that doesn’t mean anything. All these people live in the same proximity. Northern Liberties is not the safest area either.”

  “The victim found this morning didn’t live in this area.” Riley’s eyes left her face and moved to take in their surroundings before coming back to her. “That’s why I said if you believe everyone at St. Catherine’s is innocent of any involvement to bring me a couple of drops of the oil used for dabbing on someone who’s dying. Did you bring the death oil?”

  She corrected him. “Sacrament oil. Like I had a choice with you breathing down our necks?” Or with Monsignor on the other side telling her to shut down Walker? What if Riley was on to something and the killer was using holy oil? Didn’t matter. Monsignor was the only person with a key to the stock of oil at St. Catherine’s, which she’d borrowed from where he kept it tucked away in his desk. She was the only other person with a key to his desk so there was no way the oil on those bodies had come from her church, right? Therefore, Riley was testing her to see if he could catch her trying to hide something.

  Margo withdrew an empty aspirin tube the size of her little finger from her coat pocket. She’d scalded the tube in hot water and dried it before placing two drops inside.

  He stretched out his hand.

  She started to place the tube in his palm then pulled it back, terrified at what she was doing. Her heart climbed her throat with needle sharp fingers.

  Monsignor expected her to handle this problem and she believed this would be an easy way to get rid of Walker.

  He’d challenged her to prove no one at St. Catherine’s had been at the crime scenes and she’d pretended to fall right into his trap by asking how.

  Walker kept his hand extended. “I give you my word that I won’t say a thing about getting this oil unless it can be proven that it matches what is found on the bodies.” He must have thought her hesitation came from worry over what he’d report. “If it doesn’t match, you’ll have blown a huge hole in my theory about the connection to your church.”

  All well and good, but the damage would still have been done. She understood Monsignor’s point of not being able to choose which problems she could deal with. She’d been given this one and made the best choice she could.

  Like Monsignor, she was willing to accept the consequences.

  Margo laid the tube of oil in his open palm.

  “I have to say I admire your belief in your faith and the people you work with,” Walker told her. His voice had been tender, almost apologetic. “More than that, I admire your guts in showing up here with this sample.”

  Margo didn’t want his praise any more than she wanted to feel warmed by the respect she heard in his voice.

  Tomorrow she’d have to confess to Monsignor that she’d taken oil from the chest and given it to an adversary of the church, one who was not of their faith even.

  She’d just risked far more than any future with the church. Margo prayed Monsignor wouldn’t discharge her from being his assistant. This was the only life she knew.

  The only life she wanted.

  The only place she felt safe.

  Chapter 57

  A walk in the night air should clear Kirsten’s head, not drum up visions of what kind of animals stalked the city after hours. She carried her briefcase in one hand and jangled her keys in the other hand.

  Downtown Philly smelled tired, the pavement holding fuel and tire odors to tangle with succulent wisps of Philly beefsteak still being cooked somewhere. Her stomach growled. She didn’t like to eat after ten at night so she’d missed her window of time a half hour ago.

  Keeping to the right of oncoming foot traffic, she passed beneath the protective catwalks covering the sidewalk along University Avenue. Two more hours at her desk should catch her up enough for tonight so she could thumb her nose at Cecelia Van Gogh’s back tomorrow. The bitch had dumped two cases back on Kirsten’s desk that had been ready to go when Kirsten delivered them last week. Cecelia’s note indicated she wanted additional research.

  No, Van Gogh wanted to load Kirsten to the point she couldn’t expend any extra time on the serial killings until Philly PD made a
n arrest.

  The strange feeling of being watched interrupted Kirsten’s mental crabbing. She slowed as she exited the covered walkway and peered into the areas illuminated by streetlights. Buildings soared above her, the tops vanishing into a black void of night. Some people strolled and others fast-walked, none of them paying her any attention.

  Then she saw him.

  Riley stood away from the building where he’d been leaning. He moved with an easy stride, meeting her halfway to the corner then falling into step beside her. “Got a minute?”

  “Depends on what you want to talk about.” Did she believe someone with a church was involved in these killings? Sadly, yes, she couldn’t deny the evidence, but neither could she continue to collaborate with Riley. Not and do justice to her position with the DA’s office.

  “I just want to know where you’re going to be at eight in the morning.”

  She stopped and cut a suspicious gaze at him. “Why?”

  “Because I may have the hard evidence you’re looking for.”

  Kirsten sighed. “Still determined to prove St. Catherine’s is harboring a murderer?”

  “I’m only here to give you a heads up. Just tell me where you’re going to be.”

  “In my office.” In spite of all that was going on and having her butt chewed over associating with Riley, Kirsten was glad to see him. And had been thinking about their deal for dinner. Not a date in the serious sense of the word, but she’d thought on that potential dinner more than once. Paying up might be interesting.

  Riley leaned close and whispered for her ears only. “What if I can deliver a sample of oil and a bullet that matches the ones found on the murder victims?”

  His warm breath rushed against her skin, soft and inviting.

  A professional wouldn’t notice things like that, but a female couldn’t ignore the way her skin tensed, wishing for more than his breath along her neck.

  “Kirsten?”

  That had come out sounding like a caress.

  Her mind finally caught up to what he was asking.