Justifiable

by Dianna Love

  God smiled on those who did his work.

  Stan Myers must have thought he was slick hiding Kelsey in the backseat of the housekeeper’s car and sending her to the woman’s home. No doubt thinking to keep his daughter away from the prying media who might ask the little girl questions Myers wouldn’t want answered.

  Not a problem now. He placed the call to Stan and took a moment to enjoy the peaceful rural setting while he waited on the cell tower connection. This area on the north side of Philly would be perfect. A short drive for a distraught father even if the weather threatened to interfere. Ripe clouds ganged up, building into a confrontation that promised to turn into one devil of a sleet storm.

  Mattered not. He was prepared for inclement weather.

  The phone connection clicked. “Stan Myers speaking.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Myers, but I got your cell phone number from your assistant. I told her I had important information about your daughter.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m Father Ickerson.” He smiled. Ickerson should enjoy having a notorious reputation for a while. “Your wife came to see me, because she didn’t want to talk about...some things with the priest from your church. I believe I can help you understand what is going on with Lucinda.”

  Myers muttered something acidic in a dark voice. “I can’t believe she talked to all these people behind my back.” He paused a moment. “What did she tell you about...us?”

  “I can’t share what was said in confession, even with you, but I do feel that I can shed some light on your situation.”

  “I’ll deal with Lucinda later. All I want to do right now is to find Kelsey. Do you know where she is?”

  “Yes, I believe I can help you locate your daughter.”

  “So tell me.”

  “What I have to share has to be said in person. It’s not something I feel I can discuss over the phone.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I have to find my daughter! Just tell me what you know so I can tell the police.” Stan Myers might be accustomed to expecting people to jump when he shouted at work, but he couldn’t call these shots.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Myers. Calling you was a mistake. If you don’t want to meet I understand and I’ll just – ”

  “Wait! Look, I don’t mean to be rude to a priest, but I’ve got to find my daughter. I’ve been driving around for hours trying to figure out where Kelsey might be.” Stan grumbled something about bullshit. “If you don’t tell me what you know, I’m calling the police so they can talk to you.”

  “That would put me in the awkward position of having to tell them what your wife shared outside of confession about you and...Kelsey.”

  Stan made a noise that sounded like a pressure cooker getting ready to blow. “Okay, I’ll meet you. Where?”

  “I’m not far from downtown and hope you’ll understand that I don’t want to meet somewhere I’ll be caught by the media.”

  “I don’t want that either. I’ll come to you. Just give me an address and tell me what you look like.”

  He gave Stan directions to a funeral home in Roxborough, northwest of Philly. “I’ll be wearing my cassock.”

  Chapter 68

  That hadn’t been pretty.

  A better description would be disastrous.

  Kirsten hiked through Three Penn Square to where she’d parked her BMW coupe in a prepaid lot. She hadn’t expected a short meeting, but neither had she figured it would run an hour past the ten o’clock time frame she’d promised to call J. T.

  Ticking off the detective had become way less important since Van Gogh dropped a bomb on Kirsten’s future.

  Once Kirsten had the mayor and Cecelia in the same room, she announced her intentions of gaining a warrant to search St. Catherine’s offices and church. Kirsten finished by explaining how the evidence gave probable cause to bring Father Ickerson in for questioning.

  The silence immediately following her thorough presentation sucked the air out of the room.

  Took about half a second for Van Gogh to blow her top, but that was mild compared to the mayor whose face turned beet red from his chin to his gray hairline.

  The man should drop fifty pounds or go on blood pressure medicine. At close to sixty years old, he was a heart attack on legs.

  Kirsten went over and over her methodical process in reaching this decision. Most damning had been the bullet and oil match. Everything settled down and seemed like it was going to work out until the mayor had to step away to take a call.

  That’s when Van Gogh got in Kirsten’s face and said, “I understand Riley Walker has been to St. Catherine’s offices asking questions and harassing the Monsignor at the shooting range.”

  Kirsten hadn’t heard that, but arguing with Van Gogh at that moment would have only wasted precious time.

  Van Gogh wasn’t through with her yet. “You’re going to get your warrant, but you better be damned sure about what you do with it and that Walker is not using you. His ass is on the line with WNUZ. I found out he’s got until noon today to file a major story to get his job back. They’re offering him a cherry deal for this story in fact.” She’d stabbed her sharp fingernail at the file in Kirsten’s hands. “I heard about you and Walker having dinner the other night.”

  That was the minute Kirsten knew she had both feet in hot water.

  The DA had shaken her head in a piteous way. “You have a lot of potential, Massey. But I think you’ve let Walker influence your decision-making. Be forewarned, if anything goes wrong in this case, it’s not just your job, because with your connections I doubt that’s a big deal.”

  Van Gogh had no idea how wrong she was, but Kirsten kept her mouth shut rather than give the DA any more ammunition.

  “Screw this up and I’ll put you in jail, because I’m betting you’ve broken more than a rule or two.”

  Kirsten hadn’t managed a deep breath since leaving that meeting. No sane person connected to law enforcement wanted to end up locked inside a prison with hardened criminals who wanted revenge. Could she go on a leap of faith and trust Riley?

  She did believe Enrique’s life was in danger, if the child was still alive.

  Ice drops tapped the sidewalk and pinged her skin. She gazed up at the low-hanging clouds darkening the sky. Would sleet change the killer’s plans? She had no idea, but it was time to get off the fence and take a side.

  Kirsten pulled out her cell phone and called J. T. to give him time to round up his troops while she hand delivered the warrant for Judge Berringer to sign. She didn’t expect any trouble once she informed the judge of his wife’s connection to Sally Stanton – a connection that Kirsten hadn’t shared with Van Gogh or the mayor once things had gotten heated.

  “Turner here. Been waiting to hear from you, Massey.”

  “I know and I’m sorry, but I had to run the gauntlet to assure City Hall stood behind us today.” She passed the last building before the parking lot and turned right to weave though cars packed tight. She’d parked in the very back of the self-pay lot, the only spot she’d found open this morning. “The spent bullet your ballistics people matched last night came from a weapon that belongs to Monsignor Dornan.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. But the rest of the evidence all points to Father Ickerson so I think he’s our man and I – ”

  “Can’t be Ickerson.”

  “Why not?” She stopped in between two rows of vehicles.

  “We dispatched men and an emergency vehicle to St. Catherine’s this morning. Someone shot Ickerson in the head, but the bullet skimmed the skull. He’s in a coma from loss of blood and hypothermia. We found the bullet. It’s a .38.”

  “Was Dornan at the church?”

  “He showed up while they were stabilizing Ickerson and rode to the hospital with him.”

  “Get a security team to the hospital. Find out where Dornan is right now then let me know and I’ll meet you at the church with the warrant first then we’ll have to bring in Monsig
nor Dornan.”

  She hung up and walked as fast as she safely could in short boots, glad she’d worn a pant suit today. Some truck covered in snow grime had backed in next to her car.

  She slid carefully between the vehicles to keep from getting her navy pants and jacket filthy. When she put her hand on her door handle something hard that felt like what she’d imagine was a gun barrel stuck her in her back.

  “Get into the truck quietly and move across to the passenger seat.”

  Chapter 69

  Seeing the rear exit to Pete’s Trapdoor Bar in overcast light of late morning gave Riley a better appreciation for the anonymous front entrance. While Biddy wired, grunted and cursed beneath the Tundra, Riley took in the clutter of mismatched lumber, rusted auto parts, bald tires and a couple of banged up trash cans.

  Anyone who had not seen the inside of the Trapdoor – who was not aware of the backgrounds of the members of this clubhouse – would dismiss the ice glazed debris as junk and lazy housekeeping. The casual observer might miss the security camera concealed in the dangling light fixture with a broken spotlight, or two dime-size holes at knee level facing each other where someone trying to enter the bar uninvited would trip a laser beam.

  “That’s got it.” Biddy slid out from under the truck bed. He looked more natural in camo fatigues with a navy blue T-shirt spotted with grime than he did in jeans and a clean white T-shirt with a camera hoisted on his shoulder.

  “I don’t get the point in all this tracking equipment on the Tundra.” Riley shook his head. “I doubt the killer is going to let me just drive to some location when he knows I’m in contact with the police.” Today was testing the limits of his patience.

  Biddy had insisted on installing a tracking device under the Tundra in a way only a pro could detect the equipment if someone looked beneath the truck.

  “So, now you’re questioning my instincts?”

  “Hell, no, but this seems like overkill.” Either that or Biddy wanted a way to find Riley’s body to hand Lehman as a peace offering if they didn’t get a story out of this.

  With an hour to go until noon, it didn’t look promising.

  Wiping his hands on a red shop rag, Biddy faced Riley. “Sounds like this guy has an end game plan for today. Might call you in closer. Might not, but we don’t send a man out in the field, particularly into a covert situation, without some way to extract him if everything goes to shit. I want to have a way to find you even if you can’t tell me where you are.”

  Riley looked at the truck then at Biddy. “You can do that?”

  “Yep. So why do you think it’s taking so long to hear back from Massey?”

  “Who knows? Probably wading through red tape.”

  “Bet I know why. Remember me telling you I had a lead on something to do with the pope’s visit?” When Riley nodded, Biddy said, “Got a text while I was under the truck. Pope’s not just coming to Philly. He’s visiting St. Catherine’s.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  Biddy just rolled his eyes in a “be serious” way as if Riley should have known better than to ask for his source.

  Riley put it together. “So that’s why Kirsten and the DA’s office has been dancing even harder around investigating anyone at the church.” Kirsten hadn’t shared that either.

  “Most likely.”

  “Shit. Kirsten said she had to clear the warrant with the mayor and Van Gogh.” Riley clamped a hand on his forehead and tried to rub away the pain in his temples. “If she backs off, this killer will get away.” Or...Riley didn’t want to consider that the killer might take his own life and leave Enrique missing.

  Biddy lifted a handheld GPS unit into view and punched buttons. When he seemed satisfied with whatever he read, Biddy put the electronic unit down on the open tailgate. “Here’s how we’re going to play this. The killer wants you to do something today. I’ll be your last line of defense, but if he’s good he may not give you time to reach me. That happens, you need plan B to alert me and I just gave you that.”

  Laid out in those terms, Riley couldn’t argue the point. “Got it.”

  “What time you have?” Biddy lifted his watch into view, fingers on the stem to adjust.

  “Eleven-fourteen.” Riley couldn’t believe J. T. and Kirsten hadn’t called by now. Were they really going to lock him out of what was going on now? After what he’d done last night?

  Or had Kirsten been shut down by the mayor and Van Gogh?

  “We’re synced.” Biddy packed a handful of tools and wires into a scarred canvas satchel. “I’m not sold on this Ickerson guy being our man. I’ll have something on him in a couple hours. Going to dig deeper on Dornan and Cortese, too, plus run the others through the intel gamut.”

  “Kirsten should have gotten to J. T. by now, but I haven’t heard from him.” The mood J. T. had been in this morning, Riley didn’t expect to hear from him soon, though. “Of course, I haven’t heard from the killer either.”

  “He’ll call. This guy needs the recognition or he wouldn’t have picked a reporter.” Biddy’s half smile lacked humor.

  Riley would pull every marker he could find when this was done to see if anyone had a contact in Philly that would help Biddy. Getting the cameraman a job came before solving any of Riley’s problems. But he had to come up with a plan for Jasper, too. He backed the Tundra out the narrow passage, thinking how this one-way drive had not happened by accident.

  With the sun unable to pierce a thick canopy of bloated clouds, late morning felt more like twilight.

  J. T. would call back once Kirsten told him who owned the .38, but Riley might find out sooner if he was sitting in J. T.’s office. When he reached the interstate, he headed to the police station. Worst case, one of the other detectives could tell him something.

  The traffic had just lightened up when a cell phone started ringing inside the truck cab. His phone was in the console cup holder. Silent. Sounded as though the ringing was coming from the back seat of his dual cab.

  He whipped to the shoulder of the road just before an exit and jumped out to search behind his seat. Over-the-road transport trucks blasted wind as they passed him and cars whizzed by, rubber whining over asphalt.

  In the pocket on the back of his driver’s seat he found a phone he’d never seen before. No reason to have a phone stashed there in his truck unless...the killer wanted a secure line.

  But the caller ID indicated Kirsten’s phone.

  Riley’s throat closed.

  Chapter 70

  “It’s time.” The voice coming through the cell phone in Riley’s hand was familiar, but male. The killer had Kirsten’s phone.

  Riley’s skin chilled and not from the sleet pelting his body. “Where’s Kirsten?”

  “Keeping me company.”

  “If you hurt her – ” Riley lifted his fist to slam against the truck, but forced himself to stay under control. Kirsten’s life depended on it.

  “You’ll do what, Walker? I’ll be monitoring your location.”

  The need to reach through the phone and squeeze the breath from this guy shook Riley to his core, but he kept his voice level. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get back in your truck so we can talk.” Riley did as told while the killer continued, “Massey is currently breathing and untouched. Stay on the line and do as you’re told to assure she remains safe. If you drop this call, you have exactly fifteen seconds to get back to me. Pray the cellular service is your friend today, because if you don’t reach me in under fifteen seconds there will be no reason for me to answer. You now have two reasons to follow my instructions to the letter.”

  In other words, Kirsten and Enrique were both at risk.

  “I get it. You don’t want me contacting anyone else. I’m not going to do anything to risk her life.” Riley tried to sort through the changing nuances in this guy’s voice, but nothing gave him a clear identity. Was he Monsignor? He’d know soon enough.

  The killer began giving instr
uctions. “I know the route you’ll be on and how long to drive each section as I narrate directions. Drive north on Interstate 76.”

  Riley bit down to imprison words that wouldn’t help. Brutal determination flushed away thoughts of anything except getting his hands on this man and making him pay for all the deaths, but most of all for what he was doing to Kirsten and Enrique.

  Riley considered all the possible delays he might hit. “Weather’s turning bad, so figure that in, too.”

  “I don’t see that being a problem for a motivated driver.”

  Pulling to the bottom of the exit ramp, Riley turned under the overpass but did not whip back on the interstate. Instead, he drove past the northbound ramp, but he had less than a minute to make a maneuver that might alert Biddy. If Riley couldn’t find a place to execute two back-to-back U turns – a pre-agreed upon signal to Biddy – he’d have to return to the interstate immediately or risk agitating this killer if he ran late.

  In the meantime, Riley and Biddy had devised a way to send J. T. a message if Riley needed the police to triangulate his position. But that plan required calling J. T. and leaving Riley’s call engaged, which would bleed the battery down. His phone had half a charge left. He’d intended to plug it in the minute he got rolling.

  “You’re not talking, Walker.”

  “Trying to maneuver around traffic to make a U turn and get back on the interstate quick. Give me a minute, okay?”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds to start talking.”

  Riley lifted a knee to steady the steering wheel and shot his hand to the console, moving quietly to open the cover so he could pull out the DC power plug.

  But there was no plug in the console. That bastard had taken the cord and the extra ammo Riley kept in there.

  Riley couldn’t use the cell phone idea yet, not until he knew what he was walking into. What if he drove to a location where neither Kirsten nor Enrique was being kept? He might still need the cell phone at that point.